#the woods was a nice change of scenery

[hedgehog-moss]

Last Sunday in October, a story in five parts :)

i. The guy who owns the pasture next to mine took his cows back to their winter lodgings the other day, and told me I could let my llamas eat what was left of the grass if I wanted. That was sweet of him but his pasture's fence is cow-proof, not llama-proof, so I had to wait for a sunny day, so I could sit with a book nearby and keep an eye on the llamas Pampe. Today was the day!

Pampy looked happy about this unexpected change of scenery and started grazing peacefully, meanwhile Pampe started with exploring the whole pasture, including the patch of woods at the back, hoping to find a flaw in the fence.

(Note Poldine below, desperately running after her mum so she won't be left behind if Pampe does find an opportunity to escape)

ii. I found some impressive coulemelles in this new pasture (I don't know any mushroom names in English sorry.) I cut one to take to the pharmacy and ask if they're the good kind (here with my hand for scale)

They're also known as nez de chat, cat's nose mushrooms, in some regions...

I found some girolles nearby last year, but not this time. The llamas seemed to be on their best behaviour so I thought after lunch I'd go look for mushrooms farther away in the woods, down by the torrent, instead of watching them all day.

Poldine, watch your mother.

I asked Merricat if she was volunteering her services as a llama-sitter (it looked like it)

—but she suspected I was going home where the fire is, so she followed me. (I don't make a fire on sunny afternoons, though... she had to nap in my cardigan instead. Not as good, but a tolerated second-best option.)

iii. I took Pan with me after lunch so he wouldn't encourage Pampe in mischief, and he was uncharacteristically audacious in his frolicking! He doesn't like water and he's usually quite prudent when we're near the torrent, even scolding me if I climb on mossy rocks, but today he was jumping from one slippery rock to the other very boldly.

As I was taking this nice waterfall photo, I heard a very dramatic high-pitched squeal followed by a dramatic splashing sound, and when I turned around Pandolf was dragging himself out of the torrent, looking, as we say in french, honteux et confus.

I'm sorry that his bout of audacious frolicking had to end this way :( Back to frolicking gingerly for at least a couple of years... (His fur is magical though, he looks like a drowned rat at first but then shakes himself twice and is immediately back to a normal volume of floof. So his dignity doesn't suffer for long, at least.)

iv. I found no mushrooms but something even better!

I love chestnuts so much, I've been hoping to find chestnut trees for years but was starting to think they just don't grow at this altitude... But I suck at identifying trees so it's very possible I walked past them dozens of times and never recognised them when it wasn't chestnut season.

You really have to earn every chestnut, even with the crushing-under-your-boot method to squeeze them out you still have to extricate them from their burr going ow ow ow the whole time. The worst thing is when you kill your fingers opening a reticent burr and it resentfully spits out a bunch of sad deflated worthless chestnuts.

Still, I ended up going home with chestnuts in every single one of my pockets. When we got out of the woods and back on the road Pandolf and I ran into a woman we don't know (so, not a close neighbour) and we started talking about foraging and I wondered if I should tell her about the nearby chestnut spot. But those things are private. No one told me about the chestnut spot even after I made increasingly heavy casual hints about how much I love chestnuts. After a while though I started suspecting this lady knew about the spot and was on her way there. Or on her way back, through a different path. She looked shifty. So did I. It's very possible that we were both standing there in the middle of the road with our coat pockets crammed with chestnuts, making pointedly non-chestnut-related small talk.

v. I went home and started making chestnut-pumpkin soup while dodging constant coordinated chicken attacks. At first they act like they're napping on a conveniently-nearby chair, or looking the other way, and as soon as you stop distrusting their intentions, they pounce, often from two different directions.

Side plot: Pandolf spent this whole time desperately trying to catch a cat, to restore his self-confidence after falling in the torrent.

Morille went from strolling casually on top of the fence to lounging casually in the hazel tree above my head, making it look like she hadn't even noticed she was being chased, which was very frustrating for Pandolf. Nothing wounds a dog like going unnoticed.

I told Morille it would make him happy if she let him catch her, and she was like eh, fine, and elegantly jumped from the hazel tree to the top of the stone wall.

Pandolf immediately followed, poked her a bit brutally with his big nose, and then he didn't know what else to do with her once he caught her so he just wagged his tail like "Well played, cat!! It was nice chasing you" and left.

v. bis (or ter) I want to reassure Pirlouit fans (who might have noticed that he wasn't allowed to graze in the neighbour's pasture with the llamas) that he knows he's entitled to fair compensation as a donkey, and he stood behind the fence the whole time I was preparing my soup, patiently waiting for his pumpkin benefits. Which he did get.

I found some leftover chestnuts in my trouser pocket tonight, that I'd forgotten about, so I'm having stove-roasted chestnuts for dessert after the chestnut soup! Chestnuts were 90% of my dinner and were also the reason Pandolf got dinner. I ran out of dog kibble and I was thinking of giving him a hard-boiled egg and some rice tonight, and go buy kibble tomorrow, but on our way back this afternoon we stopped by our closest neighbour's house and I humbly offered a handful of chestnuts in exchange for one serving of kibble. The neighbour's dog didn't look enchanted with our offer but his human agreed. I usually trade with my chicken's eggs but this woman has hens so I'm glad chestnuts are also accepted as valid currency.

#crawling along #i love numbered lists but i really should stop using them in my posts because i always end up adding extra stuff at the end 😭

[ddarker-dreams]

Worthy Motivator.

Blade x Reader.

Warnings: Typical Blade morbidity, Blade's slightly yan because I can never write him as Normal, and not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

Author notes are at the end of the story!

Washcloth in hand, you wipe away the perspiration clinging to your skin. 

While doing so, you squint, an act your reflection obediently mimics, confirming that yes; this disheveled figure is indeed you. You smooth out your hair, moisturize your face, then apply a light layer of toner. The process is completed in a timely fashion. A few hand motions made midair dim the bathroom’s lights.

Yawning, the door slides open at your behest, retreating into the wall like a turtle does its shell. The room is dome-shaped and customized to your liking. A light birch wood floor, pale pink walls, and windows showcasing scenery of a tulip field stretching on for miles. Windmills dot the distance, turning at their leisure. Gentle orange hues from two rising suns envelop the room in a cozy glow. 

If you hadn’t known any better, you’d believe you were actually on the planet Ethos, not traversing the cold, unforgiving space between galaxies.

While playing with the settings to change the time being depicted to twilight, it finally dawns on you that you’re not alone. 

Blazing eyes freeze you in place and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Blade,” you greet, wincing at how gracelessly the word rolls from your tongue, “I didn’t expect…” 

You cut yourself off, figuring that finishing the sentence will strengthen the bizarre atmosphere. What can be said, anyway? ‘Thanks for that,’ or ‘couldn’t have done it without you,’ maybe? Both options seem equally terrible. To make matters worse, he doesn’t explain why he’s stuck around. He continues to stand beside your nightstand, arms crossed over his chest, his lips drawn in a straight line. 

You’re the only one boasting signs of your previous tryst, the most obvious being your unsteady gait. Hoping to convey some decorum, you clasp your hands behind your back and straighten your posture. Surely, he’ll spill whatever’s on his mind and then make himself scarce. That’s been his modus operandi ever since this undefined relationship stumbled into existence. You tried not to take it personally. You’re both adults, if he doesn’t want to stick around for pillow talk, you won’t fault him for it. 

His eyes sear through your being. 

“You’re going to Illij.” 

You blink, thrown off by the flat delivery and the intentions it conceals. He’s either painfully blunt or cryptic in his word choice. It’d be nice if he could find a middle ground between both extremes, but that’s wishful thinking. 

With unusual impatience, he adds, “Alone.” 

Ah. 

A certain magenta-haired beauty’s previous words resurface in your mind. 

“—Alone? Not taking Bladie along for the ride?” she had tutted. “You’ll hurt his feelings.” 

You thought she was teasing, as she’s wont to do, yet your developing dilemma proves otherwise. That, or you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the truth in her words. 

Whilst shifting your weight from one foot to another, you meekly reply, “Kafka gave me permission.” 

He has the audacity to roll his eyes at you. 

“Permission, huh?” 

The condescension corrodes your former sheepishness. 

Placing a hand on your hips, you reply, “That’s the word I used, yes.” 

Your room pulsates with palpable tension. He stands to his full height — having been seated on your bed’s edge — sauntering over like a cat poised to pounce. You cross your arms over your chest as the distance shrinks. He’s yet to fully dress himself, wearing only his signature gray pants. His bare torso is marred with innumerable scars that vary in length and angle. Every time you both succumb to the heat of passion, his bandages occupy a new spot, depending on the circumstances of his latest battles. Presently, the cloth coils around his midsection and upper left arm. 

He’s close enough now for you to notice the latter unraveling. 

It isn’t anything logical that urges you forward. The sentiment resides deep in the recesses of your psyche, unsuccessfully shoved down by denial and trepidation. This formless substance takes shape as you meet him halfway. Blade towers over you. Given the massive gap in your abilities, you should fear him, but you know your pounding heart isn’t spurred by negative emotion. 

Much to his perplexity, you set aside the nascent quarrel, focusing your attention elsewhere. Nimble fingers resecure the rebellious cloth. 

“You’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” you mutter. “Honestly, what am I s’posed to do with you…?” 

It’s subtle, but this shift in tone relaxes his muscles. That is, until you admit: 

“I don’t like you being my bodyguard.”

Confusion contorts his countenance, then something more raw; something dangerously intimate. 

“I don’t like seeing you get hurt because of me,” you continue, lowering both your voice and head. “It’s… it’s awful and— and then— you don’t even care!” 

Hoping to avoid further humiliation, you stop there, taking deep breaths to prevent tears from flowing. This wasn’t the direction you wanted the evening to take. You wanted to take a bath, dip into a game Silver Wolf wouldn’t stop raving about, and then prepare for your imminent trip. The trip that’d put thousands of lightyears between you and a man whose blood spilled for your sake could rival an ocean. 

“I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve got Silv’s disguise software and she knows how to track me. So — I don’t know — take it easy, or something. You’ve got the month off.” 

His response is immediate. “I can’t.”

“Wh— did you not hear anything I just said?” you sputter. 

“I heard,” he confirms. He raises his hand to the bandage you rewrapped, as if trying to savor your lingering warmth. “When you’re gone, I cannot ‘take it easy.’” 

Blade uses your stupefaction to his advantage. He takes your much smaller hand into his and places it over his heart. It thumps at a slow, steady pace, like it hasn’t been obliterated and formed anew thousands of times. Your fingers twitch. His body, though colder than the average person’s, emits just enough warmth to indicate life. You feel the raised, textured skin that’s present above his every vital organ. It speaks of untold horrors; untold suffering. 

His chest rumbles as he says, “If I’ve no choice but to live… you’d make for a worthwhile reason.” 

You rest your forehead against his chest and squeeze your eyes shut. 

Kafka… are you sure it isn’t my feelings that’re in the most danger? 

A/N: owing to mental illness, aside from nexus, i devised another storyline for (slightly) less unhinged blade, this time with a stellaron hunter reader. while it has the material to make a series, i don't plan on starting up another multi-chaptered work until i make further progress into my current project 😭 still, i'm happy to talk about it if anyone's curious! here are some tidbits that give additional story context for this universe:

reader isn't super thrilled to be a stellaron hunter. a desperate situation ended in them joining the ranks. they're the emanator of the aeon of illumination, whose name i'm still undecided on. essentially, they're a 'consumer of stars,' capable of absorbing + storing well. you guessed it. stars. as you can imagine, this ability can provide immeasurable energy or devastation depending on its usage.

as a consequence, when reader's performing the sealing process, they're extremely vulnerable. it isn't exactly subtle, people tend to notice when their nearby sun is going cyaaaaaa ✌ and try to stop them. that's where bladie comes in. he kills anything and anyone that threatens them.

ethos is a pretty meadow planet that's known for harvesting clean energy (hydro, solar, wind) and using minimum technology. most of its inhabitants go their entire lives without ever seeing a computer. long distance communication is carried out through a dedicated fleet of carrier pigeons.

illij is a laissez-faire paradise. consumerism galore. ads projected in the night sky, ads projected in your dreams in certain low income areas where people can't afford space adblock™. it's a lot but sometimes reader appreciates the distraction.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #stellaron hunters x reader #hsr blade #reader insert #blade brainrot #my stuff

[sunnysana]

Park Chan-young x F! Neohuman reader

Summary: Eun-yoo left Chanyoung in the trap.

Warning(s): None

"Eun-yoo!" Chanyoung yelled for the 10th time knowing he wouldn't be able to get out any time soon with his sprained ankle, and that if he'd wait it to heal he would probably die of starvation.

"Damn it" he muttered under his breath while letting himself slide to the floor. He knew she wasn't gonna come back for him.

He sighed and closed his eyes giving up on doing the impossible.

Hours later he felt a change of scenery, he felt soft plush against his cheek when gained consciousness.

He opened his eyes.

He checked his surroundings first, noticing that he was lying in a makeshift two person bed that was probably a sleeping couch. He faced to a wall with a window shut with a curtain in presumably a camper.

it was getting dark outside. As he tried to sit up, he noticed his ankle bandaged up and taken care of.

He sat up and looked to the front. There was a girl standing at the kitchen counter making some food.

"Hello?" He said, trying to gain her attention. "Ah, I see you're awake." She then grabbed a bowl, showing some type of soup in it. "Drink up," she said. "You need it if you wanna heal anytime soon," he took it. "Oh, thank you," he replied, bowing his head slightly.

"How did I get here?" He asked still in a polite manner like he always did. "Oh right, I found you in a trap made for the infected or so-called 'monsters', I guess I felt bad for you so I decided to help you out." she said. She however left out the part that she saw Eun-yoo leaving him in there.

Then she grabbed a bowl for herself aswel and sat across from him on the side of the bed.

"So what's your name?" She asked him before eating a spoon full of the warm soup. "I'm Park Chanyoung from the Crows platoon. Nice to meet you." he bowed his head slightly again. "That's probably a thing in the army right?, well my name is L/N Y/N nice to meet you too." I bowed my head as well.

"Now drink up so you don't die of starvation, I didn't put anything weird in it if you're wondering" she smiled slightly. "If I wanted to do anything to you I would have done it already".

Chanyoung then put a spoon full of soup in his mouth tasting it. "Hm, it's good".

A little while later, after having a great conversation with him, you finished the food, so you placed the dishes in the sink. You felt something new inside something you hadn't felt before but couldn't quite place your finger on it.

"Thank you for your care, but I probably should go back I don't want to be a bother for you," Chanyoung said preparing to get up "No no no it's fine, you should take some rest I bet you won't come far like that also then my effort would have been for nothing"

Y/N replied back. As much as she doesn't wanna admit it she enjoyed having his company after all she's been alone for a while.... well since she turned. But what he doesn't know doesn't matter right?.

"Go rest now," the tired girl said, settling at the table. "I'm gonna aswel. "Wait, let me sleep at the table at least, I can't just take your bed like this. That would be rude of me".

"No, it's fine. Really, you need it more than I do, I'm not letting you sleep at the table" she said insisting and resting her head against the wood. "I'm not letting you either" he replied back to her not wanting to make her sleep on there, cause what gentleman would make a girl do that?

"I can take it really" she said not wanting him to sleep uncomfortably at the hard table.

But he couldn't let her "Alright then how about this you don't want me sleeping at the table but you don't want me to either so how about we share this bed? It's two person sized so we can have our own side that we stay on so it's hopefully less uncomfortable" he suggested a small blush tinting his cheeks "And no weird stuff ofcourse if you're worried about that" he added.

Her cheeks also got a little pink tint on them "If you insist then fine" she then clomb onto the bed onto the left side and got under the covers.

Both of them were flustered as they lay there together. "...Goodnight," she says softly, trying to look away. "Goodnight" he said back positioning himself confertably as they both drift of into a deep sleep.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A/N:

This is my first fic on here, so I hope you liked it. Also, I will be making a 2nd part soon, so I hope you look forward to that. Thank you for reading!

