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dmitriene · 9 months ago

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THOUGHTS ABOUT CAVEMAN SIMON AND VILLAGER READER.

synopsis: spring has come, and with it the time for sacrifices to someone, who lives far from people and scares everyone who pokes their noses into the forest, and what could be better than bribing the one you fear, so you were chosen as the one who will bear all the gifts deep into the forest.

cw: fluff, comfort, smut, possible dubcon, story set not in modern time and might be unrealistic, not based on real knowledge about cave people, possible ooc simon since he's a caveman, virgin reader, mentions of cannibalism (not in action), biting, licking, groping, simon is rough around the edges, pet names, cunnilingus with dubious consent, simon is inexperienced, male and female intimacy, many mentions of bare flesh, overstimulation, crying, aftercare, kinda kidnapping. pairing: caveman simon ghost riley x villager fem reader

author's note: this idea was born from an absolutely spontaneous conversation with @suimon, and i'm grateful to her, because without her encouragement i wouldn't decide to write such an interesting story, which is kind of new for me, but i still hope those who will read it enjoy, it's my first attempt on writing this kind of plot, that ended up being 4.5k words.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

long melted snow, allowing fresh green grass to break through the once dissipated white fluff of snow, bright flowers decorating endless meadows and forests surrounding the village exactly along the perimeter — all this brings with it spring, warm weather, fresh juicy fruits and vegetables, and after them the time for a sacrifices.

behind the forest clearing, where the trees become thicker and seem to be getting darker, lives one whose cave, the exact location of which not many people know, are afraid to approach, and you never heard the exact answer, the exact reason, but everyone was afraid of this place more than fire, but were justified by a man who was frightening to the point of trembling, as if they had seen a living ghost.

naturally, you had never seen him, and you treated his stories as if they were fairy tales — an attempt to intimidate the kids from going too far during walks, nothing more, or so it seemed to you, until you were chosen as the one who would go to him with the onset of spring with fertile gifts, an attempt to appease the so-called monster, which terrifies the entire village with its very existence, and you couldn’t understand why you should go to the one you’re afraid of, and also with gifts?

but one way or another, it was not in your authority to refuse the election of the head of the village and the people, so you were dressed up in the best dress from your meager wardrobe, the white fabric flowing to your feet seemed as soft as silk, an absolutely light linen, diluted a wreath woven from fresh, sickly sweet flowers, and in your hands a basket of the freshest fruits and vegetables, with a rope on your wrist, a thick plexus leading to the neck of a good, well-fed cow, the devil knows what he will do with the poor, as you would think, animal, but one way or another — your task is to give, even if you looked the most appetizing here.

walking through the forest is difficult, especially when, of all the attempts to navigate, you only have — “go straight ahead and stop when you see the cave„ and the only thing left to do is to listen, periodically stop when the cow bends down to nibble fresh grass, and then walk again until feeling of dull pain in the legs, due to the fact that making your way through trees and large branches with almost bare feet is uncomfortable, a little painful, and you have to pick up the white dress in your hands so as not to get it dirty, trying to maintain a festive look as possible, not drop the basket, and still get to this damned place.

more and more doubts creep into your head, maybe no one lives there at all, or does, but it’s just a wild animal, and villagers just couldn’t see it in the dark clearlier?

but it’s hard to believe that in the thicket, which every time becomes darker and denser, in which there are more and more bushes and broken branches, and somewhere where there are even tree trunks lying — someone really lives, and while thoughts are wandering around your head like a prodigal wind, and the path completely disappears under your feet, you finally reach the right place, meeting your eyes with a stone cave, assembled from stones in a stable structure, sprinkled with greenery, moss and tree trunks.

really someone’s abode, albeit open, and looking as if it could become your undoing.

even the poor animal seems to be enveloped in fear, the cow bursts into a loud moo, resting her hooves on the ground, and with all due respect, you cannot push such a weight behind you, but you will not let her escape, tying the poor thing by a rope and to a tree trunk nearby, allowing her to calm down a little, to be distracted by tufts of grass, while your gaze rushes forward into the darkness of the cave, and your legs tremble slightly.

