#prompt: bells

[goddess47]

Bells

For @wolfstarmicrofic Dec 2023 prompt #24 - bells (95 words)

----

The church bells rang midnight as they slipped into the cemetery.

The graves were littered with leaves and a dusting of snow.

"Lily, Prongs," Sirius said softly. "Sorry it took so long to get here."

"We've tried to watch over Harry," Remus admitted. "But, well, he has both the best and worst of both of you."

Sirius gave a small laugh. "He is. You'd like the person he's become."

"He's getting married tomorrow," Remus said. "You'd like them."

Sirius set a bouquet of lilies on the graves. "We'll keep an eye on him for you."

[v-thinks-on]

As Lestrade and the local officers led the self-proclaimed canary trainer away for further questioning, the shipyard bell rang out the beginning of the workmen’s day, though it was still hours before the late December sun would deign to rise. Upon an unspoken agreement, Holmes and I hailed a cab for our own belated arrival at the hotel. Tired and sore, I absently leaned against Holmes’s shoulder as we jostled along in the trap, and I wondered how his own bruises, now days old, were faring.

At the hotel, we were quickly shown up to our rooms, already furnished with our suitcases, which had been brought along the evening before—mere hours which felt like a day at least. When the maid had gone, I began the slow, stiff process of removing my outer layers to join Holmes’s already discarded suit jacket, with some mind to catch some sleep in the remaining hours before dawn.

However, I was still in my shirtsleeves when I heard the sound of rushing water coming from our washroom. A brief investigation found Holmes bent over the tub.

“Ah, Watson, just who I wanted to see,” he said with a quick smile as I approached. “I am afraid the hour is too early for a Turkish bath, but I expect the homemade article may begin to soothe your injuries.”

“They are not so serious; I am only bruised,” I insisted, though I had already begun to take off the layers which remained. “And what of you?”

He stood up straight, leaving the bath to its own devices, his intent gaze instead turned on me. “That would depend, my dear Watson, on whether you would object to company,” he murmured, stepping toward me with a languid air; his hand settled about my collar.

I leaned toward him, my lips ghosting past his cheek to whisper in his ear, “Not at all, Sherlock.”

My hands may have been stiff and clumsy moments before, but now it was with a remarkable speed and deftness that our remaining clothes were done away with, and we settled comfortably in the warm bathwater—the door securely locked. I leaned back against Holmes’s chest, our legs intertwined in front of us.

His lips danced down my neck and out across my aching shoulder. Deft hands played across my back and sides, and down my stomach, stepping lightly over bruises I had not bothered to catalogue, and pressing gently into sore muscles, granting sweet relief. I breathed a sigh and leaned heavier against him, drowsiness threatening to win out once again as his touch soothed as much as it excited.

“If this is an advantage of old age,” I whispered, “then perhaps it is not so bad after all.”

Holmes’s lips drifted up from the sensitive skin of my neck, to my ear. “If only our younger selves had known what we were missing.”

[lavender-loo]

Day 6 of mysical witchtober was undead. I was unable to finish this yesterday as my cat wouldn't allow me :p

[distant--shadow]

I can't just sit and watch a thing either. I need to keep my hands engaged if i have any hope of hearing anything.

For prompts, can you draw Fearne setting flowers in her hair and horns? I love how you draw her fuzzy, and your flowers are always so pretty

🤝

fuzzy-faced-fearne truthers

[aq2003]

day 1 of perc'ahlia week: dawn/treasure

(c3 era!)

[piosplayhouse]

Spitballed this in the girls chat yesterday but I think everyone deserves to hear our idea for transfem4transfem sangcheng comedy where jiang cheng doesn't realize nhs is also trans until they have sex

[astralisbelle]

Din filthy prompt!

Good old shower sex on razor crest. Trying to keep quiet as much as possible because they don’t want to wake the little green baby up.

Hush, Hush -- Din Djarin x F!Reader

warnings: explicit smut, creampie, some very light d/s tones, staying quiet, and shower sex... ofc

What a day.

The hot water beading down her head and back washes away the fatigue, soothing her muscles. She hangs her head, hands pressed against the wall of the shower just to relax herself. It takes her a while before she actually takes the bar of soap in hand, works up a lather, and rubs it onto her shoulders. The sound of metal-on-metal perks her up, alerting her to a foreign presence.

