#Women's Hiking Boots

[adventuregeartech]

Essential Accessories for Mountain Biking: Gear Up for Your Ride

Are you an adventure outdoor enthusiast looking to elevate your mountain biking experience? Whether you’re a seasoned rider or just getting started, having the right mountain bike accessories can make all the difference. From safety gear to gadgets that enhance performance, these accessories are essential to enjoy your ride while staying prepared for any situation fully. 

This guide will explore the must-have mountain bike accessories every rider should consider. Whether planning a leisurely trail ride or tackling rugged terrain, these items will ensure you’re equipped for whatever lies ahead. Let’s dive into the essentials that will boost your confidence on the trails and enhance your overall biking experience.

Helmets: Your First Line of Defense

Regarding mountain biking, safety should always be a top priority. The most critical gear you can invest in is a high-quality helmet. But not just any helmet will do; you need one specifically designed for mountain biking.

Why a Mountain Bike Helmet?

Mountain bike helmets differ from road bike helmets in a few key ways. They offer more coverage, particularly at the back of the head, which is crucial when navigating rough trails. These helmets also have better ventilation and are often equipped with visors to protect your eyes from the sun, rain, or mud.

Wearing a helmet is non-negotiable. It’s not just about following the rules but protecting your head from serious injuries. Look for helmets with MIPS (Multi-directional Impact Protection System) technology, which provides extra protection against rotational forces during a fall, giving you a sense of security on the trails.

Top Helmet Brands for Mountain Bikers

Bell: Known for its rugged construction and advanced safety features, Bell helmets are a favorite among mountain bikers. 

Giro: Combining style with functionality, Giro offers helmets that are lightweight yet sturdy, perfect for long rides.

POC: POC helmets are renowned for their innovative designs and safety features, making them a top choice for serious riders.

Protective Gear: Armor Up for the Adventure

In addition to a helmet, several other pieces of protective gear can help prevent injuries while mountain biking. Each piece of gear serves a specific purpose, ensuring you’re covered from head to toe.

Body Armor and Pads

Mountain biking can be unpredictable, and falls are inevitable, especially when pushing your limits on challenging trails. This is where body armor comes in. Elbow pads, knee pads, and chest protectors can significantly reduce the impact of a fall and help you avoid scrapes, bruises, or more severe injuries.

Knee and Elbow Pads: These pads should be lightweight, breathable, and comfortable so they don’t hinder your movement. Brands like Fox Racing and G-Form offer excellent options.

Chest Protectors: For those tackling particularly rough trails, a chest protector can shield you from hard impacts, especially in areas with lots of rocks or roots.

Gloves and Eyewear

Remember to consider the importance of gloves and eyewear. Mountain bike accessories like these enhance your comfort, grip, and visibility.

Gloves: Look for gloves with padded palms to absorb shock and reduce hand fatigue. Full-finger gloves are preferred for better protection.

Eyewear: Goggles or sunglasses with interchangeable lenses are ideal. They protect your eyes from dust, debris, and harmful UV rays while allowing you to adapt to varying light conditions.

Hydration Systems: Stay Fueled and Hydrated

Long rides on challenging trails can quickly deplete your energy reserves. Staying hydrated is crucial; carrying enough water is essential for maintaining performance and avoiding dehydration.

Hydration Packs vs. Water Bottles

Regarding hydration, you have two main options: hydration packs or water bottles. Both have pros and cons, and the choice often depends on the length and intensity of your ride.

Hydration Packs: These are backpacks equipped with a bladder that holds a significant amount of water (usually 2-3 liters). They’re perfect for long rides, allowing you to drink hands-free via a tube. Brands like CamelBak and Osprey are well-known for their durable and comfortable hydration packs.

Water Bottles: For shorter rides, a water bottle may be sufficient. Look for bottles with easy-to-use lids that can be operated with one hand while riding. Insulated bottles can also keep your water cool during hot rides.

Nutrition on the Go

In addition to staying hydrated, it’s important to keep your energy levels up. Energy bars, gels, and trail mix are easy to carry and can provide a quick boost during your ride. Consider stashing a few snacks in your hydration pack or bike-mounted bag.

Tools and Repair Kits: Be Your Mechanic

When you’re out on the trails, the last thing you want is to be stranded due to a mechanical issue. Carrying the right tools and repair kits can save you from a long walk back to your car or, worse, being stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Essential Tools to Carry

Every mountain biker should have a basic tool kit with key items. These tools can help you make quick adjustments or repairs, ensuring you can continue your ride. 

Multi-Tool: A good multi-tool should include a variety of Allen wrenches, a chain breaker, screwdrivers, and other essential tools. Brands like Crankbrothers offer compact and durable options that are easy to carry. 

Tire Repair Kit: Flat tires are one of the most common issues on the trail. Carry a patch kit, tire levers, and a mini pump or CO2 inflator to fix flats quickly.

Spare Parts and Extras

In addition to tools, it’s wise to carry a few spare parts. A spare tube, extra chain links, and even a derailleur hanger can be lifesavers when you’re miles away from the nearest bike shop, giving you reassurance and confidence in your preparedness.

Tubes: Always carry at least one spare tube that fits your tire size. Even if you have tubeless tires, a spare tube can be a quick fix if you can’t repair a puncture.

Derailleur Hanger: These small, inexpensive parts are prone to bending or breaking but are crucial for your bike’s shifting performance. A spare derailleur hanger is easy to carry and can save your ride.

Lights and Visibility: Brighten Up Your Ride

Whether you’re riding at dawn, dusk, or during the night, having proper lighting is essential for your safety. Lights not only help you see but also ensure that you’re visible to others on the trail.

Front and Rear Lights

Your bike should be equipped with both front and rear lights. The front light illuminates the trail ahead, while the rear light ensures that other riders or vehicles can see you from behind. 

Front Lights: Look for powerful LED lights with multiple brightness settings. Rechargeable lights are more convenient and eco-friendly. Brands like Lezyne and NiteRider offer excellent options with long battery life and high lumens. 

Rear Lights: Rear lights are typically smaller and less powerful than front lights, but they are just as important. Flashing modes can help increase your visibility, especially in low-light conditions.

Reflective Gear

In addition to lights, consider wearing reflective gear or adding reflective tape to your bike. Reflective clothing, stickers, and ankle bands can make a huge difference in your visibility to others.

GPS and Navigation: Never Lose Your Way

A reliable GPS or navigation system can prevent you from getting lost when exploring new trails or venturing into remote areas. Modern GPS devices offer more than just directions; they provide valuable data on your ride, such as distance, speed, and elevation.

GPS Devices for Mountain Bikers

There are several GPS devices designed specifically for mountain biking. These devices are rugged and waterproof, often with preloaded trail maps. 

Garmin Edge Series: Garmin is a leader in GPS technology, and its Edge series is popular among mountain bikers. These devices offer detailed maps, turn-by-turn navigation, and the ability to track your performance metrics. 

Wahoo ELEMNT: Another great option, the Wahoo ELEMNT series offers easy-to-read displays, customizable data screens, and seamless integration with other cycling apps.

Smartphone Apps

If you prefer to use your smartphone for navigation, several apps are designed for mountain biking. Apps like Trailforks and Komoot offer detailed trail maps, user reviews, and offline navigation, making them excellent tools for planning and tracking your rides.

Conclusion

Mountain biking is an exhilarating sport that combines the thrill of adventure with the beauty of the great outdoors. By equipping yourself with the right mountain bike accessories, you can enhance your riding experience and stay prepared for anything that comes your way. From helmets and protective gear to hydration systems and GPS devices, these essentials are designed to keep you safe, comfortable, and confident on the trails.

So, whether you’re an adventure outdoor enthusiast or a beginner just starting, remember to gear up with the best accessories. With the right equipment, you can focus on enjoying the ride and exploring new trails. Happy riding! For more mountain bike accessories and gear recommendations, visit Adventure Gear Tech.

[shswank]

Joe Boxer Hiking Boots l Size 7

Joe Boxer Hiking Boots: These cool hiking boots feature a wool gray fabric, lace up front, contrasting quilted faux leather trim on the shaft.

Size: 7

Color: Gray, black.

Material: Wool, PU, manmade material.

Condition: Pre-owned, there is some minor scuffs/wear on the heels and toes. Otherwise in excellent condition!

SKU 18rh

[sweetdreamspootypie]

The piercers keep reminding and recommending that I don't sleep on my side for at least another 3 months

But (to use the Tumblr phrase) I sleep like a rotisserie chicken

They suggest using like an airplane travel pillow thing but I still can't really see how that will help

We've managed to save the helix pericing but the lobe one healed over in like. Less than 12 hours. So I have to wait a couple weeks to heal fully and then repierce and start from scratch on that one.

[hikercarl]

Top 10 Best Hiking Boots for Every Terrain

Discover the top 10 best hiking boots for conquering any trail. From waterproof to lightweight options, find your perfect match for comfort and durability on every adventure.

Hiking boots are key for your comfort and performance on the trail. Today, we favor lighter materials that still support well. Waterproof boots are now the top choice. After testing many models, we’ve picked the top best hiking boots for you. These boots are sorted into three types: light for day hikes, midweight for backpacking, and heavy for tough terrain. Key Takeaways Hiking boot prices…

[hiking-shoes30]

Step Up Your Adventure: A Guide to Finding the Perfect Hiking Shoes

Ah, hiking! The feeling of fresh air on your face, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and the stunning scenery that unfolds with every step. But before you embark on your next outdoor adventure, there's one crucial piece of equipment you need: the right pair of hiking shoes.

Try this product Hiking Shoes

Think of your hiking shoes as trusty companions. They'll carry you over rugged terrain, support your ankles on uneven paths, and keep your feet comfortable for miles to come. But with so many options on the market, choosing the perfect pair can feel overwhelming. Fear not, fellow adventurer! This guide will equip you with the knowledge to find the ideal hiking shoes for your unique needs and terrain.

Know Your Terrain:

Imagine yourself scaling a rocky mountain peak, traversing a muddy forest trail, or leisurely strolling through a national park. Each environment demands different features in a hiking shoe. Here's a breakdown for common hiking terrains:

Day Hiking & Light Trails: For well-maintained paths and gentle inclines, prioritize comfort and breathability. Lightweight hiking shoes with good traction are ideal.

Moderate Hiking & Uneven Terrain: Hitting the trails with steeper slopes and loose rocks? Look for sturdier hiking boots with ankle support and aggressive treads for better grip.

Backpacking & Rugged Terrain: Carrying a heavy backpack calls for maximum support and stability. Choose high-ankle hiking boots with waterproof materials and exceptional traction for challenging terrain.

Comfort is King (and Queen):

Hiking is supposed to be enjoyable, not a test of your endurance. Here's how to ensure your shoes feel great from the first step:

Fit: This is paramount! Your shoes shouldn't be too tight or too loose. Allow enough room for your toes to wiggle and for slight swelling on longer hikes.

Break-in Period: Don't underestimate the power of a good break-in period. Wear your new shoes for short walks around town before hitting the trails.

Cushioning: Your feet will thank you for ample cushioning. Look for shoes with good shock absorption, especially for longer hikes with significant elevation gain.

Features for Every Foot:

Hiking shoes come with a variety of features that cater to specific needs:

Waterproof Membranes: For wet or muddy conditions, a waterproof membrane like Gore-Tex® keeps your feet dry and comfortable.

Breathable Materials: These allow moisture to escape, keeping your feet cool and preventing blisters. Mesh panels are often found in hiking shoes for breathability.

Shank Support: A shank is a stabilizing plate inserted between the midsole and outsole. It provides additional support and helps prevent fatigue on long hikes.