— “well.. here i come, cave man, huh..„ slips from your lips encouragingly to your own self, although your voice trembles, but you cannot return to the village with the same full hands, and in any case, you will most likely be sent again after this, damn old people, so the only way is forward.

the branches crunch under your feet, it seems to you, until you notice glimpses of animal bones, and it’s as if you are tugging from the inside, your step immediately quickens, and you practically stumble, clutching the basket to your chest and swallowing nervously, saying in your mind over and over — “it doesn't belonged to someone, it doesn't belonged to someone„ but it didn’t get any easier, as if the deeper you went, the more terrible it became, there was only pitch darkness ahead, not planning to make way for you even for a second, so you walk, almost blindly, closing one eye and making your way with the other.

— “is.. is someone there? hello??„

your voice echoes against the stone walls, but it becomes clearer under your feet, and a little brighter ahead, so you continue to walk even despite the dead silence, step by meek step, getting out to the center of the cave, where the walls become wider, and your eyes get used to darkness, letting small details immediately scatter before your eyes — some kind of wooden cabinet, a small rectangular table with a single chair, and above it a shelf with plates, everything is just like in your own house in the village, however, the bed is not very similar to the usual one, full of skins, located quite low, and you hesitantly step deeper, saying

— “hey?.. i'm, uhm.. i mean no harm, hello? someone?„

your voice sounds a little quieter, patient, as you walk to the table and allow yourself to place that same basket on it, carefully adjusting it along with the vegetables and fruits mixed in it, before moving away, smiling at the more welcoming composition, besides, it decorated a small surrounding emptiness, you even forgot for a while that you were in a cave, you felt comfortable, until the moment you turned around, noticing a dark figure in the corner that turned around sharply, and you screamed uncontrollably.

a large, massive figure in the very corner of the cave turns to face you, demonstrating its immensity and body, hidden under only one piece of fabric, vaguely reminiscent of pants, but what catches you, or rather scares you, is the skull attached to his face, and the skull would be less frightening if it belonged to an animal, but the shape was human like, separated from the back and leaving only the front, somehow attached to a dark piece of fabric stretched over the man’s face, showing the world only his sunken, dark eyes.

simon overreacts to the sound, furrowing his brows and clenching his hands into fists that hang on either side of his wide hips, not liking it when someone barges in uninvited, especially like this, but watching you shake like a cornered rabbit , he softens, and at the same time resolutely begins to walk in your direction, without warning, which makes your heart jump right up to your throat and back into your chest when you calm a bit inside, but still take a couple of steps back from approaching figure.

— “uh, h-hi? i'm sorry, i must scared you.. i-i screamed pretty loud, yeah?„

you babble, the words fly out of your soft lips hastily and with an attempt to justify yourself, and he freezes, breathing somehow displeasedly through his nose and causing his bare chest to heave, but still, he grumbles somehow approvingly, tilting his head to the side, as if having mercy on you and giving the opportunity to justify yourself, and you don’t dare to miss it.

— “uh, i was sent from village, you know, not far from here! i brought you some fresh vegetables and fruits, and cow.. you know, that does moo„ the words come out in one breath, while you spin around, pointing first at the basket that suddenly appeared on his table, then towards the exit, talking about the cow, telling him about it as if you were talking to a child, as if mistaking him for a completely savage, and simon squeezes out a rough, dry laugh, crossing his burly arms over his wide, scarred chest, cutting off your explanations

— “i know what a cow is„

his voice is hoarse, tart like coffee beans on the tongue, and you stop, taking a deep breath.

simon has already realized that you are from that stupid village full of fools who take him for some terrible animal, but instead of the usual fear like in other people’s eyes, in yours he sees some doubt and sincere guilt, like in a child’s who was scolded by his parents, and this causes amusement in his gaze, a flutter in his light eyelashes

