#winter hiking safety | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drgnflyteabox · 22 days

Text

the lusty cabin-dweller

pairing: ghost / Simon riley x fem reader summary: your life gets wider when you find an injured man outside of your cabin. tags/warnings: Skyrim!ghost, secrets, graphic injuries, some angst, facial injuries, nursing Simon back to health one stew at a time <3, listen to this for the vibes, vaginal + anal sex, oral (f), animal attacks, blood, processing an animal for meat and fur, violence, death (non-major), mention of Skyrim racism, softdom!Simon, some backstory, please hmu if i forgot anything, one bed trope, simon backstory adapted to skyrim lol (so past abuse, murder, theft, domstic violence) but nothing graphic w.c: 5k

Honey-nut is squealing again. Some days you think she might not be worth the milk and cheese she gives you for all the trouble she causes. A high, strange bleating cuts through the chilled night air like a knife, sharp and terrifying only for a moment.

She's been at this since Frostfall. Maybe it was the weather causing Honey-nut distress - she was getting old, after all. For a goat.

In the time it takes you to trudge out of bed, pull on a wool shift and a fur, two things happen: one, Honey-nut stops bleating, and the woods surrounding your cottage becomes deathly silent.

Two, a crunch.

Just one, but it's enough. Someone is outside.

For a brief, hysterical moment, you worry for Honey-nuts safety. Have they hurt her to be quiet? No, you'd have heard that at least. Your breath comes fast, chest squeezing. Bandits? Probably not. It's a decent hike up to your wooden cottage. But it is nearing winter, and soon it will be Sun's Dusk. It's not unheard of that they'd be looking for a place to take over for the colder months.

Your hand goes to your heart, fingertips touching your throat. Be calm, you tell yourself. You aren't helpless, look. The axe, leaning by your front door. You can see in the dark well enough, and you're more familiar with your homestead than they are.

The axe feels right in your hands. Too-familiar, weighty, deadly. You touch your ear to the door, trying to reign in your fear. Nothing. Then, a wheeze, strangled and restrained like whoever it is can't afford to be heard. But you have heard it, and you push the door open.

"Show yourself!" You shout, voice surer than you feel. Your knees quake a little, but your grip on the axe is strong.

The animal pen is a mere few steps away from your front door. Past the front garden, it's wide open aside from the little shelter you built the past Mid Year. A foot sticks out, clad in armor.

"I'm armed," you add. "You're not getting anything from me!" The world is dark, the woods quiet. Adrenaline burns in you, bright enough to guide your steps.

"You gonna kill me with that, girl?"

Gruff voice, like scraping rocks. Coming into view, you see that this man poses no threat. He's half dead, slumped and pale, clutching his side.

"Who are you? What's your business here?" The axe is a deterrent, now. Just for show. You hold it above him, but nearly drop it when you see his face. It's sliced right through the middle, from his forehead to his jaw. "Oh, gods-"

"Mind yourself with that," his eyes flit to the axe. "Or put me out of my misery now."

Your shoulders dip down, lowering your weapon. Guilt crawls into your belly and settles there when you notice that yes- his feet are armored, but the rest of him is dressed in miners attire. White, coal-dusted shirt. Workman's pants, tucked into woolen calf wraps. God, he must be freezing. Maybe that's saved his life, staunched the bloodflow. It's tacky on him, not shining wet like you expected.

"What's happened to you?" You cringe at the sound of your voice. It's gone from fierce defensiveness to cloying concern, staring only at the blood staining his skin.

He breathes hard, staring at you a moment. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling. Outside of obvious pain. Leaves around you shiver in the breeze, a light snow beginning to fall when he finally speaks.

"Bandits," he grunts. "An ambush." Every word is a fight, a wheeze. Empathy drives away caution and you drop your weapon in favour of kneeling beside him.

"Come on, then. Let me help you," lifting him is a monumental task, even with him helping. He's as big as horse, thick as one too. Legs like tree trucks that hold him up just barely, feet sliding weakly on the uneven ground.

Looking back, Honey-nut watches you bring him through the doorway with a judgmental twinkle in her eye. Maybe it's time for goatherd pie.

///

Your bed is too small. His feet hang off comically, and the wood creaks under his weight. It'll have to do. Your mother would have beaten you black and blue for this - for inviting a stranger in, for settling him in your bed without so much as a what’s your name? But you know how to stitch and turning away someone in as bad a shape as he is would weigh on your conscience.

You light the sconces along the wall, and then a lantern to keep by his bedside. Warm, orange light fills the cottage, flickering every so often, inspiring calm.

"I'm no healer," you warn him. "Nor an alchemist." It’s not necessarily a lie. You had done a brief stint as a volunteer for the temple of Kynareth, lending your hands and your time to help nurse wounded soldiers. There had been supervision then, though. Guidance.

"I’m shit out of luck for choices, sweetheart,” his facial wound leaks a little when he speaks, blood running down the side of his face in thin rivulets. The wound at his side, however, is what worries you the most.

“Let me,” you murmur. Your fingers find the edge of his shirt, pulling them out of his pants, and up, up, gently. Looking him in the eye, watching his pain win over his weariness.

Another gash, swaddled in cloth wrapped sloppily around his middle. Without moving him you have to cut them off, slicing off his shirt at the same time. This one bleeds sluggishly, skin shredded, like he’d been dragged over coarse rock.

He words slur, energy leaving him. Mumbles under his breath things you can’t make out, and don’t try to. You’re busy rinsing, cleaning, and patting his ribs dry. Tensing every so often, he breathes hard through his nose to offset the pain. Mumbles some more, hands making fists.

It’s bad, but he’ll live. Exhaustion might trump over all, anyhow, what with how his eyelids have begun closing. Through the slit of them his eyes are pale, like sunlight through deep blue ice. Blonde lashes, stark against the dirt and coal smearing his skin.

You work in silence, letting him sleep through this one so he’ll hopefully be unconscious for the work you have yet to do on his face.

“Who did this?” You whisper to no one. You’re a breeze in the night, alone, hunched over this man and wiping his face with a cloth.

Clear of blood and grime, you gather a sewing needle and dip it into the lantern flame. Stitching is easy, but on his face? You falter a moment, worried, until you think of how proud men often are of their scars. Boasting battles won and creatures slain.

It’s that thought that pushes you through to the end, weaving the needle through until he's sewn and clean of blood.

///

Sweat and iron. The smell of it, sharp and salty, sea foam and earth, is the first thing you're aware of.

Then, the light of morning. Pale, almost white, invading through the windows in rays. A chill. Your eyes open with a not insignificant amount of effort, back twinging in different places as you become aware of the world again.

"Awake?" You startle, jerking up. It's the man from the night before, laying as he was, a little curled against the pain and big as an ox. "W's startin' t'think you'd sleep all day."

"It's morning, is it not?" You're not used to talking this early - or at all. "How's the- how are you feeling?"

He grunts, shuffling. His wrapped side has some blood peeking through, little spots of leakage, not enough to lose your head over. His face has swelled some overnight though, and you're awake enough now to hear the muffled quality to his voice. Part of the cut pulls his upper lip tightly. You wince.

"Just wait. I have something for the," you pause, crossing your space on stiff legs to find the bookshelf. Clay pots, glass bottles, books. Ah, here it is. "For the pain." It's some elixir. Purchased the last time you'd made the trek to Markarth from Muiri, the alchemists apprentice. It brings forth a distant memory of pain, of twisting your ankle running after Honey-nut.

Your ankle hadn't quite healed right, but this was good for when winter came and stiffness made the pain worse again.

He eyes you wearily as you approach. Suspiciously. As if you haven't been helping him out of the kindness of your heart…

"This will help," a promise.

"Don't need'it." He slurs, then cringes as it pulls his lip again.

"You'll recover faster if you're in less pain."

In the end he acquiesces, if not just to take the edge of the purpling that's beginning to show on the edges of his bandage. Broken ribs, maybe?

///

Chores need to be done whether or not there's an obstinate patient in your bed. Honey-nut needs to be milked, and she fights you every step of the way. You discover her pen open from last night and sigh with relief that she's still there.

The chickens have laid eggs for you, and you collect them diligently in your apron. Then, the garden. And finally a sweep of your traps in the woods.

Just one rabbit, but it's enough. You hope the man likes stew, and that his swelling goes down enough for him to tell you his name.

///

He tells you his name is Ghost. Strange, but you've heard stranger. Maybe he's a follower of Namira, you wonder not without an inkling of apprehension. Ghost is quiet, even as he heals. After you'd made yourself a straw bed on the other side of the cabin, you'd wake to him sitting up and stretching. Testing himself. Always silent.

The exhaustion was the worst of it. One nearly empty bottle of elixir later, the swelling on his face has gone down significantly. His ribs sore but on the mend. It was sleep that he needed, and lots of it.

Days passed like this. Switching bandages, wiping and cleaning, cooking enough stew for two. Nearly a week until he was up and about insisting to help around the cottage.

"No need," you tried to gently push him back into the warmth of the open door. He was too big, and having none of it. "You'll be better in no time."

He was just so tall. Were he to stand still at your doorway, half his face would be covered by the top of it. Despite his condition, you could tell that your initial comparison to a horse was completely on the nose. Stocky as a boar, arms thick as mammoth tusks. Hairy like blonde wheat shining in the sun. You'd noticed as much, watching him rest, watching his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as he dreamt.

///

Ghost works like you're paying him in gold. He sweats, arms swinging down over and over again above the chopping block. There's enough wood to last three winters now - maybe four. Every job he takes is finished to excess. Your roof has never looked better, re-thatched in rotting places and swept clear of mildew. The old wood fence in your garden? Replaced.

Honey-nut finds her new favourite person when he dismantles what he calls shoddy work, and rebuilds her a shelter twice as big. The chickens are still weary, but enjoy receiving the kitchen scraps he tosses.

"There's really no need for all this," you insist again, because he's come back this afternoon with an elk on his back.

"Didn't need to fix me up, either, did'ya?"

You break it down together. Ghost does the harder part, while you take cuts of meat to dry for jerky. The rest will go into a venison casserole, with juniper berries.

"Hey- Ghost?" You call. He's skinning the rest of it for furs. "I'm off to gather some berries for dinner."

A nod, and you're off.

Your basket is old, woven, carried once by your mother and now you. Silly, but special all the same. It's stained with many years of berry collecting, many years of winter nights spent tucking into fruity crostatas or summers full of juniper mead.

The hills are rife with the low, rough trees. They grow like weeds here in the Reach, mountain pocked with patches of light green and little blue berries. Once, as a child, you'd made the mistake of eating one straight off the branch. Bitter as burnt coffee, it was lesson you'd learned through tears of laughter with your mother. A happy memory.

Does Ghost have a family? You wonder again about him, about why a man like that is wasting his time mining. He could've climbed the ranks as an imperial and been a General or - divines forbid - a stormcloak. You prayed he wasn't so craven as to follow Ulfric and his band of Nord supremacists.

It's this distraction that leads you right into the waiting jaws of a sabre cat. Quick and silent, it reminds you of your patient for an absurd moment before you're tripping backwards, basket full of berries scattered and forgotten. Your hip makes contact with the ground hard, pain lancing through your joint like a spear.

