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yeyinde · 1 year

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YES the smoking kink is developing... im asthmatic but im also a whore so id give anything to sit on price's lap while he smokes his cigar. idk if you do smuts BUT mmmm imagine c*ckw*rming him, sitting all nice and pretty for him, him calling you a good [insert nickname here] or "sweet little pet, behaving so well for me" abdvsvdhisb my brain is short-circuiting there is only daddy price thots

"Good girl—," it's a coarse purr slurred around the end of his cigar, billowing with satisfaction. Dark, rich. The euphonious praise makes you shiver. "—bein' so good for me, ain't you, mm?"

⇾word count: 2,2k

⇾warnings: cockwarming, mentions of smut; dom!Price; breeding kink; feelings resolution (kinda)

⇾notes: i'm back on my soft Price agenda.

There is a dull throb in your body—the twinge of a low-grade fever—that simmers in your marrow. You feel like a massive contusion: worn and sore, tender. It’s not entirely dissimilar to an elastic band pulled too far, stretched too taut; it slips, skin smarting where it strikes. The burn makes you mewl into the soft, damp heat pressed beneath your cheek. The rich scent of oakmoss and cedar fills your nose, settling heavily in your lungs.

You find comfort in the charred sycamore and sweat that trickle down your throat.

Lashes flutter in a futile effort to blink away the milky cobwebs that spool over your eyes and shroud the world in moondust, but each blink feels like an offering to Hypnos. It keeps you in that equinox of sleep and wakefulness: a borderland between two states.

You blink again, lashes connecting like a lock and key. An anchor.

It feels like a battle to open them, but you do when the land beneath you ripples. Rumbles. The movements of tectonic plates; the aftershocks jar you into cognisance.

Your heavy eyes lift. The world is condensed into a blurry varicoloured smear of wry burnt umber curls, blotchy peach and pink flesh dusted with topaz freckles, and the hazy edge of a white collar.

It takes you a moment to shake off the tendrils of Hypno's grip, and then you’re back—back, but not quite. You exist in a hazy realm of understanding. A strange purgatory where you last remember searing heat, and pressure, and—

Being battered by the thick of his cock, wrenched around like a rag doll as he planted his feet on the floor, and canted his hips into your quivering body. It is all a murky bog of bliss and euphoria. Gentle words. The grind of him digging into the plug of your womb, the searing heat when his mouth latched onto your pulse point. The molten bloom in your cunt when he came, filling you up.

Resting your head on his chest—eyes mercury and head fuzzy; somnolence leaking over you like slow-rolling molasses. Just for a minute, you slurred out, basking in that liquid pleasure that spooled inside you. Just a minute.

It all lingers in a gossamer of pleasure that bleeds over your thoughts.

And now:

Cognisance returns in a slow drizzle of familiarity.

Rough skin grazing yours. Thumb brushing the aching knob of your hips where he dug his fingers into the soft give of your flesh, rutting into you like a man starved. The deep, even breaths that crackle in your ear; the rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his body. The heavy scent of him permeates around you—amber, cured spruce wood, burning tobacco leaves, and smoke.

The sizzle of burning tobacco leaves. Charred ashes. The scent of his cigar clots in the humid air.

Your head pounds from the explosion of endorphins that ripped through each synapse until they were liquid, and brimming with bliss; your body buzzing as each and every nerve pulsed with the deluge of dopamine. The crash of it leaves you feeling windswept, and conquered.

A low hum resounds through your chest, the echo of it reverberating through your ribcage. The hand slides from your hips, resting heavily on the small of your back. Coarse hair ticking your nose. The rustle of paper sounds somewhere in the distance—clearer, now, that the world has stopped spinning.

An elastic band stretches, and stretches, and—

Pressure. Tacky warmth. A fullness that perches on the equilibrium of familiar and foreign.

—snaps back.

You mewl at the liquid fire in your veins, and the too-full feeling inside of you.

"Shush, shush." His beard grazes your cheek when he lowers his chin to your ear, voice thick and full of smoke, drenched in nicotine. "Easy, love. Sleepin' beauty back with me, eh?"

You huff into his neck, throat thick with his taste and barren of words. Bone dry, your tongue slips out, drags over your kiss-bruised lips, accidentally catching the iodine on his skin. Balmy sweat. The sea in autumn. You press your mouth to his pulse, feverish for the familiar taste, and eager for more. Teeth scrape across his skin, suckling in the ambrosiac tang of him until it floods your mouth.

He rumbles again, a throaty trill that makes your core throb. Another inhale around his cigar; a crutch, you think, to stem the want.

Price pulls it away, arm brushing over your back. You can see the smoke rise out of the corner of your eye. It's clutched between his thumb and forefinger, dangling over the armrest.

"Start that again, and I'll end up throwin' my back out." He husks, warm hand dragging up the length of your spine until he cups the back of your leaden head. "Ain't as young as I was."

The heat of his voice, the way the smoky roll makes your belly flutter, brings awareness to that strange sensation inside of you. Your sore muscles clench around the thick of it—

"Fuckin' hell—!" His head falls back, tipping against the back of the seat. The groan that slips out is stretched taut and frayed.

Your thighs flex, shifting. You feel the sticky mess pooling in his lap, glueing the coarse hair dusting over his thighs to the back of your legs, under your ass. It leaks out around the plug of his softening cock.

He's still inside of you.

It ricochets through you, rippling down your spine.

The sensation of it sits in a strange haze of pleasure; it feels good to have him inside you like this, but without the normal movement, the grind of him against your walls—brassbound, thick—it feels foreign. Different. A dip into too much. The pressure of him sitting there, still stretching your walls taut, makes you keen in your throat.

"Ah—John—"

“I got you,” he says, etching small circles over your spine, head tilting to nuzzle his chin over your crown. Soothing. Calming. "I want you like this," he murmurs, throat clicking when he swallows. "Want you sat on my cock—just like this—while I finish up here. Can you do that for me?"

You huff, breath pluming over the skin of his neck until goosebumps form. It's strange, and too much, and—

"It's okay," he rasps, cock thickening with each of your exploratory wiggles. His hand slides down your back, settling you with a soft noise. "Easy, now. Just take it, yeah? Keep me inside of you like this. All my cum inside of your cunt."

He burrows his head into your neck, beard scratching over your raw skin. It makes you moan, makes you flutter around him, pulsing like a heartbeat. His words are nirvana in your veins; a bludgeon to your core.