— “i'm, sorry.. it's just, the villagers acted like you are some kind of wild animal, and i.. i thought..„

the words get confused in your head and on your tongue, one way or another, you, even if not for long, believed to the words of the people living in the village, believed that he was less human than many, now trying to justify his honor and your words, standing under his gaze and trembling as if leaf in the wind, your legs shook as you squeezed them together, feeling his strange, ardent gaze where your plush thighs began behind the thin fabric, and goosebumps ran down your skin as his lips stretched into a wide, wild grin.

you stand before his eyes like a prettiest gift, a prey — you are shaking like a little rabbit, or a newborn doe, as if your legs are about to lose control of your weight and collapse on the stone floor, even though a carpet of someone’s skin lies under your feet, he wouldn’t want you to return back to the village in a deplorable state, or maybe you yourself were sent as a sacrifice?

he doesn't know, because you look incredibly attractive and alluring in that light outfit with just panties underneath, the silhouette of the fabric of which he can see on your hips before his gaze goes up to where your round, soft breasts are hiding under the finest cloth, and up to the strands of your hair, decorated with a wreath of fresh flowers, he knows it by the sweet smell and by the fact that he has already seen such in the forest, and simon has never tasted people, has not eaten human flesh — but looking at you, at the softness, at the sweetness, maybe he should give it a try?

— “i never tasted human flesh before„ words roll off his tongue in advance of rational thoughts, a rich baritone from the thin line of pale lips behind the fabric of the mask and the shape of the skull where he licks them like a predator.

and you are theprey, the one which trembles and whose eyes widen when you hear his unexpected speech, wild, causing the blood in your veins to freeze and your legs to obey the instinct of escape, and you take off from your place, turn around on the thin sole of your sandals and move your body towards the exit and impenetrable the darkness from which you came, which previously let you in — and will no longer let you go without the permission of its owner.

you can’t even hear simon’s steps behind you, because of how adrenaline is pumping in your ears and blood echoes like white noise in the background, as his figure wraps around yours like a shadow and pulls you, he clings to the light fabric with dirty fingers and squeezes with a heavy weight around your waist, first with his fingers, then with his hand, heavy bonds that drag you into the air and there’s no point in even twitching your legs, he immediately turns you around in his arms, places your soft flesh in his palms, relishing in the softness, warmth, fingers greedily kneading the soft, supple skin between his fingers on top of the now slightly stained fabric, pressing you into a cold stone wall as you close your eyes tightly.

your body is trembling, you’re waiting for the touch of someone else’s teeth on your body, a sharp flash of pain, surrendering to the clutches of creeping death in the guise of a person without resistance, having resigned yourself in advance, even on the threshold of this cave, even when the dark, densely trees swallowed you in the depths of the forest, but no pain comes, no sensation of rough, sharp teeth in the skin, just his hands that slide from your butt, where he shamelessly touched you, to your hips and thighs, tracing the skin and bones over your dress, forcing you to twitch, squeezing your legs together.

something inside you is twisting shamefully hotly, curling into a coil in your lower abdomen and setting all your nerve endings on fire, you still don’t look, your eyelashes and eyelids are trembling, and simon takes pleasure in your instinctive fear, akin to the animals he mercilessly catches in the depths of the forest, kneeling in front of you just as he once knelt in front of them, but you were distinguished from a dead animal by your vitality, sweet aroma, soft warm body which he wanted to taste until greedily accumulating saliva in his mouth.

— “pretty„

he growls low from his throat, causing you to flush with a flash of blush, your fingertips prickling nervously, it seems that he’s saying this from a sadistic point of view, not really to you, rather than to your body, to what he will eat, and you refuse to look at the eyes of your fear, even when rough, calloused hands run along your legs until he lays them on his broad shoulders, lifts up the dress that gets in the way, exposes the skin to your thighs and carelessly leaves them rumpled to dangle there, when his bare mouth pierces your skin and licks.

your eyes immediately widen following the hitching breath that flies through your parted lips, and you look at him, this beast, this man, standing in front of you on both knees, and even between your legs he seems immense, but strangely tender, when he licks and gently bites a path to your thighs along the soft flesh, pressing his nose into it, you see it’s slightly crooked form briefly, the black fabric falls to cover everything except his mouth, which greedily tastes you like no one has ever tasted.