#sweet home #kdrama #sweet home season 2 #park chanyoung #sweet home x reader

[vintagestarlight]

Couple's Trip

Summary: you and John take a trip for your anniversary and John has a very special question to ask

Pairing: John Price x gf!reader

Words:~ 2.0k

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst(?), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it folks :3), MDNI!!

A/N: so this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I finally finished it! Probably the longest fic I’ve written and I’m not sure how I feel about it(I feel like I’m better at writing fluff pieces rather than spicy ones maybe?)but let me know what yall think! I’m working on another Price fic and a Soap fic so stay tuned! :)

A/N: As always likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback of all types are welcome and my inbox is always open! Hope you guys enjoy!!

***beware of typos lol

Your mind wandered as you zipped your suitcase shut. John announced you were taking a trip for your anniversary and refused to tell you where. "You'll find out when we get there love," he said with a laugh after you pestered him to tell you. You walked downstairs and set your suitcase by the front door.

Through no fault of his own John wasn't always around for your anniversary. He always tried his best to to have his leave coincide but it didn't always happen. Usually you just had a nice dinner at home or John would surprise you with flowers; both of which you enjoyed. Needless to say you were shocked but excited when John told you he had a few weeks leave and had something big planned.

"Hey hon, remember to pack your toothbrush this time," you said, doublechecking to make sure you had everything. "You forget it every time," you mused. "I'm not going to forget my toothbrush dove. And I don't forget it every time," Price argued; he checked his suitcase and realized he forgot. He went to the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush to pack it away without telling you.

"Are you ready love?" Price asked. "I want to get going," You noticed your boyfriend seemed to be acting weird. He was very fidgety and it wasn't like him at all.

"You okay?" You asked. "You seem anxious to get going,"

"Yeah I'm fine love I just want to get there before dark," Price replied, taking the luggage outside. He loaded the suitcases into the back of the car and slipped his hand in his pocket. His fingers brushed against the velvet box resting in his pocket. "Well if we want to get there before dark we should get going," you called out and shut the door behind you, locking up the house.

You noticed the scenery started to change from hilly landscapes to dense woods. You started to get excited about what was at the end of your little road trip. The car turned on to a cobblestone stone driveway that led to a beautiful cabin overlooking a private lake surrounded by trees. "Oh John this is beautiful!" You said, looking out the window. "How did you know about this?" You asked. "An old mate of mine offered to let us use it for the week," he smiled watching you try and take it all in.

"This whole place is for us?" You asked, wondering if you could possibly see everything in just a few days. Price squeezed your thigh. "Just us," he said, parking the car. "Here love," Price stated. He fished in his pocket pulling out a set of keys. "Here's the keys to the cabin. Why don't you go take a look around, while I unload the car" he suggested.

You smiled and took the keys from him walking up to the front steps. You unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The living room was decorated in a way you would expect a cabin to be decorated. A large sofa facing a tv mounted on the wall, a large red rug in the middle of the floor, an end table with a lamp beside the couch, a tv stand, large fireplace, and a chandelier made from antlers adorned the living room. There was also a full kitchen to your right when you walked in.

You made your way to the stairs and found the master bedroom. A king size bed was the centerpiece of the room with a wool blanket draped over the end. The curtains were drawn and a soft light emanated from a lamp sitting on a bedside table.

Your footsteps were hushed by the soft carpet as you walked to the bathroom. The master bathroom was beautifully decorated in finished wood and white accents with a big claw foot tub; definitely big enough for both you and John. A window that faced the lake and woods let in a nice breeze and you couldn't help smiling, the fact it was yours for a few days finally setting in.

You came down the stairs just as John set down the last of your luggage. "So? What do you think?" Price asked, smiling as you wrapped your arms around him. "It's perfect John!” you smiled. "It's so beautiful," you planted a kiss on his lips.

Over the next few days the ring Price carried around burned a hole in his pocket. He tried finding the right time to ask you but everytime he tried he got nervous. He was the Captain of the most elite special forces team in the world and he couldn't even ask you to marry him. He sat at the edge of the dock, his fishing pole in his hands. He looked at the water waiting for a fish to bite and thinking about how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. If only I could just ask her. With a frustrated sigh, he got up to stretch his legs still holding the fishing pole.

These few days seemed like a dream to you. Getting to spend this time with John was something you didn't always get to have. You noticed your boyfriend's behavior was somewhat off. He was anxious and fidgety when he's normally the calm and self-assured one in the relationship. You saw him sitting at the dock fishing and you smiled to yourself. His behavior may have changed but him fishing certainly hadn't.

You opened the front door and started walking down the cobblestone path the sweet air warming your skin. You saw little firefly's glowing in the garden flying around. "Have you caught anything yet?" You asked, siting down in a lawn chair with him standing holding his fishing pole. John glanced over and saw you wearing one of his army green t shirts and a pair of sleep shorts; he felt his heart skip a beat and his cock swell embarassingly hard despite the spirited romp in the sheets a mere few hours prior. For some strange reason, it made his thoughts drift back to the little box still tucked away in his pocket; he carried it with him everywhere since they got here. He still couldn’t believe he had trouble asking you a simple four-worded question. It was almost laughable that something so simple had the Captain racked with anxiety. The man who was feared just as much as he was respected in the field. What if you said no? What if you didn’t actually love him and this was the push you needed to leave him? He grimaced as his thoughts got more and more out of control.

“No I think I missed most of them,” he muttered and turned his attention back to the water. You furrowed your eyebrows; something was up with your boyfriend. Not much fazed the 6’2” Brit so to see him so lost in thought worried you. You got to your feet and wrapped your arms around your lover; your hands dipped underneath the shirt he was wearing and felt the dusting of wiry chest hair. You ran your fingers down the strong expanse of his chest and abdomen following the happy trail that disappears into his waistband. “What’s wrong hon?” You asked. “Nothing is wrong I’m fine love,” He grumbled. “You’ve been acting strange for the past few days and that isn’t like you,” You persisted. "I want to know what’s bothering you. You know you can tell me anything right?” You reassured him. John shifted his attention from the still water to you and tried to think of what to say.

“Do you…still love me?” He asked with uncertainty. “Would I have let you put me in those positions if I didn’t?” You teased, referencing the previous bedroom escapades. Seeing his face didn’t change, you realized he was serious. “Of course I do. Why would you think I don’t?” You asked. “Well…sometimes I can’t help but think you’ll wake up one day and come to your senses and leave me for someone who actually deserves you,” He sighed. It felt foreign to him to talk about his feelings but you made him feel safe enough that he could. You always brought out the best of him and it was one of the many reasons he wanted to marry you. “John Price, I am never going to leave you,” You told him, placing your hands on his muttonchops, framing his face. You hated it when he talked so badly about himself. “I love you so much and you deserve everything,” You said, gazing up at him. “Even if I am a grumpy old man?” He asked. “Yes even though you’re a grumpy old man,” you teased. “Hey! Easy now,” He said in mock annoyance. You placed your lips on his, capturing him in a heated kiss. You felt him kiss you back and the tension from his shoulders melted away. He groaned and pressed your bodies together, reaching down to grab a handful of your ass. He chuckled quietly when you whined as he pulled away. “In that case, there’s something I need to ask you,” He slipped his hand into his pocket while dropping down onto one knee. It’s now or never Price. He told himself. Your eyes went wide and filled with tears as you realized what was happening. “Y/N, will you marry me?” He asked, hoping, no silently begging, for you to say yes. “Yes! Yes I’ll marry you John Price,” you cried.

******

“FUCK!” You screamed. The headboard practically hit the wall with each harsh thrust from John. The room was filled with obscene yet erotic sound of panting and skin slapping against skin. “Fuck you’re taking me so well love,” John panted out, taking a glance down to where your cunt practically swallowed his cock. The sight drove him mad and he let out sounds he didn’t know he had in him. Those sounds he was making, the breathy groans and whimpers almost made you come then and there. “Fuck John!” You panted, feeling yourself get closer with every snap of John’s hips that hit perfectly inside you. John could feel you squeezing him like a vice and he knew you were close to coming. He grabbed the head board and pushed your legs to your chest to better plow into you and get as deep as he could into your pulsing cunt. “That’s it love,” He breathed out, his pace unrelenting. “Come for me love, come for me,”. John’s voice sounded strained as he focused on making you come before he did. You keened as you felt yourself go over the edge, coming on John’s cock. You squeezed him so tightly he swore he saw stars and came deep inside you, thick ropes of white staining the inside of your cunt. John rested his forehead against yours, strands of his hair sticking to the sweaty skin. You felt the sheer sheen of perspiration that had covered your own body begin to dry and cool off the longer the two of you stayed in each other’s embrace. "You okay love?” He asked, still out of breath as you both waited for your heart rates to slow. “More than okay,” you smiled lazily. Price gingerly pulled out his softened cock and walked to the bathroom, you admiring his bare ass as he walked away. John used a warm wash cloth to gently clean you up before grabbing a celebratory cigar and lighting it. You watched and admired his naked body as he poured himself a glass of scotch from the decanter sitting on the small table in the room before sliding back into bed with you.

You and John lay slightly tangled in the sheets with your head resting on his chest and his arm around you, relishing in that wonderful, hazy post sex daze. You couldn’t help but stare at the ring on your finger and smile; John was your fiancée and you could hardly believe it. “Careful now or I’ll think you love the ring more than me,” John’s deep baritone voice reverberating in his chest. “Well the ring is pretty great. And all I have is an old man,” you teased, looking up at him knowing he just proved himself to be anything but an old man. Your remark earned you a playful pinch on your ass. You squealed and laughed, swatting his chest playfully.

“Don’t worry Mr. Price I only have eyes for you my love,” You said, planting a kiss on his lips. "I love you,"

“I love you too soon-to-be Mrs. Price,”

#captain price #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #modern warfare x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price fluff #john price smut #captain price smut #john price x female reader #captain price x female reader #john price fanfiction #captain price fanfiction

[mirapril]

Hi, I would like some Castlevania headcanons please! About Alucard having a younger sibling but the sibling is still a child :D

OMGGG MY FIRST REQUEST!!! Ty sm for the request <3

so sorry I didn't see it until now 😭

since gender wasn't specified ill make reader gn

also this is my first time writing headcanons so I hope this is good enough😭

Feel free to give me any feedback or constructive criticism <3

Alucard x child!sibling!gn!reader Headcanons

fluffy brother/little sibling stuff

word count: 557

warnings: none, a little bit angsty at the end

When BigBrother!Alucard met you for the first time he swore on his life that he'd always protect you no matter what. no man nor beast will ever be able to harm you. not while he was around

While your mother was treating people of the village and your father was down in his lab researching, your big brother would play with you to keep you from causing any trouble

You’d play things like hide and seek together, which wasn’t really fair since he was as way more experienced with his powers than you are at your young age :(

"Adrian, this isn't fair! you're way older and faster than me!"

"You're the one who said you wanted to have a race y/n. You'll never get faster if you don't try you know."

When I say he’d do anything for you I mean it

He’d especially get into trouble with his father for you

On one occasion he had taken one of your fathers “pretty” science tubes but ended up knocking something important onto some also very important blueprints

Your father kept a very close eye on you both when you were around his lab after that

BigBrother!Alucard is also in charge of making sure you don’t get yourself lost in the woods around your home

You’d purposefully leave the house without telling anyone just so your older brother would have to find you

You loved when he had to chase you around big trees and across wide ponds with rocks surrounding them

Of course, he could easily catch you but usually he’d let you have your fun

He did have mini heart attacks whenever you’d run too fast around the steep and slippery rocks

His main worry was you falling and hitting your head on a rock or falling into the river

"Y/n! Watch where you're running! You don't want to run into another tree do you?"

Also BigBrother!Alucard is basically your tutor

Your parents taught you too, but you preferred your brother's teachings because he made lessons more fun for you

There was a time when your whole family went on one of your fathers' trips since he loved to travel so much

You got to see all sorts of sights together :)

For obvious reasons, your family didn't get out much, so it was a nice change of scenery for the four of you

After the death of your mother and father Alucard was the only one you had left

Alucard was worried about how your little brain was going to process such a loss, but he did his best to comfort you

It was hard for him to act like not only a brother, but a mother and father for you

You were very much brighter than most children at your age so you saw how much it was taking a toll on your brother

You tried to comfort him the best you could

"Don't worry Adrian. I don't feel so lonely because you look so much like mama! It's like I have you and her in one person :)"

He usually just laughed it off when you said strange things like that

He was also sad that you were literally growing up way faster than regular children should

He missed when you were small enough for him to cradle you in one arm

i got sad at the end cuz i was listening to music and i thought about reader and alucard growing up together :(

#x gn reader #x reader #castlevania #castlevania x reader #child reader #alucard castlevania #alucard x reader #x female reader #x male reader

[assortedvillainvault]

I said I was gonna request you, and i'm finally here. Can I request more fluff Headcanons for Facilier, Headless horseman and Horned king?? 🥺 Thank uuu 💫💫 hope you're doing amazing btw <3

BUBBLY i'm so so sorry for the wait on this, I've done nothing but rotate this ask in my head for 12 months, please enjoy-!

FLUFF HEADCANNONS

Dr Faciler:

- This MAN-

- Smooooooth as butter in a slow warmed skillet in summer.

- He’s an elegant chaperone draped in shadow, a hand in the darkness, a gentlemanly escort through the city streets, he’s basically able to hear you through every dark nook and cranny in New Orleans and assistance for anything is only the bat of an eyelash at a dark alley away.

- There’s. There’s so many petnames. The way he purrs ‘Darlin’’ feels like some kind of sin.

- You better believe half of New Orleans owes him a favour or two, so when he decides to take you out on the town, you’re getting nothing but the best service. It may not be the kind of highfalootin’ places he feels you deserve, but hidden in alleyways and in cellars lives New Orleans most raucous, lively, swingin’ nightlife and you’ll both be dancing till your feet fall off.

- Even as you both go for a pleasant walk around town, his ceaseless fingers are dipping into pockets and swiping passersby to get you something nice.

- While you’ve grown used to the sensation of being watched from the darkness, Facilier started taking pains to steer you away from where the city borders the bayou after you told him you felt watched there too.

- Mama Odie has her ways of keeping tabs on you both – and the horrified look on Facilier’s face when she hollered across the river “Stand up straight!” and “Y/N better be eatin’ right!” and “I better see some grandbabies!” (regardless of gender, she has her ways) was priceless.

Headless Horseman:

- Though he can vocalise, it often hurts, so when you appeared with a book on sign language he couldn’t help but sweep you up into a tight embrace.

- You’ve gotten familiar with the signs for ‘hello’ and ‘come here’ and ‘I love you’, the last being something he takes great pride in making you blush with.

- If you don’t know how to ride, he’ll teach you, though you know for a fact his horse Alpatraum only tolerates it because the Horseman is there to supervise. You’re getting thrown otherwise.

- (since learning said horse has a severe weakness for sugar cubes you’ve been graduated from ‘annoyance’ to ‘my annoyance with snacks’. He’ll let you pet him eventually, don’t worry.)

- If you have your own horse, it’s romantic nighttime rides through the woods as far as the eye can see. But HH's favourite is when you smirk and dare him to catch you, taking off at a gallop and laughing as he races in pursuit, the horses hooves like thunder as he gives chase.

- He loves it when you get chilly, because it means he can wrap you up in his cloak and snuggle in the saddle.

- Lowkey loves it when you carve him new faces/heads for halloween, though does have a slight caveat that you please keep the design somewhat frightening. If he’s left with the hello kitty pumpkin again yes he’ll begrudgingly wear it because you worked hard on it but you’re getting stuck up a tree as penance.

The Horned King

- Tf do you mean fluff he’s cold he’s hard he’s ragged he is terror he is death whispered on the wind-

-If you kiss his hand he nearly pitches over.