"Might even take hold, eh? Filled you up—nice and deep—and now it's gonna stay here, mm? Gonna—fuck—gonna get you—"

He bites the word off with a growl when you moan, muscles spasming around him. More cum leaks out of the tight seal.

He groans again. A purr imbued with smoke. "You want that, don't you? Want to be good for me, mm? Just like this."

You swallow down the briny taste of him on your tongue, lashes fluttering. Heat pools in your belly.

Just like this. Just like—

You’ve never considered keeping him inside of you after he was finished, sat pretty and fucked stupid on his cock, but it ignites a fever under your skin. There is something intimate about it that makes your heart prickle, and your breath quicken. You shift, burrowing deeper into his hold. It's easy to find comfort on his lap, in his arms. You exhale deeply through your nose, breath ghosting through the coarse scruff on his neck.

It's a strange feeling being completely bare, stuffed to the brim with him. Your thighs are tacky from his spend slowly leaking out around the bulk of him as he moves in his chair, finding his own comfort.

His gaze slides to you when he brings the cigar to his mouth, eyes pitched low and liquid in the soft, jaundiced light of the lamp on his desk, waiting. The spark of ochre, bright vermillion, as he inhales catches in the sapphire pools. Magna in shades of blue. Mercury congeals on the rim.

He looks good with a cigar dangling from his teeth.

"Alright?" He murmurs around the thick of it, soft and velour—eyes brimming with something thick, syrupy sweet.

It surprises you sometimes that this man who's often nursing tea to soothe the rawness in his throat after howling himself mute on the battlefield can speak so gingerly. Growling whispers; pinched commands barked out in rasps are one thing, but this—

Soft curls of smoke seep into the aether. Mild and molten. Liquid fire.

The fact that this adamantine man speaks to you, only you, in abated whispers, as if he's softening himself, scourging the grit from his throat after years of screaming himself raw, sneaking his father's cigars in his youth, and down glasses of scotch as if it was water makes something rear within you.

It clots inside your pericardium: a mass of affection, cloying and full.

He wants this. You can see it in the dichotomy of blue that fixes itself on you, firm and unyielding. He wants it, but he won't take it. He won't make you stay here if you don't want to. You feel him inside of you, and the contrast juxtaposition between earlier when he was seated just as deep, in this very position, to now, when the room is bathed in ochre, and thick with the scent of sex and sweat and stale tobacco, is worlds apart. Different. But—

It's somehow more intimate than when he'd sat over his knee, and slapped the cheeks of your ass until it was bright red and blistering. Or when he perched you on the edge of his desk, growling out commands when you adjusted, trying to stem the sting when you sat, and buried his face between your thighs, drenching his beard in your slick.

Him, inside of you like this feels—

Natural. Domestic.

You flush, heart thudding as the bloom of—

Affection. And something else, something you bite into pieces, chewing between your molars until it's ground down into ash, masticated before it can be spoken aloud. Unutterable words not meant for the brisk and brutal physicality of your relationship, and yet.

It's there. Lingering.

Your head swims. You drop your forehead to his chest, greedily soaking in the warmth that bleeds through his still-damp shirt. His heart thuds in your ear, crown pressed beneath his chin when you turn.

Price waits for a moment, eyes still burrowing down at you, searching for any flicker of discomfort. Always the dutiful leader even when he's buried to the hilt inside of you. At your soft, breathy sigh, he turns away from you. Clears his throat of the smoke, thumb cresting over the knobs on your spine.

"Good girl—," it's a coarse purr slurred around the end of his cigar, billowing with satisfaction. Dark, rich. The euphonious praise makes you shiver. "—bein' so good for me, ain't you, mm?"

"Yes," it's tremulous, brittle. The breathy whisper makes his pulse quicken. His nostrils flare. His brows tick, waiting. Expectant. And you flush, words thick and soporific when you utter them:

"Yes, daddy."

He groans, throbbing inside of you. The cigar wobbles, teetering dangerously between his lax mouth. He rights it, biting into it with a snarl. "Bloody hell…"

He doesn't act on it. His eyes crest, lidded and full of smouldering want, but he lets it rest, lets the flame simmer. It's not about that right now. Not yet. Not when there is a small fell of paperwork on the desk behind you, and sleep beckons you, spits poison in the crest of your eyes, glossy and lachrymose until your eyes grow fuzzy, thick with exhaustion.

His weighted gaze lifts when you melt in his embrace, settled, secure. Just where he wants you. Needs you.

Price reaches for the paper, trading it for the cigar. His gaze oscillates between the report in his hands—unspeakable evils in underbellies unknown—and the soft way you muzzle into his chest. You can feel his eyes on you. A pendulum. It makes you smile, heart singing.

When he eases in his seat, eyes drifting back to his work, low hum and murmurs falling from his lips as he loses himself in the ugliness of the world, you press your lips to the tender beat of his pulse and whisper those unutterable words into the smoke-drenched warmth of his chest.

His breath catches, a shallow exhale. His hand stills. Body tenses.

Your lashes flutter when you open your eyes, meeting his liquid gaze.

His shoulders sag. You hear the rising crescendo of his heart when he presses his lips to your crown. He clears his throat again. His thumb brushes your spine, slower this time. Reverent.

Charred, husking words, the colour smoke seeping from the end of his lit cigar, spill from his lips, tender, softer, than ever before.

#this was really fun to write ngl #soft price is my new favourite thing ever #i also listened to nothing but lana while writing him #so i guess i should tag that as a mood #captain john price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price #john price cod #john price x reader #john price x you #call of duty modern warfare

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verana115 · 10 months

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Taking a trans pride flag up 202 mountains in the American Southeast, parts 188-194: West Virginia

Thorny Flat - 190/202 (my face looks so weird here but my hair is looks great so here you go):

Spruce Knob - 192/202 (highest point in West Virginia (Monogahela National Forest (U.S. Department of Agriculture))):

Martin Hill - 194/202:

Cacapon Mountain - 193/202:

Guadineer Knob - 191/202:

Red Spruce Knob - 189/202:

Blue Knob - 188/202:

Some more naturey photos!!!

