#Grandfather Pumpkin

[herdreamywasteland]

Y’all ever just drink Starbucks while writing smut?

[sophisticatedswifts]

I took a horticulture class for fun this semester and we spent an entire class period learning about the growing and harvesting process of the crop my grandfather used to grow. He was a farmer until he passed away in 2020. The pictures on the slides were so familiar because the fields, crops, harvesting, storage, etc that were captured in the photos looked so similar to my grandfather’s farm. I actually told the professor after class about how much I enjoyed the lecture and explained my personal connection, and he told me that his colleague is in charge of our university’s crop breeding program, and he visits local farms all the time. That’s where the pictures came from. My professor said his colleague probably knew my grandfather and visited his farm on numerous occasions and that some of the pictures on the slides were probably from my grandfather’s farm. That’s so cool! It made me so happy.

[roseprincessarts]

Miguel and Hector -- Pumpkin

¡Hola, amigos!

Did I ever tell y'all I love this movie? No? Well… I did love this movie x3

It's another Halloween fanart with Miguel and Héctor spending grandfather and grandson time with a carved pumpkin they did <3

My God, it was hard to draw these two ^^;, I'm not so great drawing humans and skeletons ^^; I forgot Héctor's beard and sleeve oof >_<

Coco has something to do with skeletons of Halloween 😁 and this is what I decided to make ^w~

I might post early Wednesday before school since I'll be in the health or mental health counciling meeting on Zoom almost around 5, and it may take 20 minutes or an hour.

What y'all think?

Héctor, Miguel and Coco ©Lee Unkrich, Adrian Molina, Disney and Pixar Animation Studios

Artwork ©SuperShadowSilver

No copyright infringement is intended

Used: mechanical pencil and 48 pack colored pencils

[sbnkalny]

When my father And grandfather: "I'M going to write me. in point of no return everybody's super sonic racing - come on, let go (aaaaah), i’m sorry, but love me, I’ll give you something good. If you can't find my old email for my neopets account

[fishofthewoods]

I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"

Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.

In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.

In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.

In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?

In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.

The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.

And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?

And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?

Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.

The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.

The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.

They always come home eventually.

[tama-gucci]

hm my grandmother passed in her sleep

[asunflowerana]

Salmon - Inumaki Toge

summary: you always wanted to meet your soulmate; you just didn't thought he would have to save your life along the way.

warnings: soulmate!au, comedy, curse appearance (nothing frightening), and some good old fluff.

“Finish your soup, _____, you don't want to faint in front of your soulmate.” Says your grandmother, trying to persuade you to eat another portion of her still-warm pumpkin with ginger soup.

She’s been using this tactic since you were four, and to her delight, sooner or later you’d end up lifting your spoon and serving your empty bowl again. You can’t help your heart’s greatest desire, yearning for the day you’ll finally find the person who, according to other people’s experiences, will brighten up your whole world.

It sounds almost like something out of a fairytale, your destiny tied to someone especially made it to love you. To be honest, you wouldn’t believe it if it weren’t for the bold letters embedded on your wrist since the beginning of your life. The “soulmate brand”, as your grandmother once explained — the literal first words your soulmate will say to you. Each person has it somewhere on their skin, and nothing, absolutely nothing, can erase it, as the mark is part of your entire being as much as your beating heart is. 

“Will you grant me this dance? ” is your grandma’s brand, the first words your grandfather said to her after gazing for a long time at the prettiest woman he has ever seen around the neighborhood festivals.

And the brands are varied, but they usually make sense for a first meeting, from simple “Hi” and “Excuse me”s, to “Would you like some coffee?”. Well, most of them are understandable, but there are some not-very-funny cases, like yours, that they’re completely senseless.

“Salmon” hides under the long sleeve of your shirt. 

What does “salmon” have to do with all this? Why not something simpler, like a “nice to meet you”?

You’ve created so many theories over time, trying to find a logical scenario where this would be a first-thing sentence. Maybe your future partner is a cook, and he’ll prepare you a Baked Salmon; or maybe he’s a fisherman, trying to sell you one of his late products; or maybe, you’ll work as a waitress at a seafood restaurant, and he’ll just order the best fish of the restaurant. Sometimes you laugh at yourself, just imagining one of these scenes actually happening.

You know that finding soulmates takes time, but if you could only get a hint. Almost all of your friends already found their partners, so why haven’t you? You sincerely don’t care about appearance, or culture, you just want to meet your “universe’s best gift” and understand why the heck his first words to you is a marine fish.

Months pass by, and still, nothing comes your way. You can count on hope, and move forward with your life.

As you finish your second bowl of soup, you wish your grandma a good day and pack your purse to head off to the library two blocks away. The historic building is the best place to spend your autumn afternoons, sitting on a comfy armchair with a book in hand and a tasty hot chocolate along the way. However, your oasis received an interesting addition in the past weeks: something, or rather, someone, has been catching your attention. You don’t know the new customer’s name, but from what you’ve observed (stared, to be frank), he enjoys a lot of mythical books, and prefers to sit alone at a table. 

You know you shouldn't be spending time trying to take note of someone else’s life, but there’s something about him that attracts your mind and takes your eye's attention off the book. It could be the fact that he always wears his coat’s collar up to his mouth, his intriguing grayish hair, or the shape of his beautiful purple eyes that perfectly match his face. 

Okay, maybe you’re noticing too much. 

Sometimes you catch yourself daydreaming about a date with him. He seems like someone polite, even if you never heard him speak. But you don’t have the courage to start a conversation with him, he’s just so… focused on his reading, you wouldn't want to intrude. And besides, a guy like him probably has a girlfriend already.

You return to your previous reading, and by the middle of the sunset, you leave for your house. Grandma said she was going to the supermarket early, so you weren’t surprised to find the place empty when you entered.

But you were surprised when you spotted a finger on the dinner table.

As an instinct, you grab the white porcelain vase from the shelf near the doorway and use it as a protection, your gaze scanning every spot of the living room, and every room of the house. You frown, not finding anything broken or messed up, and the windows are all closed. How did a human finger get on the dinner table then? As far as you know, your grandmother only collects shells.

You type 911 on your phone, anxious by the whole creepy situation, eyes, and ears alert to any signal. While the call is on hold, you approach the table to inspect the unknown finger: It isn’t fresh or dripping with blood, but it strangely looks well-preserved, not marks of degradation. A wave of shivers runs through your body.

“What’s your emergency?” A female voice says through the call.

“Hi, I-”

In one second, your body is thrown hard against the wall by an incomprehensible force. The hit is all your senses can figure out, the sudden pain increasing on your right side while potent dizziness takes over your brain. Fallen on the wooden floor, you take the last of the strength that remains in your muscles to look for what hurt you.

You immediately wish you didn’t make that decision, for you wouldn’t face the haunting creature staring in your direction. A monstrous black shape slowly approaches you, a mouth full of sharpened teeth, and a single lifeless white eye glazed at your form. It mumbles unfamiliar words as it levitates above the floor, a horrid sound that makes you tremble in pure panic.

Is this how you’re gonna die?

Suddenly, you hear the sound of the window breaking into dozens of glass shards, caused by a human form that lands inside your house. You swear, from a quick glimpse, that is the library man five feet away from you, but maybe you’re too dizzy to actually see right. Scared, your eyelids close, and you can only hear the sounds of furniture falling and the creature’s terrifying shrieks. It’s a vivid nightmare, one that you can’t wake up from, but that fortunately ends.

You only open your eyes when you feel two warm, human hands gently holding your shoulders, filling you with the hope that the creature it’s gone. Your gaze widens at the face of your savior.

“It’s you.” You whisper, and unknowingly to you, your sentence is exactly the same words embedded in Inumaki’s wrist. His eyes widen as he realizes it, being able to contemplate the unnatural glow that comes out of your being, the glow that only soulmates can find. 

He found his soulmate.

“Salmon.”

And so did you.

a/n: not gonna lie, this is probably my favorite creation so far. hope enjoy it and giggle with it as much as I did.

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[mamaestapa]

yes pls omg one with joe 🥺

Baked With Love…|| Joe Burrow x reader

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•summary: You and Joe spend “Thanksgiving Eve” baking together

•warnings: fluff, Joe gets a little frisky, allusions to sex…

“Joey,” you said your boyfriend’s name in a sing songy tone, “It’s pumpkin pie time.”

Joe chuckled and walked into the kitchen, setting his phone down on the countertop of the island and pulling out a chair to sit on.

“Finally,” he sighed out, “you don’t know how long I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Today, you and Joe (well, mostly you) have been working hard in the kitchen, preparing desserts to take to your “friendsgiving” tomorrow at the Wilson’s. You and Joe agreed to make the desserts since neither one of you were too skilled when it came to preparing the actual dinner.

Earlier you made an apple pie and a batch of snickerdoodle cookies, deciding to save the pumpkin pie for last. You had Joe help you get out all of the ingredients that were needed to make his favorite dessert. Once all of the ingredients were spread out on the counter, you pulled out your grandfathers pumpkin pie recipe from the kitchen drawer where you kept the handwritten recipes to some of yours and Joe’s favorite foods. You set the recipe down on the counter, eyes scanning over the instructions.

You walked over to Joe and wrapped your arms around his torso, letting your chin rest on his shoulder as you held onto him.

“I’ll let you decide what you want to do. Crust or filling.” You said, giving him options to choose from even though you knew which one he’d pick.

“Filling.

Yep. You knew it.

“Perfect,” you replied with a sweet smile. You removed your arms from Joe’s body, reaching out to grab his hand instead so you could pull him off the barstool and over to the mixer. You gave him the ingredients needed for the filling, along with the specific instructions on how to make it perfect.

After Joe was situated by the mixer, you began to make the crust. It wasn’t too difficult to make as you’ve made it a couple times before on your own, but it was still a process that included very careful and precise measurements—it’s probably a good thing you’re making the crust and Joe isn’t.

As the two of you were hard at work putting together the pumpkin pie in a comfortable silence, you thought about how you could use some music right now…

“We need some music going right now.” Joe suggested as he opened the can of pumpkin filling.

It’s almost like he read your mind..

“You should play some Kid Cudi,”

You sighed at Joe’s song selection suggestion. It’s not that you didn’t like Kid Cudi because you really did like him and his music. However…that’s all Joe has been playing while you baked. You needed a break from Man on the Moon.

“I agree, we do need music, but can it not be Kid Cudi though?” You asked as you rolled the dough over the floured counter. Joe gasped lightly, sounding slightly offended as he said, “But I thought you liked Kid Cudi?”

You chuckled softly as you turned to look at your boyfriend. “I do,” you said with a nod, “but it’s all we’ve listened to today babe. I need a change.”

“No Taylor Swift.” Joe said, pointing at you and giving you the look.

“How about Tame Impala? We both like them.”

“Deal.”

You smiled triumphantly and clicked shuffle on your Tame Impala playlist that was full of yours and Joe’s favorite songs. Borderline began playing, making you and Joe instantly break out into your own little dances while you prepared the pumpkin pie.

Once Joe was finished with the filling and satisfied with how well it was spiced, he brought the bowl over to you so you could put it into the pie pan lined with the crust dough. You thanked Joe for making the filling before scooping it out onto the crust. You evened the filling out before putting it into the oven to bake.

As you leaned down to put the pie in the oven, you felt a pair of hands cup your butt and squeeze gently before quickly pulling away. You yelped at the contact, slamming the oven shut and whipping around to look at Joe, who was a chuckling mess.

“Joe!” you yelped, “what the hell?” You laughed as you finished your sentence. Joe held his hands up, his laughter only growing when he watched your mouth gape open. His hands were covered in flour, meaning there were definitely two white hand prints on your butt right now.

You let out a laugh before prancing over to the counter covered in flour. You grabbed a handful of flour and held your hand up, “Come here Joey.”

Joe chuckled and slowly made his way over to you, “Lay it on me, sweets.”

You took the flour in your hand and rubbed it all over Joe’s black t-shirt, making sure to leave extra white patches over his pecs and abs. Joe reached over and grabbed more flour, throwing it onto the top of your head. You shrieked and grabbed more flour, doing the same thing to Joe. You were both laughing messes as you had a flour fight in the kitchen for a good two minutes. However, the fight stopped when Joe got a handful of flour, rubbed his hands together, and left two handprints on your boobs. You looked down at the white handprints on your sweater. Joe’s handprints looked huge on your chest…

You don’t know what came over you, but you flung yourself at Joe, kissing him harshly. He seems taken aback at first, but he smirked into the kiss as he realized his idea had worked. It’d been a little while since the two of you have been intimate…

When you both pulled away for Joe, Joe huskily ordered you to jump. You did as he said, jumping slightly as he helped you up and sat you on the counter. The two of you made out heavily for the next couple minutes before you remembered how messy the kitchen was. You pulled away from Joe, glancing at the mess on the floor and countertop across from you before looking back at your boyfriend.

“Someone should clean up the mess we made.”You said, cocking your head to the side and giving Joe a pointed look. He just smirked as his hands trailed up your sides, resting on your rib and cupping the side of your left breast.

“Just wait…” he trailed off as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “because that won’t the only mess we made that’ll have to be cleaned up.” He bit down softly on your earlobe, tugging it gently before pulling head away from you. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as you looked into Joe’s intense blue eyes gaze.

A smirk pulled at your lips as you wrapped your arms Joe’s neck, clawing at his back as you harshly crashed your lips against his.