his dark eyes meet yours fleetingly, yours are frightened, his are peaceful and satisfied, the corners of his lips rise forward and spread on his face, and you feel every movement of his lips on you in dangerous proximity as he crawls higher and higher, settling between supple thighs with his head, sticking his nose and mouth into a place that attracts him with sweetness and wetness, a small sticky spot on the thin fabric, into which he buries himself greedily, opening his mouth wide and licking the fat stripe along your panty clad pussy, burying his nose in your twitching clit and grinning at the reaction of your body, as well as at the quiet, ringing moan that arose from the depths of your throat.

the light, thin fabric gets wet from the amount of saliva in his mouth, mixing with the moisture that is released from your hot, bothered pussy, causing the gusset of your panties become almost transparent, as simon buries himself deeper, without asking, he just takes it, squeezing your thighs until there is a slight, uncomfortable pain burning on your skin, as your legs kick forward and attempt to squeeze together because of the new sensations that you don’t understand, didn’t experienced before, but he’s not going to let you escape just yet, but you squeak, a shushed, soft sound, which makes him soften nonetheless.

simon's gaze studies you through his light eyelashes, he sees the conflicting emotions on your face, how your chest is heaving, how moisture collects on your lash line, threatening to release and turn into tears, so his arms wrap around and squeeze your legs a little more carefully, stroking the soft skin with awkward, uncertain circular movements of his fingers, he hasn’t interacted with people for a long time, especially in the moments like these, when his face is buried between your thighs while he laps lightly against your panties.

fear slowly leaves your body along with rational thoughts, you lose your vigilance in the hands of a stranger, a person who shamelessly touches your private parts, but touches you so well, so carefully, igniting that warmth in the bottom of your belly more and more each time and allowing you to twitch, squirm as much as it possible while being held half in the air, thus only pushing your hips forward, towards his wet mouth, and shuddering with pleasure and new flashes when his nose nuzzles harder into your little clit, making your toes curl, and he growls.

— “so sweet„

comes out as a muffled growl, and you don’t know if he’s talking about you or your pussy, but he licks you more actively, making your folds stick to the absolutely wet fabric of your panties, while he slurps and sucks your folds and clit, his movements are messy, uncertain, he's been isolated from people and any contact with them with his own hands, but that doesn't stop him from having a taste, as his tongue runs between your folds and he continues to tease you with slow, exploring movements.

you make more and more unusual to yourself sounds, quiet moans, breathy mewls, wet squelches that he swallows whole as your hands find support on his head and you dig your fingers into his mask, as you grow more and more impatient in your movements, just in time when simon gets tired of this unnecessary, wet piece of fabric, a barrier to the sweetest fruit and nectar in his life, so he bares his teeth and clings to the waistband of your underwear, helping himself with his fingertips and tearing them away down your legs, exposing your fluttering, wet hole to his hungry eyes and mouth.

the mere sight leaves him swelling with hardness in his pants, and your gaze catches on the silhouette of his cock, leaning heavily against his meaty thigh and bulging against the thin fabric, one little sight had you swallowwing nervously before your eyes roll back from the sharp contact of his bare lips with your bare cunt, he swipes his thick tongue once, twice, licking your wet folds and slurping your juices as an endless source of quenching his thirst, he licks and licks until you begin to lose yourself in how long you've been in this position, where your folds and clit swell, and simon just presses himself unexpectedly deeper before suddenly diving in further.

a loud sigh and a whiny moan spread through the cave, his tongue curls at the tip, when he accidentally, but with pressure, pushes your folds apart and into your fluttering hole, his tongue flattens against your entrance, before licking and thrusting inside, into the warmth of your velvety walls that tighten around his muscle right there, and he growls with satisfaction, akin to a muffled purr, moving his head up and down, smearing his entire jaw and lips in your slick, surrendering fully to your softness and warmth.