Thanks for reading this far!!! :)

#lol flag time #pride #pride flag #trans #trans pride #trans pride flag #queer #queer pride #lgbtq #lgbtq pride #lgbt pride #lgbtqia #hiking #peakbagging #trails #nature #transgender #transgender pride

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vilevenom · 24 days

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Howdy, Anon! An idea for this prompt smacked me right in the face as soon as I read it. Aaaand I have a feeling it's, uh, not as fluffy as you may have been hoping. Still a JD & Bruce fic, buuuut less of an "Oh no! John Dory had a bad date! lol" and more of a "Oh no. John Dory had a bad date." Also, this is set pre-brozone breakup. Let's not mention the sheer amount of times I wrote "Bruce" instead of "Spruce" and had to go back and fix it I hope you enjoy!

John Dory crept into the pod, knowing full well he was much, much later than he had told his grandmother he would be. And after the night he'd had there was no way he wanted to deal with a confrontation with her. She had been upset enough with him when he had proposed the "Win a Date with BroZone" contest in the first place, especially without a sponsor to cover it. He didn't need to provide her with extra ammo over the whole thing by how late he'd gotten home.

He made sure the door shut as quietly as it could, then tip toed through the pod, doing his best to avoid toys and instruments scattered across the floor in the dark. He let out a near inaudible sigh of relief as he made it to the door of his bedroom, reaching for the knob, fully believing he had made it scot-free.

"About time you got home."

"Cupcakes!" John hissed, nearly jumping out of his skin at the voice suddenly to his right. He placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart, shooting a glare at Spruce who was stood in the darkened hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and a scowl on his face.

"Bitty B cried when you weren't home to tuck him in."

John rolled his eyes, shoving his bedroom door open. "It was one bedtime story. I'm sure he'll be fine," John grumbled, quickly ducking into his room and away from Spruce.

Spruce followed John Dory like a shadow, quickly shutting the bedroom door behind him in the hopes of keeping the rest of their brothers asleep. "Oh, no. You do not get to pretend like you weren't out until the middle of the night, making us worry. And you better believe that Grandma is going to have words with you in the morning. You've got to stop putting all of the band crap before your family!" Spruce growled, doing his best to keep his voice quiet, while also conveying to John Dory just how upset he was. Not only did he have to deal with a crying Branch, but Floyd had also been upset by John missing their bedtime routine, and Clay had just been angry.

"Come on, Spruce. Can't you lecture me in the morning? It's late," John grumbled, tugging his goggles off and tossing them aside, not bothering to turn the bedroom light on.

"No! You're going to listen to me, John Dory! This is getting ridiculous. First you start sequestering yourself in your room for hours on end to write, then you're forcing us to practice every minute we're not scheduled for a press conference or photo shoot, now you're out partying it up late into the night, making our brothers upset! It has to stop," Spruce snapped, flipping on the bedroom light as he spoke. He scowled when John quickly turned his back to him, his fur bristling as he stormed across the room. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he snarled, grabbing John's shoulders to turn him around.

Spruce fully expected John to glare at him and give him some snotty remark about being manhandled. He was not expecting to find a bruise forming over his brother's cheek, and crusted blood covering a split in his lip. Spruce gaped while John looked at the floor, unshed tears brimming in his eyes.

"What happened?" Spruce asked, his tone distinctly softer as he directed John to sit on the edge of his bed.

John took in a deep breath, obviously trying to keep himself from sobbing, but it did nothing to stop the tears that slowly began to trail down over his cheeks. "The date went…badly."

"This looks like it went worse than 'badly', JD," Spruce murmured, sitting next to his brother and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Talk to me, bro. What happened?"

John sniffed loudly, quickly wiping this nose with the back of his hand. "You're going to say 'I told you so', and I really don't need that tonight, Spruce."

"I won't, I promise," Spruce said quickly, shaking his head. He had a feeling he knew exactly what John was referring to. After John had argued with Rosiepuff over the date contest, he'd gone to Spruce with the proposal, as he was the designated heart throb and had previous experience with fake dates with fans. Spruce had immediately refuted the idea, citing the debacle when 'Trolls Magazine' had held a similar contest, and the awkward ice cream date he'd gone on with one of their fans and a photographer. John was proposing they run the contest themselves, without someone to vet the entries, to boost popularity before their next tour. Spruce had argued that a date without a chaperone, even with John being seventeen, was a terrible idea. John thought he would be able to handle it. After all, how crazy could their fans be?

John took another deep breath, coughing quietly as he tried to choke back a sob. "You really promise?"

"I absolutely promise."

John blinked a couple of times, before finally letting out a low whine, burying his face in his hands. Spruce rubbed his back in comforting circles as his older brothers shoulders shook. After a moment he finally sat back up, gasping quietly for air. "I…It started off fine," he said quietly, gaze far away, "She looked older than I thought she'd be. Her contest entry said nineteen, but I think she was older. She brought me flowers, which I thought was weird, but sweet. We went for dinner. I took photos with a few fans who asked while we were out. She got mad. She said I should only be paying attention to her and telling the others to go away, because she won my time. I told her I couldn't just ignore our fans, that'd be rude. She was upset, but let it go. She seemed to get more agitated as the night went on, though. Finally, when I was walking her home- or, at least, what I think was her home…She pinned me up against the tree and kissed me. She was rough, and it hurt. She bit me when I tried to pull away. When I did finally manage to get her off of me, she hit me. I ran for it, and she chased me. I only got home so late because I wanted to make sure she wasn't following me anymore."

"John," Spruce breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. To think that one of their fans would do such a thing was disturbing, to say the least.

"I should've listened to you and Grandma," John whimpered, turning a tearful gaze onto Spruce, "I never should've put together this stupid contest. I never should've gone on that date without someone with me."

"Hey," Spruce murmured, "What happened wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" John scoffed, wiping at his eyes angrily, "I didn't listen to you or Grandma, I went out by myself to meet someone I didn't know, and then had to run around the tree for hours so she wouldn't follow me home! I think that qualifies it as being my fault." He let out a weak sob, covering his face again. "I was scared." The admittance was quiet, and Spruce likely only heard it because he was so close to John.

Spruce tugged John Dory bodily into a hug, his older brother practically falling into his lap. "It wasn't your fault. I should've gone with you, regardless of how I felt. I could've helped to keep you safe." John clutched at the back of Spruce's sleep shirt, the damn of his tears breaking as he wept quietly into Spruce's shoulder. "You're going to be okay, JD. It's going to be okay."