Ankle Support: High-ankle boots offer more stability and protect your ankles on uneven terrain. Opt for mid-ankle boots for a good balance of support and flexibility on moderate trails.

Traction: This is crucial for preventing slips and falls. Look for aggressive treads with deep lugs for better grip on different surfaces.

Beyond the Basics:

Now that you've grasped the essentials, let's delve into some additional considerations:

Weather Conditions: Will you be hiking in hot, cold, or rainy weather? Choose shoes with appropriate insulation or breathability based on the expected climate.

Weight: For long-distance hikes or backpacking, lighter shoes make a big difference.

Personal Style: While function is key, don't discount aesthetics! Many hiking shoes come in stylish colors and designs that complement your outdoor spirit.

Remember:

Invest in Quality: Hiking shoes are an investment in your comfort and safety. Opt for a well-respected brand that offers durable and reliable footwear.

Seek Expert Advice: Don't hesitate to visit a reputable outdoor store and talk to a knowledgeable salesperson. They can assess your needs and recommend the perfect shoes for your next adventure.

Bonus Tip: Take care of your hiking shoes! After each use, clean them thoroughly with a damp cloth and allow them to dry completely. This will extend their lifespan and keep them performing their best.

With the right pair of hiking shoes by your side, you're ready to conquer any trail and explore the breathtaking beauty of the outdoors. So, lace up, step out, and create unforgettable memories on your next hiking adventure!

[northwestterritory]

Women's Leather Walking Waterproof Boots: The Perfect Blend of Style and Functionality

When it comes to footwear that seamlessly combines style, comfort, and durability, women's leather walking waterproof boots stand out as a top choice. These boots are not just a fashion statement but a practical solution for those who love to explore the outdoors, no matter the weather. In this blog post, we'll delve into the features that make these boots a must-have for every woman's wardrobe, as well as some tips on how to pair them with the right accessories.

Why Choose Women's Leather Walking Waterproof Boots?

1. Durability and Longevity

One of the most compelling reasons to invest in women's leather walking waterproof boots is their durability. Leather is a material known for its strength and resilience, making it perfect for footwear that will be subjected to various outdoor conditions. Whether you're walking on rocky trails or navigating wet terrain, these boots are designed to last.

2. Waterproof Protection

The waterproof feature of these boots is a game-changer for outdoor enthusiasts. No longer do you have to worry about getting your feet wet when crossing streams or walking through puddles. The waterproof lining ensures that your feet stay dry and comfortable, allowing you to enjoy your outdoor adventures without any discomfort.

3. Comfort and Support

Comfort is paramount when it comes to walking boots, and women's leather walking waterproof boots do not disappoint. With cushioned insoles and supportive midsoles, these boots provide the comfort and support your feet need for long walks or hikes. The premium leather molds to the shape of your feet over time, ensuring a personalized fit that is both comfortable and supportive.

Styling Your Women's Leather Walking Waterproof Boots

Pairing your boots with the right outfit can elevate your look and make you feel confident and stylish. Here are some outfit ideas to inspire you:

Casual Chic: Pair your boots with skinny jeans, a cozy sweater, and a chunky scarf for a casual yet chic look perfect for weekend outings or coffee dates.

Outdoor Adventure: Opt for breathable hiking pants, a moisture-wicking top, and a lightweight jacket to complement your boots when you're hitting the trails.

City Explorer: For a day of exploring the city, pair your boots with a flowy midi skirt, a fitted top, and a stylish backpack for a trendy and comfortable outfit.

Accessorizing with Men's Hiking and Walking Socks

While the focus is often on the boots, the importance of good quality socks should not be overlooked. Men's hiking and walking socks play a crucial role in ensuring comfort and preventing blisters, especially during long walks or hikes.

Features to Look for in Hiking Socks:

Moisture-Wicking: Opt for socks made from materials like merino wool or synthetic blends that wick moisture away from the skin, keeping your feet dry and comfortable.

Cushioning: Look for socks with extra cushioning in high-impact areas like the heel and ball of the foot to provide added comfort and support.

Breathability: Choose socks with breathable mesh panels or ventilation channels to promote air circulation and keep your feet cool.

Pairing Hiking Boots with the Right Socks

Choosing the right socks to pair with your hiking boots can make a significant difference in your comfort level. Here's how to match them effectively:

For Warm Weather: Opt for lightweight, breathable socks that offer moisture-wicking properties to keep your feet cool and dry.

For Cold Weather: Choose insulating socks made from merino wool or synthetic blends to keep your feet warm and cozy in colder temperatures.

For Long Hikes: Consider compression socks that offer graduated compression to improve circulation and reduce fatigue during long hikes.

Conclusion

Women's leather walking waterproof boots are a versatile and functional footwear option that offers durability, waterproof protection, and comfort. Whether you're exploring the great outdoors or navigating the city streets, these boots are sure to keep your feet happy and stylish.

Pairing your boots with high-quality men's hiking and walking socks can further enhance your comfort and support, ensuring that you're ready for any adventure that comes your way.

So, why wait? Invest in a pair of women's leather walking waterproof boots and men's hiking and walking socks today and step out in style and confidence on your next outdoor excursion!

[haddassah]

The call of the wild beckons, and for outdoor enthusiasts, the correct pair of hiking boots can make all the difference in conquering varied terrains. Having the correct footwear is vital for mounting rough mountain climbs, navigating muddy paths, or exploring dense forests. This tutorial will go over the important characteristics and factors for selecting men’s hiking boots that are suitable for a variety of terrains.

[globaltravelnews]

10 Of the Best Women's Hiking Boots That Will Keep You Safe and Comfortable

Regarding outdoor apparel, few items are more important than a good pair of hiking boots. Hiking boots are designed to protect your feet and ankles from the elements and provide traction on uneven terrain. They are an essential piece of gear for any hiker, no matter their experience level. There are a lot of different factors to consider when choosing the right pair of hiking boots, such as fit,…

[nyctophiliq]

Wanted to know your take on Valo women reacting to fem reader wearing their clothes! Can be nsfw or sfw! Whatever you’re more comfortable with, was hoping for skye, sage, and fade (anyone else if you’d like)! If that’s too many the first too would be appreciated!

✮ ┆ WEARING THEIR CLOTHES. skye, sage, fade, viper, deadlock

based on the request above. CONTENT WARNING.           18+ only, minors dni. SUGGESTIVE/SFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; female-bodied reader, stealing clothes, suggestive touches/dialogues,  | ~1k words A/N.                   i don’t normally write for skye but writing this might have just made me put her up on the list guys, i love her <3 anyways, hope you guys liked it, and thank you for reading! apologize for the long wait...

SKYE.

hiking with skye was always something to look forward to, even if one or both of you kept tripping over the fallen branches of the trees. you were waiting for kirra on top of a hill, sitting the the cool grass while keeping your bags safe, waiting for her to get back from whatever it was she wanted to check out at the end of the trail. you felt a shiver run through you, and remembered that you didn’t pack an extra sweater for yourself, you peeked into kirra’s bag to take the one she probably had. you just about pulled it over your figure when you heard skye’s bulky boots approaching. she gaped, her eyes widened and lips parted softly in surprise. “look at you all cozy.” she grinned eagerly, sitting down next to you and taking a good look at you in her sweater. “got a little chilly sitting and waiting, sorry.” you murmur as you lay your head on her shoulder, looping your arm with hers. kirra just chuckles contently, her free hand coming up to caress your cheek while placing a kiss on top of your head. “you look like eye candy, we must pick some more out for you back at base.”

SAGE.

even the protocol had to have a bouge, fancy, get together sometimes to keep morale up and at least have the sense of a normal life. with some important papers to hand in tonight, you had to be late for the party and in the middle of all of it, you forgot to pick out what to wear. hoping that sage would have some idea what to put on you ran to her room, but there was no sign of her anywhere. looking down at your watch there wasn’t much else for you to do but grab one of her dress shirts and run to the event. sage only notices that you have taken her shirt when some of the other agents point it out. “you’re late, bao bei.” she hums behind her champagne glass, taking a sip out of it and you don’t miss the way her eyes give a quick look over you before she puts the glass down on the counter, her pearly whites visible even in the dim lights. “paperwork kept me busy.” you sigh, watching her glide along the counter, letting little distance between the two of you, and hiding her face in the crook of your neck. “looks like i will be some overtime on you.”

FADE.

you knew that fade wasn’t too keen on sharing; she wouldn’t even let you take a sip from her morning coffee when you were too lazy to brew your own cup. which prompted her to when she went out to get a cup for herself, she also got one more for you. you just stepped out of the shower, stuck with the dirty shirt you brought with you or to take something from hazal’s wardrobe. you were gonna take your chances with her clothes and once you finally found a suitable shirt you got back into bed. a couple of seconds ago fade came back, a strange look on her face. “watcha looking at?” you ask, not realizing that her weird expression is all about the shirt- she moves one of her hands in front of her face, trying to hide her blush behind the mug. “doesn’t matter, not important.” she mumbles before climbing into bed next to you, offering you a mug which you gladly took. you feel her hand rest on your hip, fingers clutching the hem of the shirt before leaning to kiss your cheek. “you should keep it…” she hums, voice raspy, and you can feel the smile that pulls on her lips.

VIPER.

at first, you were scared to take a piece of clothing from sabine’s closet, firstly because you weren’t sure if she’d be okay with it, and secondly because when you first opened her closet the way it was so neat and organized scared you. the moment when she spots you in one of her shirts or cardigans she can hardly fight the smile tugging on the corner of her lips as she walks up to your side. you’re ready for her to complain when you realize, stammering out excuses of why you were wearing what’s hers and you are surprised how she grabs you by the neck of the clothes and pulls you to be face to face with her. “sabine!” you yelp in surprise. “you look… good enough to eat, darling.” she murmurs, in that smooth voice of hers that has your heart to pick up an extra beat, pushing her chest closer to yours. you roll your eyes a little at her words though, your hands climbing onto her shoulder to get a little space but she doesn’t let go so easily. her lips are running along your jaw, down your neck, a single finger pulling on the neck of the shirt you stole from her, and her teeth sink into your skin. “what am i gonna do with you now, hm?”

DEADLOCK.

that one green shirt that she always wore and loved so much, that was what you eyed yourself in the mirror. you couldn’t help but try it on, you were always curious what she liked so much about this shirt, why she had so many of it and you kind of understood- soft fabric, the nice stitching, and how the temperature felt just right around you. so lost in the technicalities of one shirt, you didn’t notice iselin stepping into the frame behind you. stammering something, you attempt to take the shirt off but the blonde stops you. “no, keep it on.” she hums, settling her around you, letting one finger trace under the fabric of the shirt, running along your tummy before she settles them on your hips, pulling you against herself. her lips brush against your ear, a featherlight kiss behind it before she talks again. “picks up your scent that way, i’d like that.”

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 12

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,760

A/N: I'm back! Therapy has been great, I'm feeling like myself and that I can breath again. It's been a tough year and ya girl's mind needed a restart, but I am back and doing good.

Also, hope this chapter can be a bit of escape with the election insanity this week. Take care of yourselves everyone! 💖

Dean squeezes his eyes shut as he rests against the door.

What the fuck are you doing? Is all that rings in his mind.

Here he is, with some random girl who's staying in his guest house, put there by his bitch of an ex wife, basically groping her while his mother is a room away. Like he’s seventeen again. 

Really and truly. What the fuck. Are. You. Doing?

Dean rubs an exasperated hand down his face, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes before his hands slap down against his sides. 