“You’re going to waste all the hot water.” The Mandalorian’s modulated, curt tone cuts through the steam and hiss of the water.

“We had a long day,” she says, rinsing her arms of the soap. “I mean, if it bothers you that much, I’d say we could share it. But you’d never.” Glancing over her shoulder, she sticks her tongue out at him.

Din stands there with his arms crossed, squaring his shoulders and trying to look unimpressed. The black of his visor hides the fact that his eyes are following the contours of her body like the beads of water. Suddenly his tongue is dry and craves to quench itself with those droplets. Today was trying as it is, wearing his patience thin. After a long pause, he tugs on the leather of his gloves, pulling on each of the fingers before sliding them off. As soon as they hit the floor, he unties his cape.

Her eyes widen. “D-Din?”

“Turn around. Don’t look back.” It embarrasses her how easily she follows his commands. Though, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? She faces the wall and listens to the pieces of beskar hit the floor, to his belt clanking against metal. Stars, Din always took forever to undress, leaving her to sit in her lust, recalling lewd memories of where his hands had been, where his lips had left marks.

Bend over. Touch me. Kiss me. Cum for me.

Those were all demands he growled in her ear before — she fulfilled every last one.

The soft patter of his footsteps approaching makes her chest feel tight, like the steam was making it harder to breathe. A shadow against the wall of his figure grows bigger and bigger until the overhead light fails to shine upon her. When Din wraps his arms around her, her body awakens, recognizing the skillful hands that brought her so much pleasure before. He rests his chin on her shoulder, relishing in the heat from her body and hot shower.

His hands swipe the soap from hers, pushing her hair over shoulder. After creating suds in his palm, he massages it onto her back. She sighs in satisfaction, leaning into the touch and willing herself to not look back. Her eyes flutter closed and she drifts away. Then, his hands slide over her hips and onto her stomach. Soap makes her skin slippery as he tickles around her navel, making her giggle.

She opens her eyes to watch his hands — his bare hands that she almost never gets to see. Streams of water trickle down the valleys made from veins and knuckles. Hard, calloused pads massage her skin as a firm, defined chest rests against her back. Din’s stubbled chin rests on her neck and shoulder. She licks her bottom lip as his hands inch further up. He breathes out, wide palms capturing the flesh of her breasts. That slippery feeling makes them ultra smooth, all the more fun to knead and squish. “Mmm…” A low, satisfactory hum comes from her lower throat as he kisses her shoulder and pinches her peaks.

On instinct, she inches apart her feet and presses her ass right against his half-hard cock. A shower isn’t a fantastic place for this, but neither of them care.

Din pushes her forward until her chest squishes against the wall, boxing her in with his body alone. He grinds his hips, getting himself hard enough until he can rub his tip against her slit. She lets out a louder moan that prompts him to clamp a hand over her mouth.

“Shh.” Wouldn’t want to wake the kid… Oh, but his darling does so love it when he’s a little mean. “Keep quiet or I stop.”

Fuck, she could listen to him give her commands all day. A quiet whimper of affirmation is all he needs. While the roar of the water covers up his softer, repressed groans, he angles himself against her entrance. Slowly, he pushes in, her thighs quaking as she moans against his palm. He draws back before he fills her up again, her fingers curling against the wall. Din has to control himself too, clenching each of his muscles and teeth to not let a single loud sound escape the bathroom, no matter how fucking delicious her tight walls hug his dick.

Din hides a groan against her skin, uttering a quick swear. The hand clamped over her mouth tightens, his fingers digging into her cheek. He can tell that she wants to moan so badly, to say his name in sinful prayer over and over, but she does everything in her power to stop it. She bites her lip, she claws her fingers, she squeezes around him.

“You’re doing so — ah — well,” he whispers. “So good…”

His hip bones meet her rear in wet slaps as he drives harder, chasing the rise of his pleasure. She is writhing, her whines and whimpers getting desperate behind his hand. “Shh, shh,” he whispers in her ear, slowing himself to tease her. “Stay. Quiet.” She groans in response. Din gives her a hard thrust. “Just like that… yes, just like that.”

Din kisses her shoulder and sucks the droplets off her skin, just like he wanted to. “Be a good girl and cum.” Her body shudders at his words, clenching and flushing hot. “Cum.” She mewls against his palm as her thighs quake, her walls tightening around him as her climax unravels. Din has to use himself entirely to keep her from falling, holding her against him as he delivers his final few thrusts.

