#felt like drawing something poetic

[minhmynchi]

witnessing the death birth of a star

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hiiii

Can you do something about the batboys (specially Tim and Damian cuz they are my fav)?

With a reader who loves hugs, like A LOT

And it is simply spontaneous to want to hug.

Dick

He loves your spontaneity and your hugs.

He finally has someone who can eagerly accept his out of nowhere hugs by reciprocating with your own hugs.

You have a hug off to see who can hug the other the most as it never fails to make both of your days better, and it acts like a really good pick me up when you both need it most.

Dick could stay in your arms forever if he could and hopes that you feel the same as it acts as a way of communicating without the usage of words. Dick can convey how he felt to you in certain situations throughout all types of hugs possible.

Tight hugs for when he thought he wasn’t going to come back home to you, or when he fears that you wouldn’t love him anymore or for times where he just needed to feel you against him.

Soft, gently, comforting hugs for when he feels like being more affectionate with you, maybe even playful and or wanting to just show you that he cares about you as while he’s a charmer, meaningful words tend to fail him on multiple occasions.

Protective, ‘don’t touch them or else’ hugs where he keeps a tight and firm grip on you as he pushes your head into his neck while he poetically cocoons you in his arms as to keep you out of sight of anyone he thinks is no good for you.

Other then them, dick will always await for you with open arms almost instinctively, knowing he’s going to get the best hug of a lifetime as thought you haven’t seen each other in a long time and not five minutes. Dick just loves you and your spontaneous hugs.

Damian

Fight instincts are strong in Damian.

So when you first try to hug him, his sword was drawn within inches of your face as fast as you could blink. He’d never hurt you, no. It’s just that his body was tuned to react within seconds to any potential danger against him, and unfortunately his mind made him think that your hugs were threats.

So once he realises what he had done on impulse, he apologise and sheathed his sword and tells you that he’s not yet use to your kind of affection due to his upbringing and that he’ll try to become accustomed to it eventually; Which he does but his response to your hugs is rather stiff and almost robotic but you were more then happy to take what you get, and if this is the most he can do right now then you’ll accept it.

However when he does start to get use to your hugs and doesn’t feel like he has to draw his sword every time, but he tends to melt into your touch like a stray cat being shown love for the first time. He closes his eyes and burrows his head into your neck as he tightened his grip on you, as though you’d vanish if he were to ever let up his hold.

He doesn’t want you to hug him in public, he’s not comfortable with it as he would when you’re hugging him in private, but he couldn’t fault you if you were to hug him after an highly emotional moment where you thought you’d loose him, Damian understands but he just prefers to have you hug him in private overall.

It also lessens the teasing potential for his brothers and he gets the alone time with you like he so wished for.

Tim

Finds comfort and reassurance in your hugs.

Seriously your hugs are what Tim needs after a long and arduous mission alongside his brothers and sisters.

He doesn’t even flinch at how out of the blue your hugs are, he just accepts your hugs no matter what and will sigh heavily as he practically falls asleep in your arms.

Please help this man get some proper sleep for once in his life, the detective stuff can wait, it’s not going to go anywhere anytime soon just please take a break.

He’s more then reciprocal of your hugs and appreciates the love you pour into them as they help ease the worries within his head as he rests his head against yours, allowing himself to slow down and appreciate what was in front of him.

Your hugs -despite their spontaneity- have a calming affect on him and they worked wonders for when he needs sleep as his mind tends to keep him up at night. So now with you it’s a bit more bearable as you would cradle his head to your chest, letting him focus in on your breathing and your heart until that’s all the last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep.

Jason

It takes Jason some time to get use to your spontaneous hug feasts. At first he flinches and almost shies away from your hugs as he doesn’t acquaint any physical contact as soft, or warm or comforting like you did. In fact he viewed it as the opposite.

So it takes time for Jason to become comfortable with your spontaneous hugs and once he stops flinching and shying away from them, he grows addicted to your hugs and awaits each and every time that you decided he looked like he needed a little hug or cuddle.

He -much like Damian- would melt into your hugs, tighten his grip on you and would find that everything fades away the moment he’s in your arms; His mind clears of all stress and all he can think about was how perfect each and every one of your hugs were every single time.

He also never wants to leave your embrace, ever, he just refuses and claims he needs five more minutes in your arms and would groan in annoyance if you were to attempt to pull away.

‘Stop moving away from me.’ He’d groan. ‘You wanted to hug me so hug me!’

You chuckle at him whenever he got like this but oblige to his wishes regardless as you didn’t have to heart to stop hugging Jason when he’s practically clinging onto you like a koala bear. So you just remain where you are until five minutes become a full day and you and Jason are shuffling towards the bedroom together to cuddle until you feel asleep.

Needles to say Jason grows to love your hugs however they come and when they come, for they help him get through the day.

Bruce

He’s not use to your hugs yet either and it takes him just as long-if not longer- as Jason to get use to them overtime.

His muscles would tense and that’s about it.

He’s use to being hugged by the likes of Jason and Damian and Dick when he got older but your hugs were different then theirs, and sooner or later Bruce had developed a sixth sense for whenever you’re going to hug him, and would smile to himself whenever he heard your footsteps and little giggles before bracing himself for you hug.

‘You heard me didn’t you.’ You’d always ask and without hesitation Bruce replied with in a playful manner; ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about my dear.’ Which only made you pout as you tightened your grip on him while burrowing your face into his broad back.

There would even be times where you’re about to hug him, but Bruce moves just in times as you were going to hug his waist and stares at you for a bit before opening his arms and letting you run into his chest. He doesn’t mind your hugs now and then when he’s not busy as he doesn’t like neglecting you for his work; So he tries to at least let you get all your hugs out while you could before he had to indulge in his work that takes up a huge amount of his time.

Like Damian he likes to have you hug him in private, he’s a well know public figure and Gotham isn’t exactly safe and so he prioritised your safety above all else. So while he’ll interlock his pinky with yours or have your arm locked in his in public, he’ll let you hang off of him as reward in private while he rests his hands over your own in means of keeping you there.

Alfred finds it sweet seeing Bruce be affectionate with you and probably has a picture where Bruce is embracing you fully, his head resting atop of yours while your face was smothered against his chest, your face bearing the widest smile possible in comparison to Bruce’s face of calm serenity.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 2

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

Warning: physical assault - reader gets slaped on the face

Series Masterlist

Your gaze reveals the precious truths

The beauty that you see within

The bravery that I once never possessed

Your love is strength

Your love is pure

Your love is everything

-Arthur Talbot

You set your quill back into the ink jar and lean back in your chair, letting the ink dry. It's well into the night. Your father and aunt now sound asleep in their respective bedrooms. You find that late nights like these are the best times to write. It's when the world is quiet and you can indulge in your guilty pleasure of writing poetry. You're sure that if your father were to ever find out about this, he'd cast you out.

So your secret remains. Some parts of you felt like you should at least tell Benedict, for he's your closest, and dearest friend. However, you thought best not to. If the ton were to find out, it would be the end of you and you could never be one to drag Benedict down with you.

You can never do that to the man you love.

____________________________

You're in the sitting room watching as stands at Benedict at his easel, Colin and Greggory play chess, and Daphne coos over Auggie. Benedict works on his still life as you sit close by.

He frowns, taking a step back from his painting, "This is wrong. It's-Something's missing."

You lean closer to get a glance at his work, "Benedict, it looks beautiful."

"Are you sure?" he asks with an unsure look on his face.

You stand up and take a better look at the canvas, "Don't you artists always say beauty is in the eye of the beholder?" you look at Benedict with a smirk and then back at the canvas, "What you may find as unattractive, Benedict, someone else might find alluring and lovely."

You pat his arm and then plop yourself back into the chair you previously occupied. You go back to your reading completely unaware that Benedict is looking at you with absolute love in his eyes.

He hears someone clear their throat and he looks away to see Anthony staring at him expectantly, "I'm sorry, brother. Did you say something?"

"We're all going for a promenade. I believe we've all been inside for long enough."

You stand up, "I shall take my leave then, Bridgertons."

"Or you can join us?" Benedict immediately asks with hopeful grin.

You softly shake your head, "I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense," Kate says as she enters the room, "We're always happy to have you, Y/N," she joins her husband's side.

"Well, I can't reject you, Viscountess Bridgerton," you give Kate a smile and Benedict is confused, "So you have no problem rejecting me?"

You laugh, "I'm only jesting, Benedict. I'd love to accompany you and your family for a promenade."

"Wonderful, let's get to it then," Anthony says, trying to gather his siblings together.

_________________________

You're following Benedict's younger siblings whilst said man was walking beside you. You're walking in silence, but it isn't awkward. Silence in Benedict's presence is never awkward, but rather comforting.

"I've realized something, Y/N."

"Yes?"

Benedict keeps his eyes on you as you two continue to follow his younger siblings, "You've always been very supportive of my artistic prospects, but I don't believe I've given the same curtesy to you and your poetic writings. I recall you enjoyed writing them when we were younger."

It warms your heart knowing that Benedict remembers of the times you'd write whilst he'd paint or draw. You let out long and deep sigh. Looking ahead, you reply, "Yes, well, I've given up those dreams, I'm afraid. You know how my father is about my indulgence with poetry. I have to be very careful. Even reading it and reciting it to the ton is risky. Luckily, my father is inebriated a majority of the time he's out and about."

"Well if you ever decide to return to writing poetry, you have my full support."

You nod, "Thank you, Ben. I really appreciate it."

"Y/N," you turn to your right to see Daphne now walking beside you, pushing Auggie in his pram.

"Yes, Your Grace?" you stop and answer her with a teasing smirk. You're older than Daphne by a few years, but just two years younger than Benedict. You've always seen Daphne as a younger sister, being that you are an only child. Occasionally the teasing will produce itself between you two.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?"

You can't help but laugh, "Of course, but I've been spending my entire day with you already. Won't you all get tired of me?"

"We'd never tire of you, Y/N," Benedict replies with earnest and it brings a warm smile to your place.

"Be that as it may, I believe the Viscount should have the final word?"

Anthony, Kate, and Violet catch up to you as you're all looking at Anthony. He looks at you all in confusion, "Something the matter?"

Daphne speaks up, "I invited Y/N to stay for dinner if that's alright, brother?"

He shoots you a grin, "Of course. Miss L/N is always welcome. You're practically family, yes?" he shoots Benedict a wink and you're not sure why.

"Well thank you for the invitation," you look down at your dress, "But perhaps, I should at least change. This dress isn't particularly dinner attire."

"What do you mean? You look beautiful as always," Benedict states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

The Bridgertons all give each other knowing looks. That's when the Dowager Viscountess speaks up, "Benedict, darling, Y/N is right. After the promenade, we should allow her to freshen up before dinner."

Kate removes herself from Anthony and loops arms with you, "Let us continue our promenade, Y/N."

"Of course!" you giggle with your friend as you continue on the trail.

Benedict moves to follow, but Anthony pats his brother on the shoulder, "You've spent hours with her, brother. Let her take a break from you clinging to her all the time."

Benedict looks at his older brother in offense, "I don't cling to her...do I?"

"A bit, darling," Violet says and Daphne nods in agreement.

He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, "I'm too obvious, aren't I?"

Daphne shakes her head, "No, I don't think so. If you were, she'd have said something, yes? Or maybe would have run for the hills?" she asks with a smirk to her elder brothers, before continuing to push Augie down the path.

_________________

When you arrive back home to change, you ask the housekeeper, Mrs. Burnett, if your aunt is home.

"No, Miss, she's gone to meet with Lady Danbury," the older woman replies.

You nod, "Thank you, Mrs. Burnett," you gather your dress and make your way to your room upstairs.

You freeze when you see the door ajar and you know for a fact you closed it before leaving earlier.

You slowly push the door open and your heart drops when you see your father surrounded by pages and pages of poems. Poems that are supposed to be written by a man.

You gulp and slowly approach him as he sits at your writing desk, "Papa?"

His eyes meet yours in a cold and intimidating stare, "Not only have you still been indulging in poetry, but you're writing it? Under a man's name?"

"What were you doing in my room?"

"THIS IS MY HOUSE! I CAN BE ANYWHERE I PLEASE!"

You take some cautionary steps towards him, "Papa, you've had too much to drink."

"No!" he abruptly stands at your desk, causing you to jump ack in surprise. His chest is heaving as he tightly grips pages of your work, "If anyone finds out about this-"

"They won't! I've hid this from everyone for months!"

"You need to marry," he says with definitive authority.

You look at him with a confused expression, "What do you mean?"

"I can't take your defiance any longer!"

"Defiance?"

Your father walks around your desk so it's no longer a wall between you and he. He points a warning finger at you, "If you don't find a husband within a month's time, I'm marrying you off to your cousin, Albert."

Your jaw drops, "Cousin Albert?! He's absolutely horrendous! He's a rake and a gambler-"

"And looking for a wife!" he exclaims as he cuts you off, "When you were younger, your Uncle Wallace tried to convince me to have you two promised to each other once you came out to society. I regret not taking the opportunity now seeing how you've grown up."

You clench your fists in anger, "Mama wouldn't stand for this! She-

THWACK!

Your words are stuck in your throat, your cheek stinging after your father slaps you. His eyes are red and wild as he spits out, "Mama is dead! She is not here anymore! This is my house! You are to find a husband in a month or you are to marry Albert. Be grateful I'm not sending you away right this moment."

You're holding your cheek now, trying to soothe the pain. Your heart hurts for yourself and your mama. You know she'd hate the man your papa has become.

Without another word, you're rushing out of your room and bounding down the stairs.

Your aunt had just arrived back and you rush past her without a glance. She follows you in concern, "Y/N? What happened?! What's wrong? Y/N!" she yells after you as you run down the street back towards the Bridgerton household.

[angies-writing-blog]

Taking matters into my own hands now. Just a snippet from my self-indulgent fanfic.

Currently experimenting with different descriptive styles (souls-like fight scenes, kisses, poetic smut?). (A bit rusty, but I'll get there.)

Wukong draws you closer, his grip tightening with an almost possessive intensity. Thereby, the smoky, earthy scent of his skin fills your senses: a mix of sweat, stirred dust, and something inexplicable… something that seems to rise from the depths of his ancient soul. As his breath caresses your cheek—warm, yet perilous, like the embers of a fire on the verge of erupting—you feel a shiver run down your spine. His grasp on your face becomes firmer, but it’s no longer a gesture of force. When his lips descend upon yours, it’s as if a spark has ignited a dry grassland—sudden and unstoppable. Once felt simmering beneath your skin, the heat bursts forth, flooding your senses, burning away every last inhibition that lingered within you. His kiss grows wild, almost demanding; a raw expression of the energy that blazes within him, yet beneath it lies a deep, unspoken longing. With equal intensity, you return his kiss, feeling the roughness of his skin, his coarse hair as it brushes against yours, and his hot breath as it mingles with your own. The world around you loses all significance, melting into an impenetrable veil of darkness, pierced only by the glow of his eyes and the fiery connection of your bodies entwined.

[flowerandblood]

The Temple of the War

[ Ares • Ettore x Aphrodite • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, hate sex, smut, angst, violence, domination, swearing, marital infidelity ]

[ description: Although she thought it would be a fleeting affair, her disturbing relationship with the god of war only deepens, condemning them both to any attempt to reach an agreement. However, her brother loses his patience, wanting to find out what his lover gave Paris in exchange for the apple that Hera and Athena also deeply desired. ]

This is part 2 of The Temple of the God but it can be read as a standalone story. 💕

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

She wasn't sure she had ever felt anything like she did then, that night, as his heavy, sweaty, muscular body lay on top of hers, his hot breath enveloping her cheek as the last waves of pleasure and heat surged through her.

She stroked his smooth buttocks with her hands feeling his hips rock softly in some natural, subconscious reflex, his half-soft manhood still throbbing deep inside her.

She heard him swallow hard and grunt before he rose up on his elbows, looking down at her with his lips slightly parted, sliding out of her slowly with a quiet click of her moisture, rising up on his knees, stepping off her bed as if nothing had happened, making her press her lips together, disappointed.

"Are you going to simply walk away?" She asked coldly, saw him stop in his half-step, glancing over his shoulder at her, some kind of shock in his eyes, as if she had surprised him.

"Hm?"

"Are you going to leave me like this?"

He looked at her dully, clearly not understanding what she meant, what he was supposed to do now, what more she expected of him.

She realised, sighing heavily with disapproval, that after his aggressive rapprochements with women he was simply leaving them, going back to his own affairs, thinking no more of them, not knowing the tenderness of embraces, of soft, dreamy kisses, of hands trailing over warm, soft, naked bodies, of peaceful, deep sleep after an intense closeness.

"What do you demand of me, sister?" He asked her impassively like a soldier asking his commander for an order; she raised herself up on her elbows, looking at him intensely.

"I do not demand. Do you desire that I should now, after you have warmed me, be left alone in a cold bed?" She asked regretfully. She saw him blink, his eyebrows raised, his gaze quickly traveling over her naked, bared flesh, his Adam's apple waved hard as he swallowed loudly.