- The longer you’re in his company, the more you can observe his mocking use of endearments become ever so slowly more sincere, until only he is allowed to call you sweet things – which becomes a rule enforced with ruthless efficiency in his castle.

-He enjoys walking and talking with you, which is good because you’re the only person on the goddamn planet that can convince this lich to leave his depression hole of a private tower and get him to experience a change of scenery. Even just around the parapets would be enough, and then he gets to offer you his arm for the uneven ground and have you lean on him and oh, yes absolutely dear we can make this a daily occurrence-

- His major love language is quality time – simply being in your presence is enough to soothe the hard edges of any day. His favourite thing is just the two of you existing in the same space, quietly doing your own thing, and maybe settling in for some idle handholding just to make things Perfect.

- As a sidenote – you know the thing? With the gentle handholding and the little thumb-stroke over the back of the hand? Yeah. Yeah. That.

- Because he struggles with actually directly verbalising soft feelings (he’s allergic to announcing he’s secretly made of bone shaped mush), he’s come up with the genius coping mechanism of ‘Acts of Service – gaslighting edition’.

- Example:

- “...Sire did you order the men to renovate my room??”

- “The castle requires upkeep, my dear.”

- “...but the renovations seem to comprise of. Just my room.”

- “...Perhaps once the men and Creeper prove themselves deserving of leakproof roofs and sufficient insulation I will order their quarters improved also. Now hush.”

Once again Bubbly I'm so sorry for the wait, I hope you like these little bits!!

#thalassa responds #disney villains #x reader #disney villains x reader #the horned king #dr facilier #the headless horseman #fluff fluff fluffity fluff

[davenporttf]

The Goliath Andes Yuca Spider

I think it's time. I need to start getting into shape, and getting outdoors more. My whole life I've been this pudgy pale white guy that looks like he could barely lift a 12 pack of Coke. I'm not exactly a hit with the ladies and it's been making my 30's miserable.

I've lived in Southern California my whole life, and if there's anything that people love to do around here, it's hiking. I've always shrugged it off. The thought of sweating a bunch in the hot sun and making my farmers tan worse never appealed to me. But I figure I'd give it a try and see if I end up loving it. Besides, maybe I could find a cute girl to go hiking with down the line.

I started googling local trails in the area and there seems to be a couple easy ones. I could start small and work my way up to the harder ones. I'm looking through the trails when see a bunch of articles about an invasive species of spiders in the area. Curiosity gets me and I click on an article. They're called the Goliath Andes Yuca Spider or "G.A.Y." spider for short. What a terrible name for a spider. There's not much info on them except they're understood to not be lethal, and they spin colorful webs. I doubt I'll encounter one so I forget about it.

I made my way to a trail in the local state park. There's no one around which is nice because I can walk shirtless and get my tan going. I pull my shirt off and begin my hike. The trail makes it's way uphill through a forest. I'm working up a sweat and and the scenery is nice. Maybe I could get used to this. Little did I know while I was looking at the tall trees, I didn't see this large rainbow web in front of me.

I walk straight into the web and I can feel it sticking to me all over. I try swiping it off but it's grip on my skin is unlike any other web I've encountered before. After a minute or so of trying to pull it off me, I feel the web begin to stretch over my entire body. This is crazy! How strong is this web?

The colorful web is strung everywhere on my body and it feels like it's getting tighter. There comes a warmth as the web seemingly soaks into my skin. I feel tingly all over and no longer see the web. I stop panicking thinking the worst is over.

Suddenly a wave of pain takes over as I feel my body contorting like I'm made of clay. My legs stretch and bulk up real beefy but toned. My ass tightens into these muscular and pillowy globes. The slab around my stomach contracts like I'm having cramps but it's tightening into a perfectly sculpted six pack. My arms and shoulders are injected with mounds of muscle while my pale complexion changes to a sunkissed tan.

I reach up to my face in awe as my double chin retract into my neck, and my facial feature become younger. My jaw shifts into a more angular form like it could cut diamonds. My facial hair grows more dense and my buzzcut grows out into a playful length.

I'm panting as the pain finally subsides and I'm thinking the worst is over. But then a second wave comes over me. This time it's not pain, it's full on pleasure. Lust invades my groin as I start imagining meeting up with my buddies to go deep into the woods and go off the trail to fuck each other senseless. I feel my balls grow heavier with the remainders of my previous life of hitting on girls at bars. My dick lengthens to a solid 9 inches and I'm helpless to refrain from rubbing one out. I'm jerking so hard as more thoughts of visiting local cruising spots to have all the DL guys moaning in pleasure. I desperately fight to hold on my old life until I feel it shooting out onto the ground.

Fuck, I love the outdoors.

#gay tf #mental change #straight to gay #jock #gay jock #male transformation #nature #muscle tf

[forestshadow-wolf]

Headcanon time!!! [I'm actually projecting!!!]

Everyones' got their gimmick for dealing with stress and anger. Ghost hit the gym, gaz found someone to talk to, price did.. god knows what with nik, and soap...

Soap didn't really know. Not anymore anyway. Not after being told "you can't keep running from all your problems" time after time. He'd trained it out of himself long ago, forced himself to learn how to root himself to one spot.

He supposed he could consider filling page after page of his journal could be considered an outlet. But it just never worked the same. Or at all. Only serving to let him stew in his own thoughts. Allowed all that reckless energy bleed into sleepless night instead of mile of track.

He's tried talking. His parents tried to get him to talk through his feelings. But it never felt right to him. It made him clam up. He had to force words through his teeth, and it made tears of frustration spring to his eyes, which only served to make him madder.

One small tick in a nice moment could set him on edge for days. And it's not like he didn't know it was irrational. He did his best to tamp it down, and put on the happy smile. And for the most part it worked... for the most part. On the days it didn't he'd seclude himself to more solitary tasks, actively avoid as many people as possible to avoid snapping at some poor undeserving soul.

Sometimes when they came back to base after an unsuccessful mission that left everyone exhausted and frustrated, they'd all spit up. He knew ghost would likely be found in the gym, but he also knew ghost like his own time to work off his anger. Gaz would be hangout with price in his office or commandeering some other poor sod. If price wasn't with gaz he was probably with nik, doing stuff soap didn't even want to think about.

Instead soap usually locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, foregoing meals if it was being served, in favor of nibbling on protein bars (not that he had much of an appetite usually). One time he actually had run off. He'd been exceptionally mad that time (about what? He can't remember) but he'd purposely left his devices in his room, and ghost had had to find him for either a debrief or a meeting on an upcoming mission. Sure it helped a hell of a lot more that sitting in his room did, but delaying a meeting for two and a half hours was a hell of a lot more inconvenient for everyone else. So instead he sat and he drew and he stewed.

Ghost has definitely caught onto soap's behavior. It worries him. He knows what it's like to not have an outlet, for years he himself didn't have one, and it's not healthy.

On one of the days where soap makes himself scarce ghost seeks him out. Finds him doing the boringest of jobs- restocking empty mags, counting inventory- he can tell its not helping. He drags soap out, takes him to the gym with him, sets him to work. Soap is drawn to the treadmills, hops on, starts it up. But it isn't the same. And ghost can see that even that's not working.

It takes more than a few of those days to figure out what soap really needs- for ghost and soap. It's not just the working or the movement or the release of energy. It's everything and it's the changes in scenery and terrain. It works his mind and his muscles and gets him fresh air. It gets him away.

Eventually, with ghost's help, he learns to deal with is stress. It's not uncommon to see him lapping the track, or unning the obstacle course. On certain bad days ghost will take him out to the wooded area, they'll run trails through it, he developed a habit for climbing the trees oddly enough (or maybe it's not so odd seeing as how ghost found him up a tree that first time). He still leaves his devices in his room, which is why ghost follows... and to keep him company, he doesn't mind the workout either. And soap seems to enjoy his presence

This got way out of hand and went in a different direction that I thought it would??

#el rambles #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #ghostsoap #soapghost #tf 141 #task force 141

[simonsquest]

Maybe a small picnic or forest outing with Simon and Selena? Maybe he can teach her about some of the more harmless forest creatures 🥰

It's been nearly a month since Selena arrived at the Belmont estate in Transylvania, and met her arranged husband-to-be. She is expected to give an answer as to whether or not she consents to marry Simon. Simon tries to talk her out of it.

They had a daily routine: after Simon’s hours-long morning training, he would get cleaned up, eat breakfast, and court Selena around the Belmont estate.

This routine would continue near daily, for the month’s duration of Selena’s visit to Transylvania. By the end of which she will need to come to a decision about whether or not she consents to proceeding with their arranged marriage.

It has nearly been a month now, and anxiety paralyzes Selena. She hardly knows Simon, even after spending time with him daily. But there is an urgency to their arrangement that weighs heavily on both: the time of Dracula’s calculated resurrection draws near. The Belmonts need an heir, and soon.

Despite that necessity, Selena has never felt pressured by Simon. Actually, she doesn’t know much of Simon’s feelings on the matter at all. He has been polite, certainly. Courteous, too. But he is incredibly private. Selena wonders, if she chooses to marry him, if she will ever learn about his true intent. What goes on in the mind of a man shouldering the burden of Dracula’s impending revival?

What kind of man will he become after they’re wed? Will he change from who is he now? For better, or for worse?

Or will he remain a perfect stranger—no love, no tenderness—as Selena is expected to spawn an heir for him?

Who can she expect to spend her life with if she consents to this union?

She battles the nausea that threatens her as Simon approaches, bowing his head to her in greeting. She curtsies in reply.

“Good morning, my lord.” Selena greets in her usual way.

Simon still isn’t used to being referred to as a lord. Selena can tell that much. But she cannot bring herself to call him by his first name. Not yet.

He gestures for her to walk ahead, and she does, starting on their usual route through the stamped out earth around the perimeter of the Belmont estate.

Courtship is awkward for both. Silence hangs heavy, as usual. Simon has done a terrible job of selling himself. He has not boasted about his accomplishments to earn her favor, nor tried so much as to kiss Selena’s hand.

A month isn’t enough time to truly get to know a person. Selena feels Simon’s resistance.

Sometimes, she wonders if he finds her undesirable. That would be a blessing—it may spare her yet of being wed to him.

But it is also humbling. Was she not to his taste?

Selena’s attention is pulled from her spiralling thoughts as Simon, at last, has asked something:

“I pray you slept well last night?”

Selena offers a polite smile in reply. “Yes, I slept peacefully. Your home is very comfortable.”

Simon hums to himself: a relieved, soft noise.

As they move through their usual path, Simon takes pause. He stares off beyond the gates of the estate, in the direction of the Jova woods.

After a moment, Simon takes the initiative in leading them off of their usual route, through the gates. Selena takes notice immediately.

“My lord?” Selena inquires, following dutifully after him. “Where is it we’re going?”

“The forest ahead,” Simon clarifies. “Rest assured, creatures of the night do not wander it during the day.”

He takes pause.

“Is that alright with you?” He asks, looking at her.

Selena has not stepped foot off of the Belmont estate for a month now. She longs for a change of scenery.

“Yes, of course. That would be nice.”

Simon grants her a small smile as they venture outside of the usual borders, and into the forest of Jova.

There’s a coolness in the air as shade washes over the pair. Selena remarks the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind, and the various woodland creatures within.

Serene moments like these make her forget of the malevolent creatures that stalk the area at night.

But remarking the scars on Simon’s arms quickly remind her of the very real threat. She notes how his hand rests on the handle of his whip at his side. He is still on alert.

She is safe with him, she supposes. He has proven his strength, and his dependability.

The pair slow to a stop at a clearing of forest. They linger there for a moment, before Simon spots a fallen log.

He moves to take a seat upon it, and gestures for Selena to join him. She does.

The adults sit in silence, enjoying the soundscape of the forest as minutes crawl on.

Selena was just beginning to relax, when Simon’s voice interjects the quiet:

“It has nearly been a month.”

Selena’s stomach knots. “Yes, my lord.”

She notes how Simon shifts, uncomfortable.

He continues, quieter: “the choice is yours to make. Please do not feel pressured.”

Selena doesn’t know how to reply to that. Is he expecting an answer now? Here?

“Thank you.” Selena tries, stilted. She is grateful to have the choice.

But she wonders something, as she pokes a fallen twig with the tip of her boot. Her eyes are downcast.

“Do you not have a choice as well?” She asks.

Simon doesn’t reply, and that only makes Selena feel worse.

She apologizes: “I beg your forgiveness if I am unworthy to be your wife.”

“My lady, that isn’t—“

She interrupts him: “Selena. Please.”

Oh, she shouldn’t have interrupted him. Selena feels the heat of embarrassment rise to her ears.

Simon tries, awkward: “Selena.”

She thinks it may be the first time he’s ever called her by her name. It evokes a strange feeling in her chest at the sound of it.

“That isn’t the case.” Simon assures.

Selena can hardly hear him as the thudding of her embarrassed heart deafens her.

“It is simply not my choice to make. It is yours alone.” He adds with careful emphasis.

“It is challenging to make such a choice.” Selena admits at last, wanting nothing more than for this exchange to be over.

Simon nods once with understanding. He looks away at nothing in particular.

The air hangs heavy as time crawls on.

Emboldened by their perfect privacy, concealed in the thick of forest, Selena pushes through her embarrassment to timidly ask: “if I may be candid, my lord?”

“Yes.” Simon replies.

She takes a moment to find the strength to admit: “I don’t feel I have a choice, even if you say I do.”

She doesn’t have to look at Simon to feel the consequences of her confession.

“I was selected into this arrangement as an asset to strengthen the Belmont line. Should I choose not to marry and conceive with you, then I would be burdened with the weight of having done nothing to stop Dracula when I had the chance to.”

Selena still can’t look at Simon as she concludes: “there is no choice.”

“The Belmont family will find a way, as my ancestors have,” Simon reassures, but Selena senses a tension in his reply.

With a certain firmness, he underlines: “do not let guilt influence you.”

Sensing that she has said too much, Selena makes herself small, bundling herself in her shawl. She glances to her side, remarking how Simon has transitioned his hands into his lap. He’s rubbing a thumb upon clasped hands as the silence builds.

It couldn’t really get any worse. Selena was at last being honest with him, and there is one question burning to be answered:

“Do you find me undesirable?”

Simon’s reply is immediate: “no.”

Oh.

It’s Simon’s turn to be honest now: “but like you, I feel the pressure of this union, and the necessity of its success.”

Selena lifts her head to look at him. Simon does not return the glance. He’s wringing his hands together, now.

Selena feels foolish for assuming otherwise: of course Simon would be just as impacted.

His life is on the line in this fight with darkness. If he dies during the battle, then…

There’s so much at stake. He shoulders it all alone.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord.” Selena concedes, head bowing again. “We will share this burden.”

“Please don’t.” Simon tries, awkward. He worries that she’s only saying that out of pity.

“You have a choice.” He reminds, gentler. “Please, make the right choice.”

Selena processes his words. She feels how he shifts at her side, his hands transitioning onto his lap.

The choice is clear.

Selena moves her hand out from in front of her to land atop of Simon’s. She can feel him freeze under her touch.

“Selena,” he breathes, and it’s tinged with a resigned sadness.

She holds onto his hand.

Simon timidly returns the gesture.

Adults sit crushed by the weight of circumstance, comforted only by the calm of the forest, and the warmth of each other’s touch.

#oh my god i made this so sad i'm so sorry #pre-CV1 and pre-marriage #i hope it's a good read all the same aha #it was a great exercise for me to flesh out an idea i have for my fanfic #akumajou dracula #castlevania #simon belmont #selena belmont #selena (haunted castle) #haunted castle #selena (castlevania) #my writing

[callsignfate]

rustic charm

Day Seventeen of Writemas/Birthday posts!

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

TW: None? If I've missed any let me know!

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡ Kate needed a break from the city and its people. The endless buildings and standard scenery were boring her. After a friend of a friend mentioned they had a place for her to enjoy the countryside, that's exactly what she did.