With a groan buried deep in her shoulder, he drives his cock deep, pumping hot streams of seed that mix with her essence. Her eyes roll up as he stuffs her full, white streams trickling down her inner thighs.

He lets go of her mouth and lets her breathe, her hands resting on his. After a few heavy breaths, she shivers, but not because of their activity. Goosebumps run up and down her skin as she awakens to the fact that the water has cooled down and inches towards cold.

Din sighs loudly. “Told you you would waste it.”

She snorts. “Shut up, Din.”

[porterprophet]

i am a little sad laudna never got to chomp that bitch though. it wouldve been so thematic. so juicy. so bad for everyone involved. so much potential drama. and chaos. and angst. delilah could’ve popped out. the villain arc could’ve taken off early.

(laudna could’ve been body snatched and no one would know and it would just be something a little off and everyone would just pass it off as mourning or something and then boom—)

i feel like someone’s gonna have to bring up her eating habits soon though, but it might get set aside for a bit by the loss (rip). then again, that’s the fourth or fifth time she’s tried to eat someone in front of them (excluding willmaster). someone has to have questions.

[dodgerfoxweek]

Thank you for everyone who participated in the interest check! Your votes have decided that dodgerfox week will run February 25-March 2!

Prompts:

February 25th: it takes a very long time to unfold it secrets | getting to know each other

February 26th: if i could only set things right family | fighting

February 27th: tart and sweet your words to me love letters | banter

February 28th: still can’t kiss my own neck sneaking around | jack’s room

February 29th: put me back together, let me soldier on post-series | alternate universes

March 1st: we did see each other in our shadow sides soulmates | protecting each other

March 2nd: you've suffered enough, my lonely one happy endings | escape

We will accept all creations: fanfic, art, gifs, edits, playlists, etc. We can't wait to see your work! If you have any questions, please send them to our ask box. <3

(Below the cut is credit for the lyric prompts)

Origami by Totemo I Tried by Matt Heckler Michigan Cherry by River Whyless Civilian by Wye Oak The King of All Birds by Aoife O’Donovan Marked for Death by Emma Ruth Rundle Sufferer (Love My Conqueror) by Hiss Golden Messenger

[write-on-world]

[v-thinks-on]

A small black cat, evidently a mouser, wound around Watson’s boots and its tail curled around my ankles.

“What are you doing here?” Watson addressed the creature as though it might answer.

However, the remark was not without insight. “That is precisely the question!” I proclaimed. “You are right, Watson, our circumstances may not be so hopeless after all.”

Watson looked up from the feline to me with a questioning glance. “Do you mean…?”

“If a cat can get in, then we may very well be able to get out. If it would so kindly lead the way.”

The cat sat and preened itself with its paw. Unlike a dog, such a creature could not be stirred by reason or bribe.

I glanced at Watson in my exasperation, and he was not quite swift enough to conceal a chuckle.

With no other recourse, I advanced toward the cat, and it hastily fled into the corner of the cellar, where more shelves met the wall and there it vanished. Watson already had the lantern in hand and we hastened after it. The crack between the stone shelf and the wall was a narrow one and I had disregarded it in my examination before, but now I gave it a proper look in the full light of the lantern.

Mrow. The impatient cry of the cat echoed from somewhere in the dark beyond.

“Yes, yes,” I dismissed it. “Watson, if you would?”

He put down the lantern and stepped forward to aid me in pushing aside the heavy stone shelves, until we revealed the pressed dirt behind it. And there was the cat, standing in the mouth of a low-hewn tunnel, little taller than it.

Mrow.

“Do you think that’s why Inspector Lestrade’s quarry came out to this house?” Watson asked.

“A very reasonable hypothesis. The only thing to do is see where it leads.”

“Shall we?” Without hesitation, Watson motioned toward the tunnel, which may have been a comfortable means of egress for a cat, but which would be a narrow squeeze for a man.

I clapped my arm across his shoulders. “My dear Watson, you are without equal.”

Even I did not relish crouching down and slithering into the tunnel, pulling myself along on my forearms until I was entirely immersed. The cat trotted along unperturbedly ahead of me in the dark.

I continued on until I could see no more, and Watson called from behind me, his breath coming as fast as my own, “I’m in. I haven’t done this since my army days.” 

“It should not be long,” I answered as clearly and reassuringly as I was able. “I do not expect anyone would willingly prolong this.”

