#beacon hills autumn

[codename-adler]

Teen Wolf S2 Sterek pool scene but make it Kevseth or Kevaaron

[andallshallbewell]

[peacefulandcozy]

Instagram credit: coffeesoakedpages

[kaytheday]

Entering Teen Wolf Autumn

[timmurleyart]

The old church on beacon hill. 🍁🍂(mixed media on canvas)⛪️

[a-wild-rene-appeared]

Wishing I were somehow here again…

[witchywithwhiskey]

an afternoon of pumpkin picking

pairing: sugar daddy!ransom drysdale x sugar baby!female reader

summary: you've convinced your sugar daddy to take you pumpkin picking—despite his reservations about spending any amount of time on a farm—and the perfectly autumnal date takes a turn when deeper feelings come to light.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, smut, unprotected sex, masturbation (f), guided masturbation, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, filming/recording/taking sexual photos, oral sex (m receiving), light bdsm, free use, pussy spanking, panty sniffing, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, pet names (nixie, baby), love confessions (a bit of idiots in love), aftercare, happy ending, so much fluff

word count: 11.6k

a/n: this fic is inspired by this exchange about various babes as sugar daddies taking their sugar babies on fall dates. i loved the idea of ransom being a little grumpy about going pumpkin picking, and then it morphed into this because i decided i wanted to explore their deeper emotional connection so uh it ended up being a lot longer than i expected. but it's also very cozy and smutty and fluffy and perfect for this time of year!!! anyway, i had fun writing this, so i hope y'all enjoy reading it!!

Can’t believe you talked me into this.

The text from your sugar daddy, Ransom Drysdale, arrived on a brisk September morning as you were getting ready for the perfectly autumnal date you’d convinced him to plan. As you read the message, you could practically hear the affectionate exasperation in his tone, which made you smile to yourself.

It had taken quite a bit of your powers of persuasion to get Ransom Drysdale—the heir to the Blood Like Wine Publishing dynasty and the most blue-blooded Boston man you’d ever met—to agree to take you pumpkin picking out in the “boonies,” as he called anywhere beyond the city limits that wasn’t his “ancestral estate” (also his words). 

But since you’d been seeing him for over a year, you knew all of Ransom’s weaknesses. And you’d used them to make a deal with your sugar daddy.

You’re going to have fun, I promise :) Don’t forget our deal.

You certainly hoped Ransom hadn’t forgotten about the arrangement you’d struck that ended up with him taking you pumpkin picking, especially since it was all you could think about that morning as you got ready and did your hair and makeup. Your thoughts kept straying to the deal you’d made, what you’d given him in exchange for the autumnal date of your dreams. 

Ransom Drysdale was a dealmaker by trade, overseeing all publication acquisitions for Blood Like Wine. So after all your normal methods of persuasion had failed to convince him to take you pumpkin picking, you’d offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse. It was one that you knew you both would enjoy, but Ransom especially since it appealed to his nature. 

A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine as you stood inside the walk-in closet of your Beacon Hill townhouse apartment—the one Ransom paid for, of course. 

It had been a gift when you’d accepted his request to be exclusively his sugar baby. He was the only man in your life anymore, and he’d said he wanted to make sure you were taken care of, so he got you the apartment and set up an allowance to make up for the other relationships you’d had to end.

Truthfully, it had been an incredibly easy decision to accept Ransom’s request. He was easily the youngest and handsomest of any man you’d been a sugar baby to—and if you had the tiniest little crush on him, you’d been certain you’d be able to keep it locked down so you didn’t jeopardize your relationship. 

After all, Ransom had been clear when you first met: He wasn’t looking to fall in love.

Unfortunately for you, over the year that you’d been seeing him exclusively, your crush had blossomed into full-blown feelings. It was hard not to care for the grumpy, sarcastic publishing executive. He made you laugh, he made you feel safe, and the sex with him was better than any you’d ever had.

More than a year into seeing him and it got harder and harder to hide the fact that you cared deeply for him. You wanted to bundle yourself in one of his sweaters and stay with him forever—but you knew you couldn’t let on about your feelings. You didn’t want to risk him finding out and ending your relationship because he feared you were falling in love with him…

Of course, there were other ways your relationship could end.

Your fingers toyed with the sleeve of a sweater hanging in your closet as you thought about your sugar daddy. A pit in your stomach opened wide as you considered, yet again, it was probably inevitable that one day he would grow tired of you and move on to someone else. Even if you didn’t tell him how you felt, he could still leave you.

It was what happened with these kinds of relationships—the men left when they got bored or tired. Or when they wanted to settle down. Or when they fell in love with someone else.

Add to that, you were keenly aware that you were getting old enough that a man as young as Ransom—who was in his 40s—might want to soon trade you in for a newer, younger model. 

The thought broke your heart a little, and you had to push it away. You cut off the entire train of thought, knowing that it would lead nowhere good, especially when your sugar daddy was due to pick you up in just a short time. As you went back to getting ready, in your mind, you repeated your mantra to yourself: You would not love Ransom Drysdale.

It was a lie, of course, but you were hoping that if you said it to yourself enough times it would become true. It hadn’t worked yet, though. 

Thankfully, your phone vibrated, distracting you.

Wear that skirt I like. And one of the sweaters you stole from me.

A huff of an affronted laugh escaped you at the brisk tone of Ransom’s message. You hated it when he barked orders at you like you were one of the interns at his office. Sure, technically you were his employee, but he didn’t have to use that tone—especially before a date.

You assumed he was cranky because he still didn’t want to go pumpkin picking, but that didn’t mean you had to put up with it. Or respond at all. Even if you did follow his orders, since that was part of your deal for the day.

Tossing your phone on your bed without replying, you pulled out the skirt he was referring to from your closet. It was a short, flouncy thing that swished dangerously around your thighs, offering tantalizing teases of your ass to anyone who might be looking at your backside. 

Ransom loved it because it afforded him a sneak peek of what lingerie you were wearing. One of his favorite things to gift you as his sugar baby was lingerie. He loved seeing you in it, touching you in it, fucking you in it. And what he liked most was sneaking a peek of your lingerie from those glimpses beneath your flouncy skirt.

On that September morning, you selected a black satin matching set to wear beneath the skirt, then pulled a maroon sweater from the pile in your closet.

He may have been a spoiled, rich man, but Ransom was a gentleman, and if you were cold, he’d give you his sweater—which was how you’d amassed a small hoard of your sugar daddy’s sweaters. You never could bring yourself to give them back once they made their way into your closet. Nor could you bear to wash them. 

In your loneliest moments, you’d pull on one of Ransom’s sweaters and let the expensive scent of his cologne comfort you. He smelled like whiskey and something spicy—something that matched perfectly with the fall and winter. 

You’d never told anyone about wearing Ransom’s sweaters when you were alone in your Beacon Hill apartment, but your sugar daddy knew you’d collected many of them. 

Ransom didn’t seem to mind, though. Or, at least, he never asked for them back. But sometimes, like that day, he’d ask that you wear one for him. It always sent a special thrill through you to wear your sugar daddy’s sweaters, like it meant he was staking a claim on you that was deeper and more like a typical romantic relationship. 

A giddy, happy smile curled your lips as you got dressed and added jewelry before checking to make sure your hair and makeup were still done to your satisfaction. 

You were just pulling on some black mary jane shoes when your phone chimed with another text. 

Let me see, nixie. 

Your traitorous heart fluttered at the nickname. Most of the sugar daddies you’d had relationships with called you by much more common pet names—sweetheart, honey—if they used them at all. But leave it to Ransom to pull a pet name from obscure European folklore. 

You’d had to look it up after the first time he used it, and when you found out it was a kind of river mermaid who lured men to their deaths, you’d laughed to yourself. Ransom had essentially likened you to a siren, and at the time, you’d wondered if he believed you could lure him to his death. It seemed ridiculous, especially when you were the one in danger of getting their heart broken.

Sometimes, when he used that pet name, you wondered if Ransom liked you as much as you liked him. If that was why he’d chosen it, because he worried you’d hurt him somehow. But that was a dangerous thought and you reminded yourself it would only lead to heartbreak. 

You tried not to have a reaction to the nickname. You tried to stop your heart from fluttering and your lips from curving into a smile. But it was impossible.

So to distract yourself, you did as Ransom had asked in his message. You snapped a quick photo of your outfit—the short, flouncy skirt paired with his maroon sweater and your black mary janes. You’d chosen to forgo tights because September in Massachusetts could get warm, especially with the sun shining as brightly as it was outside your window.

You sent the photo and began gathering your things to wait for Ransom to arrive for your date, but his response came back quicker than you expected.

Pretty, but I want to see it in person. I’m outside.

Your heart gave another flutter at the compliment, then flipped entirely when he said he was outside. Bounding to your bedroom window that overlooked the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill, you grinned when you saw Ransom’s silver 1972 BMW coupe parked outside your door. 

Ransom might not be as excited for your pumpkin picking date as you were, but he was early. That had to mean something, right? 

You didn’t let that thought flourish any further, pushing it aside as you grabbed your keys and phone and shoved them in the bag you’d picked to match your outfit. Then you were flouncing down the stairs of your townhouse to the front door and pushing through it, pausing only to lock it behind you.

When you turned to the street, you were struck with the sight of Ransom Drysdale leaning against his BMW, a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. Your heart raced and your belly swooped—it felt like your entire body was having a visceral reaction to seeing Ransom dressed in an autumnal outfit that suited him so well.

A golden brown wool coat hung off Ransom’s broad shoulders, slightly obscuring the worn cream-colored cable knit sweater that covered his expansive chest. A purple and gold scarf with some kind of intricate design hung casually around his neck, adding to the look that was completed by dark slacks, brown loafers and a pair of sunglasses with gold rims that matched the rings he wore on his hands.

Despite his sunglasses, you could feel Ransom’s eyes on you and you bit your lip against a giddy grin, worried that your schoolgirl crush on your sugar daddy would show plain as day on your face if you let it slip free. Instead, you gave him an exaggerated onceover before letting out a low whistle of appreciation as you stepped into the narrow sidewalk lining the cobblestone street.

“Quit gawking and c’mere, nixie,” Ransom growled, using his free hand to grab your waist and pull you into him. 

You landed against his broad, muscular chest with a light, “oomph,” and instantly wound your arms around his shoulders, enjoying the way he felt so steady and solid against you. 

“You love it when I check you out, don’t you, daddy?” you teased in a soft voice meant only for him. 

The street wasn’t busy, but it was so narrow that if any of your neighbors had their windows open to let in the crisp September air, they’d easily be able to overhear you. And you didn’t want anyone else hearing you call Ransom ‘daddy’—that was just for him.

“I do,” Ransom admitted in a rumbling voice, matching your low tone. “And I love looking at you in your pretty little outfit I picked out…” He trailed off, ducking down closer to you and nudging your nose to tilt your head back, ghosting his mouth over your lips teasingly when you canted your face to meet his. “But daddy needs a kiss, baby.”

The words were barely past his lips before you were surging up onto your tiptoes and kissing Ransom. He tasted like black coffee and cinnamon, and you couldn’t get enough of it. When his tongue slid across your lower lip seeking entrance, you were helpless to do anything but open for him, moaning softly as he plunged into your mouth.

The kiss had started out chaste enough for the sidewalk of Beacon Hill, but Ransom seemed to be as ravenous as you felt, hooking his arms around your waist and bending you backward with the intensity of his need to devour you. 

It had your head spinning with pleasure, but you still gave him as good as you got, kissing him back with just as much fervor, your leg rising of its own accord to hook around his thigh beneath his open coat.

Gradually, Ransom slowed the kiss until his mouth was decadently nibbling on your lower lip before licking the sting of his teeth away. Then, finally, he pulled away and you were able to drag in a deep breath, trying to get your head on straight as you lowered your leg back to the sidewalk. 

“Get in the car, nixie,” Ransom growled, though there was no anger in his tone, only a desirous heat that you recognized, since it was swirling warmly in the depths of your core. “Before I decide I’d rather take you back inside your apartment and fuck you in nothing but my sweater instead of taking you pumpkin picking.”

His free hand slid down your back and he groped the soft curve of your ass shamelessly over your skirt, right there on the street. Still, you couldn’t help but melt at his rough handling, a gasp escaping as his fingers dug ruthlessly into your flesh. 

For just a second, you debated whether you wanted Ransom to deliver on his threat, but decided against it. The prospect of seeing your sugar daddy going pumpkin picking was too good to pass up.

“Ok, ok, I’m getting in the car,” you huffed on a laugh, your voice breathy in a way you couldn’t help as you squirmed away from Ransom’s groping hand. Your sugar daddy chuckled, but let you go, then turned to open the door of his BMW for you.

He waited until you were settled on the soft leather seat, your seatbelt buckled across your lap, then leaned into the car and handed you the coffee he’d been holding. You took it with no small amount of surprise, having assumed it was his own coffee.

“For you, your favorite,” he murmured before brushing a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry for being short with you this morning.”

A stunned expression froze on your face, his words spinning around in your mind so loudly, you barely heard the thump of the car door closing. Your eyes flicked up to watch Ransom cross in front of the car, your heart racing like you’d just sprinted an entire marathon.

It was then that you knew, unequivocally, without any doubt, that you loved Ransom Drysdale. 