Fuck, how could you be so stupid? This was a mountain, leagues away from the nearest town. Sabres, bears, wolves. You'd always, always used awareness as a first precaution. Sight, sounds, keeping your ears tuned to the slightest crack in a twig. If not, there was the bow and arrow stowed away under your bed.

Now, you were caught unawares. Muscles under it's fur rippled, a low growl in it's barrel chest, creeping toward you. Adrenaline burned through you like a fever, hot and electric all at once, freezing you in place by the weight of your heart in your stomach.

Stendarr's mercy, dying from an animal attack after living years on the craggy peaks of the mountains, avoiding ambushes and robberies. Living on goats cheese and chicken eggs, nothing yet achieved. What a waste. Miserable, hopeless tears prick at your eyes. Your breath leaves you in quick, desperate puffs. Running wasn't an option - it would only encourage the sabre. Sovngarde, here you come-

"Aaarghgh aaaaa!" A roar. Loud, ringing in your ears, as fierce as a cave bear. It's Ghost, jumping through the brush towards you with his arms above his head. "Bugger off!" He's screaming loud, voice cracking a little, the stitches at his lip tearing just enough for droplets of blood to fall.

"I'll put you down!" It's nonsense, but it's loud, and he's massive. Taller than the sabre even if it stood on two legs. When he reaches you, he steps in front of you. Shields you.

The face-off is likely less than a few minutes, but it feels like time moves as slow as honey. Ghost faces of the sabre, screaming like a madman, beating his chest and waving his arms. It creeps backward, hissing and fighting, but is cowed by his stance and size.

When it's disappeared through the maze of juniper trees, he turns to you. Extends a palm rough like bark.

"How long have you lived here, again?" His voice grates as usual, made worse by his shouting.

Your face heats in embarrassment. "A few years. I'm not usually so distracted," you dust your dress, patting yourself. Twigs and dirt fall from the wool. "I swear. I got lost picking berries."

He snorts, like you're stupid. You feel stupid.

The basket is half empty when you call it quits, tired from fear. Ghost is hunched beside you, holding his ribs again, rubbing his lip almost compulsively.

"Stop that, you'll get a thicker scar," you reach for his elbow.

"Don't care much about that, love," he shrugs your hand away.

Dinner is made in silence. It's a miracle you have the energy, but while you're physically drained your mind is running in circles. You watch with concern as he sits gingerly back on the bed. The pain in your hip pulses with sympathy, pulsing heat travelling down your leg and up your back.

"Need me to take a look at anything?" Besides his obvious discomfort, you'll have to fix his face back up. You'd prefer for him to be in a welcoming mood.

"I can handle it," Mr Stoic over here. "Did'ya take a fall?"

You drop dried frost mirriam into chopped, boiled potatoes. Then a pad of butter.

"Yes, but I'm alright," the cream sauce comes together, ladled over the venison. You're out of eidar cheese, but Honey-nuts goat cheese crumbled over everything is perfectly fine. Ghost eats like a furnace taking coal, anyhow.

"Let me see," he's up close. Again, you've been taken unawares. A sharp inhale like a gasp, heart beat picking up, breathing in the smell of him. It's gone from bloody to pine, to earth, to fresh wood. His hands find your hip and you hiss, trying to jerk away. In doing so you press your side into his chest, curled close, warm not just from the fire. "It's alright, sweet girl." He murmurs into the top of your head.

This tenderness is new. His fingers are as gentle as you've seen them in the last few weeks, pulling up the thick skirts of your dress and assessing the tender skin. It's a little hot to the touch, painful. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against you softly, making you whine.

His lips brush your hair, not quite kissing you, but affectionate nonetheless. You're close enough to see his throat bob when he swallows.

"Just a bump, huh, sweet girl?" He takes over, mashing the potatoes, setting out plates at your little wooden table, guiding you by your lower back.

You eat in relative silence, thighs brushing, a tension bubbling to the surface like stew on the fire. He spares you a few glances between bites, still wincing whenever he has to bend down.

"I'll take a look at that again before bed," you speak through a mouthful of creamy venison.

Sure enough, he's reopened some of his stitches. Not worst case scenario, but you spend a few minutes hunched over and bandaging him up again. He stares at you intently, eyes so clear and focused you wish he wouldn't. It makes your hand shake.

Moving to get up and back to your straw bed, his arm shoots out as quick as an arrow and takes your wrist in his hand. His stare is the same, squinting at you like he's waiting for you to confess something. Like he's waiting for you to give in.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he says, sure, chest puffed. "Not with your hip. Come on now, come lay down." Gently, he tugs you down. Protests make it to the tip of your tongue and nowhere else, not with the promise of a mattress on your sore muscles and screaming hip.

It's too small though, much too small. Already he was hanging off, shoulders taking up the entire width. You curl forward, on your good side, facing away from him and into the dark. The cabin is still warm from cooking dinner.

His breath puffs on the back of your neck, hand finding your arm and stroking up and down. Soothing you. He curls around you, following the natural bend of your body.

"Simon," he whispers.

Your brow almost touches your hairline. "That's not my name."

"No," his reply is half spoken, half physical. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, bicep under you, cradling you, his big bear paw hugging your shoulder. A stray pinky ventures dangerously close to your nipple, fingers spread. "It's mine."

The world widens. "Yours?" You breathe in, out. It's trust, is what it is. He's giving you a piece of himself, this stranger, for you to hold. "Simon," you taste it in your mouth. "Simon."

He laughs against your hair. "Was watching you," he confesses. "After we got- after the ambush. Walked for days, till I found you."

"How long did you watch?" You're curious, if not a little suspicious. "You weren't casing it, were you?"

"No, nothing like that. Couldn't keep walking," he sighs loud like a dog. "Hadn't eaten, hadn't drank. Needed to know if you were somewhere I could stay."

"That's why Honey-nut was losing her mind," the realization is half funny, half scary. By the eight, you really hadn't noticed someone living so close-by for so long?

"Honey-nut?"

"You've met her, Simon. She's the goat."

"Ah," he snorts. "I've been calling her Molag-Bal, for how she's got us in the palm of her hand."

"Simon!" You shriek with laughter, shaking until he squeezes you from behind. So close his heartbeat taps against your back.

///

A week goes by, and each night is the same. You wake together, sleep together, eat together. Simon regains his strength and his wounds turn into scars. His face is deeply marked, but you've never known him another way. Truthfully, it adds to his handsomeness. There's a ruggedness there that one can only develop living in the rough.

The air gets colder, frigid in the mornings and nights. Light snows have begun falling, and Honey-nut begins her bleating until you put up the winter wall of her shelter, boxing her in. The chickens slowly cease laying eggs, bundling together, clucking at Simon when he checks for the seasons last bounty.

The time to make a trek to Markarth is creeping. You need dried goods, grain, seeds for spring, dried meats, elixirs - everything. It'll be your last trip before you're stuck in the freezing mountains with nobody but Honey-nut to talk to.

Books are your salvation during the cold months.

"I have to get supplies soon," you break the news to Simon early in the morning, when the light just barely creeps over the craggy peaks of the mountains. "In Markarth."

There. It's over with - telling him. You know you're being a coward by not asking directly, but you need to know. What is he going to do now that he's healed? Spend a few more months with you? You're still mostly strangers, practicing domesticity together, but strangers nonetheless.

"Can't go to Markarth," he says.

"Why's that?"

Simon looks at you then, eyes hard and tender at the same time. He grimaces a little, scar twisting wit his expression.

"Used to work there," A pause. "Used to… mine there."

"What?" Cidhna mine is for prisoners. You take a small step back, shaking your head. "What?" You repeat. Cidhna mine? Is that how- oh. His injuries, his waiting to see who you were before approaching. By the gods, you've been tricked!

"You tricked me-" you start, upset. Was he a killer, a robber? Images dredged from the recesses of your mind float to the surface. Men, fire, your mother cut down before you.

"No, no," he interrupts. He's shaking his head, not quite stepping forward but leaning toward you. Eyebrows drawn up, palms facing you in supplication. "Sweet girl, I," he looks around then, as if the words will appear written in smoke from the hearthfire. "Listen to me please," he pleads.

"Tell me what you did!" It's a near-shout, but you're upset. He's been cozying up to you while running from the law. Not that you're a total stickler for rules, but the men at Cidhna mine aren't there without reason.

The most secure prison in Skyrim.

"I will, I'll tell you. Just sit down please, sit with me." He pats a chair, sitting in the one beside it. Beseeching you. "Cm'ere, sweet girl. M'sorry."

///

You sit quietly while he tells you, choking a little on the rising tide of emotions. The biggest question is should you believe him? This story of his past, his father, a childhood spent learning to steal and bully to survive. Elixirs for a brother hooked on skooma, food for a mother grown sickly from her husbands abuse. Eventually getting rid of his father altogether, and wining up in Cidhna.

"If what you say is true," your voice wavers, throat tight with emotion. "Why not tell me?"

He shrugs his shoulders, looking up for a moment as if asking the divines for guidance.

"You never asked."

For a moment, you want to be indignant. You laid with him, cooked for him, wiped blood and sweat off his brow.

But he's right. You never asked, never thought to - just wondered, minded your business, content to help someone in need of it. The feeling of betrayal loosens in your chest, releasing it's vice grip on your heart, a calmer acceptance taking place.

The position it leaves you in is awkward, even if you're content to believe him. You've been too yielding since you met him. Accepted him into your home, accepted his story. Ambushed by bandits? A silly lie, now that you think of it. Vague, believable. Easier than explaining that guards had slashed him as he escaped imprisonment. That he couldn't go back because he was so recognizable.

You don't speak as you get ready. It's not an angry silence, but one brought by embarrassment. How stupid he must think you are, cozying up up to him like that.

The question of where he'll go burns still in your mind, in your gut. You're nervous, fingers shaking a little as you wrap long strips of warm wool on your calves, forearms, and between your fingers. Your dress is double-layered, boots sturdy.

It's a trip and half, lugging everything. You're on foot until you reach the nearest inn, and from there you rent a horse and cargo carriage. Easier from there, with Jazbay the white mare to pull you along.

"I know someone in Cidhna," Simon interrupts your thoughts. He's always tall, imposing, a little intimidating. Now he looks as sheepish as a man like him can look. "Could you…" He extends his hand, a letter clasped in it.

You grimace, but nod curtly.

"Thank you, honey," he breathes a sigh of relief. Honey. That ones new. It fills you with warmth.

"You're welcome to stay with me," you blurt. Impulsive, stupid. Brought on by the familiarity of his affection. "For the winter, I mean."

He's across the cabin in two steps. He presses his front to yours, hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs gently rubbing your cheekbones.

He kisses you, then, and everything slides into place. Your stomach tightens, hands coming up to grasp his shoulders, gasping into his mouth. It's wet, lips smacking noisily, the only sound in the near-frozen forest. Acceptance, sweet and buttery. This is a man whose never had a home.

"I can't stall any longer-" you try. He interrupts you with his mouth again, long kisses like it's reviving him, revitalizing him. "I gotta-"

"Shh, sweetheart," he hums lowly. Gods, you've never been this wet. It soaks into your cotton underwear, clit pulsing in time with your heart. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

///

He's so solid, firm muscle and hard cock. It leaks between his legs, bobbing with his abdomen where he's kneeled on the floor, face in your cunt.