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #trolls john dory #trolls spruce #trolls bruce #trolls fanfic #prompt fill #things that i wrote

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heavenlybackside · 29 days

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....heading out to the overlook at Spruce Knob

Pendleton County, West Virginia

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marsmarbles · 3 months

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If you have the time, could you maybe do a scene with bigb teaching grian how to bake his famous cookies? Or maybe something a bit more angsty, like one of them getting to the other only to find their leftover items? Or whatever you want honestly! Thx for the secret soulmates food! :p

I had an idea for this request but it would be too much to draw so I’m actually gonna try and do some writing instead. Sorry for those who don’t like reading. It’s kinda long.

Golden Light to Silver Shadows

Grian nervously stood before the Food Crew’s bakery entrance, clamping his sweaty hands on a present he had spent all day preparing for BigB. Turning the knob of the door and pushing it open activated an alarm system set up by Fwhip. A bell rang and a few note blocks could be heard. It was a charming little jingle to welcome customers. The bakery was cozy with cherry plank walls and coffee colored spruce floors. A few circle tables were sprinkled in the center of the room with booths lining the walls. Lanterns, succulents, and baskets of flowery bushes hung from the ceiling. BigB was sat behind the counter. He was examining the creases in the floorboards with his head resting on his hand. He had been daydreaming. BigB loved his bakery, but it was admittedly boring to wait for customers. The door jingle alerted him to Grian’s presence.

“Grian!” BigB lit up in excitement, his antennae wiggled with joy. The genuine excitement to see Grian was more than enough to make Grian’s face flush. “Hey, BigB. I uhhh… made something for you.”

Grian slid a bag of cookies across the counter with shaky hands. They were neatly wrapped in a shimmery clear bag, tightly fastened with a blue ribbon with gold accents. “This was my first time ever making cookies, so sorry if they’re bad. Maybe you can show me your secret recipe,” Grian laughed nervously.

BigB gleefully loosened the blue ribbon holding the bag shut, took a cookie, and ate it whole. It was crunchy and thin and….hollow(?)…they weren’t bad by any means. For Grian’s first time, BigB appreciated the love and effort he put in. He had waited all day for someone to show up to the bakery. And the fact that it was Grian made it even better. He didn’t want him to leave just yet.

“How about we make some cookies together! The cocoa beans should be ready in the greenhouse,” BigB suggested, gesturing to the entrance to the greenhouse just behind him.

“I’d love to!” Grian quickly replied. The word ‘together’ was enough.

After BigB stashed away the cookies for later in the top cabinet, he and Grian made their way to the back door to the greenhouse. Grian had to do an awkward shuffle around the counter to keep up. The greenhouse was gorgeous. Golden light shone through the semi transparent overhang and broke through the flowers and leaves. Parrots chirped and bees buzzed. Luscious plants swayed in the gentle breeze. Glow berry vines slung from the ceiling as axolotls and frogs popped out from the ponds, curious of the new visitor. Grian stared in awe. This was more of a massive nature preserve than any greenhouse he’s ever been in.

“Grian?” BigB broke Grian out of his trance. “The cocoa bean farm is over here.”

“Uh right,” Grian said, adjusting his glasses and wiping his mouth and chin with his coat sleeve (just to make sure he didn’t drool while distracted).

BigB led him to a cluster of jungle trees. They reached high, popping out the top of through the ceiling. Podzol and bamboo were dotted around in clumps. Just past the cocoa bean farm was the end of the greenhouse. Through the transparent walls could be a seen an expansive jungle forest, stretching well beyond the world borders. BigB pulled off a ready cocoa bean plant and inspected it for abnormalities. After checking that it was good, he held it out for Grian. “Why don’t you try to break this one open?”

“Uhh I dunno,” Grian held his hands up, unsure.

In that moment, Grian took a pause. Actually, the whole world felt in slow motion. Something unseen had disturbed the peace. His Watcher senses were tingling, so to speak. Something was about to happen….. Suddenly, as the world picked back up in speed, BigB’s calming smile was shot down with an excruciating pain all throughout his body; every muscle, every ligament, every organ, each and every follicle of hair. The cocoa bean plant dropped and exploded on impact with the earth. A jolt went up his spine and his legs went out on him. He tumbled to the ground. He had no process time to scream or cry out in pain. He just fell.

“BIGB!!!!” Grian shrieked, dropping to his knees to assist him just as fast as BigB fell. “B-BIGB WHAT HAPPENED ARE YOU OKAY??”

“I-I…I think I’m going…J-Jimmy…he-”BigB managed to get out with a weak shaky breath.

“BigB! BigB! Please I need you to stay with me BigB,” Grian frantically cradled BigB in his arms. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He checked chat…

…Jimmy had fallen to his death…

Oh, fucking of course, Grian thought. Grian hadn’t considered Jimmy being in control of BigB’s lives, but with that confirmation he’d might as well think of this as his final moments with his secret soulmate.

“Grian….” BigB mustered the strength to caress Grian’s cheek and wipe away a tear. “…it’s ok….i’ll be right back….it’s just one life….”

“BigB….” Grian quietly whined, taking BigB’s hand, keeping it held to his cheek. He felt it go cold and his arm become heavy. Grian saw the last of the light in BigB’s dark eyes fade as his body became limp. Grian pulled his lifeless corpse into one final hug. And as BigB dissipated into smoke and billowed away…..Grian was left alone.

All the light and magic that the greenhouse had greeted him with was gone. The birds went silent, the bees hid back into their hives. The trees and flowers went grey and the golden light became silver shadows. Silently, Grian collected BigB’s fallen items, keeping his head down to hide his tearful look. And as he slowly closed the chest he stored BigB’s items in, he heard voices in the distance. It was a collection of people, most notably Scott, Martyn, Fwhip, and Joel, with a tomato faced Jimmy stomping ahead of them.

“Jimmy!!! We’re sorry!! We didn’t think you’d miss the water!” Scott cackled as he tried to explain himself to Jimmy.

“It was bad maths!! Bad maths!!” Martyn pleaded with a giggle.

“We didn’t think you’d die!!” Scott added, trying to breathe through his laughter.

“IM NOT HAVING ANY OF IT!!!!” Jimmy snapped back at them. “PLAYING BUNGEE JUMP WITH FISHING RODS IS THE LAST THING WE SHOULD BE THINKING ABOUT DOING IN A PLACE LIKE THIS!!! WHAT DO YOU THINK IMMA TELL BIGB, ‘THAT IT WAS JUST A PRANK’!!??”