Sure enough, as I continued pulling myself onward, the tunnel began to slope gradually upward, making toward the surface, though I could not measure the incline with any precision.

“I expect it must be an impromptu means of escape,” I remarked between heavy breaths, doing as I might to disregard the ache in my muscles.

Haltingly, Watson asked, “Do you think they saw Lestrade coming and this is how they fled?”

“Possibly.”

The close, earthy air began to sharpen, and at last, the darkness ahead gave way to a patch of light brown and with a sudden motion, our feline companion leaped up, out of sight.

“We’re almost there!” I called.

Watson gave a breathy cheer.

I scrambled faster to the exit, the light brightening all the way, until at last I emerged onto the open grass beneath a gleaming grey sky. The cat sat licking its paw, evidently without a care in the world.

I turned to pull Watson up and out after me, and as we could not bring ourselves to stand, we held each other tightly, seated upon the hard, cold ground, still breathing fast, as though it might replenish our sore and aching muscles.

“I have never felt so young nor so old.” Watson’s heavy breathing seemed to fade into breathy laughter.

“Nor I,” I confessed, giving way to laughter as well, even as my sides felt like they had already split; I clutched his shoulder to steady myself.

We were so preoccupied in our relief that we did not notice anything approaching until we heard the rough sound of a chorus of tin cowbells ringing all around us.

[leolingo]

“Because— because—” Richas sniffs, rubbing his eyes, and for a second Roier thinks he’s about to cry too. Instead, he takes a big breath: “Today is the 16th, Pa,” “Yeah?” Roier prompts, doing the math quickly to check but ending up just as confused. “We wanted to make you breakfast,” he pouts, looking over at where the burned eggs had been previously, “Surprise you. For your anniversary,”

"family fluff" prompt for day 3 of spiderbit week! hosted by the wonderful @atthebell ^^

[distant--shadow]

first of the prompt fills up, was keen to do this one in a pose referenced from that  J.C Leyendecker piece i posted the other day.

for @astoriacolumnstaircase​ who not only does amazing writing that you should definitely check out, but draws too.

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Hey there!

How is "forbidden" as a prompt for imodna? No parameters!

(Thanks for the prompt! you can read the whole thing here)

Imogen glances away from what she can see of the connection past the push of her rising and falling chest, up to Laudna, smile still gentle and reassuring and meeting her own, and she has a fleeting thought of Laudna's talons growing, of them puncturing into the soft flesh of her stomach before her hand sinks in completely, grip constricting around her insides, suffocating her second brain with a smile lengthening in an artistic splattering of blood as she preens back down at her.

It feels nice - causes Imogen to tenderly giggle and Laudna beams in return, the hand not emblematically imbedded in her stomach giving a thumb to brush along the apple of one of Imogen’s cheeks.

Maybe it’s the angle of the sun - but the colours around them seem to have grown more vivid, more enthralling. The emeralds and jades and peridots and malachites of the moss and the lichens and the shrubs and the fallen branches exaggerated by the diffusing edges of golden light that outline them all, outline Laudna too, where her shape does not overlap with the brass tarp above her head, bejewelled now, trimmed with teardrop diamonds, decorated like the threads of ruby and topaz that embellish her blouse.

Imogen reaches out and touches the embroidery, reads it under her thumb like she has done many times.

chevrons and lines

regimented, blockaded, uniform. Not splitting and bolting and meandering greedily to cover the burgundy fabric

freckled skin

(fuckin’ roots)

Intentional embroidery, her intent

A comforting thing, another good reason to have the material missing on her gloves – not that she’s wearin’ em right now.

A signal passes through her head – a point-less arrow bouncing back and forth off of offal corridors, probably meant to be carrying word of pain, but it only causes the corner of one of her eyes to crinkle, Laudna’s thumb next to it mistaking the movement for the crease of a smile (though maybe that’s also right) and leaving to join Imogen's hand at the front of her own blouse.

She doesn’t say anything - except birdsong, maybe - allows for it to permeate over her closed mouth as the pad of her finger begins the tracing of a scar from where it strikes at tip of Imogen's thumb, which in turn is still interpreting the transcript of Laudna's embroidery as she glides her skin over the ridge of Imogen’s wrist, down her forearm before switching back on herself to follow another fork.  

That makes Imogen shudder, still, despite their attunement, perhaps amplified by it really.