every movement of his tongue inside leaves you trembling, your legs intuitively spread apart further along his broad shoulders, your hips find a natural rhythm and constantly buck forward with every lick of his fat tongue against your walls and his sucking on your clit, noticing what reaction it causes in you and trying to hear more of your absolutely innocent, wanton squeaks and moans, enjoying the knowledge that you act and feel this way because of his actions, so he presses his knees into the stone floor harder and leans forward further.

your stomach twists more and more, and you push his face away from you with sharp, broken whimpers, when his tongue touches your spongy spot again and again, your body seems to be engulfed in flames, your spine arches away from the wall, resting your entire weight on his face and curling over him, breathing loudly and shakily when the tip of his tongue thrust rapidly, abusing your sweet, spongy spot with his hungry, drooling mouth.

he only grunts as you lean your full weight on him, continuing his assault on your throbbing and clenching hole, alternating between grazing his tongue against your folds and clit, or thrusting his muscle deep inside your core in fast, albeit languid movements, just until your loud whimpers and hoarse mewls echo against his stone walls, and your stomach twists and turns as your body convulses in an unexpected feeling of sudden orgasm, cunt clenches and pulsates around his tongue, letting go of your sweet slick and milky cum for him to have, covering his chin and mouth in the huge amount of liquid that he actively drink and lap up, opening his mouth wide and licking you clean, drinking till the last drop.

simon doesn’t stop, as if not knowing the line, which he doesn’t really know, continuing to run his tongue against your slit and cling to your hole, as he sukles on your clit, your whole body is buzzing strangely, your head begins to ache from the endless pleasure and overstimulation that his actions and touches bring, making everything between your legs swell and tingle, you desperately claw his bare back with your hands, adding to the scarred canvas of his flesh, trying to push, resist, but he doesn’t care, right until a loud sob escapes your lips.

he reacts instantly, making something close to a questioning grumble before retreating slightly between your legs, licking his thin lips around the edges and all your fluids on your thighs, you hang on him like a sack of potatoes, trying to grab his back with your hands and at the same time not allowing him to move away from you normally, quietly, pitifully sobbing, which cause him to growl, and with a rough grip of his wide hands on your hips, unhook you from him.

simon holds you more carefully, more gently, his hands are still shamelessly squeezing and pawing your hips, going down to the swell of your plush ass, touching the skin and also pulling down your dress to cover you and provide you with the minimum comfort possible in your position, where your panties lie torn on the floor, and endless salty tears flow down your raw, cowered in slight blush cheeks, and he feels even more sympathy for you than all the times before, frowning his light eyebrows and pursing his lips.

— “don't cry..„

he mutters in frustration, carefully releasing one hand from under your butt to carefully wipe the wetness of tears from your cheeks, while you sniff your reddened nose, your head and body pulsating with a strange surge of fatigue, there's still an uncontrollable throb between your legs, and the very thought of this feeling makes you sad, as your eyelids gradually get heavier with a dissatisfied whine escaping from the depths of your throat.

— “shh„

simon whispers quietly, shamelessly moving his face closer to yours to lick your wet cheeks, making you frown and grimace, resting your hands weakly on his shoulders before he gently begins to rock you in his bulky arms and press you against his chest, changing your position so that he supports you under your knees and your back rests comfortably on his thick bicep, curling up, and you no longer care about everything that happens.

you were in a comfortable, floating state between sleep and consciousness, not struggling or scratching like most of the little preys he meet, allowing him to carry you carefully away from the far wall and to a place that vaguely resembled a human bed, full of soft animal skins and located closer to the floor, on which he lays you down and immediately wraps you in the warmth of various furs, fleetingly touching the top of your head while carefully stroking your hair, reaching to the already slightly tattered wreath with flowers and throwing it away somewhere, to which you don’t even react, on the contrary, you cuddle in response to his touch with your head and face.

this makes him chuckle hoarsely, a sound that makes your skin crawl, but he carefully lays you down more comfortably and strokes your warm cheek, going down to your shoulder and drawing the same awkward circles here with the tip of his finger until you are taken into deep sleep, first with your mind, then with your body, allowing your eyes to close and plunge into darkness in a place unfamiliar to you, going limp and burying your nose in fur that smells sharply of musk, something tartly foresty and reminiscent of him, plunging you even deeper and further in viscious sleep, following the rough whisper, that is contrasting with his careful, soft touches.