Pumpkin pie wasn’t the only sweet thing Joe was going to be tasting tonight…

hi loves!!

i don’t know why i made this a little spicy? i wanted to do something fluffy but as i started writing, i was like mmmm no i should do this instead😌

anyways, i hope you’re enjoying these thanksgiving/holiday blurbs! i’ve gotten some fun requests to go along with the ideas i had too :) i’ll probably post one more tonight, and do the rest tomorrow…because there’s a lot lol

hope you all have a great day/night😚🤍

[parkerdoeswriting]

Now You're In My Life

(Spencer Reid x Nanny!GN!Reader)

category: fluff oneshot

summary: reader and spence are engaged, but it's a secret

warnings: reader being referred to by “mapa” (mama and papa mashed up, if you have a preference, just pretend i misspelt the word), “grandfather” Rossi, found family trope for realsies, non italian-speaking writer attempts to write italian (lord)

word count: 1k

A/N: Finally finished it LMAO after like two weeks of writing block (i got an obsession with remus lupin and couldn’t stop reading fanfics instead of writing them) also this a part two to late night talking and i would suggest reading that before this xx why does this fic cut off so weird LMAO

You and Spencer had been together for 5 months now, and although things have progressed faster than normal relationships (you both getting engaged, moving in, having Alice think of you as more than a nanny, more than a step parent as well), you couldn’t help but feel the most happy you have in your life. 

You both really hadn’t really told anyone of your engagement, including your family and friends, only Alice. That was all about to change tonight, as you were hosting an engagement party, where’d you both would announce it.

“Are you getting ready hun?” Spencer asks as he knocks on the bathroom door.

“Yep.. almost finished though!” you respond, quickly finishing up your look for tonight.

You open the door, only to see Spencer’s lanky frame leaning on the doorframe. He’s wearing a warm grey cotton vest, over his off white button up, paired with a dusty purple tie and black slacks. Your eyes meet his and his smile instantly brightens..

“You look.. woah” he chuckles, giving you a kiss on your cheek.

Your face reddens, his compliments making your mouth curl into a smile.

“You don’t look so bad yourself” you chuckle, giving his tie a little straighten. 

“Mapa!” Alice comes running towards you, wearing a dress matching the colours of Spencer’s tie. 

You smile and pick her up, playing with her wavy hair. She was practically a mini Spencer, from her hair and to her eyes.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” you ask her, kissing the top of her little head.

“Please!” she smiles, and you set her on top of the bathroom counter.

“Spencer, do you mind setting up the munchies and drinks as I tend to Princess Alice here?” you ask, the nickname making Alice giggle happily. 

He nods and heads off, and you turn back to Alice. You grab the brush and hair ties, getting started on braiding. You do a classic, Elsa style braid, on her. 

“Aw, pumpkin, you look gorgeous” you smile at her, helping her off the counter.

“I’m like Elsa!” she squeals, spinning around. 

You chuckle and escort her to the kitchen area, seeing the island counter filled with various assortments of snacks and drinks. You look around, not seeing Spencer in the kitchen. 

“Hmm.. where’s your father huh?” you ask Alice quizzically, and in response, she shrugs.

“Over here!” A voice is heard from the living room, and Alice runs over to it. 

“Daddy!” she giggles, climbing onto the couch, where he was lying down and reading a book. 

You lean over the back of the couch, chuckling at the sight.

“Seriously Spence, you read more than everyone I know combined” you tease.

“Did you know that reading strengthens your memory and concentration? Yeah, according to a stu-” he starts to say, but he’s cut off by a tiny ‘NO!’ from Alice.

You burst out laughing, covering your face at Alice’s response, Spencer just has wide eyes as he’s silenced by her. Alice crosses her arms at him, clearly having heard a lot of his ramblings in her (short) life.

A knock has arrived at the front door, the first guests finally have arrived. You swiftly dash to the front door, opening it. 

“Penelope, hello” you smile at the woman, who’s dressed in a pretty pink dress with butterflies. 

“Hello sunshine, I come bearing more sustenance!” she chuckles, holding up a container of dip as she enters the entryway. 

“You didn’t have to, thank you!” you take the dip from her as she takes off her grey pumps.

“Aunty Penny!” Alice comes barreling in at the sound of her voice, practically tackling her leg. 

“Oh my, you look so gorgeous Ali!” Penelope practically gasps, picking up the girl. 

Alice smiles and wraps her arms around Penelope’s neck as she heads to the kitchen area. 

“Where’s Uncle Derek?” Alice pouts her lips. 

“He should be here soon, don’t worry” she smiles at her. 

————————

The party was bustling, laughing and music filling the room. Everyone was almost there, minus a certain Italian. 

“I’m late, I’m sorry!” his voice is heard from the front door, belonging to the last guest. 

“Rossi, we were wondering where you were!” JJ chuckles, and he shrugs. 

“Had to pick up my favourite wine” he holds up a clearly expensive bottle, setting it on the counter. 

You’re holding Alice on your hip, and she is clearly exhausted, even though the party has been going on for less than an hour. 

“There’s my beautiful nipote” David approaches, giving the sleepy girl a kiss on the head, before moving to you and giving your cheek a 'Rossi hello'. 

“Nonno!” she exclaims, her voice quiet as he reaches out for him, in which he complies. 

You smile, looking around to see if Spencer is seeing the same thing you are. You see him smiling on the other side of the island, and then he makes eye contact with you, causing him to smile more. 

“Look at my dress Nonno!” Alice exclaims, her energy increasing more by the minute.

“Bellissima!” he chuckles.

“Mapa got it for me when we went dress shopping” she proudly proclaims.

“Oh?” he asks, curious to know. 

“Yep, we also got to try different cakes and look at rings for Mapa and Daddy!” she claps her hands.

Everyone pauses, clearly thinking the same thing.

“Did.. did you guys get engaged?” Emily finally speaks up, looking at you and then Spencer.

You and Spencer awkwardly exchange looks, as there was no point in hiding the engagement from them anymore.

“Surprise?” Spencer speaks up, his hands making a ‘I surrender’ pose. 

The whole group laughs and cheers, Derek giving Spencer a friendly pat on the back.

“How long?” Jennifer asks, a faint smile on her face.

“Three months” you laugh, your hand on your forehead. 

“I can’t believe you kept that a secret from us for that long” Derek exclaims, teasing Spencer.

Spencer’s mouth curls into a smile as he looks at you. 

“I want to see the ring!” Penelope says, her voice giddy.

You whip out the ring, which had been stashed in your pocket this whole time. It’s a quite simple ring, which is what Spencer knew you wanted instead of an oversized one.

“Gorgeous!” Emily says as they all fawn over the ring.

You smile down at the ring in your hands, proudly showing it off.

[poisonlove]

The "Ghost" of halloween | A.D

Pairing: Astrid deetz X reader

Astrid pov's

I increase my pedaling speed, the wind tangling my hair. I was tired of arguing with my mother, tired of being teased for being a Deetz. Why did my mother have to be the crazy woman who believed she could talk to ghosts, see ghosts? And most of all, why did she have to do it on television, where millions of people could witness the spectacle?

I didn’t believe in my mother’s abilities in the slightest, especially because, according to her, she couldn’t even contact my father.

The only person who truly understood me, the only person who, with his quirks, had passed on to me his love for horror, the one person I desperately wanted to see again in my miserable life.

The one person I would never see again. Starting today, my grandfather too.

I clenched my jaw, trying to mask my mood, and kept pedaling. My hands gripped the bike's handlebars tightly as I moved my legs faster, my gaze drifting over the decorations for tomorrow's upcoming Halloween celebration.

My mother’s wedding to her stupid fiancé.

I sighed loudly. My mother had ruined my favorite holiday. I pushed that thought aside and focused on the decorations: skeletons hanging here and there, cobwebs, pumpkins, and strange monsters in the yards. Children strolled along the streets, showing off their spooky costumes.

A small smile formed on my lips.

The sound of a car horn jerked me out of my thoughts, and when I turned my head, I saw a black Jeep coming dangerously close in my direction. My eyes widened, and I instinctively turned the handlebars toward the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding the car.

"Watch out!" yelled a man I almost hit.

My grip on the handlebars became iron-tight, and with all the fear and adrenaline in the world, I tried to dodge the pedestrians, earning a few insults for my reckless riding. My eyes widened further, and my breathing grew rapid with each passing second.

The bike had picked up speed, and I had completely lost control. I closed my eyes as I saw a fence rushing into my path, bracing myself for the impact. The sound of wood splintering echoed in my ears, and the sudden slope caused me to lose balance, crashing into a tree and tumbling to the ground.

A giggle made me look up.

Groaning in pain, I saw a girl looking at me with amusement from the treehouse I had just destroyed. I rubbed my head, trying to ease the pain.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed.

The girl’s eyes widened before she sat on the edge of the house, her y/c eyes watching me with curiosity and amusement.

"Are you okay?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Yeah, sorry about the fence. My family will pay for the damages," I said, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Oh, don’t worry about it," the girl waved her hand dismissively, and I smiled shyly, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

"Where are you from? I’ve never seen you around here, and I’d remember someone as cute as you," she asked kindly, her voice dripping with curiosity.

"Uhmm... from there," I admitted shyly, pointing to the large house visible on the hill. My cheeks reddened at her compliment. She thinks I’m cute.

Her eyes followed my gesture toward the house, and she smiled faintly.

“The haunted house?" she asked with a teasing tone, and I huffed at her playful jab.

"Let’s just drop it. Sorry about the fence, see you around," I muttered, annoyed.

I had thought I’d finally met someone interesting, someone different from the bullies who teased me at school every day. She was probably one of them, and I didn’t even recognize her.

"Hey, I’m sorry, don’t leave," she quickly murmured.

I glanced back at the girl sitting on the treehouse planks, her y/c eyes looking at me with guilt.

Maybe she wasn’t trying to mock me. She gave me a small apologetic smile, and I blushed violently, once again brushing my hair from my face.

She’s really cute.

The anger faded quickly.

"I didn’t mean to offend you," she confessed, and I nodded in understanding. "Do you want to come up?" she offered timidly, and my heart skipped a beat at her proposal.

"Sure," I replied, feeling nervous.

I walked over to the tree and climbed up the ladder quickly, arriving on the wooden planks that led to the small house. The girl had moved aside and was watching me, her hands in her pockets, her eyes tracing my figure. She wore an oversized hoodie, jeans that fit her perfectly, and white Adidas sneakers.

"So… have you ever seen any ghosts?" she asked playfully, leading me inside the house.

"I haven’t, but my mother has," I confessed awkwardly.

My eyes wandered curiously over the surroundings: several music posters from the '90s proudly hung on the walls. I sat down next to her, surrounded by cushions.

"And you don’t believe in them?" she asked timidly.

I shook my head.

"Honestly, I think it’s all crap," I admitted with a small smile, my eyes meeting hers in amusement.

The girl smiled and tilted her head to the side, her long y/c hair gracefully falling over her shoulders.

My heart skipped a beat.

"I believe in them," she said shyly, pulling her knees up to her chest. She rested her chin on them and looked at me with a playful gleam in her eyes.

"Then I guess you must like my mother’s show," I said bitterly.

The girl tilted her head in confusion.

"What show?" she asked timidly.

"You don’t know my mom’s show? Lydia Deetz?" I asked, surprised.

Maybe she was the first person in this awful town who didn’t know about my mother’s show. Was I relieved or not?

"You’re a Deetz?" she asked, surprised, her eyes widening comically.

"Yes, I’m Astrid Deetz," I said with a half-laugh.

The situation was pretty amusing.

"Oh wow, I’ve heard about you," she said calmly, a playful smile on her lips.

"Yeah?" I asked curiously.

"Yeah, I… I mean, my mom told me what happened back then," she muttered quickly, and I giggled at the panicked look on her face.

Her expression relaxed when she saw me laugh.

"Anyway… tomorrow is Halloween," she said with a small smile.

At the mention of tomorrow's holiday, the thought of my mother’s wedding popped into my mind, making me grimace in disgust.

"You don’t like Halloween?" she asked playfully, probably noticing my expression.

"It’s my favorite holiday," I admitted with a bitter smile.

"Mm-hmm… it didn’t seem like it from the face you made," she said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

"My mom is getting married to her fiancé," I grimaced in disgust.

"Oh… I guess your dad’s not too happy about that," she muttered to herself.

A sharp pain hit my chest at the mention of my dad, and the girl, probably noticing my reaction, shifted closer to me.

"My dad died years ago," I confessed, a tear threatening to escape.

The girl looked at me with sadness.

"I’m sorry," her y/c eyes looked at me with compassion, and for a moment, she raised her hand as if to offer me a comforting touch, but she quickly pulled it back.

"Don’t worry… Halloween used to be my favorite because of him. He’d go all out making my costumes," I smiled softly at the memory.

The countless laughs and moments spent together, preparing and trying to match our costumes, flashed through my mind, making me smile nostalgically.

"You have a beautiful smile… you should show it more," the girl mumbled softly, and I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, blushing at her words. I bit my lower lip and looked at her in amusement.

"Thanks," I replied quietly, embarrassed.

"By the way, I’m Y/n," the girl said shyly, watching me with amusement.

I nodded at her words and turned my attention to the view outside: the sky was tinged with orange, signaling the arrival of evening.

"I have to go, it’s getting late," I quickly murmured, standing up.

Even though I was having fun spending time with this girl, I didn’t want to worry or argue with my mother again. I climbed down the ladder and walked toward my bike, picking it up.

I glanced up at the girl.

"See you tomorrow?" I asked, a smile spreading across my face as I mounted my bike.