It’s the whiskey. He tells himself. Just the whiskey. 

It has nothing to do with your smile. Like when you lit up on the track when you found out Rick would be taking you racing in your dream car. 

Nor your smart ass remarks that always seem to be waiting behind those pretty lips of yours. Or how you drive him crazy in the best and worst ways. Like making him say “please” in the garage this afternoon. 

It definitely has nothing to do with the way you look at him, no longer with disdain, but more recently with shining Y/E/C eyes and something that makes him want to throw you against this damn door, his nose running down the delicate skin of your neck as he takes you in as his hands explore every part of you. 

It also doesn’t help how you react to him; like when he turned your manners game around on you in the garage, and your eyes lit up in a way that made him want to throw you across the hood of Baby and have his way with you. Then just now in the hallway, how you seemed to want this as much as he did. How you leaned into him at his touch, the feel of your curves everywhere as he held you against him.

Those god damn hips. 

Dean’s jaw tightens at the thought, his teeth grinding down as something besides his heart rate starts to rise. 

Fuck. His head falls back with a thud against the doorframe. 

Y/N is hardly the first woman he’s been attracted to since his separation from Lisa. Hell, in the beginning, women were what kept his mind off his imploded marriage. Benny had laughed that Dean was making up for lost time since he and Lisa had gotten together when they were so young, but in reality, Dean just hated coming home to an empty house every day. All he could think of was Lisa and Gavin in his house. In his bed.  

But Dean would be lying to himself if this was only attraction. Ever since their hike, he’s found himself looking towards your cabin everyday before work, hoping to catch a glance of you before he has to leave. When sitting at his empty dining table, he would think about texting you, or maybe even going over and knocking on the cabin door, envisioning interrupting your own meal and riling you up in the process. Watching that fire come alive in you set something alive in Dean. It was like a wildfire, and he was happily caught in its path. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that. Somehow, at some point, you had drawn him in, and god damn did he want more. So much more. 

And it’s not just your body he wants to get to know. He’s found himself wondering what your favorite color is, or what movies you like to watch. He wanted to know, besides him, what made you tick? What makes you happy?

Could I make her happy?

Dean shakes his head and toes his boots off, shaking his head, trying to rid his thoughts of you. He doesn’t want to think about that last question, because he knows the answer. 

And while he tries to focus on undressing, his body is not willing to let go of the idea of you just yet.  

He’s wound up, and god damnit did he need a release. 

He undoes his belt and reaches into his boxers, feeling himself strain against the fabric as he takes a deep breath. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut before pulling his hand out of his pants.

He shakes his head. He can’t do this. Not with you a wall away and his mother across the hall. He has some self respect. Not much, but he couldn’t sink as low as jerking off to you while you slept in his little brother’s room.

Sam.

And just like that, thinking of Sammy snaps him out of it. He relaxes with a deep breath, the tension finally beginning to fade away.

For extra measure, he pushes himself off the door and pulls it open, striding quickly down the hall to the unoccupied bathroom. He locks the door behind him and reaches into the shower and throws the water on. He drops his undone pants, letting them and his boxers pool around his feet before stepping out of them and throwing his sweater over his head before stepping into the shallow tub. 

He takes in a sharp breath as the cold spray of the shower meets his heated skin, his teeth clenched tight as he drowns himself under the stream as he works to think about anything but you.

Your eyes flutter open, a glimmer of the morning sun sneaking through the gaps of the curtained window. You take in a deep breath, flipping from your side to your back and sigh as you look up at the ceiling. 

Your mind is still reeling from last night; Dean’s hands holding you tight against him, his lips teasing your neck. 

You shut your eyes and swallow.

It was simultaneously one of the hottest and most frustrating things a man has ever done to you. Of course you had wished he had done a hell of a lot more, but the tease of it somehow made it that much more exciting. It made you wonder what else was in store for you. Just a sweet little taste of the possibilities that was Dean Winchester. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand beside you, and you shake off last night’s memories as you lean over to pick it up, the screen reading 9:52 with a few notifications beneath it.  

Shit. You quickly sit up. Normally, this would be a regular wakeup time for you on vacation or on the weekends, but you were a guest in someone’s home, and it felt incredibly rude to be up here sleeping while they were most likely downstairs waiting for you. 

As you scramble out of bed, the throb from last night’s wine is front and center in your head. You reach into your purse and throw back two Advil with a swash of water that you set out on your bedside last night before you throw on some fuzzy socks and a hoodie large enough to snuggle yourself into.

Before you reach for the door, you peek at yourself in the full-length mirror and grimace. You smooth down your hair and give it a fluff with your fingers before you reach into your makeup bag, dabbing on some concealer under your eyes and on a few of your red spots, with a light swipe of subtle blush on your cheeks before you deem you look good enough without looking like you’re trying.

You take a deep breath and open the door, taking in the quiet hallway and noticing both the doors to Mary and Dean’s rooms are ajar.

Fuck. You were at least hoping Dean might have also slept in after last night. But no such luck. 

You head down the stairs, your hand on the rail so you don’t slip in your socks before you wander into the kitchen. Mary is sitting at the table in front of the windows, one of her legs propped up and her head hidden by a book. Dean is hunched on a barstool at the island, a plate of food in front of him, currently being shoveled into his mouth, his usual caveman behavior, you’ve noticed, when it comes to food. 

“Morning,” you offer softly as you head over to the coffee maker, a half pot waiting for you. Mary had given you a tour of the kitchen while you cooked dinner last night, and you reach into the cabinet above the brewer and grab a light yellow ceramic mug and fill it about 3/4s of the way.

“Milk’s in the fridge.” Dean mumbles over the food in his mouth and you turn to face him fully. His eyes are cast down at a paper spread flat in front of him next to his breakfast. A smile you hadn’t intended falls at his lack of attention and you head over to the fridge, pouring until your coffee resembles the color of sand. Exactly how you liked it. 

“Want some coffee with that milk?” That deep voice rings out again, and this time when you look up, you’re met with Dean’s enchanting, forest eyes. Your heart skips a beat in your chest and you recap the milk before putting it away and closing the fridge door.

“Some of us enjoy flavor.” You smirk at him as you lean against the counter behind you, your hands wrapped tightly around the warmed mug, the kitchen cool in this March morning. 

“Milk doesn’t have flavor.” Dean grumbles, shoving a fork filled with eggs into his mouth. You frown at him. 

It’s like the tale of two Deans. The suave, sexy sweatered Dean who looks at you like he’ll throw you over your shoulder and make you scream until your voice is hoarse, and the pain-in-the-ass, mannerless idiot you’ve mostly grown accustomed to these last few weeks. 

Looks like you were getting the idiot this morning. You sigh at your own disappointment and swallow down your frown, wondering what that means about last night. 

When you don’t respond, Dean looks back to you, a question in his eyes. 

“There’s a plate for you in the oven.” Dean points his fork to said appliance. You turn your head, following the direction of his utensil-turned-compass.

“Oh,” your shoulders drop. “You didn’t have to save me a plate.” You feel your cheeks flush at the thought that they waited for you so long this morning that they had to keep a plate warm for you in the oven. 

“Oh don’t worry, Dean made it fresh.” Mary peeks out from behind her book for a quick second before disappearing again behind the cover. Dean drops his fork with a clank and shoots his mother a look, one she misses. 

You push off the counter and pad over to the oven. You pull open the door to find a blue ceramic plate.

No way.

You pull out the plate from the oven, the platter only slightly warm, and are greeted with two pancakes and a side of bacon. 

You quickly close the oven and turn on your heel facing Dean.

“You made me pancakes?” Your voice catches in your throat as you stare down at the fluffy buttermilk pancakes sitting poised on the plate. 

“Yeah, well, mom made eggs and I know your picky ass won’t eat those. Can’t have you starve before a big day.” Dean’s eyes met yours for only a moment before he shifts on the barstool and returns to his paper. 

You smile, even though Dean’s not looking at you anymore. You maneuver around the kitchen, grabbing a fork and knife before settling down at the island, a barstool between you and Dean.

You turn and look at him, his shapely jawline adorned with a devilish level of scruff.

“Thank you.” You say earnestly. This catches Dean’s attention, his gaze finding and holding yours long enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Don’t mention it.” He lingers on you for a moment longer before turning back to his paper and flipping a page. 

Your lips quirk but you try to not think too much on it as you begin digging in; the pancakes, buttery and full of vanilla, melting deliciously in your mouth. 

The rest of breakfast goes on in silence; Mary reading her book, Dean focused on the paper, and you left flipping through your phone since no one seemed interested in chatting. 

As you load up your dishes in the dishwasher, Dean folders his paper up and slaps it down on the counter before sitting up straight and crossing his arms as he stares you down.

“Think you can be ready in an hour?” Your face falls.

“More notice would have been nice, but yes, I can be ready in an hour.” 

“Good, cause we’re leaving in an hour.” You cross your arms, matching his stance.

“You don’t say.” Dean rolls his eyes at you and you huff. 

“Just go get ready.” He shakes his head, and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

Such a pain in the ass. A handsome pain with a handsome ass. But still a pain. 

“Fine. See you in an hour.”

Forty-seven minutes later, you’re showered, your hair is dried and curled into a soft wave, and you’re putting on the finishing touches of your makeup when there’s a soft knock on your door.

You peek at your watch.

“I still have thirteen minutes!” You call out. 

Dean really was pushing the boundaries today. And it was driving you crazy. 

He practically dry humps you last night, ignores you this morning, but makes you a delicious breakfast because he remembered you hate eggs. The man was impossible and it was starting to annoy you. And frustrate you, in a way you were not used to. You bite down on your lip.

“It’s just me.” Mary’s gentle voice calls back.

Shit. 

You drop your mascara into your makeup bag and push yourself off the floor and scurry to the door.

“Sorry about that,” you apologize as soon as Mary comes into view. “I assumed you were Dean.” You offer a half smile as Mary chuckles.

“It’s okay. Mind if I come in.” You step aside and open the door fully, allowing Mary to step in. 

“I just wanted to see if you need any help with your outfit.”

“My outfit?” Your brow furrows, and you look over to your bed where your black chunky sweater and jeans lay waiting for you. Mary’s eyes follow your line of sight. 

“I’m going to guess Dean didn’t give you a heads up, since men never think about these things, but these car shows tend to be on the dresser side.”

Fuck. No, Dean did not tell you that. Your jeans were the nicest thing you brought with you. 

“Yeah, he failed to mention that.” Now you stare at your outfit, anxiety flooding through you at the thought of sticking out for being underdressed. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Mary just smiles at you.

“Come with me.” She waves at you before heading out of the room, and like you’re told, you follow her, heading across the hall and into her bedroom.

The room is large and full of windows and natural light. The lake-chic theme of the downstairs continues through the primary bedroom, with white furniture, a canopy bed with a blue bedspread that matches the wainscot walls, and yellow accents throughout the room. On one of the dressers is a large, framed, selfie of Mary and John, which looks more recent than a lot of the pictures in the living room. Mary’s smile is bright as ever as John kisses her cheek, the two of them in heavy jackets and beanie hats, the hint of snow behind them. 

Mary continues through the room, stopping in a short hallway before disappearing through a doorway. 

“I’ve got a few options that will probably fit you.” Mary’s muffled voice carries through the open doorway before she steps back into view, several hangers in her hand. “You look to be about my size from twenty years ago. And luckily I’m terrible at throwing out old clothes.” She chuckles as she lays out her six options on the ombre comforter that probably matches the lake when it’s not frozen. 

They’re all a mix of dresses, different colors and styles, but the fifth from the end catches your eye.