"Simon!" You're shouting, unabashed. Years have passed since anyone's touched you last, and you're sensitive as a maid, gripping his too-long hair almost meanly. Simon licks you like a starving man, slurping, letting you drip and then sucking it off your skin. His fingers find the entrance of your pussy, fitting himself in two at a time.

Once you've begun, you can't stop. He fucks you on the bed, letting it creak dangerously. Bends you over the table, cock dragging in and out of you deliciously. You shake and shiver in his arms, wrung out and insatiable all at once.

"Can I have you here, sweet girl?" He thumbs at your other hole, dipping in, kissing your inner thighs.

"Yes, gods yes, Simon," you drag his name out. Si-i-mon. It sounds good that way, breathy, not spoken but moaned and screamed. It's late evening, dark, colder now that you haven't lit the fire.

No need, when his cock is as hot as coals and slides between your arsecheeks like a divining rod. Your pussy is aching and hot, too-sensitive. You're belly down on the bed again, hands gripped in the sheets.

When you deliberately relax your muscles, he fits his fingers in your ass using come as lubricant. Spits down onto you, watches you start to rub yourself into the bedding desperately.

"None of that," he pants, pulling you up by your hips. A whine builds in your throat, which he shushes by pushing his other two fingers in your cunt. You yelp, moving toward him and away from him. He keeps you still, firmly holding your hips.

You come, tears beginning to leak into your sheets, when he presses his cock against the notch of your hole and pushes in.

A long, deep groan from the pit of his stomach starts and doesn't stop until he's sheathed. You're frozen, stuck in a gasp that doesn't end, filled to the brim.

Simon begins to rock, shallowly, stealing your breath and breathing it back into you with every thrust. It's then that you begin to make sound, crying out and fisting the sheets, rocking your hips with him. He reaches around, leaning down to kiss your shoulders and play with your clit at the same time.

"Not gonna last," he says into your skin. "Gonna come inside you again."

You're easy - so sensitive that if he breathed on you long enough you're sure you'd peak. His fingers twisting and pinching your clit is pure madness, and you tighten like a vice around him as you yowl your last orgasm of the night.

His hips snap into yours roughly, abandoning your clit for the flesh of your hips, pounding, dragging, grunting into you as he finds his own release.

Half-asleep, you fell him roll over onto his side and turn your head to face him. He's smiling lazily, stroking your skin, still sweating from exertion.

"I'll come with you tomorrow," he whispers.

"I thought you couldn't come to Markarth?" Confusion prickles at you, brows coming together. He finds the furrow with his thumb and smooths it away.

"I can't, honey. But I can come down and wait for you."

"You will?" Hope rises in you, in tandem with affection.

"Always," his voice is a soft murmur.

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet girl."

#cod x reader #cod mw2 #task force 141 #141 x reader #drgnfly writes #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #skyrim au #i truly don't know but i had fun writing it #hehe #cw dubcon #tw dubcon #cw murder #idk what else to tag #i love skyrim #i dont know shit about goats #genuinely this is jokes but i've been playing a ton of skyrim so here you go

611 notes · View notes

alexabadigear · 2 years

Text

Timberland Men’s Waterproof Hiking Boot

Timberland Men’s Waterproof Hiking Boot set new industry standards for craftsmanship, durability and protection when it introduced an authentic, waterproof leather boot in 1973. A global leader in design, engineering and marketing of premium footwear, Timberland values consumers who cherish the outdoors and their time in it. Timberland has been an industry leader in the use of both sustainable and recycled materials in its shoes, as well as its footwear packaging. The Timberland Company believes in corporate responsibility and supports numerous civic and social projects throughout the year.

Wanna read more , Click here.

#hikingboots #adventureboots #lovehiking #mountainhiking #hikingseason #hikingwomen #hiking #boot #safety #comfort #comfortable #winter #adventure #waterproof

0 notes

ssentimentals · 14 days

Note

Wonwoo/ numver 45 pleaseeee. Tq!

hi, baby 💜 thanks for the request, hopefully you will like it, let me know!

45. kiss out of anger (jeon wonwoo)

there are few things that can get wonwoo's blood boiling and fights with you were one of them. or to be more specific, fights in which you completely disregard your safety. his mind just refuses to understand how you can so blindly put yourself in those dangerous situations and just- how can you not care? you are so precious to him, you are his everything, how can you treat your own self like you're cat with nine lives?

'i think you're being dramatic here,' you huff, frowning. 'and i'm a big girl, woo. i can take care of myself.'

'not this again,' he mutters, trying to keep his tone stable. he has very strict rules for himself and not raising his voice on you is one of them. 'not this 'i can take care of myself' thing again when it's not even about that!'

he watches you blink in stupor and it's rare for him to not find words to say, but he truly is at loss - how can he make you understand that your safety is his priority without scaring you off with intensity of his feelings? how can he let you know that his nerves eat him up alive when you go and actively put yourself in danger for adrenialine rush or because you find it fun? you mean so much, he's afraid to admit to himself exactly how much you mean to him. but he also doesn't want to be this overbearing boyfriend, who acts all possessive or clingy, he's not that type. 'these hikes are so dangerous in winter and forecasts shows it'll be snowing, i just-' he sighs, starting to pace around the room in frustration. 'i just think that it'd be wise to cancel this whole thing, dear. that's all i'm saying.'

'i promised everyone to come,' you stubbornly repeat and he doesn't know how you can put promise to others above your own safety. 'and it's fine, wonwoo. babe, it's not my first time taking a hike on that mountain in winter, okay? and these forecasts are not always correct.'

it's not a big deal for you, that's the thing. how it cannot be a big deal to you is beyond wonwoo and that's what makes his blood boil. is he truly the one being unreasonable here? is he really the crazy one? with a resigned sigh, he turns to you, frowning. fine, he think. let me be the crazy one.

'i think you have to trust me a little bit more-'

he doesn't let you finish this ridicilous sentence and instead kisses you hard, pouring his frustration and anger into the kiss. feel it, he thinks, holding your head tight, not letting you escape. feel what you do to me. you whimper quietly and only then he eases up, turning kiss to a more gentle one until all you're doing is exchanging sweet pecks between each other. 'i always trust you,' he whispers into your mouth, opening his eyes. 'always. it's not about that either. i just think it's dangerous and i don't want you to go even if you promised other people. can you please think about your own safety first? i will go out of my mind here, worrying for you. i swear i will climb that damned mountain myself just to make sure that you are alright.'

and wonwoo means it. he will climb the highest mountain, cross the widest ocean - all just to make sure that you are alright.

#seventeen prompt #asks #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #wonwoo seventeen #whyyyy do i have a very distant feeling that i fucked up on this one? :/

298 notes · View notes

malum-forev · 1 year

Text

A Place I Once Called Home

Summary: The four times Bucky showed up at your place unexpected.

The first time Bucky came stumbling into your apartment was a few weeks after he moved into the building. You’d been living in New York for quite some time so you weren’t oblivious to The Avengers and the fact that they resided in the same apartment complex. It was actually one of the reasons you paid the premium for living there. So what if your landlord hiked up the rent twice a year and there were some broken windows thanks to aliens trying to get to the superheroes when they’re least expecting it, right? It was all in the name of safety. Or so you thought.

Your friends had left hours ago, and although you loved your weekly wine and cheese night you sometimes hoped they would stay after to help you clean the dishes. You hummed along to the song that was quietly playing, the small speaker filling your whole apartment. At first you thought the rattling you heard was part of the melody. But a chill went through your spine as you heard a loud thump at your door, making you almost drop the wine glass into the soapy water.

As you dried your hands and walked towards the door there was another loud bang against your door. You clutched the baseball bat hidden behind your TV, a lovely present from a misogynistic ex-boyfriend. He’d thought it be ‘cute’ to show you how to hold a bat. There’s only one fucking way to hold a bat you mansplaining son of a- bang!

‘You don’t have time to think about this right now!’ You scolded yourself.

You peered through the peephole to find two male figures trying to pick your lock, the handle rattled.

One, two, three deep breaths and you opened the door, bat clutched and ready to hit anything and everything. A woman ready for battle, adrenaline rushed through your veins, blood rushing to your head. But before you could even unleash your first swing, one of the men dropped near your knees with a thump and a groan. Half of his body inside your apartment while his long legs sprawled across the hallway.

“Buck! You said your apartment was 213!” The man you soon recognized as Captain America said, shooting you a ‘You have no idea how sorry I am’ face with reddened cheeks.

You stood inside your apartment with mouth agape as you watched one of Earths Mightiest Heroes struggle to pull another super up from your floor.

“Miss I am truly sorry to have interrupted you.” Captain America apologized. “I’m Steve and the man who is currently petting your slippers is my friend Bucky.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked down at the man known as the Winter Soldier running his hand through the fur of your plush husky shaped slippers.

“I’m more of a cat guy but these two doggies look friendly. What-“ he hiccupped. “are their names?”

His steel blue eyes followed yours as Steve picked him off the floor and leaned him against your doorframe.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” It was until Steve asked you the question that you realized you hadn’t answered.

You shook your head to try and reset your brain. “I’m sorry, yes I’m good it’s just that- well I know some superheroes live here I just didn’t think two Avengers would come knocking on my door.

“I’m not an Avenger.” Bucky grumbled, closing his eyes for what he thought was a second. What actually happened was that he lost his balance and ended up falling forward into you. It took all of your strength to not topple over.

“For fucks sake.” Steve muttered under his breath, he usually didn’t swear but his best friend was making his patience wear down, as he peeled Bucky off of you.

“You smell really nice.” Bucky slurred with a loopy smile.

“Just to wrap things up, we’re extremely sorry for trying to break into your apartment, for probably scaring you half to death and for anything and everything Bucky’s said.” Steve smiled before turning right and lugging his friend down the hallway.

“His apartment is down this way!” You said pointing to the left side. “216, on the other side of the hall.”

“Thank you ma’am. Have a good night.” Steve huffed hiking up Bucky’s arm on his shoulder, as they passed your apartment again.

“Thank you pretty lady.” Bucky said with a singsong tone and a wink.

The second time you found Bucky in your apartment was a few weeks later. He had walked past your door a total of six times in the last few hours. The mission was to give you an iced coffee for your troubles the other night. And as of today, he was two weeks and four days late on completing the mission. The original plan was to stop by the day after he’d drunkenly showed up at your door, but the anxiety and panic that had settled into his bones made him jump back into his place anytime he heard your door open.

“What if she doesn’t drink coffee? She’ll think it’s disrespectful of me to bring her that.” He convinced himself. So the only logical thing to do was to follow you around for a couple of days. Maybe this way he would find out your exact order and get it right. Not telling his therapist what he was up to would be smart.

After a few days he got your order right and even found out what kind of flowers you liked.

Days passed and the petals from the bouquet he bought started falling off, the ice on your coffee was long gone. Another worried crease appeared on his forehead as he contemplated walking to your apartment with nothing in his hands but no, the pretty lady with the beautiful eyes he thought he’d only dreamt about deserved more.

So here he was, a new coffee in his right hand and a bouquet of flowers on his left one. But before he knew it, another problem raised. How the hell was he supposed to knock on your door. Was he supposed to use the right one and spill your coffee or would he have to hope that by using the left one the petals wouldn’t drop. He was about to abort the mission completely but then he heard your lock turn.