The car's tires crackled and dug into the rocks and dirt as she pulled into the driveway, driving slowly down it as she saw cows starting to walk towards the fence she was driving next to, mooing loudly.

She stopped at a big red house that sat in the back of the property. An older man patted what Kate assumed was his daughter on the shoulder and said something before he and the woman next to him climbed into a truck and left as Kate parked.

She stepped out, slapped in the face by the smell of cow manure piled nearby. Her face contorted into a small expression of disgust as you walked up to her.

"Welcome, darlin'. I heard you were the city girl coming to help on the farm?" You asked, trying to stifle a laugh at her face of disgust from the smell. "It's manure day; people are coming to collect it for their fields," you added with a smile as you put your hand out to shake hers.

"Nice to meet you. I'll be showin' you around the place and teachin' you how to do the farm chores," you added before she took your hand.

"Nice to meet you too," Kate muttered with a polite smile until she jumped slightly as she felt a wet, cold sensation on her exposed ankle.

"Oh, that's wee Lass, call her Lassie. Go on, git'," you said swatting the air slightly before she ran back towards the field. "She's good, just nosey. Let's grab your bags, and you'll be staying in the room next to mine," you said as you opened the car's trunk and started grabbing the bags as you spoke.

"Oh, you don't have to—I've got it," Kate said, trying to help you grab her bags.

"Oh, it's alright, darlin'. Let's get inside before all of the cows come runnin' over; they get loud when they want attention," you said with a small laugh before you easily carried the bags to the house.

"Thank you," Kate said, noticing how easily you carried the bags, how willing you were to help, and how sweet you were to her right away.

"Hope my car treated you alright; left it at the airport for you last night. Hope the drive wasn't too long, and don't worry about it; these are lighter than the hay bales I throw around," you said with another small laugh. As you led Kate into the house, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief from the city's hustle and bustle. The country air, even with a hint of manure, was a welcome change. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting. A mix of rustic charm and modern conveniences made the house feel like a comfortable haven.

"You've got a beautiful place here," Kate remarked, genuinely appreciating the simplicity and authenticity of the farmhouse.

"Ah, thank you, darlin'. It's been in the family for generations. Now, let me show you around," you said, leading her through the cozy living room, where the scent of fresh wood lingered. The walls adorned with family photos told a story of a life rooted in the land.

The kitchen was spacious and well-equipped, and the view from the window revealed the vast greenery stretching out to meet the sky.

As Kate settled into the room next to yours, she took note of the carefully chosen furnishings and the thoughtfulness in every detail. It was evident that you cared for the place deeply. The next morning after Kate fell asleep in the homey feeling space she was shocked to hear soft knocks before she welcomed you in to the room before her eyes glanced out the window to see it was still dark. "Time to get up, cows need some hay, and some feed the chickens need to be let out of the coop, the waterers need to be filled, the ducks need some food, the pig wants his feed and some treats." You listed off the chores as you carried in some overalls, a pair of tall rubber boots, and a thick shirt for her to wear.

"mornin' dear," you greeted her with a cheerful smile as she finally sat up in the bed. "The farm waits for no one, you know? Time to embrace the country routine."

Kate, still half-asleep, nodded in acknowledgment. "Alright, I'm up. But can I just say it's still practically the middle of the night?"

You chuckled. "City time and farm time don't always sync up. But trust me, once you get used to it, you won't mind the early starts. Its already 4:45am, I usually start at 4:00."

With a good-natured grumble, Kate changed into the farm-appropriate attire you provided. The overalls were a bit big on her, but the boots fit perfectly. As she followed you outside into the pre-dawn darkness, the fresh, crisp air invigorated her senses.

The farm was a different world at this hour. The stars still shone brightly, and the moon cast a soft glow over the fields. The sounds of the animals awakening gradually filled the air.

You demonstrated each chore patiently, explaining the routine of caring for the animals. The cows lowed in the distance, the chickens clucked in their coop, and the rooster crowed loudly in the distance.

By the time the sun painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Kate had forgotten the early hour. The simplicity and purposeful work had a grounding effect. The connection to nature and the animals made the chores more fulfilling than she could have imagined.

As you both finished up the morning tasks, you turned to Kate with a satisfied grin. "See, not so bad, is it? The farm has its own magic, especially when you're a part of it."

Kate, though tired, couldn't help but smile back. The exhaustion was different, a result of meaningful work and a closeness to the land she had never experienced before. The simplicity, the authenticity, and your warm companionship made her appreciate the charm of farm life.

As you headed back to the house, Kate realized that the farm, with its early mornings and hard work, had become a place of solace. And in you, she found not just a farm guide but a friend who welcomed her into this world with open arms.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

A/N: I may have a Pt. 2 to this and a version where Kate is the farmer! I do live on a farm so this was just something fun to write and if you think the accent is written poorly its because I've never written my own accent (I have one sadly). I also am 21 today! yay?

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

#kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #laswell #call of duty laswell #laswell cod #laswell mw2 #kate laswell fluff #kate laswell x you #kate laswell x fem!reader #kate laswell cod #kate laswell call of duty

[darlingshane]

UNBOUNDED | PART 5

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2,7k

Summary: Rope play with Frank. That's it.

Content/Warnings: explicit, bdsm, dom!frank, rope play, bj's, ball sucking, orgasm control, orgasm denial.

A/N: For reference, Frank ties reader in a rope dress if you wanna search it up beforehand. You can also find the source I used as inspiration in the ao3 chapter.

– Links: Read Below or at AO3. You can also check out the series masterpost on tumblr.

Part 5: Shibari

As promised, Frank takes you on a little gateway a week after your last punishment. He wakes you up way earlier than you’d want to with bags already packed and loaded in his truck, and the smell of toast of coffee that he brings you to bed on a tray.

He’s excited to show you the beautiful place he’s picked for your stance in the mountains – a small cabin close to town surrounded by a stunning snowy scenery on a cold winter day. It’s exactly what you expected of Frank. He knows you too well and loves you even more that he plans the whole thing by himself just to surprise you.

After your arrival, you take it slow, go on a stroll to enjoy the sights, get some groceries in town, and visit the local café and other stores in the vicinity. Before it starts snowing again, you get back to the cabin and make the best out of your well-deserved mini vacation with him.

At nighttime, the unfamiliar space, smell, and temperature of the cabin make you a little nervous, and excited to see what Frank has in storage for you. Admittedly, you've never felt as safe as you do when you're in Frank's playroom, so trying this in someone else's space intimidates you a little.

You've already kicked it up a notch by wearing your master's leather collar under a turtle-neck sweater since you left the apartment this morning. Your relationship is solid enough to taste new boundaries and so far, while it's not something you'd like to incorporate in your daily routine; from time to time it'd be nice to wear it longer and hand him all the control of your actions. Frank's not extremely demanding, however. He seeks for your wellness above all, and having him tell you where to sit, what to eat, giving you permission for mundane tasks is actually just as liberating as when you're doing your usual rough play. You're a master's little pleaser, he's gathered. You thrive in praise and every time you follow his words, he's there to reward you with a kiss, a good girl, or a treat.

While Frank prepares the bedroom for a good playing session, you take a relaxing hot bath, per his command.

When the room is ready, your master comes to find you, and after ushering you out of the tub, he helps you dry your body before tying a black, satin blindfold around your eyes.

“Do you trust me, sweetheart?” he hushes in your ear in that swoon-worthy, deep tone that makes your skin shiver.

“Always, Sir.”

“Hmm.”

That's his pleased response you've come to adore. He takes your hand and steers you towards the bedroom. After a few steps, the texture of the floor changes from wood to something plush and cozy under your bare feet. He stops when you hit the middle of the fabric and your body quickly heats up in anticipation, and at the warmth radiating from the fireplace.

Only Frank can see how gorgeous you look right now, with just the glow of the flames dancing across the surface of your skin, drawing every curve of your figure.

His palms hover the plane of your body for a moment without so much as a touch, letting you guess where he’s going to put them first. After a few seconds, they land carefully on your shoulders. His breath touches the back of your neck, as he places a tender kiss on that spot.

Preparing you for the activity he’s chosen, he spends a good amount of time massaging your neck, shoulders, and arms in all their length down to your palms. Your skin buzzes in delight with his hands thoroughly kneading your back afterward.

When he’s done, he grabs a coil of rope from the chair and proceeds to constrict your body with it.

He takes his time, gingerly binding your torso with a rope dress — you can tell what he's picked from his maneuvering around you. Sir’s rough but careful fingers caress your prickled skin as he ties the folded rope in a series of knots in a line down the middle of your torso. You shudder when a happy knot is placed over your clit, and you try not to move much to not get overexcited. He pulls the tail between your legs and up your back, from under your ass, to link it with the first loop he left hanging between your shoulders blades.

Next, he circles your body, back to the front, and extends your arms up, so he can bring the tails from the back under your armpits. From above your breasts and down to your waist, he starts lacing the rope with great dexterity, creating a diamond pattern along your chest.

It's arduous work, but it seems like a piece of cake to your master. And it's quite rewarding for both.

You’re partial to rope. However, you rarely practice rope play cause a couple of times you’ve felt a little overwhelmed when too much time is spent bound like this. Last time you did, you cried yellow in the middle, but you were restricted in a more intricate way from head to toe; that’s why you figure he went from the rope dress this time.

Almost finished, he frames your mound in one last diamond and curls the tails around your waist to secure them at your back, keenly tying and looping the remains around the line that goes up your spine.

As a final touch, he folds your arms comfortably at the small of your back and uses another coil of rope to bind them to the harness, rendering you completely useless, except for your legs.

“How does it feel, sweetheart? You good?” he squeezes your hands.

“I’m good, Sir. Thank you for being so careful.”

“Anything for my good girl,” relying on touch only, you then feel his fingers moving between your legs, tapping on the knot on your clit, “How about this, does this feel right?”

“It feels amazing, Sir.”

“Hmm,” he presses on it for a few seconds, earning a good sigh out of your lips. “We're gonna get you to your knees now, alright?”

You nod and trust his hands as he lowers you to the floor.

Out of sight, as you get comfortable on your knees, he takes off his shirt and walks around, observing the beautiful form of your surrendering position. Like you’ve already guessed, he opts for leaving your legs free this time to avoid that over exhaustion of last time.

He stops in front of you and cups his bulge, watching you as you take a deep breath and get used to the rope. He admires how much you’ve progressed, and how much trust you’ve put in him. Like now, he could do anything with you right now, and you’d let him without question. That takes a lot of time to build, but with you, it came fairly easy.

After a moment, he picks up the flogger he laid early on the bed and does another spin around you, this time gently letting you feel the leather tresses on different parts of your skin without striking. Surveying your every reaction, he casually places its weight on each of your shoulders, brushes the back of your neck with its tails, tickles the soles of your feet, and then teases your hard nipples, bringing that dizzying arousal that comes from handling him that power.

You stay centered, for the most part, minding your Sir’s desires as he changes your position. He coaxes you to lean forwards until your head and shoulders are propped on the end of the mattress.

“Lift your ass as much as you can,” he orders, patting your rear as you push your ass upwards, “good girl.”

You swallow as he runs the leather tails softly on your rear, cueing you before swinging the flogger. He starts fairly gentle and slow, warming up your cheeks, and the back of your thighs.

When the strikes start coming slightly harder and quicker, your hips jerk and that sweet knot, sitting on the right place, stimulates your clit as a result.

He notices how your body waves, aching for more friction against that knot.

“You’re enjoying that, huh?”

Thud.

“Ahh, yes, Sir.”

Thud.

“What do we say?”

Thud.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Thud.

“Attagirl,” rumbles deep in his throat, followed by a grunt, and a harder thud, “what’s your color?”

“Green, Sir.”

Pausing, he inhales, trying to tame his own arousal, “we’re going to count backwards from ten, and move on. Tell me when you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, “ready, Sir.”

Much in sync with the other, he swings evenly as you to utter each number after each strike.

The pain is evenhandedly dull with the flogger, it resembles more of a deep massage than anything else. It's the rope around your body that inflicts more damage than the leather falls.

Your body strains against your constraints as you get down to the last three, and it relaxes after the final hit.

Your slickness extends around your binds, reaching your thighs when he's done.

A long, heavy exhalation comes out of your mouth as one of his caring palms touches your ass, assessing the warmth of your skin.

“You took it so fucking good, sweetheart.”

“You gave it so fucking good, Sir,” you murmur.

He smiles to himself and lets you recover for several beats before straightening your torso and checking that your blindfold is still in place.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Sir reaches to your mouth, tilts your chin up with his tucked index finger as his thumb rubs back and forth on your lower lip.

“Hmm, yes, Sir.”

His thumb then slips between your lips, and touches your tongue as you wrap your mouth around it.

“You want something bigger to fill that insatiable mouth?”

“Uh-hum,” you eagerly mumble around his finger, “I’d love that, Sir.”

Scoffing, he plays with your tongue a little more before pulling his thumb out.

If you could see his face, you'd capture the ignition in his eyes, and the plush of his lips turning a few shades of pink deeper at the prospect of what comes next, — him feeding you his cock.

“Stick out your tongue, kitten,” he purrs, undoing his zipper, and releasing his aching erection as you follow his order.

He holds his thick length in one hand, and places his other palm on the side of your head, as he first tentatively taps, and slides the breadth of its head on the plane of your tongue a few times before shoving half his dick in the depth of your mouth.

“Good girl,” he growls, “go on.”

With nothing but your mouth to please your master's stately hard-on, you swirl your tongue, drawing the familiar flare at the top, teasing its slit, and tasting the first drops of his precum. Then, you bob your head back and forth, taking him further down until the tip of his cock touches the back of your throat.

“Attagirl. Keep going.”

Wrapping your lips around his shaft, you worship his cock with passion, earning praises and delightful groans out of your master's mouth.

Extremely aroused, your hips undulate lightly, searching for the delicious pressure of the rope on each side of your lips, and the knot that shifts with your movements over your swollen clit.

Suddenly, Frank stops you from finishing him and takes his cock out of your mouth, allowing you to catch your breath.

You pout, and he smirks, holding his length, stepping an inch closer to your face and propping his balls over your lips, so you can feel them.

“Suck’em,” he orders gravely.

Your tongue swipes across your lips as you follow your Sir’s wishes. You take one blindly into your mouth, capturing the already taut skin of his scrotum, and cover it in your saliva before taking the other. He jerks himself, flattering the ways of your doing between clenched teeth and well garnered grunts as you drive him out of his mind with the swirling and desperate sucking of his sack.

When he’s close, he takes them away and shoves his twitching cock back in your mouth. He holds your head still with both hands, as you set your jaw a little slacked, so he can fuck your mouth obscenely hard the rest of the way until he ejaculates in the middle of your tongue with just a handful of thrusts.

Standing still from a moment, he anchors himself to you as his breath catches.

You're nearly in tears when he puts his cock away and crouches in front of you to wipe your mouth, and bathe you with more sweet adulation.

“Who’s my best girl?” he rasps, removing the blindfold off your eyes.

“I am, Sir,” you blink as your vision adjusts to the warm light of the fireplace.

“Damn right you are,” he states huskily, cupping your jaw in his palms, massaging the joints of your mandible, “you did so good. How are you feeling? You wanna keep going?”

“Thank you. I’d like that, Sir… I haven't… yet…”

“I know,” he smiles softly, “I was getting to it. Do you want me to untie you?”

“Just my arms, Sir.”

“Okay,” he sighs, utterly pleased, and proceeds to untie your hands.

He helps up to your feet and places you on the bed on your side. His large form spoons your shape, tucking one of his hands between your legs. His fingers slip under the rope and that well-placed knot, and he gently caresses your over-excited clit that was begging for some attention.

His lips roam your neck, nibbling and kissing, as the pressure of his fingers madly fuel that fiery flame growing in your core.

“Can I come, Sir?”

“Tsk, not yet baby,” cause he likes to make you beg a few times.

As you squirm in his hold, he rubs harder on you as the rope strains in all the right places, marking your skin.