"That is not my desire." He replied calmly, looking at her expectantly, his silhouette frozen in stillness like a marble statue, the same kind people placed to honour them in their temples.

She nodded, moving aside, looking at him expectantly. He hummed under his breath, his gaze softening a tad as he lay down beside her lazily, sighing quietly through his nose, watching her, his large hand in some simple, primitive gesture rising to her breast, squeezing it uncertainly. He lifted his gaze to her face, apparently wanting to see if he was causing her pain again as he had when he had first done it.

Something about how direct, how roughly honest he was captivated her; years of poetic chants under her windows, long, theatrical declarations of love that in the end turned out to be lies had tired her.

She thought, surprised, that perhaps such a change would do her some good.

Surprise flashed through his gaze as she moved closer to him, placing her hand on his, encouraging him not to stop, laying her body on her side facing him, looking straight into his face, for the first time so shamelessly, so closely.

His facial features were sharp, as if the sculptor had struck the stone with his chisel too brutally and without finesse, his mouth full, his eyes as dark as the night around her. He shuddered and swallowed hard, drawing in quiet breath as her hand rose tentatively to his cheek, closed his eyes as her fingertips brushed over his warm, soft skin.

She ran her hand like this over his exposed flesh, over his jaw, his neck, his collarbones, his shoulders, his chest, feeling him flinch as waves of heat surged through his body, the flick of her fingers leaving a trail of his goosebumps behind.

He opened his eyes as she suddenly took her hand away, placing it casually against her body, the fingers of his hand from her breasts slid down to her waist and from it to her buttocks, squeezing it, pushing her closer to him with a sure, soft movement, she felt his hard manhood on her stomach, ready again for him to possess her.

Though she wanted to protest, she let him take her for the second time that night, her folds slick from his seed and her moisture allowed him to slip easily into her hot interior, a low, animal grunt of satisfaction came from his throat as he threw her thigh against his waist, spreading her wide on his fat cock.

"I can do this all night, sister. You know I can." He exhaled with a hint of menace, from which her lips parted in a shy moan as her walls clenched around him tightly, making him gasp. He accelerated his pace, his free hand clenching in her hair, forcing her to look straight into his empty black eyes as he pounded aggressively into her again and again with loud splats of his thighs against her buttocks.

"This is what you want, isn't it? You despise these poets. Those weak, little boys. You don't believe them, because what's the truth in their pretty words? Hm? This is the truth, sister." He breathed out, and for some reason she clamped her hand on his broad chest and kissed him, heard his low groan of surprise, his tongue came out to meet her immediately, licking her encouragingly, teasing her with the very tip as she longed for him to slide it deep down her throat.

"− take care of me, brother −" She whispered in surprise as her voice trembled, as she felt tears under her eyelids, wishing for someone to protect her, for someone to watch over her, to be safe in someone's arms at last.

She felt him quiver all over, he gasped loudly as if he had waited his whole life for those very words, his hands clenched painfully tight on her hair and bare buttock, forcing her to fit him all the way in as deeply as he desired. Both of them moaned helplessly as they came out to meet their bodies, entwined together like vines, sweaty and hot with desire, his cock throbbing intensely inside her, betraying that he was close to fulfilment.

She thought in disbelief that he truly desired her all this time.

This rapprochement was more tender, more passionate than the first one, shamelessly close, her breasts pressed against his chest, their fingers digging into the naked skin of their bodies, their legs thrown over each other, making it so that if either of them wanted it, they couldn't break free.

"− beg −" He growled like a wild animal, panting right into her mouth, so she begged, again, again and again; she didn't even know when warm tears of relief and regret ran down her cheeks, his hot, accelerated breath enveloping her face, their kisses were an aggressive, wet dance of their tongues and lips, loud and slick.

After his last few desperate, deep, confident thrusts she was sure that all Olympus heard their groans of pleasure as they both finally reached their peak.

"− stay inside me −" She mumbled out, panting heavily along with him once the first waves of pleasure flowed through their bodies. She heard him hum under his breath; she knew he was grinning mischievously, his hand in a careless, lazy motion pressed her cheek against his chest, all wet from exertion.

"− sleep −"

Despite his command, she got no rest that night, and though she slept only for her own pleasure, unlike mortals do not need it every day, never before had anyone fucked her as many times in a row as he had, and as their brother, Helios, appeared in his chariot lighting up the sky, they both breathed heavily, his face snuggled into her bare, sweaty shoulder, one of his hands on her breast, the other on her womb.

"You will bear my children." He ordered, as if it was an obvious decision to which he was sure they were both agreed. She closed her eyes, sighing quietly, knowing that if he was going to leave this amount of his seed deep inside her frequently, for her to carry his legacy under her heart was only a matter of time.

She had no intention of denying him that.

To her surprise, he had visited her every night since that day, leaving his barracks late at night, returning there only at dawn.

He wanted her to satisfy him in every way possible.

She wasn't sure if he preferred to watch his fat cock thrust deep down her throat or between her thighs, she noticed, however, that as she caressed him with her tongue and her lips, licking and sucking him unhurriedly, sounds came from his throat that she hadn't heard before, higher and more helpless, as if the sight of her like this, with her mouth full of his swollen manhood, completely overwhelmed him.

"− f-fuck − faster −" He was panting then, clamping his fingers tighter on her soft hair, forcing her to quicken her pace, as impatient as always, wanting only to come down her throat as quickly as possible, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat again and again, making her gag.

Out of sheer mischief, she gave the tip of his length a few encouraging, teasing licks of her pink, fleshy tongue, feeling his body quiver then, his hot spend spilling deep down her throat with his loud curses and groans of pleasure.

She swallowed everything he gave her, feeling him watching her; he hissed quietly, tilting his head back, clamping his hand warningly on her hair as she began to suck him again, his manhood twitching vigorously between her lips and throbbing, oversensitive after his fulfilment. However, after a moment he gave in, allowing her to repeat the whole process, his gaze hazy, hot, his lips puffy with desire and emotion.

"− sister −" He whispered then, completely absorbed in his deepest thoughts in a way that sent shivers down her spine, betraying what he truly wanted.

She could rarely count on him reciprocating in a similar way, but when he did he was merciless, eating her like a starved man; his tongue forced its way aggressively inside her, pressing and licking the bud between her muscles from which she was shaken again and again by waves of pleasure, his nose pressed against her pearl, his fingers digging into the soft, smooth skin of her hips, not letting her escape even when she begged him to stop.

She could hear his mocking grunt then, his dark eyes shining suddenly with a dangerous gleam, one that sent a cold sweat running down her back, he swapped his lips for his cock then, all hard and swollen from listening to her moans.

Rumours of their affair spread quickly across Olympus. Hermes tried to lay a trap for them, jealous of her and the fact that she had never let him possess her, however, when her fierce lover caught him in the act he would have nearly killed him with brutal, swift blows of his fist, if only their brother wasn't immortal.

Though still silent, cold and distant, in his own way he responded to her request, protecting her the way he was capable of.

"What have you done?" He asked her one day, infuriated, startling her, opening the door to her chamber with a loud slam, bursting inside at noon in full armour, his jaw clenched, his nostrils quivering in anxious breath.

He was furious.

She swallowed hard, putting aside her embroidery, looking at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean, brother?"

"What did you give him for that fucking apple? Hm? What did you give him to satisfy your vanity? Did you suck his cock? Did you let him come deep inside you?" He hissed coldly, walking towards her like an enraged, ferocious animal with the loud clang of his gilded steel armour, ready to hit her, to hurt her, to pierce her with his sword, to destroy her in every way possible.

She rose from her seat, furrowing her brow.

"I gave him what he asked for. I give him Helen of Sparta."

She saw him stop, hesitation in his eyes, as if he was comparing her words with his knowledge. He swallowed loudly, his broad chest rising and falling quickly in accelerated, heavy breaths.

"How."

She turned her face towards the large windows of her chamber open to the view of the halves and rivers around Olympus and sighed loudly.

"He wished to possess her. I described to him her desires and her weaknesses. How he could make her content."

"This whore ran away with him. The Achaeans declared war on the Trojans." He growled low. She looked at him wrinkling her brows and snorted, shrugging her shoulders.

"The God of War does not rejoice that in the name of love blood will be shed again? I do not follow your desires, brother."

"Be silent, woman. Do not speak on my behalf." He grunted warningly, looking at her with a sharp, piercing gaze from which she felt a drop of cold sweat run down her bared back. She smirked involuntarily and laughed helplessly, shaking her head.

"It is you who speak on my behalf, boasting before your brothers and comrades that I believed your words and, out of feminine naivety, let you between my thighs. I gave you what you desired and you come and spit in my face, jealous that another man could reach for what you think is yours. No wonder our father didn't give you my hand."

She snarled, and he stared at her, the corner of his mouth raised slightly in a grimace that could be called a smile if not for his gaze, his eyes wide open, filled to the brim with fire and rage, his hands clenched into fists, his nostrils quivering with each of his deep breaths.

A silence filled with suffocating tension fell between them, the quiet singing of birds outside her chamber windows, the rustling of grass and leaves, the pleasant breeze around them, cool and crisp.

She knew he was going to do it, but still she was surprised that a few brisk steps from him were all it took for him to be in front of her, turning her violently with her back to him, clasping his hand in her hair.

She whined helplessly when her cheek hit the table top in front of her, and whimpered loudly when she heard his fingers tear the material of her thin robe at the height of her buttocks, the fat head of his cock pressed against her fleshy walls without any preparation, without any caress.

"Do you think I fucking brag about how much seed I left in your womb to my soldiers? I have killed hundreds of those who dared to dream aloud about you and your body with my own hands." He gasped through clenched teeth, imposing a violent, fast pace on her at once, thrusting furiously inside her with sure, deep stabs of his hips. She heard his low chuckle when all it took was for the thick tip of his cock to rub a few times against the spot inside her, for her quivering to begin to be accompanied by the loud clicks of her moisture.

"I know exactly what you're doing. You like to fucking tease me, don't you? You know the way I'll fuck you then, hm?" He growled, one of his hands pressing her head against the table, the other digging hard into the bare skin of her buttocks, pounding into her so fast and brutally that he didn't slide out.

She could tell that he was staring at the place where their bodies joined, at what he was doing to her, at how wide he was opening her on his fat, aching length.

"− yes −" She mewled, heard him sigh loudly as he fucked her relentlessly, sinking his short fingernails painfully hard into the delicate skin of her hip as if he was just waiting for this; they both began to moan low hearing how loudly their bodies slapped against each other again and again.

"− that's what I thought − fucking take it now −" He snarled mockingly; she felt his words do something to her, the sensation she was experiencing was on the verge of ecstasy from pain and pleasure.

She cried out loudly, mumbling something, probably his name and how pleasurable it was. She lost control of her body as her walls began to suddenly squeeze him, sucking him inside.

"− shut the fuck up − mghmm − s-sister − fuck −" He gasped and she heard him groan low, feeling her fulfilment, her moisture running down his thighs, his hot spend finally filling her womb with his loud sigh of relief.

He rocked his hips for a moment longer with a lewd, sticky slap of skin against skin, his grip eased and she sighed heavily, feeling immense relief, wonderful shivers ran through her body, something like a tickle throbbing at the tips of her fingertips, her lips and inside lower abdomen.

"− you should stop doing this − at least until you're carrying my child inside you − " He gasped; she could feel him looking at her, his manhood still pulsing deep inside her, his large hand slid lower, stroking her slightly rounded abdomen for a moment in a manner that could be described as tender.

"− I can't −" She mumbled out, ashamed at how pleasurable it was, how wonderful it felt to be out of control, that there was something she had no power over.

His element, his aggressiveness, his unpredictability attracted her, just as he was drawn to her understanding of his complex, violent nature.

He hummed under his breath and she closed her eyes as his free hand took the unruly curls of her hair from her face with a gentle flick of his wrist.

"− let this little boy fuck his Helen of Sparta − I'll support you in the coming war − I'll gladly spit in the face of Athena and your sweet husband −" He sneered, and she sighed in relief, pleased with his words, rising on her hands.

His strong arm embraced her at the waist, his free hand clamped down on her cheeks, turning her face in his direction, their lips pressed together in a greedy, sticky kiss. She heard his low, drawn-out murmur of satisfaction, his soft manhood still twiched deep inside her.

"− brother −" She whispered, his nose pressed against her hot cheek in a sudden, surprising surge of tenderness, his hand ran over her soft, smooth hair, only one more word left his lips.

"− undress −"

[always-andromeda]

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 2,685

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ A lull in your relationship with Javi leads to some revelations about both of your interests.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ so this was a new one for me. this piece is part of @iamasaddie's kinky writing challenge for May and my pairing was Javi G with impact play. I am happy to report that I enjoyed researching this more than I thought I would? I found some really interesting kink blogs that kind of walked me through safe practices and it started to paint the picture in my mind that would become this fanfic. big disclaimer: I've never practiced impact play in real life. my depiction of it comes primarily from the research I've done and what I know of my own personal preferences and I've tried my best to depict a healthy dynamic. so if I'm getting something wrong or I'm depicting anything in an unhealthy way, feel free to let me know!! divider credits go to @saradika-graphics!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ smut (minors, do not interact), impact play, oral (female receiving), aftercare, pet names (hermosa, baby), reader is given no physical description aside from being able bodied, allusions to past negative experiences with sex (nothing specific is described), a little bit of soft!dom/switch Javi, please let me know if any more are needed!

It’s not that you weren’t satisfied with Javi. The sex had almost always been fine. Hell, most times it was fantastic; better than anything you’d had before. There certainly wasn’t any love lost between you and him. You’d always adore him and the beautiful life you’d built with him by the sea in Mallorca. 

At first you thought it might have been the passing of time that spurred this particular…yearning. After all, don’t most couples go through these patches after a few years? But it quickly became apparent that this wasn’t a fleeting desire. Days passed and you kept going back to the same blog: Impact Play For Beginners.

The first time you’d stumbled across it, you hadn’t paid it much mind. You were looking for ways to spice things up with Javi. But it didn’t seem like him. As your eyes flitted over images of paddles, whips, and canes, all you could think of was how uncomfortable he’d most likely be. The idea of that turned you off, of course.

But you didn’t stay off for very long at all.

Perhaps it was the fact that he felt so safe that made the idea so enticing to begin with. You’d never been with anyone who approached sex as healthily as Javi did. He’d always been fervent with his desires. At the same time, he’d never made you feel like you had to do anything. There was always foreplay, regular check-ins, aftercare, and the ability to say no to whatever, whenever.

It was refreshing. Relieving. And that’s what made it so rough, thinking about possibly bringing something new into the equation. But, Javi had always been big on communication. You trusted that the same principles would apply here. So that’s why you brought it up.

Javi had been open but hesitant about it. At face value, this kink really wasn’t his style. He favored a softer approach. He couldn’t imagine laying a hand on you and causing any sort of harm. But in all honesty…the idea excited you.

The more you looked into it, the more you began to draw some hard lines in the sands of your mind. First and foremost, no toys. As exciting as a crop looked, you weren’t sure if you were prepared for that. At least not yet. For now, you were sticking with the advice of various kink blogs you’d scrolled through and starting off with hands only. Not only were those the instruments that piqued your interest in the first place, they also put you the most at ease. It felt poetic somehow; his usually gentle hands delivering both pleasure and pain this time.

Another aspect you started to delve into were on and off limit body parts. That was the moment Javi set a boundary of his own. “Nothing with your face. I’m not touching your gorgeous face, hermosa,” he’d said with the softest puppy dog eyes. And you didn’t argue. You weren’t feeling comfortable with that either. 

No, you’d start out in the safest zones possible, the places that would be least likely to get injured: your ass and thighs. 

Then came the scheduling. You both agreed on a weekend night just so there was an adequate amount of time for recovery before either of you had to worry about work.

You stand in front of the vanity mirror in your bedroom. Part of you feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff as you stare at the lingerie clad figure being reflected back at you. With the night that’s ahead of you, you figured it’d be safest to wear something you’re familiar with sans the bottoms for easier access. It’s a simple chemise that’s comfortable enough, yet it hugs your body in a way that you know both you and Javi enjoy. You try to focus on that thought as you think.

The most reassuring part is that you aren’t afraid. As much as you’d wanted this, you’d also wondered if you would be. Instead you’re all raw nerves. And the electricity thrumming from them only calms when Javi appears in the mirror behind you.

You watch his dark eyes trace over your body in the mirror. It’s a sight he’s seen probably hundreds of times at this point, yet he still looks like it’s the first time he’s laid eyes on you.

“You are so beautiful, hermosa,” Javi breathes out in genuine awe. “Gorgeous.”

Your cheeks warm at the dose of flattery.

Javi’s hands start at your shoulders and you relax into them. The heels of his palms knead the muscles that seem to be perpetually knotted up. You close your eyes and picture that taut tissue slowly and carefully unwinding itself. A small sigh escapes you. It sows hope within you knowing that he’s willing to step out of his comfort zone for this. But it also brings you comfort; he’ll always take care of you just like this. 