With each second that passed, and God did he feel like millions passed, he grew more nervous. Was his hand actually sweating? That hadn’t happened since before he enlisted.

But once you opened your door with that cheeky smile of yours, everything seemed to disappear.

“Should I be concerned about this habit of yours? Do you always lurk around women’s doors?”

One sentence, that’s all it took for him to turn into putty. A useless puddle around your feet, begging for more of you, anything you’d give him.

“I only lurk around the ones who I owe an apology to.” Bucky licked his lips, bringing forward the contents in his hands.

“Hmm, my orders exactly. Did you get lucky or did someone help you out?” You smiled at him as you took both gifts and walked back into your apartment. Bucky took you leaving the door open as an invitation. Did you always do this or were you letting him in because there was something unique? He urgently needed answers because in just a couple of minutes you’d already managed to make him feel special.

“I’m a good at apologies and buying gifts.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, eyes glued to the floor.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You’re a pretty good liar but terrible at hiding. You’d think being a super-secret spy assassin would make you stealthy.”

His eyes widened first at your words then at your laughter. The sound rang in his head like a beautiful melody.

“I saw you following me a couple of days ago.” You smiled, placing the flowers in a vase full of water. “In the coffee shop down the street, in the flower shop. I even saw you in the library, I’m almost positive you were reading a book upside down!”

The blush crept from the back of his neck up to the apples of his cheeks.

“I wanted to make sure I got you the right coffee.” Bucky mumbled, his one chance with you and he’d blow it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You trapped your bottom lip with your teeth as his body perked up hearing your words.

“We can start again.” You held your hand out and told him your name.

The third time was a month after the apology. In the last four weeks, the two of you had been spending every possible single second together. It started when you ‘accidentally’ came out of your apartments at the same time. Bucky would never admit that he was looking through his peephole and waiting for you to turn the knob on your door.

“Good morning.” Bucky said with a fake yawn, acting like he hasn’t been up since 5:05am. He stretched his arms a little more than he had to, making sure you could catch a glimpse of his toned body under his dark t-shirt. Bucky knew he’d missed out on many things but flirting with you came naturally. “Do you know any good coffee places around here?”

You smiled at his obvious antics blushing like a schoolgirl. “There’s this place around the corner.”

Your morning coffee turned into a morning run and then coffee ritual, then breakfast was added. Afterwards, lunch at 12:30 and dinner at your house every Thursday. Which turned into dinner at alternating apartments every day of the week.

But today you truly weren’t expecting him.

“I’ll see you on Monday okay? Coffees on me?” He’d mumbled against your hair two days ago, your body wrapped in his arms. “I just gotta go on this mission but I promise I’ll be back before our run.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, it felt like a bunch of thorns prickling your neck. In just a few short weeks he’d become an integral part of your life. You realized it was stupid to feel like this about someone who’d never even said he liked you but you couldn’t help but fall headfirst. “Please be safe.”

He tilted your head up towards him and ran his knuckles down your cheek. Your soft skin soothed his rough hands. He couldn’t believe someone as angelic as you would even look at someone like him. His troubled mind and his past didn’t seem to affect you. You just saw him. For the first time in forever he felt scared to go to a mission, knowing he had something to lose.

“I’ll be back sooner than you think, doll.” He smiled as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

Now, you found yourself being woken up by two soft knocks on your door. 11:45 pm on Sunday night. You must’ve fallen asleep on your couch, your TV asking you ‘Are you Still Watching?”

A bruised and bloody Bucky greeted you as you opened your door. A gasp escaped your lips.

“That bad huh?” Bucky chuckled, leaning against your doorframe.

You dragged the Winter Soldier into your small bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub, grabbing your first aid kit from underneath your sink. You sat in front of him, scooting your knees to rest on the inside of his legs, wiping the blood off of his cut lip.

“Do you always come home like this?” You asked, throwing away another antiseptic wipe into the bin.

“I usually go to the med bay after missions.” Bucky shrugged, his eyes never leaving yours.

A worried look took over your features. “Why didn’t you go this time?”

“I made you a promise. If I’d gone all the way over there I wouldn’t have been able to make our run tomorrow.”

Your whole body fluttered and you couldn’t help yourself. You took Bucky’s face in your hands and you smashed your lips to his. Bucky held the back of your neck as he followed your lead. He kissed like a man starved, your kisses felt like the sun shining in the middle of a snowy winter. It lit him up inside. Before you knew it, you were dragging him from the bathroom into your bedroom, bumping into various furniture but not caring.

You only separated to take his shirt off.

“Wait!” Bucky said, his jagged breath didn’t stop him from unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other was already working on the button of his jeans.

You tugged your shirt back down. “You want to stop?”

A loud laugh ripped through his chest. “No! God no. I was just going to ask you if we could keep our kisses to the left side of my mouth.” He pointed at his bruised lip.

You bit your bottom lip. “I think I could do that.”

He could come undone just by looking at you. Your sweet face only spoke words of temptation and he was more than happy to convert.

The fourth time came eight months after he’d asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything had been great up until a month ago when the days started getting longer and the disappointment grew deeper.

You’d arranged a special dinner with Bucky since he’d been working late recently and now he was three hours late, again. The food had already been in the fridge for a while and the candles blown out.

He found you sitting on the fire escape when he came into the apartment, the faint smell of cigarettes lingered.

“I thought you said you’d quit smoking a long time ago.” Bucky tried to joke but his words sounded harsher than he’d intended.

“This isn’t working.” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Bucky chuckled, shoving a forkful of cold pasta into his mouth. “Of course it’s not working, you keep an old pack of cigarettes in the closet.”

He choked on a loose noodle as he saw your tear-stained face. You wiped your cheeks, your whole face felt hot. “You and I, Buck. We’re not working.”

This was it, the moment he’d been preparing for. He knew you would break sooner or later, who in their right mind would want to have an actual relationship with him. Someone who has to constantly sacrifice dinners and anniversaries, someone who risks his life on a daily basis, someone who risks the lives of loved ones on purpose.

A few weeks back, he’d been interrogating someone linked to the Flag Smashers when he’d heard the words he’d been dreading. Your name slipped out of them like venom. They’d found out about his secret, Bucky had been guarding your love with his life but it wasn’t enough. You’d always be in danger with him.

But he couldn’t bear to leave you so he took the cowards way out. Spent more time at the compound, trained longer and drove mindlessly for hours, all so you would think he was busy with work or that he didn’t care. Maybe one day you would get tired and leave him because he sure as hell couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes and tell you it’s over.

And although he was expecting these words to come out of your mouth sooner or later, it still broke him. His heart fractured like porcelain, a deep hurt brewed in his body like a deep pit somehow appeared in his stomach.

“I understand.” He whispered, gluing his arms to his side because if he so much as touched the aura around you, he would drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. “I come with a lot of baggage and my job doesn’t really help so, I understand.”

A dry laugh escaped you, the sadness in your eyes turning into fury. “I knew what I was getting into when we started dating Buck. I knew you had hundred-year-old baggage weighing on you like a ton of bricks. I was also aware of your job description and even though I fucking hate seeing you hurt- and you have no idea how much it physically pains me to see you come through that door with a black eye and broken everything, I know it’s something I have to get over. Because I was willing to be with you, all of you.”

“We could have been like this forever, happy and in love. And every single day I would open that door and listen to the shit you have to put up with from all the people who don’t know you and clean your wounds and take care of you. I could have done that till the end of my life. But I can’t anymore, not when you lie. You’ve been lying about being at work when I know damned well you left hours ago. I cannot be with you if you won’t tell me what goes through your head. What troubles you. You won’t even say you love me, when I know for a fact you do.”

“You wait every single night until you think that I’ve fallen asleep and you say you love me over and over because you think I can’t hear you. But I do. And I love you, I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much that- that I’m willing to let you go. Because you sure as hell don’t want to stay, for some unknown reason you won’t tell me.”

“You won’t tell me even though I’ve proven to you that I can take care of your naked soul. No Winter Soldier, no vibranium, no Hydra. Just Bucky.” Your voice cracked. “So if you won’t admit that, then you should leave.”

Your words cut through Bucky like thousands of knives, each tear that fell from your face was a reminder of why he had to leave even though his whole body begged him to stay. He would hurt you more if he stayed- so that’s what he did, he left. Without a word he walked out of the apartment that had become a true home to him for the first time in decades and never looked back. Not when you slammed the door and not when he heard you sob.

Part 2: Hurry Back Home

Wanna read more like this? Here’s my latest post. 💖

Authors Note:

Heeeyyy everyoneee, sooo this is the first time I've posted in a loooongggg time so I hope you guys liked it. If you did please like comment reblog the whole thing! Thanksss <3

2K notes · View notes

catchingdaydreams · 3 months

Text

Modern day Mithrun Headcannons

Just some random ideas and perspective on how a modern au Mithrun would act/live and what not .

He would have his apartment spotless and minimalist as hell. Like everyone is to accommodate for one person. He doesn't really invite friends over but when he does their often confused about how theres just one of everything. A single chair, only one bowel and glass that he just uses ect, ect.

OR his room is just full of piles of trash bags and instant noodle cups because he can't be bothered to clean that shit up. The room is also bathed in darkness, curtains drawn down with the only source of light is through his TV and microwave clock.

He hates summer and winter. He gets sunburnt too often cause he can't be bothered to put sunscreen on. He doesn't like to cover up as an alternative as he justs overheats himself. In the Winter he would rather spend it hibernating if he could. The alternative is just becoming a blanket burrito and wait it out. He wears a lot of warm clothing too, often comedically too much, looking like a penguin on the way he waddles. This man will always get sick in winter.

His favorite season is autumn as it's the only season where it's not going to inconvenience him by either giving him sunburn, colds or hay fever.

He use to job hops quite a lot. Mostly working as chef at a local noodle shop that's near his apartment. Nothing wrong with the way he cooked, he just lacked most social skills which his blank tone and expressions upset both customers and other staff. He was a little stubborn but is a stickler for workplace hygiene and safety and would definitely tell people off for not doing something up to code. Even to the boss (instant way for getting fired).

Now he works at a high-end/fancy restaurant (probs has a michelin star ) wheres his nack for nick picking made him well respected for being precise.

Though he will not tell anyone where he works at. The Canaries will try to pester him (some *coff* *coff* Fleki and Lycion *coff* have tired staking but failed). He likes his privacy.

On days off he likes to be active and go hiking in the woods. He sometimes volunteers with the local nature parks for general upkeep and search and rescue.

But he doesn't do this alone. He WILL get lost. Kabur is a good hiking partner and also does volunteering. The Canaries are generally the go to personnel with supervising him. But he's generally in charge of operations which they bestowed him the nickname 'caption' to him.

He WILL get mistaken as an old man (yes he is technically old but I'm mean on deaths bed old). His white hair causes kids to point and look. He gets annoyed when a teenager asks him if he needs help crossing the street (especially if he's waddling like a penguin in Winter clothing). One time he was so annoyed by a kid calling him a grandma that he took out his prosthetic eye to make the kid cry.