Your sugar daddy slid smoothly into the driver’s seat and pulled his door shut before glancing at you. You gave him a weak smile, trying to hid the fact that you felt like a bomb had just been dropped inside your heart, and his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

“Don’t tell me they fucked up your drink,” he fumed, shoving his keys in the ignition and starting his BMW. He threw an arm around the back of your seat, his chest close enough to your shoulder that you could feel the warmth radiating from him as he carefully backed up, then maneuvered onto the street. All the while, he was muttering, “It’s a fucking pumpkin spice latte, they must make thousands of them a day. How can they fuck it up?”

When he merged into traffic at the end of the street heading in the direction of the local coffee shop, Ransom finally pulled his arm away from the back of your seat. You grabbed his hand before he could put it back on the wheel, squeezing it to get his attention.

“The latte’s fine, Ran—it’s perfect,” you assured him, even though you hadn’t taken a sip yet. Some of the anger drained from his expression and he executed a u-turn to turn in the other direction of the coffee shop, but his jaw was still ticking with annoyance and you searched for an explanation that wasn’t the truth. When you couldn’t think of anything else, you blurted, “I was just surprised you remembered my favorite coffee.”

“Of course I remembered,” he said after a moment of silence. His voice was gruff, like he didn’t know what to do with his sweet gesture being addressed so directly, but his mood seemed to lighten, his annoyance forgotten. Slipping his hand from your fingers, he settled his palm firmly on your thigh, giving you a playful squeeze as he shot you a smirk. “Though I don’t think that sugary nonsense should really be called coffee,” he snarked, giving your leg another squeeze to let you know he was only teasing.

You huffed an exasperated laugh and settled your free hand on top of his, holding onto him while he drove skillfully through the busy streets of Boston, heading toward the city limits. 

Ransom’s joke washed away the remnants of whatever tension your revelation, and your need to hide it from him, had caused between the two of you. Of course, you still felt the knowledge that you loved him hovering at the edge of your mind, but it was easy to sink into Ransom’s comforting presence and, if not entirely forget about it, at least more easily pretend you didn’t know you were in love with your sugar daddy.

On the drive, you made conversation with Ransom, asking him about his work and his family. He’d spent time with them the previous weekend and hadn’t seen you as a result. But he skipped quickly over the family party he’d attended and instead focused on telling you about some of the books he’d acquired for Blood Like Wine. 

You didn’t like Ransom’s family, based on what little you knew about them. And you didn’t feel even a little bit bad about it because you were certain they’d never like you, especially considering how you’d met Ransom. But it still made you sad to think about him facing them alone. Your heart thumped with sympathy and you curled your fingers more possessively around his hand on your thigh.

Ransom shot you a lopsided smile and turned the conversation around on you, asking about what books you’d been reading, and how the rest of your hobbies were going. He didn’t need to ask about your work because he’d made sure you didn’t need a job other than keeping him company—and especially didn’t need any other sugar daddies. 

So you told him about what you were reading and all the other things you did to occupy your time while he listened and asked questions. He especially loved hearing your opinions on the Blood Like Wine books he’d acquired. 

A little over an hour outside the city, Ransom’s BMW pulled into a gravel driveway beside a large sign that read Johnson’s Family Farm. There were smaller signs lining the drive advertising the farm’s apple orchards, hayrides, farm stand, and, of course, the pumpkin patch. 

Beyond the windows of Ransom’s BMW, you could see the farm sprawling out toward the distant horizon, plenty of picturesque little red buildings and beautiful fields filled with various fruits and vegetables. But there was something off about the farm, and it took you a moment to realize what it was: The whole place was deserted. 

It was a little early in the day, just after lunch time, but you were still surprised by how empty the parking lot was. And you didn’t even see any workers, or cars that might belong to them. It was just Ransom’s BMW and the deserted farm.

“Where is everyone?” you asked, turning in your seat to Ransom. “Are you sure they’re open?” It was the weekend, they must’ve been open, but you couldn’t make sense of why no one was there.

Ransom snorted, giving you a devious smirk as he put the car in park and turned it off. 

“I bought out the farm for a couple hours, it’s just us and the pumpkins, nixie,” he explained, squeezing your thigh one last time before stepping out of the car and rounding the front to open your door for you. 

You stepped out onto the gravel in a bit of a daze, still shocked by his words. You knew Ransom was wealthy—he was a high-level executive at one of the most successful prestige publishers in the country, not to mention the money he inherited from his family—but him buying out an entire farm just for your date was one of the most extravagant things he’d ever done. Your mind reeled as you tried to fathom how much that would even cost.

Ransom curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. He’d taken off his sunglasses, so you were met with the sight of his sparkling blue eyes. Paired with his devastatingly handsome smirk, your knees instantly went weak and your mouth parted in a wordless plea for him to kiss you.

He dropped a quick peck to your lips that was over too soon and swept his thumb across your cheek in a soothing gesture, your surprise melting into happiness as you realized you got to have Ransom all to yourself on your date. 

“C’mon, nixie, did you really think I’d agree to go pumpkin picking—to go tromping through the dirt on a farm,” he scoffed, his tone warm even if it was a little derisive. “And deal with hordes of screaming children and their families?” 

Ransom raised an eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help but snort a laugh as you rolled your eyes. You didn’t even need to answer, because of course Ransom wouldn’t want to deal with anyone else while he was enduring the absolute torture of going pumpkin picking. But then his next words distracted you from thinking about how spoiled he was.

“Besides, I haven’t forgotten our deal. I have plans for you, and we needed the farm all to ourselves for them,” he teased, his smirk turning impish as he ducked down and captured your lips in another quick kiss. 

Your heart was racing with excitement, your mind turning over his words and wondering what he could have planned for you while Ransom grabbed your hand and led you into the farm. You shook your head to clear it of all the naughty thoughts that had popped into your mind, and focused on your sugar daddy, who was following the signs toward the pumpkin patch with a grim acceptance in his expression.

The September sun was warm on your shoulders, but there was a cool breeze, the lingering chill of the morning clinging to the day and you curled around Ransom’s arm while you walked. You tried to distract your sugar daddy from the eventuality of leaving the nice dirt path to wade into the pumpkin patch by chattering about fond memories you had of going apple picking and exploring corn mazes with friends when you were younger. 

When you got to the area where you could pick your own pumpkins, Ransom paused at the edge, using your clasped hands to pull you to a stop alongside him. Your chatter cut off mid-sentence and you looked curiously to your sugar daddy, finding his brows lowered over his stormy blue eyes as he considered the haphazard spread of soft soil, scattered hay and orange pumpkins.

“I still don’t really see the point of this,” he muttered, giving the pumpkin patch a dubious look.

You couldn’t help but smile, thinking Ransom looked younger than his years in that moment—like a kid who was being introduced to something new and didn’t trust that they were going to like it. 

You curled into Ransom’s chest, your arms twining around his neck while his settled easily around your waist. You looked up at him and waited to speak until he dragged his gaze from the pumpkin patch behind you to meet your eyes.

“Normally, the point would be to take some pumpkins home and carve them,” you explained patiently. Ransom narrowed his eyes on you suspiciously, as if he believed you were going to try to convince him to do such an unfathomably pedestrian thing, and the corners of your mouth flickered as you suppressed an even wider smiler. “But something tells me even my powers of persuasion aren’t strong enough to get you to do that.”

Ransom only snorted, his eyes flicking disdainfully to the pumpkins over your shoulder then back at you. “Definitely not.” 

But there was a curiosity buried deep in his gaze, and you wondered if one day—if you were together long enough—he might be willing to try some pumpkin carving. 

Surprisingly, you could picture it. Ransom with his worn, threadbare sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows, grimacing as he yanked pumpkin guts from inside a big, orange gourd. It almost made you giggle to think about.

Instead, you shook your head to clear the image from your thoughts, not wanting to get your hopes up that Ransom would be a fixture in your life long enough that you could convince him to carve pumpkins with you. 

Although, maybe if you offered to blow him while he did… You shook your head again and met Ransom’s curious gaze, giving him a bright smile that was only a little bit fake.

“Then we can just pick out a couple pumpkins for my front steps,” you said sunnily, bouncing up onto your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Ransom’s cheek. “They’re pretty decorations whether we carve them or not.” 

You began to pull away, intent on starting your search for the perfect pumpkins, but Ransom’s arms tightened around your waist, like he didn’t want to let go yet.

“You’d be a much prettier decoration than any of these gourds, nixie,” he murmured, and you turned your face to him in surprise at the gruffness in his tone. There was some emotion laced through his voice that you couldn’t place, and before you could puzzle it out, Ransom’s mouth caught yours, sending your thoughts scattering as he kissed you deeply.

When you finally broke away for a breath, your body was buzzing with awareness of Ransom’s and a warmth that had nothing to do with the bright September sun had bloomed between your thighs. You had half a mind to drag Ransom back to the car and have him do something about what he’d started, but you were determined to go pumpkin picking. 

Pushing aside the distracting hum of desire filling your body, you pulled away from Ransom’s warmth and began carefully stepping through the pumpkin patch. The smell of earth and the distinct scent of pumpkins surrounded you, calming some of the buzzy heat Ransom had stirred up, and you were able to focus on your search for the perfect pumpkins.

Once Ransom got over the fact that he would have to walk through the dirt in his nice loafers—which took a few moments of complaining—he began picking his way through the pumpkins. He kept calling out to you when he’d found one that was particularly deformed or ugly in some way, trying to claim they had “character.” But you knew he was just being a pest to make you laugh and smile.

To his credit, he was making you laugh, and the smile on your face was so wide it hurt a little. 

Every time he held up a terrible pumpkin like it was a prize catch, you shook your head at him, but your laughter echoed across the fields of the farm. And you couldn’t help but notice that Ransom seemed to be having fun, too, his own smile staying fixed on his handsome face as you both made your way through the pumpkin patch.

“What about this one?” Ransom called, from a little ways away, having wandered off in a different direction. “Now this is a pumpkin.”

You stood up from where you’d been bent over, looking at some moderately sized pumpkins to find Ransom standing beside a massive orange thing. It was almost as high as Ransom’s waist, tipped on its side, but as you looked harder, something about it seemed off.

First, it was clearly meant to be part of a display set up by the farm, since it stood in front of an artfully arranged stack of hay bales that were topped with smaller pumpkins. The rest of the field stretched out behind the setup, and you suspected it had been constructed in an attempt to give visitors to the farm a photo op, where families or groups of friends could pose for the perfect autumnal pictures. 

But as you walked closer to Ransom, and smoothed your hands over the large pumpkin, you realized something else was off about the gourd.

“Ran,” you started dryly, cutting your eyes to him, finding him admiring the pumpkin. “This isn’t a real pumpkin—it’s fake, for the photo op,” you said, waving your hand at the whole display.

Ransom seemed confused for a moment, then looked at the bales of hay arranged behind it as if he was seeing them for the first time. Since you were closer, you could see a little sign that had the name of the farm tacked into the hay, and had to give it to Johnson’s Family Farm—they seemed to know what they were doing.

“Figures the first pumpkin I actually like is fake,” Ransom muttered, turning to you and wrapping his arms around your waist as he curled his big body around yours. 

You bit your lip against a laugh and stroked your fingers through his soft brown hair. “Don’t worry, Ran, I’m sure we’ll find something you like.” 

His thick arms squeezed you tight and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto one another. It was a sweet moment—until Ransom’s hands began to wander down your back, stroking down your spine to the swell of your ass. But he didn’t stop there. His hands slid further down and under your skirt, groping your thighs shamelessly and kneading the soft flesh of your ass.

“Remind me again about the deal we made, nixie,” Ransom rumbled, his tone thick with lust as he used his big hands to pull you closer, his bulge pressing into your stomach. 

Your mind was swimming with desire, your body arched into the bigger form of your sugar daddy, but you managed to remember the words of the agreement you’d made—the one that had finally convinced Ransom it would be worth it to take you pumpkin picking.

“I have to do everything you say,” you recited the terms of your deal, your voice breathless with excitement. “And you can do anything you want with me.”

Ransom made a rumbling sound deep in his chest, the vibrations teasing your nipples through your sweater and sheer lingerie. Your breasts felt heavy, aching to be touched, but you kept your arms around Ransom’s broad shoulders, waiting to see what he’d do. 

“I think it’s time for you to pay up, baby,” Ransom murmured, walking you backward until your ass collided with the big, fake pumpkin. “I wanna take some pictures of my pretty sugar baby on the biggest pumpkin in the patch.” 

The plastic was cold against your bare thighs and you sucked in a gasp, your body tensing in Ransom’s grip.

He seemed to understand your plight, though, because he uncurled himself from around your body—after giving your ass a lingering squeeze. 

Straightening, Ransom’s eyes caught yours, his blue gaze sparkling with mischief and a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth as he shrugged out of his wool coat. He swung it around behind you, laying it down on the pumpkin before his hands fell to your hips.

“Need a boost?” he asked, his lips curving into a deviously handsome smirk as his hands settled on your hips.

Truthfully, you didn’t need the help. The pumpkin was only a little higher than your ass, and you could have easily hopped up onto it. But arousal was slinking through your body, making you feel heavy and achy and you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have Ransom’s hands on you for a little longer.

“Yes, please, daddy,” you said sweetly, giving Ransom your most charming smile and enjoying the way his eyes darkened at the honorific. 

Ransom pressed close to you, his expensive cologne filling your senses as he pinned you against the pumpkin under the guise of helping you. But you could feel the hard, thick length in his slacks digging into your soft belly and you knew he was enjoying the excuse to hold you just as much as you were. 

Slowly, he eased you up onto the pumpkin, the wool of his coat scratchy against the back of your bare thighs, but much warmer and softer than the cold plastic of the decoration. 