“Are we doing okay, so far?” Javi mumbles.

You stifle a small laugh and the urge to say, “We’ve barely started anything.”

Because you know this is new for him. You try to remember that you’re new at this too. Don’t go too far, too fast. Pace yourself, you say internally.

“We’re alright,” you finally assure him.

“Promise me you’ll use your safe word if you need to.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror. He eyes you with furrowed brows and his lips in a thin line. His hands still work at your shoulders; work you into the most soothing rhythm that makes you want to fall asleep. But the fire that fills your bones makes you feel more alive than ever.

You nod and then turn to face him. “I will. I promise.”

Your hands find his cheeks and cup them. In that moment you’re holding your entire world. And you’re trusting him to fulfill some of your most vulnerable fantasies.

Your lips meet his and it all starts to fall together. He’s warm and tastes vaguely of citrus. His hands land on the globes of your ass and he gives them a good squeeze. A moan slowly rises in his throat. If there was one thing you knew Javi was looking forward to, it was paying more attention to that part of you. Besides, there was no way you could miss the way he looked at the pictures on one of the kink blogs you’d scrolled through together. Shots of a woman’s back. Bright red marks in the shape of a hand on her ass. 

His eyes had been so wide, simply staring at them as you read through tips for beginners.

“You wouldn’t want marks like that…would you?” he’d asked then. 

The note of hopefulness in his voice was palpable. He’d never been good at concealing his emotions, especially around you.

“I don’t know…maybe,” you’d replied coyly before admitting, “I kind of like the idea of it. Of having that reminder of you.” As if everything else wasn’t enough. As if you needed to see the evidence of his love represented by blemishes on your skin. That was the thing about Javi though, his whole being was so infectious. You needed him to inhabit every part of your life. You needed to see his handprints on you like you needed to breathe.

Anticipation sends a shiver up your spine as you lay on your stomach along the foot of the bed you share with him. Propped up on your elbows, you arched your back in order to better present your ass to him.

He takes a moment to lean over your form. You already feel a bit of a bulge poke the back of your thighs. At least he’s starting to enjoy himself, you grin.

“Are you ready to begin?” Javi asks. You hum absently only to be met with a brief pause before he adds, “Words, hermosa. Words.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, voice raised louder this time. You don’t see his expression, but you can imagine the way it stutters based on the silence that follows.

Javi thankfully doesn’t leave you with too much time to second guess yourself before you hear his chuckle, “Very good job. I’m already so proud of you.”

He stands again and continues gentle ministrations on your upper thighs. Once again you feel as though you could simply fall asleep. And there’s something secure in feeling like you could. You’re safe. 

A pleasant flush builds on the surface of your skin. You can feel the blood coursing through your veins as Javi warns, “I’m going to give you the first strike. Then we’ll go from there, alright?”

“Alright. I’m ready,” you affirm. And you mean it.

A few seconds later, you feel a light slap on your ass. It’s almost playful. And it doesn’t satisfy the craving within. You start to squirm, hoping to suppress some of the restlessness brewing in your chest.

“Easy, hermosa. Good girls stay patient,” Javi says. You’re not quite used to hearing such language come from him. But it’s perfectly in line with his desire to care for you. It’s how you feel confident that you’re both on the same page. He doesn’t want you overwhelming yourself either. So despite the soft start, you don’t feel any disappointment.

You do what you’re told and stay patient. 

The slaps don’t startle you until one leaves a particular sting that awakens a heartbeat in your core. For the moment it lives, it means everything to you. The initial jolt, along with that expectant throb, subsides a little too quickly for your liking. You fist the silk sheets beneath you just to find purchase in something.

“Keep going like that,” you whisper breathlessly, wanting to chase that feeling to the ends of the Earth.

And Javi lets you. He slaps your ass once, twice, three more times and each one builds the heat that crackles along your flesh like thunderclaps. On the fourth slap you finally gasp a small, “Fuck.” You feel yourself clench around nothing. But Javi still groans as if he was inside you. 

“You like this, hm?” he growls.

“So fucking much,” you whimper.

Smack.

The impact is hard enough that it makes you jump. More importantly, you feel that throb once more. Your belly fills with butterflies as you start to realize that it’s fucking working for you. 

You try to imagine what you must look like from his point of view. Ass up, head bowed, gasping between blows. You bet that based on your position, from where he stands, he’s probably getting a peek at your cunt too. And if it looks anything like it feels, you’ve got to be glistening. You’ve got to have the most inviting look about you. And the fact that that vulnerability still doesn’t scare you…your head feels lost in the clouds.

You feel Javi’s fingers drag over the curve of your ass before they stop just short of your cunt. He says suddenly, “Fuck, I need you. I need to taste you. Please?” he begs. 

All you can manage is a whine along with a swift nod before rolling around on your back. Just as quickly, Javi is on his knees, dragging you down the bed by your ankles until he’s almost face to face with your cunt. You can feel just how swollen your lips are. And as he begins to lap at your slick, you know that you haven’t gotten this wet in a while. It fulfills something inside you that you hadn’t expected.

Your thighs and your ass burn, but it only adds to the pleasure gradually filling your belly. The pain and pleasure come together in a gorgeous harmony that has your hips rocking along against Javi’s mouth. His warm tongue fucks you as your clit rubs against his nose. It’s a classic position that’s only heightened with the knowledge that when you wake up in the morning, his handprints are going to be on your ass.

You’re shamelessly rutting against him now. Fingers knitted through his hair, you ride out the mounting pressure like you’ll die if you don’t. And Javi – being the pleaser he is – enjoys it. Between breaths, he groans, sending vibrations through you that seem to rattle your bones.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine.

“Mhm,” Javi hums desperately. “Go ahead, you can get there, hermosa. Just use me, please.”

Tears start to slip down the sides of your temples. Flashes of all the men you’ve been with before fill your head. You think of all the times you weren’t in control. All the times you felt you didn’t have a say in what was going to happen to your own body. And those memories only remind you that none of that is true anymore. Right here and right now, you’re with Javi. And he’s indulged in something you would’ve been too afraid to express to anyone else. All he wants is to please you. And that only makes your tears flow faster.

You’re going to combust. Javi Gutierrez is going to make you fucking explode and you don’t even care. You’ve gotten yours. As long as he too gets to feel the impact of his kindness, you’re satisfied.

Just like that, the bomb goes off and you’re on fire as pleasure rips through you. You’re in pieces. Legs wrapped around Javi’s upper half, heels digging into the muscles of his back, and hands keeping him held in place; keeping what’s left of you together in a shaky embrace.

It takes a few seconds for the shock to melt away. Somehow you catch your breath and finally remove your hands from Javi’s curls to wipe away your tears. If you weren’t tired before, you’re exhausted now. More than the physical satisfaction, you couldn’t have foreseen the emotional release. 

Your ass and your thighs don’t quite hurt anymore. It’s more of a soft ache; a rolling wave you ride on until it passes, leaving your head floating in a placid ocean of bliss. This naturally comes with some swirls of catharsis and sentimentality. They both buzz in your mind and you're only distantly aware of it when Javi gets up to wet a washcloth.

When he returns, he cleans you up the way he always does. Asking if he’s alright to touch you in various places and letting you know before he does so you’re not startled. You pay just enough attention to hum in agreement as he carefully parts your thighs to wipe up the remnants of slick and spit. 

Javi finishes the job a minute or two later, leaving once more to add the washcloth to the laundry basket in your closet. Then you feel the mattress dip as Javi lays beside you, looking spent without even taking off a shred of his own clothing.

You return to your own mind for a moment. Enough to turn, lay on your side, and send him a worried look. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby. Do you need me to take care of you?”

Javi laughs lightly, “No. It’s alright, hermosa. You don’t need to take care of anything for me.”

“Are you sure?”

A soft smile forms on his face. “You’re happy, right?”

You nod.

“Good. I’m happy too. We don’t need anything else.”

Javi tenderly places a hand on your lower back and pulls you a little closer towards his chest, his grin growing. “Besides, I can’t wait to see those marks in the morning.”

His expression is so contagious you can’t help but return it before placing a kiss on his nose. “Me neither,” you whisper. Within a few days those marks he most certainly left would start to take on a purple hue before fading into a yellowish undertone. The prospect of seeing that progression fills your stomach with butterflies once more. Surely you both prepared enough that they wouldn’t take long to heal. But that doesn’t bring you down in the slightest. Because as long as Javi is willing to, when those marks do go away, you and him get to make them all over again.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging; it's massively appreciated!!

[pomefioredove]

hiiii I would like to ask for headcanons for pomefiore when they discover that her s/o fem is actually an angel ~ but mc doesn't behave exactly like one, she is unruly, cheerful and doesn't like to follow orders even so she has this warm aura that radiates ksks I'm sorry if it's a complicated idea, that's all, thanks in advance

since this page is for gender neutral reader only, I'll be writing for that. I use you/yours pronouns so essentially nothing changes :) thank you!

I feel woefully unprepared to tackle the idea of what it means to be an angel, assuming this is the loose pop culture-y definition rather than a specific religious one, I hope I do alright?

summary: angel s/o type of post: headcanons characters: vil, rook, epel additional info: short, romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, established relationship

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

there are two clear, distinct sides to you:

the elegant, radiant, otherworldly one, that of which captured his attention in the first place

and the unruly one which doesn't care to listen to a thing he says

it was, perhaps, your potential that drew Vil to you. after all, he'd never met anyone with such a distinct... glow

...as in, an actual glow

he'd truly never come across such a powerful force of energy, and for a while, he was determined to mold it in his image

obviously, that didn't get him very far

if anything, finding out the truth made him feel a little bit better about his inability to tame you, so to speak

the reality of knowing he'd have to mold to fit you is a daunting one, though perhaps it's you who has a thing or two to teach him about beauty

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

he already knows

"what do you mean he already know?" he already knows

Rook isn't being poetic or figurative when he calls you his ange

from the very first moment he set eyes on you, he knew something was quite different

the sort of beauty you possess is one he's never encountered before, something not of this world

it's purely radiant, warm, captivating

of course he has to know more about it

over time, he finds himself enthralled by your personality, as well

it so starkly contrasts your elegant and gentle look, does it not?

you're unruly, upbeat, almost wild, in a sense, which only serves to draw him in further

a mystery he aims to solve

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

okay

so... maybe he's been a little oblivious

he could never quite seem to understand the strange looks and comments Vil and Rook kept making about his s/o, why they continued to stare as if you'd grown two heads

you're pretty, sure, anyone can see that!

it was that sense of grace and warmth that drew Epel closer in the first place

but were you really such a sight that his housewarden (and vice) felt the need to give each other odd looks every time you were in the room together?

it almost made him feel insecure, even though you'd chosen him

besides, Vil was always commenting on how you two were peas in a pod; completely resistant to authority, running wild like animals

so, the big reveal comes as a surprise to him

...but also a relief

and he's honestly pretty okay with it

might be a little intimidated at first, but... it's still you

[mrs-kodzuken]

Can I have a timeskip!Ushijima comfort fic? Like Ushi doesn't understand the concept of skinship like holding hands and hugs so he often shrugs off reader's attempts in skinships, which of course made reader feel sad ㅠㅠ

Thank you and have a nice day! <3

Understanding you ♡

Pairing: Aged up! Wakatoshi Ushijima x fem!reader

WC: 1.6k

Genre: slight angst to comfort/fluff

CW: fem!reader, inexperienced in relationships!Wakatoshi, slight angst from ushi :( , fluff and comfort all in the end :)) , maybe some self deprecation from reader, best friends with tendou, communication is always key

note: thank you for requesting this! I hope it’s up to your expectations, sugar!! <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Being the girlfriend of the Wakatoshi Ushijima was something I didn’t expect would hurt this much. As his girlfriend, I understood the importance of volleyball since it quite literally is his career path. However, being in a relationship is a whole other aspect to think about.

There never really was anything that really stood out to me about his wrongdoings. He always made it to every dinner plan, he didn’t forget the classic month to month anniversaries, he seemed like he was just a gift from heaven.

I knew it was too good to be true when I realized we, or I, was severely lacking in the physical department of our relationship.

Ushijima and I never really got closer within touching or skin-ship distance. That really sucked for me and hurt my feelings since he aced every other aspect of our relationship, no pun intended.

I wasn’t sure if he was just uncomfortable with touching me or if he had some kind of weird feeling about touching me. However, with physical touch being my number one priority of love language I wasn’t sure how to go about telling him my feelings.

Giving Wakatoshi free rein to plan out his schedule, except for date nights, was a must. He is a grown man and I’m not his mother, but I always felt bad when there was something important, like this, to be talked about.

I couldn’t help but to bite my lip as I stared at our private text messages. His contact name, ‘Ushi baby’ stared right back at me whilst I tried to work up the courage to send a text.

Deciding against it, I threw my phone onto my bed and sighed loudly. He was at practice and had a game tomorrow so I didn’t want to bother him or cloud his mind with meaningless things like what I need to talk about.

I couldn’t help to wallow in my own pity. The clock on my white painted walls doing nothing but making the sound of ticking throughout my room which eventually annoyed me enough to leave.

It was around the time for Ushi’s practice to be over and I really wanted him to come over, I just didn’t know how everything would go.

Whenever we had first started dating I got introduced, and interviewed, by Wakatoshi’s best friend, Tendou. And now, Tendou was one of my closest friends so I decided to call the Chocolatier himself for support.

After the phone had rang for three seconds it picked up, “Hello! Hello!” the familiar voice sounded throughout my kitchen.

“Hey Ten! I am in need of advice and company.” I admitted due to the facetime call revealing his apron on with some stains of colors on it.

“Oh really?” He asked, drawing out the ‘really’.

“Yes, really. I need to talk to Wakatoshi, I’m just not sure how. Any ideas?”

“That depends on what you’re going to talk to him about. Saying the wrong thing could make him easily misunderstand what you mean and vice versa.” Tendou tried to poetically explain, as if I didn’t already know that.

“Yeah, thank you so much,” I rolled my eyes, “I’m feeling a bit.. lonely in our relationship lately. I need more physical affection from him and I’m not sure how to really bring it up because times that’s happened before.”

That little spill from me made memories pop up into my head of Ushijima rejecting my attempts for physical love.

I could only remember how he shrugged himself away from holding my hand or kissing me after I brought him a well-balanced lunch meal one day during practice.

I never felt more embarrassed or ashamed in my life. My own boyfriend rejected my advances to give him, and to receive love from him in front of his entire team.

It wasn’t the only time that that had happened. I tried doing it behind closed doors just in case he didn’t like publicly displaying affection. However, that didn’t work either when he moved away from me one night after being out to dinner.

From that point on it’s just been messaging, very little facetime, some phone calls, and occasionally visiting each other’s apartment. I wasn’t sure how to proceed with this, and I certainly didn’t think it was anywhere near enough to breaking up.

However, that doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt my feelings nor have been continuing to hurt them. Whether on purpose or not.

With Ushijima being a member of the Schweiden Adlers, I knew some of his teammates and occasionally talked with them about how my boyfriend was doing time to time.

However, I couldn’t help to not reach out to them within the last couple of weeks. I didn’t have the courage to confidently ask about him.

Tendou’s voice brought me back to where I needed to be, which was having this conversation to communicate my needs across to him.

“And since knowing him for a while helps my understanding, I think a simple conversation would do the trick. Honestly, I’m not sure why you called if you knew that too?” He questioned me, eyes peering dangerously close to mine through the tiny phone screen.

I bit my lip, “It’s just… he has a game tomorrow. I don’t want to ruin that by spouting dumb nonsense about how I’m not feeling this or that from him.”

Growing up, I’ve always considered other peoples thoughts, opinions, feelings before mine. It was just the kind of person I was, and now it hurts me the most when I need to express myself.

“Girl. Fuck that game.” He rolled his eyes at me.

“Yes Wakatoshi loves his career and it’ll always be there but you’re something in his life that can disappear at any moment. I think he’d want to know,” Tendou tried reasoning with my dumb logic as he pointed a wooden spoon in my direction.

I gave up. I knew in the back of my mind that Tendou was definitely right and I wasn’t but it was my own self that was keeping me from doing what I needed to do.

“Alright, I think I’ll ask him to come over tonight then.” I tried to say confidently after I made up my mind of what needed to be done.

“Great! When I’m in Tokyo next I’ll be sure to bring a little something for you and him.” Tendou winked at me before ending the facetime call.

That only left me to do one thing, text my boyfriend. I quickly sent him a text asking if it would be okay for him to come over after practice.

My nerves were all over the place as I waited for the tall, olive haired man to show up at my place.

Soon the door bell brought me out of my mind trance and when I opened the door I saw the one and only Ushijima.

“Hey Toshi, come in,” I widened the door after taking a good look at him.

It seemed like he came here right out of practice, he was still in his whole practice uniform. His usual stoic face didn’t change once I sat down on to my living room couch.

“Is something the matter, (Y/n)?” He bluntly asked, getting straight to the point with me.