Probs gets mistaken as a woman at times as well. He does have a feminine look about him. I imagine him coming home from a late shift and he gets catcalled by some bums. All he has to do is reply back in his low manly voice and they shut up . The times that they don't, Mithrun doesn't mind getting his hands dirty. He will throw the bums beaten and bruised bodies in the dumpster, it's where they belong of course.

Mithrun isn't a social butterfly. He likes to go to bed early then party and have a few drinks with his friends. Even when he does gets invited he'll hardly drink anything. He use to alot in his youth but his body isn't the same anymore and would just black out after a few drinks.

161 notes · View notes

five-and-dimes · 4 months

Text

Sunflower

This is a continuation of Mountain Sound and will make fare more sense if you read that first.

For Dreamling Week Day 3: Painting

Read on AO3

Dream takes his time planning his gift for Hob. As outcasts amongst werewolves and vampires alike, all they had was each other. Almost every day was spent side by side, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. However, it made surprises difficult.

But this is something Dream has wanted to do for Hob for so long, and their transition deeper into the mountains provides the perfect opportunity to hide things in the shuffle. Despite the unfortunate circumstances of their move, there is something fun about it as well. A break in the routine they had fallen into for the past decade or so. They spend a few weeks hiking and exploring, searching for a spot that would suit them. Traversing caverns and rocky outposts and hollow trees. It had been Hob’s idea to combine multiple spots.

“Why limit ourselves to a single building?” he had explained excitedly, gesturing at the forest around them, “We can have it all! Build a shelter among the trees and use the caves for the colder months, build a treehouse, maybe dig a burrow for storage!” On and on he’d spoken, everywhere he turned he saw a place they could make a home, a place they could take up space for the life they wanted. Dream simply listened fondly, and vowed to give Hob everything he could possibly want.

With the decision made, they began gathering supplies, which gave Dream a chance to sneak away the things he needed for his gift. Hob would not find it unusual for Dream to purchase paints from the nearest town, being the avid painter that he was, but the sheer amount he needed would be suspicious. So he buys the colors he will need in multiple trips, hiding them amongst the tools and linens and lanterns that they needed. He takes advantage of Hob’s own idea and shifts into a wolf to dig a deep burrow in the forest, stashing the piles of paint where Hob would not find them.

It takes nearly a year for them to fully settle once more. They finally bid their previous home farewell and move deeper into the mountains to hide from the world as best they can. They had built a new house beside a rocky outpost, nestled between tree and stone. A nearby cave is filled with various supplies, a place to keep cool in the height of summer and keep warm in the depths of winter. Hob even keeps his word and builds a small treehouse. There are no windows, keeping the sunlight out for Hob’s safety, but the walls are thin enough that in the daytime the sounds of songbirds can be heard easily.

Ironically, they spend the first night after completing their move outside. Dream and Hob run through the landscape that is their new home, Dream even shifting to tackle Hob to the ground, too lost in their shared joy to feel insecure about his wolf form. Leaves kicked up around them as they wrestled playfully, laughter and happy yips echoing through the night. They only return to settle in to sleep inside the house when the sky begins to lighten. In the doorway, Hob looks over his shoulder, a sad smile on his face that Dream is familiar with as he takes one last moment to watch the sky brighten with the light of a sun he can no longer see.

On the very first night they meant, he had told Dream that it was the only thing he hated about being a vampire. That he could never again stand in the sun.

Now, years later, Dream has a plan.

About a month after the move, Hob expressed wanting to go into town. One of the drawbacks to their new location was being farther from the nearest human encampment, but it was unfortunately necessary to increase their safety.

“I didn’t realize how beat up our tools got from all the building,” he sighed, nearly pouting, “I mean, they’re still fine for fixing things around the house I guess, but I was hoping to do some decorating.” One of Hob’s favorite hobbies was woodcarving, engraving intricate patterns into their door frames and bedposts, or making small figurines to adorn their shelves. Dream could see how the dents and chips in his tools would make it more difficult to carve the details he was so fond of.

“Plus, I wouldn’t mind snooping a bit more to see if I can’t find some new books on protection spells,” he added. Their new dwellings had a few protection charms, but it was difficult to find enchantments that would keep out other werewolves and vampires without harming the werewolf and vampire that lived there. “Would you like to come with me?” he asked.

“Hmm,” Dream moved nonchalantly, winding his arms around Hob’s neck as he admitted, “I would not mind some time to myself. If. That would not offend you.”

“Never,” Hob responded immediately, with a genuine smile, “I know you. And I love you.”

“Forgive me if that still startles me,” Dream tries to sound joking, but the honesty bleeds through.

Hob doesn’t mind. “Nothing to forgive,” he promises, giving him a light kiss on the lips. “Might be about a week, with the new travel time. That alright?”

Perfect. That would give him plenty of time.

“Of course,” he responds lightly, concealing his excitement.

The next evening, after a kiss goodbye, Hob speeds off down the mountain and, as soon as his figure disappears from sight, Dream heads inside to get to work. He has time, but that doesn’t mean he can dally.

He starts by moving the furniture out of their bedroom. There’s not too much in there to begin with, so the process doesn’t take long. The wardrobe and chest they use for storage are moved into a side room that had been ambiguously assigned the title of ‘study’, which was used more as a catchall for their various hobbies and interests they had accumulated over the years. Once the room is empty, Dream gets started laying plaster over the nooks and crannies of the wood paneled walls, running a wide blade over it meticulously until the walls are smooth and even.

It takes a day for the plaster to dry, and Dream spends that time fetching his paints and mixing them carefully. He sits cross-legged in the middle of the room, occasionally stepping outside to hold his brush up to the sky, comparing the colors and adjusting until they are as perfect as he can make them.

By the third day he is already nervous. Logically he knows he has plenty of time, but what if Hob comes home early? What if it takes too long to dry? What if the colors look wrong once they are dry and he has to start over? He forgoes sleep and food in favor of painting, coating the walls as quickly as he can without sacrificing the smoothness of the gradient.

The fifth day, he has moved on to a smaller brush, the background dry enough for him to add details on top of it, shadows and highlights, feathery strokes of white, perfect circles glowing against the waves of color. Dream stands on two chests stacked on top of each other to carefully put the finishing touches on the ceiling.

On the sixth day, it is done. Everything should be dry by tomorrow, when Hob is due to return, and he’s set up the room exactly as he wants. With nothing left to do, Dream shifts, curls up in the very center of the room with his nose tucked under his tail, and worries some more.

What if Hob didn’t like it? What if it upset him? What if he was mad that Dream transformed a whole room in their new home without consulting him? What if he laughed at Dream for being so stupid, for thinking this could possibly be enough in return for all that Hob has given him?

They do not have an anniversary, per say. Even when they have kept calendars, neither felt the need to try to trace back exactly when they met, or exactly when they got together. But every year, when the leaves are just starting to turn like they had on the day they collided together, Hob will pluck a vibrant leaf from the ground and smile.

“Ah,” he will say, a warm smile on his face, “Another year together.” And then he will kiss Dream gently and hold his hand, and Dream will be reminded just how lucky he is.

He doesn’t know how he could ever express all the love he feels for Hob. The gratitude and the joy and the peace he’s found with him. But he wants to try. He hopes Hob will see that he is trying.

When Dream hears Hob approaching in the distance late the next night he has to immediately return to his human form, because Hob is incessant in his teasing whenever he sees Dream’s tail wag without his permission. Regardless, he can tell by Hob’s face that Dream’s joy at his return is obvious. Despite both of them having spent so much time alone- despite Dream still needing occasional solitude- neither could bear to be apart for long. So while a week may not be long to some, they still run to each other as soon as they are in sight. Their bodies collide, and they take a long moment to simply embrace before they manage to pull back enough to kiss.

“Welcome home, beloved,” Dream whispered against Hob’s lips.

“Good to be back,” Hob grinned. Once they disentangle themselves, Hob picks up the bags he had dropped in his enthusiasm, “Got a good haul this time. Better tools for repairs, and also splurged on some specialty tools for myself,” he grinned apologetically, but Dream only smiled.

“I think you deserve high quality materials for your craft,” he insisted. Privately, he also felt it only fair considering the amount of paints Dream himself had ‘splurged’ on.

Hob gave him a quick peck on the lips, “I’ll be sure to make you something nice.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, as though he knew a secret Dream didn’t. But before Dream could question him, he continued, “I also found a couple of interesting tomes. Not sure if they’ll be any use to us, but I figured it was still worth going through together. You always had a better grasp of all that magic nonsense.”

“Hm, we’ll see what we can find,” Dream agreed, reaching out to take one of Hob’s bags as they made their way inside. As they deposit Hob’s things in the common area, Dream inhales deeply, filled with anxiety. He opens his mouth, but pauses. Should he wait? Should he let Hob unwind first before springing this on him? Was it too sudden? He had spent so much time worrying about it not being enough, but maybe it was too much and Hob would be annoyed, especially after his long journey-

“Hey.”

Dream nearly jumped, Hob’s voice breaking through his thoughts. Hob smiled gently, “You alright, love? You seem tense.”

Swallowing, Dream steeled himself before blurting out, “I have a gift for you.”

Hob blinked in surprise before breaking into a grin, “A gift? Really?” He had a look of excitement on his face like a child, even as he stated, “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

“I know,” Dream smiled, “I wanted to.” Reaching out, he laced their fingers together, pulling Hob towards the bedroom. Outside the door, Dream released his hand, nudging his back to push him forward. Hob raised an eyebrow, but then turned to open the door.

The first wall Hob sees when he walks in nearly makes him flinch. The painted sky in front of him is so detailed and meticulous, he had felt as though he had somehow stepped outside into a sun he sometimes fears he has forgotten. The entire wall is a deep blue, a few wispy clouds breaking up the wall of color, but doing nothing to obscure the bright, pale sun in the center..

For a long, long moment, all Hob can do is stare. When he finally begins to turn to look at Dream, his breath hitches as he sees the next wall to his left. This one is more vibrant and colorful, the blue of the previous wall bleeding over before darkening. The sun on this wall is lower, mid morning or early evening perhaps.

He knows he is crying, but he doesn’t care, whipping around to see the wall behind him. This one also starts with the blue of the afternoon wall, but the gradient is more dramatic. Blue to purple to vibrant reds and oranges, clouds catching every color along their edges. The sun is a darker yellow, a half circle at the base of the floorboards. Sunset. Or, he supposes, sunrise.

When he finally turns to look back at Dream, he sees blues and reds and purples connecting the walls, the sun painted on the back of the door, not a complete circle, but higher than the previous. Hob feels like a child as he finds himself spinning in place, seeing the way all four walls are connected, a perfect gradient of daytimes. He’s still crying, but he’s so happy, and it is in a moment of glee that he tips his head back and sees one more sun.

Directly above him, pale blue and a sun nearly white with its brightness, only the faintest yellow glow around it. An iron ring holding a circle of candles has been painted white and hangs from the ceiling in the center of the sun, illuminating it even more. High noon on a summer day.

Hob is surrounded by all the daytimes he has missed for so long.

He allows himself a moment to glance at the rest of the room. There is a pile of pillows and furs in the center, and a tray on the floor with a vase of flowers, a bottle of wine, and two glasses. There are a few lanterns carefully placed around the room to keep it lit as brightly as possible, but the rest of the room is empty, no furniture to obscure the paintings of the sky. By the time he finally turns to face Dream again, he feels like he might combust from love and happiness.