When he settled you right where he wanted you, it took all your self-control not to spread your legs for Ransom. You bit your lip against a sultry smile and kept your legs closed, trying to look nice for the photos he was going to take.

Still, you couldn’t help but murmur a breathy, “Thank you, daddy,” that had your blood running even hotter through your veins. 

Ransom seemed just as affected as you, but he managed to hold himself together, dropping a quick kiss to your lips before rumbling, “Good girl, nixie.” 

Then he was stepping away, taking his warmth and delicious scent with him as he retreated a few paces and pulled out his phone. You arranged yourself in a pretty pose on the pumpkin, smiling for Ransom’s camera, and adjusting your legs or arms or the tilt of your head as he asked. 

You’d been a little worried that giving Ransom free reign to order you around would lead to him barking commands at you like you were a dog. But he’d taken your words about not liking being talked to like that to heart—no doubt helped by the reminder of his text going unanswered that morning—and he kept his voice warm and light as he guided you through the poses he wanted for the photos he was taking.

It was more fun than you expected. You’d never done any kind of photoshoot, and you found yourself enjoying Ransom’s gentle commands helping you pose for him. He took so many photos of you perched on that fake pumpkin, you began to wonder what he planned to do with them. 

But then his directions took a new turn, and you couldn’t help the smirk that curved your lips.

“Now spread your legs,” Ransom urged, bending down so he was crouched in the field, being careful not to let his pants touch the dirt. “Put your feet up—yeah, just like that.” Ransom’s eyes sparkled in the bright September sunshine as he watched you shift into the pose he wanted, his mouth pulled wide in a wolfish grin. “Let daddy see what’s under that pretty skirt of yours.”

Leaning back on your hands, you lifted your knees and spread them wide, balancing precariously on top of the big, fake pumpkin. Your skirt fell around your hips, baring your black silk panties for Ransom’s camera. Even a few paces away, you could hear his inhale of breath when he got his first glimpse of the thin slip of fabric barely covering your glistening slit. 

Excited thrills zipped through your body, more wetness gathering between your thighs as you watched Ransom’s blue eyes darken. Your pussy was so close to being on full display in broad daylight, and even though you knew the farm was deserted, the possibility of somehow being caught still made the tension in you crackle deliciously. 

But that was the fun of following Ransom’s orders—you’d known from the moment you offered it up for the deal that he would have you doing something naughty. You just hoped, as your core ached to be filled, that your sugar daddy would end the teasing soon and fuck you over the pumpkin he had you sitting on.

“Rub your pussy, baby,” Ransom rumbled, his voice pitching lower. “Let me see you make a mess of your pretty panties—all for me.”

His tone was drenched in a desire that made you even wetter, your body responding to his voice alone. You were so gone for him, you didn’t even care that no other man had ever made you wet just from his voice. You just wanted him to keep talking—keep ordering you to do more filthy things. 

Putting all your weight on one hand, you slipped the other between your thighs, using two fingers to rub your clit through your black silk panties. You suspected they were expensive, just like all the lingerie Ransom had gifted you, but you didn’t think about how much they cost. You only stared into Ransom’s camera and let your eyes go heavy-lidded, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan as pleasure pulsed through your body.

“Good girl, nixie,” Ransom purred, shifting closer but staying down on his haunches. Soft clicks of a camera shudder came from his phone as he took photo after photo, capturing the way your fingers dipped down to your slit and pushed your panties ever so slightly into your dripping hole. “Fuck—yeah, just like that, rub that pretty pussy like a good little slut for daddy.”

A whimper slipped from your lips and a shudder wracked your whole body at the pleasure that suffused your entire being. Your fingers teased your wet slit while Ransom watched, his phone camera trained on you while he took photos of your lewd actions. It was headier than you would’ve expected, your thoughts scattering as your hips rocked gently, pressing your cunt against your fingers instinctively.

“Daddy, ‘m so empty,” you wailed softly, pushing your fingers into your pussy through your panties, whining desperately when they couldn’t go deep enough. The black satin was soaked in your juices, feeling good as it slipped against your wet lower lips, but you hated it in that moment because it was the only thing stopping you from being filled. “P-please, daddy!”

One of Ransom’s hands dropped from his phone to palm his dick through his pants, and you whimpered louder with a wordless plea. You opened your eyes wider and pouted your lips, imploring him to put you out of your misery—either by giving you another order, or by sinking his fat cock into your aching pussy.

Ransom’s features darkened with desire, his handsome face twisting into an expression that was almost a scowl as he rose from his crouch to tower over where you were perched. Your own expression lightened and turned hopeful, sure he was going to tuck his phone away and fill you up, but instead, he chuckled darkly. 

Skimming his free hand down your inner thigh, he groped you briefly, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. But then he ignored your pussy entirely and instead tugged on the hem of your sweater.

“Pull up your shirt, nixie, show me your slutty body,” Ransom rasped, his voice hoarse with his own need while he palmed his dick again, keeping his phone camera trained on you.

You whined and squirmed pathetically at the quick tease of his touch, but followed his order all the same. You tugged the hem of your sweater up, catching it between your teeth to keep it from falling down again before you went back to rubbing your pussy. 

You knew how you must’ve looked—your legs spread wide, your shirt pulled up to show off both parts of your black silk matching set and your hand pressed between your thighs, rubbing your pussy shamelessly. You must’ve looked like a perfect little whore for Ransom, and by the way his eyes sparkled and his mouth curved into a satisfied smirk, he loved it.

“Good girl, nixie,” he murmured, soft clicks of the camera shutter coming from his phone as he took even more photos while he stood over you. “You’re such a good little slut for me, baby, such a perfectly obedient girl.” His eyes flicked from his phone screen to your eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good to do everything daddy tells you?” 

With the soft cotton of your sweater in your mouth, you couldn’t speak, so you nodded, holding Ransom’s gaze as you did so. You wanted him to see it was the truth—it did feel good to do what he told you. Because you trusted him. You knew he’d never tell you to do anything that might hurt you. 

Something shifted in Ransom’s eyes as he read your expression—something that looked a lot like surprise melting into a profound awareness that seemed to frighten him. As you watched, his eyes hardened just a little bit, the hand holding his phone dropping out of the way as he stared at you intensely.

“Are you sure you can handle it, sugar baby, doing everything I tell you?” he asked, a harshness in his tone that spoke to an underlying animosity you knew wasn’t truly directed at you. 

You realized all of a sudden that you’d tipped your hand. You’d shown Ransom you trusted him, and, in the process, shown him that your feelings for him were deeper than they should be between a sugar baby their sugar daddy. His question was a challenge, and an offering of an escape at the same time. 

But, for all that you’d avoided showing Ransom how you truly felt about him, you simply couldn’t run away from him. If you’d been able to do that, you would’ve parted ways with your sugar daddy already. 

So you held Ransom’s glinting blue gaze and nodded resolutely. His expression hardened further. 

“Spank your pussy,” Ransom growled, his voice sounding as rough as the gravel in the farm’s parking lot. “Show me what a dirty little slut you are and slap your cunt as hard as you can.” 

Your whole body quivered with anticipation as you drew back your hand from your wet, puffy pussy. Your silk panties were soaking wet, and you knew the flimsy fabric wouldn’t protect your sensitive slit from the sting of the spank, but Ransom gave you an order, and you intended to follow it—to show him how much you trusted him, and cared for him.

Using the flat of your fingers, you slapped your cunt as Ransom instructed, as hard as you could manage. Electrifying pain streaked through your body, making you cry out and arch violently on the pumpkin you were perched on, your other hand gripping tightly to Ransom’s wool coat to keep you balanced. A deep, blazing pleasure nipped at the sensation’s heels and your cry devolved quickly into a debauched moan that was muffled by the sweater in your mouth. 

It took you a moment to force your gaze back to Ransom, his eyes swirling with so many emotions, you didn’t have a hope of discerning them. But he held his phone up again, no doubt framing you within the screen and said in a gruff voice, “Again.”

That time, since you were expecting it, it was easier to brace for the sting of pain and the burning pleasure that swept the smarting tingle away. But your body still responded, your spine curving and your legs shaking wildly, your lips falling open in another muted moan as your teeth clung to the sweater so it didn’t slip free from your mouth. 

Ransom’s camera captured the whole thing—you knew because he watched the screen instead of you, his mouth twisting into a depraved smirk.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Ransom rumbled, some of the warmth you typically heard in your sugar daddy’s voice seeping back into his words. He must’ve heard it, too, because his next words were harsher. “Does it feel good to spank your pussy like the dirty little slut she is?

“Uh huh,” you mumbled around the sweater in your mouth. You tried to tell him it felt good, but the words came out entirely garbled, though Ransom seemed to understand. 

“Are you gonna come from slapping your naughty cunt?” he asked, his eyes darkening with hungry intent as he watched your face, waiting for your response.

Your pussy pulsed at his filthy question, and you thought maybe it was possible to come from spanking your puffy slit, especially if your fingers caught your clit with each slap. But truthfully, you didn’t know—you’d never tried. So you answered Ransom honestly, muttering, “Ionno,” around the sweater in your mouth.

Ransom huffed an impatient sound and reached for you to tug the sweater free from your teeth, his actions gentle even despite his obvious annoyance. “Say that again.”

“I-I don’t know,” you whispered. “I can try.”

The expression on Ransom’s face shifted again, but it became even more unreadable. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he was searching for something, though you didn’t know what. 

“You want to try?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative.

You acted instinctively, pushing yourself up so you were no longer balancing on your hand and reaching past Ransom’s phone to grab his sweater to pull him down for a kiss. Your lips moved sweetly against his for a moment, before you pulled back and stared deeply into his eyes. 

“I want to do everything you tell me to do,” you said, reciting the words of the deal you’d struck with Ransom, but changing them just a little, to tell him again that you wanted him, you trusted him. “I want you to do anything you want with me.” 

A look of something almost like fury flitted across Ransom’s face, and then he was surging forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, as if he meant to brand you with his mouth. You moaned into him, which only seemed to make him kiss you harder, his tongue pushing past your lips to sweep into you as if he owned you. 

In that moment, if he’d asked, you would have told him he did.

Just as suddenly as he’d kissed you, Ransom pulled away and he shoved his phone in the pocket of his expensive slacks. Then, before you’d even recovered from his kiss, he grabbed your hips and spun you to the side, guiding your shoulders down so you were laying draped sideways across the big pumpkin. 

“Panties off,” he growled, his voice a low rumbling contrast to the sharp clinking of his belt buckle as he undid his pants. “Give ‘em to me.” 

You were quick to follow his orders, hooking your fingers in the black silk panties and shoving them down your legs, pulling them off and then handing them to Ransom. You watched your sugar daddy hold them up to his face and take a deep breath, inhaling your scent as his other hand dove into his boxer briefs. 

Because your head was hanging over the side of the fake pumpkin beneath your back, you had a front row seat to Ransom’s big hand stroking his hard length, your mouth watering with the desire to taste him on your tongue. A whine slipped from your lips and you squirmed, getting Ransom’s attention.

He chuckled darkly, tucking your panties into the pocket of his slacks that didn’t hold his phone and then shoved them and his boxer briefs down. His thick, fat cock fell on your face, making you flinch in surprise at the slight slap of it against your skin. But in the next breath, you were tilting your face up and kissing him affectionately, murmuring in contentment when his musky taste hit your tongue. 

“Such a perfect little slut, baby,” Ransom rasped, his praise drenched in that warm tone that had your heart beating happily in your chest. He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and slapped it gently on your smiling lips. “Open your mouth and spread your legs.” 

Immediately, you did as Ransom said, parting your thighs and opening your mouth wide, then waiting for what came next. You weren’t surprised when Ransom didn’t waste any time before pushing the tip of his cock past your lips.  

He let out a low, filthy groan as he thrust deep in your mouth, pressing into your throat until you could feel him bulging in the front of your neck. He held there, his balls nestled against your nose while you swallowed around him, trying to get used to the intrusion while he groaned obscenely at how good you felt. 

“Fuck yeah, baby, take daddy’s cock in your pretty little throat,” he rumbled, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat and pressing down lightly, grunting when he felt himself twitching inside you. “You’re such a perfect little slut, ’s like you were made for me—all for me.” 

You moaned around Ransom’s cock, hoping he took the sound for the agreement it was as you lay beneath him, your hips squirming and your pussy fluttering in the cool September air. Your wiggling seemed to get Ransom’s attention and he leaned over you, his big hand sliding between your thighs to rub your already messy pussy.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice sounding like sunshine with the affection clear in his tone. “You still wanna see if you can come from getting your pussy spanked?” he asked, a smirk in his words. 

You nodded as best you could, your hips squirming and bucking, practically begging for him without using a single word—not that you could utter any with his cock buried so deeply in your throat. 

His fingers slid teasingly against your clit and you bucked harder, grinding against him as best you could. 

Your antics made Ransom laugh quietly as he muttered, “Alright, baby,” in a placating voice. 

That was the only warning you got—that and his hand disappearing from your pussy. Ransom’s big hand came down on your pussy sharply, the flat of his fingers spanking your pussy much harder than you. Still, you could feel he was holding back from using all his strength, only giving it to you as hard as he knew you could take.

And take it you did. 

A muffled scream clawed its way up your throat and slipped past your lips to be muffled against Ransom’s balls as white-hot pain flooded your body, followed closely by the all-consuming burn of pleasure. A tremor shook your limbs and you choked on Ransom’s cock, your throat squeezing him tight enough to wring a grunt from him. 