I took a deep breath to prepare myself, “Yes, Toshi. There is something the matter. My feelings are hurt and have been hurt for a while due to the lack of physical touch in our relationship.” I paused for a moment to look over his face.

He seemed to be intently listening on every word I was saying which gave me the impression to keep going.

“I just want more skin ship with you like hugging, kissing, hang holding, or even just sitting beside you with arms touching. I feel deprived of that because you seem to always move away when I try to initiate it. Is there a reason or..?” I trailed off, finishing what I was saying and asking a question to see his side.

“I’m sorry for making you feel that way, (Y/n). I don’t understand the idea of that. It makes you feel more loved than usual?” He asked, trying to work around in his head of what I had mentioned.

“Well, yes. Without it I feel upset or rejected by you sometimes.” I hung my head low a bit, it was embarrassing having to discuss this. However, I was always one to get embarrassed or ashamed at anything I needed.

“I will try, for you.” He promised, his large hand reaching over to me and placing it on my knee. He was very warm and it traveled through my body.

I smiled a bit, “Thank you, I really appreciate it. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

I scooted closer to him on the couch and he gave me his one million dollar small smile that I love. His arms wrapped around my shoulders whilst I hugged his torso. His lean but built, very built, body touched my soft one, I loved this feeling.

We stayed like that for a minute, nothing heard but the low volume of my living room TV and our breathing.

“Thank you, Toshi. I really appreciate that you’ll try for me.” I pulled away, already missing the hug but needing to say that to his face.

“Of course, love.” His hand came up to caress my face and I leaned into his touch.

The aching in my heart and body went away after discussing that with him. It was all just a bit miscommunication which was easily fixed after I expressed what I needed to.

I couldn’t be more content.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

a/n: I hope you enjoyed anon!! I’m terrible at writing for Ushijima but thank you for helping me extend the people I can write for :))

you all know my header rules, if not see pinned post!!

[saguette]

What do you think Johnny's art looked like before he was stripped of his powers? This is something that bugs me a lot, and I'm curious about what you think.

ok i needed to draw a few shitty pictures to demonstrate cuz i wanted to talk about more than just his previous art but his art journey in general IDC if there's some canon tweet that proves something i said wrong or out of timeline these are my headcanons and projections so you either like it or not.. anyways I think his style pre-pre-JTHM (lets say 15-18) depicted many things, He was good at realism and fluctuated just fine between stylized art and big hefty works with a lot of detail. His stylized works looking similar to Jhonens and the whole 2000's artstyle cuz its fitting.

Of course he's like, a late teenager around this time so its GOOD but not perfect. If you pulled up a few of his drawings from this time he would probably be embarrassed by all the disproportionate limbs and goth girls he sketched and thought were badass. He probably has old sketches of friends in his style regardless if they asked to be drawn or not since his art was something he was proud of and people around him made him feel proud of. His old art also feels like it'd have anime elements unintentionally to add to that amateur artist swag. Johnny doesn't like anime copies but stuff he rips inspo from was anime inspired so it rubbed off on his work too. Moving onto PRE-JTHM (18-20) Is when his art started to get more serious and complex. In his happy era he took to drawing lovecraftian horror sometimes but it was always the secondary focus of any drawing.

Moving out and growing up was around the time his mental state started to worsen and he started using art to cope with emotions rather than just use it for fun, drawing complex monsters was a subconscious way to depict underlying mental illness that's out of his hands. He cant depict what he doesn't know he has, he can only scribble things that feel someone close to him because there is no physical appearance to emotions. He never liked his art around this time because it always felt unfinished or wrong or like it just didn't interpret what he wanted right. Overtime his art lost coherent appearance, quality, and meaning which made it feel worthless. It wouldn't be all that bad but it reached a point not even he knew what it was trying to be and it was frustrating. How can your own art not make sense to you? Its weird to let your hands go and do their own and you not recognize what they're trying to say. Which leads to SHORTLY BEFORE JTHM-and later.. Johnnys NEW preferred method for art currently is a little abstract, it became two extremes of the same thing; nothing. his art lost alot of what it used to be so he says he cant draw anymore.

Johnnys lovecraftian horror art slowly engulfed itself over time and always becomes an abstract mess. Its purposely made to be incomprehensible by having too much, regardless if its creation is poetic, an outside view not being able to tell what it is or how much work went into it is on purpose. its metaphorical or whatever.. Johnnys fucked up or something.. Whereas Noodleboy i imagine was made by him drawing a stickfigure one day to see if he can still "draw" and overtime gave him his features like angry eyes and that big hair, creating his own sort of vent sona to replace the sketchy abstract art he used before. Noodleboys chaoticness is too sporadic to rip any meaning off of, he also purposely represents nothing. His existence uses up paper the same way, just without all the extra effort. SORRRYYYY long tangent thats probably super messy i just winged it. but i cant help myself ive thought about this for a while ik i didnt strictly answer the question but i had so much more to say

[autisticlalna]

🎶 stop the clocks, i'm killing time! i don't ever want this to end, and you say "that makes two of us"

⏯ NOW PLAYING: Stop the Clocks by Enter Shikari

for @mcyt-jukebox-bonanza, featuring Rubyco and VikingPilot from Twitch SMP!

ramblings under cut:

FINAL JUKEBOX!

i was talking to Viking about Enter Shikari (i'd gotten him to start listening to them via the PMV preview) and he mentioned this song in specific as one he's been listening to lately. and, like, i've mentioned before that Radiate is my favorite from this band, but Stop The Clocks was up there for a while. so... yeah! obviously i had to draw something.

this went through a LOT of revision. after my last jukebox i fell into an art slump and was struggling with ideas and what i felt capable of. i knew the main thing i wanted was to include TwitchCon SMP-- the entire thing is that they were only supposed to exist for three days. initially the middle panel was going to be another angle of the same scene, with Viking and Ruby looking out over the beet fields in the sunset, but i didn't feel like i'd have the time or energy for a detailed background.

after that idea got scrapped, i had the idea to lean into the contrast of where they started vs where they are now. this is the version i showed Viking:

..with the middle panel being a redraw of the first thing i drew for Twitch SMP, of Viking dangling Ruby over the cliff. when i started looping the song to start lining and coloring, though, it didn't really match the tone of the song so i scrapped it again, shuffled element positions, and returned to the first idea but with it being TSMP Viking and Ruby instead. still ended up being a bit of a redraw, but this time it's of the scene where Viking talks about his dreams and how they need to embrace whatever's happening to both of them.

and yet despite all of that, the parts i like best are the tiny panels of TCSMP Ruby and Viking. i like the rim lighting, i like the expressions, i like the palette i used for the background. it's just so nice. i wanted to capture a bittersweet fondness, because neither of them expected to continue past this. yknow?

while i'm here, i wanna talk a little bit about tcViking:

he has tViking's palette (hence his goggles being brown instead of black), and he has the scar next to his eye that i draw tViking with. the other scars he got after being lost in time, but i figured having some kind of identifying characteristic would help with Ruby seeing him as her Viking, and then that coming into doubt as she saw how different he was physically and mentally.

this was really fun to do <3 it feels poetic that my first and last pieces are tRuby-- TSMP got me through what otherwise would've been a rough start to the year, and Rubyco especially has been incredibly cool and making me feel more confident and comfortable with being very vocally active in fandom again :,)

back to work on the PMV!

[comicaurora]

Have you seen the new Superman show on adult swim? Himbo Clark Kent rights

It's off to an extremely encouraging start! Thoughts under the cut!

I like how they portray Clark's super-strength and how comfortable he is flying and using super-speed. They really feel like innate characteristics of his body rather than powers he switches on and off - things he keeps toned down when people are watching, but things that are always present regardless. The number of times I've pulled a push door or shoved something that was stuck and thought "if I had super-strength I wouldn't get a Take Two on this because my hand would've gone straight through that" is clearly something the showrunners have also thought about. This Clark lives in a world of cardboard and physically cannot stop himself from putting his hand through it at least once a day.

There's a physicality to the way Clark takes hits that really communicates how little he feels them most of the time. Eyes open, mouth closed, immediately getting back into the fight after getting punched into a crater. This is stuff I also think about when I draw supernaturally tough characters in combat situations, and it's cool to see someone else doing it - especially since one of my very few complaints about the older DCAU is that Superman always took every hit like it was a fully incapacitating blow, which Worf'd him pretty constantly.

I also like that we have so far never seen Clark angry. We've seen him scared, flustered, disappointed - but not angry. Even in fights where he's taking serious hits, he's only motivated by wanting to protect and save people, even his opponents - he so far has never been motivated by a desire to destroy. That feels like very good writing for Superman.

It's currently a little unclear how exactly his powerset is scaling - it looks like the blue-eye-glow-and-suit-emblem thing is a legitimate powerup that lets him hit harder and recover faster than his normal baseline, but how exactly that works isn't clear yet - although that is very obviously going to be a plot point later, since they keep giving him little flashes of the story of Krypton's destruction and what shenanigans they were getting up to when it exploded.

On that note, Kryptonian tech has never looked or felt so otherworldly. I love the distorted electronic backward-voice choir they use exclusively for when Clark is on the ship. I love that hologram Jor-El can't speak English, but can clearly understand Clark - also this is the coolest Jor-El has ever looked. Some comics wax poetic about how Clark is an alien space god who only pretends to be human, but I like how this show is firmly putting Clark on the side of the audience with regards to how unsettling the "alien space god" vibes truly are. He can't understand the nature of the ship or the words of its holographic inhabitant, he's not really interested in what it means or where it came from - he just wants to know who he is, or rather who Superman should be. And I like that he concludes that Superman should be him - the heroics he was already doing, except this time on purpose. Superman should not be this spooky glowing alien god thing, even if that's the vibe we get from Krypton itself.

I like that the ship gave Superman his modern no-underpants-on-the-outside suit and Ma Kent was like "we can do better than that" and added the underpants back on.

I also like how much setup there is for future plot stuff that a DC-familiar audience can see coming. Clark hasn't used any of his vision-based powers yet, and it's possible he doesn't know they exist. No sign of Lex Luthor or Kryptonite yet, two problems we know will become more severe with time. We've already got Amanda Waller being stoically nefarious in the background. Young Hot Deathstroke is a hell of a design choice and I am Here For It.

I also appreciate how many little referential jokes are packed into the dialogue, ranging from the obvious "it's a bird it's a plane" to some hella deep pulls like Jimmy Olson's youtube channel.

And fundamentally I love how this show starts from the jump with the thesis that friendly, humble, Normal Man Clark is the real person, and Superman is the job that Clark Kent does. The title of the show is "My Adventures With Superman." The POV character is Clark. He is the "my" in that title. This is Clark's story about Superman.

I really, really hope Batman eventually shows up, because this Superman would make that hilarious.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

All My Dreaming, It's Only Given a Name

Inspired by the Hozier song "To Someone in a Warmer Climate"... I'm fucking obsessed with it. I can't stop listening to it. If you haven't heard it, you simply MUST.

Harry woke up slowly, the room was still dark, his body warm and so content he couldn't be bothered by the ways his muscles twinged with the need to shift.

There was a comforting weight around his shoulders, a hand in his hair, anchoring him to the warm presence beneath him. A second hand had slipped under his shirt, hot palm cupping his side.

Godric, he never wanted to move again.

"Hi," murmured softly against his temple, lips brushing over his forehead in a lazy approximation of a kiss.

His heart swelled and burst, pressing against his ribs, pushing his lungs until he couldn't breathe with it; this easy, gentle affection. A love so full, so gentle that it felt like the tide washing over him and pulling him along. Words seemed to great a feat, so he just pressed his nose into Draco's collarbone, hoped it was enough.

"Hello, darling," whispered soft and sweet into Harry's hair as Draco's fingers carded through the curls there, his other hand drawing Harry even closer, lightly squeezing his side. "It's so early, love."

A low whine escaped Harry's throat, his body pressing closer, stretching out against Draco's until their bodies were aligned.

"That's it," he murmured encouragingly, holding Harry like he was something precious. "Come closer," he added, "close as you like."

"I'd like to crawl inside of your skin," Harry mumbled, then realized how odd that must sound.

Draco just chuckled softly, "I do understand that impulse," he said. "It doesn't ever feel like I can get close enough to you either."

He sighed, let the short-lived worry of being misunderstood fall away. "I used to dream about this, you know?"

"Did you?" he asked, voice warm like honey; indulgent, like he wanted to hear whatever Harry wanted to say no matter how ridiculous it might be.

He shook his head, "Not exactly," he said softly, turning to prop his chin on Draco's chest.

The other man shifted a bit so that he could look down at Harry, chin scrunching up in a way that should be unattractive but that Harry found impossibly endearing.

"My dreams are paltry in comparison to the reality of you," he murmured like a confession.

"Poetic," Draco replied, lips tilting up at the corners to soften his words, to tell Harry he was teasing, that he was feeling shy about being praised.

He hummed, "My whole life," he whispered, "There's this," he broke off, searching for the right word, "ache," he said, tapping his fingers against Draco's breastbone. He shook his head, "There's always been this yearning to be loved, to be held, to be cared for without the expectation of what I'll be able to give."

"Darling," Draco whispered, and Harry could hear the ache reflected in his voice. It was like this sometimes, like Draco took whatever was hurting Harry and held it in his own body, reflecting it back at him with an empathy and tenderness that left Harry elated and terrified all at once.

"But then there was you," he continued. "And all of my dreaming, it seems like a shadow compared to the reality of being loved by you. All of my longing, my yearning; the restless pursuit of something I never thought I could actually have-" he broke off, eyes stinging.

Draco's thumb brushed away a tear and lightly traced his cheekbone.

"I found all of the things I'd dreamt of in you," he managed. "And more," he added. "This is the fulfillment of everything I've ever wanted; a simple, cozy love. A shared bed, a shared home. Dinner together and evenings on the sofa, weekends attached at the hip. Someone to hold me gently, to kiss me tenderly. Someone who will let me hold them and love them with my love that's too big and never sufficient all at once."

"Darling," Draco murmured again. "You're not too much and you are enough," he assured. "I don't need anything more."

Harry nodded, snuggled back under Draco's arm, resting his head on his shoulder once more. "You make everything better."

"I love you," Draco breathed in that way of his, wondering and helpless, like the way he loved Harry was something that he found immense pleasure in. Godric, Harry loved it when he said it like that. "I love you so much," he repeated. "You make everything better too, darling."

"I love you too," Harry said softly, the simplest thing he knew. The truest thing he knew.

"Do you want to sleep a little more?" Draco asked through a yawn of his own.

He shrugged a shoulder, "Maybe," he said, "I do want to stay like this, even if I can't sleep any more."

"Alright," he agreed, dropping a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "Do you mind if I go back to sleep for a while?"

"Of course not," he said, squeezing Draco's ribs and kissing his collarbone.

Draco hummed, squeezed Harry a little tighter. "You're alright?"

Harry nodded, "Better than," he replied truthfully.

"Kay," Draco whispered, then as though sleeping was as easy for him as breathing, he dropped back off to sleep.

He lay there, listening to his beloved breathe, and couldn't fathom how his life had turned out sweeter than his very best dreams.

--------------------

(Read more of my fics, if you'd like)

[diejager]

Nostalgia cw: smut, angst, tell me if I missed any. From Bittersweet Devotion.

“Oh, chica,” he whispered, biting back a moan that gripped his throat. “You look so pretty.”

He wore his heart on his sleeve, his love on his lips and his adoration in the warm, brown hues. Miguel was expressive, every smile, every glance and every touch from him exhumed love and devotion, like you hung the moon and stars. You couldn���t help but be addicted to him; you couldn’t help but give back how much he gave.

Miguel used to sing you poetic confessions, promising you a world of devotion. His fingers drawing stars on your skin, painting into the sky your love until they died, stars would live as long as it could. Even as small as it was, it could grow and grow, swelling with warmth until it reached the peak of it’s life.

For every soft thrust he made, you gave him a passionate, worshipping kiss; for every devoted kiss he chased, you gave him a poetic song, affectionate words and breathy moans; and for every promise of eternity he uttered, you returned them tenfold, giving him your infinity, you heart and your soul.

Had he lied then? When he promised you his infinity, his heart and his soul. Were the stars he strung up an illusion to appease your eyes? Were you something he kissed, touched and loved to replace what he lost? Then why were his cold eyes soft and loving, his touch so eloquently expressive like the way he spun his webs, his love so warm that it threatened to burn you at the seams?

“Only for you, Miguel,” you cried, finger digging into his chiseled back, drawing irritated lines on his beautiful, caramel skin.

You gave yourself to him too, your heart, your mind and your soul. We’re they not enough?

You felt so full, your cunt filled to the brim with him, his cock driving into you with passionate determination, coaxing orgasm after orgasm. With the roll of his hips, his strong thighs and narrow hips, he buried his throbbing shaft deeper by the second, his leaky head kissing the entrance of your womb; with his wandering hands, he drew up his gentleness over your skin, calloused fingers cradling your jaw and down your neck, pressing down on the sensitive nerves of your perky and swollen nipples before trailing down your navel to rub firm circles on your pulsing clit; and with the wet traces of his lips, nipping and sucking the warm skin of your throat with bruising marks, drawing your lips to his, he pulled outbursts of pleasure and words of devotions from you.