Which makes it all the more ridiculous that Dream looks nervous, wringing his hands in front of him and chewing on his lip.

“I know you miss the sunshine,” he says softly, “and… and I know this isn’t the same, I know it doesn’t truly make up for it, but, but I thought, maybe-”

Dream’s supernatural strength is the only thing that keeps them standing when Hob crashes into him, hands framing his face to kiss him fiercely. Dream wraps his arms around his shoulder, smiling shyly into the kiss, and Hob only pulls away because of the laughter bubbling in his chest. He giggles, so overwhelmed with joy.

“No sun could compare to the light you bring to my life,” he whispers against Dream’s lips, “But I will admit, this room is a close second.”

“You like it, then?” Dream asks, his smiling widening ever so slightly.

Hob laughs again, because what sort of question is that? He loves this ridiculous man so very much, “I love it nearly as much as I love you.”

Dream melts against him, all nervousness gone, “I would bring you the real sun if I could.”

“I don’t need it,” Hob rests their foreheads together and tightens his embrace, “I have everything I need right here.” Pulling back almost reluctantly, Hob looked at Dream so softly, “Dearheart-”

Dream is so full of love he is nearly nauseous with it, like his body can’t contain it and all he can do is interrupt with a breathless exhale, “Marry me.”

Hob’s jaw drops, his eyes widening, and Dream rushes to say more, “I know it doesn’t… doesn’t really matter, wouldn’t really change anything, but I love you so much, I… I want to call you husband.”

There is a long pause, and Dream is almost ready to take it all back, but then Hob is laughing, and peppering his face with kisses, “You absolute twat,” he laughs, voice full of affection, “If you had just given me two seconds-”

Stepping back, Hob took a moment to rifle through his pockets. Then he is taking one of Dream’s hands and bending down onto one knee.

“I had a whole speech planned,” he says, trying to pout but smiling too wide for it to be effective. In his other hand, he is holding a beautiful wooden ring. The soft reddish-brown of rosewood, smoothed and polished, with a small chip of sapphire embedded in it, “I even went through the trouble of making this myself because every jeweler kept trying to talk me into silver.”

Dream barked out a watery laugh, and that was when he realized he was crying. Hob giggled with him, leaning to place a kiss on his knuckles, “So. I know you asked first, technically,” he said with fond annoyance, “But I’ll say yes to your proposal if you say yes to mine,” he squeezed his hand, holding the ring a little higher, “Deal?”

There is too much love in his body, he fears he might burst with it, and so Dream thinks Hob will forgive him for the way he tackles him, toppling them both to the ground as he wraps his arms around him and kisses him deeply. “Yes,” he whispers against his lips, “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Yes,” Hob replies in return, kissing him back. Eventually they pull apart long enough for Hob to slip the ring on Dream’s finger, a perfect fit. Dream stares down at it in wonder.

“Definitely better than silver,” he teases, Hob smacking at him playfully. “I suppose in fairness I will not insist on being married in a church.”

“You are a menace,” Hob rolls over to pin Dream beneath his body.

“Till death do us part,” Dream smiles.

Hob leans down to kiss him again, “Not if I can help it.”

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #Dreamling Week #Dreamling Week 2024 #vampire/werewolf au #yes I want to draw So Much for this au No I do not have The Energy right now :(

83 notes · View notes

pricegouge · 6 months

Text

Fatted Rabbit Part One on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

The car park is empty save one Jeep, hatch open and guarding the owner's back as she pats down her bare chest with a wet cloth, eyes nervous and wary as she watches for intruders. She doesn't spot him at first, too worried about the road and the trail head. She wrings out her cloth and then dips to wet it again in a pail of soapy, steaming water. The motion showcases her ample chest and her soft belly and his tongue lolls. She puts on her shirt and her hands move to her belt, undoing it quickly as she checks her surroundings again for intruders. He only notices he's been spotted when the hands on her zipper go completely still. He raises his gaze to her face and huffs at the look of pure terror he finds there. Not gonna hurt you, honey, he wants to tell her, but he's not entirely sure that's accurate anyway. Suddenly, it's like he's fresh off his torpor again, all beast. The only problem is, he's not sure if he wants to eat her or fuck a cub into her. She smells divine, but he can't deny the way her thick body makes his cock twitch. Good mate, stayed so soft all through the winter. He's not entirely sure what he wants, except closer, but when he puts one massive paw in front of the other, the poor rabbit yips and hops back into her little burrow, hatch slamming behind her as she scrambles further into her tentative safety. Curious, John ambles closer, stands with his paws on her car door to peer in at her.

A/N: no warning for this chapter but later chapters will include: explicit sex, past DV, kidnapping, canon-typical violence, some angst and a bit of a wump but very fluffy overall and I promise a happy ending (at least for John/Bunny)

Spring creeps into the den subtly, slowly, easily. Normally there's some pushes and pulls, a tide that rolls in and muddles his instincts before retreating, leaving him cold and tired once more. It plays nice this year, settles humid and warm in his fur like fingers, a coaxing kind of wake up call that has him chuffing and stirring still a week or so too early to venture out. It's nice, though, this slow ascent to proper consciousness. Has his memory stirring in ways he can't usually process when he's in this form - vague feelings and sensory memories: sun warm sheets, honey on toast. He slips in and out of wakefulness, the steady drip of snow melt counting the days in thirty second intervals. The ground warms, looses its frozen scents for his inspection, a chronicle of the months he'd lost to his torpor: an arid winter, northerly snows, a fox burrow maybe a kilometer uphill. He sleeps some more.

There's a stream about an hour's hike north of the den. Shallow and wide, it never completely freezes, but John knows it is time to greet the new year when it overflows its bed. It wakes him slowly for the last time, the sound of its gurgling having changed to an echoing rush and what that implies is not immediately obvious to him in this state. He's digging into the mud of his den, trying to find a softer bed to cushion his sore hips when he realizes, and he chuffs in annoyance at his own sluggish brain. If the creek has already overflowed its banks, that burrow is likely empty by now. So much for an easy breakfast.

He's too grumpy to properly marvel in the new year. He notes it in little ways as he stalks the forest - the pale sun warming his coat, the pungent mud revealing the path of his next meal - but he is still too groggy to properly appreciate the beauty. It's like this every year, which is the main reason he decides to overwinter in this form. Staying human has its perks, the ease with which he can stock and maintain a warm, safe den not least of which; but these first few weeks of remembering how to function, when instinct and hunger drive him more than rational thought, are difficult to navigate as a human. For him, early spring is a time to check his perimeters, ensure no other boars have encroached on his turf. John Price's domain is Columbia Falls and the areas surrounding it. He can't very well go around pissing on buildings and gouging knife marks into anything that stands still long enough. Hard to explain away stumbling into the nearest diner like a zombie and ordering uncooked greens and steak. Best to leave these beastly urges to his beast form, in the mountains and valleys of the park he's come to claim over the last ten years.

The days are still short, the forest slow in waking. A lazy start the world over, it seems. It takes him days to completely shake off the dregs of his torpor and he loses whole hours at a time, comes to shoulder deep in freezing streams or wetting his muzzle in the blood of a calf. He hopes he isn't cutting too close to the early campers when he's like this. He makes for a big goddamn bear, a right anomaly, draws attention. He hates to be spotted, would hate even more for his hunger to win out while his humanity is still so far beyond his grasp.

Cutting a long, circuitous track around the lands he's claimed, he takes his time about it. It takes him nearly two full weeks, but by the time he's at his northernmost point, he's mostly remembered how to be a human. He gives it a shot sometimes, while hiding in the caves he's emptied. He can't stay himself for too long, still too cold and damp for a naked human, but it's nice to stretch his back out properly, clean his teeth with nails. By the time he makes it back south to West Glacier, he's ready to find his clothes where he'd hid them on the outer edge of town and rejoin society, chomping at the bit for real human interaction. Maybe that's why he doesn't skirt the car park as well as he should. He's been a creature of instinct for months by now, if his basic need is just a simple, warm smile, it makes sense that he'd seek out the areas of the park most likely to find it.

He smells her before he spots her: warm skin and honey, artificial strawberry scent and a natural musk that has his mouth watering. Human, must be - racoons didn't often use scented soaps - he ought to steer clear, especially if her scent is already having this effect. He's never lost control and killed a human, doesn't want to ruin his streak today. But he's base driven, an instinctual animal, and he's padding along before he can really even think it over. He clambers through springy undergrowth, chuffing excitedly when he finds undisturbed greens. It's his final warning before he ventures onto high traffic areas: the green fences denoting areas in which small game is too timid to linger. He simply eats those too and carries on.

She's got the back seat torn out, a soft mattress taking up the raised stage area there. Likely some storage underneath. Instead of a passenger seat, a neat little shelf houses a cooler and a hot plate along with some kitchen essentials, from which she's grabbed a knife. He chuffs a laugh, breath steaming the window. He sniffs along its seal, wondering how long she's been hiding away in this paltry den. Few weeks, maybe. A month. She must be cold, poor rabbit, no bucks to keep her warm. She looks on the verge of tears now, and he lowers in sympathy. He should clear out, let her be, but he's addicted to the way her chest rises with each labored breath. He wants to nuzzle there, let her run her fingers through his hair as he kisses and bites and-. Oh, that's human. He wants to be human for that. Good. Means he doesn't really want to eat her.

Still, always good to leave an impression.

So he stalks around the Jeep for a while longer, careful to keep his movements as calm and non-threatening as they can be. She loosens up eventually, drops her knife when it's obvious he's not going to roll her little house right over. He wonders why she hasn't driven off yet and then spots her keys on the ground next to her rapidly cooling bath water. Bad luck, that. He debates waiting her out just so he can show he's trustworthy, but he figures she's got a whole den, and he's got a car park so he'd probably lose that venture. Ah well, he has her scent now. He'll be able to find her again. For good measure, he marks her car, chuffing in laughter when he can hear her complain about it. He hides in the tree line after he leaves. She waits another half hour or so before cautiously opening her hatch and retrieving her items, dumping the soapy water on the gravel. Illegal, that, but at least it's not the grass. Once she has her keys, she doesn't hesitate to pull out. John lingers close to the road and watches her watching him as she passes, her eyes more curious than scared now. Brave rabbit. Smart rabbit. Juicy little thing.

Next>>

#christ this is mortifying why is it that posting here seems way scarier than ao3?#bearshifter!price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x you #fatted rabbit #💷🔪

103 notes · View notes

sseomtada · 5 months

Text

baby, te quiero comer ya [dominik szoboszlai]

you reunite with an old friend upon his arrival to liverpool.

warnings: 18+ | wc: 2056 | parts: 1

an: originally posted 08/2023

“You know it was always meant to be me, right?” His breath fans against the back of your neck.

The question has to take a chaotic path to your mind, battling the most fearsome opponents. Thunderous cries and howls of want and need rushing ahead as his fingers raked up the middle of your stomach, hiking up what little coverage your crop top provided.

You knew a lot of things.

The first being that going braless tonight was a brilliant decision. You coo at his warm palm ghosting over your cold, crystalized nipples. He chuckles softly at witnessing the beginning of your undoing.

