#canister stoves

[movingtothefarm]

"We are glad to discover this refillable gas canister, which is portable and convenient. It can be refilled by a butane canister directly without using an adapter. Paired with a compact stove, this is our new favorite setup for quick coffee and meals. In this video, we will demonstrate the variety of uses of our pocket stove."

They have Amazon links in video description.

Campingmoon refillable canister (There is a 110g version of this refillable canister)

MHW-3BOMBER Mini Coffee Scale

Snow Peak GigaPower 2.0 Stove

GigaPower windscreen

TRANGIA 27 Aluminium Kettle (0.6-Liter)

Campingmoon portable campfire grill MS-1011

Campingmoon Mini Roaster

Stanley Adventure Camp Cook Set

Snow Peak Titanium Cup 300

Snow Peak Titanium Cup 450

Boundless Voyage Titanium Pour Over Coffee Maker

Boundless Voyage Titanium Pour Over Coffee Maker Holders

Snow Peak Wabuki 8" Chopsticks

Snow Peak Folding Spatula

TRANGIA Mess Tin (Small)

Opinel pocket knife

[mathewmartin1]

Mastering the Art of Camping Gas Canisters: A Comprehensive Guide for Outdoor Enthusiasts

Introduction

Camping is a timeless adventure that allows us to reconnect with nature, unwind from the hustle and bustle of daily life, and create lasting memories with loved ones. One essential element of any camping trip is the trusty gas canister, a compact and efficient source of fuel for cooking, heating, and lighting. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into everything you need to know about camping gas canisters, from choosing the right type to safety tips and proper disposal.

Understanding Camping Gas Canisters

Gas canisters are indispensable companions for outdoor enthusiasts, providing a convenient and reliable energy source for cooking meals, boiling water, and even powering portable heaters and lanterns. These canisters typically contain a mixture of propane, butane, or a blend of both, compressed into a portable container for easy transport and use.

Types of Camping Gas Canisters

When it comes to camping gas canisters, there are several options to choose from, each with its own advantages and considerations. The most common types include:

Propane Canisters: Propane is a popular choice for camping due to its high energy content and ability to perform well in cold temperatures. Propane canisters are often used for larger camping stoves and appliances, providing a steady and consistent flame for cooking.

Butane Canisters: Butane is another commonly used fuel for camping, prized for its ease of use and clean-burning properties. Butane canisters are ideal for smaller camping stoves and portable cookers, offering quick ignition and reliable performance in mild weather conditions.

Propane-Butane Blends: Some camping gas canisters contain a mixture of propane and butane, offering the benefits of both fuels. These blends are versatile options that perform well in a variety of temperatures and are suitable for a wide range of camping applications.

Choosing the Right Camping Gas Canister

When selecting a camping gas canister, it's essential to consider factors such as the duration of your trip, the type of equipment you'll be using, and the weather conditions you're likely to encounter. Here are some tips for choosing the right canister for your needs:

Assess Your Equipment: Determine the type of camping stove or appliance you'll be using and check its compatibility with different types of gas canisters. Some stoves may require specific fuel types or fittings, so be sure to choose accordingly.

Consider Temperature: If you're camping in cold weather, propane is typically the preferred option, as it performs better at low temperatures compared to butane. However, if you're camping in mild conditions, either propane or butane canisters should suffice.

Evaluate Duration: Estimate how much fuel you'll need for the duration of your trip and choose canister sizes accordingly. Larger canisters provide more fuel but may be heavier and bulkier to carry, so strike a balance based on your needs.

Safety Tips for Handling Camping Gas Canisters

While camping gas canisters are generally safe to use when handled properly, it's essential to observe some safety precautions to prevent accidents and ensure a worry-free camping experience. Here are some essential tips to keep in mind:

Store and Transport Safely: When transporting gas canisters, always ensure they are stored upright in a well-ventilated area away from heat sources and open flames. Secure them tightly to prevent tipping or rolling during transit.

Check for Leaks: Before connecting a gas canister to your camping stove or appliance, inspect the valve and fittings for any signs of damage or leakage. Apply soapy water to the connections and look for bubbles, which indicate a leak that needs to be addressed before use.

Use in Well-Ventilated Areas: When cooking with gas canisters inside a tent or enclosed space, ensure adequate ventilation to prevent the buildup of carbon monoxide. Use portable gas stoves outdoors whenever possible, and never use them for heating purposes inside a tent.

Follow Manufacturer's Instructions: Always follow the manufacturer's instructions for your camping stove or appliance and adhere to any specific guidelines for the use of gas canisters. Improper use can lead to accidents or equipment damage.

Proper Disposal of Camping Gas Canisters

Once you've finished using a camping gas canister, it's crucial to dispose of it properly to minimize environmental impact and ensure safety. Here's how to dispose of camping gas canisters responsibly:

Empty the Canister: Use up any remaining fuel in the canister by operating your camping stove or appliance until the flame extinguishes. This will help reduce the risk of accidental ignition during disposal.

Depressurize the Canister: To depressurize the canister, connect it to your camping stove or appliance and open the valve to release any remaining gas. Once depressurized, the canister is safer to handle and dispose of.

Recycle or Dispose: Check with local recycling centers or waste disposal facilities to determine the proper method for recycling or disposing of gas canister camping in your area. Some facilities may accept empty canisters for recycling, while others may require specialized disposal methods.

Conclusion

Camping gas canisters are invaluable companions for outdoor adventures, providing a convenient and reliable source of fuel for cooking, heating, and lighting. By understanding the different types of gas canisters, choosing the right one for your needs, and observing safety precautions, you can enjoy a safe and enjoyable camping experience. Remember to dispose of gas canisters responsibly to protect the environment and preserve the beauty of our natural surroundings. Happy camping!

[luveline]

do you think you could do something with zombie au where reader is on her period? thank you!!

thank you for your request! fem, 1k

You’ve gotten your period three times since the apocalypse began. The first time, you and Steve were just beginning to get along, and he’d proved why you trust him as you do, treating the whole thing with kindness. More recently, he’s your unofficial boyfriend. Like, kissing you and holding you, but foregoing the conversation that would make you an official couple. 

Either he doesn’t want to be official (which is fine, it’s not like he’s going anywhere), or you’re official without words. You’ve assumed the latter because the former makes you nauseous. 

Not that you need much help in that department. Your stomach churns like a tide, bouts of sickness and pain that hit you rampantly as you follow Steve downstairs. 

“Can I take my shoes off?” you ask. 

“Why are you asking me? It’s not my house.” Steve descends the last step and holds his hand behind him for you. Seemingly to help you down a step you don’t need help with. 

You’re asking because taking your shoes off means getting comfy for the night, and he doesn’t want to do that at every house you break into.

You don’t explain yourself. You follow Steve into the living room, hoping he’s going to take your hand again. He nudges you with his hip into a mildly dusty couch. 

You sit. “What, are we gonna watch TV?” you joke. 

“You look sickly.” 

That’s not nice. “I do?” you ask, all teasing gone from your tone. You often wish you were much prettier, and occasionally beg fate to drop a bottle of medical grade body wash into your lap, if just to make Steve see you that way. But Steve’s kissed you with a greasy nose and blood on your chin. You were hoping appearances didn’t matter. 

“You look awful,” he says, his eyebrows stitching together as he heads into the kitchen. “Stay sat down!” 

“Awful?” you ask. 

He doubles back, face peeking around the doorway. “Not like that,” he says hurriedly. “Just, sick. I’m gonna cook you something.” 

“I don’t need to be sat down, I’m fine.” 

He disappears again. “That why you’re glaring at me?” he calls, his voice echoing against tile. 

You don’t have the energy for whatever it is that’s happening. You kick your legs out on the couch and begin kneading the swollen mess that is your stomach, debating on telling him why you’re grumpy. It’s not like he cares. He never finds it gross, but you don’t want him to pity you either. It’s just a period. 

(It really sucks.) 

“Alright, the hot plate is on,” he calls. “What do you want, huh? We got the split pea soup, or the chicken casserole?” He laughs. “The casserole, duh. Ten minutes and it’s yours.” 

Your breath rushes out through your nose. Stomach hurts, head hurts, he’s making you dinner and laughing where you can’t see him. You force yourself to get up, shuffling to the kitchen with a pout already in place. 

“Ten minutes is not right,” you say, announcing your movement so he doesn’t stab you. 

“Is too right. How come you never listen?” 

“Steve, please don’t be mean to me, I’m on my period.” You wince as a pang climbs your back. 

“Oh, you are?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Well… I’m glad, sort of. Better that then the flu, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

A couple of weeks ago, he would’ve told you to go back to the couch, and he would’ve brought your food in to you, wrapping a blanket over your legs and leaving you to it. But this is now. Your unwilling protector has gone remarkably soft on you. 

“Is it like last time?” he asks, holding out his arm. 

You drift toward him, pretending it isn’t to be hugged. “It hurts, if that’s what you mean.” 

“It hurts,” he repeats in a murmur as his arm finally curls around your waist. He pulls you into his side.

“You’re pitying me.” 

“You like it,” he jokes, his tone still held in that soft murmuring. 

You close your eyes, driving your nose into his chest. The hot plate gurgles weakly on the stove, using the last of a canister of camping gas, a few days from the end of its life. Your eyelids feel heavy closed, achy not with tears but fatigue, and your head aches with a migraine you know from experience won’t be defeated using tylenol. But Steve hugs you with one arm and leans against you as you press into him. Stuck together. He doesn’t move for ages. 

“I’m glad I don’t get my period,” he says. 

“You act like you do.” 

“Were you not gonna tell me? I guess you don’t have to, but if you’re in pain, I’d like to know.” 

“Don’t need you to feel any more sorry for me.” 

“I don’t. Just like rubbing your back.” 

Your heart skips a beat. That’s as close to a confession of feelings you’ve ever gotten from him. Well, verbally. His sporadic kissing says a lot. 

“Thanks for telling me,” he says. You have to strain your ears to hear him. “I don’t think there’s much iron in chicken casserole. I wish we… How much iron is there in squirrel?” 

“I don’t wanna eat squirrel.” Again. 

“It’s good for you.” 

Doubtful. You turn completely into his touch and hug him. “Please don’t make me eat squirrel.” 

You sound a teeny tiny bit pitiful, and you earn yourself an even better hug than the first. “I won’t, I won’t, I was just kidding,” he promises, “I just figure you need it. Maybe if we look through the medicine cabinet they’ll have some multivitamins or something.” His hand grabs at your side. It’s not a careful touch, though he’s far from spiteful. “You need painkillers, right? I could crush a Vicodin into your casserole.” 

“Yes, please.” 

Steve’s nose presses into the side of your face. You feel close to him in a way that chokes you up, but you don’t need to talk any more. 

“Half a Vicodin,” he deliberates, “and I’ll rub your back.”

[lemoncrushh]

Anniversary Pancakes

Summary: Harry and his daughter make breakfast for his wife on their anniversary

Warnings: None, cutesy family fluff (very small mention of sex at the beginning)

Word Count: 1264

A/N: From my 2016 collection, this is written from Harry's POV.

I was in love with her. After six blissful years of marriage, I was still as much in love with her as I'd been the day we said "I do."

I woke up before she did, thinking about the night we'd shared. I'd made love to her three times, each time bringing her to the brink as she called out my name. Then we'd laid in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings, exchanging confirmations of our everlasting love. The sun was just starting to rise, a blueish glow streaming through the curtains. I laid in bed watching her for a good ten minutes, her chest rising and falling as puffs of breaths escaped her lips. She was so beautiful, it took all the strength I had not to wake her up with a gentle kiss. But I wanted to let her sleep. Today was our anniversary, and I had plans.

I sauntered into the kitchen squinting my eyes when I flipped the switch, light illuminating the granite countertops. I started the coffee brewing, knowing that's the first thing my love likes when she wakes up. Opening the refrigerator, I pulled out the eggs, milk, cheese, spinach and bacon. I'd just finished whisking the eggs in a bowl when I heard the pitter patter of little feet on the hardwood floor.

"Morning, Daddy," my little girl said softly as she appeared around the corner, her tiny fist rubbing her eye.

"Morning, princess, what are you doin' up so early?"

She merely shrugged before reaching her arms out to me for a hug. I set the bowl down on the counter and lifted her into my arms, giving her a kiss on her forehead.

"Whatcha makin'?" she asked me.

"An omelet," I replied. "For your mum."

"What's a omnet?"

I giggled as her mispronunciation. "Omelet. It's eggs with stuff in it."

My daughter made a face, showing me she did not approve. I shook my head and set her down on the nearby stool to watch me. I got the first pan ready for the bacon.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," I heard behind me as the bacon started to sizzle.

"What would you like to eat, love?"

"Pancakes."

I chuckled. "I don't think I know how to make those all by myself. Can you help me?"

"Uh huh!"

I flipped the bacon over before turning to my little girl.

"Will you get me a bowl from under there?" I pointed to the cabinet next to her.

"Okay."

She hopped off her stool, eagerly searching for the bowl she knew her mum had used to made pancakes in before. When she came up with it in her little hands, a satisfied grin on her face, she handed it to me.

"Here you go, Daddy."

"Alright monkey," I said. "First I need some flour. Do you know where that is?"

Her little arm immediately shot out across the counter, her finger pointing to a canister.

"In there?" I raised a brow, teasing her. "You sure?"

"Uh huh," she nodded. "The big one is flour."

I grabbed the large canister and lifted the lid, widening my eyes.

"What do ya know! There's flour in here!"

My daughter giggled, covering her mouth. I winked at her, dropping some of the flour into the bowl. Then I added baking powder, salt and sugar.

"Will you stir that for me while I grab this bacon off the fire?"

I lifted her back to her stool, handing her a big spoon. I removed the bacon from the stove while she stirred.

"Good job," I remarked. "Now we get to add the egg."

"Can I do it?" she pleaded.

"Uh...how 'bout we add it together."

"'kay."

I cracked the egg gently as I covered her hand that held it, opening it with precision, careful not to get any shells in the bowl.

"What am I missing?" I narrowed my eyes, putting my finger to my chin.

My little girl shifted her eyes back and forth before giving me a big shrug, her hands in the air.