They weren’t that dissimilar to each other, they placed kisses on the same spot, drawing out loud moans and tearful whines from you. Every old bruise was covered by a new one, in the form of his teeth, in the form of his lips or in the form of his fingers. He had places he preferred, where he liked to sink his teeth into you and dig his talons into you. He was possessive to a fault, wanting to paint you black and blue with bruises from the simple act of letting someone touch you. He drove his cock downward, loving the control he had when you were bent over, face down and ass up, for him to mount and ravage. It was beautiful, feral in every aspect of a beast, but it was solely Miguel. He made you whimper and sob in the best ways, to submit yourself and let someone take care of you instead.

I love you, Miguel. You cried the words over and over to him. Once on his lips, a second time on his cheek, a third on his bulging adam’s apple, and a fourth at the edge of your high, falling from the climax he brought you.

I love you, Miggy. Those were the same words you told him as he sunk his fangs into the soft flesh of your shoulder. He wouldn’t say it back, but the tremble in his body and the little tears in his eyes were all you needed. Those crimson eyes that you loved so much softened in the face of your devotion, of your promise.

“I love you, chica.”

Taglist: @yas-v @elliewilliamsbae @rinieloliver

[splendsay]

COD FF // Callsign: Sunshine // Ch. 39: New Threads

hi happy saturday here's a new one wheeeeee

..................................................................

Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 39: New Threads

Rating: 18+ !!MDNI!! Chapters: 39/? WC: 102,804 Pairing(s): TF141 x F!Reader (You) Chapter Warnings: Explicit language Chapter Excerpt (🚨spoilers!!🚨):

Either Cap is sleeping with the light on or he's still awake. You've been standing outside his room for a few minutes. Debating whether or not to disturb him. You've never been to his room before. Never even been close to it -- his room is actually one of the suites at the furthest end of the hall, past all the others. For some reason, that realization had made you feel a little sad. You resolve to visit him more often, unsure if the others ever make a point to. 

You're not entirely sure why the thought of Cap up here by himself all the time suddenly occupies so much of your brain space. Maybe it's the conversation you'd had with him...oh. That morning. God. It'd only been that morning. 

It felt like forever and minutes ago all at once. 

The hall is quiet. And dark -- none of the sconces are lit. Everything feels...still. All you can hear is the constant, pervasive whine in your eardrums. It's as unsettling as it is aggravating, and you've got to make a concerted effort not to grind your teeth together in annoyance. You absently massage the hinges of your jaw as you stare at the crystal knob of Cap's bedroom door.

He's been up here for...hours. Alone. After everything, it...it just doesn't sit right. Still, the others hadn't seemed all that worried. Maybe he wants to be alone. You waffle back and forth in the dark.

The errant image of the Captain's face just before he'd pulled the trigger finally draws one hand up to knock faintly, the sound somehow louder than you intend amidst the muffled silence of the hallway.

"Cap?" 

You hear some shuffling. Papers, you think. Feet. You hear him clear his throat. "Come in," he says, his voice gruff. 

You turn the handle and push, the dim light of his room temporarily illuminating the hallway as you open and close the door behind you. You lightly press your back against it and take in the room before you: tidy and sparse. Like a hotel room waiting for its next guest. White carpet, white curtains, white bed linens. The only tell that someone lives here is the man himself, seated at his desk, his head in his hands. There's a small oil lamp lit by his bedside. Another a few inches from his elbow. They cast an eerie glow over the barren space. Highlighting what it lacks. 

You approach him with featherlight steps. You're still barefoot. It's not entirely logical, but you hadn't really felt like putting shoes on when you'd changed. You realized outside that, even in the cold, it was nice to feel something tactile beneath your feet. Grounding. In a weird, poetic way, it made you feel more connected to -- things. More at home in your body. More human. As a result, though, the carpet tickles your bare soles as you move, forcing you up on your tiptoes. 

He looks...small. Vulnerable. He's only in a tee shirt and boxer shorts. 

"Captain?"

He releases his face to look up at you, wan and exhausted. He forces a smile, wiggling his mustache. "What can I do for you, Sunshine?"

"Oh...nothing, I just...I wanted to see how you were."

He blinks, his expression carefully blank. And then promptly stands, crossing the room to his dresser, turning his back to you and avoiding your gaze. "I'm fine." He opens it, its doors creaking, and begins to rummage around for something. Pants -- he picks out a pair of them and pulls them on. 

You follow him tentatively. Soft steps. Tiptoes. His demeanor is icy. Not the Cap you're familiar with. But you still recognize what he's doing. He's closing himself off from you. Throwing up a wall. You scramble to hop over it before the jump is out of your reach.

"Sorry, I just...I thought you, um..."

"Whatever you thought -- unthink it. I'm fine."

You pause, taken aback. The brusqueness, abruptness. Your blood simmers a little as you fight the urge to snap back at him.

"But you--"

"I'm fine."

"Cap--"

He snaps the button of his pants and sighs. "Leave it alone, Sunny."

You bristle again -- the dismissal is chafing you more than it really should. But still, you push. Your fists clench at your sides and you take a step toward him. "It's just, you came up here by y--"

"Please. Just drop it."

It's the way his voice cracks that does it. You stop. What you'd initially read as outright rejection now comes through more clearly as...sorrow. Desperation. Maybe some fear. You sag against his bed, inviting yourself to sit. 

"Okay," you placate softly, trying to search his face. He still won't look at you. "Okay..."

He walks to you slowly, his head hung. Sinks down by your side. His scent drifts to you, mint and tobacco. Involuntarily, you lean into him. You lean so far that your head finds a spot to rest on his shoulder. He goes very still. You almost pull away, another apology on your tongue, but then he settles his cheek against you. 

You relax a little. It's a start -- this quiet...whatever it is. It's a good sign. You think.

Comfort is...hard to give. For you, anyway. Maybe it's easier for other people. But you always struggle. You're clumsy and awkward and bullish, which, to be fair, seems to be your way around most things, not just this.

But...for your friends, you'll always try anyway. Even if they deserve better. Even if all you can offer is the attempt itself. 

"I'm sorry," you eventually whisper. "That you had to be the one...," you trail off. Still unwilling to voice the truth aloud. Unsure if you can. Wary of how he might react to hearing it. 

"It had to be done," he croaks. 

Your eyes shutter closed. "Still...I should've...it should've been me."

His hand slides off his lap to grip your thigh -- close to your knee. Intimate, but...chaste. You stare at it, somewhat surprised. 

"Everything happened the way it was supposed to," he says. "Don't...don't worry about me, alright?"

"I will, anyway."

He lets out a dry snort. "Stubborn."

You give him a playful shove with your side and fall back into silence. Your brain is gnawing on his dismissal. His fight to hide from you.

You get it, to a certain degree, especially in this line of work. Endurance is a critical skill. Pain tolerance. Physical and mental fortitude.

But...for some things...sometimes...it's easier to endure what grieves you while someone is there to hold your hand. 

You should let it rest. Let him rest. But...he said it himself, didn't he? You're stubborn.

"He was a good man," you venture gently.

Cap nods, his beard tangling in your hair. "He was."

"Did you know him a long time?"

"As long as I've known Kate."

"How...how long is that?"

He blows out a breath. "Ah, I dunno. Fifteen years, at least."

"That's...that's awhile."

"Aye."

"He...was your friend?"

"He was."

Silence. You're silent at that. What is there to say? 

Your heart must be made of stone by now, broken and reforged as it has been, over and over. Coated in calluses and scars and craters. A freshly mined gemstone, rough still coating its edges. 

You'd let the Captain shoot his friend. His friend of fifteen years, you'd let him do it. You'd seen the look in his eyes and hadn't intervened. Had hardly even tried. The gemstone splits down the middle, but it isn't a glittering ruby inside. No. Black tar spills out.

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#10: The Grand Introduction (S3E06)

✨Top 10! ✨From here on out, we’re in truly iconic territory when it comes to the Richonne scenes on this list. And, of course, this absolutely unforgettable s3 moment right here is as iconic as they come. 🤩 I adore that this is where it all began. Where Richonne really was born. This is one of the most significant Richonne moments because it's the very first one. And what a special first one it was. It's only fitting for Rick and Michonne's epic love story to begin with such an epic introduction...

I'll always appreciate that this is one of the most heightened and important meetings of two characters in the whole TWD series. And it’s fitting because it establishes right from the jump that Rick and Michonne would become very very important to each other.

It’s so sweet that in such a precious familial moment between Rick, Carl, and Judith that’s the exact moment when the matriarch of the Grimes family arrives.

And I always love how, despite several people around, it’s Rick who spots Michonne from super far away and walks over on his own.

It feels like the universe’s own, "It’s for you" moment. 😌

As Michonne walks up to the fence, resiliently finding the prison and making it there despite being injured, I love that it’s Rick who walks toward her as though summoned by Cupid himself, cuz it shows those magnets started kicking in immediately.

And then I adore that there’s almost this unspoken passionate energy behind this scene as Rick and Michonne lock eyes for the first time and stare at each other from across the fence.

But it's so much more than a meet cute. It's utterly grand. This is the moment that kicked off the love story to top all love stories so of course it’s uniquely special. #historic

Having watched separate stories from Rick dealing with hardship at the prison and Michonne dealing with issues at Woodbury,  I love that this is the moment their stories finally join.

They finally get a major win because they found each other. Rick and Michonne's lives collide here and then only become more and more one.

I love that Michonne is here holding formula for Judith, the baby who will become her daughter. I've written before that I feel like part of what might have helped spur her to go to the prison is knowing there was a baby in there that needed that formula.

And it's great how from the literal moment she arrives Michonne is already being majorly helpful to Rick. She's brought his baby the sustenance she needs to live and then later has intel about Glenn and Maggie's whereabouts.

And I like that she stays fearlessly standing in between the walkers as they make eye contact through the fence. It lets Rick know this woman is special and brave. I've always felt the visual is a beautiful illustration of the living being found among the dead & love being found among loss. 

Rick had been having an episode of understandably losing it prior and was finally able to emerge from the darkness for a moment and hold Judith. And it's just precious to think that Rick first holds his daughter on the same day and in the same moment that he meets his wife and Judith’s mom.

It's poetic also when you know that Michonne and Judith are the two ladies he will later go on to declare as his ultimate choice, even after years apart from them. Warms my heart to no end. 😭

The way he walks over, the way Rick and Michonne seem to be taking each other in like “this is different.” You can’t tell me after these stare-downs that these two weren’t going to love each other eventually.

The innate draw and attraction were instant, and I love that we got to witness this love story from the literal first moment Rick and Michonne so passionately laid eyes on each other. 

This is the final beat of the episode cuz the end beat of an episode typically emphasizes something important that launches the story forward. And this introduction between Rick and Michonne would do just that, not only for the following episode but for the rest of the series. It changed the whole game. 💯

This scene is a powerful meeting between two tethered strangers destined to be tethered soulmates. And it's an extremely meaningful meeting as well because, from this point on, Rick and Michonne's journey to falling in love and building a whole life together would begin. Just life-changing in every way.

And I’ll add 3.07 to this too, because that’s when we get more of their interaction after their deep stares. I love that Michonne's future son and bestie Carl is the first one to ask about helping her and that he and Rick save her. It's like the first unofficial Grimes Family 2.0 moment. 🥰

Michonne even gets to demonstrate her resilient ability as she fights off those walkers before the pain from her gun wound takes over. And I bet Rick had to somewhat recognize the fight in her as the same fight in him. 

Then, after a quite thorough inspection to see if she's been bit, Rick easily carries Michonne over his shoulder to bring her into the prison, which...

It's giving a little romantic to me idk. 😋 And it just hit me that Rick picks up his daughter and his wife for the first time that day.

Inside the prison, they get her water and all that, and Rick introduces himself and asks her for her name, but Michonne won’t tell him. Understandably, cuz Sis had been through it at Woodbury with their crazy leader.

And y’all, I love this whole exchange, especially in retrospect, because it shows there was a fire between Rick and Michonne from the word go. 🔥

Rick and Michonne's whole first time in front of each other feels electric and passionate. Like even just from their movement alone in this scene, there's something magnetic.

I love that we’re witnessing two fierce fighters who have truly met their match. We're also witnessing the first of many times Rick and Michonne get publicly wrapped up in their Richonne bubble. 😌

It's interesting that the first thing Michonne ever says to Rick is, "I didn’t ask for your help." Because you'd think the first line was gonna be...

But fr, it ends up being pretty ironic that that's the first thing Michonne says to Rick because they both will help each other so much that it completely changes their lives for the better. And Rick tells her, "Can’t let you leave," which will also remain true forever. 😋 Cuz Michonne's never leaving that man's heart.

(Side note: Also, I realized there's significance in Rick saying "can't let you leave" because it's another thing that lets Michonne know Rick is different and better than the Governor. Where the Governor tried to act like people could come and go from Woodbury when they really couldn't, Rick is just honest and straightforward with it by saying they can't let her leave until they assess the situation, which is almost more reassuring for her to see him being upfront about it.)

So while I'm not in the camp of thinking they were in love at first sight, I do think Rick and Michonne were intrinsically drawn to each other at first sight and there was something special between them right there at that fence that would soon bloom into love. And if the current Rick were asked about this initial meeting with Michonne, I low-key feel he'd be like...

With their iconic grand introduction, Rick and Michonne truly changed each other's lives and ours. (oh and also the entrancement started from the jump too.⬇)

And while Rick and Michonne aren’t overly trusting of one another yet, I appreciate Rick’s willingness to help her out, offering to tend to her wound and all that.

As a screenwriter, I have this belief that when a story is right it almost wants to tell itself, as it organically flows in a certain direction. And then that's when as a writer you follow the story's lead and help sculpt that natural direction. So while the TWD writers didn't know for certain that Rick and Michonne would be a romantic pair in their first two episodes together...the story knew.

The way their introduction plays out in this personal yet grand sweeping way, with the two locking eyes and looking at each other not just with desperation or skepticism but with this underlying passionate intrigue as though the person they're looking at is both fascinating and familiar - Richonne's romance really was written in the stars right here, even before it was more intentionally planted in Clear.

It's a love story that was longing to be told. And I'll forever celebrate that Scott, Andy, and Danai listened to what the story was so clearly saying, and then sculpted the best love story I've ever seen.

Their whole meeting is just an introduction to remember and everything about Richonne's first moments together shouts...

Watching it back is even sweeter when you have the knowledge that on the other side of that fence, Rick and Michonne are looking at their soulmate, the person they will raise children with, have a child together, the person they will fall head over heels in love with.

Their lives joined forever on this day, and these two wouldn’t be the same without each other, so thank goodness for this unforgettable moment bringing Rick and Michonne iconically together. 😌🙌🏾

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter One

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

A/N: I want to dedicate this fic to all my beautiful friends who have loved and supported me through what could only be described as a difficult time. Their belief in me as a person, who tries to be good even though I'm prone to making hellish mistakes, has been unwavering and as such I wanted to create a piece of writing that I felt they would enjoy and immerse themselves in. So, this ones for you @writingcold @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @katuschka @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @gretavangroupie and everyone else who has been with me on this journey.

Warnings: Religious trauma. Parental trauma. Intense emotions including desire, obsession, grief and yearning. Loss of virginity. Explicit sexual activity. Heavy praise kink. Severe edging. Oral sex m/f. Fingering. Masturbation. Dirty filth talk.

Summer 1984

The Kiszka's were like catching that scent of freshly cut grass on warm summer air. Nostalgic for something I'd never had. Books that I dare not open because my love for the cover meant that I was too afraid to start something I knew I'd never be able to put down. They were Sunday morning distractions, like I'd never known a day without putting my hand to glass and letting their chaos drift in through the open window.

The first time I saw them I didn't know the sound of laughter could make my heart want to die. The sort of rambunctious envy I felt was a thief to any joy I might have found, standing in the dust as I carried boxes into the new house. Theirs was a summer of freedom. And mine was like trying to find solace in the darkness.

The girl was pretty when she smiled. I thought, perhaps, in some other life she and I could have been friends. Sometimes I imagined it, that she would knock on our door and ask for me by name. A delusion I centred within myself whenever I saw her ride by on the yellow push bike that was always leaning against their porch steps. The boys weren't like that, though. No part of me could imagine myself in that wild entanglement. Fires and swearing, ripping their shirts off in the midday heat to wrestle in the dirt. Guitars littering their garage door, riffs that drifted in on the wind making me want to rise from the doldrums.

It just wasn't like that for us. Any hope that I'd carried into Beech Run was dashed the moment my Father shook hands with the patriarch of our neighbours, and immediately insisted that we weren't to go near those people. Godless and bohemian. Without decency. Without enough fear of a faceless, impalpable being that seemed to rule over nobody save for us.

He was a pastor and we paid for that dearly. With our curfews and our diligence and our punishments if we didn't honour God precisely how we should. I stopped believing that an almighty power would have chosen this life for me a long time ago, but nothing felt more certain until we moved to Beech Run. Only the devil would have put us next to the Kiszka's.