The second thing you knew was that he ought to select his floor in this elevator before someone had the chance to spring the door open. Though, imagine it, what would his neighbors think?

To see him pressing to your back like this, hands squeezing your aching breasts as you gasp and arch into him. All while you watch them watch you in the mirrored walls.

“Pick your floor.” You shudder.

“I like it here,” He kneads your chest. “Though, this one…”

One of his hands comes down to cup you through your denim shorts. You drop your hips instantly, hoping and achieving your goal of feeling his fingers prod at your clenching hole.

“Nah, you’re not ready yet.” He laughs breathily.

You’re suddenly a victim of gravity again as he pulls away abruptly, but your wits are quick. Your back leans against the mirror, chest heaving while you watch him fetch his card holder and press it to the keypad. Penthouse was his choice.

“What do you mean by that?” The anger comes belatedly like everything else when you’re around him.

Dominik stalks over to you, sizing you up in a way that absolutely infuriates you.

It’s the look you hated growing up. The one that stupid, awkward, goofily cute guy that moved in next door wore. His silly laugh, and cocky expressions when he played in his backyard as you watched from the sides of your eyes over the fence.

Even as he blossomed, just before he moved away - the time you began to love his playful arrogance. How he insisted on that last night you’d spent alone on your roof that he was your first love, Adam be damned. You resented how right he was then just as you do now.

Are you ready?

You spent so much of your life looking for a crumb of what you felt for him in so many other people. Yes, you smiled and you laughed and you experienced pleasure, but none of it compared to what you felt by just being near him.

The safety and security he provided. His warmth that he shared on winter nights when he bundled you up with him under the blanket on his patio. The vulnerability you expressed, having him see you in a way you’d never let anyone else.

“Until you say it out loud,” Dominik tilts your chin up and kisses you, gently. “Everything that I want to hear,” Another kiss, longer this time. “I don’t think you are.”

He’s always been like this - cheeky, challenging. You reckon it’s a big part of his game, the way he messes with his opposition. It’s easy to underestimate a pretty boy with a pretty smile, but you know better. A razor is always hidden under his tongue.

“I’m supposed to, what?” You look up at him through your lashes. “Just give it to you like that? No persuasion from your end?”

If he doesn’t recall how sharp your own tongue is, you’ll happily reintroduce him. For every smart comment he had, you wielded an even stronger reply. Dating in the wild for all these years only honed your skills.

Dominick releases your jaw only to dip two fingers into your mouth. You hold his gaze, swirling your tongue around them as he uses his free hand to unbuckle your pants. Their bagginess find them to your ankles quickly and discarded following clumsy kicks.

“Wait-“ You think about someone interrupting the lift.

“Won’t stop for anyone.” Dom shushes you.

He wedges a leg between yours and then slides his spit coated fingers into your panties. You’re shaking as he runs them over your clit towards your hole, collecting the juices that had pooled there since you decided to come back to his.

“Seems like I don’t have to do much.” His lips brush yours as he taunts.

“My pussy’s always this wet,” You lie blatantly. “Come on, Domi. At least make me cum.”

He pushes his fingers into you and your head drops against the glass. Your greedy little pussy swallows them, so he adds a third. It’s the type of stretch that has you leaning back, pushing your hips forward to feel them hit your g-spot.

“You always this dirty too?” His lithe fingers pump into you sinfully.

“O-only when I like someone.” You finally begin to soften.

Dominik doesn’t miss it. The pad of his thumb circles your clit appreciatively, earning him an airy whine. He lifts his thigh up too, fucking his digits beyond comprehension into your cunt.

You twitch and writhe, gnashing your head against the hard surface behind you as you ride his hand. Your hands seek wildly for purchase beside you, moans loud enough to surely echo down the chute filling the space with your impending release.

He catches your bunched up crop top in his teeth and pulls powerfully. It’s a move that raises your upper body to fall into his hold. He secures you with a hand on your ass while your hips rut over him.

“I like you so-so fucking much, I always have.” Your hands clutch his head, holding him tightly to your chest as you cum hard. “It’s always been you, Dom.”

Dominick lets out a noise that you can’t classify as either groan or cry before his lips are on, over, and between yours. He backs out of the long opened elevator, your touch heavy and desperate around his frame.

“I know, Y/N.” He rasps. “I know.”

It’s enough to stop you in your tracks. The elevator dings - closing and descending with your shorts in tow. You’re standing there fighting to regulate your breathing, clutching your favorite face of all time.

He’s not smiling or gloating. His eyes are sharp, bottom lip shuddering with his own forceful breaths. He’s not cocky in what he says. Rather, there’s a sense of relief in his tone.

He finally knows he’s not alone in this.

Wordlessly, you strip yourself bare in front of him. Shirt, boots, socks, panties - in that order. He does the same until you’re left swallowing. An invisible force pulls you into him, your hands splaying over the marbled column of his torso.

He trails his fingers down the middle of your spine as yours work up his chest and shoulders and back down again to brush his cock. A hiss bounces from the walls in response.

You make a fist around him, trying and failing to touch your fingers together. Dominick grips your ass and presses you close, pining the hand that’s working his cock between your bodies.

“Fuuckk…” He groans.

His strong hold rips you away. It isn’t the sensation that’s too much too soon, but the prelude - the intimacy in the way your eyes consume him and your hands discover him. If he wants this to last, he has to switch things up.

You’re spun to have him at your back again, his cock prodding between your legs. You whimper and slide it through your sticky folds. The feeling nearly breaks him. He literally falls to his knees, albeit cooly and slowly, bringing you by the hips along with him.

Dominick reclines with you on top of him, your knees spread wide with your thighs held open by his own. While he continues to glide through you, he moans right into your ear. It’s a sound that leaves you feeling a foreshadowing of an orgasm yet to come.

Together, you form a chorus of bliss when he tucks his tip into you. With some help from you, relaxing against his girth to accept it all, his entire cock fit. Though it felt like you’d waited an eternity for this moment, there’s no rush from either side.

You’re focusing on etching the feeling of his tightening abs against your back as he rolls his hips into you, splitting you in two, into memory. He’s completely lost in you. A victim to your undertow, fighting for his life beneath your current.

He buoys himself to you in any way he can. His lips ever present on your neck, your jaw. His hands - curving around your waist and grasping your breasts, and rubbing the swollen mound between your legs.

Dominik spanks it then, and you clench super tight around him. There’s a feeling both familiar and foreign to you in it, confusing you. You fuck yourself on his cock, begging him to do it again.

He does and harder this time. You place your heels to the floor and take him balls deep, grinding your hips quickly back and forth until a scream ripped itself from your core.

“Holy fucking shit!” Your legs press together.

His thighs are wet all over when your hips settle back down and you feel your face flush. All the times you’d actively tried to do that before in the past rushing to the forefront of your mind, each resulting in failure.

“Always this wet?” Domnik slurs.

He pushes from the ground to roll you on your side, your head resting on his bicep. Your lips instantly attach to the skin stretched taut over muscle there. Skilled fingers trace up the tendons of your inner thigh as he raises your leg.

“First time.” You croak drunkenly.

Dominik is eating it up, you can feel it in the teeth that scrape on your back of your neck. He provides one last bit of torture since it’s all he can take, cock digging through your ruins.

Your stomach sinks in and he presses a hand to it, swearing filthily in his native tongue at his ability to feel his dick when he enters you again. A fresh wave of tears pool in the corner of your eyes.

‘too good, Dom…

I‘m so close…

You tremble at the thought, both afraid and relieved that the end is near. His plump lips kiss along your hairline as he takes a firm grip of your hips in both hands. It’s a pleasure to learn that he becomes more vocal the nearer he gets to release.

His tone is gorgeous - a higher tenor, yet still on the grittier side. Throaty, like a singer whose voice is going raw from emotion. You hold your breath to listen and drink his noises in fully, barely holding on for a few seconds at a time with how he’s driving into your pussy.

“Ah- fuckfuckbaby-“

Dominik pulls out in time to cum over your stomach, his tongue twisting with praise. You grab his hand and lace your fingers in his. With them conjoined, you bring them to your lips, sucking on his protruding veins.

“Was it worth the wait?” You whisper.

“Oh, édesem,” Dominik sighs. “Megőrülök érte…“

You’re about to tell him you feel crazy about him too when the elevator dings.

A measly scrap in the form of his shirt is grabbed to drape pathetically over you two just in time for it to open. There’s no one inside, but your shorts are neatly folded on top of a covered tray.

Dominik gathers it all while you rise to your feet, joining him at his kitchen island. Under the cover sits a huge plate of fresh fries and condiments, and a note that reads:

Welcome to Liverpool, Mr. Szoboszlai!

(p.s. these are for the lucky lady x)

#dominik szoboszlai #dominik szoboszlai x reader #dominik szoboszlai x yn

65 notes · View notes

wanderguidehub · 10 months

Text

Backpacking in the Winter: Ultimate Guide for Cold Weather Adventures

‍ Are you ready to elevate your backpacking in winter adventures? Cold weather backpacking offers a thrilling and challenging experience that allows you to test your skills in extreme conditions. While backpacking in cold weather may be more demanding than in the summer, the rewards are unparalleled. The breathtaking winter landscapes and the sense of solitude make it all worthwhile. In this…

View On WordPress

#cold weather backpacking #gear essentials #safety measures #winter camping #winter hiking

0 notes

lanzamoony · 8 months

Text

HUGS! (ft. Kirby characters) pt.1

(Not proofread) Kirby

He's my baby, He's our baby. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

He'll be more than happy to hug you if he knows you. After all, (almost) everyone is his friend!

He'll make happy sounds, and will ask you to hold him.

May or may not fall asleep in your arms...

He doesn't need a reason, he's just made of love <3

But if I had to write about any situation... it'd be this:

You had a rough day, Meta Knight's hard training lessons, Dedede's nagging, and various things that just drained your energy. You were in the beach, looking at the sea as your thought started to fill your mind. If only you could mute your consciousness...

What you didn't notice, however, was the small heroe next to you, who let out a concerned "poyo?" At the sight of a sad friend.

You didn't notice him run away either, but you did saw him running back to you with some apples. He sat next to you and gave you one of them happily, as if he were trying to cheer you up. He listened to your problems, and even if he didn't understand some of them, he comforted you as best as he could.

You two saw the sunset begin, and he jumped in your arms. It was int that moment that you realize that you'll always have a friend who's willing to listen to you, no matter what. Although he may fall asleep in your arms after that, like what was happening at the moment.

Meta knight

No. At least, not without asking for permission.

Let's be honest, he's a cold knight and even if he cares for his friends he's not a fan of physical contact.

So it takes a lot, A LOT of hard work to get him to trust you. Many battles and long training sessions, nights of talking and insufferable scolding during hikes.

He does that because he cares for your safety, but you're still a stranger to him. Though, your resilience and kindness have surprised this stoic knight.

Seeing you work hard and smile everyday was suspicious, not many are able to pass his training...

But one day, he saw you crying in your quarters out of exhaustion. He felt... guilty.

So he decided to set his ego to the side and apologize.

Try to imagine the expression under his mask when you told him you just wanted to make him proud because you didn't feel like you belonged to dreamland. :(

He hugged you. It was akward, yes, but it's the thought that matters. He feels bad for you, after all.