"Is that a date?" she asked playfully, leaning against the tree. I blushed at her words, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

I nodded.

"It was a pleasure, Astrid," the girl smiled sweetly at me.

"The pleasure was mine, Y/n," I smiled back.

I can’t wait for tomorrow.

A/n: I hope you like it ;)

[n-i-m-u-e]

The fucking cat! The story of how Luke found a true friend in the captivity of the Red Keep, and Aemond found another enemy

Cursing through his teeth, Aemond furiously slammed the door to Lucerys' quarters and clutched the deep, bleeding scratch on the back of his hand. He decided to ignore the muffled laughter coming from behind that door. Fucking hell, Aemond hated that bloody beast! It was just absurd, but yes, among those he considered his personal nemesis was a cat. What's more, Aemond was sure that the cat considered him his nemesis too

Having supported his grandfather's idea to fill the castle with cats instead of the rat catchers Aegon had executed, he thought it was a good idea. After all, there were no negative aspects - the cats didn't demand payment, couldn't spy for the enemy, and generally couldn't do any harm, except maybe scratch the tapestries. How, damn it, he was wrong!

The first time he'd seen the creature was in the garden when he'd gone in search of his nephew and sister. Not that he had any urgency to do so, but Helaena and the boy had become too close lately and he… had to keep an eye on things. As he walked past the old apple tree, he heard a low, threatening sound, and when he looked around, he saw a shaggy, reddish beast that could only be considered a domestic cat in name only. The animal was large and looked completely wild, and it had only one eye. Aemond hummed and continued on his way, ignoring that the cat was still making its frightening noises. If only he had known then, he would have slashed this fur demon with his sword, without remorse.

The second time he met the monster was in his nephew's chambers, when he came to check that the boy was all rig… meaning that he was not up to something naughty or stupid. After all, Aemond knew better than anyone how well the little bastard could cause trouble. His hands were full because that morning the servants had made another mistake and added plum cake to Aemond's breakfast, even though he always skipped dessert. So, just to save the food, he decided to give it to the boy. Especially since kid seemed very thin, and they didn't want rumors to spread in court that they were starving Lucerys. He also had a book about the Lorathi mazemakers, a rare item from his own collection, but that was nothing, he just wanted to keep the boy busy and less thinking about various tricks. So, when he entered the room, he didn't have time to react and cover his head when something furry, with long claws and absolutely fierce attacked him from somewhere above. Aemond could only turn his face away a little, put his left half up, and be 'glad' that his eye was already gone.

'Sir Pam!'

His nephew's worried voice slightly distracted the beast from trying to tear at Aemond's face, and Aemond could throw the rabid thing off him.

'Uncle, what are you doing? Careful, don't be so rough, you've scared him enough!'

Aemond blinked his eyes in shock. The only eye he had miraculously saved, by the way.

'Scared it? This creature has decided to finish your life's work and rob me of my vision for ever.'

'Poor Sir Pam, he's just a bit nervous, he's been through a lot and needs to be treated with care.'

'Sir Pam?'

Aemond looked at the ferocious cat, who was now crawling under the chair and hissing angrily.

'Well, I mean Sir Pumpkin. He's so ginger and cute, doesn't he look like a pumpkin?'

‘More like a demon from the seventh hell’ Aemond wanted to reply, but he refrained, noticing how admiringly his nephew was looking at the cat. Lucerys, usually so gloomy, was wearing such a lovely smile on his face that he didn't want to escalate the conflict, especially since what did a few minor scratches mean to a grown man and a warrior? Aemond didn't even feel anything.

What Aemond didn't realise is that this was only the very beginning. For from then on, whenever he visited his nephew, for the purely practical purpose of control of course, the Beast was there, and it was out for Aemond's blood. Lucerys just shrugged his shoulders and assured him that Sir Pam (for the love of the fucking gods!) was ‘a polite and gentle kitty’ and that Aemond just scares him. Aemond could have argued about who was scaring whom, but then he remembered what he was and why he couldn't be afraid of some flea-bitten thing.

The turning point occurred when one night, Aemond woke up with an odd weight on his chest. Opening an eye, he met the glowing eye of a demon in the darkness. The cat was standing on him, pawing at him with its needle-like claws. Deciding that he had finally had enough, Aemond jerked the blanket off and, disregarding the cat's crazed mewing, wrapped the animal in it like a sack. He would have it drowned by the first servant he met. No! He would drown the creature himself, personally, to make sure! And he would have done so, for certain, but for the memory of Lucerys gently caressing and murmuring to the cat. And then, so inappropriately, he felt shame. Aemond sighed heavily and changed his route.

It was late at night and there was no one around except the guards. But Aemond did not care.

When he entered Lucerys' chambers without knocking, he was awake. Irritated, Aemond threw his rolled-up blanket on the bed, from which a tousled animal jumped out and dashed into a dark corner. Aemond pointed his finger in that direction and barked:

'It! It was in my room!'

'Oh' only managed to say the stunned Luke.

'I should have drowned it!'

Luke remained silent, but Aidan noticed that his nephew's eyes were beginning to shine suspiciously moist. He shook his head and sighed. His temper had suddenly evaporated.

'I didn't do it' he said calmly to the boy.

Luke nodded, opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead suddenly sobbed. Oh, no… no, no, no! But the dam had already burst, and Lucerys began to cry uncontrollably, clutching his shoulders.

Aemond was not ready for this. He stood there in his nightgown, in the middle of his little nephew's room, who was a hostage guest, and he felt like a completely fool. Now he even wanted the cat to scratch him as hard as he could, if only it would make Lucerys stop crying.

'I didn't. And I won't.'

He hesitantly approached Luke. The boy shook his head and spoke through his tears:

'I… it's just… Pammy's like the only good thing here. I can't see Arrax, I can't leave, you're at war with mom and I… '

And that's when Aemond really recognised that he had completely screwed up. He really needed to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out something about how he would fix it. Seeing his nephew in tears and suffering had once been almost a cherished dream for him, but now the sight of it only made something painfully tighten in his own chest.

Without allowing himself to analyse his own actions, Aemond crossed the small distance between them and covered Luke in his arms. The boy didn't resist, only sobbed wetly and hugged him even closer, causing his heart to skip a beat.

Fucking cat! Aemond had fallen irrevocably in love with Lucerys Velarion, and it was all the fault of the fucking cat!

[annwrites]

no sound but the wind. part one.

— pairing: adar x fem!reader

— type: part of mini-series

— summary: adar finds personal use for you as a slave of a different kind.

— tw: non-con

— word count: 3,212

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr

“And do you swear allegiance to Adar, father of the Uruks?”

You stare ahead at the man he speaks of—if he is even truly a man at all—observing his long, black, silken hair, his gray, sallow skin, the ruined sides of his face where the skin is pulled taught from scarring due to, you presume, fire—his thin lips tightly pursed while he awaits your answer. And it’s then that you notice his pointed ears.

His is an elf. How—how could he let this happen? How can he partake in it? He is meant to be wise and strong, yet gentle and fair. Not…whatever he has instead become.

It does not much matter how he has come upon the path which he now follows. What’s done is done.

All is now lost that once was to you because of it. That you’d most loved. That which had brought you joy and much more.

Like your village, where trees had flowered and bloomed year-round. Those of almond and chestnut, apple and peaches, sour lemons and limes. Some, which ivy grew upon the trunks of, while blossoms were peppered throughout green leaves that dappled the ground below in sunlight, which rays shone through from a clear blue sky above—white, fluffy clouds slowly floating past.

Or lush, soft, green grass which you would lie upon and nap. Clear, cool running water in streams that were always warm in the summer, and crisp in the autumn when those same sticky apples fell into the soil, feeding it until the year next when farmers would tend their fields of potatoes, carrots, pumpkins, lettuce, and strawberries—the various types of crops nearly endless. Mayhaps a few bushes of berries were to be had, as well.

Animals grazed the fields: cows and sheep and goats alike, and chickens would peck about around the settlement while pigs oinked in their pens, lazy cats slept upon windowsills, and pups ran along after smiling, playful children—their adoring parents watching along after them as young couples in love strolled into the small market in the middle of town to purchase goods.

Like spices and cured meats, colorful fabrics and dresses, woven baskets and pillar candles, pots and pans, and shimmering, beautiful glassware, among so much more.

And there would be gatherings in the square quite regularly: dances and festivals, competitions in archery or axe throwing, or quilt-making and pie baking.  Woodworkers and blacksmiths would presents their creations to all for purchase, for the cost of a pretty, shining coin—celebrations abound. Music and delicious foods were to be had, young maidens with flowers in their hair waiting for a kiss as their dresses of chiffon and tulle swayed round their slippered feet.

In the evenings, fireflies would flit through the air like tiny sparks of light while you and your mother would prepare dinner, your father always tending to something. Whether it was in your household’s small stables outside—where horses would quietly whinny as he fed them or brushed them down—or inside, fixing something in the cottage where the three of you lived contentedly.

And you would listen through open windows to crickets and cicadas while you quietly read your parents a story or two from a novel you’d retrieved from upon the mantle your grandfather had designed when the home had been his and your grandmother’s—the books hers—the three of you sitting before a small fire in the main room’s hearth.

And now… Now the once-fertile and emerald hills are unrecognizable. They have been, instead, replaced by black sludge and darkened, smoking ash—the skies overcast and always looking to be on the verge of an ugly storm as these hideous beasts rape the land for all it is worth.

They take and they take, and for what? Perhaps merely just to destroy for the sake of the act.

You will not willingly partake in ruining your beloved homeland. You would rather die and be with them: your family, your friends—forever to live upon those rolling hills once you shut your eyes for the last time.

You raise your chin, ignoring how it trembles when you meet his black, empty eyes.

He does not react. Does not so much as raise a brow in interest as he gazes back at you.

Something shifts behind you, and you steel yourself—refusing to look. You will not tremble in the face of death which calls you home.

And then he raises a hand from where it rests beside him, upon the arm of his make-shift throne—but barely, at that.

“Wait,” he calls quietly.

You hear something settle into the dirt and gravel behind you once more.

He rises slowly, descending step after step in measured moves, until he’s standing before you.

He places an index finger beneath your chin, tipping your face upwards, forcing you to meet his eyes.

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Comely little thing, aren’t you?” He says softly, his voice monotone.

You keep your mouth shut.

He nods infinitesimally. “Take her to my tent. Ensure she’s watched carefully. I’ve use for this one.”

One of the monsters he commands takes hold of your upper-arm, his other hand coming to tug at the shackles which bind you, pulling you away.

“Kill me!” You finally shout, tears brimming in your eyes.

He turns slightly from where he’s begun ascending his throne once again, looking at you from over his shoulder.

You tug against your restraints, pulling free of the revolting thing that touches you.

“I want to die, so kill me. I’m of no use you to here. I do not know how to…”

You shake your head, grasping for words in your panic. “How to carve wood, or assemble structures, or break apart stone—”

He chuckles lowly, turning round fully, coming back to you.

He slides his rough hand along your soft cheek before cupping the back of your head. He tangles his strong fingers in your hair, yanking your head back by those same strands, causing you to whimper in pain.

“You think I desire you for hard labor?”

You gulp in fear.

“I have far different plans in-mind for you. You will serve me well in other ways. Ones more…”

His eyes trail slowly along your body, before meeting your own once again. “Suited to your feminine form.”

You choke back a sob, realization filling you, along with an unbridled sense of terror.

He releases you again, nodding toward his crony.

You’re taken in-hand once again, and led away—your pleading cries falling upon deaf ears.

Adar’s tent is nothing exceptional—somewhat opposite of what you’ve expected it to be.

His bed is not a cot, surprisingly—certainly large enough to fit two, if not two-and-a-half—and he has a rather cluttered war table, which you’ve been informed, quite firmly, that you are not to touch. So you look at it, instead, from a distance from the wooden chair you’ve been provided.

You see small metal and wooden figurines placed about—construction plans, you assume.

You fail to understand what he could possibly want with the now-destroyed land, but decide you ultimately don’t want to know. You’d rather remember it as it’d once been instead.

You glance to the entrance of his tent, where an Uruk stands guard—the flap pulled back, allowing you a peak outside as the others like him mill about, coming and going and working.

Bile rises in your throat at the sight of them. They’re wretched. Cursed. Vile.

You won’t let him touch you.

You’ll do whatever you must to instead give him cause to drive a blade through your beating heart instead. You will not dishonor yourself—not even for the sake of survival.

You will die as you had lived: as yourself.

You’d waited so long for him to come—rehearsing in your head all the ways you might achieve that which you most desire at his hand; but nevertheless of your own causing—you’d fallen asleep.

You jolt awake when heavy footsteps enter the tent, staring in fear as bastardized elves carry inside a large, wooden tub full of steaming water.

They settle it into the middle of the space, retreating just as promptly as they’d come.

And then he steps inside, the once-open curtain flapping closed behind him.

He settles his arms behind his back as he gazes down at you.

He glances to the tub, then back to you. “Bathe. Once you are finished, I shall next.”

He goes to his war table, seating himself heavily, opening a scroll which lies atop it, and he begins reading over the item in his large hand.

You remain seated, too terrified to move.

“I need…privacy,” you say—your voice breaking, tears filling your eyes.

He keeps his back turned to you. “And you have it. Now, do as I bid you.”

You slowly stand, feeling unsure on your feet—your movements hesitant and wavering—as you come closer.

You study the back of his head, nervously flitting your eyes about the table before him, searching desperately for a weapon.

“I would not attempt it.”

You jerk in surprise.