“Please, Sir,” you plead again after a couple of minutes.

“Shh, just a little more. I know how long you can hold, sweetheart,” he grins smugly before sucking a good chunk of your neck between his lips, “be a good girl for me.”

You moan and hold tight for several beats, gripping at his arm that tenses with every move as it rubs fiercely on your clit until you reach a point of no return. It’s either stop or let go. There’s no in between.

“Pleasepleaseplease, Sir,” you desperately pant, overtaken by that torrent of pleasure held only by a shred of will.

Reveling in that power, he makes you wait, — just a little more – before granting you the right to unleash that powerful orgasm that flows freely through every inch of your body, setting every cell ablaze.

Under a heavy breath, you utter your gratitude to your master and relax in the safety of his arms. You love the extra cuddles and kisses, and he loves indulging you for being a good girl. He's always so tender and attentive, it makes your heart swoon. Tonight, he waits until you've completely come down from your high, and your body has turned to jello to remove the rope tying your body. Carefully undoing each knot, he enjoys seeing the temporary marks of pleasure and devotion left on your skin. He cares for them, spreading lotion on your skin and making sure there is no burn or extreme damage to the surface of your body.

Then, you sit comfortably against the headboard and cover your body up to your chest with a blanket afterward, while Frank gathers some food from the kitchen.

“You were so beautiful today, I should have taken a picture,” he says, holding a spoon near your mouth to feed you a piece of cheesecake after settling next to you.

“Thank you, Sir,” you smile timidly, take your bite of food, and express with your mouth full, “you don't have to feed me.”

“I wanna,” he shrugs, taking a piece of cake for himself.

“Next time you could take a picture, you know?”

“Would you want that?”

“In other circumstances I'd say no, but I trust you, Sir. I know it'd be only for you.”

“Maybe I will,” he offers you another bite, followed by a quick kiss to your lips.

#bernthirstpalooza #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle smut #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction #jon bernthal #jon bernthal smut #darlingwrites #unbounded

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 6: If You'd Accept Surrender

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: It's Thanksgiving in Barrow, and Lydia and Ben try to work out each other's feelings - and (kind of!) give in...

Word Count: 7.6k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia turns 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; masturbation (F; implied M); descriptions of PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; descriptions of emotionally-abusive past relationship; liberal arts profs feeling weird about Thanksgiving, kind of; emotional insecurity; self-confidence issues; a bit of angst; a lot of yearn.

A/N: With HUGE thanks to @lunapascal for triggering a wave of late 90s nostalgia, the title of this chapter is taken from 'Walking After You' by the Foo Fighters. (I wish they would accept surrender too, dear readers.)

I don't quite know how, but this chapter just got together (ironically, given who we're writing about here) and, well, here it is. Aside from these two bouncing around not quite making contact, metaphorically speaking, Lydia learns more about Ben's family and finally visits his (very nice) home.

I had a bit of a wobble about the story after Chapter 5, and then got a wave of beautiful comments and responses to the story that made my heart sing for joy. Readers, you're all bloody wonderful and I love each and every comment and thought you've shared about these two and their story. In the words of a post I reblogged earlier this week: the love is requited. They're just idiots.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Thanks, as ever, to @lunapascal and @julesonrecord for loving Bendie as much as I do.

Taglist: @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro

It’s just over a week to go before the short vacation around Thanksgiving. The four of you - Ani, Evan, you, and Ben - are eating lunch in the main campus restaurant. The seasonal decor - Halloween ghosts and smiling pumpkins now replaced by cartoonish turkeys and cornucopia displays - has triggered a conversation about plans for the holiday. In turn, because this is a gathering of liberal arts academics and you never miss an opportunity to overthink something, the conversation has also involved grappling with the more problematic aspects of Thanksgiving.

Ani is working through their complex feelings regarding the holiday. “As a queer person of colour, the annual celebration of coloniser assholes is my kryptonite,” they mutter. “But my mom loves this shit, and I love my mom.” Ani forlornly sips their water and looks at you. “I think you might be the only one here who can mark this thing without being a hypocrite, Lyd.”

You huff a laugh. “And that’s mostly because I don’t actually mark it, right?” The holiday is not and has never been a ‘thing’ in your neck of the woods, though you were very familiar with it through popular culture, access to American children’s magazines, and clickbaity BuzzFeed articles on “The 25 Weirdest Thanksgiving Dishes EVER”. 

“So what are you planning on doing while everyone else is refusing yet more turkey leftovers, Lydia? You staying put or taking a little trip somewhere else?” Evan asks, swigging from his can of La Croix. He and David are bringing Evan’s mother to a fancy hotel in Boston for a spa retreat. Ben, meanwhile, is going to spend Thanksgiving at home on the west coast with his mom and extended family for the first time in several years. He’s incredibly excited about it, even if he needs to write a conference paper while he’s away.

You put down your fork and spread your hands ahead of you, preparing to wax lyrical about your Thanksgiving plans while everyone else is out of town. 

“Dude, I’m going to live my best life. I also have to write my paper for that visual arts conference in New York in a couple of weeks, but only after living my best life.” 

Ben watches you affectionately as you prepare to set out the details of your plans. He hasn’t told you this, not yet, but your ability to describe the most ordinary-seeming things in just the right way, with loving care and attention, is one of the (many) things he likes about you.

“We start the day with homemade blueberry pancakes,” you begin, eliciting exaggerated oohs and aahs from your friends. “Served with a scoop of crème fraîche and drizzle of maple syrup, with a giant pot of good filter coffee on the go. Then, we move on to the Macy’s parade. I’m mostly hoping for an inflatable going rogue.”

Ani laughs. “I’m going to open a book on that. A wager on whether there’s a rogue inflatable, and a sub-wager on which inflatable??”

“I will not be watching football,” you continue. “I have a better place to be. For reasons known only to themselves, the college film society has decided to take over the little film theatre downtown for a season of European classics over the vacation. I will therefore be giving thanks for Francois Truffaut and The 400 Blows, which is their Thanksgiving afternoon screening.”

Ben closes his eyes and hums appreciatively, nodding. 

“I then intend to round off the day with takeout and a whiskey sour made at home,” you conclude. “But,” and you look down at the table and bite your lip, “and not to get sentimental on main, I’ll drink it and be quietly thankful for all the good things I’ve got to experience here so far. You three, most of all.”

You lift your eyes and realise that Ben is looking right at you, eyes and expression softer than ever. 

It is just over a fortnight since your birthday. Two weeks, more or less, since he’d held your hand and spun you around on the dancefloor, making you laugh and smile more than you’d done in a very long time. No time at all, and forever ago. The ghostly trace of his touch on your waist, on your back, on your hip still haunts you. His card is still on your nightstand. 

At night, you fall asleep trying - and failing - to resist conjuring up the image of his smiling face. Your dreams about him are erratic. Some are pure fantasy, some sexual, others decidedly unromantic. In some, he evades your grasp, slipping away just as you get close. In others, he ignores you completely. Worst of all are the ones where he ventriloquises the bullying you dole out to yourself, reminding you that you are too plain, too old, too big, too much.

You get used to spending the first few minutes after waking reassuring yourself that they were just dreams. Nothing serious. Nothing real, even though you know you’re lying to yourself. After all, it was your subconscious inventing the scenarios that crept into your sleeping brain.

For all that, things have continued much as they’d always done between the two of you. Lunch. Coffee. Sometimes drinks with others after work. Silly conversations in the staff lounge that make the two of you crease and wipe tears from your eyes with laughter. He never sees the sad expression that sometimes creeps over your face after he leaves your office or disappears to a class. Never catches you tracing your fingers over the memory of his touch on your hand or arm. He never hears you crying in the night when you jolt awake after another bad dream.

You don’t bother trying to talk yourself out of your feelings. What would be the point in denial? Far better to remind yourself that you can’t - indeed, rarely - get what you want, because he doesn’t want you. Couldn’t want you. He’d had opportunities. He didn’t do anything about it. The proof of his feelings - or lack thereof - was staring you in the face.

And besides: you were only visiting. 

So settle for friendship. Settle for the warmth of a friendly glance from his chocolate eyes. Settle for a flash of that smile, for the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, for the sight of his broad outline at your office door, coffee mugs in hand. 

It would have to be enough.

The grocery store is busy with last-minute Thanksgiving shoppers, picking up essentials for the next day’s family feast. You stare at your phone, brain whirring as you try to scale down a pumpkin pie recipe and convert the frankly bonkers system of US weights and measurements and then work out exactly how much butter you need to buy.

“They bang on about having had a revolution and yet they kept this system? The metric system is right there, fuck’s sake…”

Your screen flashes suddenly with an incoming call:

Ben Morales

An involuntary flip of your stomach. You tap the button on your earbuds to accept the call, forcing a casual tone.

“Hey, Ben. How’s the Bay Area? Everything okay?”

“Hi, Lydia. Uh, can’t answer to the Bay Area. Still here.”

“Still here? Oh - oh no. Is everything okay? Has something happened? What can I do - I’ll do whatever you need, no mat-”

He inhales and exhales. “It’s fine, I’m fine, everyone at home is mostly fine. My mom’s just called me in a fury. One of TJ’s boys got a vomiting bug and, well…”

Your face falls, devastated on his behalf. He’d been so looking forward to this. “I can guess. Everyone’s got it.”

“Everyone’s got it,” he echoes. “My mom is fine - fine enough to be really angry at Dylan, that’s my nephew - but it still sounds a bit like…” he trails off, and giggles despite himself. “Like a puke-pocalypse.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but can’t stop yourself from laughing. “Shit, I’m sorry, Ben. Just ‘puke-pocalypse’ is such a fucking funny term.”

He’s laughing now, too, and you feel your heart swelling at the sound of his voice, giggling away like a badly-behaved kid.

“Long story short, I am not going to California. They don’t want me getting sick, either. Not with that big conference in Louisiana the week after.”

“I’m sorry, truly. I know you were looking forward to this.”

He sighs. “I was. But what can you do? Anyway, the longer holidays are coming up. I’ll see them then and we’ll do a video call tomorrow. And I can really focus on getting my conference paper written. It’ll be okay.” He seems to be reassuring himself more than you.

“I’m calling because I was wondering if you’d…if you would want…” He pauses again. “If you’d like to come over and watch the parade tomorrow morning? If you’d like the company of a seasoned giver of thanks.”

You smile in the dairy aisle, even though you feel a flutter of nerves run through your body. “I would really like that. I can bring over the stuff I’ve bought for breakfast and make it at your place? I’ve got enough to feed the five thousand, honestly.”

Note to self: buy more blueberries before you leave the store.

He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but I was only after the food you described the other day. This is all a convenient ruse.”

You hum, as if trying to deduce whether this is a ploy. “I should have known. You only want me for my pancakes!”

The words are out before you realise what you’ve said. You hope to fuck he hasn’t noticed. Deflect, change the subject?

“Actually, Ben, do you want to come to see 400 Blows tomorrow, too? Or are you otherwise occupied with blueberries and batter?”

You swear you hear him sigh happily. You push it aside as a kind of aural illusion, putting it down to your overactive imagination, caught up in trying to distract from your stupid slip of the tongue. 

He doesn’t want you. He’s just being nice. That’s all. He’s just really nice. He doesn’t want you to be on your own. He’d do that for anyone. 

“I would really like that.” 

He takes a breath and continues. “It’s a d- I mean, it’s a deal. So, uh, what time works for you to come over?”

Ben being Ben, he has insisted on picking you up, to save you having to walk over while carrying the supplies for the blueberry pancakes. You aren’t entirely sure how he manages to be as attractive (if not more so) in a grey sweatshirt, faded jeans, and a cosy navy pea coat as he is when he wears a shirt and tie, but somehow he just is.

“Let me bring these through to the kitchen, and I’ll dig out the utensils and pans. Have a look around - you can judge me on my DVD selection if you want.” He winks as he totes the bag of groceries towards the kitchen. 

His house is nice. To your eyes, it’s like something from a picture book or an old movie: two stories, painted a sort of primrose yellow with white accents and sash windows. Steps up to a porch and the front door, a small but neatly trimmed lawn in front, a garage built in the same style as the house to one side. At a guess, you’d place it as dating from the first decades of the twentieth century. 

Inside, a parquet hallway, walls lined with framed posters and prints, leads towards the staircase. Two doors open up off the hall: one to a spacious living room at the front of the house, and one to a dining room at the back, which is connected to the living room by glass-panelled doors. The kitchen, adjoining the dining room, wraps around the back of the house. A small deck accessible from the kitchen leads down to the back yard. The rooms are bright and inviting. You think there might be a basement, judging by the windows you could see under the front steps. Possibly even an attic, if the small round window in the gable at the front was anything to go by.

Fuck, this is really nice. 

It’s also very him. There are little piles of books where you’d least expect them: on one of the lower stairs, on his hall table, on the floor beside the armchair in the corner of the dining room. The framed prints in the hall are clearly all meaningful to him: prints of various paintings, posters from gigs, theatre productions, art exhibitions, some vintage postcards. This is, without doubt, a lived-in home, and it’s clear that - as with his office at work - Ben is not terribly precious about everything being absolutely pristine or neat at all times. But even a cursory glance reveals something of his taste and sensibilities, and suggests the care he must have taken in picking out furniture, or even refurbishing pieces (the man clearly likes the period from the 1920s to the 1960s, you think), and making his house a home. 

You try very hard not to fall for the house, too. Bad enough whatever you’ve got going on for the man who lives there. But - like him - it’s so charming and appealing that you’re fighting a losing battle.

You decide to take a closer look at the living room, admiring the fitted shelving in the alcoves on either side of the large, cosy fireplace. A small, wood-burning stove nestles in the hearth. Family photos line the mantel, with vintage railway posters advertising the Union Pacific Railroad’s Californian routes framed on one wall. The room is bright and high-ceilinged, TV in one corner, shelves of DVDs underneath. Through the glass doors into the dining room you spy a record player, speakers, and shelving holding an extremely impressive collection of vinyl records. 

Best of all, though, is the Lego model of a Saturn V rocket that you spy on top of the shelving in the dining room. You idly wonder if he’s got the lunar lander set as well.

More family photos pepper the bookshelves in the living room, alongside the occasional trinket or tchotchke. A black and white photograph of a man who is Ben’s double in almost every way, save for having straighter hair and different eyes. You guess this must be his dad, captured in his twenties or so, wearing a beautiful light-coloured short-sleeved shirt decorated with abstract embroidery. 

A small figurine catches your eye: a woman in a green mantle, with a pinkish red robe, covered in the unmistakable patina of age. You instantly recognise it as a miniature statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe, standing on a little wooden base. Its presence here feels surprising, somehow. Nothing had ever given you the impression that Ben was remotely religious, but then again - had you even discussed it?

The doors from the dining room into the living room open and Ben comes in as you look intently at the little figure. “You know who she is?”

You nod. “Apart from my professional expertise including religious art, you’re looking at the product of a Catholic education. I may not be much of a believer, but I learned a lot about iconography. And, full disclosure, I still love a holy statue.” You hold your hands up. “It’s the kitsch, I can’t deny it.”

He smiles and moves towards you. “I’m not much of a believer, either,” he says, smiling. “But she belonged to my abuela - I mean, my grandmother.” 

You nod, and a framed photo beside the statue catches your eye. In it, a woman - her long greying hair pinned up - is sitting on an armchair, holding a tiny infant and beaming. Standing beside her, a toddler - no more than two, you reckon - is scowling at the camera. He’s wearing a pair of denim dungarees and a stripy, long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Wait - is that - that’s you? That’s you, oh my god!” You look more closely at the picture and Ben puts a palm to his face. 

“Dammit, you’re too quick. That’s my abuela holding TJ, just a few days old - that’s when he’d come home from the hospital with my mom. And yes, that’s me. I was thrilled to become a big brother, as you can see.” He rolls his eyes and chuckles. 