She draws them thoroughly, pattern traced so well that Imogen can feel the ghost of every touch stitching together like a spectral glove enveloping around her hand, as if she is wearing Laudna as her own exterior nervous system.

[belltrigger]

Kudanobo push! Thank you 😊

-Send me a “Push” and I’ll write a drabble about one character pushing the other against a wall and kissing them

Alright, let's see here >:3 Time for Kudari to get ... pushy. Ehehehe

Title: Popular Word count: 1092 Synopsis: Nobori has won a popularity contest, and Kudari needs to congratulate his brother. Dynamic: KudaNobo

~~*~~

The news of Nobori's "win" had come to them towards the end of one of their shifts. Stepping off the Multi Train, Kudari excitedly recounting his favorite battles of the day, they'd been intercepted by a few of their Agents enthusiastically holding magazines up to them. Leaning forward, one hand behind his back and the other with a knuckle to his chin, Nobori read over what they were being shown. It was a dramatic two-page spread, declaring the winner of a popularity contest the magazine had held with bold text highlighted at the top of the page. Curiously, alongside the text was a full body picture of him in one of their best-known poses.

"Oh! Nobori won!" Kudari chirped, tilting to the side with both hands behind his back.

"It seems so," Nobori had said, though he didn't recall entering any kind of contest. And even if he had, surely he would have done so with Kudari. It was only natural - they were a two-car train, and he didn't really have an interest in doing anything without his twin. Kudari's picture was also there with text indicating he'd taken third place, after a person that Nobori didn't recognize. The idea didn't settle well with Nobori, and he wondered mildly if it bothered Kudari as it bothered him. If there couldn't be a tie, then surely they should have been one after the other.

Straightening back up, he returned his other arm to behind back so that he and Kudari matched. "What an interesting thing to have occurred! Would you mind terribly if we were to borrow these magazines?" To his surprise, the Agents said they got them each a copy. One that he and Kudari could share would have been more than enough. In any case, he gratefully accepted his magazine and returned to his neutral stance. Kudari, however, held the magazine in both hands in front of himself as he continued to absorb the details of the contest.

Thanking the Agents, they headed back to their shared office. Kudari walked next to him as he continued to stare at the magazine. He seemed completely fascinated with it; perhaps he was trying to understand how Nobori had won, why there was someone between them, and when they had even been entered. In a way, Nobori was quite looking forward to Kudari's arguments as to why he should have won. Competing with each other had always been fun, though this time they hadn't even known about it. Perhaps he would join Kudari in complaining about being robbed of a battle.

"Hey Nobori~" Kudari sing-songed playfully from behind him as he chuckled to himself about their discussion to come. He'd taken a few steps ahead so that Kudari didn't have to drop the magazine to open the door of their office.

"Hm?" was all Nobori managed before Kudari pushed him through the open door. "Eh? Kudari?" he blurted out as he caught his footing, turning to face his twin in confusion. Kudari cheerfully stepped into the room, and turned to close and lock the door behind himself. Once his twin had checked the door to his satisfaction, Kudari turned to face him with an expression absolutely brimming with mischief. The magazine was gently tossed onto the couch they kept for relaxation as Kudari approached him, large strides quickly closing the distance between them.

Unsure of what Kudari's plan was, he took equal steps back from his mischievous brother. Could Kudari have been upset with him? Surely his twin knew that he'd had nothing to do with the results of this battle of popularity. If he'd known it was going on, he would have voted for his precious younger brother, as he expected Kudari would with him. Kudari lifted a hand to press against his chest, encouraging him to step backwards even further. He gasped when his back bumped against the wall.

"Kudar-" he started, mouth open to explain.

But Kudari clearly wanted no explanation, cutting him off with a kiss. Using the momentum of his approach, Kudari pressed against him, hands placed on the wall on either side of Nobori's face. Eyes initially open in shock, they slid shut when his twin deepened the kiss insistently. A moan was pulled out of him as Kudari teased one hand down his side, resting on his hip to keep them close. Breaking the kiss only a moment to breathe, Kudari dipped back in, sucking on Nobori's lower lip before kissing him again.

Face hot, Nobori's eyes fluttered open when Kudari finally stopped kissing him, although his twin's body did not pull back from where it had pressed against his. While Kudari had ravished his mouth, he'd gripped onto his twin's biceps to steady himself, the breath having been kissed out of him.