“Ohh, how about that one.”

Dean taps his foot as he waits in the foyer, checking his watch again. It’s now been an hour and seven minutes since you went upstairs. 

“God dammit woman,” he mutters out in a sigh. 

He meant to tell you last night what time you had to be ready, but the two of you got a little preoccupied. Now he was paying for it by not giving you more of a heads up. 

He should have said something the moment you came downstairs this morning, but he wasn't ready to face you right at that moment. The dreams he had about you last night made it hard to look you in the eyes. And when he finally did, you looked absolutely beautiful, sleep still in your Y/E/C eyes and a glow in your cheeks. You looked like you belonged here, resting against the counter in his mother’s kitchen, cozied up in some giant hoodie and pajama pants with coffee-flavored milk in your hands. 

The floor above him creaks and he turns quickly on his heel, his face dropping with his mood when he sees who it is. 

“Is she ready yet?” Dean all but whines to his mother as she descends. Rather than answer him, she stops two steps from the bottom, standing slightly higher than her statuesque son, and smacks him right in the side of the head.

“Ow!” Dean’s hand jumps to where his mother landed her stinging blow. Not that there was much power behind her swat, but she hasn’t smacked him like this since he was a teenager. 

“What the hell was that for?” Dean bemoans with a grimace, cradling his head.

“Dean Michael Winchester.” Dean’s eyebrows furrow at his mother’s use of his full name.

This was not good.

“You didn’t think,” Mary takes another step down. “To one,” she raises a finger. “Tell her that the car show is cocktail attire.”

Shit. 

“And two.” The second finger goes up. “What time to be ready. So don’t you stand here with a puss face asking when she’s going to be ready.” Dean drops his hand at his mother’s scolding and rolls his eyes. 

He starts to shake his head when Mary’s hand makes contact again, the surprise sending Dean stumbling.

“OW!” Dean yells louder this time, more annoyed than actually hurt. With how much smaller Mary was compared to him, Dean doubted she could actually hurt him even if she really wanted to.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Dean.” Her voice is sharp as her grass-green eyes stare him down. 

“I’m sorry, fine.” Dean concedes. “I just didn’t think about it.” But Mary doesn’t break eye contact.

“She’ll be down in a few minutes.” Mary gives him one last pointed look before taking the final step down and disappearing into the living room. 

Dean watches her go before glancing back towards the empty staircase, sighing out his frustration and giving you a few more minutes of grace.

Three minutes and forty-two seconds later, Dean is leaning against the frame of the front door when the upstairs landing groans again.

Dean’s head whips in that direction as he pushes off the door, just in time to see you take the first step. You’re wearing the black heeled boots you had on yesterday, but it’s paired with a strapless beige dress, the edges trimmed in black with a matching belt wrapped tight around the gentle curve of your waist.

Without thinking, Dean lets out a low, impressed whistle, ignoring the pounding in his chest as he stands up just a little straighter. 

Your hair is down, styled off to one side, with the most makeup Dean has seen you in so far; with full, dark lashes, pink cheeks, and bright red lips, which Dean can’t seem to look away from.

Something else is starting to stand a little straighter too.

Dean clears his throat, and offers out a hand as you get to the last step.

“Thanks,” you reply gently before you drop his hand and head for the coat rack.

“You look nice.” Dean’s now taking in the view of you from the back, leaving little to the imagination like those workout pants did a few weeks ago as the dress seemed to hug your body perfectly. 

Damn. And here mom thought you weren’t prepared. 

You spin on your heel, one arm shimming into your jacket sleeve, your eyes as bright at your smile.

“Thanks.” You repeat. “The dress is your mom’s.” You smirk.

Dean’s mouth drops open as his stomach falls.

“Please don’t tell me that.” Dean groans. The last thing he needs to think about is his mom in that dress. The same dress he was just checking out your ass in.

You just quietly chuckle as your other arm flails for your second sleeve, just missing the opening.

Without a word, Dean steps closer, grabbing your jacket for you and holding it steady so you can slip your arm into. Once it’s in, Dean raises your jacket just a bit before resting it on your shoulders. 

You turn back to him with a smile of thanks, which he can’t help but return.

“Ready?” 

“Sure am.” 

Dean opens the front door for you and you step outside into the bracing afternoon air.

“Have fun, kids!” Mary’s voice travels behind the two of you as Dean steps outside and closes the door behind him. 

You take gentle steps across the driveway, avoiding the few patches of ice that are still lingering. This gives Dean the opening he needs to step in front of you, getting to the passenger door of the Impala about three steps ahead of you.

Without a word, he pulls open the door.

“Wow, getting the full gentleman treatment today, huh.” Your cheek dimples with your half smile as you lower yourself into the passenger seat. Dean smiles down at you.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” You chuckle as Dean gently shuts the door before heading around to the driver’s seat and hopping in.

With one last check of the mirrors, Dean backs out of the driveway, and the two of you were off. 

[bunnys-kisses]

Hi, may I have a beery trifle with champagne, delivered by Phillip Graves please? Thanks!

the bakery menu!

the bakery is still open with lots of delicious treats still available on the menu!

berry trifle ("wrong. try again.") + champagne (sugar daddy situation) and your server today will be phillip graves (call of duty!)

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, punishments (spanking) & rules, implied age gap, brat taming, naked woman/clothed man, couch sex, power dynamic

graves liked pretty things. he liked them young, dumb and full of cum. to toss some bills at their pretty faces and be on his way to the next pretty things.

but he liked you, he liked you a lot. normally he got tired of his toys and went in search of another one, but you stayed. you had even moved some of your things into his nice house in houston. mascara on the counter, body cream on the nightstand, you even had some of your favourite snacks in the cupboard.

you were almost wife material.

but he didn't want to get ahead of himself. you were still a fair bit younger than him. before he married you, he had to train the brat out of you. that was what he liked about you.

to an extent.

that was how you ended up in the position you were in.

it was sunny in july when you acted out, you and graves had gone into the city to do a little shopping. halfway through the trip you had gotten all pout-y because you didn't want to carry the shopping bags.

"if you buy them, darlin', you have to carry them." graves said as he pulled you towards him and kissed your cheek, "now stop poutin' or daddy is gonna be mad."

the pout never ceased, and soon after the whining started. now graves hated whiners, he didn't accept it with the shadows, he sure as hell wasn't going to accept it from a little girl who tasted like bubblegum.

he sighed and slung an arm around you. he tipped his sunglasses down, those beautiful eyes gazed at you. but his expression was stern, "behave."

you leaned up against him and said, "can you carry the bags?"

he shook his head, "i think i've been spoilin' you and little too much there, darlin'. i think it's time for a little bit of reform."

he thought that the idea of punishment would be enough to settle you down into the passive little kitten he knew you could be. but that wasn't the case, so something had to be done about it.

after you two got home, graves left the bags in the car and took you out of the car by your arm. you struggled to meet his stride. he was mumbling to himself about something as you felt a familiar twist in your gut. you reap what you sow, he once told you.

he didn't even get you into the bedroom, instead having you thrown onto the couch. as a result your pretty pink skirt got hiked up as you sat there like a girl about to be scolded.

graves could see your pretty striped panties under the skirt, but had to keep himself composed. he couldn't just crumble at the sight of your clothed pussy.

"do you know what you did?" he asked, giving you a chance to redeem yourself. he knew he couldn't stay mad at you forever, but he had to set you on a proper course. women your age had a habit of being bratty.

you shook your head, "i did nothing wrong, phillip."

he made a face, "wrong. try again. and if you call me phillip one more time, i'll be makin' you shine my boots with your tongue. now get naked before i cut it all off of you."

you pouted, "well, maybe if you helped me carry all those bags then maybe i wouldn't have been so pissy!" you crossed your arms.

graves raised his eyebrows at the sudden behaviour issues you having. he was a little impressed by the outburst, but it was a behaviour he had to correct. he grabbed you by the face and said, "strip. now. slut."

you slowly took off the t-shirt you wore, followed by the provocative pink skirt. you felt heat in your cheeks as you were left only in a pair of panties and bra. you looked up at graves' once more.

graves eyed you, "still the prettiest thing on the lot." he patted your cheek a little harder than most out, "now, get fully naked. i want to see those pretty tits and that soaked pussy."

you slipped off your undergarments and sat on the leather of the couch, the coolness of it felt odd against your bare pussy as you gazed up at graves like an innocent little deer. but graves couldn't be deceived by your innocent looks.

you were a girl who needed to be put on the right path.

graves grabbed you by the arm and got you over the back of the couch with your bottom half fully exposed to him. this is how graves liked you, bent over a surface and ready for him.

your naked body was for him to enjoy. you were his little slut. he took off his belt and got behind you. his cock was at a perfect level to sink in and properly fuck you.

you anticipated his cock, but instead you got his hand slamming down onto your bare ass cheek. you jolted, your heat in your stomach grew. graves dug his palm into where he slapped which only made the pain more intense. "daddy!"

"i know, darlin'. but i can't have you thinkin' you can misbehave. actions have consequences and you have rules. one of them is to not be a whiny little bitch when you don't get your way." he laid down another hard smack, then another and then another.

you gripped onto the back of the couch and flinched when his smacks came raining down. but graves used his other hand to pin you down onto the surface.

"stay still, or it's gonna hurt me." he groped your ass for a moment, letting you feel the pain before he went back to slapping. you were a mess by the time he was finished and his cock was painfully erect. it was drooling pre-cum all over the bottom of his white t-shirt.

your ass felt hot and a bit of a bruise was forming, hopefully that'll be a stark reminder of the rules of your agreement. you barely had time to think before graves sank his cock into you.

you gripped onto the couch tighter and whimpered, "daddy!"

he chuckled, "that's better. see, isn't like better when you're like this? when you're a pretty little thing for daddy to fuck? you can be a good girl, that's why daddy spoils you. you just needed a little guidance."

his pace was brutal, you could feel your insides being rearranged by the man's heavy cock inside of you. you panted heavily and held on tightly as graves' moved up into you.

"pretty girl."

"daddy."

"i know, just lay there all pretty for me." his voice was a low growl as he bucked up into you. he did adore you, even if you did misbehave at times.

you felt like a toy under his control, your heart fluttered at the feeling of his heavy cock inside of you. the sex was hot and left heat in your cheeks. the slapping sounds of you two fucking made you gasp.

his words were slurred and hot. he was so domineering that it made you flushed all over. your core throbbed and you felt closer to orgasm. you panted heavily between moans and felt a rush through you.

"please, daddy!" you panted, your cunt tightened around his cock. sweat down your back as you felt so close to orgasm. with a few more heavy thrusts, you came around his cock.

the tightness around his length took the breath out of him and his pace became more aggressive. his heart hammered in his chest as with a few more thrusts he finished inside of you. he painted your pretty pussy white with his cum as he slowed down his heavy thrusts.

he panted heavily. his polo shirt clung to his back as he felt the wind get taken out of him. he held onto you for a moment before he slid his softened cock out of your soaked pussy. he wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, "that's it, that's a good girl." then gave you a half-hearted slap across both ass cheeks, "now you be good, or daddy won't go so easy on your next time."

as if your ass cheeks were bruised, but instead you arched your back and whimpered, "yes, daddy. thank you, daddy."

graves loved the sound of that. his sweet girl.