Jimmy stormed into the bakery, and as he slammed the door, Fwhip’s voice was cut off; “but it was just a prank-“

Grian could here Jimmy stomp about in the bakery. He must’ve been looking for BigB. Jimmy ran out into the greenhouse and froze to find Grian and the aftermath of the incident. Grian stood there with a clenched fist and a chest by his feet. He gave Jimmy a stone cold glare with his dark eyes. Jimmy flinched at the sight of his expression.

“I put BigB’s stuff in this chest,” Grian said almost robotically, pointing to the box.

Jimmy desperately wanted to apologize, but Grian looked like he would accept nothing; not even a notch apple. Grian stiffly walked past him.

“I’m sorry….about BigB…” Jimmy made an attempt at an apology, hoping that Grian could find it in him somewhere to forgive him. Grian paused.

“It wasn’t your fault, Tim….” Grian said without turning back to him. “It was their’s….”

Grian continued walking, leaving Jimmy to wallow. He made his way to the bakery and took a seat at one of the circle tables. The room felt cold and desolate compared to before. Like it was a completely different place that the greenhouse had spat him back out into. He shuffled his chair forward and laid his head down, waiting for BigB’s return.

I actually had a lot of fun writing this, even though I wouldn’t consider myself a very skilled writer(and there’s most definitely a lot of mistakes I made lol). I felt like it was easier to depict a full scene compared to a comic(which would’ve probably taken me weeks). So I’ll do more writing like this in the future.

#mars ask #mars art request #chained life au #trafficblr #traffic shipping #mcyt #traffic life #traffic smp #mcyt fanart #writing #my writing #giran #grianmc #bigb #bigbst4tz2 #biggri #jimmy solidarity

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toxicanonymity · 11 months

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Aisle 39. Ben's Hardware

5250 words / Ben Solo x Rey

Warnings: I8+ mdni. Sexual tension, dubcon (via uninformed use of force connection but she wants it), dry humping. I 🖤 Dry Humping. Hardware Store AU but more than meets the eye.

A/N: posting my first fic in any fandom since I never posted it on Tumblr aside from the AO3 link and Tumblr is home now 🖤. I'm resisting the urge to improve it 😅 I'm not even gonna reread before posting. It was originally reader insert but @dark-scape translated to reylo. Lmk if you want the reader insert version instead and that can be arranged.

Rey visually undresses him. He inhales through his strong nose, meets her gaze, and cocks an eyebrow: “Now that’s an idea." He sinks all the way back into the cushions, his huge palms on his thighs, as if to take in the moment with a subtle, satisfied smile. He then abruptly sits back up and starts unbuttoning his shirt. As if on command.

Rey drives through the streets of Jakku. It's a chilly day, but bright for mid December. The sun is in her eyes, but the drive isn't long enough to commit to finding her sunglasses. As she turns into a parking lot, she sees the cafe next door is open and realizes it will be the perfect day to grab her favorite nutmeg butternut squash soup with their signature green tea bread if she can make it out of the hardware store before the lunch rush really picks up. This is a rare opportunity because the cafe's hours are aligned to typical office job hours when she’s normally across town.

Rumor has it the hardware store is locally-owned now, and she wonders how much it’s changed. She's taken a vacation day to finish some holiday shopping and errands, and thought of an easy home improvement project last night to spruce up Finn and Poe’s house while she housesits and takes care of their cat Bebe. She wants to fix the dimmer for the light above their kitchen table. The knob has been missing for awhile now, and even when you twist the naked peg, the lights don't dim, so she assumes the bulbs aren’t the right kind. She figures she can fix this with a new plastic knob, a 4-pack of dimmable LED lights, and five minutes of labor. She can finish it off with a little red bow on the new dial. This will be a nice surprise and will also give her an excuse to procrastinate her other errands.

Turns out, not much has changed. She clip-clops through the sliding doors in her warmest boots and still sees orange aprons with names hand-written in sharpie. She immediately locates the light bulbs and spends a few minutes longer than necessary deciding which pack to get. She looks at her phone and sees she has about ten minutes until the lunch rush, so it's time to find the other item she needs, the knob.

She looks up and sees a worker. He's wearing a dark gray jacket over his apron, and what looks like a lighter gray hoodie under it. It isn’t that cold in here, she thinks . She almost leaves him alone, but something on his apron catches her eye. She can't see the name, but barely sees the edge of an expertly doodled death star. Bold choice.

He's got a nice head of dark hair, chin length, tapered around his face, but out of the way enough to see his eyes are brown. He runs his hand through his hair over the top of his crown as though slicking it back, then some of the strands fall back down. His face is a mix of heart and square shaped with a masculine jaw and strong nose. He has the stubble of a mustache and soul patch but no beard.

He has beauty marks, so many. How many? Are they just on his face or all over? He has an enviously clear complexion and looks like he tans easily. He's kind of tall, but not looming, maybe because his head is bowed slightly as he lifts a crate of lightbulb boxes and begins to unpack it. He seems athletic, hard to tell with what he's wearing. He has a youthful vibe but isn't exactly boyish.

He carries himself like he knows more or less what he's doing, but doesn't take the job too seriously. Rey imagines he wouldn't be the best candidate to tell her how to do a project, but he must know the aisles at least. She doesn't like to be a bother, but hopes it's an easy enough question, and he's standing right there. He can tell she’s about to ask him something and looks up. The whites of his eyes are clear and sparkly. Rey wonders if hers would be like that if she blinked more, which leads to her unintentionally fluttering her lashes.

She finally says, close to a whisper, “Can I ask you something?” I asked… if I can ask him something. She groans inwardly.

She isn’t prepared for the gentle baritone voice he responds with, "Yeah. Sure."

"Uh, where can I find the light switches and dimmers?"

"AISLE 39. I think. Here, I'll show you." He sounds about twice as old as he looks. Those few words he speaks are enough to flip a switch in Rey. Her heart is melting at the same time her mind is racing. She can't tell for sure because he’s so bundled up, but she imagines he has strong arms and is in great shape based on the vascularity of his hands as he holds his barcode reader. He's working in the middle of the school day so he's got to be at least 18, not that he looks any younger, but Rey tends to think in worst case scenarios. Realistically, she would peg him for mid-twenties, but his voice sounds at least two decades older.