You look carefully at the furious face of the little boy, his hair maybe a shade lighter than Ben’s dark brown locks now, but his eyes are unmistakably the same. Even the toddler’s pout is familiar. You’ve seen it in action, when the copier refuses to cooperate with him.

“You might have been pissed off, but you were still pretty cute,” you say softly, smiling at him with perhaps more affection than you might otherwise have deemed wise. 

“Cute, huh? You must be wondering what went wrong.”

You good-naturedly roll your eyes and shake your head. “Far from it. I’m sure that kid would be thrilled to know who he’d grow up to be.”

He smiles a tiny smile and blushes slightly, casting his eyes downwards. Silence, for a moment. 

“So you were close to your grandmother?”

He nods, smiling at the photograph. “She was really great. My dad’s mother.” He points to the photograph of the handsome young man in the formal shirt. “That’s him. Diego. He’s just a kid there.” He smiles at the picture, mirroring his father’s expression. It only serves to highlight the resemblance even further. 

“Dad worked long, hard hours, and my abuela took care of us when my mom had to get a part-time job to help make ends meet - used to read to us, bring me to the library, tell anyone who’d listen that I was the smartest kid in the world.” He chuckles. “Not the easiest thing being a little boy who loved books and making up stories when everyone else was sports-mad or running around in a cut-up tshirt pretending to be Rambo. But she never stopped encouraging me. She encouraged all of us.”

He picks up the little figurine. It looks even tinier in his broad hand. 

“She swore blind that nuestra señora here helped with my SATs. Or rather, her prayers to nuestra señora helped me get the grades I needed for college. Never mind all my hard work! So when I left for school, she gave me this. Said it would keep me safe.” He places it gently back on the shelf beside the picture. 

“Like I said, I’m not a believer. But the statue is a little bit of her, and how much she loved me, and I liked having that with me. You know what I mean?” He looks at you, big brown eyes soft and searching.

You feel your heart swell. Shit, Lyd. You’ve got to get over this. You have got to get over him.

“Yeah, I do,” you nod. “I have a couple of things like that - little tokens that mean so much. She must have been so proud of you when you did so well at college, got into grad school...”

He exhales. “Oh, man. She was obsessed with everything I did in college. I had to update her on my classes every semester so she could brag to the ladies at the hair salon about how smart I was.” He laughs briefly, then his face falls a little. “I just wish she’d seen me graduate. She, uh, passed a month or so before we got our final degree results.” 

He looks so sad all of a sudden. Spontaneously, unthinking, you reach out and gently touch his bicep in a gesture of comfort. 

He turns to face you, eyes widened a little in surprise, and lightly pats your hand. “It’s okay, really. Sorry. Just got a bit…melancholy there. Anyway, I’m thankful I had her when I did.”

“Ah, bringing it back to today’s theme. Nice segue, very impressive, no notes.” 

He grins. “She’d have liked you.” He’s rubbing his hands together and making a beeline back towards the kitchen.

“Okay - I can’t wait any longer. Pancakes and parade time, I think?”

You eat more blueberry pancakes than you thought humanly possible while you take in the spectacle of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade: three hours of inflatables, floats, and marching bands with special guests. Ben is surprisingly knowledgeable about the various character balloons and seems genuinely impressed when you recognise Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr Seuss, laughing as you point excitedly at the TV. 

“Sorry! It’s just totally new to me, and I’m basically an overgrown child.”

He shakes his head. “It’s great. Next year they need to get you on board as an international commentator.”

Next year. Fuck. There is no next year, at least not so far as this is concerned. Next Thanksgiving you’ll be an ocean away, not tucking into fluffy pancakes on Ben’s comfy sofa and picking out your favourite floats. 

“They’ll have to fly me back, I guess.”

The realisation reminds you how temporary all of this is. The fellowship. Your presence in this place. Your easy closeness to a man who, unbeknownst to himself, had stirred up feelings of affection, need, and desire in you, just when you thought they were gone forever.

The look on Ben’s face suggests that he’d forgotten this was temporary, too. You feel a surge of affection in your chest as you look at his face, a little crestfallen. 

Push it down. Push it away. 

While you’re clearing up, Ben’s phone buzzes with a message from his mom. 

“Shit, she wants to do a video call now. Is that okay?”

“Of course! God, don’t mind me. I can leave if it’s easier, let you have your time talking to your family.”

He turns, shaking his head. “I’m not kicking you out, you’re my guest.”

“Okay, but let me keep clearing up in here and you go and talk to her. That way you get privacy and it means the clean-up is done and dusted when you’re finished.”

He grabs his iPad and heads back into the living room, closing the doors into the dining area and kitchen. You continue with the washing up as Ben speaks with his family on the other side of the country, popping back to the dining table every so often to gather other dirty dishes and plop them in the sink.

Then, you hear Ben’s mom’s voice clearer and louder than before. It’s enough to stop you dead.

“Who’s the pretty woman in your dining room, Benjamin?”

What the fuck? How did she…

The doors have glass panels. Which you forgot about. You are an idiot.

She could see you popping in and out. You’re not hiding, as such. But you don’t want to provoke any awkward questions for Ben. 

“It’s my friend Lydia, mom. She’s the visiting professor this year, she’s on her own for the holiday too, so…we’re keeping each other company. I told you about her.”

He did? 

You try not to think too much about his use of ‘we’, or exactly how you would like to ‘keep him company’. 

“Well, does your” - Mrs Morales pauses for emphasis - “friend Lydia, the visiting professor, want to come say hi? Or have you confined her to the dining room and kitchen?”

Oh, shit. Shit. Could the ground just open up and swallow you, please? Come, friendly sinkhole, come.

Ben turns and looks at you over the back of the armchair, through the glass panelled doors. He raises his eyebrows, leaving it up to you to decide. 

What can you do, but say hi? 

You smile weakly as you come into the living room and settle on the arm of the chair, hoping you’re not at a terrible angle for the front-facing camera while repressing the screaming panic inside you. 

It’s your friend’s mom. It doesn’t mean anything because you aren’t anything. 

“Hello, Mrs Morales. It’s very nice to meet you. Happy Thanksgiving!”

You estimate that Mrs Morales is a little older than your own parents, though not by much. Her white hair is cut short and curls softly around her expressive face. He might be the image of his father, but he shares the same wavy curls, penetrating dark eyes, and kind smile as his mother. 

“Please, call me Ana. Are you enjoying your first Thanksgiving?” She arches an eyebrow and nods towards her son, expression deadly serious all of a sudden. “I hope he’s being a good host.”

You exchange a glance with Ben, who looks affronted, and laugh. “He’s a very good host. He’s made me feel so welcome since I came to Barrow in August.” You feel heat rising in your neck. “There’s just a really nice group of people here. Ben mentioned that you were unwell - I hope you are doing better now?”

Ana Morales smiles and brings a hand to her chest. “Thank you, my dear. It has been unpleasant, as you can imagine. Difficult when you live so far from your family, too.”

Ben huffs quietly. “Mom, TJ and Teresa and their families are like, five minutes away from you.”

His mom turns her attention back to you. “I’m sure you must miss your family too, Lydia. You’re here on your own, hmm? Sometimes the visiting professor travels over with their partner and children…”

Is she trying to suss you out? 

Ben looks slightly horrified at her line of questioning, but you nod and explain. “Nope, I’m on my own - no partner, no kids, unless I have really forgotten something at home!” Your joke doesn’t seem to land, and you try to deflect. “But I’m happy and I’m really enjoying myself here. It’s a wonderful experience and I’m very lucky. I guess that’s what I’m thankful for today.”

Oh, and I’m thankful for you and your husband because you created this specimen, congrats on the good genes guys.

She seems satisfied with your answer. This feels like a natural break in the conversation, and you stand up and start to make your excuses.

“I will leave you two, if that’s okay - I don’t want to keep you from catching up. It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Morales, truly.”

Ana tilts her head and smiles a genuine, warm smile. You notice how her eyes smile too, crinkling just like his do.

“And lovely to meet you, Lydia. Let’s hope we will meet in person someday.”

Smile, nod, wave, retreat. Wait - in person?

You gently close the door into the dining room and return to the kitchen, out of sight of the iPad’s camera, before exhaling, long and slow. 

The conversation continues in the living room, and you notice that Ben’s mother has switched into Spanish. In turn, you note that the timbre of his voice has dropped slightly as he switches into the other language.

It’s probably a good thing that your command of Spanish barely stretches to the basics - no fear of understanding what they’re saying. The most you actually overhear in spite of yourself is an exasperated “Mom!” from Ben, and his mother’s repeated use of a word that sounds like nobya or novya. Or was it nobeea? 

You focus on putting away the clean dishes and cooking utensils, avoiding the temptation to ruminate on what his mother must have thought of you.

A round of goodbyes and you hear the door to the dining room opening again, turning to see Ben standing by the table. He looks a little awkward, running his hand through his hair to the back of his neck. You can guess what’s on his mind. 

“It was lovely to be able to say hello to your mom. Really.”

“I’m sorry you got the third degree, though.” He extends his hands in front of him, as if showing two polar opposites. “This is mom and this -” he stretches his long arms further apart “- is normal personal boundaries, I’m afraid.”

You grin, relaxing a little more. “Man, if the roles were reversed, my family would have extracted full details of your blood type, social security number, and the name you chose at your Confirmation. And all in less time than I was talking to your mom.”

You can see the laughter rising from his chest through his neck to his face, and it is a comfort when you eventually hear it. 

“Are you part of a family of superspies, Lydia?” 

You pretend to think. “Hmmm. I don’t think so. But my mom would have been amazing at it. I mean, maybe she’s just in deep cover.” 

“I don’t think my mom could do deep cover,” he muses, looking up at the kitchen clock to check the time. “She’d end up telling someone before the first hour was out. Probably call her friend Julia, tell her not to tell a soul, and the entire neighbourhood would know immediately. Hey - we should probably get going if we want to make the screening.”

You nod and grab your coat and purse, tugging a soft pink knitted hat over your head as you lead the way to the front door. You wait on the stone steps outside as he locks up. 

“She really liked you, by the way,” he says quietly as he checks he’s properly locked the front door. You look at him, somewhat quizzical.

“My mom. Said you were clearly very sweet and told me I had to keep looking after you, or..”

“Or?” you offer the prompt.

“Or she’d fly over here and I would - and I quote - ‘know all about it.’” He grins. “Please use your new power for good, Lyd.”

The short winter days mean it’s dark by the time the film’s over and you leave the movie theatre, chattering enthusiastically about French cinema, the New Wave, Francois Truffaut, and the charisma of a young Jean-Pierre Léaud. You talk all the way to the Brunswick Café, a diner on Main Street that looked untouched since the 1960s - in a good way. Ben had insisted on going - best pumpkin pie in the world, apparently, and they had a tradition of opening for the afternoon and evening on Thanksgiving to cater to left-behind students and college staff. You were only too glad to continue the conversation over big plates of delicious grilled cheese sandwiches and golden, crispy french fries. 

You’re waving your hands around as you describe a day you spent in Paris as a doctoral student, tracing various locations from the film and ending with a visit to Truffaut’s grave in the Montmartre cemetery. You have completely forgotten about the french fry you’re holding between your left thumb and index finger, now serving as a kind of pointer as you detail the excitement of tracking down the locations and planning your itinerary. 

He’s listening intently with a smile on his face. 

And that’s when the bullying voice inside you decides to pipe up, speaking the kind of words you’d had thrown at you by your ex.

You’ve been talking for ages. You must be boring him by now. All you ever do is talk. All I ever do is listen to you. You’re just too much, Lydia. It’s…a lot.

You rein yourself in quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been rambling away here and taking up all the space. Sorry, I just get carried away sometimes, I forget -”

Ben furrows his brow behind his glasses and looks at you, smile wiped and replaced by a serious expression. “Why did you stop talking? What do you mean, taking up all the space?”

You wave his words away, as if it was all self-explanatory. “You know what I mean, me going on and on and on. I know I’m a lot. I don’t mean to be. Just that when I get onto something I really care about I can’t stop sometimes and I’m too much. I’m sorry.”

His expression has shifted to one of confusion, brow still furrowed. He rests his palms on the table.

“Lydia, why are you apologising for being so passionate about stuff? I like hearing you talk. You know so much cool shit! You’ve done so much cool shit! Why wouldn’t I want to hear that? You hear enough from me when I get to talking about one of my ‘things’.” He’s shaking his head, an expression of his disbelief.

He pushes himself back from the table, leaning on the dark red banquette behind. 

“Lyd, I don’t want to pry but - have people told you you’re a lot or too much, or whatever, and that you need to talk less? Is that where this comes from?”

You avert his gaze. “It…it was said to me. And because the person who used to remind me isn’t, um, in my life now, I forget sometimes and get over excited and talky.”

He looks down. “Your ex?”

You nod, still unable to meet his eye. 

Very gently, he reaches over and pats the back of your hand. A tiny electrical charge shoots through you. His words are shot through with a quiet fury. “A fucking idiot, then. And don’t ever listen to a fucking idiot like that. You’re not ‘a lot’, or whatever they told you. You’re not ‘too much’. You’re - you’re exactly right just as you are.”

He moves his hand away. Now it’s his turn to avert your gaze, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. You look up and try to meet his eyes.

“Hey, Ben - hey, look at me. Thank you. That’s really nice, you know? I’m still working on believing that for myself, but it helps when you have such good -” you pause, unsure what to say in this moment of quiet intimacy, “-such good, um, friends to help you remember.”

He lifts his eyebrows and for the briefest instant you think you see a flash of sadness in his dark eyes. 

“Never say you’re ‘too much’ again.” His face is soft, and his voice reassures you in the same way as the touch of his hand. 

The urge to lean over, hold his gorgeous face in your hands, and kiss Ben Morales there and then surges in you like mercury climbing on a hot summer’s day. 

You take a deep breath and steady yourself, forcing the thought out of your mind before you do something stupid and make a show of yourself. And in public.

You’re interrupted by the server appearing at your table, her tray laden with enormous slices of pumpkin pie and a fresh pot of coffee. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Professor Ben! Long time, no see.” She beams at him. She must be in her mid-sixties, you reckon, short dark hair shot through with greys and the air of someone who has seen it all around here. 

Ben returns her smile. “Hey, Emma! I’m sorry I haven’t really been in a lot this semester. We’ve got some new courses on, and -”

Emma raises her hand to stop him. “I know, sweetheart, I know. And I guess you’ve been busy in other ways, too, huh?” She turns and looks at you, eyebrows waggling and a huge smile on her face. “It’s so good to see good people in love.”

I’m sorry - the what in holy fuck now?

Ben looks as flustered as you feel. His eyes dart over and back as he looks from you to Emma and back again. 

You try to help clarify things, words tumbling out in a rush. “Uh well no we’re not - I mean, I’m not - uh - I’m a visiting professor, Lydia. I’m Lydia. I’m a visiting professor. We -”

Ben finds his words. “We’re n-not a couple, Emma.” He shrugs gently. “I’m sorry, I know what you always say.”

Emma pulls herself up to her full height, coffee pot in hand. She looks at him sceptically, cocking her hip and raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sorry too. Just thought I saw what I saw from over at the counter. Didn’t say you were a couple, but…I got it wrong.” She offers a smile that seems more like a grimace. “Enjoy the pie, kids.”

You get the distinct feeling that Emma a) doesn’t believe you and b) feels personally attacked by the fact that you aren’t together.

Fucking tell me about it, lady. 

Ben sips on his coffee and picks up a fork to start on the pie. He pauses just before digging in.

“Hey, Lyd?” You meet his eyes. “Sorry about that. I didn’t intend to give any impression to her that we were…y’know. I’m sorry if it upset you.”

You wish you were brave enough to tell him that the only reason you might be upset over this is because you aren’t actually involved. But everything today feels like more proof that he just sees you as a good friend - including his response to Emma. 

You smile and shake your head furiously. “I’m not upset, I was just worried that you’d be upset!”

He looks up, a piece of pumpkin pie speared on his fork. “I’m not upset, Lyd.”