“Fuck—did that feel good, baby?” he rumbled, his fingers dipping into your hole and rubbing your juices all over your pussy, paying special attention to your clit. “Do you like it when daddy spanks your slutty pussy? Because you’re squeezing my cock like you want me to do it again.” 

His voice was drenched in warmth and humor and you whined in response as you planted your feet on the curve of the fake pumpkin and bucked your hips up against his hand, pleasure coiling tight in your core. You knew it was only a matter of a few more smacks from Ransom’s hand before that coil was snapping and you were going to come from him spanking your pussy. 

“That sounds like a yes, but I wanna feel you nod, baby,” Ransom murmured, his other hand petting your cheek softly. 

You couldn’t see him from the angle you were at, but you could hear the smile in his tone and you melted a little, your legs falling open wider as you nodded for him. 

“Good girl,” he praised, his fingers stroking over the bulge in your throat while his others rubbled your clit, making your tight channel squeeze his cock tighter. “And what do you do if it’s too much? Show daddy,” he urged as his fingers trailed lower, until they dipped into your black satin bra and swirled around your nipples until they were stiff peaks. 

Meanwhile, you reached back and patted the outside of Ransom’s thigh three times, the sign you’d established with him early on in your relationship for when you needed a break but didn’t have the capacity to use words. 

“Good, you’re such a good girl,” he purred. His hand kept sliding lower down your body until he reached your thighs. He grabbed your soft flesh and pushed your legs open even wider. “Now, let’s see if we can make your pretty pussy come just from being spanked while I fuck your slutty mouth.” 

You barely had a chance to moan your agreement before Ransom’s hand came down on your cunt again, the sharp, slick sound of his fingers slapping your wet flesh meeting your ears before the stinging pain and scorching pleasure sent your thoughts skittering away. 

He rubbed your clit roughly and moved his hips, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, grunting and groaning at the feel of your moans vibrating through him and your throat squeezing him every time he slapped your pussy. 

Ransom fell into a rhythm, spanking your pussy as hard as he thought you could handle, his fingers catching your clit every time, and fucking your throat while you lay draped over the big, fake pumpkin in that deserted pumpkin patch. 

You were at the mercy of Ransom, and he seemed to know it just as much as you did—and he didn’t take it for granted. His hands were purposeful with every touch, every spank, his hips never pushing too hard against your head as he fucked your mouth. It was filthy and dirty and yet you could feel the depth of his caring in everything he did to you.

It wasn’t long before you were pushed to the precipice of your release, your body trembling uncontrollably, the coil in your core wound so tight, you knew it would snap any second. 

Ransom must’ve felt it too, because he started up a constant refrain of, “Good girl, baby, come for me—come for daddy, baby. You’re doing so good, wanna watch your pretty pussy come, baby, c’mon, lemme see.” His words were so sweet and warm and wicked, you were unable to do anything but follow his gentle command. 

On the next slap to your cunt, the coil of pleasure in your belly snapped, and your entire body went tight with white-hot tension before it burst free into decimating waves of pleasure. Ransom’s cock muffled your scream as you came, your hips bucking and pussy convulsing beneath his warm palm as you rubbed your soaking wet slit against him. 

You were so consumed by your release, you didn’t notice the way Ransom had frozen, and you barely felt him pulling his cock free from your mouth. You only knew that suddenly you were able to pull in deep breaths and smell the crisp scent of the pumpkin patch. 

Your head spun when Ransom gently pushed you to sit up and hauled you off the pumpkin, your feet hitting the soft soil of the field and your knees nearly buckling as your body still shivered from the waves of pleasure rolling through you. 

Ransom sat heavily on his wool coat still draped haphazardly over the top of the pumpkin, his hands greedily grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap. Your knees bracketed his thighs while his hands grabbed your ass and guided you to sit up. Then you felt the tip of his cock slide against your still fluttering hole and you moaned, your head dropping back like you didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore.

“Can’t fucking believe you came from getting your pussy spanked, baby,” Ransom was mumbling, his big hands changing the angle of your hips until the head of his cock was pressed to your entrance. “Gotta feel it, gotta…” He cut off on a grunt when he pushed into your slick, pulsing pussy, his hands shifting to your hips so he could pull you down onto his hard, throbbing length.

Your hands found Ransom’s biceps and you held onto him, your fingers tangling in the thick weave of his cable knit sweater as you quickly sank down on his cock. He was so thick and long, it stung a little to impale yourself so fast without any kind of preparation, but you didn’t care. You were too greedy for his cock to take your time, a deep, primal instinct driving you to take him as fast as you could while your mind was still reeling from your first release. 

“Oh fu-uck,” Ransom groaned brokenly, his head falling against your chest. You could feel his face pressing into your sternum, his heavy exhale ghosting between the swells of your breasts. It was against your bare skin, your heart racing just beneath the surface, that Ransom confessed, “I love you, nixie.” 

At his words, you went deathly still. For an unending moment, your mind reeled and you tried to be certain you’d heard Ransom correctly. You were sure you couldn’t have.

It didn’t seem like he realized what he’d said until he felt you stiffen in his lap. Then, Ransom sat up slowly, his gaze sharp as it raked over your face, trying to gauge your reaction. 

Licking your lips to bide you time to find your voice, you forced yourself to ask the question your heart needed an answer to. 

“Do you mean it?”

Ransom’s expression tightened, his eyes going even more wary, but he nodded—a quick, dip of his chin—and you sucked in a breath.

A tingling warmth started at the top of your head and cascaded through your body, filling you with a bright, fizzling feeling. It took a moment for you to recognize it was happiness. But not just happiness—it was pure, unfiltered joy. 

Your sugar daddy loved you. Ransom Drysdale loved you. 

His expression was growing more and more distant with every second that passed without you responding and you couldn’t have that. 

Squealing in delight, you launched yourself at him—not that it was such a far distance, considering you were in his lap—and he let out a soft, “oof,” when you collided with his chest, your arms winding around his neck and squeezing him tight.

“I love you, too, Ran,” you confessed on an exhale. It felt so good to get the words off your chest, that you repeated them. “I love you.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ransom said on a sigh of relief as he gathered you tighter against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your lower back while the other braced against your spine so his hand could cup the back of your neck. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, nixie.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t love you back?” you asked softly before pressing a kiss to Ransom’s soft cheek because you couldn’t help yourself. The scent of his cologne filled your senses and you smiled against his jaw, kissing him again and again, like you’d never get enough of it. 

“Wasn’t sure,” he admitted gruffly. 

You giggled at the sheepishness in his tone, pulling back until you could see his face. He was blushing a little, a tiny bit of pink tinging his cheeks and making him look adorable. You couldn’t help yourself from cupping his handsome face in your hands and leaning forward to brush a sweet kiss to his mouth. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmured, in between teasing kisses. “I love you when you’re grumbling about going pumpkin picking, and I love you when you’re spanking my pussy, and I love you when you’re bringing me my favorite coffee because you remembered what I liked.” 

You kept kissing him until Ransom was chuckling, his hand squeezing the back of your neck in an affectionate gesture. He reeled you in for a deeper kiss, cutting off your list of all the times you’d loved him. But you and Ransom were smiling too much to kiss properly, your teeth knocking against each other and making you both laugh even more. 

Your joyful laughter soon devolved into soft moans and grunts when Ransom rocked his hips, shifting his cock even deeper inside you. Your fingers threaded through his soft brown hair and you clung to him while you rolled your hips, grinding down on his stiff length until you were breathless with renewed desire.

“Fuck, nixie—nixie, ‘m not gonna last much longer,” Ransom groaned, his arms tightening around your back and holding you pinned against his chest while he fucked up into you. “Your pussy’s too perfect—too fucking warm and tight and good for me.” 

“Come inside me, Ran,” you whispered heatedly, feeling his cock twitch at your suggestion. You moaned softly in his ear. Your clit was grinding against the base of Ransom’s cock, and it wouldn’t be long before you came for a second time. “Please, daddy, fill me up—wanna feel your come leaking from my pussy while we’re picking pumpkins, daddy, please,” you begged in a pathetic whine.

“I love you—fuck, I love you so fucking much, nixie,” Ransom growled, pressing his face to your cheek and nudging you to the side until his mouth found yours. He kissed you so long and so deeply, it made your head spin, and he fucked you all the while, pounding into your cunt hard enough that the pleasure he gave you was edged with just enough delicious pain that you were falling off the edge and coming in no time.

Ransom swallowed your screams of pleasure as you came, your pussy clenching his cock hard enough that he followed right after, grunting into your mouth so that it was your turn to muffle his sounds with your lips. 

Coming at the same time was heady and all-consuming and you were so happy you felt like you could float away if it wasn’t for Ransom’s arms holding you so tightly to his chest. And you were glad for it, because you didn’t want to float away unless he came with you.

The two of you gradually eased down from your highs together, still kissing, still murmuring your love for one another as if you could pass the words between your lips as easily as you exchanged breaths.

Finally, your rocking bodies gently stilled and your racing hearts returned to steady, normal drumbeats. The September sun was bright, keeping you warm from the chill in the air as you snuggled into your sugar daddy—the man that you loved, and who loved you in return.

Your head was still spinning and trying to process everything you’d both admitted while laying against Ransom’s chest, your fingers playing idly with a loose thread in his sweater, when he finally broke the comfortable silence that had fallen.

“If we carve up some of these pumpkins, do I really have to clean out all the guts with my bare hands?”

His question, and the almost whining tone in his voice, had you choking on a surprised laugh. You leaned back, looking into Ransom’s face to see if he was joking, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was giving the pumpkin patch another dubious look, making you laugh again as you shook your head at him.

“No, you could wear gloves, and there’s usually a scoop that comes in the pumpkin carving kits at the store,” you explained to him, your tone filled with humor even as you kept it even and patient. “You don’t have to touch the pumpkin guts if you don’t want to.”

Your fingers stroked through the hair at the nape of his neck and he seemed to relax, though whether it was from your assurance or your touch, you couldn’t tell. You suspected it was both.

After a moment, Ransom seemed to reach some sort of decision because he heaved a deep sigh and met your gaze. His blue eyes were shimmering in the bright afternoon sunlight, and the affection in his gaze warmed you despite the chill in the air. 

“Alright, let’s find some pumpkins worth carving,” he said, though his grim tone made it sound like he was suggesting you both walk into battle. 

A smile spread across your face and you giggled happily. “You mean it?”

“Of course, nixie,” Ransom rumbled, leaning in and brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do to make you happy—I thought that was clear when I agreed to an afternoon of pumpkin picking.” 

You laughed softly, ghosting your lips over his in a teasing gesture as your heart fluttered in your chest, happiness swooping through your belly. But still, his words didn’t exactly match up to your memory of events, especially given everything you’d done to get him to agree to the date—including the deal you’d made.

“Silly me, and here I thought it was because of the deal we made,” you murmured. 

“Mm, nope,” Ransom said, popping the ‘p’ in nope. “Woulda taken you pumpkin picking even without the deal—just liked watching you convince me.” He brushed feather-light kisses along your jaw, making you hum happily at the soft press of his lips after you snorted at his comment. “But now that you mention it, our arrangement extends to the pumpkin carving portion of this date, yeah?” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, having a hard time following the conversation when he sucked gently on the spot just beneath your ear that had your head falling to the side to give him better access. You shook your head lightly and found the words to form a proper response. “Sure, it lasts as long as the date does.”

You felt Ransom’s mouth curve as he smirked against the side of your neck. “Good,” he purred, kissing down your throat until he got to the line of your sweater. “Gonna make you suck my cock while I clean out our pumpkins.”

Buzzy excitement and warm desie flooded through you at his words and it was your turn to smile. You remembered that you’d considered offering to blow him to get him to carve pumpkins just that morning, so you obviously had nothing against his suggestion. You were eager for it to become a reality.

“Whatever you say, daddy,” you murmured in your sweetest voice. 

Ransom huffed an amused laugh before his mouth found yours again. 

The two of you kissed for a little while longer, until your knees and hips started to protest sitting in the same position on that big, fake pumpkin for so long. Ransom helped you down from his lap and towed you back toward the farm stand, so you could clean up in the nice employee bathroom—though he refused to give you your panties back.

You spent the rest of the early afternoon picking out pumpkins with Ransom, then he carried them back to his BMW and put them in the trunk. While he drove you both back to the city, he gave you his phone and told you to pick out your favorite of the photos he’d taken of you. 

You asked him if he only wanted you to pick from the lewd photos, and he told you to also pick one of the pictures he’d taken of you with your clothes covering you. When you asked him what it was for, he told you he wanted to frame it and put it on his desk in his office. Your heart fluttered when he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, admitting he missed you while he was at work.

If you hadn’t already known you were in love with him, you would’ve known then, your heart squeezing in happiness while your fingers tightened around his. Since you didn’t have to hold back your emotions anymore, you told him how much you loved him, and he responded by repeating the words and kissing your hand again.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at your townhouse apartment in Beacon Hill, cleaning out and carving the pumpkins you’d picked before putting candles in them and setting them on the steps outside your front door. Before the date was over, you even got Ransom Drysdale—your sugar daddy and the man that you loved—to admit he had fun. 

Of course, you had to promise you’d never tell anyone. But you assured him you could keep it secret, so long as he loved you. He grinned, and promised you he always would, then he sealed the deal with a kiss. 

And that was how an afternoon of pumpkin picking turned into a beautiful life together.

thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡♡

[awakenedevildays]

「one year anniversary gone wrong 」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

Requested by @krissyiscomingforyou 🩷

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You knew it was a bad idea when Stiles proposed it: as romantic as a date far enough to look down at the city lights is, with his jeep you knew there was going to be some problems... like, for example, it breaking down without any warning just as you were about to end your date. 