"Butter!" I exclaimed.

I quickly grabbed some from the fridge, warming it in the microwave to melt. I let the little one pour it into the bowl while I started heating the griddle. Then grabbing the whisk once again, I handed it to her.

"I like the whisk," she commented, her S held out longer than the other letters. I smiled as I watched her move it around the bowl.

"Here, bug," I said, covering her hand again, showing her how to whisk the ingredients.

Her wee little tongue poked out of the side of her mouth in concentration. I brushed her hair back with my other hand, kissing the side of her face. God, I loved my family.

"Alright," I chimed. "Time for pouring."

My daughter watched as I poured the pancake mix onto the griddle. While I waited for it to bubble, I poured my previously prepared egg mixture into the second pan to make my wife's omelet.

I'd just folded the eggs and had made two good pancakes when I heard a little voice say cheer "Mommy!"

"Hi, precious," she said, her voice still groggy from sleep.

Our little girl hopped off the stool once again to wrap her arms around her mum.

"What's all this?" my love inquired, lifted her head to look at me.

"We made breakfast!" our daughter danced.

"You did?" Her eyes were locked on mine.

I grinned at her sheepishly, setting down the spatula. Then I pulled her to me, planting a soft kiss to her lips.

"Happy Anniversary," I murmured against her mouth.

She leaned her forehead against mine. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, monkey?" I asked, even though my eyes were still on my wife.

"What's a ammivassy?"

I grinned. "It means your mum and I love each other a whole lot. And today is the day we celebrate."

My beautiful woman's face beamed back at me as I took it in my hands, kissing her once again.

"Harry..." she said when she broke the kiss.

"Yeah?" I asked, my lips pressed to her jaw.

"Something's burning."

"Shit!" I exclaimed.

I tore away from her to remove the scorched pancake from the griddle. As I cursed under my breath, I heard her chuckle behind me. Luckily, it was only one pancake. And I was able to save her omelet. I felt her hand on my back as I poured more of the mix.

"This is wonderful," she whispered in my ear. "You're wonderful."

Her arms wound around my waist as she rested her head on my back. Then she kissed my neck before backing away. I winked at her as she poured herself a cup of coffee, adding the creamer she liked.

"C'mon, precious, let's go sit at the table so we can have this delicious breakfast you and Daddy made."

I slipped an omelet onto a plate along with bacon, setting it in front of her. Then I gave my little girl her stack of pancakes, covered in syrup before making a plate for myself. I ate with my gorgeous ladies, another morning of complete joy.

My wife smiled at me as she ate, a look on her face that told me something else was on her mind. Perhaps she woke up thinking about last night too.

"I love you," she mouthed silently.

I was about to declare my love in return when my little girl spoke.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, love?" I turned to her, giving her my undivided attention.

"When is our ammivassy?"

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[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 1)

It wasn't long after Uzi restored N and V's memories that N began to stay over at her “apartment.” more often.

It started when he sheepishly knocked on her door one morning, chassis slightly steaming and looking guilty, tail laying flat against the floor.

“H-H-Hey U-U-zi” His voice was so glichy it was nearly impossible to hear what exactly he was saying, his visor angerly blinking, warning him that he was overheating, as if that wasn't immediately obvious.

“Holy shit! N!” Uzi was immediately concerned, leaning in to help her best freind and to lead him inside, she went to grab his hand to help him. Only to be immediately burned, the temperature of his plating feeling like a stove top.

“Y-y-eah, I'm kinda h-h-ooo-t right now.” He explained as if he wasn't about to melt in front of her. She sprinted to her room, grabbing the canister of oil she'd been sipping on and shoving it in his mouth.

He drank it deeply, emptying the entire container rather quickly, steam plumed around him and he sighed, his joints groaning from the quick constriction back to form.

“Oh wow, that was a little closer than I would have liked. Thanks Uz!” He brightened immediately, tail curling up and beginning to wag, a beaming smile on his face.

“N! What happened? I've never seen you that hot before!” She motioned him in, looking into the hallway to make sure nobody saw him enter. It wouldn't help the already rampant rumors about her. About them.

“Uh, V is in one of her moods after I tried reminiscing with her, she shoved me and I fell into the sunlight.” His explanation was not lacking in enthusiasm, seemingly not thinking about how close the death he just came.

“And she didn't get you oil because…?” Uzi questioned, trying to not notice how he looked around her house in awe, glancing around at everything.

“Oh, because the oil we have is old and a little chunky, it would have taken too long to cool me off before I started to go offline.” He explained, picking up a picture of her father and her, when she was a pill.

“Awww, baby Uzi!”

Blushing, she swiped the picture out of his hands and put it back down.

“Bite me! I'm not cute!” She snapped at him, only for him to laugh lightly, as if that action itself proved whatever point he was trying to make.

“Whatever you say!” He grinned, walking off to pick up another trinket off the shelf and turn it in his hands.

“This isn't the first time you've been here, you've seen it before, also you almost just died. Priorities!”

“I actively avoid thinking about the times I almost die. Also look!” He brought her attention to a picture of her, in a toddler body, bashing her dad in the head with a wrench.

“Looks like you were good with tools even when tiny!” He cooed at her image, Uzi grumbled, trying and failing to swipe the picture from his hands.

“Also, I was unconscious for most of the time I was here. I didn't get to see all your adorable droneling pictures!” He threw his hands up, tail wagging wildly.

Adorable?

“N!” She shouted in indignation, fists balling up and stomping her foot like the was throwing a tantrum.

He put the picture back on the shelf, giggling at her, if he was anyone else she would have bitten back a little harder, but he was incredibly difficult to stay mad at, especially with that crooked, dopey smile.

“Well, I guess I'm stuck with you until nightfall…” She murmured, honestly she had started to become nocturnal herself, being unable to touch sunlight after her strange, fleshy transformation at camp, switching over seemed to be the better option.

“I was about to get ready for bed, if you wanna-”

“Sleepover!” He shouted immediately, looking like he just got the best Christmas gift ever. Uzi couldn't help but smile at him, he was always so endlessly positive.

“Uh, yeah… I guess.” She turned to look aloof, but to also hide her growing fluster, which had been growing more and more common since prom.

She drug him into her room by the arm, partly just to get him away from more of her pictures. And slammed the door behind her. Sighing softly.

When she opened her eyes again, N was sitting on her bed, well more laying, as he was a little too tall to comfortably sit upright without touching the ceiling, and was looking at her nightmare board.

“Mmm. This looks like repressed memories.” He said off-handedly, and he was partly correct, some of them were nightmares, some were things she'd rather be only in her nightmares.

“Just nightmares N.” She replied, going into the corner of the room to find a comfortable shirt to change into. Only to look at N, to realize he was still in his overcoat and hat.

“You want to wear something more comfortable then that coat?” She asked, still pulling through the mountain of clothes.

“Huh? Oh uh, if you have something that fits me.”

Fair enough, he was quite a bit taller than any other worker drone. Especially her.

But luckily, she had hoarded clothes over the years, and finally fished something out that was way too big for her. But would probably fit him just fine. A thin lilac shirt that said. “My Girlfriend Thinks I'm Tall.”

The universe really wanted to shove this crush in her face today. Didn't it?

Whatever, the universe could bite her.

“Here.” She threw the shirt up at him and continued to search for something that suited her. Finally, she saw a faded yellow shirt that read; I'm a Big Freakin’ Ray of Sunshine

Perfect

She turned, only to find N standing naked in the middle of her room, the shirt folded in one hand and his coat draped over the other.

“N!” She immediately whipped around to face the wall, her temperature rising quickly, a violent blush taking over her face.

“What?” He hummed, seemingly unperturbed by being nude in front of her, taking his sweet ass time putting the shirt on.

“You're naked!”

“And? The only difference between us is armor plating.” He responded, pulling the shirt over his head. His voice laced with confusion.

“Still! You don’t see me stripping in front of you!”

N paused for a moment, seemingly pondering this. Before he clicked his tongue.

“I wouldn't mind it, you seem to forget that none of the corpses that make up the spire have clothes.” That made her jump, sometimes she forgot he was a disassembly drone, with his cheerful, loving attitude. And it made her feel a little weird, did all of the worker drones really look so similar?

Did he not think of her as different?

“N-No, I don't care how many you've seen. I don't want you to see me.”

She heard N make some kind of noise, then heard him step out and close the door. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, shit, she didn't realize N would be so nonchalant about it.

She quickly got changed, and reopened the door for N, who met her gaze with a slight blush, and who's hands were shifting against each other awkwardly. Clearly, he'd known he'd said something wrong and overthought it.

“Erm, sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, and I didn't mean to imply that… you look like every other worker drone. Because you don't- uh…” He broke from her gaze for a moment, and his tail flicked irritability. What she could see of his visor he was? Blushing? Maybe?

“You don't look like anyone else. You look like you, and you are my best friend.”

Or maybe he did.

“It's okay, you kinda walk around without pants anyway.”

“So does V!” He defended, before they both dissolved into laughter, awkward moment being pushed aside.

“Come on, let's choose something to watch.” And they walked back into her room, N following as she pulled put a drawer, letting him look at the movies she had.

“A lot of them are animated, looking at live action humans is a little freaky to me.” She admitted, watching as he held each box in his hands. Reading the description of each.

“Oooh, this one is about robots!” He grinned, showing off on of the boxes to her.

“Wall-E? I haven't seen that since I was little.” She vaguely knew it was sappy though, which knowing N, he may have picked up on as well.

‘Yeah sure…” She picked up her homebrew laptop and shoved the disk into the reader, before looking around for a place for both of them to sit.

Her couch was currently covered in railgun parts, where she has been trying (and kinda failing) to repair it after it exploded, she'd nearly had to start from scratch.

But then that left her bed… which would probably end up with the both of them being in pretty close proximity, even more so with how excitable N could get.

N made the choice for her, climbing up to her bed and giving her his hand to help her up.

She blushed, looking away as she took his hand as was hoisted up quickly enough to disorient her, thankfully she didn't loose grip on the laptop.

She landed in his lap, she could tell that much by the ambient warmth radiating from his core, she felt him lean down over her shoulder to start the movie, some of his silvery hair tickling her cheek.

Ah, shit this escalated, does he realize how close we are right now?

Apparently not, as he readjusted himself he forced them closer, Uzi leaning fully against his chest, his head looming above her as she was curled on his lap.

She was extremely happy he couldn't see her visor, which she was sure was nothing but purple at this point.

Still, she eventually relaxed into it, realizing that this was one of the only ways they'd both truly fit on the bed while still being able to see the screen.

She just… didn't remember the movie being so… romantic?

The way Wall-E swooned over Eva's sleek design, melted at her voice, showed her his collection of weird human things… for once she could kinda relate, looking up at the disassembly drone, who's eyes were locked onto the screen.

“Awww, he likes her!” He pointed out when Wall-E tried to hold her hand, and all Uzi could do was shake her head, of course he'd be into romance, that was just so… N.

“Kinda reminds me of when we first met.” She said without thinking, before her words caught up with her and she realized what she was implying.

Luckily, either N didn't call her out or simply didn't notice.

“Yeah… her arm cannon thing is really similar to your railgun.”

Oh thank Robo-Jesus that's what he took from that.

“I don't think you were swooning over me though, with me trying to kill you and everything.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

“Uh- Pfft, I wouldn't swoon over anyone N.”

Yes. Nice Save.

“Thad?” N mentioned, eyes still trained on the screen. Although his tone had shifted slightly, although she couldn't fathom why.

“Ew. No. Sports Jock is not my type, he's just not mean to me.” They both jumped when a lightning strike hit Wall-E as we was trying to recharge her.

“I'm not sure what I'd do if you suddenly went offline like that.” N's voice was uncertain, like it was something he'd been thinking on.

“You worry about that?” Uzi replied, trying to ignore the way her core sped up, but wait his did too.

“Of course, with everything going on I'm afraid someone is going to get hurt in a way I can't fix…” One of his arms wrapped around her, seeking comfort, making her jump slightly.

She wasn't used to other people caring about her to this extent, in the way she knew N did, he was her ride or die and she knew that, and it was worth so much to her.

“If you're talking about V, she can kill us both before taking a breath.”

But showing him that was too scary.

“I don't worry about her as much as I worry about you.” His head rested on hers for a moment, as he watched Wall-E hold onto the side of the spaceship for dear life.

She felt herself smiling, face warm. He was such a wonderful friend, he was one of the only people that truly cared about her.

“I'll be fine… Bite me….” He chuckled, sensing no aggression behind her words. And they fell into comfortable silence, getting reabsorbed back into the movie.

Uzi found herself melting pleasantly in his warmth, she'd expected him to be warm, with his constant need for oil, but had expected it to be more unpleasant, instead it was lulling her to sleep quite rapidly. She felt… safe. And that was weird considering she was cudd- uh leaning against a drone who could end her life before she could even finish her next thought.

But she knew he'd never do that, he would rather melt into a puddle than lay an aggressive hand on her, and in a way that made her feel special, even though he would do the same for any of the worker drones in the bunker.

“Oh she looks really upset…” Her eyes refocused on the screen, Eve shouting at Wall-E while her words faded into the background, showing he wasn't listening.

“He did follow her into space.”

“For love!”

“She doesn't know that, although pretty sure she'd still be mad if she did… it really wasn't a smart decision.” Uzi deadpaned, groaning at N's partly fake offense.

“Love is always the best decision!”

Then please don't let me go

She shook off that thought with a shake of her head, settling back against his chest, realizing his arm was still around her and his head still laid on hers.

They were actually cuddling now, there would be no denying that. But Uzi couldn't bring herself to be upset by it even if a part of herself was screaming about her “reputation.” and her “critical lack of edge.”

“Am I putting you to sleep?” N asked, his voice soft and soothing, it sent pleasant streams of data straight to her core.

“I've already seen the movie, and… you're really warm.” She admitted, looking up onto to find he was looking back at her.

“You don't have to stay awake for me then.”

His eyes were honey, pure and sweet and looking down at her like she was a precious gem. She smiled, eyes dimming as she fell into sleep mode. Was this still just a crush? It didn't feel like one, with the way her core felt full and heavy like it was about to come out of her chest. Was this what love was like? She didn't know, she'd never felt anything close to it before.