[urhoneycombwitch]

howdy, honey!

part I

older!cowboy!Eddie x honey!reader

foreword: idk what this is. other than the start of a new series I may or may not have time for lmao. just… love the idea of honey!Reader and wanted to show the origins of cowboy!Eddie into their life <3 honey!Reader is a bit of an abrasive spitfire but I heart complicated women and Eddie is the right amount of gruff to put up w/ that bratty ass <3 I’m sorry if any truck stuff is wrong I swear I researched a bit but dear god I am not a car girly plz forgive me

cw: Appalachian no magic AU, cowboy!Eddie, older!Eddie, age gap (Eddie is at least 40, R implied as younger), R is on the run from a Troubled Past ™, R has breasts (non-sexual mention) and a tattoo (no skin tone/color mentioned), smut planned for following chapters, as always +18 mdni!

wc: 5.3k

The last thing you want to hear behind you approaches: a vehicle slowing down, tires crunching to crawl at your walking pace in the gravel ditch of the road. 

Maybe it’s just a concerned citizen. You soothe yourself internally, even as your guard surges up to take stock of the environment, to calculate the quickest route to safety. 

To your left- a rusting red pickup, its unknown driver, the flat expanse of tarmac and heat lines rising blearily for miles on end.

To your right, just a sprint away- the line of a lush, thick forest, unfamiliar birds calling amidst the Appalachian wilderness.

Then, an even worse sound of the truck's window being rolled down. 

“Not interested, pal,” you call out, in a tone you hope is commanding. “My thumb ain’t out. Keep driving.”

“I just-” it’s a man’s voice, because of course it is, who else would stop in the middle of an abandoned road to harass a young thing like you- “It’s about a hundred degrees out. Hotter than a two-buck pistol and you’re hiking in it.”

“Mind your damn business.” You don’t know this guy’s angle, but you don’t really care- if there’s anything you’ve learned from the past two weeks on the road, it’s Don’t trust strange men and keep your wits. 

Heart thumping an unsteady rhythm, you swallow the fear and hike your duffle bag higher onto your aching shoulder, resolute, even as the guy sighs. As if he has the right to sound weary. “Darlin’. I don’t wanna see you die of dehydration, is all. Got some water in the back, ‘least let me offload some onto you.”

The offer is tempting enough to still your steps- your canteen is empty, ran out about an hour after being filled at the last town’s hostel. Constant thirst has been an unfortunate side effect of this journey; so far it seems you've been the only one desperate enough to actually be outside in this unrelenting heat.

The man must take your pause for acceptance because he rolls to a stop just ahead of you, brake lights giving one quick flash before the engine cuts out. Both boots hit pavement at the same time, revealing a tall, lanky figure in dark denim and a cut-off tee. 

As he rounds to the trailer bed, you notice a smattering of tattoos- bats flying up one arm, a lariat and a floral piece on the other, some sort of mythological creature sitting over his heart (only spotted as he bends to unhook his truck bed’s latch, shirt shifting forward to reveal a pale expanse of skin beneath).

He’s a confusing, delightful mix of punk and cowboy- jeans just a touch too tight for working, silver hoops lining the shell of his right ear. You’d probably get a better sense of his age if his hair wasn’t hiding in a bun too shadowy to see properly, nestled under the brim of his black cowboy hat.

Eyes dark as bittersweet chocolate but kind and calm turn towards you, observing silently with crossed arms in the ditch a yard away. He closes the gap, wiping his palm on the black bandanna lining his pocket before stretching an appeasing hand towards you. “Waterin’ time.”

A laugh would signal comfortability, and you prefer to keep your cards as close to your own chest as possible, so you smother the noise, turn it into a disapproving twist of your mouth before taking his proffered hand. 

He’s stronger than he looks, pulling you up to the road with an easy flex of his forearm; his other hand automatically fits to your low back to steady you as your pack shifts with the climb, but he drops all points of contact as soon as you’re stabilized.

There’s a thunk from the nearby truck, the sound of something dull hitting into the metal. On instinct, your hand snaps to the butterfly knife tucked into the front of your bra band, hidden by the extra padding but close enough to whip out at a moment's notice. 

A dog sits eager and obedient in the truck bed, black and leggy and long-snouted- some type of Shepherd, if you had to guess. His long feathered tail hits the wheel with each enthusiastic wag, oversized ears perked forward.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. 

Adrenaline leaves you feeling sticky and strung-out, even more than the heat. Between your breasts, the knife sits waiting, metal cool to the touch and reassuring through the fabric of your tanktop. You hope it just looks like you scare easily, hand over your heart with nerves and jumpiness instead of trained defense mode- cards to chest, and all that. 

Safer for you, to be underestimated. Always harder to see a hit coming from someone unexpected. 

This time, though, you aren’t fixing to hit. The back of your hand, like some gravitational force, draws you to the mouth of the truck bed. 

A slash of pink tongue splits the all-black dog’s mouth when he licks you, thumping tailbeat picking up speed. 

The man who owns both truck and dog leans a hip against the wheel, watching as you smooth your palm over the silky head of his companion. “Name’s Goblin.”

“So, your parents were hippies, I gather?” A joke slips out before you can catch and wrestle it back to be the most unassuming version of yourself.

The man laughs- full and rich, crow’s feet bursting like sunbeams, dimples springing into his cheeks- the action knocks a decade off his face. 

You’re transfixed, unable to look away, Goblin nudging your hand for more pets while you memorize the way this stranger looks, laughing on the side of the road in the middle of goddamn nowhere. 

“The dog is Goblin,” the man says, humor twitching at the corners of his plush lips. He takes off his hat to rest against his chest, chocolate eyes still twinkling. “I’m Eddie.”

In the truck bed next to Goblin, there’s a bulky case laying sideways, a handle on one end for carrying. It’s the last push you need, apparently, as the logic part of your mind speaks with finality: Ted Bundy never played guitar. 

So you give Eddie your name. Your real one. You haven’t used it in weeks, opting for anonymity and the comfort of a pseudonym at the seedy spots you’ve been staying.

As soon as you say it, something loosens in your chest, flutters free into the bright blue sky as Eddie repeats it like something precious- like he’s known you for ages. 

“Well.” As if a matter has been settled, Eddie puts his hat back on (you weren’t quite done memorizing the long pattern of his curls, shot through with grey, pulled taut against his skull to settle in a bun at the nape of his neck). “More’n welcome to take the water and send me packin’, but now that we all know each other’s names, how about a lift to town?”

Eddie scratches Goblin behind the ear, absentminded as he adds, “Could even sit in the back, ‘f you wanted. That way you could just jump on out if you think I’m tryna pull something.”

Your shoulder suddenly aches with the weight of your duffel; you let the straps slide to the crook of your elbow, then set it next to Goblin who seems happy for something new to sniff.

Unfortunately for Eddie, you’re starting to like him, which means the filter for your sarcasm and teasing has completely eroded. “Ri-ight. Like I’m gonna just sit in the back of your truck when you could floor it and fling me over the side like a ragdoll.” 

Those big, doey eyes of Eddie’s roll skyward. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only on days that end in Y.” 

“All right.” There’s something in his tone that makes your spine straighten- not from fear, just… something else that you’re trying hard not to analyze right now. “So sit in the damn front and put a seatbelt on, since you’re so worried ‘bout my driving.”

Eddie shuts the pickup’s gate and mutters all the way to the driver’s side door, some comparison being drawn between you and one of his cows that gets herself stuck in the fenceline, refusing sesnsible help. 

The air in the cab is stale and still, warmth from the cracked leather seats soaking into the back of your shorts and bare thighs as you get in and buckle up. You’re suddenly aware of how desperately you need a shower, being in an enclosed space and next to someone with (presumably) a working sense of smell, but luckily Eddie’s already rolling down the windows.

“Air’s broke,” he says by way of apology, waving in the general direction of the AC vents before reaching to open the sliding rear window.

Something cold and wet presses against your ear- Goblin, saying hello. By the time your giggle is over, the grumble of the engine has kicked on, and the dog has found a headrest in the form of your pack, his tongue lolling into the fabric with rhythmic panting. 

“Radio?” You ask, already reaching to twist at the knob on the dash- a crackle of static, and then, bliss. Johnny Cash croons from the speakers. 

In trying to keep your delight casual, you slip up, telling Eddie as he straightens out the wheel to pick up speed- “God, I haven’t heard music this good in months, not since-”

Fortunately, whatever system in your brain still holding on to good sense chops the sentence in half. To cover, you clear your throat, cross your arms, and keep your eyes fixed forward when you change the subject. “So, you play guitar?”

If Eddie notices your lapse he doesn’t comment on it, picking up conversation with an easy charm. “Nah. That’s just a cover for if Sheriff Hop gets me for speedin’. That case is filled with coke and guns and all sorts’a contraband.”

You fix the side of his head with a glare, and even without seeing it full-on Eddie sputters a chuckle and admits, “Fine. I play guitar, sometimes.”

While Eddie’s eyes stay on on the road ahead, you let your own gaze linger on his face in profile: the slope of his nose, the freckles that scatter across the apple of his cheeks and neck, the tail end of another tattoo winding up his collarbone.

Eddie catches you staring, this time, jolt like an electric shock coursing through your whole body when you lock eyes for a moment, before he flicks back to the road. “Looks like you got some ink, yourself.”

He must be doing his best to remain respectful, because he doesn’t ask what the J stands for, even as your other hand jumps instinctually to cover the breadth of your wrist, hiding the little inked letter from view. “Yeah. I get one every time I kill a man. In remembrance.”

Amusement twitches at the corner of Eddie’s mouth when he asks, “Yeah? Only one so far? Would’a thought you’d be racking up your letters by now. Fierce as you are.”

“Well, we’re in public. I can’t very well take off my shirt to show you all the rest.”

This earns you another laugh, and even with the wind whipping through the cab, it fills every inch of the space. Rattles into you like a thunderstorm, knocks dust off some deep part of you kept dormant ‘til now.

You like that he called you that. Fierce. You’re loath to admit it, but you also like the pet names. Most boys are condescending or double-edged with their diminutives, but when Eddie calls you darlin’ with that Southern drawl, it feels… endearing. 

Equal parts terrifyingly disarming and captivatingly charming. That’s how you’d categorize Eddie, so far, though you’re not sure what to file away about his arms- stretched out at ten and two on the Ford’s big wheel, soft white underbelly of his forearms fading into a natural freckled tan, smattering of dark hair over both. 

For now, you file it under Trouble and focus on the upcoming road sign.

It looks like someone stripped a big tree and cut out a thick middle piece just to drive it at a slant into the ground. The hand-carved words appear to have been painted over many times, discolored and weathered, obscuring some of the letters.

WELC ME TO C LINE

”It’s a nice town, Celine,” Eddie says conversationally as the sign gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “Small, but good community. Lots of farming folks, like me, some strays and stragglers, like you.”

Johnny Cash gives way to an unfamiliar folksy number; you drink in the ramshackle buildings that make up the heart of the town. It’s reminiscent of old cowboy movies you grew up watching with your brothers- flat roofs, red brick, clapboard. A hitching post outside of a General Store, a group of kids tearing around on bikes in the empty lot of the movie theater. 

All that’s missing is a lone tumbleweed flipping lazily end over end across the road.

Eddie pulls his truck parallel with a stretch of curb outside a long building, another handmade sign that reads Celine Public Library. He leaves the engine running but shifts the gear to park, pointing to the phone booth just beyond your window.

“Phone’s just there, if you got someone to call. Figure’d here’s as good a place as any, if you wanna part ways now.”

Oh, right. Eddie offered you a ride to town, and he made good on it. Now is the part where you get out, collect your duffel, and wave while pretending to make a phone call until his truck has disappeared.