"They're so pretty."

Jolene was sitting on the windowsill, playing with her hair as she admired them. She had that faraway look in her eye that most girls had when they were seventeen. Romanticising them, giving them entirely fictionalised morals and wondering what her name would sound like on their lips.

"Come away from the window." I warned, the torture of it something I had already decided I would not endure all summer.

She would bite down on her lip and sway against the glass. Insufferable. Lost in a sea of their sweaty bodies tearing across the front lawn, having water fights and jam sessions in the garage. All the things we were denied. She and I, lumbered with reading lists and prayer groups that made me want to rip out my immortal soul and offer it to the highest bidder.

"The tall one, he looks as if he might sweep you off your feet. He keeps tucking his hair behind his ear, I think I'd like to do that for him."

No good would come of it. I could see the whispering angels and demons perched on my sister's shoulders. Consorting with her. The fathomless ages of young girls who had come before her in their tragic echoes, doomed to desire and the shadow of a breaking heart hanging above her head.

"Come." I encouraged, "Sit and read with me a while. And then shall we see if Ben will take us into town?"

The freedoms allowed to our brother were tantamount to our lack of it. He was the eldest and therefore had the privileges of that. He was male, and existed in a world that Jolene and I did not encompass. Sometimes he would take pity on us and drive us into town to get an ice cream or watch a movie. Sometimes he would be cruel and drive there without even telling us.

"I'm fine here." She sighed, and I suspected she wanted them to see her.

I was far too practical to follow her into that folly of romance. I thought myself immune to it, happy to just read about it in books that would remove me from my present circumstances. Something which had made me a target, previously, for underhand comments as I walked down the school halls or sat in the library just turning pages.

"Fine, until you send yourself silly with all this nonsense." I sighed, putting my book aside and shimmying to the end of my bed.

"I want to know what it feels like, don't you?" She was a dreamer, a conjurer of a fate I could already feel the chill of spilling down my back. "To be taken for a ride in a car, and have them open the door for you. And kiss you goodnight, making you feel like you're the prettiest thing they ever saw. Don't you want that, Bonnie?"

If I had ever wanted it, the moment had passed. Perhaps I was hopeful once, but then hope could be so easily dashed. My sister was beautiful in an uncommon way. Simple and understated, the sort of beauty that was caught at the right angle and once perceived, it was devastating. With long auburn waves and a set of dreamy blue eyes, she had lips that were full and round in complete contrast to what I had to offer.

"No." I replied without hesitation. "I don't want deal with any foolishness, least of all from a man. Don't we put up with enough of that from our own dear brother?"

She rolled her eyes in contention. "It's not the same, and you know it's not. Brothers are nuisances. In the same way Dads are."

With that, I couldn't disagree. Ours was a formidable creature who liked to keep us so pure it was as if any man would contaminate us by breathing the same air. Something which had begun to take it's toll. I had given up, and Jolene was merely awaiting her chance to break all the rules.

"Oh, but not these boys." She sang, returning her gaze to the frivolities unfolding across the street. "These boys are handsome and good. I just know that they are sweet and kind and up close I bet they have all these little nuances that only stand to make them even more handsome."

She would walk into a pit of fire if it promised to love her and adore her. Willing to walk to her heart break like ascending to the gallows with a smile upon her face and would willingly do it all over and over again just for a taste of something like passion. A part of me envied her.

"Maybe you're right." I agreed, deciding it might be worth a peek. "Maybe they are handsome and good. And maybe they will take you riding in a car and kiss you goodnight. But that doesn't change the fact that Dad would never allow it."

There were three of them. The elder of the twins was a lithe and charismatic thing. With a mop of curls and a penchant for wearing his pants low enough that my Dad had balked at the sight of him upon introductions. The younger twin was a little more reserved, hiding behind a curtain of long dark hair. His smile was entirely unexpected just by looking at the depth and darkness of his eyes. Neither of which were mirrored in their younger brother, who had all the hope and exuberance of a puppy dog that hadn't been trained on how to behave around company.

And Jolene was right. They were so infuriatingly pretty. All three of them with the same magnetic curse that had drawn my attention whether I wanted it to or no. I was no better than she, leaning my hand against the glass so that I might see them better. Rolling my tongue around in my mouth as I tried to appear calm.

"I'll jump out of a thousand windows before I ever let Daddy tell me who I can or cannot love."

I believed her. There was something in the way she stared out of that window that made me truly believe she would never let such a thing come between her and her desires. And as I looked down at the object of her affection, he saw me for the very first time.

Shirtless and sweaty, his hair wet and slicked back. He raised a hand to his brow and stared directly into our bedroom window. His brother, coming to see what had distracted him, followed his line of vision. Raising his hand, the two of them drenched and flushed pink as they stood at the end of their driveway regarding us. And we, against our better judgement, stared back.

I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how I might be regarded by another. It was a terrible thing to be young and have innocence imposed. I would trail my fingers down my breasts and imagine that the handsome boy who had peered into my window was standing in the darkness behind me.

I couldn't see him. He wasn't a perfect image. His face was blurred from the distance of where he'd stood in my memories of that day. But it was him that I summoned whenever I touched myself. There was no other who came to mind. It was always the younger twin, the one with the long hair who had dared to stand and watch.

Perhaps it was his boldness that had made him stay with me. There was something bookish about his demeanour, like he'd been written by a woman for other women to fantasise about. Simply by standing there in the summer heat, taking note of me. Like I wasn't a ghost, after all.

"Open the door, Bonnie."

His voice ran through me like the prickle of a stinging nettle against flesh. To hear it whilst I stood there, naked, made my skin crawl.

"Just a second." I replied, pulling on my robe and hurrying to obey.

My Father was on the other side, standing there with a sourness that questioned precisely why I had been in the bathroom quite as long as I had. He would ask if I had been partaking in a sin, but at the same time he wouldn't speak it into existence. He simply cleared his throat and nodded at me.

"Your Mother and I were thinking, for the service this coming Sunday, that you and your sister would like to say a few words about how welcoming our flock have been since we arrived here."

His suggestion drew an audible sigh of disappointment. That I would be expected to stand in front of our neighbours and peers as if I were somehow grateful felt like a deception in the house of God. I could imagine their faces, thinking us good little Christian girls and what perfect examples of the lord's word. A credit to our loving Father. And our Mother, who would sit there in her perpetual silence and allow it to unfold without so much as an uttering against it.

"Of course." I replied obediently, "As you wish, Daddy."

He nodded his approval, clenching his jaw as if he'd anticipated a different response.

"I'd like the congregation to see what lovely girls we have." He mused, the grey flecked moustache that sat above his upper lip twitching. "They need to see that their pastor is the head of a good, solid foundation."

I had already agreed to his demand. There was no requirement for him to stand there and justify it any further. I was consciously aware of my state of undress, and felt it necessary to continue to nod my agreement as I scurried back to my room.

"Oh, and Bonnie?" He caught my arm, firm but not enough to cause pain. "Please make sure your sister stays away from the window tonight."

He would feel superior and I would feel beholden to it. As I smiled and nodded, as if I somehow held the reigns of my sister's deeds. He was smug and I was left wondering how he even knew that she'd been standing there.

"Yes, Daddy." I muttered, knowing it would have been futile to try and convince him otherwise.

She was feigning sleep as I came into the room. Making rudimentary noises and shuffling about as if in dream. I dressed quickly and quietly and it wasn't until I had switched off my lamp and laid my head down that she decided to end her performance.

"Bonnie?"

I flicked the lamp back on. "Yes?"

"Do you think Daddy will let us go to down to the creek this summer? I heard the Kiszka's talking about it outside. They said there was going to be a heat wave and all the kids from Beech Run and the next town over would be heading there. I sure would like to go."

There was an effervescent hope in her voice. That somehow, if she could only say it out loud, it might make it come true. I ruminated on the right way to tell her I couldn't see it being a possibility, not wanting to shatter her dreams entirely.

"Perhaps, if Ben is there escort us, there might be a chance." I offered, knowing that our brother had no intention of escorting us anywhere during his first summer in a new place with all the freedoms and folly of a youth that was extended to him.

She was leaning on her palm. Playing with a thread on her pillow case, her mouth all smushed up as she contemplated what I'd said.

"I just want to be like all the other girls." She sighed, before turning over and signalling the end of her part in our conversation.

"Dad wants us to say a few words at service this Sunday." I told her, plunging the room back into darkness, "Maybe we'll tell them all how he keeps us here like prisoners."

I heard a small, almost indiscernible titter from Jolene's side of the room. But I let her be. Sinking into my bed sheets and trying to imagine I time where I'd ever been satisfied.

He was there, again. Standing in the darkness. Haunting me. His imperfect face just beyond where I could see, the shape of him calling out to me. A set of deep set brown eyes appraised me, squinting through sunlight to get a better look at me. And I replayed it over and over until it was scratched into my memory like an old cassette that had worn it's self down to white noise.

I just wanted to know his name.

It was a Thursday evening. When the wall clock in the kitchen stopped. Summer rain began to fall. My Mother lost her most treasured thimble whilst sewing a set of curtains in the chair by the front window. And my Father was berating us for a less than exuberant attempt at writing a speech for the up coming church service.

He had us standing there like sentinels. Brushing his disappointment over us as if we were his canvas. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle, a deep rooted need to protect my little sister from this sort of tirade starting to bubble away beneath the surface.

"I don't feel your gratitude, Jolene." He scorned, scrunching her script up in his hands like it was a tissue he'd used to blow his nose. "Try something a little more heart felt."

She was on the verge of tears. I could see them welling up in the corners of her eyes. I looked over at my Mother and felt a sense of abandonment whilst she was still in the room as she searched for the thimble she had lost. Silently willing her to step in, to say something. Anything.

"We'll have something appropriate drawn up by Sunday." I assured him, waiting to be dismissed.

His dominance was always at it's most ferocious when I dared to even tread into defiance. Sometimes I wondered if he took pleasure in it. The way Jolene trembled beneath his word and I tried and fought in vain to protect her. I wasn't the one prone to rebellion and yet it felt as if I always took the brunt simply because I always tucked Jolene behind me, safely squirrelling her away from his overbearing eye.

"See that you do." He simply replied, waving a cursory hand that allowed us to leave.

I heard my Mother rejoice as the lost thimble was found. My heart sinking that this was her biggest joy. That she had barely taken note of her daughters and our pain and the way we were slowly sinking into oblivion. Why was I even trying to obey?

Perhaps I closed my bedroom door a little more aggressively than I'd intended. It caused the pictures on my wall to shudder. The bottle of perfume on my nightstand rolled over. And Jolene fell into her pillows, leaving the stains of tears in the folds of fabric.

"They'd never convict him a court of law because he doesn't beat us." She sobbed, screaming silently into blankets.

Perhaps he would have if the marks would've been translucent. I often wondered if my Dad had ever thought about beating us into submission. Sometimes the bloody veins in the whites of his eyes and the tiny speck of spit in the corner of his mouth as he raged at us made me wonder if he curled his fist up at just the right moment if he would strike.

"I thought, when we moved here, that things might be different." I dared to wonder, "But if anything, he's worse."

Jolene's face was all blotchy and pink. Sodden with tears and her hair stuck to her wet cheeks.

"He knows, Bonnie." She sniffed. "He knows that if we were given half the chance we'd be across the street. With those boys."

Would it have been so bad? To have known a summer of love? I was eighteen years old. Never been kissed. Never been taken on a date and had a door opened for me. I had tried so hard to ignore it, but I could no longer look away from it. The way I'd been spending more time on it, touching myself and imagining him in the place of my own hand.

"You don't care, anyway." She added, with a little more malice. "You don't want any of it. You're always trying to stop me from looking at them. You're always burying your head in a book, as if that will help."

Perhaps I deserved that. I didn't dare tell her that I'd had a change of heart, of late. That my usual stance had begun to shift. Where once I'd thought the wanting had passed, it had started to become an insatiable curiosity. Even my waking thoughts were plagued by it.

"That's not true." I confessed, laying a careful hand in her hair. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel alone in this. I promise, you're not."

Her nose wrinkled as she looked at me. As if seeing me for the first time. Allied in our awakening interest in the boys across the street.

"I can't stop thinking about him, Bonnie. Every night before I sleep and every morning when I wake up. I wish I could wash him out of my mind. But he's there, all the time, looking up at our window."

"I know, I know..." I soothed, "I've tried to forget that they exist, too."

I'd forgotten to draw our blinds. In our haste to appease our ever demanding Father, I'd left the curtains open too. From the corner of my eye I noticed a light flicker on outside, drawing my attention. I turned and took note of the Kiszka house, the glowing square in the upstairs left quarter was like a beacon against the rural darkness of our street.

"Look." I said, waiting for my sister to follow my gaze.

It was the elder of the twins who appeared. A towel sat snugly around his waist as he ruffled another through his hair. He was lean and perfectly cut, not dissimilar to his counterpart. I felt a sudden shame at watching him, but there seemed to be no care for his close proximity to the window.

He was talking to someone. His mouth moving in soft intervals, as if engaging in a conversation we could not hear. I was enthralled, nonetheless. Wondering what he was talking about. Who he was talking to. He carefully ran his hands through his curls, making sure they were perfectly sculpted. His stomach taught and his arms raised above his head, but it was only inquisitiveness that made me continue to look.

I felt nothing until he appeared. Tossing his brother a clean t-shirt. Doing nothing of value. Padding around and making me feel like the most detestable of voyeurs.

"He's the one, isn't he?" Jolene asked softly, taking note of my how my breath hitched as he appeared. "We can't just pretend like this isn't happening."

"They don't even know we exist." I dismissed her, forcing myself to look away.

"That's not true." She replied fluidly, her voice rising like a song. "We were introduced when we first moved here. They've seen us watching them. Even if it's the only thing they know, it's that we exist."

I wanted so badly for it to be true. I watched him stand there poetically in the window, talking to his brother and running a hand through his long hair. Casual. No care within the world for him. And I envied not only the fact that I couldn't be close to him, but also that I ached to be him.

I didn't settle at all that night. Fretting, feeling as if I held all the anguish in the world in the pit of my stomach. Jolene had nodded off as soon as the light across the street went out. But I continued to stare at the void a while longer. Silent tears streaking my cheek, the salt on my lips like a bitter reminder that it was all I could do to let it out.

I could see my reflection in the glass. A spiritual spectre that didn't have a voice. I stood there in my white linen night gown, ruffled at the sleeves and thought myself truly a ghost. The window was cold to the touch. The night was cool and calm whilst within me raged a tempest.

I didn't want to go to bed and lay down and have my thoughts ruin me. It would have been nightmares that came to me, ones about being locked in a cage. And so I stood there, in the window I had promised not to let my sister stare out of.

That warm glow from across the street reignited. It almost made me flinch. The way the darkness was all consuming, and then there it was. The light on in the room upstairs. I held my breath, as if somehow they'd be able to hear me. Lip trembling as he reappeared, this time alone. A look of forlorn sadness in his face as he went to pull the curtains closed.

He thought he could see something. He thought himself mad as he peered out further, squinting into the darkness as he caught the sight of me. It was in my mind to turn and disregard him, but I was rooted to the spot. Afraid that if I moved I would never feel again the way I felt right then in that moment.

I knew that he could see me. Certain as I knew that he was watching me right back. I could feel the pull of my heart strings dragging it down, into a flurry that churned my stomach like butter. He stood there, his forearm against the glass as he rested his head against it. Staring at me as if he couldn't quite believe I was real.

And then he raised his hand and waved. And I, inexplicably, waved back.

I sat in the choir loft as parishioners began to filter in. Gripping my insincere little speech in my hand, the paper felt as heavy as granite as I turned it in my hands.

I'd barely slept. Keeping vigil the past two nights, waiting for Jake to appear. That was his name. So graciously given to me, scrawled on a piece of paper as we exchanged messages from our respective windows.

It felt like poetry in motion. The first time he held up a crude scribble and asked for my name. It felt like I had been truly seen. I'd hastily scrambled for a pen and a notebook, holding it against the glass whilst he nodded his understanding. Waiting with my heart beating a muffled drum within my chest as he wrote something back.

He asked me why we never came to the creek. Why we never seemed to linger in the wide open spaces all around us. Why we were always in town with our brother. He seemed intrigued. Telling me about his passion for his guitar through page after page of rushed sentences.

The last of which had told me to wait for him in the choir loft before Sunday service.

Only a fool would have agreed to this. To sit there in my Sunday best, knees clicking together in consuming nerves of what I was about to do. Keeping a watchful eye on my Father as he stood at the podium and graciously welcomed his congregation. I'd never seen Jake or his family at church on any Sunday since we'd moved there. I questioned why he'd asked me to wait for him up in the rafters, but not enough to stop myself from agreeing to it.

"Bonnie?"

I clutched the hem of my skirt, knuckles white and my cheeks pale as I swallowed hard. He slid into the seat behind me. Graciously foregoing the seat beside me, I kept my eyes focused forward and felt as if I might melt into the very grain of the wooden pews. He leaned forward, resting elbows on the back of my pew, his breath warm and silken against the curve of my neck.