[Sleep Mode] appered on her visor and N felt her relax fully into him, letting out a content sigh that made yellow spring to his cheeks. His attention slowly turning to the movie again.

She nuzzled into him in her sleep, making the robot equivalent of a squeak as she did. His core felt light, and a small laugh fell out of his mouth.

He worried about her constantly, with her strange powers and her transformation, she'd put herself in danger, always bravely going into it with so much confidence it tended to rub off on him even if he was nervous. But he still worried, she was still a worker, still small, still so much more fragile. And recently, he'd seen her lacking in confidence, terrified.

Even if she would tell him to bite her if he dared ever call her any sort of fragile. She meant so much to him, his closest friend that he could always count on to be patient with him. She could be prickly, sure, but that was more of a shield she put up to protect herself. Much like the padding of optimism he'd wrapped himself in.

He was really upset knowing how the rest of the colony treated her, as if she was some sort of diseased stray cat that needed to be avoided. It was awful! Uzi had the potential to be so sweet, and it was sad to see her having to create this shell to hide that part of herself.

“Mm… N…” She mumbled in her sleep, and he subconsciously pulled her closer, he'd stopped paying attention to the movie long ago, that was okay, he was recording everything anyway, he'd be sure to pay more attention then.

He was going to make his best freind feel wanted. Like he'd wanted to feel, like she made him feel.

Sleep mode came quickly for him too, until all the sound that escaped the room was the sound of the laptop, until that too died down to nothing.

Next ->

[myloveismylevi]

Just a lil weepy thinking about post-war dadvi, his little boy (5? 6?) wanting to make tea for his Dad the way he’s seen him do it a million times, because he just loves him so much and admires him and wants to make him the happiest Dad in the world, but he’s still so little compared to the world around him, so he pulls a chair over to the counter and climbs on it, putting water in the teapot, opening the canister of tea leaves, and pulling a teacup - Levi’s favorite teacup - out of the cabinet. but his hands are small, and when he tries to climb down from the chair the cup slips from his hand and breaks on the kitchen floor.

So, naturally Levi comes hurrying (as much as he can on his stiff knee) into the kitchen to see what produced the noise, and finds the chaos his little one has produced on the counter, and him, kneeling on the ground, with shards of porcelain in front of him. And when his father stands in the doorway, he looks up at him, tears collecting at his lash line.

“I’m sorry, Daddy…” he’ll whimper.

“What happened?” Levi’ll ask in his usual monotone voice, but there’s a softness behind it.

And the boy will try to explain, tears rolling down his face, feeling so awful for making a mess, and for breaking his Dad’s favorite cup, and for not being able to take care of Daddy the way Daddy takes care of him, because he’s got Levi’s same bleeding heart beating in his chest, the one that wants to take care, the one wants to be strong and independent. But also his introspection, his emotion, his sensitivity and empathy.

And Levi’ll be transported back to his own childhood, the teacup that belonged to his mom, the one that they had to sell, the one he tried to get back, but couldn’t. And his heart will ache so bad to think that his child, his sweet perfect angle of a thing, feels even a fraction of the hurt he felt over a piece of porcelain, because of his utter devotion to him.

And he’ll take the boy in his arms, and he’ll hold him close, and he’ll tell him patiently and gently, in his Levi way, that a cup is just a thing, and what matters most is that he wasn’t hurt. And how much he appreciates the boy wanting to do a nice thing for him, but that what he was doing was dangerous, and how important it is that he be more careful, because stoves are hot, and chairs can tip, and broken porcelain can cut one of his 10 miraculous sweet little fingers, and there are thousands of teacups to replace what broke but nothing in all of eternity could replace the boy, living and breathing, that he holds fast to his chest. (His voice is quiet, words grammatically simple, and his tone is steady but his heart is physically ACHING and flailing in his chest from how much love is trying to squeeze into it rn)

And Levi tells his son, in plain English (Eldian? Idk?), that he loves him, and that he always will, because with a tiny mind and heart at stake, there’s no room for beating around the bush with that talk like he often does. And he tells him that his parents will help him to do whatever he wants to do, and to ask for help next time.

Because if only someone’d told Levi, when he was that small, that they would help him. If someone has just loved him, and ALWAYS been there… how much easier he could’ve breathed all those years. The prospect of not having to constantly be afraid to feel. To fail.

It’s all he can think about - how he can do better, give more, than what he had - even in a moment as seemingly small as this.

(I’m sorry.)

[readyforthegarden]

Yes, Chef

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

Synopsis: A sweet late night snack for yourself turns into one for Jake as well.

Warnings: Smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), food play (the classic eating whipped cream off someones body, licking up strawberry juice)

A/N: I've had this in the works since Bourbon and Beyond over a year ago, and suddenly got struck with inspiration. Enjoy!

WC: 3140

You weren’t sure how you ended up on the kitchen counter at 2am. Well, that was only half true. You knew incredibly well how you got there, stark naked, and whimpering while Jake took his time with you. All you wanted was to make a quick and sweet late night snack while you stayed up to finish your book. Jake was off somewhere else in the house, undoubtedly playing one of his many guitars, or recording something to show his brothers the next time he saw them.

But as soon as he heard you rustling in the kitchen, he was at your heels, suddenly craving a snack as well. You were taking a carton of strawberries out of the fridge, a can of whipped cream tucked in your arm and he grinned. You washed the berries in a colander, and began to place them in a bowl when he stopped you.

“Baby, let me,” Jake was never one to just toss a snack together. He took pride in his kitchen, and even simple snacks turned into decadent appetizers. He gently nudged you out of the way, getting a cutting board and knife, slicing up the strawberries.

“Jake, I’m happy to just eat them as is.” you protested softly, itching to get back to your book. “You don’t have to make it fancy.” he turned to you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Nothing but the best for my love,” he smirked. “Hand me the sugar?”

“Yes, Chef.” you rolled your eyes with a small giggle, turning to grab the small canister of sugar you kept on the counter by the stove and mixer. Jake’s knife stopped, and you turned to find him watching you. “What?”

“What did you say?”

“Yes Chef?” Jake watched you wide eyed for a moment, a small blaze behind them as he set the knife down. “Jake?”

“You know, in restaurants, whatever the head chef says goes, right?” he turned his body fully to you, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s why when he commands something, the answer is ‘yes chef’.”

“Is that so?” your voice dropped to a murmur as he stalked closer to you, rolling up the sleeves of his tattered shirt to his elbows.

“It is,” Jake confirmed, once he was nose-to-nose with you. His eyes were looking at your lips for a few moments before they flickered up to yours, a playful, amorous look in them. “Would you like to play a little game?”

“I don’t know Jake,” you teased. “We’re both pretty sore losers, are you sure it’s a good idea?” Jake smirked, brushing his lips against yours.

“Darlin’, I can promise that both of us are going to end up very, very happy.” a small, excited shiver ran down your spine when his lips touched yours, and you found yourself nodding.

“What’s the game?” you breathed.

“When I tell you to do something, when I ask something of you, you answer ‘Yes Chef’.”

“And if I don’t want to do something?” you asked, testing your boundaries.

“‘No Chef,’” Jake gave you a soft smile, his reminder that he would never ask too much of you, always giving you an out and a safety net. “Do you want to play?”

“Yes, Chef.” Jake grinned, leaning down and wrapping his arms around you, letting them slide down the backs of your thighs until you were off the ground. He carried you over to the opposite counter, setting you down on the edge before making sure the cutting board and knife is far out of the way. He sauntered back over, holding the colander of strawberries in his hands. Setting it by your leg, he reached in, plucking a large one up by the leaves.

“You picked some really lovely berries at the farmers market this morning,” he murmured. “You always do. You find the ones that are so ripe and plump, so juicy.” he raised it to his nose, smelling the red fruit. He wasn’t lying, the fruit in his hand was almost ready to burst. Reaching out, he pointed the tip of the berry towards you. “You can feel it,” he let the strawberry touch the very edge of your bottom lip, tracing the shape of them. Jake watched the path as he traced it again. You waited for the moment he presented the berry to you to bite, yet it didn’t come. Watching him with an almost forlorn look, he brought the berry back to his own lips, biting into it.

The moan that rumbled from his chest as the juices cascaded over his tongue set you on fire. His eyes had closed as he took the bite, slowly opening them again as he pulled it away from his mouth, chewing slowly. You could see the shine of juice on his lips, and subconsciously licked your own.

“Would you like a taste?” you nodded quickly and Jake just chuckled with a devious smirk. “What do you say?”

“Yes Chef,” you expected the berry to be brought to your lips, but instead Jake stood between your legs, leaning up and pressing his lips to yours, his tongue skillfully sliding into your mouth and gently, slowly lapping against yours. The lingering flavor of the strawberry made you hum, melting as Jake’s gentle caresses relaxed you. He pulled away slowly, bringing the bitten berry to your lips and allowing you a full taste.

You savored the juiciness, the exact flavor you were looking to satisfy your late night craving with flooding your senses. A droplet of the berry’s juice dripped from your lip, landing on the old t-shirt you wore. The color soaked into the faded, off-white fabric and Jake tsked.

“Can’t keep your whites clean?” he sighed. “Take it off.” Your fingers found the hem of the t-shirt, raising it above your head and letting it drop to the floor. Your skin prickled at the coolness of the air, something Jake’s ever observant eyes honed in on. “Cold?”

“A little,” the words floated out in a sigh. Jake smiled, twirling the berry in his fingers. Without another word, he brought the bitten fruit to your left breast, teasing it. The berry was cool, its juices leaving a sticky sweet trail around your nipple as Jake traced it. You were almost transfixed watching his hand, eyes following the slow circles. He broke the trance when he leaned in, replacing the berry with his mouth. His tongue was just as slow as his hand, lapping up the drying trail of juice. Your head fell back, arms stretching out behind you with your palms flat to support yourself as the tip of his tongue flicked your hardened nipple. You fell into the feeling of Jake at your breast, the gentle tug of his teeth on the sensitive flesh. Your back arched, pressing the swell further into his mouth.

Registering a touch on your other nipple, you glanced down. Jake had raised the strawberry up to your other breast, rubbing the juices there. Your eyes trailed to his face, to find him looking up at you through his lashes, studying your reactions. Biting your bottom lip, you whimpered softly, your skin flushing as he trailed a wet kiss from your left breast to your right, lapping the juice there.

“Jake,” you sighed, reaching out a hand and tangling your fingers in his hair. If he heard your moan, he paid you no mind. Wrapping his lips around your right nipple he mimicked the movements he’d finished only a few moments earlier before letting go with a soft pop, and bringing his lips to yours again. When he pulled away, he stepped back, watching your flushed body move with your breathing.

Finishing the strawberry in his hand, he tossed the leaves and small stem to the sink. He moved slowly about the kitchen, going to the counter space next to where you sat, and moving a few items, clearing it off.

“Would you lay down for me?”

“Yes Chef,” your body was chilled again as you twisted on the smooth surface, laying back on the granite. Turning your head, you watched him as he picked up the can of whipped cream, shaking it in his hand rhythmically. He watched you shiver as your body adjusted to the cool granite while he used the pad of his thumb to pop off the cap to the can, letting it drop to the floor with a rattle.

“You know, I would prefer to make our own whipped cream instead of eating something out of the can.” he hummed, then as if it was a side note, “Open your mouth,” you did so without question, sticking out your tongue flat as he pressed his finger against the nozzle, squirting the creamy confection onto it. Before you could taste it, Jake leaned over, lapping it off your waiting tongue before closing his mouth around yours in a kiss. “Not enough flavor for me, but it will do for tonight.” Without another word, he moved the tip of the nozzle to the valley between your breasts, circling around your navel and to the waistband of your panties.

Setting the can up by your head with a soft clink, he leaned over your body, letting his tongue follow the path of the quickly warming cream. One of his hands was holding back his hair, keeping it from getting into the trial. The mustache he’d been growing in as of late tickled your skin, making you shudder. As he circled your belly button, you began to grow desperate, your body growing hot under his affections.

“Jake, I need you,” you yearned quietly. He raised his head, giving you a smarmy look as he rounded the edge of the counter, standing between your knees which hung over. He ran his hands up and down your thighs, teasing the skin at your hips where the hem of your panties rested.

“You need me?” Jake murmured, his fingertips following the round of your hips and taking hold of the waistband. You raised your hips the best you could, allowing him to slide the cotton down your legs and dispose of them with your stained shirt. One of his hands found your wrist, slipping the simple black hair tie that rested there onto his wrist before standing back and tying his hair in a low bun at the nape of his neck.

Jake’s hands were back on your thighs, sliding underneath them and holding tightly, dragging you down the counter until you were almost afraid you’d slide right off to the floor. Stepping away momentarily, he picked up another berry from the colander, taking his place between your legs again. “I wonder which is going to taste sweeter, this berry or you?” Jake leaned over your body, no doubt feeling the heat from between your legs on his abdomen. He brought the strawberry to your lips, and you took a bite, this one just as delicious as the last. A gasp escaped your throat when you felt two of his fingers slowly swipe a path up your slit. He leaned over again, and this time pressed his fingers to your lips.

Humming as you swirled your tongue around his fingers, you tasted yourself on them. There was no comparison to the sweet fruit, but you knew what Jake would choose. He withdrew his fingers from your mouth and wrapped his arms around your thighs, bending at the waist and attaching his mouth to your pussy. Long, languid licks, as if he were savoring your taste as much as he did the berry’s earlier, had you sighing out his name, fingernails scratching at the smooth surface beneath you. Your knees rested on the crook of his elbows, and you felt your legs twitch as the tip of his tongue flicked over your clit. Your heels dug into his sides of their own accord, as if you were ushering on a steed.

The wet sounds from his mouth lapping and sucking at your pussy echoed in the kitchen. True to his word, Jake was a messy eater, in every sense of the phrase. Your hips began to writhe under his touch, one of Jake’s hands coming and resting firmly on your pelvis, trying to hold you down, though you both knew he loved the feeling of you unraveling under him. He looked up at you, hair falling around his face from his bun. You could barely see his lips as you looked down at him, but you could feel them tugging into a smile against you. One of his arms hoisted your leg onto his shoulder, and you felt the two fingers he’d teased your earlier back at your core, coating themselves in your slick.