“Good. So no harm done. She was just eager to get you all coupled up.” You start into your own slice of pie, marvelling at the texture of the filling and the spices tingling on your tongue.

He laughs lightly. “True that. I’ve come here for years and she keeps saying it’s a crime I’m not with anyone.” 

She’s not wrong there. But only because you should be with me.

You sip your coffee. “In that case, you’ve been joined by a fellow hardened singleton criminal. Cheers.” You reach over with your mug and clink it off his. “Here’s to pumpkin pie, the French New Wave, and good people.”

He mulls it over as you walk from Main Street back towards the residential areas around campus. The same questions he’s been pondering since the night of your birthday.

What if he just said something to you? Told you how he felt?

What would you do? Would you be happy about it? Would you feel the same?

Would it ruin everything? Ruin the friendship he loved so much?

He tries to keep up the conversation but is happy to let you chat away, too distracted by the questions in his mind. He’s replaying the things you said today, looking for crumbs as to how you saw him, or saw your relationship, or hints that you might want more. 

You’d mentioned ‘friends’ a couple of times, hadn’t you? ‘Good people’. 

Maybe that’s how you see him. Just a friend. Someone you really like but - not like that.

Better not to do something stupid and get hurt. Better to insulate yourself from the possible blows.

That, after all, is why Ben Morales’ dating history seems so empty to those who work alongside him. He’s no monk - far from it, as the occasional hook-ups and one night stands (at conferences, or trips out of town, of course, because everyone knows everyone around here) prove. But better to do that than go all in, and risk his heart and his self-esteem being crushed. 

Again.

At least, that’s what he’d felt until you came along. He was happy, content with his life. He wasn’t lonely or looking for anyone.

Now, he’s not so sure if his self-preservationist approach is really the right course of action any more. Because of you, and because of what he feels for you.

He looks at you, profile peeking out from underneath your soft knitted hat and hands gesturing as you talk. 

You just need to tell her. Say it. Say the words. 

He steels himself. She’d have come on to him before now if she felt anything. Right?

He reminds himself of all the times you mentioned being ‘friends’. He pushes the feelings that swell his heart down, down deep, so that he can keep putting one foot in front of the other.

You part halfway between your place and his. It’s not very late, and you refuse to have him go out of his way just to walk you to your building.

“I know it’s the theme of the day, but - thank you. Best Thanksgiving ever.” 

He raises an eyebrow when you’ve separated, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “Isn’t this your only Thanksgiving ever, Lydia?”

“And nothing else will ever compete. Pie, movies, parades, your mom saying I was sweet and pretty - what more could anyone want?”

He groans at the memory of his mother’s questions to you - and to him, though he hopes you didn’t hear and understand those. “I’m sorry. But it did capture some of the familial tensions of a traditional Thanksgiving.”

You wave away his apology. “Seriously, I’m so grateful. I hope you know.”

You move a step closer and reach out to hug him to say thanks. You can’t help but close your eyes for a moment, trying to memorise the feeling of safety and warmth that comes with embracing Ben, however briefly.

He smiles. “I know.” He turns his head to one side, as if he’s mulling something over in his mind.

“Okay, well…good night.” You lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek that’s facing you, remembering his gesture the night of your birthday.

Maybe it’s your timing. Maybe it’s the angle. Maybe you startled him. 

In the split second it takes you to move towards him, Ben turns his head. Instead of the softness and bristle of his cheek, your lips meet his.

The kiss, if you can call it that, can’t have lasted more than a couple of seconds before you break apart, startled and apologetic. 

“Oh fuck Ben I’m - I’m so sorry, I was going for your cheek and then you turned and -”

He’s blushing, eyes darting around and fingers flexing as they tend to do when he’s nervous or panicking. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Lyd, I didn’t - didn’t mean…shit, I’m sorry. I turned and you were there and your mouth was - sorry.”

You pat him gingerly on the arm, trying to offer reassurance but terrified that if you feel too much of him, so solid and warm, you won’t be able to stop yourself going further.

“Ben, it’s fine. It’s fine.” Your tone is meant as ‘casual and nonchalant’ but is, in truth, very chalant indeed. “At least we got a kiss out of it instead of bonking our heads together and ending up with lovely Thanksgiving nosebleeds, hmm?”

He looks at you from under his lashes and does that half-smile that devastates you. “That’s something to be thankful for.” A pause. “I’d try to kiss you on the cheek again but, y’know, nosebleed risk. Need to keep at a safe distance.” 

You smile softly and start to turn for home. “Good night, Ben. Happy Thanksgiving. And good luck with the conference paper!” He grimaces, remembering that he has to write his paper, then breaks into a grin, salutes, and walks away.

Lying in bed, trying to sleep, your brain returns over and over to the moment your lips met his. Accidental and over in a flash though the kiss might have been, there was no mistaking how his mouth felt - masculine and soft, warm and inviting, still tasting of pumpkin pie and coffee. 

It was an accident. It had to be. But you knew, deep down, that when your lips made contact you’d both lingered just a second too long. You’d pressed your lips to his, and he’d returned the gesture, almost imperceptibly. You definitely weren’t imagining this. Or were you?

Should you have kept kissing him? What would he have done?

The more you thought about it, the more you reviewed every movement and gesture and moment of contact, the more your body began to ache for him. The gnawing pain between your legs demands to be relieved. You slip down your cotton pajama pants, and pass one finger over your slit experimentally. You gasp as you realise how wet and how swollen you already are, just from the memory of his mouth. His touch. His scent. The warmth of his body.

You begin to move your middle finger up and down, up and down, increasing the pressure on your clit, and he appears unbidden and unceasingly in your mind as you close your eyes, almost as real as if he was there in bed with you.

It’s him slipping a hand between your legs, splaying his fingers to create a bit more space as he strokes you. It’s his long, strong finger that’s dragging through the slippery wetness dripping from you. The pad of his thumb that begins to rub at your swollen nub in tight circles while he starts finding your entrance with the tips of his fingers.

You let yourself imagine what he would say to you, conjuring up the aural memory of his voice. 

“You’re this wet for me already, baby? Is that what I do to you?”

You can’t even form the word, so you whimper and nod.

“I think you like this, don’t you? What about having my fingers inside you?”

Your hips buck upwards slightly as you pick up the pace and try to slip a finger inside yourself. It could never be a match for those hands: so strong and broad but so gentle and kind.

You can feel the coil tightening within you as you get closer and closer to coming.

“Or would you prefer my cock inside you, my love?” 

Such is the wetness between your legs that the sound of your fingers working yourself to climax is loud and obscene. You’re so close now, getting nearer and nearer the edge as you imagine what it would be like to feel him bury himself in you, covering you with his broad body as he fucks you senseless.

The man in your head offers one final instruction to get you there and send you crashing over the edge: “Come for me, Lyddie.”

Across town, around the same time, the memory of your voice is issuing the same instruction to him as he seeks his own relief, unable to shake the lingering trace of your lips on his and frustrated at himself for not being brave enough to show you how he ought to kiss you. How you deserved to be kissed.

“Come for me, Ben.”

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: They're getting there. Slowly. But they're getting there. All that frustration has to work itself out before the end of the semester, right? And the next chapter sees them about to head into the longer break for the holidays... ahem.

If you haven't seen Truffaut's The 400 Blows (Les 400 coups), then please track it down if you love movies. It's wonderful. If only I could go and watch it in a small college town movie theatre with Ben Morales, sigh...

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x ofc #mr ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #mr ben x ofc #professor!ben #Spotify #Youtube

[luffyandaceswife]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

part 2 of “Long live”

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

Warnings!: Angst, Major Character death, Mentions of PTSD, Partner loss, gagging, dry heaving, yk all the sad stuff once again :3

Genre:Angst, SFW, One piece, Ace x Reader

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

Once again you sat up in bed, cheeks damp and stained with tears, sweat sticking the loose shirt to your body, your heart racing.

This dream was reoccurring, No, it was no dream, but a nightmare, or a memory you refused to let go of. The scene haunted you every night. Not one break. Every. Single. Night.

There he was standing there, but before you could blink the sound of string snapping and beads rolling against the cool ice enveloped your hearing. His smile as his brother held him in his arms, His condolences for loving him.

You didn’t understand why he would say that. Ace was fun, loving and full of passion, You found it hard to believe someone would dislike him even in the slightest, and you always thought he felt that was about himself too.

But there’s always some sort of terrible truth lying beneath everyone’s bright smile.

You didn’t know what time it was, Frankly you didn’t care as you stepped out of bed. The cold wood floors of the ship felt nice in contrast to your overheated, sweaty body.

Your stomach once again was turning with the memory of your loves passing, the sickness rising in your throat like a silent cry for help, Making you rush to the bathing room.

You sat on your knees before the toilet, dry heaving until your throat went raw. The cold bowl against your hands was comforting, but it wasn’t enough to distract you from the painful experience replaying in your head like a broken record.

You stood up and looked at yourself in the mirror, Face red and puffy, Cheeks glistening with tears, Heavy under eyes tinted in a dark shade of maroon, you once again felt sick. The changes ever since Ace had died were showing. In your body language, Looks, and even in your eyes.

The twinkle seemed to be forever missing without him there.

There are days where you wish you could forget, Forget Ace, Forget his death, But you knew deep down you couldn’t bring yourself to forget someone like him, even in the years you spent together you only though of a future with him, You never thought there would be an end.

There are some days you wish you had done better, Wish you had more strength, wish you would have moved from your spot and saved him. You silently cursed under your breath as you looked down into the sink, your hands trembling against the cool marble.

There were times where you wish you could go back, and stop him altogether from going out to find Teach, To prevent him from being captured by the marines in general, The bloodshed of that war was enough to keep a person up at night who watched the events unfold on live transponder snail. But being there? Bring Fire Fist Ace’s partner..?

Your vison began to blur, black dots splotching around the scenery as you stared at your reflection, Sometimes you would see him standing behind you, Arms coiled around your waist. Like any other morning before the incident.

But the illusion only made it worse, Because it had been so long his face was starting to blur itself out of your memory, you cursed yourself from it.

You missed knowing the placement of every freckle on his tan face.

You missed the way he smelled.

Missed the scent of ash and burning fabric and leather, Mixed with whatever strong cologne he used.

His scent had completely worn off his pillow, and you had no other way of recreating his scent, no other form of comfort from the man you loved.

Because he was gone.

He was gone forever and there was nothing you could do about it.

Life is cruel and you knew it. You witnessed the gift of life, and the curse of death all unfold right in front of your watchful eyes.

But witnessing others cherish the gift of life only made you bitter towards the concept.

You wondered why it had to be him of all people, and why things would never go your way. You had planned out a life with him, but never got to live that life because those plans burnt down the second his blood was spilt onto that ice.

You felt yourself getting sick again at the memory.

the taste of bile on your tounge was enough to make you gag.

You spilled your dinner from tonight, flushing it without looking back, walking out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind you quietly.

the sound of the crew mates chatter had died down hours ago and you honestly missed the sound of everyone enjoying themselves, being happy, being free.

The hardest part of it all was you were starting to move on.

Moving on was normally the best thing to do in these situations, but you felt as if moving on was equivalent to forgetting, and you never wanted to forget about Ace.

If there were one single wish you could ever make it would to bring him back, even if it was temporary, you never got to speak to him before he died as you could barely conjure words at the sight of the wound in his chest.

But you needed to atleast let him know you loved him, more than anything.

But that was just a dream.

Just a wish.

And wishes never came true.

#portgas ace x reader #one piece x reader #angst #sad ending #op #ace #portgas d ace #tw death #Spotify

[ssahotstuff]

i have an uber specific request for a fic, or whatever you’re willing to do, if you’re down

i’m going on vacay soon - camping - and i thought it would be adorable to see that hotch and fem!reader dynamic. tbh i could see the team organizing a group camping trip in their down time, maybe as a way to let lose and get their minds off the job for a while, but also simply because they’ve grown to be such a close knit family. it’s just the sort of activity that would bring them all that much closer.

so, in my mind, reader sees herself as hopeless (to put it nicely) and actually has 0% camping experience. she arrives late (followed right after by hotch), it’s dark out and she’s trying and failing (struggling really) to set up her tent - it’s really not a one person job. in the camp site beside her, hotch hasn’t even started setting up when he notices her struggling. without even needing to be asked, not that you would’ve asked anyway, not with the way you’re crushing on your boss, he wordlessly helps you out. you hold the tent while he erects it, the two of you nail in the stakes, voila! and then “you’ve got to be kidding” to which hotch’s response is a concerned “what is it?” as his eyes scan your face. of all the unnecessary things you brought, you forgot the thing that you arguably needed the most - your sleeping bag. followed by aaron being quick to offer up his, to which you insist the two of you share. long story short, hotch won’t need the tent he brought, so he doesn’t bother. the one bed trope but ~ spicy ~ because no you didn’t think this through, sleeping bags are really only made for one person, and you’re pressed so tightly against him that his heartbeat feels like your own and you feel his chest pressed against you… among other things.

basically i’d just be a sucker for seeing hotch take care of reader. i could see him making a fire, and the two of you just sitting there, flames reflected in your eyes, as the two of you talk late into the night. i’m also a sucker for lots of fluff and mutual pining. bonus points if reader gets to steal hotch’s quarter zip !!

just some late night thoughts <33 sending you lots of love !! your writing is lovely

Oooh camping Hotch and reader below the cut!!

Minors DNI! Smut below the cut

You'd been buying things for a month, gearing up for the teams newest tradition: a camping trip. JJ and Derek had been planning everything for weeks, getting everyone to agree to it, even Hotch. Derek suggested it could be a team building exercise, and you couldn't do it without your fearless leader.

You had secretly been dreading the entire trip. Each time you bought something to take with you, you'd sigh heavily just thinking about being stuck in the woods with no bathroom and less than favorable sleeping conditions. The place they'd chosen was nice, but it was still outside, and you weren't excited for that part.

You were almost the last to arrive. Hotch pulled into the clearing right after you. There was a trail near the tree line that would lead you to the campsite, but you didn't want to walk alone, so you decided to wait on him.

"Remind me again why we agreed to this?" He groaned, slinging his backpack over his shoulders before he grabbed the rest of his things.

"Derek guilted us, remember? I wanted to go to the casino," every time you could all get a weekend off together, you were making group plans. Derek's bright idea had been camping.

"You can't get this kind of experience at the casino," he countered, and he was right. The woods were buzzing with animal chatter, and the leaves were ever changing, yellows and oranges around you. You'd brought your camera hoping you could get some good shots of everyone and some photos of the beautiful scenery.

"I'm just not the outdoorsy type," he waited for you to finish grabbing your things and the two of you took off towards the trail. It was a bit rocky, so he held out his hand so you wouldn't get tripped up, helping you down the steep terrain. You knew he was just trying to keep you from falling, but it made your heart skip a beat to hold his hand for any amount of time. You couldn't recall a time when you'd wanted anyone as badly as you wanted Hotch.

With a little encouragement from Emily, who thought he felt the same way about you, you'd began to open up to him more, started getting to know him. He'd been doing the same with you, late nights when you were both finishing reports, you'd talk for hours in his office, until the two of you were too tired to write anymore. It had become a part of your office routine—if you weren't working a case, you were usually on the couch in his office, helping him out.

He didn't mind the company, you brought him coffee and made sure he ate, and in return, the two of you got to where you knew secrets about one another. There was an established level of trust between you, and it only grew stronger as the months passed.

"I think we'll all have a good time. I just hope somebody remembered to bring the tequila," he joked, and in no time you made it to the clearing where everyone else was setting up. You picked a spot further away from everyone, and Hotch opted for the spot right next to you. You grabbed the instructions for your tent and set to work.

A half an hour later, Hotch was coming to the rescue. He started connecting the rods and had the tent slid on them in no time, letting you help to set the stakes in the ground while he did the rest. When he was finished, you stepped back to admire his work, your fingertips brushing against his for just a moment as he handed you the instructions.