"Jake." I replied, my mouth suddenly ravenously dry.

What did I even anticipate that the pay off of this risk would be? Just to feel my own heart beating so wildly in my chest that I thought, perhaps, that I might pass out? To have a moment of stolen sin? I could smell the soap he'd used to wash with that very morning and the hint of coffee and toothpaste in the warmth of his breath. Was this ever going to be enough?

"You don't know how long I've wanted to talk to you." He confessed in hushed tones that forced me to close my eyes against the sincerity of the words. "Ever since you moved here. You've been somewhat of an enigma."

Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before. With careless want and an honesty that threatened to choke me. I could feel my palms grow sweaty, a compelling heat rising in my cheeks.

"We're not allowed to talk to boys." I replied earnestly, opening my eyes to a reality I did not want nor could I any longer tolerate.

He scoffed at the insinuation that he was a boy. "I'm twenty years old, I'm hardly that."

There was an innocent playfulness in the way he chased his brothers around their front yard. Their boyish natures belying their true age. I envied more than ever that they'd been granted that. Feeling naïve that I could have ever considered him a mere boy. Now that he was sitting so close to me, I could feel the urge to sin like effervescence bubbling off his skin. Something only men could feel.

"Forgive me." I faltered, bowing my head in solemn regret that I had been so fruitless in my estimation.

But he didn't berate me. "Oh, you're a caged little bird aren't you?"

If I could have let myself cry, he'd have witnessed a dam bursting. I sat there twisting my skirt, almost ripping the paper against it, letting hatred and regret and desire course through my veins. I hoped, more than anything I'd ever hoped for before, that he couldn't see the anguish.

"Are you ridiculing me?" I dared to ask, turning my head ever so slightly to catch him in my periphery.

I could see his lips parted as he lingered at my ear.

"No, never that." He reassured. "But I've seen the way he keeps you behind glass. I've seen you standing at the window watching us. And I tortured myself wondering if you knew that we had been watching you, too."

My breath stilled. "We?"

He boldly leaned a little further forward. Joining me in my gaze as I stared down at the growing crowd below. His chin almost rested on my shoulder, his hair almost brushed against my cheek. I couldn't stand it, the close proximity and the way I felt as if I couldn't move an inch.

"My brother Sam, and I." He confirmed. "He thinks your sister is damn near the prettiest little thing he's ever seen. But I told him no, that's not true. There's more grace and beauty in the older sister. She is where my mind runs to when I look towards your house."

To consider that he had thought of me made the centre of my chest begin to throb with a yearning I had never endured before. It filled that empty space between my ribs. Aching to crawl out and consume the rest of my body. I could scarcely breathe. My hand instinctively dropped the hem of my skirt and flew to my collar bone. Resting there as I tried to calm my beating heart.

"I didn't think you knew we even existed." I whispered, letting his confidence shine down on me, a part of me feeling fearless enough to make these confessions.

"On the contrary." He replied, sweeping his breath across my cheek bone, quite unintentionally as he lingered close to me. " I've thought of you often ever since you arrived. Wondering if you were ever going to make friends with my sister so that I could have the opportunity to talk to you. It was the greatest disappointment when we realised it wasn't meant to be."

His dream had been mine. The two of us worlds apart, and yet staggeringly close. Wanting the same wants. Needing the same needs. Laying his head down each night with that same blurred image of me that I had kept of him, too. God had finally answered my prayers.

"There is nothing more that I want that that." I replied wistfully, "But he would never allow it. We'd be punished. Called wicked. Or worse."

Jake shook his head and slinked back, taking away the heat of his body and leaving me cold.

"There's nothing wicked about the desire for connection." He surmised, tucking his hair behind his ear and pulling out a cigarette from his shirt breast pocket. Putting it between his lips for later. "You tell that air headed brother of yours to bring you down to the creek tomorrow."

"Ok." I replied quietly, feeling the essence of hope leave with him as he scurried away.

He didn't linger. I couldn't see his face in the crowd as I stood at the podium. He'd slipped out as easily as he'd slipped in, and I was grateful. I didn't want him to see me up there. Making a breath full of lies for ears that would have listened to any old garbage I could have come up with.

It was all I could think about as I talked about how the sanctity of strong family values held our bonds with God together. Something about honouring thy Father. As I pictured Jake sitting behind me, hot breath on my skin and the scent of his cologne still in the air I breathed. If I was wicked, I was already going to hell.

Ben was sitting in the car, his arm draped casually over the back of the passenger seat. His hair was neatly combed to the side, his shirt tucked into his slacks as he checked his teeth in the rear view mirror.

"We don't want to go into town today." Jolene complained, slumping into the back seat with a pout that she would never let our Dad ever see. "Why can't you just take us to the creek?"

He turned and pointed an ominous finger. I was inclined to bat it out of my way as I slipped in beside Jolene. Knowing she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You're going to town. I got a date with Harriet Dinsmore. I've been trying to pin her down for weeks. So don't start with all this going to the damn creek nonsense." He spat, carefully running a palm down the perfectly sculpted slicked hair that made him look uncannily like our Dad.

Jake had been unflinchingly correct in his estimation of our brother. For Ben, life meant never having to use much intelligence. He would fly off the back of our Fathers coat tails. No doubt becoming a pastor himself. Not for God but for the glory of it. But whilst he still held the keys to the car in his hands, I'd be smart.

"Oh, come on." I rallied, "You don't want your little sisters moping around while you try to court a pretty girl. We're better off at the creek. You can pick us up after."

I caught him roll his eyes in the mirror. "You would have me lie to Dad?"

Jolene popped her bubble gum, smirking as she stared out of the window over towards the Kiszka's house.

"It's only a lie if you tell Dad you're taking us into town with you. Has he asked where you're taking us?"

She knew there'd be a presumption made. But would use the semantics to her advantage. I felt a cool sense of pride in her, exchanging a knowing look as Ben rolled the thought around in his tiny little mind.

"Harriet Dinsmore? Isn't she the girl who works at the ice cream place?" I feigned interest. "She sure is pretty."

All it took was a few soft words about her hair. Her eyes. The way she served ice cream so deftly. She never spilled a drop. I wondered if he'd been so pliant before, if we'd had opportunities missed because we were so afraid of what our Father might do if he found out.

I was fuelled by that simple demand. That we get our air head brother to bring us to the creek. For what purpose, I didn't care. But I knew that if I didn't try I would reek of regret. And once Ben agreed to take us, I felt a sense of accomplishment that I'd never managed before.

Jolene was ratified in her excitement. Staring out of the window, beholden to a freedom so rarely afforded to us. We were given fair warning, of course, to keep to ourselves and not talk to any interested boys. To be on our best behaviour and not give him him any cause to have to tell Dad where we had been.

I did wonder what went through his mind as he dropped us at the side of the road, where the gate that lead down to creek stood open against a rickety old fence. I could hear voices in the distance. Jovial ones. And suddenly I was stricken with the stupidity of what we were about to do.

"Did he really say that?" Jolene asked, pulling down her little linen shorts and pulling fingers through her loose curls. "Did Sam Kiszka really say that I was damn near the prettiest thing he'd ever seen?"

If not for her, then for who? I set aside my reservations. Flattened down the pleat in my sun dress and pulled down the edge of my hat. I would make a fool of myself if it meant that she got to have just five minutes talking to the boy she liked. No more standing at the window wondering.

"That's what I hear." I replied, taking her hand as we sauntered through the gate and down the incline of the field towards the river bank at the bottom.

The tall grass weaved between my bare legs. Brandishing sleek little kisses against my inner thighs. The tips almost brushed against my crotch, each step like a feather dancing against my flesh. And it did not serve me well. I could see him standing on the embankment. Shirtless and long hair blowing in the warm breeze. I felt my stomach tie itself in knots over the sight of him, feeling as if the grass itself was inviting me to arousal as I walked towards him.

"Are you nervous?" Jolene asked, her hand still clutched firmly in the curl of my own. "I'm real nervous."

"Just stay close by." I soothed, "Don't leave my side, and we'll be just fine."

There were pockets of people dotted up and down the tree lined incline. Some were splashing around in the creek bed, where it met a wide opening that created a shallow pool, others were bathing in the sunshine. An array of colourful bathing suits on display. It was hot. The sort of hot where everything felt sticky and wet. There were balls and frisbee's being tossed around. Music playing from a boom box hanging from a broken tree branch. Beers sitting in coolers. Cigarettes and a sense that perhaps I'd bitten off more than I was willing to chew.

They were all there. All three of them and their sister, sitting in folding chairs and on blankets dotted around the clearing next to the water. There were a few faces I didn't recognise, too. Friends, no doubt. I didn't know where to look. It felt as if perhaps we were intruding, on account of the fact we weren't dressed appropriately for the occasion. We didn't even own bathing suits. It was apparent that we'd made a mistake.

Everyone was staring at us. Eyes boring into us as we approached. Jolene's hand squeezed mine. A silent plea for whatever we had walked into to stop feeling like a trap. Why did it feel as if I was feeding not only her, but myself to the wolves? They appraised us like creatures who belonged in a zoo. Eyes widened and sun shades slipped down their noses to get a better look at the Jones sisters.

"You came." Jake said breezily, greeting us at the edge of his little pocket. "I didn't think you would."

It was still in my mind to turn around and head back. But there was something in the way he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand that made me willing to stay.

"You said to come." I hedged, every inch of me burning from the curious stares.

He was wearing a pair of denim shorts, cut at the knee. With a waist band so low I could make out the edge of whatever he had on underneath. With his body on unapologetic display, I didn't know where to politely look. There was only his eyes that could have accepted my gaze appropriately. And they were so intense I could feel myself wanting to back off.

"I did." He agreed, "And here you are. Let's get you introduced."

We accepted the seats we were offered. But declined the beers. Jolene sheepishly grinned as names were thrown at us and I tried so hard to commit them to memory. There was the Kiszka's; Jake, Josh, Sam and Ronnie. Danny Wagner and another friend from school, Lewis Dinsmore. Who's poor sister was stuck on a date with our unbearable brother. I was grateful for it, regardless. It provided an initial talking point which ingratiated us into the group, enabling me to calm my nerves as I sat there trying to act as if I didn't feel like a duck out of water.

"So, Bonnie. Are you a senior or did you graduate?" Ronnie Kiszka asked, hands on her hips as she supped on a bottle of beer and eyed the length of my dress.

"Umm, I graduated." I replied, "At our last school, in Ohio."

"So, what's the plan? College?" She continued, her questions posed innocently enough. But I felt like I was under the microscope. "I'm going to Michigan State in the fall."

"Oh, that's great." I tried to keep my voice steady and casual. "I'd love to go to college, but I'm needed at home to help my Mom."

Josh was sitting on a blanket, resting on his palms with his chin tilted up towards the sky. Languishing in a similar state of undress as his brother.

"Oh, is she sick or something?" He asked, pushing his shades up into his mess of curls as he looked over at me.

"No." I replied, looking down into my lap. "No, nothing like that..."

Jolene was more than happy to answer their questions. The intrusion didn't seem to phase her, she lapped up the attention like a neglected pup as I sat there wondering what they must have thought of us. Uncomfortable at the idea of it. Of them knowing our Dad would keep us at home rather that receiving a college education. That we were supposed to be somewhere else, and I wondered if any of them would know to keep our being there under wraps.

I couldn't hide my disdain. I smiled and nodded where required, but offered nothing in the way of conversation. I sat in the shadows whilst my sister took the reigns. Her desire to be part of something beyond our house was being fed to bursting and I could see the colour rise in her cheeks the more they enquired. Especially when Sam addressed her directly, their eyes finding each other in undeniable attraction. And all I could do was witness it unfold, hoping that my silence wasn't being mistaken for ill manners.

"You wanna get out of here?"

I looked up. Jake was standing at my feet, his hand extended for me to take.

"I probably shouldn't leave Jolene." I fretted, seeing how much she didn't need me.

"Probably shouldn't." He echoed, keeping his hand firmly offered. "Or is it because you're afraid of what might happen if you do?"

He'd been so kind. So humble. Introducing us to his friends and family. Like we weren't the spectacle we'd been when we first arrived. He'd been hospitable. Making jokes and including us in them. He'd made me laugh. Not just a giggle, but from my belly upwards. Making me radiate a smile that had been hidden for so long I hadn't even known I could smile like that.

"Afraid, of what?" I asked, although I suspected it was what he'd wanted.

He didn't say it out loud. There was only a hint of it in the way he curled his fingers up and urged me to go with him. I thought, perhaps, that he could see my uncertainty etched there in my face as I tried to fit in. All the things I wouldn't confess to. That I was afraid I'd spend my whole life never knowing what it truly felt like to be adored. Afraid that I'd always be a vessel for thoughts and feelings that would never be allowed to be expressed. Afraid that I'd never get to explore what it meant to be a woman. Fears that seemed to go unspoken. And yet, he heard me.

Jolene was sat with her chair practically on top of Sam's. Their heads bowed together in a conversation nobody else was invited to. I could see his hand edging towards coming to rest upon her knee, but he kept graciously stopping himself. Peering into her eyes instead, letting her ramble on about nothing in particular. Enchanted by her. And she, in turn, seemed entirely smitten with him. Blushing every time he tucked his hair behind his ear. Every time he threw his head back and let out the most infectious laugh I'd ever heard. He was being gentle with her.

"Come on." Jake said, "I know a spot we can go to."

Nobody seemed to care as he took one of the blankets and began to lead me away. Jolene looked over, silently watching as he took my hand. Too afraid that if she made a comment she would break the spell between her and Sam. I tried not to think too hard about it, grateful that people had finally gotten bored with our presence.

I would have let him take me anywhere. It felt like a sonnet that hadn't been written yet. The way he held my hand so casually, leading me back into the tall grass. All I could do was watch the way his hair moved in the breeze. Dancing against his flexing shoulder blades. His hips moving gracefully as he stepped between the long blades, blanket tucked under his free arm. The afternoon sun was beating down so hard, my cheeks began to burn. Grateful when he finally led me to a shaded area of tree's a little further down the creek where nobody else had bothered to venture.

I watched him as he laid the blanket down, flattening the grass and making sure we were shrouded by it. Inviting me to sit with him, the sound of flowing water and leaves moving in the dull wind as our soundtrack.

"You ever just lay in the grass and look up at the clouds?" He asked, rolling onto his back and placing arms behind his head.

I wrapped the hem of my dress around my knee's, conscious of the breeze as I laid down beside him. Through the canopy of the tree's around us, I could see wisps of cloud moving slowly against the brilliant blue.

"Not since I was a little kid." I replied, trying to remember the last time I'd done anything quite like this.

He was quiet for a brief moment. But it didn't feel like it needed to be filled.

"I hope you didn't get in any trouble yesterday. I don't think anyone saw me talking to you." He said, pulling out a small bottle of something honey coloured out of his pocket. "Sometimes people can't see what's happening right under their noses."

There was a flash of something in his grin as he lifted his head to take a swig, offering me some before dashing it onto the blanket at his side when I declined. I liked the way his side profile looked as I turned my head to look at him. There was something about the way his nose pointed at the tip, the way his mouth had the most enigmatic curl at the corners. It was obvious that he hadn't brushed his hair that day, but it didn't matter. It only served to suit him well.

I started to feel as if I could climb on top of him. The way he laid there, the muscles in his arms flexed as he laid them behind his head. I'd never been close enough to ever drink him in. I tried to commit to memory all the little nuances that were entirely him, knowing that I'd think of him later in more detail than I ever had before. It made me nervous.

"Clever." I surmised, impressed by his critical thinking. "Do you often do things right under people's noses?"

He smirked and turned his head, knocking me off my steady perch and into a panicked mess as his eyes met mine. I didn't dare look away. I didn't want to make the obviousness of my gaze even more obvious. I hoped that he couldn't tell I could hear the great whoosh of my own pulse when he looked at me. But I suspected that he did, letting his eyes fall down the rest of my body before coiling back up.

"Not everything." He damn near whispered, leaning up to rest on his forearm. "Some things I prefer to do where no one else can see."

It was getting hotter. The air felt warm in my lungs as I breathed. Even in the shade, it was sticky and sweltering. My dress was becoming increasingly drenched, beads of sweat pooling between my breasts. He was glistening in the sun light, his neck saturated as sweat ran down the peak of his adam's apple. Both of us tangibly giving in to the impetuous heat.

"Like what?" I asked, reaching for the bottle to quench a dry thirst that was forming in my mouth.

It tasted like fire. Did nothing to alleviate the dryness, only served to almost choke me and make me cough. Much to his delight as he placed a hand to my back and waited until I'd composed myself before offering his arm for me to lay against as I sank back down.

"Wouldn't want your Daddy catching us here, like this. Would you?" He asked, the sweat of his arm sliding against the back of my neck. "Wouldn't want anyone catching us here like this. I like being here, with you, just the two of us."