"Stiles, I'm going to kill you" you say and if looks could kill he would certainly be dead. Your reaction is excused tho, you're in the middle of nowhere, without appropriate clothes for the cold autumn night that is coming and without a car that could take you back home. 

He doesn't look at you, one because he's focused on looking at the jeep's motor in fake, deep concentration, and two because he doesn't feel like seeing your death stare directed at him.  "Now you're being dramatic" he says while walking back to the passengers seat to take the toolbox and the torch. "Could you help me with this?" he asks giving you the light and you sigh while nodding your head.

As Stiles begins to move what seems very important parts of the car around you look warily at him, "not that i don't trust you, but do you know what you're doing?" you ask and he briefly looks at you sheepishly. 

"yeah well, not really... but maybe by tentatives something will change...? i think?" he says and you can't help the smile that grows on your lips, after all, the night was perfect: Stiles prepared a wonderful but simple night under the stars with take out food from your favourite restaurant, candle lights and fluffy blankets to keep you warm... you don't feel like putting a bad mood between you two for a small accident that is not even his fault. You move the light to illuminate better the place he is working on. 

"One would think that after all the times this car broke down you would become a pro at repairing it" you tease and he chuckles. 

"Roscoe has a new problem everyday, it's hard to keep up, you know?" you chuckle at that and you both stay silent for half an hour expect for suggesting new things to try out. 

"I'm gonna try to call your dad, maybe he can come pick us up" you propose while taking out your phone only to find out that there is no signal. You don't worry about your parents, you already told them you would be spending the night at Stiles' house and you're glad at least them won't have an heart attack tonight. "No signal... fuck, what should we do? the city is too far to go back walking" you say worried, being trapped near a forest in Beacon Hills in the middle of the night is not on your wish list. 

He sighs annoyed and closes the dashboard of the car with more force than necessary. "No it wouldn't be safe" he says in contemplation while looking around, his lips pursued and brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, this is not how the night was supposed to end" he says disappointed and you hurry to walk to stand before him. The thumb of your free hand smoothes the furrowed slit between his brows to make it disappear.

"Don't worry about it Sti, it's not your fault" you kiss his lips briefly before caressing his cold cheek softly. "We could sleep in the back seats for tonight and tomorrow morning we'll try to start the car again" you propose and his hands wraps around your waist even if his eyes don't meet yours, clearly still disappointed by how the night ended. 

"We don't have many other choices, do we?" he looks at the car like it just betrayed him in the worst way possible. 

"Glaring at it will not make it work, baby" you say laughing while wrapping your arms around his neck. 

"Maybe not, but it doesn't hurt to try" Stiles answers immediately and his hands slips in the back pockets of your denim skirt as he turns his head to look at you. "I'm really, really sorry baby, this wasn't suppo-" you interrupt him with a kiss.

"Stop apologizing." your assertive tone shuts him up "this night has been far too perfect to be mad at you... or at your Jeep" he smiles at that and connects your lips together in a sweet kiss. 

"Happy one year anniversary" he mumbles and you smile, you're so in love with him. 

"Happy anniversary, Sti'" your smile makes him grin. "How about we try get some sleep?"

Stiles hesitates for a few seconds before nodding his agreement. "Yeah...yeah okay, you're right, let's just hope the backseat is big enough for two people" he says, trying to keep his voice cheerful which only makes it sound bitter.

"it was big enough when we had fun last night" you tease and Stiles genuinely chuckles while opening the backdoor and motions you to get in first.

"maybe we should stop having sex in my jeep, it might have broken down because we went too hard in it" he says as he climbs in after you so that your back is pressed to his chest and his legs are on either side of you, his back against the door. 

"yeah sure, thats the only plausible reason" you scoff as Stiles covers your body with the fluffy blanket he brought.

"you have a better theory?" he asks wrapping his arms around you, his warmth slowly creeping up on your cold body and you move backwards to try and get more contact between him and your body.

"I might have a few here, listen: dead battery, faulty spark plugs or coil, flooded engine-" 

"Ok stop, you're turning me on right now" he whispers against the back of your neck and you chuckle at that, pushing your body further against his.

"ew, that's weird!" you answer.

"How is that weird? You're listing out car parts that tone of voice! how do you expect me to react?" he asks, holding you tighter against his chest.

"what tone of voice?" you ask confused.

"you know the little know-it-all super sexy tone you use? When you're acting all sassy and sarcastic to correct me on something..." he says with a smile and you can feel his lips brush against your ear as he talks making you shiver.

"so... womansplaining? does that even exist?" you ask and your hand goes to his cheek to keep him there. 

"mhmh yeah" he says nuzzling his face on your hand, you can feel his lips on your palm and you move your fingers against the curve of his face gently "I call it sassyplaining but whatever works" he murmurs into your skin, his lips moving to your wrist.

You giggle "i don't know if I should feel flattered or offended." 

"why would you feel offended?" he asks pressing a kiss to your pulse point "it's a compliment, it means that you're a smart, know-it-all, sexy and confident woman, what's not to like?" his nose travels up your neck and then he plants a kiss right behind your ear.

"uhm, the fact that you just called me 'little know-it all'? maybe? It's not exactly a compliment." 

"little as in cute," he clarifies against the skin of your neck while he moves to kiss and nibble at a sensitive spot that makes your breath hitch, "the know-it-all as in super hot" he says while his hand slips between your naked thighs to warm his hand up. 

"You're cold." you squirm uncomfortably against your boyfriend but he doesn't budge."

"I know! And you're like my personal heater baby, move closer, please" he says wrapping his arms around your torso in a tight embrace before pulling you flush up against his chest.

You huff but comply as you sit still between your boyfriend's legs and rest your head on his shoulder.

"we should sleep" you mumble while wrapping your arms around the arm that is circling your shoulders and chest to curl up on him. 

"yeah yeah, I know" he mumbled as he plants a kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek on it, his free arm tucks  the blanket tighter around your body, making sure there is no cold spot between the two of you. "Good night baby" he says softly against your hair and you let out a hum of agreement. 

"good night Sti" you reply before slowly drifting off to the comfort of his body against yours.

The next morning you're woken up by a loud voice. You're still on the passengers seat of your boyfriend's Jeep, the blanket is draped over you and Stiles jacket is under your head as a make shift pillow. Still half-asleep you stretch and sit up while rubbing your eyes, your neck is stiff and your entire body is sore and aching from the uncomfortable positions you slept in. 

You look out of the car, much to your relief you're not on the cliff anymore and you recognize Stiles house right away. Your eyes move to the porch and you see Stiles with- oh, his dad... his dad with a really angry expression on his face and an accusatory pointed finger pressed to his son's chest. 

You hurry to get down from the car to help your poor boyfriend. 

"Dad I swear the car bro-" Stiles tries to explain but before he can say anything the Sheriff interrupts him with a scoff.

"Your car 'broke down' in the middle of nowhere while you were on a date with your girlfriend? just like yesterday? very convenient, do you think I'm that stupid?

"okay, last time was a lie but I'm telling the truth now!" Stiles explains. 

"okay Stiles that's it, I'm taking the Jeep keys away."

Stiles gasps in disbelief "you can't do that! I need the car!"

"I can and I will, if your Jeep decides to magically break down every time you and your girlfriend are alone" the Sheriff says with an angry tone.

"sir I promise it's the truth!" you intervene as you reach them.

The Sheriff looks at you, still tired and wrapped in the blanket you slept with. He looks displeased at both of you for a few seconds before letting out a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of nose between his fingers. "Please tell me you're telling the truth and the Jeep really broke down in the middle of nowhere last night" he says clearly tired of his son's antics.

"it's true, we didn't want to walk in the dark in the middle of the forest and decided to sleep in the car, I promise" you answer and the Sheriff sighs again at your words while looking at his son with a disapproving look.

"I swear to God if I find out that you two lied to me and you just wanted to-" but before he can finish the sentence Stiles interrupts him with a horrified look on his face.

"Dad! Can you please stop here?" Stiles begs with burning red ears.

He look at you again suspiciously before closing his eyes, he doesn't have any proof you're lying, after all. "...Alright, I believe you" he finally says and Stiles scoffs.

"Seriously?! You believe her over me?!" he asks and you suppress the smile that is growing on your face.

"Yes, because she doesn't lie to me almost every week" his dad replies and his son whispers a small 'unbelievable' 

"No you're unbelievable" the Sheriff responds "You're still grounded: no Jeep, outside school's uses and no girlfriend."

"WHAT?!" both you and Stiles exclaims at the same time, the only difference is that his voice comes as whiny and desperate while yours is just shocked surprise.

"keep going and it will be two weeks." 

"Dad c'mon-" Stiles protests but you quickly interrupt him.

"Stiles shut up, now." you glare at him. 

"but he-"

"Stiles! Shut. Up." He looks at you with betrayed eyes but closes his mouth nonetheless, arms crosses to his chest like a child.

"I swear it won't happen again, Sir, we're both really sorry... right Stiles?" you nudge his shoulder with yours.

"yes, it won't happen again and yes, we're sorry" he repeats back while not looking at neither you or his father, still sulking with his arms crossed to his chest.

"Good, at least one of you is being mature" he says while nodding his head and then he finally turns to go at the front door. "Now, take her back home and come here immediately, if you're not here again in 30 minutes it will be not one, not two but three weeks" he orders his son before walking into the house and closing the door behind himself.

Stiles glares at the door for a second before he turns to look at you and sighs "three weeks, can you believe this?" he says shaking his head like he just got betrayed in the worst way possible.

"if we hurry it will be only one, come on!" you drag him by his hand towards his car.

He groans, clearly still annoyed by the situation and you can see that he's dying to protest but he only opens the door of the car. "Yeah let's just get it over with" he mumbles in irritation while you hop on.

At the end, Stiles got three weeks of detention because, of course, the 'see you on Monday at school' kiss turned into a whole make-out session in the back seats that lasted more than 20 minutes.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Hope you enjoyed, recommendations, suggestions and requests are always welcome and open! <3

Do not copy or repost.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Any rec for sterek fic in which Derek and Stiles knew each other before the fire?

Hi @dyke-yoonji! I sure do.

Shopping Cart Memories by osointricate

(1/1 I 807 I General)

For Autumn, who needed "more stiles had a cute kiddy crush on derek way back when” fic."

Shades Pulled Shut by OverMyFreckledBody

(1/1 I 1,530 I General)

Derek was there when Stiles' mom died.

Now it's Stiles' turn to be there for Derek.

Tiny Spark, Mighty Flame by eevylynn

(3/? I 4,833 I Teen)

Among born werewolves, it was common knowledge that the prime age for a human to endure the bite of an Alpha and survive was typically during their teenage or young adult years. In fact, the youngest recorded case of a bite resulting in a transformation and not death was previously eleven years old, so imagine the Hale pack’s astonishment when they learned of a small seven year old who was bitten and miraculously survived, challenging the known boundaries of possibility.

one, two, breathe by nemonight

(1/1 I 10,880 I Not Rated)

Empaths are cursed with great power and most don’t know it. Stiles never had anyone to tell him that he was an empath but he knew what he could feel was not all human. Stiles always thought that he couldn’t be the only one who was special. Turns out he was right.

Believing in Yesterday by Antistalgic

(6/? I 12,632 I Teen)

Derek was driving through the city when he suddenly hears a cry that made his wolf howl with pain. He barely manages to park before running to the source and finding little Stiles sitting on the pavement with a bloody scrape on his knee and tears in his eyes.

All But The Brightest Stars by useyrwordsderek

(6/? I 24,658 I Explicit)

Derek Hale met Stiles Stilinski when Stiles was six years old and Derek was sixteen, when Derek’s mother babysat Stiles after Stiles’ mom died. They didn't see each other again until Scott McCall was turned, ten years later.

In which Derek and Stiles both have to become a little less broken before they can help each other and themselves.

Burning House by witchgrassi

(1/1 I 46,113 I Not Rated)

For as long as he can remember, Stiles Stilinski has dreamt of the house in the woods.

Cruel Summer by PotatoJam64

(100/100 I 193,322 I Mature)

Scott gets bitten by what he claims was a wolf, but there are no wolves in California okay?

But there are Werewolves.

Derek Plays Lacrosse, Stiles has a massive crush on the man, and Scott's is the hot girl... (They're all 16 years old and in high school)

Burn with hellfire in the blue light of midnight by babisays

(20/20 I 203,189 I Teen)

Stiles met the Hale siblings when he was eleven years old. Now it has been six years since he lost his best friend Cora in the fire, and Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills.

Six years was a long time, so he didn't think he would ever see them again, but now he was wondering what the hell was Derek Hale doing back in Beacon Hills.

[junkiefox]

Teen Wolf "Green Creek au"

Where Theo turns into his Wolf form 100% of the time because he can hunt like that, can sleep anywhere, his omega loneliness is easier to face, and feelings are easy to process.

Everyone thinks he left, his truck hidden in the forest where he can lie on its bed when he needs something familiar.

The pack can smell his scent when they go running through the woods, but Theo isn't stupid, he knows where and how to hide, how to slow down his heartbeat until is barely heard. He is relieved that they ignore him, don't look too hard to find him. Theo thinks that's Scott allowing him to stay, even though he doesn't deserve it.

He listens to them howl on the full moon and holds back his own needs to do the same. Because he isn't pack, and he can't out himself.

He should leave Beacon Hills. There are other woods where he can hide, without all the fear and distrust. Where he could relax, not bring alert all the time.