He sets the parchment aside, retrieving a small, sharply pointed figure in the shape of a diamond. “You’d do well to make things easier for yourself. Obey me, and your days will be easy. Don’t—”

You interrupt. “I’ll never give m-myself to you willingly. I’ll—I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat sounding far more like a question than anything else.

You do not see how his lip twitches in mild amusement.

Finally, he sighs, pushing out his chair, standing.

You shuffle backwards, desperate to get away from him—from this place as a whole—from all of the rot and disease that has now claimed this land you’d once called home. Once you’ve backed yourself into a solid pole, which upholds the side of the tent, you stare up at him.

“So you should instead kill me,” you finish.

He softly shakes his head, cupping your cheek gently, brushing his thumb along the apple of it.

“You merely think that you wish for death. I have quite…creative ways to make you obey, until death is so far from your grasp that all you can see ahead of you is more of whatever I’ve been forcing you to endure. Until you break. Until you are ready and willing to do as I please just to make the pain stop.”

He cups your other cheek, holding you firmly in-place.

“I have been here for a very, very long time. Longer than your young mind may ever comprehend. I am not a man who is easily swayed. Nor am I merciful to any others than my children. It is not in my nature. But, for your sake, if you do as I command, I may consider a more gentle touch.”

He releases you. “Time shall tell.”

Your face crumples and you begin to cry, all hope fleeing you of obtaining a different fate than whatever he has in-store for you.

He seats himself once more.

“Now, do as I’ve told you. I will not ask again.”

You tremble violently and feel distant from your body, but you still manage to strip yourself of your soiled, stained gown, letting the heavy material pool at your feet, before ridding yourself of your smallclothes next.

You keep your eyes on him—never removing them—as you step closer to the tub, and then ease yourself into the hot water, sucking in a sharp breath as you seat yourself.

 You grab the small bar of soap you’ve been provided, lathering yourself.

You wish to be finished sooner than late, but also want to take your time—to savor this final moment of something…nice. Because you will do it: find a way tonight to make him take your life.

You’ll not stop until he does.

The two of you remain silent as you cleanse yourself—desperate to get the stench of this new environment from your skin. It is no longer that of fresh air and flowers. It is now that of something pungent and oily.

Death.

That is what it is.

Eventually, you rise, drying yourself with a small towel, and then you glance around in a panic for clean clothes.

Just as you think to dress once again in your previous garments, he gestures toward the small wooden dresser beside the table where he sits.

“You’ll find clean tunics in the second drawer.”

Once you’ve put one on, you take a step back. “What of…trousers, or smallclot—”

“You won’t be needing them any longer,” he replies, rising, the two of you staring at one another as he unbuckles the belt from his waist which holds his sword, setting it atop the previously-occupied table.

You promptly look away, your nose growing warm and eyes stinging as you seat yourself at the foot of the bed, watching as shadows pass by the curtain at the front of the tent.

You tightly grip the blankets beneath you, considering, watching intently.

You hear water lapping, and then a quiet groan as he leans back, enjoying what heat still remains in the water that fills the tub.

“I wouldn’t,” he states in that rasping voice which barely reaches above a whisper.

You bristle.

“You’ll not make it more than a handful of steps before my Uruks return you to this tent. To me. You won’t enjoy what happens to you next.”

He sighs. “Save yourself some pain.”

“Why’re you doing this?” You ask tearfully.

He begins to wash himself, keeping his eyes trained on you. “What is it which you refer to?”

“You’re an elf. You’re supposed to… Meant to be kind. Wise and—”

“You think I value that which I come from?  You think the high elves of this land care any more for your life than they do my Uruks? Pride is their virtue. They see themselves above all else, including men. Because they’ve made it so. They would see us all sequestered away to darkened corners of Middle-Earth if it meant all could be theirs once again.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “You destroyed my home. Took everything from me. And you think I mean to give myself to you? Willingly? To play at being your—your—”

“You will be my concubine. And nothing else. That is your role now. In time…you may come to see matters differently. Come to see me differently.”

“That will never happen,” you whisper.

He rises from the tub—his damp strands dripping at the ends as he shrugs on a clean tunic, padding toward you.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up as he towers over you. “In time, I believe it will. For your survival, if naught else. Even if you find such a prospect to be of little value to you now.”

He grabs you roughly by the arm then, forcing you to your feet.

Your chest presses against his own as tears slip from your exhausted eyes—your heart pounding like a hammer against cloth at him being so close.

“I’ll give you one final chance, child. Give your body to me willingly, and be given mercy, or don’t, and I will unleash upon you pain unlike any you’ve ever known.”

You make a split-second decision, praying it be your last.

You swing your free arm upwards, swiftly, and slap him as hard as you possibly can.

He barely reacts as he turns his head back in your direction, shaking it lightly.

“Pain it is, then.”

He throws you back onto the bed, swiftly removing his tunic, settling all his muscled weight atop you, weighing you down—forcing you into place as he forces your own garment up and over your head, ignoring your screaming, pleading, panicked protests as you battle against him.

You squirm and pound your fists against his chest, and kick your legs and wail in terror, but he acts as if he does not even notice.

He grips each of your wrists tightly in his hands, holding them above your head while he knocks your legs apart with his knee.

You suddenly still, fervently shaking your head, choking on your own tears as you struggle to draw in even one steady breath.

“Please—Please don’t. I beg of you! Please, not this! Please, please!” You scream shrilly.

“I gave you another way and you refused it. Now, you will learn.”

He plunges inside of you with one forceful buck of his hips and you choke on your own saliva at the excruciating pain which manifests between your thighs. Burning. You feel as if you are on fire where his body now connects with your own.

And he is anything but gentle, just as he had promised you he would be.

He ruts away inside of you, grunting quietly, his skin slapping against yours as his long, throbbing member plunges in and out of you while he searches for his peak against your will.

You stare upwards, at the billowing canopy, desperate for it to end. Desperate to die. To disappear.

This is nightmare from which you will never wake, and you have naught to comfort you from it.

No home.

No family.

No friends.

No warm bed of your very own where you may rest.

No village which is full of joy and safety.

No nothing.

Nothing is left.

Not even that which you’d hoped to one day give to your husband.

He has taken every single thing, and intends to take even more yet still.

You break then—far sooner than expected, than you'd hoped—resigning yourself to letting him have it.

You will instead go away inside yourself, back to the place you most wish to return to.

And you find peace there. In a quiet field where vibrant butterflies flit about, and chimes which hang upon tree branches tinkle gently in the wind.

You close your eyes, humming in contentment as the sun warms your skin, listening as sheep baa at one another close by.

And then you are ripped from the fantasy and forced back inside that claustrophobic tent as he pours himself deeply inside of you, moaning as he takes his final thrusts—pushing his rotten seed further into your core.

Finally, he collapses beside you, heaving for breath.

You do not move. Not an inch.

Hot tears slip silently from the corners of your eyes while he runs out of you elsewhere. Your body begins to gently jerk against your will in shock, and you sniffle and whimper in pain and fear.

After a moment, he rises, washes himself off, then pours for himself a mug of water, downing it quickly.

He pours himself another, leaning back against the dresser across from where you lie.

“It will get easier when you let it,” he states.

He takes another long drink. “It’s been…many years since I’ve had a woman—a maiden, even more-so.”

You refuse to look at his blood-stained member.

He returns to you, seating himself upon the edge of the bed, his leg bent at the knee as he gently grasps your chin, his fingers ghosting along your hot skin.

“As such, I don’t intend to let you go. So, do what you must.”

He sets his mug atop the bedside table, climbing atop you once more.

“I shall do the same,” he states, sheathing himself inside your slick core once again.

[fadingdaggerr]

Could you do Mel x reader where reader normally LOVES all things Christmas and gifting presents to people but this year she’s feeling down and just not as festive so Mel goes out of her way to give reader the most magical Christmas 🎄

Please and thank you! May you have the best day 🫶

frosted hymnal

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: generally the request above, however, there is definitely a different tone to this then what was asked for, bit more sad underneath | 4.1k

warnings: grief/loss (thematic - not in depth), hurt and immense comfort throughout to makeup for this sad

translations: bambino (baby), cara (dear), tua stellina (your little star)

note: this one is a bit personal to me, especially in the details and a family tradition i snuck in. i’m also not feeling very festive and ‘hell yeah christmas’ due to similar things i put in which is why this reads more h/c than holiday cheer oops

Ever since that balmy night in August when you’d gotten a call from your aunt as you ate dinner, laughing at Melissa’s recount of her conversation with Barbara earlier in the day. As the phone cuts her off unexpectedly, you swallow your laughter as you say a greeting into the phone. Immediately, your smile drops and your eyes flick to Melissa’s, already red and a fist clenching and unclenching as you listen.

“Thank you for calling,” you say with a shaky voice, barely making it out before you gasped for breath. Another beat as your aunt says more to you, “yeah, I will. Love you, too. Bye.” The moment the call ends, your head falls into your hands and tears fall. Melissa is immediately next to you, pulling you into her. Her lips press into your hairline, just letting you lean on her and let it all out.

You’d just talked to your grandfather three days before.

For days after, you hardly spoke, ate, or even moved from the bed. Your arms stayed locked around Melissa unless she had to step away, only then would her pillow take her place. She barely knew what to do, most of her family were angry when in mourning, much like herself; she’d broken half her picture frames and almost her hand when she found out about her grandmother. This eerie silence, the lack of anything from you, it was different, and it scared her even if she didn’t want to admit it. It took days to get you downstairs, a week to get you into the sun in the backyard. Melissa just held you until you quietly asked to go with her to the store after two weeks, the same quiet tone that filtered into most gatherings since.

She’d noticed it at Thanksgiving, the silence and the empty stare when no one was interacting with you. First holidays are always the hardest, she’d felt the same when her Nana passed away, but that was years ago and she’d had everyone around her where your family was states away. You spent the holiday pressed into Melissa’s side, only speaking when spoken to, hand gripping hers for dear life. Aunt Deb tried not to look offended when you barely touched the famous apple pie that you usually inhaled.

It had been Grandpa’s favorite.

—

The silence and the stare never really went away as the table runners went from orange to red and green, apples and pumpkins became evergreens and snowflakes. Melissa tried to stay discreet in how she watched you detangle the gold beads that wrap around the tree, robotic movements and pursed lips. Slowly, she moved from the couch to the spot next to you with her ornaments and hooks, shuffling closer to you to gain your attention.

You turn to look at her for a moment, a tiny smile stretching your lips before your eyes go back to the beads in your lap. The redhead takes the chance to prop her chin on your shoulder, making you turn back to her again, tilting your head back to get a proper look at her. Cold fingers brush her hair behind her ear while you admire her, a low voice speaking to her for the first time in an hour, “hi, pretty.”

“Hi, amore,” she murmurs back, a gentle kiss placed to your shoulder over your sweater, “you’re awfully quiet over here by your lonesome.”

You huff a little laugh through your nose, “I’m sorry, I’ve just been spacing out while I untangle these damned things,” you hold up the beads, “seriously, did you tie these in knots before I put them in the attic last year?”

“All part of my secret plan to keep you here forever,” she jokes as she shoves the ornaments away to help you with detangling.

Melissa delights in the first smile she’s seen from you all day as you shake your head at her answer. Leaning in quickly, you press a kiss to her cheek and quietly say, “like I was planning on going anywhere.”

Half of The Apartment and two glasses of wine later, you both finally get the beads untangled and wrapped around the tree. Basic ornaments went first, then the intricate ones that had been gifted by Barbara from the craft store were next, followed by the more personal ones with names, dates, and pictures within. A fireplace ornament with a photo of you two in it made you pause and let a little smile on your face, but it dropped when you remembered who had taken the picture and hand written your names on the bottom. Melissa sees the warmth in you go cold, taking the ornament from your hands and placing it on a branch for you, front and center.

“Hon, we can hold off on this if you need us to,” she says with a gentle tone, as if the right volume would shatter you into pieces. Melissa had watched you sluggishly place ornaments on the tree, for every three she got on there, you’d only put up one. The blank stare that had appeared at Thanksgiving was even more pronounced, and every conversation about holidays and holiday shopping had been borderline dismissed unless absolutely necessary.

The sigh she gets as an initial answer is less than desirable for a response. You turn away to grab a penguin on skis, breathing out a real answer, “it’s fine, babe, really. I just want to get this over with.”

That was certainly not what she expected. She normally had to hold you back from decorating before Halloween even ended, by the last trick-or-treater you already had a plan for the decor for the winter months. Sure you’d brought down the boxes for her, not letting her help at all since she always complains about her back afterwards, and yeah, you pulled out the Ella Fitzgerald Christmas album, but only at her request. There was no bounce in your steps, no obnoxious lovely singing of carols, not even the reindeer antler headband had made an appearance when decorating. As much as she poked fun at you for all of it, she found herself missing it more than anything at this moment. Simply hungering for your unbridled joy during the season.

Even though her own shoulders deflate, Melissa steps towards you, arms wrapping around your middle. Immediately she feels you give into her, leaning fully and melting into her arms. Her lips pressed to the side of your head, “it’ll get done anyways. Why don’t we take a break? We have the weekend, honey.”

“Can we just finish it now?” you murmur as if you’re afraid she’ll get mad. In truth, you just want it to be over so that you don’t have to think about it anymore, pretend the holiday isn’t even happening. You turn in her arms and move your hands to hold her face, “I just want to lay down and watch movies with you all weekend and eat the cookie dough that’s in the freezer.”