But you don’t. There’s lively guitar plucking over the speakers, twining with the purr of the engine. Eddie’s hands flex and unflex on the wheel, horseshoe tattoo on the first segment of his middle finger rippling with the movement like he’s working up the courage to say something,

You’d better not stick around to hear it. Fighting the thing that’s sticking you to the seat, you reach for the door handle. “Well, thanks, Eddie. ‘Preciate the lift.”

Your fingers are just grazing the handle when Eddie speaks again. “Wait-”

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t-

His eyes are just as beautiful as before, when he’d laughed- and now they’re on you, longing and hopeful and a little unsure as he speaks, gaining speed as if from nerves- “I’ve got a spare room. Spare shack, technically- it’s not much, but I used to live in there real comfortably ‘til my uncle moved and I got the house. Please come stay, at least for the night. Please?”

With a hand still on the door to your other, safer option, you pause; though the main emotion that washes through you is one of relief and gratitude, you sink your teeth into the little flare of irritation, pulling it up to the surface like one last play. “I don’t want charity.”

”Do I look like the church-goin’ type?” A bright flash of Eddie’s teeth as he grins (he knows he’s got you, goddammit). “And the shack door locks from the inside. Deadbolt. In case you’re worried about… I’m not askin’ anything from you. Just- please.”

Your hand drops from the door, falls limply into your lap as you breathe out. “And you’re not in some… weird, cowpoke-Satanic cult where you’re gonna use me as human sacrifice?”

“What part of deadbolt do you not get,” Eddie retorts, pleased, hand at the gear shift. “And my cult only meets on the full moon, so. You’ve got a few weeks of safety, at least.”

A genuine laugh bubbles up out of you, and the smile that Eddie fixes you with would’ve knocked you sideways had you been standing. 

You’re both relishing in the moment too deeply to notice the bicycles approaching from behind; Goblin gives an excited yip, front paws planted on the lip of the truck, wagging up a storm as the group squeals to a halt, surrounding you and Eddie on all sides. 

One of the kids, a boy with a curly mop of hair who looks on the young end of 15, slams a hand down on Eddie’s open window. “Hey!”

Eddie is the one to nearly jump out of his skin this time, hand flying to the top of his hat and cursing. “Fuck. Christ, Henderson. Whaddya want?”

“Do you require our assistance at the market this weekend?” The kid speaks in a funny, oddly formal tone as Eddie sighs and sets his hat on the seat between the two of you. 

“Unfortunately so.” 

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t be like that.” The boy is practically leaning through the window at this point with eagerness, one foot on the ground to keep his bike from tipping. You smother a giggle at the way Eddie’s jaw ticks. “School’s out, we’re bored as hell, and-”

He stops mid sentence when he spies you in the passenger seat, eyebrows jumping up to the curls covering his forehead. “And who might this be?”

“None of your damn business,” Eddie grits out, but you ignore the all-bark-no-bite tone to stretch across and offer your hand in introduction.

“I’m Dustin,” the boy says, in answer to your own name, and rapid-fire points at the various figures loitering around the truck, naming his friends too quickly for you to store them long-term. “Now, Edward, about our payment…”

There’s a girl with red braids near your window, the only one not on a bike. When you give her a friendly smile, she glowers and plants a sneakered foot on her skateboard, rocking it aimlessly up and down the asphalt. 

In the back, Goblin is basking in the attention of the rest of the group; another boy with a close-cropped Afro rubs the dog’s head lovingly, while a girl with serious brown eyes and shoulder-length curls (Eddie’s relative, maybe?) makes tentative strokes down Goblin’s side. 

There are two other kids- boys, you think- near the back of the trailer, but their backs are to the group, close as two people can be while still on their own bikes. Dustin’s conversation floats back into your comprehension- he’s making a valiant attempt at twisting Eddie’s arm where ‘payment’ is concerned.

Untwistable, Eddie shakes his head. A few strands of hair have come loose from his bun, curling around his jaw with the overdramatic move he makes to throw the gear shift into drive. “All right, enough, ya scoundrel. Round up your crew and go be a pain in someone else’s ass.”

Unperturbed, Dustin straightens, grasping his bike’s handlebars with one hand and wrapping a tight fist around the metal of the truck’s side mirror. 

This seems to be some sort of signal, because the rest of the group latches on like some choreographed play- hands, one from each kid, coming up to grip at any free space left on the truck, shoulders hunching forward as if preparing to be shot forth like a rubber band. 

“Damn kids,” Eddie grumbles, but you can hear the fondness in his voice as he lifts his foot from the brake.

The truck lurches forward, and with it, the extra wheels; Goblin’s revved-up barking joins the excited chatter and whooping of the kids hanging on, a joyous cacophony of sound as you all head further down the empty street together.

Eddie picks up speed; there’s a twinge of fear as you watch the speedometer tick up to 10- and then he honks, once, and in perfect synchronicity all the kids let go. Some of them pedal furiously to keep up the momentum, others- like the girl on the skateboard- take advantage of the added speed to simply coast.

Soon enough, their cheerful waves and laughter recede into the distance along with the rest of the town as Eddie keeps his boot on the gas.

The heat in town was dizzying, so you’re relieved when the road dips and bends into the comfort of shade- courtesy of the wild forest flanking either side. 

It’s about a ten minute drive to Munson Farms, and on the way, Eddie tells you all about it. You learn that his Uncle Wayne raised him, taught him how to work and live off the land- when Wayne retired and moved a few miles down the road, Eddie took over.

“Not really a lucrative venture, farming,” he says, trees passing in a blur as he navigates the road curves with ease. “But the end of summer Town Fair pays well, ‘specially for sheep penning demonstrations. Got a couple of dairy cows, chickens that won’t stop laying- between that ‘n Wayne’s orchards, we got more than enough to get us through the winter months.

And then there’s the hives-”

“Bees?” Unable to help the interruption, your head whips in his direction, interest piqued. 

“Yup. Got about six hives right now in the southern pasture. Don’t know much about ‘em, truthfully- got a friend named Chrissy, comes once a week or so to make sure they stay maintained. I mostly just help come harvesting time, and try to stay out of her way for the rest.”

There are about a thousand other questions you want to ask- what kind of bees? Are they near your garden plot to promote pollination? Any bears in the area?- but you tamp down your excitement, settling on a neutral, “Cool,” before looking out the window again.

The sign for Munson Farms is handmade, too, but upkept much better than the one in town- it swings gently in the breeze on metal links as Eddie turns down the adjoining dirt road. About a quarter mile in, you start to see signs of life- fence lines running through the trees and the shush of a nearby water source- and then, a house.

It’s small, probably no more than a bed, bath, and kitchen inside. There’s a red brick chimney separating the straight lines of the blue-painted wood planks, ivy crawling up one side to frame the eastern-facing window. 

On the covered porch, a big, long-haired white dog lifts its head at the sound of the truck pulling in. Goblin gives a greeting bark, practically tripping over his oversized paws to launch out of the truck even as Eddie gripes at him to “Be careful, dammit!”

As you follow Eddie out of the truck and to the porch, the white dog shambles over on a stiff back leg, ignoring the playful jumping and licking Goblin gives in favor of coming up to sniff you. 

“This is Rosie,” Eddie says, patting her greying muzzle with a gentleness that twists something in your stomach. “She’s near older than me, was a great livestock guardian ‘til her age caught up. Been trying to train up Goblin to take her place but between you ‘n me I think his head might be full of rocks.”

As if he’s aware of the insult, Goblin gives an indignant yip and paws at Eddie’s knee; he gets laughed off by the two of you, zipping away with a deep sense of importance into the nearby forest while Rosie shambles back to her cozy porch spot.

It smells incredible, here, surrounded by so many trees- you take a deep breath, inhaling the rich pines, the verdant underbrush. Just past the house, there’s a fenced-in area with various plants spilling out of raised garden beds. You can almost smell the summer strawberries and crisp veggies. 

On the other side of the fence is a plastic-sheeted greenhouse, LED lights inside making the whole thing glow artificial purple. Eddie catches you staring, then gives a wink, laying one long finger to the side of his nose. “Don’t go tellin’ the Sheriff on me and I’ll give you a joint for your troubles.”

“Deal.” Wasn’t a hard sell at all- at the rate this is going, you’re dying to get high with this man. 

Eddie grabs your pack out of the truck bed and leads you across the dirt road, pointing out the fence lines in the distance, and a barn that you can just make out through a gap in the trees. 

“Sheep, cows, horses, all that way. This way-” his hand rests between your shoulder blades, steering you towards a boot-worn path, “-is the guest shack. Beehives’ll be just down the hill from where you’re stayin’.”

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder at you- “I’ll take you to see ‘em tomorrow. Promise. I just don’t want you goin’ by yourself and getting stung to death, y’hear?”

Not for the first time today, you wish, desperately, to tell him things you shouldn’t. I was actually an apprentice beekeeper for a year, I know my way around a hive. Studied entomology and agriculture in college before I lost myself in the worst mistake of my life. You know that pesky little J I’ve got on my wrist…?

But if you start talking, you won’t stop. And besides, you’re not planning to stay here long enough for your secrets to matter.

So instead, you press your lips into a line, looking solemn, nodding in agreement until he’s satisfied and continues on. 

The dirt path leads right to the shack, and Eddie opens the door to let you in. It’s about the size of a studio apartment- wood stove and sink next to the bathroom door, twin bed draped with a thick quilt budged up under the single window. Small, but homey and clean.

As you take it in, spinning in a slow circle, Eddie sets your duffel next to the bed and runs a hand over the top of his head, haloed frizz of his hair springing back into place. “Ain’t much, I know- usually just host the town rascals; they bring their sleeping bags and fight over who gets the mattress. But the sheets are washed, and-”

“Eddie.” You stop his rambling with a hand to his arm. “Seriously, it’s great. Better than great. I was probably gonna end up sleeping on the streets tonight, and you saved me from that. So… thank you. I mean it.”

The vulnerability in your own voice catches you off guard, but you decide to lean in to it. Eddie’s been nice for no reason- or, rather, because he seems to be a kind person- and you want to make sure he hears how grateful you are for a place to stay.

He’s staring down at your hand on his bare arm, eyes clouded with something you can’t parse out; you draw your hand back, which prompts him to speak- “Shit, darlin’. It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You can stay as long as you like.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist, arms crossing over your chest, rocking back on your heels. There’s a sudden swell of panic rising like bile in your throat; this morning, you were hell-bent on leaving, and now, you think it’ll kill you not to stay.

“Listen-” Eddie’s eyes snap up at the urgency in your voice, but you manage to push through- “I know I didn’t tell you much, about where I came from, or what I did to end up…”

On my own. The words stick in your throat, tears pricking threateningly at the corners of your vision. “...out here. But I grew up on a farm. I’m used to working livestock, riding horses- I can be helpful. Can earn my keep over the weekend, at least, doing whatever you need-”

Eddie interrupts with a shake of his head, your stomach plummeting until he says, “Got enough farmhands as it is, honey. Don’t need you getting your pretty hands dirty.”

“There has to be something. I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can clean-”

“Hey.” Eddie’s tone of voice slips into a low, soothing register, like you’re a spooked animal caught in a trap. He steps closer, and when you don’t flinch, he settles his big hands on the tops of your shoulders. “Shh. It’s okay. Like I said earlier- I’m not expecting nothin’ from you. Okay?”

There’s gotta be some sort of magical effect happening, an old Celtic carving under the floorboards, maybe a witch's spell braided in with the dried herbs hanging on the far wall. You’ve never felt so looked at before, like you’ve swam beyond your depth and Eddie’s hands are a life raft.