Jake’s tongue pressed rough circles around your clit as his fingers eased themselves in and out of you just as roughly. He shook his face against you when your hips thrust against his face, a low growl vibrating against you, causing you to cry out. Your walls began to clench around his fingers, coos of ecstasy falling from your lips as you reached your peak. He worked you through your orgasm, his touch more gentle. When your breathing began to steady, Jake stood up, lips and chin glistening as he began to pull your body towards him again.

Once your feet touched the floor, he wrapped an arm around your back, pressing you into his front. You tasted yourself on his lips and tongue as he kissed you. You gripped tightly to his shirt, legs feeling unsteady. When he pulled back, you could see how dark his eyes had gotten, causing your stomach to quiver.

“Tell me darlin’,” he drawled out lowly, his other hand coming to cup your face, keeping it close to his. “Would you like me to fuck you?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, almost dizzily. Jake shook his head, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he laughed softly.

“This is twice now you’ve forgotten our game,” he reminded you. “Should we stop playing and go to bed?”

“No Chef!” you shook your head, getting back into the game. “No, please, I want you…I need you, please Chef.” Jake hushed your pleading with a soft kiss. You savored his softness, his easing of your nerves. And yet in a flash, you were turned, your front pressed against the edge of the counter. You heard his pants unzip and glanced over your shoulder to catch him stroking himself as you spread your legs out a bit. Jakes eyes were zeroed in on your pussy, and you could feel his hot gaze lingering as the cool air brushed over your skin.

One of Jake’s hands gripped your hip, tugging you back even further. You gasped as he slid the head of his cock through your folds, tapping roughly on your clit, causing you to jolt with every tap. Wiggling your hips, you felt him tease your entrance, bringing your whines to the point of begging as he let the head push in and out. The shallow movements had you slapping your palm against the counter.

“Dammit, Jake!” you cried. “Please!” with a hearty, sly chuckle Jake’s other hand grabbed your free hip, and used your own body as leverage as he slammed into you. The quick movement had the air rushing from your lungs. The slick push and pull of Jake’s cock was delicious, sending shivers down your spine and goosebumps to prickle your skin. Your hands gripped the edge of the counter, feeling the sharp corner dig into the skin under your breasts.

“Feel so good,” Jake grunted out from behind you, one of his hands leaving your hip and grabbing your shoulder, tugging you back roughly to meet the snap of his hips. The pants that were falling from behind his grit teeth were so sinfully delectable, you had to match them with your own. As his hips began to speed their motions, almost recklessly, his hand left your shoulder, sliding down to splay at the middle of your back. You could feel him pressing down on your spine, arching your body so your hips stuck out even more towards him. The pads of his fingers dug grooves into your skin, you were sure you’d be bruised as he cursed under his breath between praises.

You could feel another orgasm building, your toes curling against the floor, nearly slipping out from under you. His name fell from your lips as you reached out, grabbing every inch of the counter you could, trying to hold on to something as your stomach quivered, a feeling like you were melting from the inside out overtaking you.

“Jake!” your walls clenched around him, causing him to groan and buck his hips almost erratically. The slapping of skin rang out in the kitchen, nearly causing the pots and pans in the cupboard you were up against to rattle and echo back. You knew there would be red marks on your ass from where his hips were impacting, but you couldn’t care less, as the soreness was starting to set in, so was your orgasm.

“Oh fuck!” you cried out harshly, moaning loudly. You were clawing at the stone beneath you, sure that if it had been anything softer, your nails and fingertips would have easily ripped through it with the passion you were feeling spread throughout your body.

The slaps from Jake’s hips were stinging now as he found his own end, a guttural, stuttering moan emitting from his throat as he spilled himself inside you. He leaned against your back, his sweaty cheek meeting your own damp skin there. You could feel his breath gliding over your own sweaty skin, cooling and chilling it. Jake’s hands let go of your hips, encircling your waist and hugging you close in the bent position.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled. “So perfect, so amazing.” Jake pressed soft, lazy kisses to your spine as he caught his breath and praised you quietly. When you caught your breath, you turned your head slightly, doing your best to see him at your angle.

“So, did you find the answer?” you asked, causing him to look up at you, though he barely moved his tired head to do so.

“What answer?”

“Which tasted sweeter? The strawberry or me?” A glint shone in Jake’s dark eyes as he laughed, peeling his sticky skin from yours and straightening himself, withdrawing from you. You watched as he grabbed some paper towels, rinsing them under some water to soften them and came over to where you were still leaning against the counter. He helped clean you up before wiping himself off, and tossing the paper towels away.

Bringing the colander back towards you, he reached in and plucked another berry from it. He took a bite and grinned.

“Definitely you.”

Taglist: (feel free to add yourself!)

@joshsindigostreak @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @sunfl0wer-power @indigo-starcatcher @sammyscherub @earthlysorrows @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @losfacedevil @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvff @gretavanfleetposts @josiee-gvf @joshkiszkatoothgap @madneedshelp @gardensgatedaisy @myownparadise96 @demonrat444 @dannyandthekiszkas @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @happy-harpy-stuff @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @jankandjonch @gvfpal

@allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge @highladyofasgard @sammysvanfeet@gold-mines-melting @earthgrlsreasy @mountain-in-springtime @forcebond301 @stardust-and-shadows @llightmyllovee @gretavangroupie @comesofarsomehow @infinisonicosm @indigofallingsky @hellowgoodbye @hearts-hunger @fwzco @dharma-divine33 @lightsofthe-living-gvf @ascendingtothestarsasone @klarxtr @ofthecaravel @musicspeaks @mindastreamofcolours @imleavingyoufornewyork @dammm1256 @gretasfallingsky

[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin (Karl Urban) x reader!

Some hot making out in a magical tree house that is for sure going to lead to more…

co-written with CheshireCatSmile

@kus-babygirl @shirley-girly @jynx15 @everchar-of-the-shire @vavafaure1994

@deathlesun @butchers-girl @hippo2211

@bohemianblasphemy @karlurbanism @imherefordeanandbones @torntaltos @babyfri3dric3

karl urban masterlist

direct link to part 1

part 7

8.

Gavin chuckles, his dark eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners then pulls you toward the make shift doorway and starts down the carved steps toward the space with the counter. When he's at the bottom he grabs you around the waist to lift you down the rest of the way. He's so strong he makes it seem effortless.

“I don’t know how you do that,” you say. “You might hurt yourself tossing me around like that.” You can’t help yourself, running your palm over his arm, feeling the muscles.

He eyes you up and down with a glint in his eyes. “I can handle you just fine…I'd say you’re about perfect in my book.”  He caresses your cheek then turns to start opening some of the other cabinets until he pulls down a cook top that looks to work much as a camp stove would. He checks the fuel canisters then rummages through his pack for the food packets. "Savory beef stew and savory chicken stew...which would you like tonight?  Or...there's...chow mein or white cheddar mac 'n cheese."

“Mmmmm mac ‘n cheese,” you grin. Something feels so good about sharing this with just him, comfortable and right. “It’s so nice to be away from everything. Thank you for bringing me.”

"It's my pleasure sweetheart. I'm kinda glad it worked out this way. Not that I want Jack to worry any more about his family or the baby...but it's nice sharing this with you. I would have been hesitant to go look for this treehouse if he was with me. I mean, he would have been totally focused on the business and wouldn't have wanted to take the time." He clears his throat. "I mean...he's just more on the serious side."

“He is. But I think it’s important to keep some magic and adventure in your life. At least it is to me. Honestly, I could stay out here for ages and never worry… It’s so beautiful.” 

Gavin finishes heating the food and brings it over to the table, sitting next to you. He smiles softly as he hands you the mac 'n cheese. "I had you pegged as a mac 'n cheese type of girl right from the start. Jack said you'd lived in Seattle and were used to fancier big city stuff. But I just had a feeling." He plucks off a piece of the leftover corn bread to dip in his stew. His thigh is warm against yours.

You laugh and take a big bite then hum gratefully. It’s actually very good. “I’m not used to fancy anything, believe me. But even if I was I’d much rather have a homey mac and cheese.” His thigh shifts against yours under the table and a little flutter of warmth goes through you so you press even closer.

"I like you just the way you are."

When you finish eating, you make sure to clean up while Gavin goes through his pack. It’s starting to get dark and the rain is picking up again.

"Thanks for cleaning up. I'll take the sleeping bags upstairs. I'd hate to have anything happen to that beautiful old quilt." Then he chuckles. "Upstairs higher up in the tree that is." He gathers both the bags up and traverses the carved stairs. Then he looks over his shoulder. "Ready for dessert?"

You laugh a little but a wild flutter goes off in your chest and warmth suffuses you. How could you have gotten this lucky out of nowhere? You try to tamp your excitement in case it doesn’t work but you can’t help it. You’ve never had anyone be this kind, not even at the beginning. “Oh, yes I am,” you smile. You dig a flashlight out of your pack and follow him up.

He unrolls one sleeping bag on the double bed and smooths it out over the mattress then spreads out the second one face down and zips one side and the bottom together making it easy to slide in from the other side. The rain starts coming down a little harder and you're both grateful at how much of the room is actually securely covered. Someone must have done a lot of work getting things in shape before they left. "I'll just grab our packs and bring them up in case we need anything."  He's back in a moment and you notice his hair got a little damp.

You had shimmied out of your jeans while he grabbed the packs like he had done the night before then slipped into the sleeping bags and scooted all the way over so he can slide in too. It was dark now so you left the flashlight on and grinned when he came back in the room. “You’re wet again,” you teased but you loved the way his hair looked a little disheveled.

"Yeah, I grabbed the quilt and folded it back up to put away then I took a look over the edge and out toward the ridge. But I got out too far from the roof," he chuckles. "Didn't get too wet luckily." He reaches in his pack and pulls out a chocolate bar to share. Then he undresses down to his boxers and a tank. You watch his muscles ripple and bunch and can't help admire his strong body.

He has a couple funny tan lines from working so much in the sun but they don’t deter at all from the way he looks. He smiles when he sees you watching him and you’re sure he can see all the less than innocent thoughts in your head. You sit up and pull off your sweater but leave your t-shirt on as he climbs in. “It’s strange how it doesn’t seem to be too cold in here isn’t it? It’s lovely.”

"It is," he agrees. Then he smiles. "Just cool enough for comfortable cuddling...but first..."  He splits the chocolate bar in two and hands you half as he slips into the sleeping bag.

“You definitely know the way to get me in a good mood,” you grin. “Mac ‘n cheese and chocolate in bed?” You curl up close to him and take a bite of the candy, humming with pleasure at the sweet, rich taste.

"You are so different from what Jack has in his head," he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. "You're beautiful and kind and down to earth. Pretty perfect in my book." 

“I think people in town think I’m a snob because I’m quiet. I’m just…I don’t know,” you shrug and take anther bite of chocolate. “Do you talk about me a lot?” you grin, wriggling closer.

"Well...I have to be honest...I noticed you that first day you came in to interview. Just something about you caught my attention. Thank God your references were so great. Jack had to agree with me you were the best person we could hire. He was impressed too and that's not always easy. But I think he has this idea since you were at that big firm in Seattle that you're a city girl at heart. He told me to be caref....well he told me you'd probably get tired of life down here and move back to the city." He clears his throat.  "Anyway, I'm glad you answered our ad."

“I’m glad I did too. I couldn’t stay in the city anymore. Not with…” you trail off and stop yourself, not wanting to talk about your ex at all. “I noticed you the first day too. But you’re always so busy and I so desperately wanted to do a good job.” You finish the chocolate and snuggle a little closer to him, licking your fingers clean.

You notice a little spot of chocolate on his lower lip as he shifts closer to you and settles. "What?" he inquires as he watches your eyes flick to his lips more than once.

“Um,” you bite your lip, letting your gaze flick to his eyes and lips again. “You missed some,” you smile, then lean forward and slowly swipe your tongue over his full lower lip.

His hazel eyes darken a shade. "Mmmm," he hums and captures you in a slow sensuous kiss, his tongue gliding in to swirl around yours in a possessive dance sending warmth all the way to your toes.

You moan softly into his kiss as he takes over completely and fills you with so much heat you wish you were wearing nothing at all. Your arms slide around his broad shoulders unconsciously as you try to pull him closer.

One strong arm tightens around you as his other hand slides into your hair. A low rumble rolls through his chest sounding like the purr of a large jungle cat. His fingers drag through your hair and it’s so good, you feel like you’re going to melt away. His tongue swirls around yours again, making your heart race. You shift against him, rubbing your foot along his calf.

That masculine rumble rolls through his chest again, vibrating against you. He pulls back so slowly from the kiss and presses a row of kisses along your jawline.

His mouth is hot and insistent and you have to gasp for air when he breaks the kiss as if you had forgotten you need to breathe. “Gavin,” you moan his name. “Something feels different here…almost as if there’s magic in the air…doesn’t it?”

He lets out a shaky breath and you know he’s affected by you too. His dark eyes glitter in the dim light as he looks at you. "Mmm...yes...it does sweetheart.” The rain makes a tinkling sound high overhead...almost like hitting soft chimes and it's sound is like music drifting down from the highest branches.

You think it must’ve been years since you’ve felt as relaxed as this. That voice in your head is still telling you to hide away but you can barely hear it. You let your fingers trace the muscles of his shoulders, perfectly built and lithe and so strong, you can’t get enough.

He nuzzles at your neck softly then whispers, "I think it must be magic that brought you here and brought us to this place and time. It's almost like I remember you from a dream."

“You feel like magic…” you breathe. He’s warm and solid, almost on top of you and his stubble lightly tickles your sensitive skin as he’s careful not to rub. It makes you feel like your entire body is coming alive for the first time.

"You feel so right in my arms," he says, husk in his voice. "Like you were always meant to be there. That probably sounds like a line...but I promise you it's not." He kisses his way down your throat to your pulse point and stops to lightly touch there, his lips warm and soft.

You tilt your head back in pure bliss and shivers of pleasure go through you making you cling to him tighter. “It doesn’t sound like a line. I feel it too.”