“That dough is for my students, so keep your grubby little hands away from it,” she jokes to lighten your mood, which works fractionally given your soft laugh. She leans to kiss your cheek, “how about I’ll make some brownies while you wrap this up?” She gestures to the remaining ornaments on the coffee table. Your nod and smile have more life to them, making her grin and press a short kiss to your lips, pulling away despite your insistence to make it last.

She watches you from the doorway for a moment, watching you stare at the tree as you mentally mapped where the ornaments should go, almost akin to your usual behavior. Melissa takes the distraction and runs with it, calling your aunt as she pulls out cocoa powder and sugar.

Melissa keeps her voice low as she asks your aunt questions, and slows down as she repeats her address for your aunt. The next call she makes is to her own mother, knowing that Giorgia is near god-level when it comes to sewing, having made every blanket and bunny for her grand and great-grandchildren.

The night ends with only half of the brownie she gave you being eaten while you lay on top of Melissa, head tucked into her neck and a tight grip on her shirt. She resides herself to the knowledge her back will hurt in the morning, but your steady breathing and weight against her was enough to not care.

—

The last day of school before winter break arrives, finally. The next two weeks were going to give Melissa the peace she had been waiting for, especially for you. Half of her lunch today was spent worrying about you when you came in late with redlined eyes, evidence of your tears in the corner of your eye. You waved off concerned glances and questioning looks, just giving a look to your girlfriend that you would tell her later. Under the table, she knocks her foot with yours and keeps it there, a silent I got you.

Getting out of the car, you immediately turn when Melissa doesn’t join you, “where are you going?”

“I gotta run over to Ma’s, I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” she says, crossing her fingers that you won’t press more, “I promise.” Your eyes give her a once over before you nod and turn back towards the house. She pipes up again, trying to ease the guilt of not being able to spill the beans, “no kiss?”

You laugh from your spot at the front door, calling over your shoulder, “you can come collect when you get home, ditcher.”

At her mother’s she is given the creation already wrapped since it was “perfect” and looking would be “questioning the genius at work,” so she doesn’t peek, knowing her mother adored you too much to have screwed this up. Pulling into the driveway, she moves quickly to not gain your attention, slipping inside to run upstairs before the door even shuts. She hides the box in the spare bedroom closet, praying that you won’t feel the need to remake the whole bed over the weekend.

As she descends and joins you back in the kitchen, she sees your rigid posture as you stand over the stovetop. Soup. You always make soup when you’re sad, always watching it simmer and bubble, stirring near constant like the spoon is pushing your thoughts around and not the vegetables. Before she can wrap herself around you, you’re already turned to the side with an arm out, inviting her into your embrace. Melissa quickly accepts, taking the moment to bury herself in your neck, holding your waist tight as one of your hands rests on her back, the other still stirring.

“What happened at lunch?” she asks from her hiding place, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

Your blunt nails scratch her upper back as you speak, “Tamika gave me a card and was telling me all about her Christmas plans this year.” There it was. Tamika lived with her grandparents, and Melissa remembers from when she was her student that the girl was very close with her grandfather, always talking about their weekend adventures. You sigh as you play with amber waves, “I just needed time to cool down before I came to lunch. If I came in crying, I would probably still have Janine glued to my hip right now.”

Melissa just squeezes you tighter, “text me next time, won’t you? I could’ve been there for you, you don’t have to do this ‘suffer in silence’ bullcrap.”

“I know-”

“I don’t wanna hear it. You need me, you get me. Got it?” Despite her serious words, her tone is soft, telling you that she means every word, and that these words are coming from her heart.

“Yes ma’am,” you mumble, kissing her hair as she tucks into you more.

—

Christmas Eve at the Schemmenti house was loud, very, very loud. Melissa’s eyes were drawn to you every few minutes, gauging your reactions and facial expressions, knowing full well you’ll put on a face for everyone else that only she can see through. Her heart beat speeds up as she sees no sign of anything on your face as the nieces and nephews are practically climbing you like a jungle gym, all vying for your uninterrupted attention. When Giorgia finally allows everyone into the kitchen again, you enter with Michael over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, plopping him into his booster seat as he giggles and squirms.

Falling into your designated seat in between the toddler and Melissa, you’re met immediately with a hand squeezing your thigh. You can feel the silent question in her touch, responding with your own squeeze of her hand, an answer telling her that yes, you’re okay. Giorgia captures your attention as she passes the bolognese over to you, but Melissa’s eyes stay on you and the crinkles around your eyes.

“Bambino,” Girogia says later on, pulling your eyes away from the kids playing together, “you’ve barely touched the tiramisu, I know it’s your favorite. Not even a second slice?” Leave it to Giorgia to ask you how you are without actually saying the words.

“Ma,” Melissa begins to warn, but stops as your hand falls on top of her on the table.

“I’m okay, mamma,” you say with a little smile at her concern, “I just don’t wanna eat too much of one thing and not get to enjoy the rest.” Unconvinced, but knowing not to pry, she cuts out another square of the desert and puts it on your plate. There is no room for refusal, so you dig your fork in and pray to whoever may be watching that neither woman notices your hand shaking. As the kids open their singular gifts for Christmas Eve, there’s a notable lack of smile on your face, unless one of the kids is looking right at you. The smile seems to come out easiest for them, but Melissa can see how quickly it falls once the attention is gone. She wonders if you’ve been doing the same around her when she’s been able to get a smile from you the last few days.

Everyone began leaving shortly after, most of the kids getting tired and cranky. Though she was half asleep in her father’s arms, Nicolette made a point to drag herself over to you to hug tightly before she left, barely wanting to let go. Vinny has to pry her off of you with a promise that she’ll see you in a week for New Year’s, though you end up having to give her a pinky promise to seal the deal. Melissa thinks that may have been the most you’ve smiled in months.

Once the kids and cousins are all gone, the redhead allows herself to drape across you, mumbling into your ear, “ready to go home?” She gets a nod as a response, your eyes shutting as you bask in her touch for a few selfish seconds. Saying goodbye to Giorgia, though never a want, was a must by the end of the night, your off-behavior making it that two Schemmenti women had eagle eyes set on you. Two big kisses to the cheek and a ciao set you free from the house, Melissa’s hand only ever disconnects from yours as you get into the car.

That night, Melissa and you lay in bed watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas while you braided little sections of her hair, releasing them and rebraiding every few minutes. Your fingers trailed from her hair for her forehead, gently gliding down to her chin to tilt her face up towards you. Her lips stretch into a smile as she watches you look down at her in adoration, eyes soft and searching over her face. Leaning over her in your lap, you relish in her smile growing at the sudden closeness.

She pushes up, pressing her lips to your shortly. Sitting up and turning to face you, she kissed you again, pushing you back into the pillows. Melissa’s hands gripped your hips while yours came to her face, thumbs gently caressing her warm skin. Whining as she pulls away becomes laughter when she presses kisses across your face, settling a last kiss to your lips.

You stay cupping her face as you take your turn to stare up at her. In a quiet voice, as if you were afraid to ruin the moment, you say, “I’m sorry for being such a downer lately.”

A kiss to your cheek, “you’re not a downer, you’re grieving. It just feels different this year and it sucks. You can be all sad, and I get to hug and spoil you without you complaining about it.”

“Name one time I complained about you kissing me, I’ll wait,” you say with fake indignation, before she can answer, you cut her off, “you can’t, don’t even try.” When she laughs, you feel it as you still hold her face, staring up at her dumbfounded.

“What?” she asks when she notices that difference in your gaze.

Your thumb brushes over her bottom lip, catching slightly, “I just love you so, so much.”

“I love you, too,” her lips press to your thumb. Her eyes shift to the clock on her nightstand, 12:02 AM stares back at her, “merry Christmas, baby.”

Your only response is pulling her down to kiss her again.

—

The sun wasn’t even up yet, why the fuck did she think this was a good idea?

The better part of the early morning was spent desperately searching how to get her laptop connected to the TV, and God forbid the sound works one of these times. Melissa is just about to scream into a throw pillow before the screen lit up and the tester video finally played through the speakers. She got her present for you all situated, wondering how the ones for her got there without you waking her up, she’d both fallen asleep and woken up on top of you. After what felt like six hours but was only two, she slowly moves upstairs to wake you up, but is met with you groggily sitting up in bed.-

“I’m surprised you’re up already,” she says as she moves closer to you, her arms raising to rest on your shoulders. Your own go around her waist, pulling her in until she’s straddling your lap, hands pushing under her shirt to warm against her torso.

“It was too quiet, no one was snoring in my face,” you mumble, smile stretching across before wincing as she smacks your shoulder, “you wound me, I may never recover.”

She can’t hide her laugh, “if this ends with you saying the cure is taking my shirt off, it is too fucking cold in here and you can stay wounded.”

“I thought you loved me,” you huff as you flop back down on the bed.

Melissa leans over you, “would breakfast and presents work?”

“She really does love me,” you say with a giggle as you push up to kiss her quickly before patting her thigh to ease her off of you.

When you walk downstairs, you almost completely walk past the TV without noticing half your family on the screen, waving as they see you. Nearly jumping out of your skin makes them laugh, but your attention goes to Melissa. She just points at the laptop, showing you that the call is live, that your family is sorta-here for the holiday. There’s heavy effort that goes into making sure you don’t start crying on the spot, overwhelmed by the work that you know Melissa put into getting everyone on the call together.

“Merry Christmas guys,” you say, waving at your nephews as they start cramming into the camera, desperately trying to reach you through the screen.

“Aunt Mellie said we surprising you,” the oldest one yells, grinning with a front tooth growing in.

You smile, hands almost reaching like you wanted to grab him, “oh, you did, you totally did, buddy.” Turning back to Melissa you walk into her opening arms, needing to express the love for her that felt like Coke and Mentos in your chest. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmur into her neck as she sways you from left to right.

The rest of the morning is spent watching the kids open their presents from you and Melissa on the video call, listening to your cousins, aunts, and uncles update you on everything, and staring at Melissa as she talked easily with your family. She’s so good with them, and more importantly, they’re good with her, most of the little kids already prefer her to you anyways. Who are you to complain, you already know she’s the best.

When everyone hangs up, the tears in your eyes are no longer sad, but happy, carefree. Melissa put an arm around your shoulders, “have a good morning, hon?”

“You did all that for me,” it’s not really a question, moreso a statement of disbelief.

She nods, “I got one more thing, even though it does break the ‘only a stocking’ rule.” Your face screams unimpressed, she’s the one who said if it couldn’t fit in a stocking, neither of you could get it for the other. Before you can argue she amends her statement, “there was no purchase involved, cross my heart.” That seems to get the irritation off your face.

From behind the tree, she pulls out a box in ice blue wrapping paper, paper you recognized from her mother’s house. You eye her carefully, but her face gives nothing away, only the fidgeting of her sleeves says that this was a big deal to her. Carefully, you undo every piece of tape, pulling out a which box. Melissa’s hand urges you to open the box, nodding at you even though her eyes stay trained on the lid until your hand begins to open it.

In the box is a teddy bear, a worn-maroon color, tortoise shell buttons for eyes. Your thumb runs over the fabric, eyes flicking across it as the bear starts to feel familiar. Raising it to your nose and inhaling, there’s a lingering scent of wood and shoeshine, and this indescribable smell that brought you back to hanging clothes on the line at your grandparents house. It was his shirt, it was your grandfather’s lucky shirt. He’d worn this shirt the day you were born, when each of the grandkids graduated high school or college, and to every anniversary date with grandma.

Tears fall down your cheeks freely. Looking up at Melissa, she seems unsure of what to do, finding it hard to look at you while you look at the bear. Flying out of your seat, you launch yourself at Melissa, knocking her backwards onto the couch, “thank you. Thank you so much. This is so... you’re too perfect, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she answers as she holds you to her tightly.

“I love it,” you press a kiss to her skin. You trace your finger over the stitching on the arm, recognizing the pattern, “did your mom do this?”

“She did. I called your aunt and asked her to send a shirt, and gave it to Ma at a dinner a few weeks ago to make into a bear or rabbit or whatever she could with the material,” Melissa clears her throat, “this way, you can give the old man a hug whenever you need one.” The sincerity and adoration in her gift, her words, her actions, were all too much. She felt a choked sob against her as fresh tears fell, mutterings of I love you from both of you.

The cocoa on the table went cold, the breakfast she was going to make completely forgotten. Melissa was never one to care this much about what she got from or gave to other people during the holidays, truthfully she threw out almost everything anyone by you or Barbara gave her, save for the pencils from her students. Sure the novelty items were great, and the scratch tickets weren’t bad either, but she liked the look on your face seeing that bear more than anything she’d ever get.

This was everything. You in her arms, holding onto her, kissing her face everywhere as the appreciation and love for her overflowed into the living room. Nothing else has or will ever matter as much as this, as much as you with her in this moment.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” she whispers into the space between you.