Meta had the great Idea of asking you to meet up for lunch the next day, to get to know eachother.

King Dedede

In his defense, he was very cold.

Winter in Dreamland, a strange sight but always welcomed by the most playful ones.

You came to Dreamland not too long ago, and the self-claimed king has hated you ever since. I mean, getting back at him for his insults is so unfair....! (Cue him throwing a fit at poor escargoon because you always manage to see him coming at you with a new scheme to ruin your day)

So when he saw you giving away sweet, hot chocolate to people in the town, he became furious (He wanted you to offer him hot chocolate too). He got closer to throw subtle comments about your chocolate not being tasty, and it ended up in a snowball fight.

What he didn't expect, was you covering him completely in snow.

It seems like Meta knight's training was worth it, after all.

This all leads us to the current situation: him having catched a cold and staying in your guest room at the castle. "It was your fault, you take care of him" (Escargoon's words).

He looked at your figure entering the bedroom with some (burning hot) soup and a cup, not really being in the mood to take medicine. You had to practically force him to finish the soup, but there were no problems when he realized the mysterious cup was filled with your hot chocolate.

After that, when the tiredness started to kick in, you decided it was a good moment to get to know him. Turns out he's not that bad, he's just... lonely. And traumatized (For everything that happens to him in the games).

You were about to go away, but he stopped you. You were about to ask why, when he sat up amd wrapped his arms around you. "Please" was the only thing he said. You really couldn't say no, huh?

You may have gotten a cold last night, but hey, at least you don't have a tyrant making your life impossible everyday! Now, you just have a whiny penguin nagging you with his schemes and plans. If you already understood Escargoon's suffering, now you two bond over it. Waddle Dee's

MY BABIES

It was an average friday. You used to watch movies every friday night before coming to Dreamland, and it didn't change since there were TV's here too.

You put on whatever movie you could find, grabbed some snacks, a blanket, and sat on the couch. Everything was normal, until you heard a soft knock on the door. It was Bandana Waddle Dee, who came to see if you were doing alright. You cpuld tell he was happy when you offered him to sit next to you.

You talked to him through the entire movie, sharing the snacks and the blankets, carrying him to his quarters when he fell asleep. (He's so pure I can't-)

He came back the next friday, and the next, but that time he brought two other Waddle Dee's with him, claiming that they were following him. Fortunately, you had more that enough snacks for everyone.

But as weeks passed, your room started to get more crowded, to the point that you had to improvise a projector in the gardens and organise the snack and blankets/pillows situation.

By the time two months had passed, and you moved to the plaza (people like Dedede, Escargoon or Meta Knight may be in the crowd, but disguised or hidden, trying not to be suspicious they are).

However, you'll always be surrounded by a pile of happy Waddle Dee's, with any lucky one sleeping in your arms. It's safe to say that they absolutely adore you.

Me writing the day before an exam bc I'm just that awesome (The anxiety creature is whispering in my ear)-

Ok first of all, I want to let you know that I'm aware that you can't catch a cold for not wearing a coat or being cold, it's just series/games/fanfic logic. I just feel the need to clarify this..

So yeah

I'm tired. (Zzz)

I wanted to be Susie in life but I feel like I'm slowly turning into Escargoon-

Anyways have a good day/night!

#Kirby #Kirby characters x reader #Meta knight #Meta knight x reader #king dedede #King Dedede x reader #waddle dee #bandana waddle dee #Yes #here have this #Good night pookie

87 notes · View notes

alexabadigear · 2 years

Text

Danish Endurance Hiking Socks Merino Wool

These Danish Endurance Hiking Socks are the perfect choice for hiking, trekking, walking, backpacking, and traveling during fall, winter, spring and summer and they are also an ideal everyday sock in the cold season. Their exclusive merino wool blend assures thermal insulation for your feet, keeping them fresh and cool in the summer, and dry and warm in the winter. The Hiking Socks have targeted ventilation zones, which will allow a constant airflow and the best support for your feet.

Wanna read more, Click here.

#hiking #hiking socks #socks #summer #travel #traveling #hiking boots #boots socks #safety #winter

0 notes

mountrainiernps · 4 months

Text

All winter long, many trails in the national park have slumbered under feet and feet of snow.

Storms lashed with fury and then moved on.

Winds both roared like lions and breezed gentle zephyrs.

Snow, rain, graupel, slush, sleet and frost. Each graced the land and are now melting, feeding the plants and filling the creeks.

And now, as the snow leaves, people want to hike.

Before you go, prepare your backpack, get the latest intel from rangers at the visitor center, and be ready for some challenges.

Challenges like trees down, bridges down, bridges inconveniently relocated, and trail washouts. These things abound until our Trail Crews have time and access to get out to the many trails in the park. Until then, be careful. Remember the most important thing is to return home at the end of the day.

For more on hiking safety, please start with this link https://www.nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/hiking-safety.htm For more info on the 10 Essentials, this website can help https://www.nps.gov/articles/10essentials.htm

These photos are from years past and do not reflect current conditions. NPS/Montgomery Photo. 4 foot diameter tree trunk in a slide across the Wonderland trail. NPS/Montgomery Photo. Moraine Park trail log bridge smashed by winter snow and in need of replacement. NPS/Yogev Photo. Trees blown over by storms damaging bridge and Trail of Shadows. March 2024. NPS/Montgomery Photo. Trail crew working on constructing new log bridge for Carbon River crossing.

#mount rainier national park #mount rainier #trails #trail crew #spring #hike #national parks

34 notes · View notes

carnivorousyandeere · 1 year

Text

Kept By The Pack

CW: details of you getting kidnapped, fear, violence, mention of animal death

This one doesn’t go into individual details of meeting each werewolf, or their individual personalities just yet. Only one is named so far.

You’d ventured out on your own to a popular, heavily forested hiking area, staying at a beautiful and absurdly cheap lodge. The employees had all been wonderfully friendly, and the weather was beautiful. You just couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched wherever you went, indoors and out… and the employees were maybe just a little too friendly. You started to wonder if you’d stumbled into a yellow-deli situation, but they didn’t seem to share a cohesive religious or philosophical worldview.

The real problems didn’t start until it was time to leave. First, your rental car’s engine gave out. Then, the internet went down… and without good cell service up in the mountains, you couldn’t exactly call to let anyone know what had happened.

You went to the front desk for help, of course, even if the employees made you a little uneasy. Luckily it was Hunter behind the counter. The calm and collected butch was at least one of the ones you felt more comfortable around. He promised that he would call somebody to take a look at your car, and calmed your anxieties about leaving soon.

The weekend went by, with nobody coming to fix your car. You even tried to hitch a ride with other vacationers, but nobody would take you up on it. Stranger danger, and all. You watched each person and group leave, one by one, dread slowly growing with each departure, until you were the only guest left.

Without the chatter of other guests, the lodge felt absurdly empty. You found yourself jumping at every noise, goosebumps prickling at you. It was impossible to sleep that night. Eventually, fed up with the circumstances and the lack of help from the lodge’s staff, you resolved to make your way back to the main town yourself. You packed what you could into your hiking bag and left the rest there.

You snuck out as carefully and quietly as you could, knowing that if anybody caught you, they would try to convince you to at least stay until sunrise. The forest was dangerous at night. You couldn’t rationalize why, but you felt the risk was worth it as opposed to staying at the lodge any longer.

As you walked, you thought more about your stay. The employees hadn’t done anything to hurt or scare you outright. You wondered if maybe you’d hallucinated the weird aura between them, the looks they gave you…

But it didn’t matter now. You were already on the side of the road, surrounded by giant trees on either side. All you had to do was just follow the road that few miles to town. Then you could get a new rental car, drive away, and never think about this for the rest of your life.

Then again, maybe this would make an interesting story to tell your friends. Or your therapist; they were probably the best person to ask about this whole ordeal. Maybe you could even write an article about it for a travel website.

The nighttime air was humid and windy, alternating between sticky springtime warmth and cool gusts leftover from winter, driven by the moon. A twig snapped in the forest nearby.

You took a deep breath, heart pounding already. It probably wasn’t anything major. Just a squirrel, or a bird… still, you reached into your pocket and grabbed your bear spray, pulling it out and feeling the weight of it in your hand.

You didn’t even have time to calm your heart, or flick the safety switch on the spray, before you were pinned facedown in the gravel beside the road. Head ringing from the impact, and scraped up, you laid still in shock for a moment. The bear spray clattered away uselessly.

“Don’t move,” a voice growled near your ear.

You started thrashing. Grabbing at the dirt, kicking wildly, whatever you could do. The person— the beast— flipped you over and held you down by the wrists and throat with clawed hands. You gurgled angrily, still trying to knee them, but the oxygen deprivation was too much.

They bared their teeth at you, sharp and glinting in the low light. The hold around your neck loosened ever so slightly, letting you gasp and cough. “I respect the fighting spirit, pup, but it’s time to give up. You’re no match for us.”

Your panicked eyes flicked to the tree line, where more animals emerged from the tree line to circle you. The adrenaline gave you one more rush— you growled and spit at the one holding you down. “Playing with your food like this is stupid. If you’re going to eat me, just fucking do it already.”

The wolf(?) above you looked surprised, and one or two of the others snickered.

Another voice chimed in, “Bold words for a pinned rabbit. Not our fault you’re so fun to play with… I think we’ll keep you around a little longer.” Another clawed hand grabbed your chin and forced a few pills in your mouth.

You tried to spit them out, but they held one hand over your mouth and pinched your nose with the other, with the first monster still holding you by the neck. You had no choice but to swallow, and the hands retreated from your face.

The white wolf stroked your neck gently, as if to praise you for doing what they wanted. Your head clouded too fast, with the pills kicking in and adrenaline wearing off. The wolf stood on its back legs and slung you over its shoulder.

Distantly you felt the scrapes and bruises throbbing, and heard the wolves chatting amicably with one another as they brought you back up the road, away from the rest of civilization. Dizzily, you watched the sun rise over the hills and trees. You hadn’t even been close enough to see the skyline of the town.

~~~

You woke with a dry mouth and pounding headache, body uncomfortably warm. You tried to push off the heavy fur blankets, but— it wasn’t a blanket at all. Of course not. Of course, with your luck, the monsters were right there, piled on top of you and each other.

You were too tired to panic, and your thoughts flicked from once place to another lightly, as if you weren’t afraid you were going to be tortured or die soon. They were still playing with you, like a cat cuddling a mouse it intends to kill later, weren’t they?

You stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing over the lighting fixture and paint details. You were back at the lodge… and the wolf that pinned you had the same hair, and eyes, and quality of voice as Hunter.

Werewolves. Of course. It all made sense now, you thought deliriously. Monsters that you loved reading about happened to be fucking goddamn real. You’d be thrilled if you thought you were going to live.

Werewolves… yes, the pieces began falling in place. They weren’t a cult, per-se, but a pack. Belatedly, you thought it would’ve made an interesting anthropological study topic… if they hadn’t fucking kidnapped you. The absurdity of it all…

One of the wolves at the edge of the pile snuffled, and began kicking as they chased rabbits in their dream.

#werewolf pack #my thoughts #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere cw #yandere werewolf #oc Hunter

353 notes · View notes