He walks her to aisle 39 and stops. She thanks him for his help, and as she turns to walk in the direction he pointed, she realizes she’s slightly blushing and she’s been silent. She doesn't want her shyness to come off as cold, so she makes eye contact and lets a little smile sprout from the left corner of her mouth across her lips, small but beaming. She hopes it doesn't come off as a smirk or make him self conscious. She can't tell whether he's the self conscious type.

She figures she can find the item herself from here, and doesn't think to ask him about the specific product. She wanders nearly all the way down the aisle, but after several minutes of searching (albeit distractedly), Rey is relieved to see him come back with another customer. He's helping a man find a specific thing, not a whole aisle. She’s jealous, even though it was her own fault not to ask. She hopes he sticks around and asks her if she found everything okay, but when he's done with the other customer it seems like he's about to leave.

She quickly approaches him. “Can I- can I ask for your help again?” Asking to ask again. Do I always sound this ridiculous? She tells him about the dimmer she’s looking for, which is apparently called a rotary switch.

To her surprise and delight, he talks far more than he needs to about rotary switches. His dark velvet voice is lulling Rey half into a fantasy while she struggles to continue listening to his words. He repeats almost every word she says back to him coolly and casually. And these aren't complicated concepts. She isn’t sure if he's practicing an active listening technique from sales training or is simply aware of his effect on women. Or his effect on her. She stands inches from him and looks into his eyes. She wonders to what extent her white cheeks have bloomed into roses under her freckles and given her away.

"You need a dimmer?" He looks her in the eyes, but she’s transfixed on every flex of his jaw and twitch of his lip as he talks.

"Yes, but just the knob, not the whole thing,” she says.

He nods thoughtfully then confirms, "So you just need the plastic part?"

“Right, there’s still a stick you can use to turn it, but it’s naked,” Rey confirms. She pulls her phone out of her back pocket to show him what kind of set-up the panel has and what part she needs.

"So on the panel there's an up-down switch, and a rotary dimmer."

“Yeah." She shows him the knob on the store's app and says, "I think the dimmer part is in stock.”

He replies "Oh, it says aisle 2?" He looks in that direction like he’s trying to remember what’s in aisle 2. He must be new.

"No, we’re in the right aisle. It's wrong on the preview page, but if you click into it you can see," she explains.

"Oh, ok. This is what you need though?" He locks eyes with Rey.

Just like that, she’s imagining him taking off his apron and hoodie at the end of the day, revealing meaty biceps that want to burst out of a black, soft washed t-shirt. Running his large hand through his hair. Flexing those beautiful arms as he peels off the shirt. A smooth torso with hard pecs, scant chest hair. At the thought of this, the left half of her bottom lip starts to creep under her left front teeth, and he cracks a smile for the first time, from the right side of his mouth, almost like a mirror image to Rey’s. His teeth are pretty but unassuming. They're close to white and not overly straight.

Her cheeks grow warmer and she looks away, responding to his question with a slight nod, which she hopes doesn’t read as hesitant, before resuming eye contact. “Yeah,” she quietly confirms.

"But you don't need the regular switch, right?" He speaks with a relaxed beat, not rushing the conversation to its end.

"Uh-huh."

He's speaking low and soft and looks back and forth between Rey’s eyes, not at the screen they’re both supposedly studying. "You just need the dimmer."

"Yeah." She feels like this is being drawn out to the point of overkill, but she’s not complaining.

"And you only need the plastic part." Every time he speaks is like music.

"Yeah," she confirms, barely audible, with a smile.

He continues to search her eyes and she repeats, "Yeah."

For a brief moment, he seems to gaze at Rey as lustily as she knows she is looking at him before he gathers his thoughts. She feels self conscious and suspects by the amount that he’s talking he must know the spellbinding effect his voice has on her. But if that's the case, she supposes there’s no harm that could come from him knowing it.

"Okay, let’s go over here," he says as he leads her back to where she started at the front of the aisle. "I think I see it.” He crouches down to get something from the bottom shelf.

"That’s it!" Rey says with a grin.

She feels bad for not crouching down with him. She’s always self conscious of making people do too much work, but then she also doesn’t want to make it awkward by taking over. So it's not that she expects him to serve her, she’s just frozen. He starts to pull the small product off the metal rods. It's the exact one she’d shown him on her phone, but she notices a better color next to it. Rey squats down and as she looks at the package to the right of the one he's holding, he almost looks disappointed that he didn't pick the exact unit she needed.

She says, "This one is even better, it'll match the old yellowed white." As she slides the package toward her, her right thumb almost imperceptibly brushes his left hand which is still holding the other package. She hasn’t even thought about his package yet, but the lightest brush of his skin is enough to short Rey’s circuits. She gets nervous and stands up, thanks him twice with a genuine smile and that's all she can do.

"No problem," he says, and that's all. As Rey watches him walk away, she feels an odd desperation to hear his voice again. She thinks about making up another question and recording him with an app. Is that creepy? It’s a little creepy, but not full-blown creepy, right? It isn't an option to never hear his voice again. She briefly glances around and he's nowhere in sight. She gets a hold of herself and makes her way to the self checkout line and pays.

Scanning the parking lot as she leaves, Rey wonders which car is his. When she gets to her car, she realizes she doesn’t have her keys. She sheepishly walks back inside and grabs her keys and receipt from the self-checkout terminal she just used. She looks at the receipt - “Ben’s Hardware”. So it did change ownership. She feels someone watching her from the aisle straight ahead, but tries to play it cool. She smiles and shakes her head in disbelief as she turns around and leaves, heart pounding.

Rey forgets all about the soup she was going to get and drives on autopilot to the house to install the dimmer and bulbs. What was that back there? When did I become so shy? It’s been a long time since she’s felt a visceral longing for someone, too. She can feel the animal inside of her awakening from a years-long slumber. She isn’t worried about it, she welcomes it. It’s tame. She has the maturity and experience to stay in control.

She pulls into the broken driveway and parks under the carport. Bebe runs to greet her and Rey bends down to pet her when she opens the car door. This should be an easy but impactful little project. She enters the kitchen, and takes the rotary dial out, dismissing a ridiculous passing thought that she should have bought the white one, too, because he touched it. She tears the packaging open and holds the off-white plastic rotary dial in her hand, smiling as she remembers all the ways he described it.

She raises the cream plastic dial to the light switch panel and glances at its underside, confirming it’s compatible. The unsheathed rotary peg juts out from the panel in anticipation. She holds the dial by its outer edge, aligning its hole with the peg, and gently eases the peg inside. The dial slides all the way on and snaps into place. It sticks out a little far from the wall, but it works. Then she unscrews the light bulbs in the cheap chandelier one by one and replaces them with the dimmable ones she bought.