He nips gently at your pulse and smiles against your skin as he feels your heartbeat increase. "Either this place is magic or you are," he murmurs in a slightly gruff timbre.

It’s hard to believe it could be you but you can hardly even think with the way he feels. You thread your fingers through his tousled hair and guide his mouth back to yours, wanting to taste him again.

He immediately responds to your coaxing and his lips are on yours, tongue sliding in to possess yours. He presses you closer and deepens the kiss like a man parched, finding an oasis in the desert and leaving you whimpering helplessly beneath him.

His body somehow grows even hotter and feels even better than before. The sleeping bag has fallen away and he’s holding you against him. You tangle your legs with his as he tangles his tongue around yours and it makes you moan softly.

He takes his fill then finally lets you breathe as he kisses his way along your jaw again to that sensitive hollow just behind your ear. He flicks his tongue out to taste just there sending more warm shivers through you and making your center throb. You shift your hips pressing to his firm thigh and you can feel his cock swelling against your stomach. He gives a low rumble and flicks his tongue over that little spot once more.

“Gavin…” you whimper. Pleasure and heat flare inside of you. “If you do that again I’m going to go crazy,” you tease, laughing softly.

He pulls back to smile at you and rubs his hand comfortingly along your side. “Why don’t you catch your breath, sweetheart,” his voice is husky but his words are sure and you know he must have seen that tiny last fleck of lingering anxiousness in your eyes. “I don't mind taking my time with you. Let me just hold you close for awhile and we can listen to the rain. Feel the magic of this place." He adjusts his position and lays back, wrapping his arms around you and snuggling you close to his body.

You curl your arm around him, letting your fingers drift over his chest and tilt your head just a little to look into his dark eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You can see the emotions swirling there, but mostly you see the warmth and growing affection with that carefully banked simmering heat. You also see the promise of more and the conviction of his words.

“No, I don’t mind. We can wait until you’re 100% sure. I’ll be here no matter what.”

You settle in against his chest again, resting your head on his warm shoulder. You’re almost there, you know, and you have a feeling you’re not going to make it out of this bed without giving in to your desires. But for now, this just feels perfect. “I love the sound of the rain. I couldn’t be happier.”

"Your happiness makes my heart feel warm and full," he murmurs.  He settles you closer against him and his warm breath gently ruffles your hair.

All of him feels so so good.

"I could fall asleep with you pressed against me every single night and die a happy man. Rest for a bit, sweetheart. I’ll be here."

~*~*~

Next up: SMUT! (I promise to get the next part out quicker!)

really hope you like, reblogs, comments and like mean everything <3

[sky-snz]

September Ballad (M, Cold)

Ok, time for a longer one (2.4k words :P). Here’s a fic with some busy autumn vibes, and cold that sneaks up on Jonah hard at work. xx

cw: mess

-

[A video recording. The Anderson Cottage attic, midday. Jonah squeezes the clamp of the black capo, and brings it down from the sixth fret to the third fret. His eyes drift toward the ground, and slowly, he begins to pluck out a melody on the guitar. In a soft voice, he starts to sing. ‘It’s her that brings me there She’ll say welcome back to earth It’s been far too long for me to bear…’]

It wasn’t quieter, just more chilly. Things in the world seemed to slowly acquire rougher edges - there was the rustling of trees and stacks of dog-eared papers that were important.

[‘Dig my body from the dirt, Gentle, so the roots wouldn’t tear…’]

The width of each day was gradually compressing. Their evening walks had been happening earlier to catch the sunset. And Lily was more often tired, and into September, Jonah tended to work late nights. It seemed he’d exchanged sunsets for a covered pot on the stove in the empty kitchen. Memes sent without additional text. A warm hand ran gently down the back of a thick sweater, a whistling kettle, and curated canisters of vitamins and such that mysteriously appeared on the cluttered counter.

“heeihhHh, HUHdt’EEISSCHHIEWWW!!!” 

Jonah’s long form bent double with a sudden violent, desperate sneeze. His hand quickly gripped onto the edge of the kitchen sink and held tightly, as the force of the expulsion shuddered through his shoulders and threw him forward. It was like a clap of thunder following far behind a streak of lightning - seeming to coming out of no where. He straightened and gave his head a small shake.

His perpetually rosy nostrils flared as he sniffed gently. His long, dark hair seemed to be behaving a bit more than it had just a few days ago, as the temperature subtly began to drop. And that was the bittersweet gateway to autumn. The end to one type of suffering, and onto various others - but with it, came a tradition of compiled solutions by humanity to maintain warmth. Life. Spirit.

He’d chalked up his usual congestion these days to the pollen, although it was trickier to tell for sure, since it had been rather cold. The temperature shift often gave his sinuses grief on its own. Nonetheless, he had work to do. One of his favourite parts of the day was making himself a tea before playing piano, which usually helped with the congestion.

“huht’JSCHH!!-unhh…” He muffled a sneeze into his shoulder, his hands occupied with a bottle of honey and a tablespoon. He sucked in a damp sniffle and sighed softly. 

This game of ‘is this a cold or allergies?’ was getting tiring. He supposed as long as he had the ability to get things done, he’d be fine. But still, “-Ah’TDSCHHhh-!!!” it might be kinder on his sinuses if he was able to tell which was the cause.

Shit. Honey dripped down the side of his mug of tea, as did his nose, dripping into his moustache and onto dry lips. He sucked in a harsh, frustrated sniffle, and reached for the roll of paper towel.

“Bless you.” Jonah heard Lily approaching down the stairs.

“*hsnff!* Thagk you.” Jonah set down the bottle of honey on the counter. As he gently wiped his face with some folded paper towel, he turned to see her enter the kitchen. 

“You doing okay?” she asked softly, lifting a hand and gently running it over his back.

“Just sdeezi’g,” he exhaled. 

“Ah, right on time.” Jonah gave a small, exhausted chuckle. Lily smiled, and reached up to brush his hair out of his face. “You had your meds?” she murmured. Her sea blue eyes stared into his earthy, moss-coloured ones. Jonah grew a bit flustered - every now and then he would forget, but this time he actually did.

“Yes, love,” he said with a gentle grin.

“Yeah? When’d you last use the nose spray?”

Jonah barked a soft, wheezy laugh, then tried to stop as she kept her strange, flirty gaze. He knew that she’d worry. Lily’s eyes ran over his impossibly handsome features. As she moved closer, his hands gently found her waist.

Jonah’s eyelashes fluttered as he gazed down at her. “This morning,” he mumbled hoarsely. 

“Take some now, it should be at least twice a day, right?”

“Once I’ve made my tea,” Jonah replied.

“Let me,” Lily said, gently touching his hand.

“Lil, I’ve got it,” he said gently, his hands still in the task of wiping the side of the mug.

“‘Kay,” Lily breathed. She ran her hand over his back once more, then went to get a glass for herself.

Jonah sniffled gently, but liquidly. The way he cleared his throat again, gruffly, had Lily’s spider sense on guard.

“What time’s the dinner tomorrow?” she asked, once she’d poured herself some water.

“Uh, *snrff!* Seved, I believe. *snrk!*” he said, turning to lean back against the counter.

Following a sip from the hot mug of tea, Jonah let out a soft, shaky exhale. Watery mucus ran down his upper lip, and he sniffled thickly. He held the breath, his chin turning to the side.

“Oh,” he huffed softly, and quickly set down the mug of tea. He lifted his other hand and pinched his sniffly nose, half-stifling a wet sneeze. “KGCHH-!! -unh, *snrff! sdrf!*”

“Bless you,” Lily breathed, and gently rubbed his back. 

“'Scuse mbe, thagk you.”

Lily wandered off to the study corner of the living room to double check her schedule. The dress she’d planned to wear was hung on the door of her closet. She hadn’t worn it in a while, and perhaps it had seen better days, but it was plain, elegant, and reliable.

[‘Eyes above the chasm where the golden hour illuminates her hair… And I’m stood there…’]

There was a heavy ceramic thud against the hardwood floor, the jingle of a teaspoon, and Jonah crying out at full volume.

“Ah-! Fuck…”

Lily straightened quickly like a meerkat, hearing Jonah’s muffled grumblings from the kitchen. From the desk chair in the living room, she tried to peek around the doorway to the dining room.

“Jonah?” she called. She stood and went to the doorway. “You okay, sweetie?”

“I’b fide,” he mumbled as she spotted him in the kitchen, crouching to pick up his empty mug and teaspoon from the puddle of tea on the floor. He had to reign in his temper, it was just a minor inconvenience…

“Oh,” Lily couldn’t help but say, her heart sinking a little. “Did y-“

“AAESSCHIEWW!! -ESSCHIEWW!!-sshieww!!” Before she could get a question out, he dissolved into another rapid, itchy spell of sneezes. “*snnnrgk!* EEEISSCHH!!! *hsddrff* God, I’b soh… *sddrffh!* I’b so sorry, *sdDDRFF!* Jesus,” he murmured hastily, struggling to sniffle back the abundance of mess oozing from his red, dripping nose. His expression was still hazy with desperation.

“Bless you, darling. Here, I got it.” Lily set the mug and teaspoon down in the sink, then tore some paper towels from the roll. She couldn’t help but continue to eye Jonah. “Are you hurt? Did you spill any on yourself?”

“*sdrff!* D-Doe, just… hh-! just- *sddrffh!* hh’just od by- hh’odbypadts-ISSCHIUE-!! HRR’ISSCHIEWWw!!” Jonah barely choked out an answer before the burning irritation overwhelmed him. He groaned softly, sounding stuffy and miserable.

“Bless you. Here, baby love, blow your nose, okay?” Lily offered him a spare handkerchief that she found in the drawer of the phone table. With bleary eyes, Jonah accepted the handkerchief, and rose up from crouching.

“Hh-haH-! Hehh!” Eyelids fluttering, he quickly leaned a hand on the counter before letting out a rapid, itchy triple. “HAAD’SCHHIEWW!!-sshieww!! ESSCHHIEWW!!!”

“Bless you,” Lily said soothingly.

“EEIY’ESSSCHHIEWWW!!!” Oh. Yikes, that sounded like it hurt. He bent double over the sink with that one, and let out a couple of chesty coughs.

“Bless you, love.”

“Thadk you…” Jonah mumbled wearily into the cloth. 

He turned and began to blow his nose. It was heavy, gurgling, sounding much needed. As Lily wiped the last of the spilt tea on the floor, she heard him pause for breath and blow again, producing congested honks. She felt sympathy as he panted for breath, sucking in several sniffles that didn’t seem to be moving much.

After a bit, he turned back around to find that Lily had finished cleaning up his mess.

“Oh,” he said softly. He stared at her, still making a few itchy rubs at his pink nose with the folded hanky. He let out a hoarse, timid chuckle. “Thagk you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Lily stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and lifted a hand to rub his back.

“I’b sorry, I’b such a klutz, *snrgk!*”

“You’re okay,” she said firmly. Lily switched to gently scratching his back instead. Jonah leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Your poor tea, though. Let’s make you another one.”

“Hh’I- hhh’oh, I still deeh- huhh, Gods sakes, *gsdrff!*” he muttered breathily, turning away again. “haaH! HAAASSCHHIEWW!!-Ohh, hih-! RR’AASSCHHIEWW!!! -AASCHIEWW!! …haht’Chieww-!! … g’nhh. *sdrff!*”

“Bless you.”

“*snrgk!* Pardod be, thagk you, *snnrk!* Hold od,” he uttered with defeat, and went to the living room. 

More sad, honking blows could be heard as he walked away. Lily poured more water into the kettle. The switch made a satisfying click as she turned it on, and again, the pot began to heat up.

-

[‘Rendered speechless by silence of it all, And with it all, I’m taken-‘]

Jonah’s noisy, drawn out snores were interrupted by some itchy coughs, ones that came so fast that they startled Lily as she’d begun to nod off. His big torso expanded as he took a wheezy, shuddering gasp, then came a sneeze so vicious that it jerked his head and shoulders forward from the incline of pillows.

“hhHAAASSCHHIEWWW!!!” It was explosive, too - Lily could see the spray in the low light, and hear the wet bursting of thick mucus as the sneeze came at full force.

“Oh, bless you love,” Lily hummed, and reached over to rub her hand soothingly over his thigh.

“HAADSSCHHIEWWw!!!” Just as he was getting his bearings, another wet, thick-sounding sneeze forced its way out of him. 

“Bless you.”

Jonah rolled over, facing away from Lily and feeling dizzily around the bedside for the box of tissues, or a hanky, anything there to catch the sudden abundance of mess he’d just sneezed all over himself. His entire head felt heavy, and his sinuses were aching. Sitting up made his head hurt. He felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Here, babe,” she said softly. Soon his long fingers were squeezing around a handkerchief.

“RRAAHh’CHHIUEWW!!!” Lily winced a little. The one had just sounded so wet, and any attempts to sniffle did nothing, leaving him to sigh and hurry to lift the handkerchief over his swollen, dripping nose. “AASSCHhiu!!-EEISSCHHhh!!”

“Bless you.”

Jonah sat there, panting. The poor thing. A bead of sweat rolled down his face. Lily could hear his weary, heavy breathing as he wiped his face. She lifted the backs of her finger to feel his forehead.

“-hhhh… hHehhhh… HAAAESSCHHHhh!!!”

“Bless you. Ohh, dear. Yup, that’s a fever.”

“HRR’AASSCHHIOOO!!! ....ngh..” 

“Bless you. Here. Breathe in for me.”

Jonah took in a tight, shaky breath. His sore, sensitive sinuses were burning. He needed to blow his nose badly, or his head was going to burst. The attempt at it made an awful noise - the congestion that sat heavily in his sinuses was restricting, and there was so much mucus, an ungodly amount. The handkerchief was damp by the time he finished blowing. 

“ahh’CHIEWW!!hhh….” God, he shouldn’t have blown that hard. The sneeze that it triggered was sudden and scraped across his throat. 

“Bless you, poor thing,” Lily murmured.

“*sngk!* D-Deed- hUHt’CHIEWWw!!!” He winced and rubbed at his nose with the hanky. “g’hh… h-heiHhh?? HAAEESSSCHHiuhh!!-’ISSCHH!!!-CHH!!-TCHHhh!!!”