His eyes flit around your face, taking in the expressions you’re surely flickering through before he says, quietly- “If you want, how ‘bout you stay ‘til the end of summer. Help out where you can, and come Fair time, I’ll deal you in on the profits.”

You open your mouth to argue, and smooth as butter, his right hand slips up your shoulder, tattooed fingers wrapping firm around the back of your neck, thumb tapping the pulse point under your jaw, insistent- “This way, you’ll have cash enough in your pocket to go anywhere you want. It’s a good deal and you damn well better take it.”

You wonder if he can feel the jackrabbit pulse of your heartbeat under his thumb. When you nod, he gives a dimpled smile, satisfied. “Good. Now I’ll let you settle in and get washed up for supper. Come on over to the main house when you’re ready.”

Before the door shuts behind him, Eddie adds, “And don’t get too excited. I ain’t much of a cook, neither.”

After his footsteps have retreated down the path, you collapse onto the mattress, springs squeaking. You flip to stare up at the ceiling, running your fingertips over the ghost of his touch branded against your neck, almost nauseous from elation.

A whole summer. On Eddie’s farm. With Eddie. 

After a few minutes of deep breathing, you get up to unpack your duffel, then fold your meager clothes supply neatly into the top drawer of an old oak dresser in the corner, still room enough for your canteen.

The last thing in your bag is a twine-wrapped leather pouch. Your butterfly knife makes quick work of the knots, and then, the last of your most precious things in the world are laid out on the bed. 

A certificate of completion from Indiana U’s Beekeeping Department, folded and creased but still valid, signed by your last field mentor. 

A driver’s license with your old address, square photo of a younger and more hopeful you smiling back.

And lastly, an engagement ring. Gold, with a teardrop-shaped diamond center and sparkling accent stones trailing up either side of the band. 

It twinkles when you hold it up to the evening sunbeam streaming through the window; reflective pinpricks of light scatter and dance across the quilt.

In quick succession, you slide everything back into the pouch, securing it with the drawstring before burying it inside the hidden pocket of your bag.

Then, you shove the duffel under the bed until it hits the wall, and turn away to wash up for dinner.

[gtsdreamer2]

   You were deep in the Amazon rainforest. A recent graduate with your mycology doctorate, you were researching a special species of mushroom that only was said to grow deep in the jungle and only during the twenty four hours of the full moon during the autumn months. According to ancient texts found in the indigenous people's temples, the mushroom was used in fertility rituals and to signify a bountiful harvest during these months before the cold winter. You were curious about the cultural significance as well as the medicinal properties of this rare shroom. You didn't know what it looked like, only that it wasn't foraged for by the locals anymore and that it should look like a mushroom that you don't know.

   Hours of searching later, you begin to grow tired and wonder if you should give up and wait until the next full moon. The sun is starting to set when you finally spot something different. It's a mushroom you've never seen before, which is remarkable seeing as how you've seen them all. The cap is a pinky flesh color with an even pinker button on top. You giggle to yourself as you remark that it looks like a tit with a firm nipple poking out of it.

   Kneeling down, you take out your notebook and a pencil and begin to sketch it. 'I'm just drawing a boob.' You think to yourself. You stare in awe at this shroom as the sun continues to set. Taking your pencil, you poke the nipple-esque protrusion. Immediately this mushroom expells a giant cloud of spores right in your face. You gasp in surprise, sucking into your lungs an ample amount of the potent plume.

   You hack and cough, but its way too late for that, they're already lodged deep within you and entering your blood stream. Your eyes dialate and your body grows hot. You stand and lean against a tree, trying to catch your breath. You can feel your heatbeat in every nerve. Your cells are responding in a way they never have to the new foreign agent that has begun to take over you. Your heatbeat concentrates in your breasts as you feel your nipples grow almost painfully erect. Then you feel your breasts start to press against your soft white cotton top. You can feel the belts on your corset tighten to try and contain whatever is happening to you. Suddenly you shoot up four inches in height.

   Your sudden growth spurt elicits an a forced maon from your mouth. "Mmmph!" You cry out as a second wave hits you. The belts on your corset snap and suddenly you're six foot five with the seams of your jeans splitting. You feel your feet break free from your hiking boots as your toes sink into the damp rainforest earth.

   'This is starting to feel really good.' You think to yourself as you start to regain a semblance of your normal senses. Doing a body check, you can tell that you've grown. Your breasts have at least doubled in size and are now very hot and sensitive to the touch. You can feel a hunger deep in your womb as if ovulating on steroids.

   You attempt to sit down on the cool jungle floor, your now massive ass shredding the back of your jeans as you squat down. You pick up your pad and pen and continue to make notes about the shroom.

   'It is clear that this is how the Amazon women in the lore of this land gained their stature, and I can clearly feel why this particular fungus was revered for its fertility-inducing properties. I feel so full of life, yet I also feel the need to be bred full of babies.' Looking back at your notes, you are in shock that you actually wrote that down.

   You wonder to yourself how potent the flesh of the shroom might be, considering what just inhaling some of the spores had done to you. As the sun began to set, you walk back over to the shroom and delicately pluck it out of the ground before greedily shoving the whole thing into your mouth, quickly swallowing it without so much as trying to find out what it tastes like. Again the euphoria strikes your body. You feel its effects ten fold as you quickly gain four feet in height and explode out of your inadequate top. Sitting back down on the remainder of your ruined clothes, you bask in the feeling of your massive body and heightened strength and senses. You close your eyes and listen to the jungle around you, lamenting that you ate the only specimen that you had found on your journey, and now the only evidence was what it had done to you. When you open your eyes, the realize that the moon has peaked through the canopy. Your dialated eyes can see the jungle floor quite clearly now, and shimmering all across the damp dense expanse before you, you can see dozens more of the mushroom glowing against the moon, as if drinking in its power. 'It would have been so much easier to find at night.' You chastise yourself as you stand up again. You leave your ruined clothes behind as you pick up your foraging Satchel and start to delicately pick as many of the shrooms as you can carry, trying your best to put them in containers without them expelling more spores. 'This will be so great for my research.' You think to yourself. 'And it'll make a great snack for the walk back'. You giggle to yourself as you pop another three into your mouth.

[milkypompon]

Pink Interface

pairing: Nathan Bateman x F!Reader

summary: Nathan made you a period tracker... but it's nothing you'll find on the public market.

content: Fluff, talks of sex, period pains

wc: 1.1k

a/n: Nate... baby, your love language is being smart, an ass, and being a smartass.

Ex Machina Masterlist || Main Masterlist

–

A blanket of snow coats the ground, steadily thickening as it dusts the sky. Foxes usually come out to frolic, but today, there weren’t pawprints pressed against the white fluff.  They’re probably curling up in a hollow den. 

It’s hardly to be jealous about, given that you were pressing against shoulder to shoulder with Nathan as you trek up the mountain together — his warmth, a welcome pleasure, seeps into your body.

But this morning, out of all the goddamn days, you saw a familiar red stain. 

You wanted to postpone the hike, but he looked forward to it all week, and you didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. If anything, your hand-washed panty hanging on the towel rack would’ve been a giveaway, but you steered him away from the bathroom before he could see it. 

You claimed you nuked the toilet after drinking the annoyingly healthy green smoothie he made before the hike. 

Nathan frowned, “That’s an oddly graphic scene I didn’t need to imagine.”

At least it worked. 

Now, here you were, suffering from your own doings because you didn’t want to see a pouting Nathan. 

You clutch your midriff and come to a halt. “Nate, could we take a break?”

He frowns at your pained expression. Usually, you were the one dragging him up the mountains — pointing to the fox tracks or the last place you two sat down to drink hot chocolate. But now you’re a few paces behind him. There was definitely something wrong.

Snow crunches underneath his boots, making his way to you to hold you. His hand slips underneath your puffer jacket and thermal long-sleeve, you writhe under his touch. He’s confused at first before he begins to connect the dots. 

“Jesus Christ… are you pregnant?”

Your mouth gapes at the stupidity of his question. 

The pause was long enough for him to ask again, “Are you… pregnant?”

You huff and shove his shoulder. “What the fuck? The opposite, you dumbass! I’m bleeding out my uterine lining!”

“I know what a period is!”

“You had me there going for a sec because you spend more time with your vaginaless androids.”

He gives you a sideways smirk. “Hey, give me some credit. I started doing that when we got married!”

Then, Nathan sighs, a mix of relief and embarrassment washes over him. “Besides, can you blame me? We fucked in the rest-stop cabin after our hike last time.”

A ping catches both of your attention.

Your eyes land on his smartwatch. “I thought it was your scheduled wellness day today. Still got people messaging?”

He presses on the square screen and mumbles, “Oh, there was a bug in the code. Now it makes sense why I’m only finding out now.” 

“Huh?” 

Nathan gives you his signature smile — pearly whites that made women swoon and closed business deals… or when he was withholding information.

You were positive that it was the latter in this case. 

He wraps an arm around you and walks back to the facility. “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

The last time you let him build up anticipation, he revealed an android clone. He claimed it was for you to use when he was out on business trips as long as he had access to the live feed. You weren’t shocked, to say the least, considering this was Nathan Bateman.

Equal parts genius and horny. 

At this point, you wouldn't be surprised if he made one of you, too, so he could watch the androids fuck each other. 

–

You shed your jacket and settle into the crook of the couch, curling in on yourself to suppress the pain.

Nathan kneels in front of you, combing his fingers through your hair. “Baby, tell me what you need. Tea? A hot pad? Snacks?”

“You’re stalling.”

“Am not.”

“We’re not toddlers, Bateman. Give it to me straight.”

“Don’t get weird with me, ‘kay?” He sits on the couch and tugs you onto his lap. 

You roll your eyes, shifting your weight on him comfortably. “If you made an android of me so you can watch it have sex with Masturbateman, then color me utterly not surprised.”

He frowns and thumbs your hipbone. “I spent hours perfecting it, and that’s the name you gave my android?”

“That’s what you got out of that conversation?”

Nathan cups your asscheek and squeezes it. “If you keep getting snappy with me, I won’t show my new project.”

You huff but give in, nudging your face into the curve of his shoulder. 

He leans forward to grab his tablet from the coffee table, the screen displaying… a period tracker?

“What’s up with the pink interface? That’s such a gender stereotype.” You prod just to piss him off, but it does the opposite.

He grins as if he’s been waiting for you to ask that question. “The color is sampled from your urine mixed with endometrium when you’re nearing the end of your menstrual cycle. It’s aligned with hex code #FAA0A0–”

You steal his words from earlier today, “That’s an oddly graphic scene I didn’t need to imagine.”

“But look at this. It detects your four phases by inputting your BMI and medical history.” Nathan’s lips curl up. “You have a really regular cycle, y’know?”

You snort. “You’re the only man who would say that as a compliment, you fucking nerd.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just telling you the facts.” He pats your thigh. “Anyway, do you have a preferred date when you want your period?”

“Uh, what?”

“I can program the app to delay your period indefinitely. Want a three month break? It’ll happen. Want it to never return? Easy. So, what’ll it be, baby?”

“You’re doing overtime on the god roleplaying…”

He laughs, amused at your reaction. “Hey, I’m just answering your question. I can tell that it’s a big headache for you, so I figured I’d extend you an olive branch.”

“Wait, how did you link this up to my body in real time?”

“What do you think I’ve been sprinkling into the green smoothies?”

You pinch his cheek. “I’m not one of your androids, Nathan.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “But, you’re right. My androids wouldn’t complain.”

You hide your teasing grin behind a hand. “It could be easily solved if you get me pregnant, but we both know how you feel about that.”