— “sleep well, my pretty sacrifice„

simon mumbles practically under his breath, his dark eyes following every flutter of your eyelashes and the sigh that slips from your parted lips, before making sure that you are in a deep sleep and getting himself up from his haunches, the movement is accompanied by a slight crunch of bones and a grumble from his lips, he looks around his own cave, a torn, damp cloth lying on the floor, a wreath with scattered petals and a basket with some sort of offerings on the table, which he will use later.

for now he rests his hands on his hips, licking his slightly dry lips and looking at the prominent weight between his legs, resting against the fabric of his pants and responding with warm, tingling arousal and slight drippling moisture, but he will take care of this later, for now, simon will collect all the unnecessary garbage from the floor and get it as far away as possible, and then take care of the cow you brought with you from the village, even if he doesn't prefer to use meat from someone else's hands, he can definitely let it pass now, because he will need to persuade you to stay with him, as soon as you wake up.

simon will not allow something like you to escape, he has denied himself contact and warmth for too long, and now, having touched the forbidden fruit, he knows one thing for sure — he will never let it go again and will not refuse it, so you are in his abode for a long time.

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iris-qt · 6 months ago

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𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

🗝️ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʜᴜꜰꜰʟᴇᴘᴜꜰꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🗝️ ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

🗝️ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

🗝️ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴜʟᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏʟʟ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ɪ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ. ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴀ ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴜ ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴛᴡɪꜱᴛᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴠɪꜱɪʙʟᴇ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅʟʏ ᴘʜɪʟᴏꜱᴏᴘʜɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ

🗝️ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴀʟ ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ…

Did you believe in fate?

No.

That may be silly, I mean, you live in a magical universe where anything is possible. Magic defies the muggle laws of nature; it’s something undetectable yet very much alive. Anything could happen. Anything you can imagine. Anything you can imagine besides being in a relationship with Theodore Nott.

Yet for some wild, unbeknownst reason, the universe seems adept in proving you wrong.

No, you didn’t believe in fate. Until you became acquainted with him.

It started off slow and undetectable. Yes, you were aware of Theodore Nott, but you tried to stay unaware of your feelings towards him. It all started in the dingy little Potions classroom, when you were seated next to him. At first you were a bit uncomfortable as he was a popular guy and popular boys weirded you out. Always so judgmental. But Theo was quiet and calm. Always so sure of every action; every dice of the ingredients, every stir of the brew. You were a pretty sociable person and so, once you decided Nott was not so off-putting after all, you began to share a few words with each other. You treasured those little conversations in the shrouded back row of the Potions room.

“How was the DADA test for you, Nott?”

“Hey, Nott, Is it just me, or does Snape’s hair look extra greasy today?”

“HELP THEODORE MY POTIONS ON FIRE!”

That last one was not a very fond memory, but one you could not escape. Truly, you two being the only Slytherin and Hufflepuff sat next to each other, as there was an odd amount of students from both houses in that class, was the real beginning of the universe’s meddling behavior.

With all this in mind, it was painfully obvious Theo was not interested; he never quite talked to you unless you said something first. That is why you would never delude yourself with the thought of being in a relationship with him, He was an unattainable, rare flower, such as the tiburon mariposa lily that only grows in the Ring Mountain region of California. That flower is quite vulnerable to extinction due to natural and man-made disasters. That part didn’t really apply to Nott. He wasn’t the vulnerable type…

Theo, however, fell hard and fast from the moment he first spoke with you. How could someone so passionate and awkward not catch his eye?

“It was honestly a rough test. Actually, I need a tutor for DADA..”

But you didn’t take the hint.