Oh no. They were coming rapidly again. And they still sounded wet, if not wetter, soaking the humble handkerchief in his hands. Lily reached toward the bedside table and opened the drawer. She found a good, thick handkerchief and touched it to Jonah’s hand. He took it eagerly and shakily lowered the soaked cloth in his hands. Lily caught a glimpse of his red, chapped nostrils, which flared wide again before pitching forward into the fresh cloth.

“YY’AASSCHHIEWW!!!”

“Bless you, sweetie.”

“*snrgk* Thagk you,” he barely croaked. He blew his nose again, cautiously, then emerged with a sniff.

Lily ran her fingers through his loose, frizzy curls. “Want ice?” she breathed.

Jonah nodded. Lily moved towards the other bedside table and reached for the thermos. She opened it and shook some ice into an empty cold pack she’d left there just in case.

“hdt!‘CHIUEWW!!! *snrk! snnnrk~*”

“Bless you.”

“rr’SSCHHIEWWw!! -nnh, *sddrff!*”

“Bless-“

“EEEISSCHHIEWWww!!! *snNrgk!* ‘b so sorry, 'scuse be.” Jonah kept sniffling liquidly. His poor nose just kept running, gushing mess with each itchy sneeze.

Lily gave his thigh a small rub. “Shhhh, you’re okay.” 

He gave another thick, flooding blow into the hanky, and lowered it, panting softly. His eyes were still sunken and hazy with sleep. He looked ready to return to his slumber - then Lily turned to him with the ice pack.

“Here, hun.” Jonah snuffled softly and peeked over at her. “Lie down?”

He did just that, exhaling heavily as his back flattened onto on the mattress. Lily placed the small ice pack on his forehead, and watched his flushed features loosen.

“That good?”

Still panting slightly, he nodded. It felt so good that he could’ve fallen asleep then and there, but-

“I’ll grab you some Tylenol, okay?” Lily leaned down to kiss his warm temple. His bleary eyes followed her as she got out of bed. She came back to the bed and sat by him. “Here. Can you sit up?”

[‘I’m taken, taken, taken…’]

“It’s just a moment, and you can go back to sleep.”

A soft groan of effort tickled Jonah’s scratchy throat, as he pushed his aching body into an upright position. There was some ease as Lily’s hand touched his shoulder. Her thumb grazed over the fabric of his shirt as he downed the two pills in a wrenching gulp. 

Not saying much else, her hand moved to brush back his hair. She left a kiss on his clammy forehead, and murmured for him to lay back down.

[‘And it’s her It’s her that brings me there.’ Jonah looks up from the ground towards the camera. His lips muster a gentle grin, and he reaches over to stop the recording.]

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 33: Alexander's Feeding

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control, blood drinking

His Master was staring him down with a look of haunted bliss, the way a starving man might regard a luxurious dinner spread, and Oliver realized that he still wasn't quite prepared for it. Even when he was being fawned over by vampires as a piece of merchandise, he hadn't felt quite so much like prey as he did right now.

"Oliver," Alexander said, visibly trying to regain his composure. "There... there you are. In my library."

"Yes, Master," he said simply, the awkwardness permeating though the fog in his mind.

"Very good, very good... I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, very much so, Master."

"Why don't I..." He cleared his throat loudly. "I need to be more awake for this. Would you like some coffee? I'll show you how I make it."

"Yes, sir," Oliver agreed easily, wondering if the "this" that his Master needed to be awake for was what he thought it might be. 

He followed his Master into the kitchen, lighting one of the gas lamps along the way. Alexander opened a cupboard and pulled out a small but delicate French vacuum pot, a hand-cranked grinder, and a cheerful red tin canister. He opened the canister and smelled the contents, inviting Oliver over. The scent nearly knocked him off his feet, much stronger than the milder coffee he favored.

"I prefer my coffee beans rich. My taste has diminished since... Well, I'm better off than many vampires in that regard," he said casually, pouring a generous amount of beans into the grinder. "Here, put this water on the stove to boil."

The domesticity of the coffee making process was an odd contrast to the intensity of the moment in the library, but not so much that Oliver could put it out of mind. It didn't help that Alexander was gazing longingly at his neck whenever he thought Oliver wasn't looking. Perhaps even when he was well aware Oliver was looking.

"I don't intend to impose much in the way of tasks on you," his Master explained. "But I certainly wouldn't mind if you were to prepare a pot of coffee for me around sundown."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, flooded with obedient contentment at the thought of having such a straightforward way to please his new Master.

Before long, two perfect, steaming hot mugs of strong coffee had been procured, and they retired once more to the library. "Feel free to continue on with what you were doing before," said Alexander, waving Oliver off. "I'll call upon you shortly, if that's acceptable for you."

Of course it was. Oliver was in no position to refuse, and all of his former resistance was no more than the dimmest of sparks. "More than acceptable, Master."

The books held such fascination for him only an hour before, but now he felt as though he couldn't focus on any of them, the titles sliding from his mind as soon as he'd read them. He could barely even taste the rich, delicious coffee. All he could think about was his Master's gaze upon him, what his teeth would feel like grazing his neck, how it would feel to finally succumb. 

He was so lost in his reverie that he barely noticed when Alexander, reclined in a soft leather loveseat, began to sing gently under his breath.

Oliver's breath hitched with the realization that this was it, just before he was awash in a sea of calm relaxation. Alexander's sharp fangs glistened in the flickering gas lamp as he smiled at Oliver and beckoned him closer. Oliver took a few clumsy steps towards him, the intense vampiric aura stealing away what remained of his thoughts.

His Master's hunger weighed heavily upon him, and his hand reached up, slipping his frock off his shoulder and exposing his neck. His Master needed to feed, and Oliver would provide, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so sure of himself. He knew exactly what he needed to do, where he needed to be, sitting down next to his Master as docile as a lamb.

Oliver looked deep into his Master's eyes as he drew closer, realizing that his Master looked almost as spellbound as Oliver felt. He could feel his Master's desire through the vampiric aura, pulling him closer, drowning every thought from his mind but the feeding. In that moment, it seemed as if he had been put on the green Earth solely for this, to provide for this beautiful vampire.

Alexander took Oliver's chin and tilted his head further to the side, cold breath on his ear as he whispered into it. "Fall under my spell," he said. "Feel no pain. Only pleasure when I drink from you, Oliver."

"Only pleasure... yes, Master..."

Sharp teeth grazed his neck just long enough for Oliver's breath to hitch before twin pinpricks pierced his skin, and then...

Bliss.

He gasped as endorphins flooded his system, turning what remained of his mind to mush. His Master's lips were on his neck, drinking from the small wounds, and even after all of his conditioning, he couldn't imagine it would feel so good. 

Why had he ever resisted this? Why had he ever feared? This was everything he'd ever wanted: purpose, pleasure, and serenity all wrapped together. His head slumped against his Master, and he felt unexpectedly safe and cared for, secure in the knowledge that he was providing well, and that his Master would not hurt him.

And then, there was another sensation, one more foreign to him, but no less welcome. It was the feeling of hunger giving way, of finally being sated after an age of starvation, a dying man restored. Through the fog of blood loss and bliss, he understood what it was: his Master's thoughts, shared through a connection bound in blood. Through that connection, Oliver could tell how much he was truly appreciated, deepening his contentment even as he began to feel drowsy from blood loss and the vampiric spell.

Alexander gently kissed the wounds closed, finishing his meal, and ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Oliver's head. "You're all right, Oliver," he said, and it wasn't a command but an observation.

"That was..." Oliver trailed off, not having the words to even begin to describe what that was like.

"Mmm," said his Master, and Oliver could hear the smile in his voice. He could feel strength. He'd made his Master stronger. He'd done well.

"I think... I think I'd like to celebrate a little, after that," said Alexander after a moment. "Would you be willing to accompany me to the music room? It's been so long since I've played."

In his half-asleep daze, Oliver nodded. "Yes, Master."

He was being scooped up in strong arms and held to his Master's chest as they walked out of the library and into the exquisite music room. Oliver was laid out on a velvet couch, a pillow tucked behind his head, as Alexander surveyed the room like a king looking over his adoring subjects. He looked healthier, Oliver realized. His skin was less pallid, his eyes more awake.

After pondering his options, Alexander sat at the piano and began to play. Oliver didn't know much about music, but it sounded like an old classical tune, the kind you might hear at a symphony hall. His Master played expertly, hands flying over the keys, and the song had an air of joy about it.

Through the remnants of the connection, Oliver could sense how the smooth ivories felt under his fingers, follow the rhythm and weave of the music. His eyelids drooped despite himself; he was drowsy enough to desire sleep, but he didn't want this moment to end.

As he skimmed the surface of dreams, floating in and out of awareness, he felt himself getting lost in a memory. Another man lying on this couch, content after a feeding, as Alexander played for him. Fingers strumming a guitar, playing a sprightly tune as Lex looked on in appreciation. 

Nimble feet danced across the wooden floor. Lex was holding a young man with golden hair and smiling eyes. He laughed when Lex clumsily stepped on his foot.

"Really, Lex?" said the man with a smirk. "I thought a vampire might be better at this. How long have you had to practice?"

"I haven't exactly had many people to practice with, you know," said Lex.

"Good thing I'm here. What would you even do without me?"

"Not dance, that's for certain."

A deep kiss. A deep longing. Loss. Fear. Regret.

Lose -- don't want to lose --

Oliver stirred in his sleep, the beautiful dream turning to a nightmare.

"It's okay, Oliver," said his Master's deep voice. "I didn't mean for you to see that. Put it out of your mind."

He felt his contentment returning to him as his Master's arms picked him up once again, carrying him out of the room and up the stairs, placing him in his comfortable bed and pulling up warm blankets.

"Pleasant dreams, Oliver," said his Master.

"You... too..." said Oliver. He felt safe. He felt fulfilled. He curled up in the luxurious bed and began to drift.

Part 32 >> Masterlist >> Part 34

Thank you for reading this story of a delectable treat for vampires.

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[ms-demeanor]

my thing is I'm capable of any of this stuff up to at least level 3 and can do them for special occasions and if I've rested enough no problem, but I can't do it OFTEN because it just uses up too many spoons. any thoughts on this? besides practice, I already cook as often as I can (which is not very)

Mise en place your life as much as possible. I've talked about this before but this is what I do to make things easier on myself. My baking station with all the ingredients out and clearly labeled instead of at the bottom of the pantry where I have to dig for them makes it much, much, much easier to bake. My knife strip on the wall and the dozen cutting boards in a rack on the wall and the frying pan that lives on the stove instead of under the counter all make it much easier for me to cook.

Like, a lot of what I've been going through and doing in terms of home improvement/home decor is attempting to configure the house in such a way that large bastard and i can easily do the things we want to/need to do. We need batteries all the time, so the batteries live in an organized box where we can see it instead of in the back of the cabinet. We also need to *discard* batteries all the time, so the battery discard tub is right next to that box otherwise we'll start accumulating used batteries on surfaces.

The instruments that live on my kitchen counter are the ones that get used most often so that I don't need to go looking for them and so that I know at a glance if they're clean (if so they're in the canister on the counter) or need to be washed. The appliances that I use the most either live on the counter or get put places where it's convenient - I don't have enough bowls and plates that I need to use the top three shelves of my cabinet for bowls and plates like my parents did, but I do use my rice cooker twice a week so my rice cooker lives in the same cabinet as my dishes (as does my tofu press, my waffle maker, and the easiest-to-use 16oz food storage containers).

And you know what sometimes i just can't do it. Sometimes my back isn't working or my hip isn't working or i got glutened recently and I can't do much of anything.

I've got a variety of low spoon foods that I always have ingredients for (one recent addition to this list is tofu; i went from eating no tofu to eating tofu twice a week because two days a week i can't really use one of my arms to make dinner so i just prep the tofu at lunchtime and when i get home from the plasma center all i have to do is season and pan fry it and make a pot of rice. And I also make a shitload of extra rice because rice with eggs and sweet-spicy sauce is now one of my easiest and best go-to lunches) and whenever I make a pot of soup (something that I do pretty much every weekend when it's cool enough) I will make enough for lunch that week plus usually some extra to go in the freezer as backup "I don't feel like cooking" meals.

So, yeah I guess what I'm saying is get a good list of low-spoon foods that you like and can keep the ingredients handy for (ground beef goes bad in a week, tofu lasts like a month, i love tofu, it's so easy and so cheap to keep a bunch of tofu handy), and throw out the idea of what a kitchen is "supposed" to be like and figure out if there are ways to make your kitchen more adaptive for you.

Get anti-fatigue mats for your home kitchen. Get a tall stool that you can sit at while cooking at the stove instead of standing. Reorganize your cabinets for maximum efficiency for your needs. (large bastard and I have been doing this both with organized visible storage like wall racks as well as putting his stuff up high because bending over isn't easy for him but it is easy for me).

And also, like, consider if it's worth it, or how it can be worth it. How do you want to be a better cook? Do you want to be better at making meals for large groups or do you want to be more comfortable cooking for yourself or do you want a wider repertoire of recipes - all of those things will take a different path and some will be harder than others if you're wrangling disabilities that make it difficult to cook. I'm probably never going to be great at cooking for large groups because it doesn't really suit my lifestyle and it hurts! It hurts a lot and after hosting thanksgiving last year i needed to use my cane for a week because of how much it hurt my back! But I can work on stuff that makes it easier for me to cook, like having my baking station or keeping my rice cooker in an easy-to-reach cabinet.

[inkdrinkerworld]

a fluffy fall date night with remus or Aaron and he totally just goes along with your love of fall so you’re like idk making homemade pizza in the shape of ghosts or pumpkins and you’re doing something crafty like painting and watching the best fall/Halloween movies and it’s just lovely and soft and wonderful

Going w aaron cos it just feels like such a thing to get his mind off work

You’ve got something easy playing on the tv. Nothing like horror, but something cozy and that just screams fall.

For you, that’s ‘Practical Magic’ and Aaron doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Are we making individual pizzas?” He asks, watching you cut the ball of dough in half.

He’s in his slacks still, but has since shedded his shirt and jacket since coming into the kitchen.

Aaron’s hair is a little flat from the day, and his cologne has almost completely gone from his skin.