"Kudari?" The hunger in his twin's eyes was obvious now that they had a little space between their faces. It made his stomach fluttery in the best of ways, as unexpected as it had been. It wasn't clear to him why Kudari suddenly wanted to kiss him - although Nobori had wanted it for some time, he'd thought perhaps his affection was the one thing his twin did not mirror. But it seems he'd been wrong.

"That better be your first kiss, Nobori," Kudari said, eyes hooded, licking his lips. Nobori's eyes followed that tongue, acutely aware of how moments ago it had been warring against his own. He thought, head pleasantly fuzzy, that Kudari had certainly won that last battle.

"It was, but do not think you can win just from experience!"

Kudari chuckled, leaning in again and biting his own lower lip this time, it sliding out from underneath his teeth far more plump than it had been a second ago. Nobori desperately wanted Kudari to kiss him again in that moment. "My first too."

He felt satisfied that they'd shared their first kiss, a flicker of possessiveness warming his stomach. No one else had kissed his younger brother, and he would be sure that no one ever would. "A natural talent-! Bravo, Kudari. Perhaps you should share some of that talent with your big brother."

Narrowing his eyes, Kudari's smile became sharper, a possessive edge mirroring Nobori's own feelings. "Okay. I'll share with you, Nobori." Closing the barest whisper of space between them, Kudari kissed him again, and this time it was Nobori that pulled him close. After all, he couldn't have Kudari that far ahead of him. Kudari would have to keep kissing him until they were equally matched.

[darksxder]

Oh darling, I'm super excited for your event! ❤ If I may go ahead and drop a headcanon request: What would it be like to go to the beach with Price (CoD)?

ILY! ‼️❤️thank you for being the first to send in a prompt!! and i love this big burly man so bad help <3

pre-beach

this man is someone who rarely gets leave, and someone who rarely ever takes it either when it’s offered (he is forced to take it lmao)

i think john is so ingrained in a system that strains his own morals so bad that he doesn’t like to be out of it much.

once you have such a taste for blood, the usual comfort of life have a certain tinge to it

i think you would have mentioned it mid mission. in a gasp, swiping dust from your eyes onto to squint at the sun. half delirious and dehydrated “ever been to the beach, captain?”

and he smiles softly. looking perfectly content in all black with the sun beating down on you all. “why?”

it’s said with a soft drawl that has your heart flipping and hands sweating.

“uhh i don’t know. just wondering. thought maybe a team date at the beach would help with bonding?” and you say it like a question, the confidence that you had to line up a shot or take a man down to the ground with a jump and the force of your legs, never quite correlated with talking to price (it never would)

and like you did in early training runs and drills, and under the scream and spittle of your many older male superiors, you dropped it. gave it up. “you know- forget it-“ you start but his deep british lilt had your words fracturing into silence.

“sounds like a good plan. you have quite the knack for team bonding.” he teased

your body flushed with heat, a thousand times the sun deep in the balm of the desert around you. it was a joke. you had never been subtle about the lack of connection you felt between your teammates and many games that usually started with ‘what’s your favourite colour’ were not uncommon to be lead by you

and you forgot about it. not really. but truly you had thought it a joke. him agreeing.

but when you were laying across your couch on leave, bored as all hell, mind buzzing, lower lip worrying between your teeth, he called you.

called you for the first time ever. his voice awash in your ears, a thousand times more pleasant than the ocean as he told you to “get your swim suit private and head down to the blum in’ beach.”

the beach trip

this man immediately complimenting you. even if you’re wearing a cover up. or your clothes are completely on over your bathing suit

with his uncannily good instincts he notices how you can’t even look at his eyes, even avoiding him entirely. facing the side of sand beside him as you spoke.

it was hard not to. he was in simple black swim trunks, all the broad shoulders, muscled and soft curves was ripe to your sight

and he was smirking at you. his stupid bucket hat still on, but now finally matching the setting around him

his hands on his hips instead of on the neck of his vest like you were used to when he was looking over you

you have to chase this man down to put sunscreen on him (we have seen the lovely amount of freckles ofc)