Finally, the moment of truth - she presses the rotary dial, which turns on the lights, but when she rotates the dimmer, it dims nothing. The dimmer wiring itself might not be LED compatible. Of course. It looks like she’ll have to go back to the store, but not today. She does her shopping and begrudgingly runs errands, and finishes off her day with a warm cup of rooibos.

When she gets in bed, her mind drifts back to Him. She’s dying to hear his voice again. He was so calm, aloof, but somehow radiating power. She interprets it as sexual energy, but she wonders if she’s just seeing what she wants to see. To keep his voice in her mind, she imagines him narrating, “So. This is your bed… we’re going to use an extra blanket tonight, because it’s cold.” She feels ridiculous. But when she drifts off to sleep, there he is.

***

Rey is in a living room, but not hers. It’s a subtle mid-century style with huge windows and modern touches. It’s dimly lit with a fire roaring behind a glass. He’s slouched on a stool at a wet bar, drinking something on the rocks. He’s wearing black slacks, a form-fitting charcoal button-up shirt, untucked, with the cuffs unbuttoned. He has one foot on a rung of the stool and another with its heel on the ground as he looks at his glass.

He looks at Rey and puts down the glass. “Drink?” he asks, standing up to go around the other side of the bar. Rey watches him. “Whisky? Wine? Water?” he asks, while filling a glass of water. “I’m fine,” she replies. He puts the glass of water down on the smooth granite in front of a second stool that’s still tucked under the bar. As he walks out from behind the bar, he lets his fingers graze the leather seat of the closest stool. Rey notices he’s shoeless, wearing black and gray argyle socks. Why is he so quiet?

Right on cue, he says, “Well, you’re here. What do you want to do?” It’s so vivid. Rey is frozen and says nothing. Her heartbeat quickens. He paces patiently. There’s a teal sectional facing the fireplace. The living room has soft carpet that feels new under her bare feet. He walks across the living room, crossing into It a breakfast nook with an oak table. Behind the kitchen table, he reaches for the wall and lightly touches a conspicuously cheap looking dial that dims the room further. He comes back toward Rey, and pauses between the breakfast nook and living room. There’s a cabinet separating the spaces, about the same height as the kitchen table. It has a record player and a box of records sitting on top of it.

He approaches the record cabinet, which is about hip height to him. He’s facing Rey, with the cabinet and the entire living room in between them. With a casual stretch of one leg, he spreads his feet to lower himself a little and look at the records. He rolls up his sleeves, glancing up at her with his tan forearms flexing. He thumbs through the vinyl records, which appear to have no words on the covers. He has his head down, his hair has fallen slightly in his face, and he’s glancing up at Rey every few seconds as he thumbs through the box.

He starts reading out the names of records, and her butterflies intensify at the low rumble of his voice. “Led Zeppelin III,” “Some Girls,” “Get Behind Me Satan,” “Ocean’s 11,” “Travis” “John Wick 2” The foliage outside rustles gently against the window. The next time he looks up at her, he doesn't look back down. It’s an expectant gaze as though to see if the sound of his voice was effective. She squirms a little and blushes. He holds her gaze, squints slightly, and smiles a little. He’s finished going through the records. He doesn’t put anything on the record player, but a song she likes starts playing anyway. Think, by Kaleida.

He gives Rey a mischievous, inquisitive look, and runs his hand through his hair as he walks over to the sectional. He takes a seat and hinges forward at the hip, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. She admires the shape of his forearms. He raises his clasped hands upright and sets his chin on them playfully, his biceps straining his sleeves as he meets her eyes. He says, “Well, here we are at my place,” which she doubts. Rey doesn’t know what she expects his place is like in reality, but it isn’t this refined. He chuckles, removing his elbows from his knees and resuming a more grown-up posture. With arched brows and an otherwise straight face, he says, “Really.” His brows relax again. “What do you feel like doing?” His voice floods every inch of her body with a yearning to be touched.

She doesn’t know how to answer him. She doesn’t know how she got there or what’s going on, but the combination of his voice, eye contact, and arms are enough for Rey to begin visually undressing him. He inhales through his strong nose, meets her gaze, and cocks an eyebrow: “Now that’s an idea." He sinks all the way back into the cushions, his palms on his thighs, as if to take in the moment with a subtle, satisfied smile. He then abruptly sits back up and starts unbuttoning his shirt. As if on command. . . Holy shit, Rey thinks. She realizes this is a dream. She’s lucid. It’s like a 5-d game where she can feel everything. In theory, she can do whatever she wants. What she really wants at this moment is to straddle him.

He glances down between his legs and coolly says, “sit anywhere you want.” She feels observed, even though he isn’t real. She walks over to the sectional and perches next to him on the edge of its velvet cushion. She feel herself getting wet. She’s wearing a gray stretch miniskirt–something she wouldn’t have picked out for herself–black leggings, and a green cardigan with no undershirt. He finishes unbuttoning his shirt and discards it on the floor. She sees exactly what she’d pictured earlier - a strong physique, his lightly bronzed arms straining against a soft washed t-shirt. “What’s your name,” he asks, and she feel a warmth growing between her legs. She tells him, “Rey.” “Rey,” he repeats, and she fruitlessly responds, “What’s yours?”

He sighs and gazes around wistfully, “Her name is Rey.” Then his eyes are back on her. He places a large hand softly on her knee. Electrified, she reciprocates. It’s not real, she reminds herself. She can do anything. The guy from the store will never know. She dares to run her hand a few inches up his quad and give his muscle a light squeeze. He exhales with the slightest little groan, “yeah,” and moves his hand to the small of back to urge her closer. She’s sitting next to him but facing him now, left leg folded under her, working her right hand up his quad.

The expanse of his thigh dwarfs her pale fingers on his black pants as she leans forward and lets her heel nestle between her legs to relieve some tension. A tsunami of tingling deep inside her spreads through her breasts. She grips his thigh for support, and lifts herself just barely, intending to bring the inner crook of one knee up over his closest leg in a cuddly way while remaining seated on the couch. A tent in his pants catches her eye and her skin starts to burn with urgency. If she moves too quickly, she wonders if she could startle herself awake.