It had been a hard day- as most were, but you’d figured this was a good way to wind down.

Making ghost pizzas, watching something cozy, and finishing the night with hot chocolate with little ghost shaped marshmallows that you’d made before he got home.

“Yeah, they’re little ghost guys. Jack made his for tomorrow already.” You show Aaron the pizza that’s cooling on the stove top and he grins.

Jack’s pizza is full of cheese, olives and prosciutto- a pizza you know Aaron’s will resemble.

“And I got the good chocolate for hot cocoa.” You point to the block of pure cocoa near the canister of sugar and cinnamon.

Aaron feels his chest flutter at your care. You’ve always been good at taking care of him; helping him unwind and leave work at the BAU.

He’s always been grateful for it too. You don’t probe unless it’s affecting his demeanor, and that allows him to leave it alone when he gets home to you and Jack.

“You’re god sent,” he says softly, holding your cheek as he tips your face up. His lips brush yours gently, noses nudging as he kisses you. “Truly.”

You kiss him again, a peck really, but still with all the love as the first one.

“C’mon, let’s try baking these off before Gillian kills her boyfriend.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By His Command 3

Summary: the commander arrives. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, possible pregnancy and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Thank you for reading! Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

The martha comes to fetch you as the sky dims outside the iron bars. You follow her to the kitchen where she has a sparse array of produce. A few potatoes, some leeks, and a clove of garlic. 

“You will help,” she says bluntly.

“Praise be,” you reply but receive only a sharp look.

“Peel,” she takes out a peeler and puts it before you. “We’ve had no handmaid, so a guardian delivers the produce. It is never enough.”

You nod and go to work. You drag the blade along the skin, stripping it away, and let it drop to the counter. You pick out an eye from the potato and set down the naked spud, grabbing the next. That martha chops with heavy, short thunks against the cutting board.

When you’re done, you gather up the skins. She points you to the bin and you dump them there. You rinse your hands and face her. She puts a pot on the stove, ignoring your expectant gaze. You don’t dare ask what to do next as you only feel in the way.

“We’ll do a stew, bake some fresh bread,” she instructs, “tomorrow, you will go to Loaves and Fishes so we can fill the pantry.”

“Praise be,” you agree. She sighs.

She dumps the ingredients all together in the pot, adding some pork bones for flavour in the broth and some rise to round it out. It’s better than what you got at the center but you won’t presume that you’ll share the same stock.

“Martha,” the wife enter’s in her blue dress. Long straight sleeves and cinched waist. You bow your head so your bonnet hides your face. She sidesteps you, shouldering you away without acknowledgement.

“Mrs. Hansen,” the martha falters, her previous derision gone.

“Toss the stew, we’ve received a duck from Commander Bodecker. You know he loves to hunt.”

She puts a crate on the counter. The martha reaches to slide it towards her and pulls back the cloth to peer inside. You look at your feet, wiggling your toes in your red socks.

“The Commander has returned,” the wife continues, “the table must be set.”

“I will have the handmaid do it,” the martha confirms.

“Pray that she can handle such a task,” the wife rebukes and sweeps around, strutting out without even a glance in your direction.

The martha reaches into the crate and pulls out the dead mallard. You wrinkle your nose at the mussed green feathers. You look away.

“Well, would you rather lay some spoons out or undress this?” She asks brusquely.

You go to the cupboards and pull a door open. You only find plain metal canisters. She comes over and shuts the door, opening the next to reveal the plates. You bring one down, then a second. She slides a drawer out.

“Take one for yourself. Three,” she instructs.

You wince and pull out another plate.

“When you dine with the Commander and his wife, you say nothing, you look at nothing but your plate, you eat only what they allow you,” she hisses.

“I understand.”

“If only you could.”

She counts out the cutlery and puts it atop the stack of plates.

“Napkins beside the stove. Wrap the silverware.”

You go to the drawer nearest the stove and find the pale white napkins trimmed with blue flowers. You add them to your lot and the martha points you through the archway that looks into the dining room. You hear her mutter as she turns back to the duck.

You roll up the cutlery tightly in the fabric. Like swaddling a baby. You go around, chair by chair, plate and cutlery. 

As you arrange the last, only thinking then of the glassware, a soft noise brings your head up. A man in navy blue leans in the doorway. You did not hear him or sense him. You cannot guess for how long he’s been there but you can guess at his identity.

You dip your head down and step away from the table, “Commander.”

He breaks the threshold and strides around the other side of the table. You keep your chin down, jaw locked, as you listen, don’t look. The glimpse of his face floats in your vision. Tidy combed hair and shaved sides, a trim of hair across his lip, and handsomely forged features. 

He stops behind a chair and you feel his gaze on you.

“Blessed be the fruit, Ofloyd,” he rolls the name on his tongue.

“May the Lord open,” you eke out.

He chuckles. You bite your lip. The only people who laughed were the aunts, and it often meant trouble. He grips the back of the chair.

“I am the lord’s agent but it will not be him who does the… opening,” he intones, his tone dripping salaciously. “So, Ofloyd, will you open yourself to me?”

You don’t know how to answer. This is not how the aunts speak; or the guardians; or the handmaids.

“Praise be,” you gulp.

He snickers and twists his grip on the back of the chair.

“You have no idea,” he slips a hand down, brushing along the front of his trousers, “praise, there will be.”

He growls and leans back on his heel. There is no time to respond. He is already on his way. As quickly as he appeared, he is gone again, leaving only dread and the scent of cedarwood.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

This may be an out-there one but stick with me for a sec! I remember Leona going off to Jamil about how Kalim’s best asset is that he’s friendly and he knows how to use that to sway people whether he knows it or not. With that in mind, may we see Kalim’s magical charms work on Maleficia?

Consider this interaction as a part 2 to this one! They just happen to flow together really well.

P.S. For no reason at all, you should totally go read Jade's School Uniform vignette :))

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

A single spot of sunshine lit up all of Diasomnia's dank, gloomy lounge.

Kalim, a gargantuan smile plastered on his face, was seated at a table, playfully swinging his legs back and forth. He had with him a portable stove and a tea set, both ridiculously fine and expensive. His friend Silver would soon be there, and the two would delight in sharing an afternoon snack and catching up on one another's lives.

I wonder when he’ll get here! Kalim thought, angling his head toward the doors that spilled into the room. He said he was meeting up with his dad first, so maybe they’ll come together?

From a corridor came faint voices, low and calm, like lost souls afraid to startle their own shadows. The shapes of two people extended along a stony wall, green candlelight haloing them as they approached. Their forms steadily grew larger and larger until they had, at last, consumed all light.

"Silver?" Kalim called as he hopped out of his chair.

A pair entered the lounge, chasing away the sun in favor of the stars. Cloaked in black and pale-faced, inhuman horns protruding from their heads, they heralded in the night and bad dreams like the monsters from under one’s bed.

Kalim greeted them with cheer anyway.

“It’s you, Malleus!! You’re with your family today, huh?” he cried out, excitedly waving at the duo. “Didn’t think I’d run into you. Usually you’re so hard to find for meetings!"

“Asim. I had not expected to encounter you myself.” The corner of the prince's mouth lifted into a slight smirk. "Perhaps you've not looked hard enough."

"Gahahah! I'll try harder next time then!"

“Who might this be, Malleus?”

“Excuse me.” His eyes slid to the woman beside him as gestured toward Kalim. “Grandmother, I give you Kalim Al-Asim, a fellow dorm leader. Asim, my grandmother, and current queen of Briar Valley.”

“Your grandma?!” Kalim’s exclamation echoed off the cavernous walls. There was no effort to conceal his shock, not in tone nor in face. “Whoa, I never would have known…! I thought she was your sister or something! You look a lot alike.”

Maleficia chuckled darkly. “We fae mature quite differently than humans. Our true age rarely shows.”

“So you look a lot younger than you actually are? That’s so cool!” Kalim laughed, oblivious to his own brashness as he ran his mouth. “There’s someone in my year level that’s kind of like that too. Have you met Riddle? He looks small but he’s actually super smart and responsible! I really look up to him!”

Maleficia nodded as she patiently listened in.

Next to her, Malleus slowly surveyed the room, then allowed his gaze to drift back to Kalim. “If I may ask, where have your own relatives, Asim? Were they not to accompany you today?"

“Oh, that!! Only dad could make it this year. He had to take an important business call, so he said go hang out with some friends and he’ll catch up with me later!”

Kalim indicated the canister beside his tea making supplies. “He brought back a new blend from one of his trading partners. It’s a rare tea made with petals and buds from the Queendom of Roses and Briar Valley. That’s where Silver’s from, so I wanted to share it with him!”

“A tea made in part with plants from the Briar Valley, you say…” Malleus cradled his chin in one hand. “Most intriguing. Our kingdom is a small, isolated one. It is not often that our culture is able to merge with that of another."

“The Queendom of Roses is the country east of our continent,” Maleficia said sagely. "It is not only known for its roses, but all kinds of flowers that blossom in the springtime. Being that our Briar Valley is more northward, our flora tends to be much hardier than that of the Queendom."

"That means your flowers and theirs are different somehow, right? It's neat how someone thought to bring roses from two completely different places together!" Kalim grinned widely. "It's like going to a feast where each guest brings a dish from their culture so everyone can have a taste of where they come from.”

Maleficia stared at the young man, her expression indiscernable.

“Oh yeah, if you guys are interested in it, you can try some!” Kalim offered.

Malleus cocked his head. "I believe you stated that your intention was to share the tea with Silver?"

"Don't be shy! It's my treat, and there's plenty to go around! I'll go and brew it. Take a seat while you wait!"

“Hmm, if you are offering… I suppose it would be rude of us to refuse your thoughtful invitation. Grandmother?”

“No objections.”

The Draconias slunk to the table and sat, their lithe forms melded with the quilted leather chairs. They looked right at home with their refined posture, commanding the lounge from their thrones without so much as lifting a finger.

Kalim appeared like nothing more than an attendant in the powerful presence of royalty, buzzing about and fiddling with various tools as he set to making the tea.

Removing the lid off of his kettle, he poured in enough water to fill most of the vessel up. Kalim set it upon the portable stove and cranked the heat up. A soft electric hum started, and the flat disc upon which the kettle sat slowly warmed.

“What a strange device," Malleus mused, his brows creasing at the various dials and settings on the stove. "Would it not be more efficient to prepare the tea with magic? A single puff of fire breath would also suffice to hasten the tea."

"Probably! But you two are my guests. It's my job to feed you and make sure you're enjoying yourselves! This is my way of doing that."

As he talked, Kalim kept his hands in motion. He popped the cap off of his cannister, scooping out unassuming mounds of dried leaves and flowers and letting them fall into each teacup. First, the queen's, then Malleus's, and himself last.

"In my home country, guests are always served before the host. It's to welcome people into our homes. 'You're my friend, and I respect you. I want to honor you with food and drink, to treat you like you're a member of my family.' That's the feeling behind it!"

“I see. So this is the hospitality that comes specifically from the Scalding Sands.” A small smile formed on Malleus’s lips. “I do recall similar kindness from my trip to Silk City. The people of the Scalding Sands are very friendly and warm, much like the sun.”

“The times have certainly changed,” Maleficia remarked. “Back in my day, the children of man were not quite so open-minded. To invite fae to any gathering was to invite danger—such was the common sentiment.”

“Ahhh, that’s too bad. Being left out of a party never feels good!” Kalim let a rare frown appear. “I guess I never realized how lucky I am to live in a time where all kinds of people can be friends.”

The kettle rattled on the stove, a high-pitched whistle erupting from its spout. He swiftly removed it by the handle, and set to pouring hot clear liquid into Maleficia’s cup, then Malleus’s, and his own. Curtains of steam rose up, hiding his features as he chewed on his thoughts.

“Silk City wasn’t always as big as it is now,” Kalim finally said. “My ancestors found a way to use the waterways for trade. It connected us to new information, goods, and people. Then over time, the population grew into the big community we know today.

“Things changed a lot! I’m thankful that they did, because that means all of us can experience so much more together, like this tea. The world really opened up to us.”

The leaves and rosebuds started to unfurl, their colors and flavors seeping into the hot water. A subtly sweet, mellow scent wafted up, filling the lounge with a flowery perfume.

“Indeed, it has.” Maleficia agreed. “Our Briar Valley is set in its ways, yet the world around it seems to constantly shift. I did not think I would live to see the day a child of man so fearlessly entertains me for tea myself—but here we are, fae and human, on equal terms.”

She reached over and squeezed Malleus’s hand. He laid another over hers and smiled back. There was something sad and haunting in their eyes, a mutual understanding of something far darker than their words would allow.

“Yeah, it’s great that we can do stuff like this without worrying anymore! Speaking of, I think the tea’s about done brewing. One last final touch…”

Kalim picked up his entire sugar pot and inverted it over Maleficia’s cup. Several cubes tumbled out and splashed into the beverage. The typically composed queen startled at the sugar and tea concoction (especially when Kalim produced another sugar pot and proceeded to do the same to Malleus’s cup).

“Is this… customary?” Maleficia carefully inquired.

“No, we’d usually add more! Luxurious tea is sweet tea!!” Kalim responded, totally oblivious to her shock. “I thought I’d just be serving Silver today though, so I bought way less sugar than I usually do. I hope it’s still to your liking though!”

“Ah, this style of tea would be the same kind I was served in Silk City. The… exceedingly sweet kind,” Malleus said warily. He spoke no more, but the warning had already made itself evident.

“… I understand. This dish is an integral part of your culture.” Maleficia lifted her cup with the grace and elegance befitting of a queen. “I shall partake in your saccharine fare… Asim, was it?”

“Yup, that’s me! Kalim Al-Asim.”

“Fufu. I will remember your name and face, Kalim Al-Asim. Of that, you can be certain. After all, I had the opportunity to hear many interesting things from you. It would not do to forget such an important individual—and a beloved companion to my Malleus.”

She swallowed her overly sugared tea without flinching. It was strong, peppered with floral notes—two adjacent springtimes at the same threshold. To one side, the Queendom with a sweet medley of rainbow flowers clustered around its roses. To the other, the once great Briar Country, its rosen blooms shrouded by bitter bramble.