"Thank you," you said softly, and he nodded, unzipping the flap so you could climb inside and check it out. You'd just started to unpack your bag when you realized you were missing the most crucial thing of all.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered mostly to yourself, but Hotch heard you and was poking his head inside.

"What's wrong?"

You nodded to the lumpy ground, which would be your bed for the next two nights.

"I forgot a sleeping bag."

You couldn't help but laugh at yourself, but Hotch was immediately offering up solutions.

"Just take mine," he said, but you shook your head at him.

"And then where will you sleep, silly? Unless—do you want to just share it with me? You can sleep in here, if you want to." You felt your cheeks go rosy, but he quickly handed you his bag and climbed in, sitting next to you on the ground.

"I think we'll both fit."

Once you had your sleeping arrangements figured out, you joined the others, and Reid was at Hotch's side immediately.

"Don't tell him I said anything, but you may need to start the fire," Derek was struggling by the looks of it, sweat on his brow and his face furrowed in frustration.

"Need a hand?" Hotch offered, and Derek let him have at it. You found a log to use as a makeshift bench and you took a seat so you could watch Hotch work. He looked just as glorious as ever, his usual attire swapped for a long sleeved navy blue shirt and jeans. Emily sat down next to you, her eyes darting between you and Hotch.

"You should tell him this weekend."

You looked at her like she was crazy, shaking your head.

"I can't. If he doesn't feel the same way, it'll ruin the whole weekend."

Emily gave Hotch one last look before she pulled you away and towards her tent, her arms crossed over her chest.

"We're profilers, Y/n. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the way he looks at you. You should go for it."

You thought about her words but saw flames in the corner of your eye, Hotch and Reid sharing a quick fist bump after he got the fire going. He shot you a quick smile before taking a seat on your log. Emily nodded toward him, silently beckoning you to join him.

"Think about what I said," she whispered as you walked away, so you shot her a thumbs up, and debated how you'd let him know about your feelings.

A few hours later, everyone was tucked into bed except for you and Hotch. You wanted to sit by the fire, and he didn't want to leave you alone.

"Feels perfect. It's kind of chilly but the fire is so nice," he said, leaning into you slightly. You took a second to admire the way the flames danced in his deep, almost hazy eyes, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

"I agree, this is really nice." You we're enjoying the alone time with him more than anything, trying to work up the bravery to say something to him. He silently slid his arm around you, rubbing your arm with his hand to warm you up. You couldn't tell if your face was hot from the fire or if it was because he was so close to you.

"Want to head to bed?" He stood up, offering you his hand, his fingers lacing through yours as he led you to the tent. You climbed in, letting him get situated before you got in the sleeping bag. You had changed into shorts earlier, which is the only reason you felt his jean clad legs in the first place.

"Really? You'll be miserable in jeans all night. Take them off, Hotchner."

He let out a light laugh so you unzipped the sleeping bag to give him more room.

"You sound an awful lot like me right now, just so you know," you heard the metallic slip of his zipper coming down before he shimmied out of his jeans. You zipped the two of you back up and your original plan was to give him space just in case he was uncomfortable being around you, but his arm wrapped around you and pulled you in closer. He smelled like heaven, a mixture of his cologne and the outdoors. You didn't mind his legs tucked into yours, his tight grasp on your body.

"Isn't that much better?" You could already feel him relaxing into you, heaving a sigh of relief to finally be laying down, even if it was on the ground.

"Better by far. I'm not used to sleeping in so many layers," he still had his shirt on but you wouldn't mind if he took it off too; your imagination was running wild at the thought of being pressed to his bare chest through the night.

"I'm not used to sleeping on rocks," you wiggled against him, trying to get comfortable when his palm met your thigh, just below your shorts. He was trying to keep a few inches between your bodies, but that didn't stop his thumbs from pressing into your sensitive flesh.

"Sweetheart, you've got to stop moving or we're going to have an even bigger problem," it took you a second to process what he meant, but you didn't stop moving—instead you pressed your backside against his crotch deliberately, his cock already stiff against you.

"Oops," you teased, in love with the sound of him chuckling back at you. You rolled over, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness so you could make out his features. He found your face immediately, his fingertips tilting your face upward to meet his lips.

"What should we do about this?" His voice was barely above a whisper but it made your blood run cold nonetheless—judging by the current state he was in, you guessed he'd wanted you just as badly.

"I have a couple of ideas," you shot back before leaning forward to capture his lips. His mouth was greedy against your own, his tongue slipping past your teeth to collide with yours, nearly taking your breath away. You could feel his hands behind you working to unzip the sleeping bag so you had more room, but right now you didn't mind being pressed against him, close enough to feel his entire body radiating warmth.

"You're sure about this, right? Because I've wanted this for a while now," the slightest hint of worry was laced behind his words but you kissed him and assured him you were around to stay. You'd wanted him just as long, maybe longer. You'd never question it now that you had him, you'd only cherish him as much as possible, give him everything he needed.

"I'm positive. I wasn't sure how to say anything," your pajama bottoms were quickly being tugged down your legs, his fingers slipping past the waistband of your panties to be met with the warmth of your arousal; he audibly groaned when his fingertips collided with your clit, delving between your slick folds so he could show you how badly he'd wanted you.

"You don't have to explain it to me, sweetheart. I understand. I need you to be quiet, okay?" His free hand pushed his boxers down as he got ready to give himself to you for the first time. His fingers left your center long enough to pull your panties down the rest of the way as he crawled between your legs, propping himself up so he could line up with you. Nothing about it was ideal--you were on the ground and you couldn't see him, but it was still perfect, because it was him.

"I can be quiet," you whispered as he gripped your thighs harshly and pulled you closer to him, your back sliding against the fabric of the sleeping bag, making you move with ease. Your legs were swiftly being tucked together so he could press them back against your chest, leaving your mind reeling at the possibilities of your first time with him, if it would be rushed or slow and gentle. He teased your slit once more before slipping into you, taking your breath. There was a lot of him to get adjusted to, so he was careful not to go too fast; he simply pressed into you until he was tucked fully inside of you, letting out a shaky breath above you.

"You feel so good, my god," not being able to see him only made the experience more erotic--you could feel his large hands on your thighs, keeping them together as he struggled to keep it together; his knees shook as he began to move, tentatively and careful at first. You let out a breath at how good it felt, how whole he made you feel now that he was finally inside of you. Each stroke of his thick cock inside of you had pressure building from the very beginning, so you darted out and took his hand in yours, squeezing lightly as you came, trying to keep quiet.

"So good," he mumbled as his hips met yours, but you couldn't even form a thought, you were too busy thinking about how an hour ago, you were merely tent mates, and now there was much more going on.

"Wanted you for so long," you whined as he slammed into you, the fabric of the tent rustling below you. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to make Hotch slow down considerably, groaning from above you.

"I'm yours now," he assured you, the fluid motion of his hips driving you crazy; you needed more of him, as deep as he could possibly go. Your hands moved to the back of his thighs, so he'd get the hint that you wanted him closer, and he obliged happily, burying himself inside of you. It was a lot to process, your boss having you on your back with your legs in the air, but he'd been a lot more than just your boss for months now. You cared about him and his well-being, and you wanted to keep him as safe as you could, even though he didn't need to be protected. Hotch could certainly hold his own, but anyone could see that he'd really benefit from having someone that wanted to take care of him, and you were hoping he'd let it be you.

You knew it wasn't an ideal first time, but there would be plenty of others, and frankly, you had been so tired of waiting--despite your conversation with Emily, you truly had planned to talk to him this weekend, whether it ruined the good time or not. You couldn't hold your feelings in any longer, and from the looks of it, neither could he.

He blindly reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you came together, the two of you a sweaty, shuddering mess as you tried to calm yourself. Hotch was busy between your legs, cleaning you up before he came to lay next to you, letting you zip the sleeping bag back up around you now that you were missing a couple of layers. He seemed more comfortable, he settled into you quick, tossing his arm over you and pulling you closer.

"I'm really glad you forgot a sleeping bag," he whispered teasingly, kissing your cheek in the darkness as the woods chattered around you.

"I'll leave remembering stuff like that up to you," you joked, since he'd came so well prepared compared to you.

"You can always share a bed with me," he muttered sleepily, exhaling deeply before he went still and fell asleep and you did the same, the sound of the crickets and owls making you fall asleep quickly. The next morning, Aaron had let you sleep in, because when you woke up, you were alone in the tent and it was freezing. He'd left his quarter zip out for you though, so you quickly slipped it on, shrugging on a pair of jeans and your shoes before you went to find Hotch.

You found him building a fire, Reid and Derek at his side. The inferno was ever growing as you approached, taking a seat on the same log as before when Derek asked how you slept.

"Like a rock," you giggled, and considering the less than favorable conditions, you'd managed to get a solid nights rest thanks to being in Hotch's arms all night. He caught your gaze and shot you a soft smile, taking in your attire before he blushed like mad, his cheeks going red in an instant.

Once everyone was awake, Emily was dragging you towards her tent, eyeing your jacket curiously.

"Did you tell him?"

You shrugged, not wanting to give your secret away just yet.

"I didn't have to, he already knew."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #ssa hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner smut #hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader

[virginsexgod69]

6| Squirrels & Wood

pairing Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

summary You and Daryl go out looking for some wood to use to board up the broken window, but before that, he brings back something to eat

cw typical twd violence, this chapter's pretty chill

1.5k words

Series Masterlist

 Now that he had his crossbow back and the skies were finally clear, Daryl could finally go out and hunt. Some fresh meat would be a nice change from the usual expired canned goods. He felt at peace, finally being outside following the small tracks of squirrels in the cool, sunless morning breeze. He wasn't sure what you liked to eat, but he hoped you'd be happy with what he'd bring back, if he even had a successful trip. 

 The sun was almost fully up by the time he started heading back to the cabin with the few squirrels he carried in his hands. He sat down on the porch and pulled out his knife before he began skinning the dead woodland creatures. He fell into a peaceful rhythm, cleaning out the animals while taking in the scenery around him. His mind couldn't help but wander to his friends. He was used to hunting for them, that is, after all how he felt he solidified his place in the group. Normally, this wouldn't be enough for all of them, but he hoped it'd be more then enough for you and him. He wanted to leave you with enough food, so that when he left you'd have more to eat than just whatever canned stuff you found. He didn't doubt that you could take care of yourself, but he felt that he owed it to you, at least a little, since you took care of him. 

You sat at the kitchen island as you nibbled on some canned peaches, not the most nutritional breakfast, but you were making do with what you had. The peaches only made your stomach, that was already in knots, churn uncomfortably. When you had woken up and came to the living room, you saw Daryl wasn't there in his usual spot. His weapons were also gone, which could only mean that he left. Paranoia got to you, convincing you that your actions from yesterday scared him off, despite him actually not knowing what you did. It made you sick. Not only was your baby's room in your cabin still busted, but now Daryl was gone. You'd be fine on your own and you knew it, but it kind of stung that he didn't even say goodbye. 

 You nearly jumped out of your skin when the door swung open and Daryl walked through. 

“I-I thought you left?” You admitted, confused. Your relief from seeing him overshadowed the guilt you felt from masturbating to him. 

“Jus’ went huntin’,” he said, holding up the skinned and gutted animals like trophies. You frowned at the sight of their blood dripping onto your wooden floors, but you didn’t say anything, you were just glad he was back. You looked away from him and back down at your peaches. Sure, they were sickeningly sweet, slimy, and probably expired, but squirrel didn’t seem too appetizing either. 

“You gonna eat those?” You asked after choking down another peach slice. 

“Nah, jus’ thought you’d like to use ‘em for decoration.” You rolled your eyes at him, but fished out a pan for him from the cabinet. 

“I prefer art over dead squirrels, thanks. You can use this to cook ‘em.”

“Don’ need none of that, I’ma cook ‘em outside. Jus’ came to see if you want any,” he explained. Canned peaches wasn’t gonna hold you over for long, so you accepted his offer, even though you were a bit skeptical. You followed him outside and saw the small fire he made. He sat down by it before spearing the squirrels with sticks and handing you one. You hesitantly accepted, careful to avoid his touch, and sat across from him, holding the meat over the fire like he did. You did everything in your power to not look at him and focus on your cooking, and it was working. That was until he spoke. 

“We gotta go out ’n find some wood we can use to board up that hole.” 

“I know a strip mall a couple miles east. The windows are all boarded up, so maybe we can take those,” you suggested. Daryl grunted in response and rotated his squirrel, so you did too. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Daryl told you they were ready. You waited a few moments for it to cool down before ripping off a piece and taking a small bite. It wasn’t anything delicious or disgusting, but it was food, so you ate it. You peeked at Daryl to see if he was done and immediately regretted when you were met with the sight of him licking his fingers. Heat blazed across your entire face as the scene before you brought you to last night in the shower. Suddenly, being in his presence felt like too much and you quickly stood to your feet.

“Ready to go? I’m ready to go! I’m gonna pop in and grab my stuff real quick, okay bye!” You hurried into the cabin as he watched in confusion. 

Armed with that big ass sledgehammer of yours, a bag, and a gun, you were ready to go. Daryl, with his crossbow and knife, followed beside you. 

“How’s your leg healing?” You ask him. It had been so long since you’ve checked on his injury, that you almost forgot about it. 

“S’fine,” you said at the same time as him. He side eyed you as you laughed to yourself. 

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” you jested. 

 The walk was peaceful, for the most part. You took care of the walkers that straggled by before Daryl could even aim his crossbow. The hot sun was beating down on the two of you as you walked together, making the journey uncomfortable. After a few hours, the two of you were in front of the stores, most of which had boarded up windows and doors. There were a few abandoned cars in the parking lot, along with tipped over shopping carts, dead bodies, and a bunch of walkers that were slowly starting to notice you two. 

“We should clear the area before we try taking some of the wood off,” you suggested, although it sounded more like an order. He nodded in agreement before shooting a bolt into the head of the walker coming up behind you. The two of you split up and got to work on clearing the parking lot. After firing a few more bolts, Daryl switched to his knife instead. Repeatedly stabbing and pulling his knife out of their skulls grew tiring and seemed like it would never end. He felt the cold, clammy hands of a walker behind him grabbing at him, trying to take a bite out of his flesh. He tugged and tugged at the knife that was currently lodged in a walker’s skull, but it wouldn’t give. He turned around and shoved it away, but more kept coming, surrounding him. He finally got his knife out, but by the time he did, you were by his side, cracking their skulls like eggshells. Thanks to the dual effort of you two, the parking lot was now littered in bodies, none of which could pose a threat anymore. 

 You followed Daryl up to one of the stores with boarded up doors. “How do we take it off?” You asked. Without a response, Daryl started pulling at the wood. He could feel you staring at him, well, his arms in particular, which made him self-conscious. The wood wouldn’t budge, though, since there were nails keeping it up and unfortunately, neither you nor him had anything to remove them with. 

“Let’s check out some o’ these stores, maybe they got a hammer in there,” Daryl suggested. 

“You check out the boutique, and I’ll check out the pharmacy.” Daryl grunted in agreement before you split off. 

You didn’t just want to check the pharmacy for a hammer though, you thought it’d be good to stock up on antibiotics and other medications. When you got inside, however, most of it seemed to be cleared. There was empty shelf after empty shelf as you walked through the small building. The few things that were left were some over the counter allergy pills and children’s cough syrup. Your mood dampened, upon seeing the bottle. It was the same kind you used to get for your son when he was sick. You shoved it aside and pocketed the allergy medication just in case. You wandered over to the counter and climbed over it before looking through every cabinet until you found something you thought’d be useful. You loaded your bag with the bottles of antibiotics you had found, your spirit feeling lifted at the small victory. Your real reason for searching the pharmacy had slipped your mind as you continued looking around the store. You grabbed the few rolls of bandages you were able to find, but you froze when you felt the familiar cold metal of. A gun pressing against the back of your head. 

“Drop your weapons and hand over the bag.” 

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