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” you answer, closing that space.

happy holidays my angels, love u all ❄️

as always, feedback appreciated <3

[buffysimonriley]

[ coffee ] • harvey

synopsis - you bring harvey some coffee during his busy work day.

pairings - harvey/reader.

warnings - none, just pure fluff.

fancy buying me a coffee? | requests: open.

the sun beamed down through your bedroom window and onto your face, your eyes fluttering open at the sudden change in light through your closed lids. you squinted in an attempt to let your eyes adjust to the sudden light flooding through your bedroom. it was then that you realised your curtains were open - something that wasn't possible unless your partner, harvey, had woken up before you. you turned over to see your boyfriend was no longer sleeping peacefully besides you. "must have gone to work," you yawned to yourself, stretching out your stiff limbs as you spoke. you threw your legs over the edge of the bed and dangled them before planting them firmly into your cosy slippers which lay on the bedroom floor. you hopped off the bed and made your way into the kitchen to make yourself some breakfast. you grabbed a glass out of the cabinet to pour yourself some water and when you did, you placed the glass gently on the dining room table only to be met with a note scribbled in harvey's handwriting.

my dearest y/n; i watered the crops outside for you this morning in hopes i could make your day a little bit easier. oh, and i also fed the chicken and the cows - you just need to collect their eggs and milk! have a great day, see you later. i love you, harvey xx

you smiled as you read the note before holding it to your chest and sighing happily. you often found yourself wondering what you had done so far in life to gain somebody as caring and loving as harvey, which was exactly what you were doing at the present moment in time as you placed the note back on the table and turned your attention back to the task at hand: making breakfast. "maybe i should bring him some coffee," you mumbled as you scrambled yesterday's eggs. you knew harvey was working really hard as of late and you rarely got to see him, by the time you finished your duties on the farm and he finished work you were both just too tired. you, more times than not, would find yourself in bed before nine pm snuggling as you fell asleep. you nodded to yourself in agreement as you finished making your breakfast. todays plan: water the crops in the greenhouse, collect the chicken eggs and cow milk, make mayonnaise and cheese and then take harvey some coffee. you ate your breakfast and made your way back to your bedroom to get ready for the day. you dressed yourself in warm clothes, after all the cool autumn air had started to creep in.

recently you had had your grandfather's greenhouse repaired and renovated so the majority of your crops were inside. you had an abundance of them but mainly you had planted ancient seeds, after all they caught a pretty penny when you made their fruit into wine - which was something you planned on doing when you could make yourself a few kegs. now, you were fully wrapped up and made your way outside, admiring the rapid pace in which your pumpkins were growing. you smiled to yourself and made a mental note to thank pierre for the recent fertiliser you had purchased. thanks to him, your pumpkins would be ready and in perfect condition in time for halloween! you continued your brisk walk to the greenhouse and entered. upon entering you were met with your crops, all growing at different paces, but looking healthy nonetheless. you were overjoyed when you had noticed that some of your ancient seeds had fully grown, a big cheeky grin covered your lips. you watered the rest of your plants before you picked what you were able too and made your way to the selling bin where you gathered your latest crops. mayor lewis would appreciate this harvest for sure!

you then made your way over to the chicken coop. you petted your chickens, giving them some love before collecting their eggs. You had two mayonnaise machines and gently placed two chicken eggs into them. you would come back for them later. you made your way over to the cow barn and did the same thing: you petted your cows, giving them some love and milked them. placing the milk into the cheese machine and making a mental note of coming back for the final product later in the day. you returned to the selling bin and placed the remaining eggs and milk in there for mayor lewis to collect later in the evening.

"that's enough work for now," you smiled to yourself, clapping your hands together in pride. you had only been living in pelican town for a year and a half, but you were happy with the progress you had made in that time. especially since your grandfathers farm had been in such an abysmal state when you had arrived. you admired your crops outside once more before you turned and made your way back into your cottage, dead set on delivering coffee to harvey at work.

you turned the kettle on, grabbed an insulated thermal cup and your jar of coffee. you placed three scoops of coffee into the insulated cup and three spoonfuls of sugar, knowing harvey liked his coffee surprisingly sweet. you carefully poured the boiling water from the kettle into the thermal cup once it had boiled and then poured in a splash of milk, just enough for your boyfriend to appreciate the bitterness of the coffee but also the sweetness of the sugar. once you had completed making his coffee, you put the lid on the cup to keep it hot and grabbed the pre-made sandwich he had made from the night before that he had, of course, forgot to take with him. then, in the flash of an eye, you were on your way to the clinic.

on your stroll into town you were stopped by the residents of pelican town. many just saying 'hi' and asking how life on the farm was treating you. of course, as usual, you were friendly and polite. you loved the residents of pelican town like they were part of your own family - your grandfather definitely had discovered the perfect place to start a farm. the kids ran over to you and gave you a big hug, offering you flowers they had picked from the ground as a token of their appreciation for you - after all you supplied a lot of the crops around pelican town for people to make their food!

"ah farmer y/n!" mayor lewis exclaimed as you walked up to the clinic. he was waiting outside, looking at the notices on the windows. "how are you?"

"i'm good thank you mayor lewis," you replied with a courteous nod. "how are you?"

"no complaining here," he responded. "may i ask what you're doing here?"

"of course. harvey left before i awoke this morning. i thought i would bring him some coffee during his busy day."

"how thoughtful of you," mayor lewis smiled. "well, i won't keep you any longer. have a fantastic day."

"you too, mayor lewis," you smiled back and watched as he walked away.

you entered the clinic to see harvey behind the front desk. he looked up as the front bell rung, a huge smile plastered his face when he saw you standing before him. "y/n my love!" he exclaimed. "what are you doing here?"

"i brought you some coffee," you smiled holding up the thermal cup. "and also the sandwich you forgot to bring with you this morning."

"you are so thoughtful, give me a second," he responded before disappearing into the back. a few seconds later, harvey emerged from the back and at the front of the shop. no longer barricaded into the front desk, harvey walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your body. he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and smiled, taking the insulated cup and sandwich out of your hands. "thank you, my dear."

"you're most welcome, my love," you responded, reciprocating the hug once your hands were free of the items.

"i didn't want to wake you up this morning," harvey said. "you were sleeping so peacefully, i didn't have the heart to disturb you."

"it's okay harvey," you replied. "thank you for watering the crops outside and feeding the animals this morning."

"it was my pleasure," he responded, nodding his head. "i hope it made your morning a little bit easier."

"it did," you smiled.

"have you eaten today?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. you nodded in response and harvey smiled in response. "good. you need to keep your strength. especially with all that hard work you do on the farm."

harvey placed the thermal cup and sandwich on the front desk before turning to you again with his arms outstretched for an embrace. your heart fluttered as you walked into his arms, wrapping your own around his waist fondly. although he never wore cologne to work, he always smelt so good and you melted into his touch. harvey's hands rested on the small of your back as he pressed continuous kisses to the top of your head. "i miss you," you mumbled into his chest.

"i miss you too," harvey whispered. "but i have a surprise for you."

"what's the surprise?" you asked excitedly, pulling away from the embrace to look up at your boyfriend with wide, excited eyes.

"well, i was going to save the announcement until i came home tonight but," harvey did a small little drum roll on his knees before he announced. "i'm off work for a week after today!"

you gasped in excitement. "really?" you exclaimed. harvey hummed and nodded in response. "this is amazing news!"

"i know," harvey smiled. "i was thinking maybe we could go out for something to eat tomorrow evening, you know, spend some quality time together after your duties on the farm are completed."

"i would love that," you responded. "it's been so long since we have had a date night."

"it's been too long," harvey agreed. "i will make a reservation at your favourite place during my lunch today."

"my favourite place? really?" you asked as you raised your eyebrow.

"of course! why?"

"isn't it a bit pricey?" you asked sheepishly, looking down at your feet.

"nothing is too expensive for you," harvey replied, taking your face in his hands. he cupped your jaw with his fingers and stared so deeply into your eyes you couldn't help the blush that appeared on your cheeks. "you are so beautiful."

"and you," you poked his nose. "are so handsome."

"thank you, my love," harvey whispered. "for coming to see me. you've definitely broken the day up."

"i'm glad i could make your day a little bit nicer," you smiled. "but i must be going now."

"you must?" harvey asked with a pout.

"yes! i'm going to buy some seeds from pierre and plant some more seeds before autumn is over," you sighed.

"any idea what you're going to get?" harvey asked in a futile attempt to make you stay a little longer - he knew you loved talking about crops, seeds and anything to do with the farm in general.

you shook your head. "i want to plant more pumpkins, but i think we have enough for halloween," you chuckled.

"maybe some grapes," harvey mused. "i do like the grapes you plant."

"grapes it is then," you laughed. you pressed a quick kiss on his cheek before you turned to leave, however you were stopped in your tracks by harvey spinning you around.

"give me a proper kiss before you leave me," he pouted again before pressing his lips to yours softly. the pair of you closed your eyes as the kiss intensified, Harvey licked your bottom lip as his favourite way of asking for entrance into your mouth. you smiled and nodded slowly, opening your mouth and allowing his tongue to manoeuvre inside. just as quickly as the kiss began, it was over as the pair of you were interrupted by the nurse.

"excuse me," she whispered shyly. "i hate to interrupt but, Harvey, you have an appointment in five."

harvey pulled away from the kiss and sighed as you finally opened your eyes, a blush spreading across both of your faces. "i-i better be going," you stuttered, only for harvey to nod in agreement.

"thank you again for bringing me my coffee and sandwich my love," he whispered before placing one last kiss on your lips. "i'll see you at home tonight."

"see you tonight harvey," you smiled before exiting the clinic.

you made your way to pierre's now set on grabbing some grape seeds to plant for harvey. whilst there, you thanked pierre for the fertiliser you had used and had a quick chat before making your way back to the farm where you got to work planting the grape seeds. finally, you watered them and made your way inside to do some overall household chores like laundry and washing your dishes from this morning. you were excited for harvey's week off to say the least and excited for what the week would bring. for now, you simply relaxed and waited for your boyfriend to return home where he showed you just how grateful he was for your visit today.

[sarahwroteathing]

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Steve Rogers!

[Art Teacher!Steve Rogers x Single Mom!Reader]

Word Count: 3417

Warnings: single mom reader, chaotic bestie Bucky Barnes

Summary: While painting faces at the local harvest festival, Steve sees you and Charlie outside of school for the first time.

A/N: I’m baaaaaaack! Did ya miss me?

Here’s the previous three installments in the Glitterverse, in case you missed them or need a refresh!

Glitter  Cool Kid Table  Silver Star

Steve was in the very serious process of adding purple stripes to a charmingly cartoonish spider he’d painted on a little boy’s cheek when the sound of a bright, happy laugh caught his attention. There was nothing too unusual about that, honestly. He liked seeing people happy, whether he knew them or not, and there had been no shortage of happiness at the Harvest Festival so far. 

The apple bobbing tent was a pretty reliable source of laughter of the triumphant, self-deprecating, and “No, I swear, I’m not laughing at you” varieties.

The pumpkin carving tables were another happiness hotspot as people giggled over each other’s designs and gave the nervous laughs of people utterly unsure of the sharp implements they were holding. 

 This particular laugh came from the exit of the corn maze, and Steve did his very best to ignore the little flutter in his chest when he recognized you, cozy and carefree in an oversized sweater and scarf, spinning a giggling Charlie in increasingly wobbly circles until you both fell onto a nearby hay bale.

“We did it!” he heard you shout, raising both arms above your head.

Charlie’s voice was too soft to catch at this distance, but whatever she said made you laugh again and tug her against your side.

“Excuse me? Are you done?” 

Steve’s eyes snapped forward again, and he fought a flush of embarrassment as he smiled at the boy who was now starting to squirm restlessly on his stool.

“Sorry, almost,” he said. “One second.”

Steve added one last stripe before setting down his paintbrush and reaching for the small mirror tucked between the paint bottles and paper cups. He held it up with a playful flourish that earned him a giggle.

“What do you think?”

The boy inspected his cheek closely, squinting his eyes for a moment before giving a decisive nod.

“It’s good.”

Steve gave the boy a parting smile as he raced back to his grandfather, who was waiting near the donation table and chatting with Bucky. 

The same Bucky Barnes, best friend and bane of his existence, who was now cheerfully waving them off and approaching Steve with such a casual smile that it was immediately suspicious. 

“That last one was barely even a masterpiece, Steve. Are you okay? Coming down with something?”

“Still better than you could do,” he said pointedly, rearranging the paint bottles and rinsing off the brushes he’d used. 

“Rude. I knew something was going on with you,” Bucky said, plopping himself down on a stool and fixing Steve with an expectant look. 

“No, there's not. Now move unless you want me to paint your face.”

“Are you sure you could focus for long enough to paint my face?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. 

“What are you talking about?”

Bucky only smiled.

“I have this sixth sense that tells me when scary things are happening. Like when all the birds go quiet. Or the clouds look freaky. Or Steve Rogers stares longingly at a woman.”

“What are you- I wasn’t-”

“You. Staring. Beautiful woman. I saw it.” 

And Steve knew full well he was betraying himself by glancing towards you again, but it was an impulse he didn’t have time to suppress. You were at a stall this time, talking cheerfully with a baker, a basket hanging from the crook of your arm and Charlie’s hand in yours.

“I’m not… staring. I just…”

You were laughing again, and the baker, a rosy cheeked older woman, handed a loaf of bread over the table to you with a fond smile. 

“Wait, do you know her?” Bucky demanded, recapturing Steve’s attention when he smacked him on the arm. 

“I… yeah.” 

Now well into October, Steve not only saw you every weekday, he also occasionally texted you on weekends. It was never much, only instigated when one of you happened across something that reminded you of the other person. A picture of the mug of apple cider that Bucky had unceremoniously dumped way too much edible glitter in. A picture of your kitchen table covered in old newspapers to protect it from your and Charlie’s watercolor experiments. It was nothing, really. But it made him happy.

“Her?” Bucky repeated, brows raising as he turned to look over his shoulder at you.

“Ye- Please, stop pointing. Yes.”

“Fluffy sweater, cute kid? Her?”

“Bucky.”