But his truck is there. And everything is familiar, bringing a sense of comfort, somehow. The only thing preventing him from getting insane is this small feeling of belonging.

And then

There's a bunny

A little bunny running and running and theo is hungry, so so hungry

Here bunny here

Just want to play

Hungry

Bunny don't hide

Here come here

Please

Running running

The moon so pretty and it's singing, singing!

It loves Theo, even though his not actually born from the moon, he doesn't belong to it, but it loves him anyways. It accepts him.

And Theo is happy, so happy. Finally hunting, running, his free, free! The moon loves him, and he wants to sing to it too.

But then, there's pain. So so much pain. His leg hurts, and he howls. He's not stupid, but he got distracted. Silver dents into his skin. And it burns, and Theo howls.

Is not stupid, but he got distracted, too much into his wolfself to be cautious. And now, pain is making him stupid because he doesn't want to die. Not again, not again, please.

Pain pain pain

Someone please

Not again please

It's an old Hunters trap (he hopes is an old one, they can't be there, Scott's pack needs some time without danger. They deserve it). And it hurts. He is not affected by silver itself, but it hurts anyway.

He howls until he can't do it anymore. The moon leaving him, abandoning him too. He's left whining and crying to old trees, the wind taking his sounds away.

There's too much blood and he can't heal because its dents are deep down his skin, into his flesh.

Alone, he's going to die alone. And please not again please

Until, a rapid heartbeat and a salty smell come to him overlapping the pain and the smell of his own blood.

Strawberry and wet earth, autumn and slight acid rage

And oh, Liam

Here Liam please

Please

It's all strawberry and wet earth, autumn and slight acid rage and a heartbeat too fast. Too erratic.

A breathless Liam kneels in front of him. Shaking hands caressing his head. He is into his pajamas, an old shirt and sweatpants. He's pretty, so so pretty. It's all Theo can think about.

Theo whines when pain is drained from him, Liam shaking even more when black veins appear on his arms. He relax into Liam, his scent all Theo can feel.

"Theo, I-" his voice is hoarse, he takes a few more breaths. "You screamed. I heard you howl and it was so-" Theo closes his eyes. There's still so much pain and he's tired but Liam's here. He's here, he heard him and he came.

"Sorry for taking so long. It's going to be okay." He continues to stroke his head, scratching behind his ear. "You're my responsibility, right? You're going to be okay."

And Theo trusts him. It's okay. It's going to be okay.

And it's all strawberry and wet earth, autumn and slight acid rage. Sunlight shines again and he allows himself to relax for the first time since he became a wolf.

Part 2

[quackquackcey]

⟡ golden hour ⟡

Rated E | sterek | 3.8k | playlist! ♫

✨ for my love @renmackree, ily bb 🫂🤍 ✨ mutual pining, falling in love, post-nogitsune sterek healing together ✨ complete w/ a 4 song playlist! ♫ ✨ (& 💕 @hotgirlstiles for belly chain stiles + your posts that always slap & bring me much joy/inspo!)

Tags: Canon Divergence | Starts from end of Season 3B | Songfic | Evolved Derek Hale | Magical Stiles Stilinski | Anchors | Getting Together | Mutual Pining | POV Derek Hale | Gift Giving | Falling In Love | Possessive Derek Hale | Jewelry | Belly Bulge | Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski | Fluff and Smut

Summary:

Derek worries about Stiles, especially after a nogitsune possessed him. He worries, so he secretly slips a charm in Stiles' pocket that will hopefully help protect him, and he worries, even when he temporarily leaves Beacon Hills after evolving. 'Do you remember me when you see the autumn leaves fall? Do you remember me when the sun rises?' His feelings deepen until he can't avoid them any longer, but perhaps he's not the only one who views the other as their golden hour of light.~ ✨ --- ⟡ A story of healing, flourishing, soaring together. ⟡

Read here on AO3!!

[feelsforsterek]

⤷ autumn in beacon hills (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)

[andallshallbewell]

[roamingleaf]

"Return To Sender"

Tw: Public, St@lking, R@pe, Praise, Creampie

What a tease that ivory, flowing, landscape that's been tucked behind such tight clothings can be. He wonders though, does it make that cozy, pink palace of hers quiver when she knew how this man planned to use that easily broken, luminous, autumn kissed canvas like the filthy, degenerate, Fleshlight she desperately ached to become. Could that bunny imagine what would happen to her posh, petite, painting of a body if she told that stranger when she were returning from holiday?

They had been texting back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, when in reality it had been a week, the most two. Yet, in that ever shutting time frame they had spoken about so much. Her hopes, her dreams, her desires, even those pesky, naughty thoughts that dance between her squishy, tender, thighs. Nevertheless, on que that little lady did as requested and handed over the damning information. What a foolish mistake. Thanks to that time spent exchanging words between one another he had managed to gain the knowledge of when that shimmering light took her nightly strolls.

Like clockwork, here she came cresting over that concrete jungle unaware of what was waiting down stream. Thanks to the chilly autumn weather setting in, she had decided to wear a warm pair of pencil sketched black leggings. They crept comfortably up her charming, hazelnut thighs. Continuing up over her curving, winding, hillsides she claimed as hips. While the upper half of that delicate frame had a warming, shimmering, silver tank that clung to the outline of her portrait. That innocent bunny would have found it odd that there was no message from him for what seemed like hours, usually, they'd have been like lightning. Her wandering eyes wouldn't be able to pull themselves away from the phone all but glued to her palm.

Thoughts of what that gentlemen could be doing that was keeping all that well deserved attention from her swirled around in that mind as she strolled through those vacant, suburban, neighborhoods. With each towering oaken tree you passed, her auburn eyes couldn't help but light up like the stars in the night sky; That's when our desolate bunny would meet her brazen buccaneer. Almost as if the moon itself was the calling beacon it cast a pale, ghostly, glimmer upon that monster as he stepped from behind the tree a few feet in front of her. As any good bunnies would she froze in place once that predacious shadow locked eyes with her.

"Run"

That spell was the only one necessary to send her into a state of instant panic. Once again faced with a command; with the feeling of shivers racing upon every inch of her velvety, silken skin, our bunny did what was told of her. Unfortunately, instead of scampering off back towards her home, she darted off into the darkness of the treeline.

Strike two would certainly not go unpunished. Like all great hunters he instantly gave chase. Stalking, striding, this man was hellbent on capturing this fleeing prey. Then suddenly, his wicked wish was granted as he managed to reach out enough to grab her by her bouncing, rippling brown locks. From that foul control her chances of escaping were quickly coming to a close.

"No!" She yelled out into that emptied sky, but it was far too late, that hungry lion had managed to tackle such an innocent bunny to the ground. With mere weight alone enough to keep her subdue he wasted no time planting kiss, after kiss, after kiss all along her exposed neck.

Could she feel his hunger threatening to boil over as his gentle kisses started giving way to nibbling bites. His hands were growing restless at his side while his chest did most of the work of pinning this canvas to the ground. So, to keep busy, they started a race. Where? In different directions of course. His left would wickedly bolt along the silver roadmap of her shirt with a collision course in mind between her soft, enticing, braless hills. While his right, rushed recklessly towards her tanned, covered, booty for a good, tidy, grip.

As his sinister grasp closed in around our bunny would kick, shuffle, and struggle with all her might as her muffled mouth could barely make anything but barely audible scoffs thanks to his tongue intrusively thrashing amongst her mouth. Peril would be far from what our bunny had found herself in, it seemed as even her very clothes wished to betray her and aid in that hungry lions mission. With each dangerous wiggle she performed it seemed as her skin tight leggings would too try to make a daring escape. How could this be happening to an angel? How could she have been cast into the deepest pits of sin?

There would be no time for such thoughts due to this stranger leaning his towering presence up on to his knees. From there she could feel her thighs being spread apart and controlled as if she was a marionette being trotted across a grassy stage. She could feel the cold kiss of the crisp fall breeze rush past her exposed panties. As she felt her thighs being graced by the bristles of a foreign, heating beard she knew what was about to happen. Lady luck herself must have set this poor bunny up this evening, for right as her finally dwindling of hope faded that was when he forced his, meaty, throbbing, lance as deep as she could physically manage. A shock hurried its way through her from her very core in response to such an abrupt invasion. This electrifying message reached points in her she had never thought could be reached.

What a ghostly, haunting, choir that echoed through that defiled, deflowered, darkness. What a demon he was with such a relentless ransacking of her precious temple. Each thrust seemed like it was on a mission from God to reach harder, and faster inside her tight, coiling, dripping shrine. Oh how she wished her words would call for help, instead it encouragingly let lose a whoreish howl fit for a succubus in heat. As that pillaging occurred his hand that had been diligently groping and grasping at her jiggling hills found a new task. It's new goal was to keep her head steady by her flustering cheeks so he could better see the restless pleasure taking deep root behind her eyes.

With no other options left for this defenseless bunny there she laid in his clutches. Being treated like a brand new Fleshlight that had just been delivered. A deep sense of embarrassment started to take hold as she felt her orgasm approaching with each roughening thrust. Till finally, everything erupted. In a powerful gust of shivers her body tensed up all around that gentlemen's invading member as one last moan escaped her lips. Was this her body betraying her? Was this man's shaft truly that Intoxicating to her frame?

Rewarding such a betrayal of herself that man leaned in further till she could feel his panting breath basking against her ear. He grunted something along the tune of " That's my little whore." Before flooding her starved, Nile river with his own seed. Sadly, this would not quell our voracious predators appetite. Oh no, far from it. It would only show him what depths were still unexplored.

-🪶

[couldawouldashoulda50]

The Girl

This is my submission for the Eras fic challenge graciously organized by @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston. The song assigned to me was "Getaway Car" I had a really hard time coming up with a player and an idea that I could build on. So for those that might be less familiar with this song (like me), from what I read, the lyrics can be tied to Taylor's relationship ending with Calvin Harris and her romance with Tom Hiddleston. Using this as the foundation, in this fic, the player I chose - Jeremy Swayman will be "Taylor" in the story. The fic itself heavily showcases a Canadian group called City and Colour. When I heard Jeremy sing and play guitar in the Face Off docuseries, I likened him to Dallas Green, the lead singer. This is my first time writing for Jeremy so I hope you like it, and thank you again for organizing such an awesome challenge.

Warnings - none other than profanity. Alludes to a partner cheating. Apologies if I missed anything.

Word Count - approx 6k

For anyone wanting to hear the City and Colour songs noted in the story: The Girl Waiting

Jeremy’s hubcaps grazed the curb as he slowed, squinting at the row of elegant houses lining the quiet street. He double-checked the address showing on his GPS, then shifted his gaze back to the home in front of him. It had to be the right place. His eyes took in the towering Victorian style mansion, its brick work, tan in colour accented by ornate gray-green trim, and he shifted uneasily in his seat. He hadn’t expected anything quite like this—a recording studio tucked away among the historic mansions of Boston’s Beacon Hill neighborhood.

The house loomed over him as he stepped out, guitar case in hand, its weathered charm giving off the look of a travelling musician. He fidgeted and tried to shake off the nerves prickling under his skin. This was a bad idea, wasn’t it? He should’ve gone somewhere more modern, more professional—or maybe not at all.

Before he could tuck tail and run, the front door swung open. A woman stepped out onto the porch, her loose sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder, her sandy-brown hair catching the autumn afternoon sunlight. She smiled—a natural, easy smile that disarmed him almost immediately.

“Jeremy Swayman - so nice to meet you” she said, her voice light and friendly. “I’m Rowan. Come on in.”

He paused, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Uh, yeah. Thanks for—thanks for squeezing me in.”

She waved him off as if it were no trouble at all. “Not a problem. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

As she led him up the steps and through the wide wooden door, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he knew her from somewhere. Her voice, her face—something about her triggered an odd familiarity that he couldn’t quite place. But when she caught him sneaking a glance at her, her expression stayed neutral. If she noticed his curiosity, she didn’t let on.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of aged wood and a light scent of fresh linens. The checkerboard floor in the main entrance lead to a grand staircase, and beyond that was the recording space just down a flight of stairs. The studio was intimate but well-equipped, with a mix of modern gear and vintage touches. Rowan moved through it with an effortless confidence, and Jeremy found himself relaxing despite his earlier hesitation.

“So,” she said, motioning for him to take a seat on the worn leather couch by the wall. “What brings you here today?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “It’s, uh, for my girlfriend. Our anniversary’s coming up, and I wanted to do something special. Record a song for her. We’re uh - going through…well, something. I guess I just want something to say that I get how hard her life is sometimes - being with, well - me.”

Rowan’s eyebrows lifted, her lips curving into a smile. “That’s a really beautiful gesture. Do you have a song in mind?”

Jeremy hesitated. “Not… really. I mean, I had a couple ideas, but…” He sighed. “Honestly, my brain’s kind of fried right now. It’s been a rough few weeks.”

Rowan nodded, her expression shifting to something softer. “That’s okay. We’ll figure something out.” She crossed the room and grabbed an acoustic guitar propped against a corner. “Let’s start simple.”

She sat on the edge of a stool, fingers dancing over the strings as she flipped through a worn catalogue of song titles. “Any particular vibe you’re going for? Romantic? Upbeat? Nostalgic?”

“Nostalgic, I guess,” he said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Something meaningful but… not too cheesy.”