As Rey raises her leg, he brings his far hand to it, gently coaxing her to move all the way onto his lap. Her skirt rides up over her ass as she follows his lead. He seizes one buttock in each hand, gives them a gentle squeeze, and takes a deep breath. She is overcome with arousal and takes her own deep breath, shuddering and blinking slowly as she exhales. Her legs are now spread wide open straddling his lap, but she’s hovering and hasn’t put her weight on him yet. Her head is a little higher than his in this position. He bows his head and nuzzles his nose into her cardigan between her breasts, closing his eyes and taking in her scent.

Rey’s modest chest is heaving against his face and he cradles her with both arms as she breathes. She places her hands gently on his shoulders, and slowly moves them inward to fondle the hair at the nape of his neck. She twirls a lock around her finger contemplatively, but she’s still hovering. His arms are under hers with his face still in her sweater. He drags his nose up to her neck and she feels her cardigan unbutton, exposing a lace bra, which is fastened in the front. He looks up at her and reiterates in an intimate whisper, “you can sit anywhere you want.”

Rey could tell from his breathing what would await her in his lap. Her leggings were already soaked. One by one, she scooted her knees closer to the back of the couch on either side of his expansive torso and let her weight down. She is now truly straddling him, her inner thighs and the intimate seam of her warm, moist leggings fully embracing his arousal. Her wetness spread through her leggings and into his pants. His lumber swells against her, pulsing into her aching nub. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Right here.” She leans forward to feel his full length, which spans from her privates to her belly button as he thrusts against her.

Over the course of a few blissful seconds, she feels his erection press harder against her, slide upward, then come back down, and repeat. His mouth finds her neck, then her mouth. She accept his lips hungrily and grinds back in rhythm. Her lips pull away as pleasure shoots through her gut and breasts. She leans her head back and gasps. He moves his way back down to her heart, nuzzling his nose along her neck then planting a kiss on her collar bone, another kiss on her breast.

Then his teeth lightly pinch her skin as they find the front of her bra. He looks up at her as the clasp flies open and her breasts are free. Her hard nipples are framed loosely by her dangling bra and the top half of her cardigan which is still buttoned, only at the bottom. She’s still wearing leggings, but his cock feels too good to leave it for even one moment to undress further. She continues to slowly grind against him as he moves one hand to her breast, keeping the other behind her for support. He palms one breast, lightly at first, grazing her nipple with the heel of his palm, then softly cups the whole breast, enveloping it in his large hand as he continues to slowly thrust into her warmth He uses his free hand to bring her close enough to kiss her other breast.

Rey is burning up now. He undoes the last two buttons of her cardigan and she lets it fall off her shoulders, discarding her bra at the same time. She reaches down to the hem of his shirt and slides four curled fingers underneath it. He helps her take it off, and she takes in the sight of his shredded torso. His right pec has a scar. She traces it with her thumb. His pecs are so hard. As she explores him, they continue grinding, then he gives a more emphatic thrust, like his cock cannot physically get close enough to her. She reaches between their loins and strokes his arousal through his pants, tracing the outline of his cock in detail. His pants are damp and shiny from her leggings and with a wetter spot of his own.

Rey needs him badly. He isn’t wearing a belt. She frantically searches for his button and zipper and carefully frees him. She holds, and beholds, the glorious, veiny shaft that lands in her hand. She savors the feeling of its soft skin as it throbs in her hand. “You. . . are a vision,” he murmurs into her chest, which is exactly what she was thinking about his package. She moves her thumb to the head of his cock, collects a bead of precum, and swirls around the head affectionately. Her brows furrow with want. He holds her tighter, closing the gap between them. He begins thrusting again, hard and slow. Rey grinds her throbbing warmth against his lower shaft while her hand is still in between them.

She feels the spine of her groin twitching and knows she’s close. She takes a deep breath and lets a sharper pleasure overtake her chest and groin. Her breath quickens as she nears her peak. She still has her leggings on. He reaches his broad hands into the back of her leggings, taking one buttcheek in each hand and moves her up and down against him. “I need you,” he breathes. They look into each other’s eyes and there’s something wild in his pupils, something dark, like a warm, black hole, drawing her in. “Take me,” she says. He reaches a hand behind her neck to cradle her head, and they gaze at each other, breathing, grinding. Then he pulls her face decisively to his.

Rey inhales through her nose as their lips meet hungrily. He kisses her hard, too messily to seal their mouths together, leaving his lower lip between her lips as he draws in a deep breath through his mouth. He then closes his lips on her upper lip, his teeth and tongue slightly grazing it. Half his mouth opens into hers, the other halves of their mouths still breathing heavily.

He shifts her slightly upward, wraps her around his waist, and she feels the head of his rock hard cock aggressively nuzzling her clit, up and down. His tongue finds hers and she lets it brush against her teeth. When she pulls away for a moment, he looks her in the eyes. They’re both moving faster now, and as they’re about to come, she folds herself into him, sliding her lips down his chin to his neck and opening her mouth, breathing against his skin.

His thumb finds her most sensitive place and one touch sends her over the edge. The pleasure is almost too much to bear. Her ass clenches as ecstacy blooms from her groin, her nipples, her ears, and deep within her gut. Muscles she didn’t even know she had shudder in release, and he wraps his arms tight around her, thrusting to the beat of her orgasm. She rides wave after wave, pulsating against his cock, and as another wave swells he groans, and she feels his cock begin its own contractions, intensifying hers.

Rey’s mouth is open against his neck and she’s breathing into his skin and as he unleashes a huge lode of cum, between them, soaking through her leggings, and gluing their clothes together. Her canines dig harmlessly into the side of his neck – she can’t resist – then she brings her lips to the flesh and seals it with a kiss. She collapses into him, loosely hugging him with her legs, and the two of them just breathe. Then he tightens his arms around her in a hug, and she looks up. She sees the mark of her teeth on his neck, and remembers no one else will see it. This isn’t real.

She nuzzles her head into her mark and blinks her eyelashes against his skin. He sighs slowly through his nose, then she feel the vibrations of his voice against her face as he says, “You are… remarkable.” She lies there breathing for a few minutes and he wraps them both in a cream, cable-knit throw. She falls asleep in his arms and wakes up in her own bed, marveling at how a dream can make one feel like they’ve experienced someone so intimately. She hadn’t had a lucid dream in years. She absently scratches an itch between her breasts and wonders how she can be sure to dream of him again tonight. Was it the rooibos, or the sheer will of her want?

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