The weight of what was transpiring between us almost felt too heavy to bear. I could feel it, travelling up and down my body in waves of undulated panic and arousal. He wouldn't stop staring at me. Making it harder for me to deny myself.

"I like it too." I confessed quietly, allowing him to curl his arm up, making me inch closer to his face.

All the hours of wonder couldn't have stood up to the reality of him. The sweet and gentle nature of him coveting me, with nothing more than a simple gaze and the support of his arm beneath me. He made no attempt to touch me further, and I almost felt like begging him would have ruined the moment.

"Don't you get lonely up there sometimes?" He asked, grazing his bottom lip between perfectly set teeth. "I see your face sometimes and I can't stand the way you look so sad."

Oh, he'd noticed. My heart soared and broke all at once. That he had known not only that I existed, but taken the time to notice my mood made me feel as if our lives were not merely shadows.

"Not lonely." I shrugged, settling on a different word. "Perhaps, sometimes, it's a little melancholy."

He wrinkled his nose and thought about it. Reaching for a blade of grass behind him and ripping it from the ground in order to satisfy his need to keep his hands busy.

"If you were mine I'd never want to see anything but a smile on that pretty face of yours forever more." He said, running the blade of grass against my cheek playfully.

I shrank away. The sensation of it too intimate for me to appropriately deal with. I giggled, but my unease was there in the way my eyes couldn't settle back on him.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, throwing down the grass and trying to settle the vibe between us back into something a little more innocent.

But it was too late. I could feel a familiar throb begin to beat away between my thighs. Latent misery in being unable to satisfy my desires kept me tethered to the blanket, unable to confess that I wanted him to do it again.

"Don't be sorry." Was all I could say, a little more passionately than I'd intended. "I'm just...well, I'm no good at this sort of thing."

He seemed to go quiet all over again. Looking down at our bodies side by side. Swallowing so hard I could see his throat flex. Like he, too, was lost in a sea of words he so desperately wanted to say but couldn't.

"You're not like the other girls." He gulped, pointing out one of my deepest flaws. "I don't want you to be like the other girls. They aren't worth the risk like you are."

How could he have known my worth? Beneath that starry eyed exterior, was he just as nervous as I was? It seemed to me that he could scarcely hold himself back as his eyes moved between my lips and my gaze. Flitting up and down as if in conflict.

"All I've ever wanted was to be like the other girls." I sighed, noticing for the first time that he had moved closer. "Other girls get to be taken out on dates and have doors opened for them. And have goodnight kisses."

The subtle shake of his head intimated that none of that mattered.

"Other girls don't write their name for me in notes I can only see from my window." He said earnestly. "Other girls don't drive me crazy every time I see them come out of their front door on a Sunday morning wearing those pretty little dresses."

I felt like I'd fallen asleep and I'd woken in a dream. I could smell the liquor on his breath he lingered so close. The heat of the day dissipating as the heat of his body took over.

"Other girls don't make me write songs for them, before I've ever even spoken to them..." He stopped, right before his lips would trespass against mine.

"You...wrote a song...for me?" I breathed into his mouth, fingertips digging into the blanket folds at either side of my stilled body.

"For a good Christian girl, you sure do make me feel damned." He posed, speaking with his lips a feather light touch away from mine. "Damned to write songs for a girl I can't ever have."

Was it not enough that I dwelled beneath his touch? Whatever madness made him think he could not have me, I wished for such a fallacy to be gone from his mind. If God had put the attraction that was so palpably clear between us within our hearts, why would God punish us for acting upon it?

True. I was a little apprehensive. Not for the punishment of God, but from a Father who truly believed his word and actions stemmed directly from the all seeing eye above. But, like Jake had already so pointedly said, we were here alone. Just the two of us. No other man nor God in sight.

"Have me." I whispered.

I heard him hold in his breath. Already so close to my mouth, all he had to do was let it happen. Nobody was ever free from temptation, and I was sordidly aware of my need to walk directly into it's aching path.

If God truly did exist somewhere between this mortal coil and the thereafter, I believed that he would not blindly lead me to be tempted beyond my ability. That I may be able to endure it. My spirit and my body in unison for the very first time.

"You would hate me if I did." He whispered back, "I'm wicked, Bonnie. So much more wicked than you could ever imagine."

I didn't believe that anyone quite so beautiful as him could ever truly be wicked. Perhaps wicked in the ways that only brought pleasure, if you were so inclined to allow yourself to enter into that sort of thing.

Was I? That sort of person? He was only two years older than me but exuded an experience which far surpassed mine. Even with his boyish charm and child like nature, he was a man nonetheless. A man that held me in his arms on a hot summer day with the wind chiming through the leaves above us and the softness of the ever trickling water as it ran over rock and earth.

Heaven.

"I ache to know wickedness." I pleaded, feeling insanity wash over me as he still refused to kiss me. "It's not for anyone else to decide."

That one sentence brought him to his conclusion. I could see it there as his brow knitted together delicately, his gaze intensifying.

"You don't know what you've done."

Perhaps not. But I didn't have space for regret. Not when he let our worlds collide. At first, there was nothing but the gentle feel of his lips as they brushed against mine. Softly venturing, exploring what depths he could take with me. A solemn pull back as he checked in with me, I could feel his hand against my balmy cheek. Alabaster turning pink as the blood began to pump harder in my veins. I was breathless without even having to move.

When he'd ascertained that I wanted it, he returned to me. Pressing his lips against mine a little harder. Letting his head tilt to the side, our noses pressed flush into each others cheeks.

I don't know what it was that I expected. Certainly not the rush of adrenaline as he opened his mouth. Nor the moisture gathering between my legs that was certainly not due to the weather as I felt the slippery tip of his tongue converge into my mouth. It was soft and slow, only brushing against mine with subtle intimation that he wanted more.

I suspected that this was purposeful. Nobody had watched us as closely as he had and not drawn the conclusion that I had never been kissed before. I suspected that he knew this was my first time. And he treated it as such. Sweeping his thumb against my cheek bone, letting me whimper softly into his mouth as he pulled away only to slake his hand around the back of my neck and pull me up into an embrace that had more meaning behind it.

And then he stopped. Forehead rested against mine, breathless and lips drenched in each other. He didn't let me go, clutched me harder in fact. Made me wonder if patience truly was a virtue.

"I have thought about this moment over and over." He swallowed, kissing me again so briefly I barely had time to reciprocate before he'd pulled away again. "And always, I'm painfully aware of your virginity. I don't want to hurt you, Bonnie."

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was something else. I let my knees unfold, the hem of my dress crawling up my thighs. Immediately I was aware of just how tightly I'd been clenching them, my body immediately softening in his grasp.

"Take it." I offered. "It is yours."

He would have it. Retrieving his senses at the shock of such a thing, he ran a gentle palm down my stomach and his hand came to rest at my waist.

"You're not a good Christian girl at all, are you?" He ventured, kissing me with a little more fervence.

Although the presumption was made based on my willingness to part with my virginity and give it up to him, I knew I'd been a sinner for far longer than I cared to admit. My thoughts had been impure before we moved to Beech Run. The levels of depravity increasing ever since Jake had made his presence known. I wasn't a good Christian girl at all. Not behind closed doors. Not anywhere where thoughts were free.

"I've committed all manner of sins in my mind." I replied honestly, my tongue lilting against my teeth, prepared for another kiss. "Wouldn't you? If you couldn't do anything? Have anything?! Wouldn't you imagine what it felt like?"

"Oh, I would." He replied, licking into my mouth with all the urgency of a man who had been granted his greatest wish. "But I don't want you to imagine anymore. I want to give you everything you've ever wanted."

He laid me back down. Sinfully slow. Taking in the sight of me, hair fanned out on the blanket and my lips swollen. My breasts sitting comfortably beneath a modest neckline, my sun dress being something I would have worn to church. Wondering if he felt the same fear that I did.

"Give it to me, then." There it was, that little beg that had been threatening to spill out of my mouth ever since he'd put the blanket down.

His hand travelled further south. Parting my knees. He ripped another blade of grass and settled it between his thumb and index. Teasing it above my face in the air, making me nuzzle into his chest as I tried to run from it.

But he didn't run it against my cheek. I soon realised it was for a far more nefarious purpose. I dared to peek out from his embrace. A look of total devotion there as he swept the blade up my inner thigh. The almost breath like touch of it reminded me of how it had felt as I'd walked towards him. I held my breath. My dress sat just below where my underwear could be seen, everything else on display. And he unashamedly caressed me, using the blade as his guide.

"Soft little babygirl." He crooned, "It'd be almost cruel to ruin you."

I didn't need his protection from it. The inflection of annoyance at his suggestion that my virginity was something I wanted to keep was hard to hide. My expressions betraying me as I looked up at him.

"Lucky for you, I can be cruel." He added, marking his territory on my heart. "Would you like me to be cruel?"

"If the devil so wishes." I replied, "I fear I'm already ruined by my own intrusive thoughts."

The tip of the blade ran down the fabric which sat between it and my naked flesh. At it's most vulnerable spot.

"You don't have to be virtuous with me. Not anymore." He promised, "I'm not your Daddy."

It was clear invitation to step into my desires.

"Tell me I'm a good girl, Jake." I needed it. "You can be as cruel as you like, just tell me I'm good."

I don't know why I needed to hear it. Maybe there was a part of me that still dwelled in the church where I needed to be holy in order to exist.

His eyes widened at my demand. Staring at me, like I was Jesus on the cross and he had come to worship. He let the blade of grass go. Preferring to run his hand up my thigh instead. I shuddered. Let my lip curl into my teeth. Never taking my eyes off him as he brushed a fingertip against my moist crotch.

"Such a good fucking girl." Partnered with the curse word, his praise left me bound to him. "Does my good little girl want to get fucked?"

The abruptness of his question left me open mouthed. I wasn't shocked because it offended me, I was shocked because the answer was an unequivocable yes. They way he claimed me with that one, solitary use of the word my left me dizzy. Of course I was his. And all I could do was nod my consent.

"You tell me you're innocent and beg to get fucked with the same mouth." He breathed against my lips, hooking a solitary finger around the fabric of my panties, his knuckle brushing against my slit. "That's my extra specially good girl, isn't it?"

He was playing with me. Strumming me like his guitar, like a song written just about me. Pulling down my underwear until they sat at my knees, I was completely at his whim.

"I'm not going to fuck you, though." He said softly, raking those same calloused fingertips that had held my face as he kissed me through the sodden valley of my pussy lips. "Not yet."

I knew it was futile to beg. Not when he so gently and pliantly planed his fingers down the edges of what I could tolerate. He would bring me to the brink and tell me it was what I needed. Dancing with the devil, my sinful thoughts brought to light. I'd never been happier than I was right there on that blanket in the tall grass. In the shade of the grove of tree's that surrounded us, in the hottest summer I'd ever recall.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He said, leaning back into a kiss that was now familiar, his tongue edging into my mouth enough to send a flood onto his fingertips. "You tempt me so..."

"Anything, Jake." I breathed, "Anything you want, just tell me what to do."

He softly ran the pad of his thumb over my aching, swollen clitoris. I moaned, let my eyes close, turned my face away in fear that I would look ridiculous to him. I'd never dared to venture to that part of myself before. Letting the throb ebb and flow whenever I was aroused, never allowing myself a moment to indulge in it.

"Pull my zipper down." He instructed, rutting his hip into my side. "It's kinda uncomfortable down there."

In the furore of him touching me, I'd failed to notice his maddening bulge. I felt foolish and girlish, stupid for not realising he was aroused too. My hand wasted no time in releasing him. Pulling down his zipper and opening the button of his denim shorts. I didn't dare put my hand inside, still feeling a little trepidation of touching him back. But the relief was there as he eyes rolled back, grateful just to be free of the constraints against his hard on.

"I want so badly to sink my fingers inside you and ruin this pretty little pink thing." He murmured against my ear. "Tell me it's ok. Tell me I can feel you from the inside."

I couldn't bear it. The need to be penetrated coupled with the fear of whatever pain might accompany it. But he was too beautiful to deny. The tip of his nose pressed against my cheek, his breath warm and like fire.

"I'm ready." I replied, even if my mind had not been quite up to speed with my body, I still would have let him have his way.

Not simply because of the way he turned me on. But the way he made me feel so cherished whilst doing it.

"Relax for me, sweet girl." He whispered, lips pecking kisses against my temple, hands opening my thighs a little wider. "Just let me take care of you."

The sting of a single digit cast aspersions throughout my body. He was slow in his intention, hissing back a soft moan as he let it slide all the way to his knuckle. I fought against my body's responses to cry out in pain. It hurt. But everything else was a welcome distraction. His voice. His scent. The feel of his body next to mine. All of it.

"Look at you." He praised, railing his kisses back down to my mouth. "The goodest of all girls."

He began to slowly pull it back, savouring the way my mouth opened at the sensation of him sliding it back inside. He didn't attempt to add more fingers, or ruin me the way he'd promised. He simply enjoyed the way I felt. The way I showed him my devotion in simpering moans and errant panting. His middle finger buried deep inside, palm pressed against my wet clit. Completely at his mercy.

"You've bewitched me, Bonnie." He confessed in soft whispers, "With your tight little innocent pussy. And that fucking smile, I can't stay away from you..."

No church girl could ever do witchcraft any justice. But I believed him.

"Then don't" I urged, not knowing what it would mean when the time would come for us to pick up this blanket and leave.

"Never..." He buried his tongue into my mouth, venturing deeper than he had before. "Will you cum for me, pretty little sweet thing?"

I didn't know what he meant. And I wouldn't spoil whatever spell I had managed to weave by asking him. If I were a flower I could feel my petals begin to wilt and fall. How could I tell him that I didn't know what he asked of me? I didn't want him to stop until I was completely deflowered. And whatever it was that he meant by cum, I hoped that I could do it for him.

"Anything...anything you want." I moaned, louder, arching my back to feel his fingertips deeper.

"That's it, oh, you're close..." He said, curling his finger up inside me, in a beckoning motion that almost sent me over the precipice. "You'll know when you get there, my little Ingenué."

His use of another language was unexpected. And his face said it all as I bashfully smiled into another insatiable kiss. He was right, though. I did know when I arrived. There was nothing about it that was anything I could have expected. With no knowledge that such a thing even existed, I was ebbed towards it like I was blind and seeing for the very first time.

At first it was like a muffled song I could hear from another room. The melody was there, I just couldn't pick up the lyrics. All I could see was those beautiful, deep brown eyes of his with the dark circles beneath watching me in wonder as it cascaded over me. The song no longer muffled, the crescendo of a great symphony in my eyes as I finished against his palm. The way he looked so satisfied letting me know that I'd done good.

"Ssssh...sssshhh..." He soothed, "It's ok sweet girl, I promise...it's ok."

I didn't know that there were tears falling down my cheeks until I tasted the salt of them on my lips. The sweet relief of something I hadn't known I'd needed filling me up from the soul upwards. He slipped his finger out and pulled up my panties, making sure that I wasn't hurt.

"I feel so foolish..." I cried, "How could you want me? When I'm like this?"

"It's because of this that I want you." He reassured me, grabbing the length of his aching cock beneath his boxer shorts and adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. "Don't you get it? It turns me on. The thought of nobody before me. That you'd be mine, entirely. And I can promise you here and now, I will protect you no matter the cost."

I couldn't wrap my head around what the cost might be. Only the way he didn't expect me to touch him back in that moment. He started to soften eventually as we laid there together, his hand running gentle strokes through my hair as I calmed. And he tucked himself away, promising that he would save it for another time.

The afternoon was growing late as we packed up and sorrowfully left our quiet little spot. The grass where we had laid all flattened in the perfect shape of where our blanket had been. A sorry reminder that the moment had fleetingly passed. I kept catching his eye as he tucked it underneath his arm, and he reached out to take my hand again.

"What now?" I asked.

"I don't know." He replied, with equal sadness. "But something tells me it'll be worth it."

We walked back in contemplative silence. Content just to be together a few more moments until it would be cruelly snatched from us. I could see that some of the crowds had already begun to disperse as we headed towards the plunge pool. A little less heavy on the noise. I could see Josh and Danny standing by their little group, deep in conversation whilst Ronnie packed up the boom box and cooler. Lewis was idly folding chairs, stacking them up ready to be carried back to the road.

"Where the fuck did you guys go?" Josh asked, watching us approach hand in hand. "Was about to send out a search party. We might have to, if Sam and Jolene don't get back here soon."

I had no concept of the time. I could feel the coolness of late afternoon on my skin, where once it had burned. The sun was still beating down as earnestly as it had been, but it was a little further towards the west.

"Shit, what time is it?" I asked, bile rising in my throat as I began to wonder if Ben was waiting for us up by the gate.

"It's a quarter to six." Josh replied, shaking his wrist as he checked his watch. "Why?"

I let go of Jakes hand. Circling the area for a visual of my missing sister. I couldn't see her anywhere.

"No, no this can't be happening...Ben will be here to pick us up in fifteen minutes..." I panicked, visibly shaking as I ran down towards the creek edge.

I called out her name. But there was no reply.

To be Continued...

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