Rowan chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “Got it. Let’s see…” She played a few opening chords of ‘Patience’ by Guns ‘n Roses, then another, ‘You and Me’ by Lifehouse, humming softly as she tested the waters. Jeremy listened, but nothing clicked. His mind was too cluttered, too distracted by the pressure of his collapsing relationship and everything else that had gone on recently with his newly signed contract weighing him down.

And then Rowan shifted, her head tilting slightly as if an idea had just occurred to her. “How about this one?” she asked, her fingers brushing over the strings.

The melody was soft, almost haunting, and then she began to sing:

“I wish I could do better by you, 'cause that's what you deserve…”

Jeremy froze. Her voice wasn’t just good—it was incredible. Rich and soulful, with a sweetness that made the lyrics feel like they were meant for this song. He barely heard the words; all he could focus on was her, the way she poured herself into the song as if it came straight from her heart.

By the time she finished the verse, he realized he’d been staring. She caught his gaze, her lips quirking into a smile.

“City and Colour,” she said, breaking the silence. “The Girl. I think the lyrics fit your situation perfectly. I’m sure it’s not an easy balancing act between your career and your lives together.”

He blinked, his voice catching in his throat. “Yeah,” he managed, though his thoughts were spinning.

The song was beautiful—the lyrics were perfect… if only they actually applied to his girlfriend, Aileen. Jeremy had uncovered her duplicity in their relationship, a more troubling side of her personality revealed during his difficult salary arbitration the year before. At a time when he needed support, Aileen’s comments throughout the summer of 2023 had done nothing but highlight her true colors. Now, with his signature inked on an eight-year contract—negotiated publicly at times in the media—Aileen acted as though she were owed something simply for her presence during the standoff between Jeremy and the Boston Bruins.

Jeremy had hoped that doing something to remind her of the times that were loving and fun—rather than riddled with angst and harsh words—might help them get through this low point.

Rowan set her guitar aside, resting it gently against the stool, and tilted her head at Jeremy. “Alright, I think I’ve got a good sense of the style you’re going for. But now, it’s your turn.”

Jeremy blinked, looking slightly panicked. “My turn?”

She smiled, reassuring but firm. “Yeah. I need to hear what I’m working with. No pressure—I just want to get a feel for your range.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his unease evident. “I mean, I play guitar… but singing’s not really my thing. I’m just a goalie, you know?”

Rowan laughed softly, leaning back on the stool. “I think you’re selling yourself short. Dallas Green’s style is about pure emotion, not perfection - even though I think his voice is as close to perfection as they come. Besides, you don’t have to be a pro—you just have to mean it.”

Jeremy hesitated, shifting in his seat. His fingers drummed against his knees. “What do you want me to sing?”

She thought for a moment, then picked up her guitar again. “How about this? I’ll play the chords for ‘The Girl.’ You just follow along. No one’s judging here—it’s just the two of us.”

He gave a reluctant nod, his grip tightening slightly on the armrest before he stood. “Alright… but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As Rowan started strumming, Jeremy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The first note came out hesitant, barely above a whisper, but soon his voice steadied. It wasn’t polished, but it was honest and filled with a depth Rowan hadn’t expected. By the time he hit the chorus, his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She was definitely impressed.

When he finished, Jeremy looked up, half-expecting her to laugh or offer some fake version of applause. Reactions that reminded him of Aileen. Instead, she stared at him, her eyes wide and sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place.

“You’ve got something - I’m just floored here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Got what?” he asked, shifting awkwardly.

“That thing,” she said, gesturing vaguely but enthusiastically. “Your tone, your emotion— it’s beautiful. You might not realize it, but your voice can tell a story.”

Jeremy’s ears reddened. “I don’t know about that…”

“I do,” she countered supportively. “Trust me. We can work with this. If you give yourself a chance - just breathe, you’ll surprise yourself. Plus, then I get to do my job and make any adjustments when I produce the final version.”

For the first time since arriving, Jeremy felt a flicker of pride. He wasn’t sure if it was her words or the way she said them, but something about Rowan made him believe she meant it.

As Jeremy opened his mouth to reply, the soft clicking of claws on hardwood interrupted her. He glanced over her shoulder just as a graying dog ambled into the room, tail wagging lazily. His soulful eyes locked onto Jeremy, who immediately brightened.

“This is Arty,” Rowan said, sliding off the stool to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “He’s an old boy, but he runs the place.”

Jeremy crouched down, letting Arty sniff his hand before giving him a gentle pat. “Hey, buddy,” he said, his voice warm. “You’re a good-looking guy, huh?”

As if on cue, another dog trotted in—this one bigger, younger, and distinctly more mischievous. His tail wagged furiously as he bounded up to Jeremy.

“And this troublemaker,” she said with a laugh, “is Paulie. I’m sort of a Sopranos fan - not sure if you could tell. Arty’s the straight laced guy and Paulie - well, he means well but he’s nothing but trouble.”

“Paulie, huh?” Jeremy chuckled, sitting cross-legged on the floor as both dogs circled him. “You’re not gonna take me out back if I don’t perform well, are you?” He pointed two fingers at his temple as he glanced toward Rowan.

Rowan laughed, her voice light and genuine. “They’re my shadows - I guess the worst that they’ll do is walk out if they don’t like what they hear. But they’ll listen if you don’t want them around you…some people aren’t comfortable around them.”

Jeremy rubbed Arty’s ears, grinning as the dog leaned into his touch. “I don’t mind. This guy’s already my favorite.”

Rowan watched the scene unfold, her heart softening as Jeremy shifted effortlessly into this quieter, more relaxed version of himself. The tension he’d carried in with him seemed to dissolve under Arty’s gentle nudge and Paulie’s playfulness. For a moment, she simply let it happen, the room filled with the sound of paws padding across the wooden floor and easy conversation.

“Alright,” Rowan said after a while, sitting back on the couch. “So, now that you’ve won over my protectors, what’s next? Do you want to keep searching for a song or are we sticking with City and Colour?”

Jeremy leaned back, scratching Arty’s head. “Let’s stick with City and Colour for now. I had never heard of them and I’m already wanting to hear more of their songs.”

“Let’s start there then - you can hear the original…you’ll hear the similarities in your voices. Or, that’s what I hear anyway.”

Rowan queued the song and the now familiar tune streamed through the open space. Jeremy sat silently, smiling as he visualized playing the chords on his acoustic guitar. He loved the lyrics. He loved the sentiment of the song. It was the perfect song to sing for a supportive partner, to recognize their sacrifices as he lives out his dreams. It was the perfect song, just not for Aileen.

—

Throughout the next week, Jeremy found himself back at Rowan’s house, each time with his guitar slung over his shoulder as he climbed the familiar steps. The air had turned colder, the crispness of late fall settling into Boston, but the warmth of Rowan’s home hadn’t changed.

During the time he spent at her studio, he had learned why she looked so familiar to Jeremy. Rowan, formerly known as ‘Shea’ as in her last name, had hit the big time with an epic album released when she was only 19 years old. The record went triple platinum with hit after hit with music that fused together pop/rock and alternative genres. She was slated as one of the most exciting up and coming artists, and then she simply vanished from the scene. There was the usual speculation - everything from substance abuse to affairs with notable celebrities - all of which were wildly untrue. Rowan had been exposed to the seamy underbelly of the entertainment industry and desperately clung onto her sensibilities, squirreling away whatever funds she had access to. She wanted to simply make music but the powers that be saw her only as a physically beautiful commodity. Every party she was told to attend made her die a little inside. This path was not her path and she stepped away broken hearted and jaded. She set about making wise investments, and soon bought her home in Boston, with the hopes of helping burgeoning musicians and singers begin their professional journeys. Jeremy was fascinated as Rowan walked him through her experiences and somehow felt so lucky that he stumbled across her studio in the first place.

Inside, Rowan was already setting up the equipment, her usual ease and efficiency making him feel like this was just another day. But for Jeremy, it was starting to feel like much more. He hadn’t told her how bad things had gotten—not about the Bruins’ lackluster start to the season, not about Aileen’s constant ultimatums—but he suspected she could see it anyway. Somehow, she always seemed to know when to give him space or when to fill it with music and conversation.

“Alright,” Rowan said, looking up from her setup. “Ready to lay down the first take?”

Jeremy hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

He sat on the stool she’d adjusted for him, his fingers brushing over the strings of his acoustic guitar. Rowan adjusted the mic stand, stepping back to the mixing board as she donned her headphones.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said softly, her voice encouraging.

Jeremy exhaled, then began to play. The familiar chords flowed easily, but as he sang the first line, his voice cracked slightly. He paused, frustrated, but Rowan didn’t flinch.

“That’s okay,” she said calmly. “Take it from the top. Feel the words—don’t force them.”

He nodded and tried again. This time, his voice carried more weight, more emotion. As he poured himself into the lyrics, he closed his eyes, realizing the person he should have been singing about never came to mind. His crumbling relationship felt distant, replaced by an unexpected feeling of gratitude—toward Rowan. Thinking of her as ‘The Girl’ made everything suddenly click.

Rowan didn’t interrupt, letting him finish the entire song. When the last chord faded, Jeremy looked up, as he tried to gauge if she could see right through him and how he was feeling.

“That,” she said, pulling off her headphones, “was incredible. You’ve got the heart of this song, Jeremy. It’s all there.”

He managed a small smile. If only she knew. “Thanks, Rowan. I just… started to really feel something. I don’t know if I have ever felt…whatever this is inside of me right now.”

Rowan tilted her head, studying him. “I know it’s been a tough go lately with your team. You’re carrying a lot. I can hear it in your voice.”

Jeremy shifted, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, well, life’s been a bit of a mess - not just with the team…but in other areas too.”

She didn’t press, instead she raised an eyebrow and flashed a knowing smile. “You know, the last part of this song has a group vocal—it’s a big moment right at the end. Think you can bring in a few teammates? I don’t want to insinuate anything about your recent - hmmm - play….but maybe you could call it a little team-building exercise.”

Jeremy let out a short laugh. “You think anyone on the Bruins can carry a tune?”

Rowan grinned. “I’ll fix whatever comes out of them - I’ll use some Autotune and work some of my magic and have them sounding like Dean Martin in no time.”

He chuckled - but he warmed to the idea. “I’ll see what I can do. They’re gonna fuckin chirp me to no end for this, though.”

“Yeah - maybe,” Rowan said with a shrug. “But I’m telling you, if you invite Marchand, you better tell him to keep his hands and his tongue to himself.”

—

The sound of voices and heavy footsteps shuffled up the path to Rowan’s front door, growing louder with each passing second. Jeremy pushed open the gate, followed by a crowd of grinning teammates. Rowan opened the door, raising an eyebrow as she took in the scene.

“Uh, hey,” Jeremy said sheepishly, gesturing to the group. “I might’ve brought a few of the guys.”

“A few…Jesus, I see more than a few and see nothing but trouble,” she said wryly.

David Pastrnak stepped forward, offering his hand. “We’re here to make music—or noise - or at least make Sway look good.”

Rowan laughed, stepping aside to let them in. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with. Shoes off, no shit-talking or fighting, and try not to knock over the equipment.”

Everyone looked back at Brad Marchand as the usual suspect - who scoffed and offered a subtle “Fuck off” in response.

The guys filed into the studio, some looking around curiously while others settled in, tossing good-natured jabs Jeremy’s way.

“So, what’s the plan, Rockstar?” Charlie McAvoy teased, nudging Jeremy. “You gonna serenade us first?”

“Something like that,” Jeremy muttered, adjusting his guitar. “Let’s just… see how it goes.”

Rowan handed out lyric sheets and lined them up around a few microphones. “Okay, so this is the chorus. It’s pretty simple—just follow Jeremy’s lead and try to stay in tune. I’ll clean it up in post if I have to.”

Marchand, already leaning into the mic with a cheeky grin, said, “Stay in tune? You’re asking a lot.”

“Just don’t scare the dogs,” Rowan quipped, followed by a round of laughter.

As the session began, the guys started off exactly as expected—laughing, chirping, and singing off-key. But as Jeremy’s voice filled the studio, something shifted. His vocals echoed in the studio and immediately grounded the group in the song’s meaning. One by one, their teasing faded, replaced by an intense and silent focus. By the second take, they were all invested, their voices sounding surprisingly sincere.

When the final note faded, Rowan removed her headphones, a satisfied smile on her face. “You guys nailed that. Seriously.”

The room erupted in laughter and high-fives, but it wasn’t until David spoke up that the mood turned reflective.

“You know,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “this isn’t just about Sway’s girl. This song—it’s for all of them. Wives, girlfriends… they deal with a lot, putting up with us.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, nodding. “Can we get some extra copies? As a thank-you to the ladies?”

Jeremy looked around, seeing the agreement on their faces. After feeling pretty low about how things had started this season, feeling like the locker room was against him, all of that seemed to dissolve in that moment.

He glanced at Rowan, who gave him a little wink. “Alright, looks like we’ve got a plan. Let’s make this thing perfect,” she said.

Jeremy slowly packed up his guitar, dragging out the process longer than necessary. The studio was quieter now, most of the guys chatting amongst themselves and seemingly in no hurry to leave. Rowan stood near the mixing board, talking with Brendan Carlo and Andrew Peeke. Her soft laugh carried across the room, and Jeremy couldn’t help but glance over at her.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that letting himself think about Rowan this way—about how she made him feel—wasn’t fair. Not to her, not to Aileen, and not to himself. She had her own world, and he was just… a client. She’d been kind to him, shared her talent and her time, but that didn’t mean there was anything more to it. Still, the thought of leaving, of this being the last time he saw her, tied his insides into knots.