“Perhaps if I gave Professor Snape my hair care routine…?”

But that didn’t earn him any hair-related compliments.

“AGUAMENTI! HOLY SHIT you’re really on fire today, huh y/l/n?”

That earned him an elbow in the rib.

The series of events that the fed up universe concocted began in none other than a little grass meadow.

As usual, you had woken up at the most ungodly hour of 5 am for the sole purpose of taking your morning stroll to a hidden meadow within the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, just behind a thicket. You were walking with your sketchpad and graphite in hand, ready to capture those jewels of the earth in the faint morning light. In your opinion, the crack of dawn is when the wildflowers shine the brightest. You sat in the grass, leaning against an old oak, beginning to sketch a particularly beautiful periwinkle flower. You were sure no one else knew about this meadow; it seemed untouched by anyone’s harsh footsteps.

Imagine your surprise when you heard the plants rustle to unveil a sleepy Theodore Nott: brown locks askew and dark circles tinged red against his pale skin, a cigarette dangling from his sleep-swollen pink lips. His light eyes slightly widen at the sight of his talkative ex Potions partner.

The silence was awkward and extended; you weren’t used to engaging in conversation in your quiet haven, but of course it was you who broke the silence anyway.

“Good morning, Nott,” you say quite hoarsely, slightly clearing your throat in embarrassment. Those were the first words you’d uttered that day.

His lip twitches, ghosting a smirk at the sound of your voice.

“Morning, y/l/n. You come here often?”

You nod saying, “It’s my morning ritual at this point.”

You nod in reply, eyes ghosting over his tired appearance as he continues, “Funny. I come here every night.”

He lets out a puff of smoke into the pure air of your precious haven, and you can’t help but subconsciously glare at the wisp of smoke. Of course, he notices and lets out a small chuckle.

“Don’t like my smoking?”

“It ruins the fresh air for the flowers and plants, Nott.”

He nods thoughtfully, finishing his cigarette.

“Don’t tell me you litter your cigarette butts all over the grass,” you frown.

“Of course not, I’m not a brute,” he laughs and fishes out a portable ash tray where he neatly tucks his cigarette remains away. After another awkward silence, he walks up to you and sits down next to you, peering at your sketch but quickly shifting his gaze away when he realizes you never gave him permission to gaze upon your works of art. You laugh as you assure him, “You can look, it’s just quick sketches.”

“Looks frame-worthy to me,” he shrugs with absolutely no hint of sarcasm or doubt in his eyes. It makes you feel flustered to the point you had to look the other way.

You decide to move the conversation over to him.

“What do you do here every night? Smoke?”

He shakes his head, saying, “As much as I like to smoke at night, I don’t here.” He pulls out a book. “I read under wand-light.”

You glance over and your eyes widen as you notice its a story you had just recently finished reading.

“The Turn of the Screw? A literary masterpiece, I just finished reading it, like, a week ago.”

He smiles, eyes warm and inviting, “I was just about to say your drawings remind me of Audrey Benjaminsen’s limited edition illustrations for this book. I’ve been trying to get my hands on a copy.”

Your eyes widen even more.

“The limited edition would be a gazillion galleons, but I suppose you’re filthy rich,” you tease.

“I mean, what better thing to spend my money on?” He smirks, pushing back a stray lock of his hair that had escaped.

“Solving world hunger, ending wars, funding cancer cure research…” you smirk.

“Ok, I’m not that rich.”

You both laughed at that and talked all morning up through the first 15 minutes of your guys’ first lessons. Laughing, you both jog to your class, the dandelions in the field spreading its tufts as you both run past. Little did you both know, it was the mutual fascination with a trail of dandelion tufts in the breeze, one in the sunlight and one in the moonlight, that brought you both to discover the meadow years ago.

While this universal push succeeded in temporarily bringing you and Theo closer, the two of you fell apart as you stopped showing up to the meadow as often due to school stress and you no longer were seated with Theo in any classes. The autumn leaves floated down and shriveled up; leaving the trees bare. The cold winds carried snow through the Hogwarts air, swirling around the iced windows.