“Looking like she just stepped out of a fairytale with a basket of apples, bread, and what I assume is jars of either honey or jam or both?”

“Why are you freaking out?” Steve sighed.

“Because you didn’t tell me about her!”

Steve pursed his lips. “I wasn’t aware you wanted to hear about all my students’ parents.”

Bucky was thoroughly unamused.

“Steve. You told me when you changed dish soap, but you didn’t tell me that you’re now living a romance novel. What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Hey!” Steve said, wacking him with a roll of paper towels. “Bucky, there are kids.”

“What the fudgesicle is wrong with you?” Bucky repeated in an identical tone.

“My life is not a romance novel. Take it easy. We’re just friends.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” he answered with a humorless laugh. “But you didn’t tell me about her. Which means you’re considering something that you’re not sure you should be considering. And you knew that if you told me, I would easily talk you into it.”

Steve took a moment to process that, glancing over at you again and straightening up in surprise when he caught your eye. You smiled, wide and genuine, raising a hand in a greeting that he quickly mirrored.

“That’s ridiculous,” Steve said quickly when you had turned away again, only half paying attention now because you were talking to Charlie, gesturing in his direction.

“I agree. But I’m right.”

You were walking their way now, and this conversation needed to be over right now.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Steven. Please. The children.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the apple?” 

“You. Fairly often. And Sam even more often. But luckily his opinion means nothing to me.”

And while there were a hundred things Steve would love to say about that, there wasn’t time.

“Bucky, I swear, we can talk about it for as long as you want later, but right now I need you to act like a normal human being,” he said urgently. 

“Is she right behind me?”

“About to be.”

“Fine.”

Bucky plastered on an only slightly manic smile as he turned to greet you. 

“Hello! Interested in some face paint?”

You seemed caught off guard by the exuberant greeting, but recovered quickly.

“I think so, yes. How much?”

“Free! But we’re also collecting donations for the Woodbridge Elementary art program.”

“I see,” you said, eyes flickering to Steve for a moment. “Well, we kinda like the art program, don’t we?”

“Yep!” Charlie said, also peeking around Bucky to offer a tiny smile to Steve.

“Alright then. Go ahead and tell Steve what you want, and I’ll take care of the money stuff.”

You followed Bucky a few steps away to the donation table, and Charlie skipped up to him.

“Hi,” she said, waiting for him to pat the open stool before sitting down.

“Hi, Charlie. Know what you want yet, or do you want to look at some pictures?”

“Umm…” Her forehead scrunched a little as she thought. “Can you do a cat with a witch hat? Is that too hard? You can just do a pumpkin if that’s too hard.”

“Well, I think a cat with a witch hat is an awesome idea!” Steve said with a smile. “I’ll do my best, and if it doesn’t turn out right, we can try something else. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” she said with a nod.

Steve set out some clean brushes, a new cup of water, and a clean paper towel. 

“What color cat?”

“Orange?”

He nodded, setting up little dixie cups of orange, black, yellow, brown, and green paint.

“Alright, are you ready? It’s going to feel a little cold.”

“I’m ready! I’ll be real still,” she vowed, clenching her hands into determined little fists on her knees.

Steve started with a few dabs of color until Charlie relaxed a little, used to the sensation.

“Are you having fun at the festival?” he asked a few moments later, tracing the outline of a cat on her cheek.

“Yeah! We did the maze without a map! And we got bread for later. Mom’s making spaghetti for dinner!”

“Yum! Do you like spaghetti?”

“It’s my favorite. Mom always makes cheesy bread.”

“Well, this is going to be a good day then, huh? What else are you going to do?”

“Umm, we still have to pick our pumpkins! And, there are these earrings mom really likes over at the corn maze, but she won’t buy them. I think she should buy them.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve glanced over at the stall near the entrance to the corn maze. He’d spoken to that woman before a few times. She was a local artist who liked to make jewelry and print her abstract watercolor art on scarves. “What do they look like?”

“Like shiny green rocks and little gold leaves. She’ll look like a fairy.”

Steve smiled at the admiration in her voice, but before he could say anything, you wandered back over with Bucky.

“Oh my goodness. Charlie, you’re a masterpiece!” 

She smiled proudly as Steve added a last little detail to the cat’s witch hat before leaning back.

“All done,” he said, holding up the mirror for her. “What do you think?”

Her eyes widened along with her smile.

“It’s perfect! Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Your turn,” Charlie said, hopping up from the stool and nudging you towards it.

“Is that allowed?” you laughed.

“If you want, then of course it is,” Steve said with an easy smile.

You turned to Charlie, smiling at her eager nod.

“Alright then. What should I get?”

“We could match! Or get an even bigger cat. Ooo! A tiger!”

“You heard the lady. One tiger in a witch hat, please,” you laughed, dropping into the stool beside Steve and setting your basket and purse down on the ground beside you.

“Mama, can I get my book?” Charlie asked, eyes on your purse.

“Yeah, of course. Big pocket.”

“There’s an extra chair at the donation table if you don’t mind sitting next to me,” Bucky told her as she liberated her book from your very full purse.

Charlie smiled a little shyly and nodded, following Bucky back to the donation table with a parting wave to you.

“How did I end up with the best kid in the world?” you asked, eyes following Charlie as Steve set up the paints.

“Mm, you and Tony might have to fight about that one.”

“Aw, Morgan is pretty great. I’m surprised she’s not here! It seems like the kind of thing she’d love.”

“They’re coming tomorrow, I think. Don’t be surprised if Pepper calls later to invite Charlie,” Steve said with a smile, dabbing orange paint onto a clean brush. “You ready?”

“Mhmm. Make me pretty, Mr. Rogers.”

“You manage that on your own. I’m just adding a pretty tiger,” he said quietly, fighting down a blush when you glanced at him with surprise. 

He cleared his throat. 

“Try not to move,” he said, hoping the cold paint would distract you as he began.

“Not moving. One of my favorite activities,” you said with a flicker of a smile. 

“For a not-mover, I hear you did pretty great in the corn maze.”

“Oh, that was all Charlie. If it was just me, I’d still be lost in there somewhere. Probably crying.”

Steve laughed.

“I’m sure someone would have saved you eventually.”

“Don’t know about that. I don’t imagine anyone having much sympathy for an adult sobbing alone in a corn maze.”

“Well, fine, then I would’ve saved you,” Steve said, catching an errant wind-blown strand of your hair before it could land in the wet paint. He tucked it gently behind your ear. 

Sitting this close to you, he heard your breath catch slightly, saw your blink land a little harder than normal.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “Didn’t want you to get paint in your hair.”

“Already saving me,” you said with a quiet little laugh. “You have a habit of doing that.” 

“You give me too much credit.”

“I don’t think I do. Saving someone doesn’t have to be some huge gesture. It can be something like… Cheering me up at an open house. Looking out for Charlie and making her smile every day. Giving someone grumpy a sticker. Being a friend,” you ventured, giving a delicate shrug so as not to move too much. 

Steve’s heart gave a little flutter, gave him permission to brush your hair back from your face again, though none of it was in danger of dragging through paint this time. 

“I like being your friend.”

“I like it too,” you said quietly.

Steve took a breath, less steady than he would have preferred, as he added one final dab of paint.

“Ready to see?”

“Absolutely.”

You called Charlie back to your side as Steve held up the mirror for you. You beamed at your reflection.

“Love it!”

“Good.”

The three of you exchanged a few more pleasantries before you and Charlie headed off into the crowds again. Bucky wasted no time. They were barely out of earshot when he dropped into the stool in front of Steve with an expectant grin.

“Go away,” Steve sighed. “Unless you want me to paint your face.”

“Oh, sure. Paint little hearts all over it. Then it’ll match yours,” he said smugly.

“Stop.”

“I like being your friend,” Bucky quoted in a dramatic voice. “Do you know how many times you’ve said that to me? None. None times. We’ve been friends since we were five, Steve.”

“Yeah, because I don’t like being your friend. You’re annoying.”

“She’s pretty. She’s nice. She’s fun. She’s not wearing a ring, and she didn’t mention anything about a partner. Her daughter is the chillest kid I’ve ever been around. What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem, Bucky.”

“Then why are you not attached at the lips? Does she have the plague? Do you have the plague?”

“She has a daughter. She doesn’t date.”

That, at least, finally shut Bucky up. He narrowed his eyes, thinking for a moment.

“Did she tell you that?”

“Tony told me that. Not that I asked.”

“And Tony heard it from…?”

“Pepper.”

“Who heard it from…?”

Steve gestured in the direction you’d walked.

“Hmm…”

“She doesn’t feel comfortable bringing men around Charlie.”

“She brings you around Charlie.”

“I’m her art teacher. It’s not the same.” 

Bucky tapped restlessly at the table for another moment.

“I’m gonna think about this and get back to you.”

“Oh, please do,” Steve said sarcastically.

“Hey,” Bucky nudged him until he made eye contact, his expression much more serious now. “I mean it. You really like her, don’t you?”

“...Yeah,” Steve said with a helpless shrug. “So I’m happy to be her friend.”

“You really like her,” Bucky repeated firmly. “So we’ll figure it out. Because I’m pretty sure she likes you too.”

“Thanks Buck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, pushing up from the stool and knocking Steve’s shoulder with a light punch. “There’s a reason you keep me around, you know. Now stop frowning. You’re scaring the children.” 

Things returned to business as usual for about an hour. Steve painted a dozen more faces, had just finished a matching set of bumblebees on a tiny redhead and her grandmother when Bucky came jogging over again.

“Go, go, go!” he said urgently, shoving Steve out of his seat.

“What, why? Go where?” Steve asked, barely catching himself before he could hit the ground.

Bucky didn’t answer, grabbing the top of Steve’s head to steer his eyes in the right direction.

You and Charlie were laboring towards the parking lot, Charlie weighed down with a basket, tote bag, and your purse while you were nearly doubled over, rolling an enormous pumpkin across the patchy grass.

“Absolutely not,” he said quietly to himself, dodging around the edge of his table and running your direction.

“Whatcha got there?” he laughed, easily catching up to the two of you.

“The great pumpkin!” Charlie chimed in as you gave another shove to your regretfully chosen and mightily overgrown gourd.

“Are you sure? It’s not even sparkly,” Steve said, squinting speculatively.

“She’s sure,” you said, straightening up for a moment and swiping your hands on your jeans. “So we are escorting him to the car the best way we can. Him?” you asked, glancing at your daughter.

“Him.”

“Him,” you repeated, gesturing matter-of-factly at the pumpkin. 

“Got it. And would your giant orange gentleman like another escort to ease his journey?”

You made a face like you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and settled for flinging your arms around him in a loose hug. 

“God, please. I will give you all the money in my wallet. I’ll give you my credit card. Would you like my social security number?”

Steve laughed, gently returning your hug for a brief moment before turning to face the pumpkin.

“Alright, pal. Let’s get you where you need to be.”

He squatted low to get his arms under it, straightened up with a low grunt as he hefted it up, leaning back slightly to take some of the weight on his chest. It wasn’t too heavy for him to manage, but the size and shape made it awkward to hold. Once he had it reasonably secure, he looked to you for direction, finding both you and Charlie staring at him with eyes as wide as you could make them. 

“Tell me where I’m going. I can’t see too well over this guy.”

You snapped into action then, taking your purse and basket from Charlie.

“Charlie, steer,” you said, pointing at Steve. “I’ll run and pull the car around.”

Charlie took up her station beside Steve, her hand on his elbow. You took off towards the parking lot, digging in your purse as you ran. 

“What are you going to name him?” Steve asked as Charlie gently steered him around clusters of oblivious people standing between him and the festival entrance. 

“I don’t know yet,” she said thoughtfully. “I didn’t think mom would say yes.”

“Let me know when you decide! I’m sure you’ll think of a great one.” 

“Are you okay? Is it too heavy?” she checked anxiously. 

“I’m alright,” he said with a laugh. 

You only kept them waiting for a minute before pulling up to the front entrance, popping the trunk before running over to them. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you said breathlessly, placing your hands on the pumpkin to help stabilize as Steve lowered it into the trunk of your car. 

“No problem,” he said, brushing his hands clean on his jeans, sighing when he noticed the drips of paint he’d managed to get on them. 

“Thank you, Mr. Steve,” Charlie said, hesitating for a moment before giving him a quick hug and fleeing to the back seat. 

Your eyes were soft as you stared after her, mouth curled into an amused smile.

“She’s never hugged me before,” Steve said quietly, feeling kind of like his heart might explode.

“Sweet girl. Did she call you Mr. Steve?” you asked with a laugh.

“Yeah, I told her she could just call me Steve outside of class. That’s the closest she’s gotten.”

“So cute,” you said with a sigh, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Anyway, thank you so much for your help. And for the face paint.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“It was nice seeing you,” you said warmly, squeezing his arm in goodbye as you took a step back toward the car. “Outside of school, I mean.”

“Nice seeing you too. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. And hey, if you decide to come back tomorrow with the Starks, come say hi before you leave.”

“I’ll let you know.”

You waved before settling back into the driver’s seat, and Steve backed towards the festival entrance, only turning to head back to the face paint table when you had driven away. 

At the last second, he swerved towards the jewelry booth, in search of shiny green rocks and little gold leaves.

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A slice of fall in June. Hope you enjoyed it! Would love, love, love to hear what you think of this little development!

As always, reblogs, replies, and asks make my world go round. Can’t do what I do without you!