There’s a quietness as he places the tablet down. Neither of you discussed this unless it was in passing when you’d comment on how cute baby mittens are and wondered what their blended food tasted like. 

He was well aware that raising a child wasn’t like building his projects. Raising a human was more difficult than creating artificial intelligence that could pass as a human. 

Nathan blurts, “I want you to have my babies.”

–

Nathan's hips thrust into yours, he leans into your ear and whispers, "The tracker tells me when you're ovulating too."

You say in between moans, "Mmm, I'm gonna shove you off, if you don't shut the fuck up."

I'd love to hear your thoughts and my inbox is always open for requests or if you want to chat!

[mikkomacko]

i also think for mob nico, you should make a little something something on how they met! it would be so cute if you could like show how reader was introduced into his lifestyle and to the boys!♥️♥️

Sorry this took me so long! This is more of just their meet cute rather than meeting the boys but she does also meet Timo here so I hope you love it!

Thanks for requesting!

____________________________________________

Nico and the boys (the singles ones at least) spend a lot of time at The Rock. Free drinks, good music, a private section, and endless amounts of girls.

The Rock’s popularity with women took off after Nico rebranded the bar and made it into a place that feels more secure. His security is amazing, they notice everything and aren’t afraid to kick out any trouble.

That and majority of the men that take up space here are his boys, and he’s taught them all about reputation. Just because they’re Devils, doesn’t mean they can be assholes.

So yeah he comes here at the end of almost every day. He gets to bond with his men and drink, and if he’s lucky get a girl to go home with him. Well, more likely go out back to his car with him.

Nico and Timo were eyeing one of the regular groups that come in when he saw you. At first he was concerned because you were huddled in a tight circle with the other girls, everyone whispering and looking around the bar. He thought maybe you were hiding from someone and he was two seconds from climbing out of the booth to go check it out.

But then you, with your back to him, stood up straighter and hiked your black skirt up just a smidgen more. Someone fixed your hair, you flipped it over your shoulder and he watched in awe as you in your knee high boots sauntered away from the group and up to a table of men.

Almost instantly they all melted. It was like magic the way you just had to smile at them, twirl your hair a bit and laugh. One of them ordered you a drink, you laughed and thanked them with a hand on their bicep. The moment they got distracted though, you were slithering off back to your group of friends.

Baffled, he watched you hand the drink to a friend. Then do it all over again. Four more times you got different drinks from these guys, each time reporting back to your friend group to hand the drink over. Nico was in awe of you, how you moved, how you smiled, how you touched their chests or arms.

A little drunk, he waved security over to the booth. “That one,” he said, pointing to you. “Get her a drink on me.”

Unsure what you drank, he just requested something expensive and sent the man on his way. Sipping his beer, Nico admired you some more. He’d never seen you here even though you look so comfortable commanding the place. He wonders if you’d try and pull that move on him, if it’d work. A part of him thinks it would and he grows hot at the idea of it.

You’re handed the drink, confused but smiling when security points towards Nico’s table. Smirking, he winks at you when you meet his gaze and raises his own drink to you. You bite your glossy lip, cheer-sing him across the room before turning back to your friends.

Wait, what?

He’d given you a chance, an opening to approach him. That was your invite to saunter up those couple steps and slip into his lap for the night.

Not that you seemed to care. He even beat you at your own game. The most expensive drink on the menu just for being that pretty, for having that much of a hold over everyone in here. He liked it, and he wanted you to know he had even more.

“Harsh,” Timo tells him, laughing. “Maybe next time you should get her the drink yourself. She seems to like that.”

Nico scoffs, chugging down the rest of his drink. He orders another one, drinks it a little slower to give himself time to calm down. Then he’s leaving the booth, parting the crowd without even saying a word. You look up at him when the path to you opens, a coy smile on your lips. He stands over you, head cocked to the side.

“Thought I’d get a better thanks for that.” He greets and you look him up and down, eyes lingering on the chain around his neck.

“Thanks?” You laugh, turning your shoulder to your friends so you could talk to him. “The thank you was me drinking whatever the hell this is.”

His eyebrows pinch together in offense. “That’s a good drink!”

You take a sip, nose scrunching. “Not a tequila girl, thanks though.”

Not deterred, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at you. “I liked your little game, thought I’d help you out.”

Your smile grows almost wicked at that and you giggle a devilish little sound that has his knees wobbling. “You just gave me my ace in the hole, actually.”

Fuck, he really can’t this right, can he? “Oh yeah?”

You drink so more, pursing those pretty lips in distaste. “Yeah, the whole point is to make guys uncomfortable. No one likes when a girl has enough confidence to walk up and demand a drink, and they hate it even more when they realize it wasn’t even for me.”

And he’s lost again. He beat you at your game, he took that confidence and turned it around by sending you a drink. Why doesn’t he feel like he’s won?

“Well you didn’t demand that one.” He argues.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you step closer to him and tilt your chin to peer up at him. “No, but for the first time I made you leave that booth to come talk to me, didn’t I?”

It takes him a moment to realize you’re right. He’s too busy thinking about beautiful you are, how he wants to feel the curve of your lips on his and run his fingers through your hair.

But you are right. He’s good at getting girls to sneak up into his booth and beg him to leave together. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever come down here to interact with someone he’s interested in before.

When he looks over his shoulder, he realizes they’ve all noticed it too. The whole group of men are watching him with wide eyes and wild hand gestures.

“So that’s the game?” He finally asks, “letting us know you’re better than us?”

Humming, you hand him the rest of the drink. “Not better per se,” he leans down to be closer to you, to feel the heat of your breath on his jaw. “But you look like a man who loves a good power trip. And I do that better than you.”

Something burns in his chest, makes his neck and ears go hot. He knows he can change your mind about that, no he will change your mind about that. You’re in his fucking bar for god’s sake.

“A power trip is all fun and games baby,” he leans in close to you, nose brushing against your temple. “But it’s not just a trip for me. So when you’re done with your game, come find me.”

You raise an eyebrow, not surprised with his offer but definitely interested. Licking his lips, he smiles. “You can call me Nico,” he introduces, throwing back the rest of the drink. “I own the bar.”

Head tilting at that, you just give him another once over and a nod, then turn back to your friends. Nico can be patient, he can sit here until closing and not look at you until you’re begging at the bottom of those stairs with his name on your tongue.

The only issue is, after he’s returned to his table and sipped on beer for two more hours, you’re still not at the steps. When it starts to empty out, girls trailing home with random men, he’s left in that stupid booth looking for that pretty smile of yours.

And he comes up empty handed.

~~~~

A week later, Timo is the one to find you. This time they’re standing on the second floor by the railing, looking down at the crowd.

“There she is,” Timo giggles gleefully, shoving his hand out to point at an even larger group of girls than last time. Smack dab in the middle of them all is you and that radiant smile.

God if Nico had a smile like that he’d run the fucking world.

“M’not getting her a drink tonight.” He grumbles, but he watches you anyway. You don’t seem to be playing your game tonight though, instead just hanging out and chatting.

Timo leaves to go mingle and Nico slinks into a corner where he can hide and watch you. He’s been thinking about you all week, about how he still never won that night and it pissed him off.

He’s sulking and pouting, glaring at you as you pose in front of a digital camera with some of the girls for a picture. Flash after flash of photos that would probably be cute if he actually liked you.

But he doesn’t, you’re mean and you don’t play fair.

The flash goes off again, and to his utter horror he spots the large man behind you that’s jumped into the photo. Unfazed, you lean into the large arm Timo throws around your shoulder, two idiots grinning at the camera.

And then you’re turning around, laughing alongside his best friend as you shake hands and chat. That pisses him off even more. Of course Timo would get you, of course it’d be him that you actually find charming.

His friend whispers something in your ear, and then you’re taking him by the hand and pushing through the crowd to the bar.

You’ve talked Timo into buying you a drink. Nico rolls his eyes, huffing and puffing as he drinks his beer and you order two drinks from the bartender.

Nico doesn’t talk to you that night, he doesn’t want to. Not after you let his friend buy you drinks and then look up at him, almost like you knew exactly where he was, and bat those long eyelashes him. The wink you send him is taunting, especially with your lips wrapped around a straw and your hand in Timo’s.

He scoffs, turning his back to you and heading for the offices in the back. This game of yours is getting exhausting, especially after the night ends and he’s notified that Timo didn’t buy you drinks.

You put them under his fucking name.

~~~~

Nico puts an end to the game two nights later. You’re back, this time by yourself when you walk in. Not that it lasts long. Timo finds you instantly, shoving his way off the dance floor to the entrance and engulfing you in a hug.

He must’ve exchanged numbers with you last time.

Irritated, Nico waits to see if you slink up to the bar and put the drinks on his name again. But you don’t. Instead you link arms with Timo and head straight towards him.

Sitting up straighter, Nico nervously smacks on the mint gum he’s chewing. Your eyes find his, sweet and innocent in the dim lighting as you smile at him.

Brooding, Nico glares at you as you slide in across from him. Timo doesn’t bother staying, just flicks the brim of Nico’s backwards hat and winks. “Play nice you two!” He sings before retreating back to the dance floor.

You bite your lip, gaze unwavering under his own and you reach across the table for his beer. Nico lets you take a sip, subconsciously licking his lips when you’re lip gloss sticks the neck of the bottle.

Your nose scrunches again and you slide the drink back to him. The silence persists, Nico stewing as you grin at him. How the fuck is he supposed to pretend he doesn’t like you when you look at him like that.

“Think it’s my turn to get a round, huh?” You tease and he scowls.

“Yeah, why don’t you go buy my friend another drink under my name?” He says coolly.

Something in your gaze softens, the humor bleeding out. Your foot nudges his under the table. “Thank you, Nico.” You murmur, genuine and sweet. He can’t help it, he deflates back into the booth.

“You could’ve at least said hi.”

You lean in closer, resting your elbows on the table and he does the same. “With the way you were hiding I didn’t think you wanted me to say hi.”

“Gave you my name didn’t I? Not many people get that privilege.”

A coy smile curls your lips. “Why?” You giggle, “because they’ll use it to steal drinks?”

That makes him grin, chuckling just once. “Something like that.”

“You seemed annoyed when Timo came to me,” you explain “more annoyed than when I said your drinks are bad. Figured I’d let you be.”

Nico just nods, smacks his gum and then takes a drink of his beer. He can taste the sweetness of your lipgloss. “You hear for Timo, then?”

Your eyebrows furrow in thought. “Nah, he’s not really my type.”

Nico hums, not believing you for a second. Timo’s welcoming nature and extroverted personality always draws girls in. He’s everyone’s type.

“I’m more into brunettes with pretty eyes.” You add, “Especially grumpy ones.”

His chest warms again, heartbeat buzzing behind his ribcage. He drinks some more, hopes the cold beer will cool him down. It doesn’t.

“You gonna tell me your name?” He asks, offering you the bottle. You shake your head, declining the drink.

“You gonna dance with me if I do?”

Sighing, he looks over the packed dance floor and frowns in disgust. “Not much of a dancer.”

Surprisingly, your smile grows and you lean over the table even more. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” You giggle, eyes shining. “I don’t dance either.”

“That another game of yours?”

You shake your head. “No, it was a test of character and you passed.”

Flattered, Nico slips his hand across the table and takes ahold of yours. “Come on baby, let’s get a drink.”

You stop him when he moves to get up, squeezing his fingers. “Y/n,” you introduce, a blush rising to your cheeks. “But you can call me baby.”

Nico says your name in his head, murmurs it back to you so he can feel it on his tongue. Then he decides he’s gonna give it to the bartender and security. He has a feeling you’ll be coming around more often.