100% picks you up and puts you deeper in the water when you refuse to go past the water sloshing at your hip bones. no matter your sharp gasp and grip, he will dunk you at least once

absolutely is down for any sport on the beach okay- football, ultimate frisbee, a plain game of catch, everything. but especially beach volleyball

and because gaz is a snitch this man knows you played in high school, so he offers you first serve to “see your moves” and “how you set the pace, love”

it’s canon you absolutely obliterate him on every round. every. single. one. and you’re so humble about it

meanwhile soap is losing it, literally slapping at your shoulder and treating you like a god when you spike another hit directly on their space of sand. his scottish yells drowning your ears

and every new round, when you hand price ‘his ass to him ‘- he gets hotter. from exertion or something else, he will never tell

1000% is the person to tell you to ‘c’mere’ then quickly rub some sunscreen on the bridge of your nose and the soft highs of your cheekbones

he spends the entire time holding his breath instinctually. his lungs strained when he saw your features up so close. he counted every scar and mark, every dip in your smile and the butterflies that bloomed from your soft exhale of warm breath on the inside of his wrist, as the pads of his thumbs trace along the seam of your cheeks

you end up staying till sunset

he brings a cooler with his own ‘prissy beer’ as gaz says. but you make him drink many fun coloured sweet drinks that would be characterized as alcoholic popsicles. all of them in chimed glass bottles and unnaturally bright colours (he downs five)

price loves how your filter dissolved with the alcohol and that you apologized for everything, even if it was just walking alongside them

hours later he spends at home, wondering why he can’t stop thinking of you. the burning image of sand slipping past your fingers, the wind carrying tiny grains along your stretched leg, a soft and true smile carved on your face. every part i grace in his chest. it was a small smile. but private, almost secret, sincere. it made his heart flip and ache. both at once, always the case with you

places you in shade and makes you drink water and rest when you almost get heat exhaustion and get all cranky and weak :,)

brought a nice fluffy towel but shared your barbie one ‘for the principle’

saw you laying in the sun and thought you were tanning, but soap was kind enough to point out “nah she’s just not used to feeling the sun. you know, with her hermit habits..” that got him a kick to the shin and a rumbling chuckle from price that had your eyelashes fluttering along with your stomach

you guys building a sand castle because you strayed from the group and found him in his and i quote “old man time”. smoking a cigar perched on a beach chair, a ripe sunburn on his chest that had you sighing and wincing at once. hands itching to take out some aloe and help ease the burn, but he didn’t even flinch

he just sees you drop off your stuff and head to the shallows with a tiny orange bucket and he just kinda follows you. watches for a moment before he feels pulled to trudge through the warm sand towards you

at first only making short and direct comments on your sandcastle architecture whilst taking puffs of his cigar

loving the burn of sweetness in his chest it gave him. it was nearly the same feeling when you laughed mid recom mission in the Arctic. it had been the first time he ever heard you truly laugh. he never forgot it. the hue. the pitch. he remembered he stopped shaking, as if his brain was in too much shock at the beauty of the sound to realize he was freezing. as in that moment he had never felt so warm in his life.

but after you huff and tell him to ‘do it himself’ he folds and basically throws the stub out (you make him throw it out properly after istg) and this 37 year old, 6’2 unit, gets on his bad knees to help you form the damp sand monstrosity

and after a genuine hour of hushed focus and teamwork

“looks like an evil dwelling.” you say it seriously. your hand poised on your chin, eyes catching ever smoothed edge and exaggerated curve and dip on the soft structure

prices lips twitched. “that right?”

“mhm.”

and he took a minute. fingers drawing a moat along the side of the castle that had your teeth biting into your lower lip slightly. “why work so hard on something just for it to wash away?” he asked, eyes on the separating sand drawn from his touch

it’s not about the sand castle. you know that. but this was surely something you should be asking instead and having him reassure you about

“was the work purposeful?” your voice as strong as the setting sun behind you

he nodded. his eyes a bright blue in the bright peach rays of the setting sun. the light catching onto strands of his beard, and framing his mouth in gold

then maybe it washing away was apart of the job. the end of it. we just didn’t know it.”

and he holds your gaze, noting the glaze in your eyes. the sheen.

sometimes he forgot how young you were. but with your hands next to his and covered in sand, knees knocked and pricked with bruises, hair up and secured with a scarf, you looked painfully young.

too young to know the pain of all your hard work washing away. again and again.

and he’s speaking before he’s even thinking

“i’d build a thousand sand castles with you.” he rasped.

you smiled, bright and beautiful. unrestrained. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he mocked.

and you shuffled closer, just a little scoot of your knees in but it has his breath catching hard

“and i’d wait for them to wash away. and truly only be excited, because we could start anew.”