So different, yet still meeting in the middle. Humans and fae, reconciling under the same sun.

“How is it?”

Maleficia slowly lowered the cup from her lips. They ached from the sugar in a single sip, yet she was satisfied all the same.

“It was delicious.”

[24kmagiic]

Klonnie Weekend: Part One - Domestic Intimacy

Will You Take Thee...?

Mystic Falls, 1001 AD

He peeks at her from the crack between the Juniper trees. Exquisite was the only word that came to mind. The way her skin glistened in the dead of night made him feel as though he was staring straight into the burning light of a harvest moon. Bonnie the Magnificent, or, at least that’s the name he and his brother, Kol had jokingly coined for her. 

He had stumbled upon her in Ayana’s garden. Her hair fell to her hips in thick, tightly coiled ringlets and her wet dress clung to her like a second skin. Had he any manners, he’d look away and spare her the ridicule but he was trapped by her beauty; glued to the very spot he stood. His throat dried like the edges of the dead sea and his heart quickened when their eyes met. Rather than shy away from him, her head tilted in curiosity, as if she’d forgotten her unkempt state. His eyes shifted lower where he could see the effects of the night’s air, wrapping her in its chilly grips. Her nipples hardened and so did he but he quickly stamped out that fire as he shrugged out of his furs and stepped into the clearing to meet her.

“Some respite from the night air,” he offered. She smiled and allowed him to wrap her in the warmth he provided, his warmth.

“Thank you, Niklaus.”

“Nik,” he offered, referring to the nickname his sister reserved for him. 

“Thank you, Nik,” she corrected. They had known of one another but had never spoken directly. She was Ayana’s eldest child and had left to be betrothed to another, only returning when her lover died in warfare.

“You’re welcome,” he offered. “I take it you’re accustomed to late-night swims?” There was a clearing in the woods that led to a quarry, complete with a waterfall. No one had dared to venture into the quarry, no one but her.

“I am,” she boldly admitted. She shied away from no one and Nik admired that. “It clears my head,” she explained.

“Then perhaps I might accompany you one day, for my head needs plenty clearing.” Though he jest, she could detect the seriousness in his tone. 

“Perhaps,” she said quietly, the corners of her lips turning up ever so softly. “Are you asking for my courtship?” Nik’s eyebrows shot up and she giggled.

“Ms. Salvatore I—” She raised her hand to stop him, waving him off playfully.

“Bennett. Bonnie Bennett and I was only teasing,” she assured. He nodded his understanding.

“Bonnie Bennett,” he said and she quite liked the way her name rolled off his incredibly red lips.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said before bowing into a curtsy. “Come, help me gather some wood for a fire.”

And that he did. The two worked in tandem as they formed a cozy fire in the middle of Ayana’s maze of a garden and this became a ritual for them. Night after night, they found themselves meeting at their secret spot, getting comfortable in their tasks. He gathered the wood and well, she twirled around and sang. In truth, he did all the physical work while she entertained him for hours with stories of her travels. He was in awe of her.

One night, after hearing her stomach growl in displeasure, he had an idea. He disappeared for a while and appeared with an armful of items. Ayana’s cauldron, a recently carved serving spoon, and more wood pieces. She watched as he built a stove, using the wood pieces to hoist the cauldron above the pit he’d made. Bonnie smiled and stood to her feet from the log she was perched upon. 

“I’ll gather some spices,” she offered before disappearing somewhere within the garden. When she returned, she had a basket (courtesy of Ayana) full of herbs, spices, and vegetables. She watched as Niklaus prepared the veggies, using water from his canister, when he prepared to light the fire, he jumped when flames appeared under the cauldron and smiled up at Bonnie with a knowing smile.

“Every night, you watch me struggle with the tinder…” he began in an accusatory tone.

“That’s because I like when your eyebrows dip and your dimples appear when you stick your tongue out with consternation.” He grins at her feigned innocence before continuing his duties in their makeshift kitchen. It seemed odd for the two of them to be engaged in such activities in the dead of night but it felt right. They didn’t have to answer to anyone about what their intentions with one another were, there was no need to be anything other than themselves.

As Bonnie stirred the contents of the cauldron, Niklaus watched her from behind as she blew on the spoon he’d fashioned and took meager sips to ensure that he’d flavored the stew to her liking. His heart swelled at her thumbs up and he sat upright from where he lay supine with his arms rested beneath his head. Bonnie watched as he searched for whatever he was looking for, his blonde hair curtaining his face as he bent and moved in confusion.

“I suppose a bowl would be necessary,” he mocked lightly. “I’ll be back.”

When he returned, he found her asleep peacefully on his fur overcoat. He’d made a nice pad for them to lay on, the same pad he made every night during their meetups. They’d stare up at the stars and steal glances at one another in the flickers of the fire when they thought the other wasn’t looking. She felt like home, the only home he had ever known.

Asleep, her guard was down and he felt as though he got to see the real her. The one when no one was around, the one she allowed him to partake in, as did he with she. As he scooped some stew into each of their bowls, he delayed waking her, wanting to bask in every second of this moment. Her beauty was eternal, both inside and out. He’d never met a being so pure in who she was. He wanted more from her but it was against standards to pursue a lady in mourning so soon after the death of her husband. Still, he’d wait for her, and within a year’s time, he hoped to declare himself to her.

When she stirred, Nik stooped next to her, wafting the bowl of delicious stew under her nose. The growl of her stomach made her alert and Bonnie sat up straight, ready to devour the food they prepared.

“Thank you,” she mumbled groggily. He smiles at her and her heart leaps.

“You’re most welcome,” he spoke with a tone reserved only for her. She blushes and turns away as she eats her stew, not caring at all about the ‘slurps’. 

“You’ve outdone yourself, Viking,” she teased. It was his turn to blush. She reached out to touch his warm cheeks and basked in the feel of him. No matter the time of year, he generated a heat that threatened to engulf her. They had met just as winter was coming to a close and he was as radiant then as he was in the summer sun.

Without thinking, his lips met her palm. Bonnie’s breath caught in her throat but she didn’t pull away. A soft kiss made her shiver and struggle to hold on to the bowl she held.

“I know it’s against tradition, but if you’ll have me…” it sounded eerily close to a proposal but Bonnie couldn’t be sure. Not until his eyes met hers and the electricity in his gaze struck lightning throughout her entire body. With a smile, Bonnie nodded.

“In due time,” she promised. Niklaus wasn’t the burliest of men. When compared to others in his village, he was often overlooked as an eligible bachelor. He didn’t hunt and was labeled as ‘sensitive’ by his own father, but Bonnie saw the real him. He was a provider. He could provide love, lots of it, and shelter if she needed it. Her love didn’t require brute force like some of the women in their village demanded. She’d experience that love and it had left her a widow. She didn’t want that kind of love. The love she wanted had a more gentle approach. The approach that only Niklaus knew how to navigate. Truth be told, he was ‘a bad choice’ for a husband if you went by what society required. But she was always a woman that went against the grain and based on how he carried himself, so was he. 

At her promise, Niklaus closed his eyes in relief. To his dismay, tears stung at the corners of his eyes but he was a master at hiding tears. His father had taught him well. His voice was small against her lips but she’d caught them with hers. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Her soft, reassuring kiss was the only answer he needed.

[shoshiwrites]

Decided to try my hand at a little postwar. Big thank you to @basilone for the prompts that inspired this ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3! NSFW.

the nearness of you

The table’s littered in paper, a handful of pens, black-red-blue, the bound copy of her manuscript beside, her wristwatch, the coffee cup separated from its saucer.

The clock behind her, above the stove, reads just after one. 

She should probably try and get some sleep, she knows, but he’s due back in tonight, the tiny D. C. apartment they share until the paperwork goes through on a house. She hasn’t seen it in person yet, but he’s told her about it. Says she’ll love it. It’s got a nook for her desk, he says, a big window to the backyard.

A yard.

That’s a new thing, too. Hydrangea bushes and trees to watch the birds.

She inspects the coffee grounds at the bottom of the mug, dark specks in the dim light of the bulb above her head. There’s more sugar to be had now, a whole canister of it there on the counter, labeled in blue, and she can’t break the habit of only sprinkling a touch with the tiny spoon.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to it, waiting.

It's not like she hasn't done. The landscapes blur in her mind, the muddied boots, the blood, the tall dry grass, the leaden skies and swoops of birds — starlings, and the flies.

The radio next to the canisters of sugar and salt punches out the program sign-off in static, the tinny “Star-Spangled Banner“ that follows. She keeps it on for the baseball games, when he’s not here. The noise keeps her company, the promise that he’ll ask about the scores. Thank you for listening. Good night and good morning.

She makes it through half of the next page before she hears the turn of the lock.

“In here,” she says, like a stage-whisper, and her voice is thick, like she’s been sleeping. Like she hasn’t spoken since he left. 

“You’re up,” he says, and it’s a statement and a question at once, colored by his own face and curls that look like they might have seen a moment of shut-eye in the back of a taxi. He sounds a little surprised, maybe that she’s awake, that she’s greeted him before he’s opened his mouth. His cap must be by the door, and no need for an overcoat in the summer. She knows it’s only the hour and the neighbors that have kept him from coming in with a boom. He looks tired, the same softness to his face that she knows comes from exhaustion. She wonders how he’s been sleeping.

It’s the usual questions and answers, slow this time, and still rushed — have you eaten, how was the train, how’s the story going, hear anything good, and the last one means she gets to produce the little scrap of paper with her pencil marks, the scribbled notes. Two to one Yankees. Chandler walked nine in the first four innings but took a no-hitter into the ninth. Someone hit a one-out single. He guesses until he hits the name that rings a bell. She nods, and his eyes crinkle in delight — at the win, at the paper, at her own eyes warm with love.

He sees the manuscript pages too, the coffee grounds, the hunch of her shoulders. There’s a question in it, like maybe it’s not going as fine as she says it is. She reaches for him. “I missed you.” Maybe it doesn’t help anything, saying that, when this is what they do. Have done. Maybe it does. He smells a little bit like a smoking lounge, the faint scent of aftershave applied many hours earlier.

“Missed you too,” he says, wrapping his arms around her when she stands. “I missed my wife.”

She doesn’t know when she’ll get used to that, either.

Maybe she doesn’t feel like one, a wife, here with a dirty plate in the sink, and the coffeemaker that needs cleaning, and her slacks, and her hair curling away from her forehead.

He kisses the top of her head and maybe she does, here in his arms.

“How much,” she asks, and the feeling gathers in her throat, something tumbling.

He pulls back, the smallest smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’d say — a hell of a lot.” He cups her face with his hand, traces his thumb at her chin, kisses her like he’s passing a secret. “A whole hell of a lot.”

“Mmph,” she says, into his shoulder, and he looks like he might laugh.

“How much for you?”

She tucks a curl behind his ear. “”Bout the same. Maybe more.”

“More, huh?”

She pokes her tongue into his mouth, in the next kiss. His hands grasp the small of her back, his fingertips wandering lower. She shivers when he travels beneath the hem of her top, skims his fingers along the bare skin of her hip.

“John-” Her voice is a little breathy now, half-serious. “Don’t go starting something you can’t finish.”

“Now, just what are you accusing me of, Josephine?” His thumb presses against her hip, a promise. She starts to unbutton his jacket, the back of her hand falling to ghost against the front of his trousers. “Where’s the goddamn couch?”

They’d moved it to the spot themselves, not-so-gracefully accounting for the difference in their heights. It’s not as plush or as comfortably upholstered as either of them would really like, but they’re not about to waste too much time complaining. He settles himself over her, or tries to, hipbones framing hers. 

She bites her tongue with a crack about needing coffee, even though she knows he’d laugh. He’s like that, he can laugh at himself. She lets him work his hand between her legs, over the brown herringbone. 

Maybe they didn’t think it through either, as clothed as they are. It doesn’t stop either of them, her from pulling him down to her mouth, the wet kisses and flushed cheeks, the growing hardness of him under the olive wool.

They hardly wiggle out of them, the inconvenient trousers, just enough for her to grab at the back of his thigh and squeeze. “Alright there, Mrs. Egan.” 

She goes redder, a sight, and the dark tufts of hair just above the waistband. He sighs out against her throat. 

She’s wondering just how comfortable he is exactly, knee wedged like that against the couch, until she feels him against her, slick and swollen, until-

Her exhale’s sharp, the twist of it, the little gasp-groan of it, of them, her nails against the curve of his back. 

He covers her like a blanket, heavy and warm, the dull oak moss of his aftershave, like everything she’s ever missed. The movement of his hips grows quicker, spooling tight in the bottom of her stomach. 

“Got me right where you want me, huh,” he asks, and his eyes are hazy with it, stormy-beautiful-blue. 

“All I dreamed about-” she breaks off with a noise, a whine, a spot inside hit just right. 

“Missed me, huh?”

“So much-” Every day, since-

She clenches around him, the edges of her sight shimmering, watches his mouth fall open that touch it always does. A second or two before he remembers just what exactly they’re doing, how they ought to be careful if they don’t want-

She arches, her gasp swallowed with a kiss. He comes in her hand, a dribble sliding down the crease of her thigh. The sound the sticking makes, between their bodies, pulls another noise from her chest.

Heavy, unthinking kisses against her nose, her forehead, her lips. Her shoulders lift, needing more of him. 

“I kept thinking about this,” he says, hoarse. “On the train.” A fresh thrill runs through her, touches her cheeks. “Almost missed my damn stop.”

She doesn’t push the errant curl back that brushes her forehead from his. “That wouldn’t have made either of us too happy.”

“Me in Richmond, and my darling wife here on this couch.”

“My darling husband in Richmond and me here on this couch.” Her fingers play at the back of his neck, the moments before they’ll get up and clean and dress for bed. “Good thing you wised up, then.”

“With the real thing here at home? Be pretty hopeless if I hadn’t.”

She traces her thumb against the corner of his mouth, watches his eyes follow her collarbone. “Does Mr. Not Pretty Hopeless care to join the Mrs. in the shower?”

He dips his head, kisses the crook of her neck and shoulder, intent on kissing across her chest. “Care to? That’s the best offer I’ve heard all week.”