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[cloveroctobers]

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 1. Luca

PROMPTS from here + here and I’m using: “I really appreciate that you’re getting into the Halloween spirit, but it’s ten in the morning, please turn off the slasher films so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” + “Pumpkin spiced latte, please.”

A/N: so glad Luca was voted for the most on the poll lol because he’s the only one out of the options I started writing for in the drafts! let’s see if I can keep up with making these short this year 🤭! This is nothing but fluff and a smidge of annoyance — reader on Luca’s nerves just a bit really. Mentions of a classic horror film, that I actually need to go back and watch! I think I watched it once before since I won’t lie I usually watch the more updated versions when it comes to that franchise more so,, although I’m not the biggest fan of the series anyways like dear Luca…don’t drag us too much ⚔️!!!

WARNINGS: Reader being a bum for the day? Luca just wants to eat without background noise? + slight language, oh and pumpkin slander!

*GIF BELONGS TO: @wiha-jun !

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。

Luca prefers his mornings to be soothing, not filled with screams that can make anyone’s ear drums bleed or have the neighbors in the cul- de-sac sending the coppers right over. He had just gotten back from his morning run around the city, finding you sleeping down on the couch now compared to your shared bed. Which was humorous that you had the energy to climb out of the bed wrapped in mountains of blankets that you kept stored in a woven basket tucked away in the living space; during his absence just to continue your rest on the pale gray sofa.

You barely budged when he announced he was heading out into the damp morning and also repeated the same motion when he’s back, gently bending down to press a kiss to your edges before disappearing upstairs to shower. You’re awake with lidded eyes once he’s arrived downstairs, smelling of fresh mint soap and Olibanum as you’re messing around with the flatscreen on the entertainment center.

“Are you truly awake for the day darling or is it going to be another two to three business days?” Luca jokes on his way by, not expecting what you were going to set the television on.

You’re mocking him, voice still full of sleep, leaving the taller man to chuckle to himself as he heads into the kitchen, searching the fridge around the corner to ponder over what he can whip up. There’s plenty of possibilities as Luca’s eyes scan over what’s stocked in the fridge, finding that’s something he had to do now that you both shared a home together.

He could do cold smoked salmon…putting the protein to good use along with the radish and watercress…yet you were out of cream cheese. He could always ask his favorite critic, brace yourselves, it’s not Luca himself but rather you, what you were feeling like for breakfast but he knew regardless what he prepared you’d probably eat.

Thinking to himself, fingers tapping against the handle of the open fridge, he decides to go for something simple and more festive if you will. So he decides on homemade maple pancakes, without the walnuts since you were allergic and picks the pecans that your grandfather brought over from his pecan tree back in Georgia earlier this year. He’ll fry up some danish bacon with thyme searing the pan—hoping to bring flavor to the pork—or really to basically get rid of it, although it was a kind gesture from a neighbor who learned Luca was in the culinary field—the both of you were not the biggest fans of Denmark’s bacon.

No disrespect of course.

“Hey, want some of this Risalamande?” Luca calls out as you began to get engaged into the film, that’s probably been on for about twenty minutes since Luca takes more time debating on what to eat at home than when he’s out in the city.

Immediately your nose scrunches up as Luca is diving into the colorful rice pudding, leaning against the doorway that leads to the living room and front of the detached home, “Texture, Luca. Come on!”

Luca snorts with a slight roll of his eyes, “Ah, I see I’m getting picky you this morning, yeah?”

A wag of your finger as if it were a wand goes shooting into the air while you respond, “Sssh!”

“Rude.”

Luca spins back into the kitchen with a shake of his head, downing what most would consider a Christmas dessert but he doesn’t care one bit. He’s a man that enjoys eating and Christmas was more of his holiday anyway.

That holds him over long enough and he’s got the comfort of him whisking the dry ingredients together, focus steady on getting just the right mixture before moving onto the wet ingredients. It’s easy work really, which means Luca doesn’t mind making breakfast more than any other meal. It was similar to his own work, yet pastries were more his speed and he often challenged himself to try out new techniques majority of the time, so it wouldn’t always be easy but it was the pleasure in knowing that this is the starting point of your day, which beats a protein bar any way.

Luca uses his hands everyday and yeah it so happened to surprisingly be his weekend off, he didn’t mind keeping his hands busy when it came to breakfast and serving to the person he truly adores.

He’s at the stove, with minutes passing by at ease, his arched brows raising so often when the tempo of the movie begins to picks up. “What are you watching?”

He can’t help but to ask.

“…The Evil Dead, 1981.” He’s shocked he even gets a response from you since you tend to zone out when it comes to media.

Sometimes it was certainly a bad habit. You were an environmental documentary editor so it wasn’t unusual for you to get wrapped up in screens. Yet Luca couldn’t really blame you for that since he got lost in his craft as well; the both of you were working to get better with turning those habits off when together.

…if you don’t count right now that is! There was nothing wrong with being passionate about your interests but it was also always important to prioritize your partner, especially when work was a good chunk of your lives, yet it wasn’t the only thing that mattered. The both of you understood that.

He hums, finding possession films and gory themes weren’t really his thing. He actually has a weak system when it came to those type of horror films or rather blood (passing out from the mere sight fake or not or simply the stench of it is not something Luca was proud to admit) and let’s just say he was glad to not be in the room with you now. Horror really wasn’t your lane either, you were more into sci-fi films whereas Luca loved a good action film or documentary.

You were both each others test subjects, you with his food and him with your edits on your hybrid schedule.

“Come eat,” Luca says after while, the food steaming and filling the house with a sweet, salty and slightly earthy aroma.

He’s wiping his hands off with a rag, which he steps to the center of the kitchen, balling up the used rag to toss with a swift flick of the wrist into the laundry room up ahead. The rag plunks right on the washer and Luca smirks to himself before heading back to the dining table tucked in the corner by the oven. He always sits with his back to the oven because in a sense it’s brings him placidness. It didn’t make much sense to you since you originally thought Luca just wanted the view of the screened in conservatory all to himself but he flirted that you were enough of a view for him. Nonetheless he didn’t really need to explain it to you, if that’s the spot Luca wanted then so be it. You rarely argued about it simply because you could eat out there if you really wanted. He could keep the meaning of sitting with his back to the oven to himself. Perhaps it was his way of putting it behind him for awhile when engaged with you? Who truly knows but you did think about it a bit once you settled into the shared home.

Luca’s pulling himself up to the table, picking up a fork to start plating and clenched his eyes as more screams fill the home.

“I really appreciate that you’re getting into the Halloween spirit, but it’s ten in the morning, please turn off the slasher film so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” Luca calls out to you, after picking up that you were in a lazy mood and not ready to join him at the table.

The film actually gets lower as Luca shoves the pancake into his mouth, beginning to chew the meal as you say back, “pumpkin spiced latte, please.”

Luca questions with his mouth full, “what was that?”

“I’ll join you if there’s a pumpkin spiced latte waiting for me.”

Luca sits back in his chair and swallows, “you don’t even enjoy pumpkin so what are you on about?”

“But it’s fall, Luca.”

Luca pinches the space in between his skinny brows, “…for fucks sake, you’re quite spoiled you know that?”

“I love you.” You sing out while Luca scoffs.

He comments, “You better.”

So now he’s up on his feet again, messing with the olive espresso machine that you still won’t tell him how much you paid for last Christmas, he’ll use the last bit of maple syrup that he had leftover from the pancakes, there’s no pumpkin spice in the flat since he isn’t a big fan of pumpkin flavor either so he uses: 2 teaspoons cinnamon, 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg, 1/8 teaspoon ginger, and 1/8 teaspoon of ground cloves, yet he brought home some pumpkin purée that one of his fall-loving co-workers gave to him; homemade from her mini pumpkin patch in her backyard, he steams the oat milk, mixes the espresso, puree, syrup, spices, and vanilla all together before combining it with the milk. From there he frothed it just for a few seconds to get some foam and finally tops it off with whipped cream and more cinnamon.

Sitting back down, he slides the drink over to your side of the table and before he can call out to you to inform it’s ready, he’s hearing the shuffle of your feet in those ridiculous hot pink fluffy slippers. Luca glances at you and finds you rather cute still in your cozy pj’s and hair a complete mess.

“Your royalty,” Luca bows towards your drink, making you gasp playfully as you approach him, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, “it’s still hot,” he warns as you reach over for the handle of the mug at the same time but you pick it up with ease.

You peek at the latte and then back at him saying, “Shoo,” you wave your hand making Luca frown up at you.

You and these damn hand movements, you should be a conductor like your older sibling instead.

He soon picks up on what else you want, making yourself comfortable right in his lap, making Luca shake his head at you, tangling around you now so he can finish the breakfast but with you in his lap.

You on the other hand werent much of a breakfast person, although you loved a good brunch moment with your mates! but you hardly turned down much of what Luca prepared. He knew you’d get around to the pancakes if you didn’t start picking at his own plate soon.

“How is it?”

You nod, running your tongue over the top of your lip to get rid of the whipped cream, “hmm, now I kinda see what those pumpkin bitches go crazy over.”

Luca chuckles, “do I get to sample?”

“It’s the least I can do,” you tease as you blow on the steam before tipping the mug towards Luca’s lips.

He ends up blowing on it more before sipping and it’s your turn to watch his own opinion before he says it. You can always tell what direction this may go based on the way his eyebrows and eyes move.

“Not half bad if I do say so myself but a smoked butterscotch latte from Café bønne is actually better. I frankly don’t see the hype with this latte.” Luca shrugged with a pinch of his lips in thought before turning his hand back to the bacon.

You groan, “we haven’t been there in ages! We should go there today.”

“Nope, storms coming in this afternoon actually with a chance of power outages which is why you should eat those pancakes sooner than later, love.” Luca explains before adding, “should have gone running with me this morning. I passed by that route today too.” Luca tells you while you take another sip of the latte.

You weren’t aware of any storm coming in but you had to admit that you fell asleep on the news last night after the show you stayed up to watch with Luca went off. It really amazes you how he can stay up late and get up to function the next day. You on the other hand? Had to follow a routine or else you’ll be no good at work, hybrid schedule or not.

“Fine, I guess the shitty pumpkin makes up for it.”

Luca peeks at you mid chew, “Are you insulting my beverage when you asked for it?”

“Never! This definitely gets a 8.5 across the board. So I’ll shut my spoiled self up, babes.”

“Now that’s the spirit.”

A shove to his shoulder makes Luca wink and grin over at you, poking his lips out for a peck, making you aware that he was only teasing you.

Sighing you lean forward to press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, “thanks for breakfast.”

With his free tatted hand, he runs the pad of his thumb against the childhood scar on your kneecap stating with a smile, “anytime, darling.” He says as he peers at you from underneath his eyelashes before tossing in, “Even when you’re being a picky pain in my arse.”

“Welp! Moment’s ruined.” You hopped off Luca’s lap while he tried to latch onto you with a laugh but you swung your hips out of his reach, however not without plunking up his last pancake to take with you.

See!

Luca huffs, sticking his tongue into the side of his cheek before taking your plate with him to follow you into the living room. You’re seated back on the couch and he sits on the opposite end of it, tangling his limbs with yours as you cover each other with the blankets.

“This pancake is delicious.”

“So are yours,” Luca is smug as he eats from your plate now before glancing at the horror film on screen with disgust, then softening his expression as he sets his eyes back on you.

Which leads to the both of you taking turns eating pancakes and sharing the pumpkin latte, making the feel of autumn in the atmosphere sink in with the warmth of each other.

Hours later…you’re laying cuddled up to Luca’s chest on the couch, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling along with his hands clasped together against the small of your back is enough to almost put you to sleep. The wind has picked up now, whistling through the cloudy skies of Copenhagen followed by a harsh patter of rain that can be heard from the ceiling of the living room.

Which is just enough remedy for the both of you while you rest until you suddenly ask, “what did you think of the evil dead?”

Luca almost grimaces before he states, “…I prefer midsommar.”

“I want to debunk that with you but I also want to go back to sleep.”

Luca laughs before nuzzling his cheek against your head, “Fine by me, we have time to get into it later.”

“Over pancakes?”

“Breakfast for dinner? As long as you promise to actually sit at the table with me?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be…and I also want to hear your thoughts on that film. A true Mukbang starring us two, can’t get any better than that, no?”

A smile curls onto Luca’s lips at your excitement, then he speaks, “who’s the audience then?”

“The entities that maybe lurking around this house.”

Luca pops a eye open, “I really don’t like how you just said that. Especially after you had me watching that horrid fucking film.”

“Hey! A lot of horror lovers will definitely drag you for that but don’t worry, I’ll fight anything and anyone that dares to step to my man and that’s on what?”

Luca shakes his head while pretending to think about it, “period? Or whatever it is you say. You’re still a brat for saying that though. I don’t know if you notice but Halloween isn’t until the end of the month.”

“I’m sorry,” you coo squeezing his shoulder, “but Halloween starts as soon as September hits and don’t you forget it you big baby.” You curl your hand from around Luca’s shoulder to squeeze his cheeks together.

“You’re the…baby.” Luca mimics, his cheeks now appearing like a gapping fish due to your actions, “Taking thirty naps a day and being a massive pain in my bum.”

“NAURR,” you exaggerate making Luca lift his brows in annoyance before you continue, “I’m your favorite headache.”

Luca let’s out a sigh, “you’re not wrong.”

“I never am,” you sass before the room goes quiet a bit more—besides the weather outside until you voice your thoughts out loud, “Midsommar though? Really? I wouldn’t put that and Evil Dead in the same category.”

Now it was Luca’s turn to shush you.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.