What would Rowan even think if she knew how much he’d come to rely on these moments with her? How he felt like himself in a way he hadn’t in months—or maybe even years? She deserved better than to be pulled into his mess, and yet, the idea of walking away felt impossible.

He stared at the latches on his guitar case. He knew it was time to go, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. His stomach tightened as he looked at her, so naturally beautiful and at ease. Some of the guys had wandered down the hall, checking out the framed photos on the wall with Arty and Paulie meandering after them, but Jeremy stayed frozen in place.

This felt like it could be the last moment. In the short time since Jeremy had been coming here, it had become his escape, a refuge into music and incredible company with Rowan. Aileen had all but deserted Jeremy, claiming to be visiting relatives but then subsequently being tagged in a group photo taken in Cancun.

After that day, there’d be no reason to come back except to pick up the final version of the recording. He might not see Rowan again. That thought twisted his insides. If he stayed, it meant he was admitting—at least to himself—that he felt more for her than he should. But if he left… leaving felt worse. It felt like closing a door he didn’t want to close.

Rowan glanced over and smiled warmly. “You all set?”

Jeremy nodded, forcing himself to move even though his chest felt heavy. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

But as he walked toward the door, he knew he wasn’t good. Not at all.

Jeremy’s teammates all filed out the door after saying their goodbye’s to Rowan and her two companions, leaving Jeremy still standing at the entrance. He now wished he had driven alone instead of with Peeke and McAvoy.

Rowan smiled at Jeremy. “You sure made the past little while very interesting for me. It was truly a pleasure working with you - I hope you and your girlfriend will like the finished version. I think I can have it ready for you this week if you’re in a rush for it?”

“No - no rush for it,” Jeremy said, all the while thinking that he wasn’t sure he even had a girlfriend to give it to anymore.

Two Weeks Later

The message from Rowan had come late the night before: The recordings are ready. I even had them pressed onto vinyl for keepsakes—hope that’s okay. Let me know when you want to swing by to grab them.

Now, standing on her front steps again, Jeremy hesitated before knocking. His heart felt heavier with the gnawing ache of uncertainty pounding in his chest. The last two weeks had been nothing but chaos—poor games, relentless media scrutiny, and the inevitable breakup with Aileen, who enjoyed the company of another man during and after her trip to Cancun. Although the writing had been on the wall with their relationship, it still broke him to think of the Aileen he first loved versus the woman that turned on him in the end.

Rowan’s message acted like a glimmer of calm amid the noise. He just wasn’t sure what to expect—was it only a pick-up, or was it a goodbye for good?

When Rowan opened the door, she immediately noticed Jeremy’s forced smile and the exhaustion in his eyes. She invited him in, calling for the dogs, who eagerly bounded over, tails wagging. Jeremy crouched to greet them, his hand lingering on Arty’s graying head as if grounding himself.

They talked for a while, their conversation light at first—about hockey, the team, anything but what was really weighing on him. But eventually, Jeremy opened up, revealing the unraveling of his relationship with Aileen. He didn’t go into all the details, but he shared enough for Rowan to understand why the polished recording felt like too much to face right now.

Rowan listened quietly, her heart sinking a little more with each word. She had worked hard on the recording, pouring everything she could into making it perfect. But it wasn’t disappointment in her work that weighed on her; it was the ache of watching Jeremy struggle, his usual steady presence fractured.

As he stood to leave, Jeremy hesitated near the door. “Thanks for… everything,” he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“You didn’t,” Rowan said gently. “If anything, I’m glad you trusted me enough to talk.”

He gave her a small, genuine smile, and she took a step closer. “Before you go,” she said, her voice soft, “I want you to listen to another song. It’s by City and Colour, called ‘Waiting.’ It might… help. Or at least make you feel less alone.”

Jeremy nodded, taking the suggestion to heart. “I’ll check it out.”

They said their goodbyes, hesitant and drawn out, as though neither wanted the moment to end. But eventually, Jeremy made his way back to his car, the recording and her words weighing heavily in his mind.

Once he settled into the driver’s seat, he pulled out his phone, searching for the song. The opening notes played softly through the speakers, followed by the first line: “A coma might feel better than this.”

Jeremy couldn’t help it—he laughed, a sound that felt both strange and relieving in the quiet of the car. “She really gets it,” he murmured, shaking his head as the rest of the song unfolded. For the first time in a while, he felt like someone truly understood what he was going through.

Jeremy’s laughter faded as the song played on, the haunting lyrics sinking deeper into his thoughts. He didn’t start the car right away, just sat there, letting Waiting loop again and again. Each line felt like it was all about the life he was living in that moment and it somehow offered him comfort.

The opening words hit harder with each repetition. Jeremy leaned back against the headrest, his hand resting loosely on the steering wheel. The ache in his chest swelled as the next line played: You're weighed down, you're full of something… of sickness, and desertion.

Finally, he started the engine and pulled out onto the quiet street. He wasn’t sure where he was going—not home, not to the rink. Maybe nowhere in particular. The city passed by in a blur of lights as the song repeated, with Jeremy getting lost in lyrics and his thoughts over and over again.

Saying goodbye to love, and holding your head up high… He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his breath catching at the sheer gut punch of it. The words felt like they were ripping apart everything inside him—his failed relationship, the weight of his career, the absolute loneliness he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

As the next verse played, the ache in his chest twisted deeper: All your friends seem like enemies when you’re broken down and empty. The truth of it hit too close to home. Aileen had made him feel that way too—isolated, unworthy, alone. And yet… there was something about Rowan’s presence, her ease and warmth, that had started to chip away at the weight of it all.

Before he realized it, Jeremy found himself turning down Rowan’s street. It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he told himself. But as he slowed in front of her house, his hands rested on the wheel, and his heart thudded in his chest.

What was he doing? He didn’t have a reason to be here, not again, not so soon. And yet, sitting there in the dark, with her house glowing softly against the night, he felt a pull he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just about the music or the comfort she’d given him. It was her—Rowan. The way she understood him without him having to explain. The way her presence made everything feel just a little less heavy.

Jeremy stared at the house, the song still playing quietly through the car speakers. So say goodbye to love, and hold your head up high… there’s no need to rush, we’re all just waiting, waiting to die. He sighed, his hands tightening briefly on the wheel before he shut off the engine.

He didn’t know what he was going to say, but as he stepped out of the car and walked up the path to her door, he realized it didn’t matter. He just needed to see her.

The sound of Paulie suddenly barking from his perch at the front window prompted Rowan to step away from her piano. His low, excited woof and wagging tail signaled something unusual. She moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside. Her eyes widened as she spotted Jeremy standing at the bottom of the steps, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking uncertain but hopeful… maybe?

Without hesitating, she opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “Jeremy?” she called softly, the cool night air brushing against her skin. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

He looked up, and she was struck by how different he seemed. The tension that had gripped him earlier was gone, replaced by something raw and alive, as though he had been completely resuscitated. He climbed the steps, stopping just in front of her.

“That song,” he began, his voice low and almost breathless. “It felt like it bore into my soul. How… how did you know? How did you know that’s exactly what I’ve been feeling?”

Rowan blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his voice and the emotion in his eyes. “I didn’t know—not exactly,” she admitted. “I just… saw something in you. It just came into my head, and it felt right.”

Jeremy let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “In such a short time, you’ve… I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy, but it feels like you give me everything I didn’t even know I needed. Everything I could possibly want.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Rowan’s heart raced, her breath catching at the weight of his confession, but she forced herself to stay grounded. “Jeremy,” she said carefully, “let’s talk inside, okay?”

Jeremy hesitated for just a moment before nodding. As he stepped past her, the warmth of the house wrapped around him, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe.

Inside, Rowan guided him to the couch, sitting opposite him. Paulie climbed onto Jeremy’s lap, his wagging tail thumping softly against the cushions, while Arty settled at Rowan’s feet. For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the dogs’ sighs, their lips flapping as they exhaled.

“Jeremy,” Rowan began gently, her hands resting on her knees, “what you said outside… it’s a lot. I won’t lie—I feel…something too. But this… it’s fast. It’s not logical, and it’s… complicated.”

“I know it’s fast,” Jeremy said, his voice quiet but firm. “But I can’t ignore this. Rowan, I haven’t felt this alive, this… right, in years. Not even close.”

She met his gaze, her heart aching his total vulnerability in that moment. “I’m not saying no,” she said softly. “I’m saying we need to take small steps. You just got out of a relationship. You’re carrying so much, and I don’t want to be….considered like your escape. I don’t want to be your getaway car from everything in your life.”

Jeremy’s shoulders sagged slightly, her words both grounding and sobering him. “I don’t see you that way,” he said earnestly. “I know it’s more than that. I feel it.”

Rowan offered him a small, understanding smile. “I’m leaving for New York tomorrow for a couple of weeks,” she said. “Maybe we can use that time to figure this out—to see if what we’re feeling is real.”

He nodded slowly, taking it in. “And if it is?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“I’ll message you when I get back,” she said, her smile softening. “If that’s okay with you.”

Jeremy’s lips quirked into a small, subdued smile. “Yeah. It’s okay. I’ll wait. Whatever it takes—I’ll wait.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence, easing into something more hopeful from the expressions on their faces. Finally, Rowan stood, motioning toward the door. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

As he stepped onto the porch, the crisp night air hit him, but it didn’t feel as heavy as before. He turned back to look at Rowan, her silhouette framed in the warm glow of the house behind her. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “For everything.”

“Take care of yourself, Jeremy,” she said with a gentle smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

Jeremy walked down the steps, his heart lighter than it had been in months. He didn’t know where this was going, but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind waiting to find out.

BONUS SCENE

Three weeks later, Jeremy stood on Rowan’s porch again, his heart thudding with nervous excitement. He adjusted the strap of the small bag slung over his shoulder, which contained the vinyl of "The Girl" he’d brought with him. He had thought of her every idle moment during her time away, and when her message finally came, it felt like he could breathe again.

Rowan had kept her word, messaging him as soon as she returned from New York. Jeremy had been on a road trip when it came through, but he had responded immediately, and the moment he could, he called her. Her voice, warm and familiar, had filled him with a lightness he hadn’t felt in weeks.

Now, standing here, he could hardly wait to see her.

The door opened, and there she was, her smile as radiant as he remembered. “Hey,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “It’s good to see you. Come on in.”

He stepped into the house, the warmth and familiar scent wrapping around him like a favorite blanket. The dogs trotted over, Paulie practically bouncing, and Jeremy crouched to greet them, laughing as Paulie licked his face.

“I missed this guy,” he said, scratching behind Paulie’s ears before standing.

Rowan watched him with an amused smile as Arty strolled in after a long stretch. “I think they both did.”

Jeremy straightened, holding up the bag. “I brought something,” he said, his voice softening. “I haven’t listened to the recording yet. I couldn’t bring myself to want to hear it. But when you messaged me….I don’t know…I just needed to hear it for the first time with you. I even made all the guys wait until I heard it first,” he chuckled.

Rowan’s cheeks flushed as she looked at him in slight disbelief. “Well,” she said, gesturing toward the sitting room, “let’s play it, then.”

They moved to the record player Rowan kept in the corner of the room, and she carefully set the vinyl on the turntable. The needle dropped, and the familiar, haunting chords of "The Girl" began to play. Jeremy sat back on the couch beside Rowan, his hands resting on his knees as his voice filled the room.

Jeremy was stunned. He could not believe that was his voice singing, and his guitar playing. The sheer pride he felt was one thing, but hearing how Rowan had perfected every single sound - he was completely in awe of her.

Rowan turned to him. “So, what do you think?” she asked, trying to stifle her smirk, as it was more than apparent what he thought. She stepped toward the player to lift the needle off the record.

But as she sat, the space between them seemed to shrink. Her heart began to race as he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“My beautiful girl,” he said, barely above a whisper, his voice filled with affection.

Rowan leaned in and kissed him softly - it was the slow and quiet beginnings of something they both knew would be worth waiting for.

[veilxstars]

Location: Local Cardinal Hill Fire Station For: Anyone | cap of 5 - one muse per writer. | @cardinalstart (FOUR OPEN) Time: Weekend after Halloween Character: Bishop

The weekend after Halloween brought a crispness to the air, signaling the approach of the holiday season. Bishop stood outside the Cardinal Hill fire station, where the banner announcing the "Home Safety During the Holidays" event fluttered in the gentle breeze. The firehouse had transformed into a warm beacon in the chilly afternoon. Inside, the cheerful sounds of laughter and conversation spilled out. There was fire alarm safety awareness, demos on how to use fire extinguishers, basic life support, a smoke room to teach people how to handle being in a smoky room...

He and his fellow Lieutenant and worked together to budget, plan and advertise this.

Bishop stepped inside. The fire station was decked out in a mix of autumn leaves and twinkling lights. Families milled about, some stopping at tables laden with safety pamphlets, others queuing for their free frozen turkeys, an initiative to ensure everyone had a good meal for the upcoming holiday.

As he wandered through the bustling crowd, Bishop felt a sense of belonging... and also sadness. This was his place now. Yet, he still missed the military. He distracted himself by thinking of his family l- he thought of Bunny, imagining her excitement as they navigated their first holiday season together in over a decade. Bishop paused at a table where a group of children were coloring fire safety posters, their laughter infectious. With a mistake, he spotted a moment of mischief and seized it. He approached a random stranger nearby, a person deep in conversation with a friend, and swiftly set his firefighter helmet atop the man's head, tipping it at a jaunty angle. The startled look on the stranger's face drew laughter from those around them, especially the children, who erupted in giggles at the unexpected sight. “Perfect fit!”