It was time for the winter trip to Hogsmeade and you were bundled up and ready to go with 3 jackets, long socks, leg warmers, and snow boots as you braved the cold. Your scarf tucked against your face, you walked down the snowy pathway, laughing and talking with your friends as you strode through the ice.

Theo was also walking down the pathway with his friends; zoned out of their conversation while quietly observing the falling snow.

Fate had it that you both got distracted by a reflective light in the distance at different times, and so you both left your friends group for a second to observe this flash of light.

You were the first to separate, and when you looked back, your friends were long gone; enveloped into the icy mist.

You shrugged and began trudging through the snow, wondering where they could’ve gone off to. Suddenly, you stumbled across a little book shop that you’d been wanting to visit, but never got time to. You slowly walked up the creaking steps and into the warm embrace of the cozy shop. It was lit by yellow candlelight, dancing over the spines of rustic books. A Christmas tree in the corner shone brightly. You began getting lost in the page-riddled haze…

Theo, likewise, separated from his group a moment after you left. He bent down to find the source of the reflective light and found nothing. He raised an eyebrow annoyedly and glanced back to find himself abandoned in the snow; not a student to be seen in this blizzard. He decided to just walk in a straight line and suddenly saw a warm glow in the muggy snow. He approached a bookshop he had never noticed before. How could he overlook such a gem? Walking in, he was met with the faint smell of cinnamon and a warm atmosphere.

After a couple minutes, you laid your eyes on a particularly gorgeous spine with engraved flowers. Of course, you’d judge a book by its cover if its cover was an absolute masterpiece. You reached out to pluck it off the shelf when you felt a force pulling it back from the other side. You furrowed your brows as this turned into a game of tug of war.

Theo had seen that this particular book had artwork painted onto its pages. He was intrigued as to what this book could be about when suddenly he was hindered from grabbing it. Refusing to let up this competition, he pulled the book to his side, but, ultimately, failed. You and Theo’s eyes met through the hole where the book had originally been, his shining eyes crinkling as he grinned at the familiar irises of y/n.

“Brains and brawn? Could you get any better?” He joked walking to your side of the shelf and smiling.

You laughed as you handed him the book.

“Feel free to take it, Nott”

“Don’t worry, I was just admiring the painted scene on the pages.”

You both glance at the gorgeous book for a bit when Theo breaks the silence.

“You haven’t been to the flower clearing recently.”

“Yeah, school has me fucked up… I study too late and can’t wake up that early.”

He nods thoughtfully, glancing around at the shop.

“I think this is my new favorite place.”

“I agree..” Your eyes widen as you glance at the shelf behind him. “No way. Theodore look.” You excitedly point at a limited edition copy of The Turn of the Screw with illustrations done by Audrey Benjaminsen.

Theo looks stricken as he freezes at the sight of the copy he’d been chasing for months now. It was right there, before his eyes, tucked between other worn books. He would never have caught it in this dim light.

“Am I dreaming, y/n?” He breathes out, jaw dramatically dropped at the sight.

You playfully pinch him, laughing, “I don’t think so, Nott. Call it an early Christmas miracle.”

It was as if you and Theo shared the same safe spaces. First the meadow, now this book shop. He couldn’t help but ponder how there was always something leading him to you. Something that connected the both of you. First it was the flower field, and now this book. It was if every good thing in his life was somehow connected to you…

Theo gently holds the book and observes it in the light, but he found his new revelation of you far more fascinating. He always knew he adored you, and it just so happened that fate agreed. They were constantly being pushed together; given every oppurtunity to confess their feelings. Their fear overshadowed them. Maybe it was time to stop being so fearful.

Theo noticed you gazing at the book in awe, and smiled gently.

“Would you like to look over it with me over some butterbeer?”

Your eyes snap up at him, surprised at his question. This was the first time Theo had shown any interest in going out of his way to spend time with you. Despite the lingering cold, you blushed down to the roots of your hair.

“I’d love to..”

He grinned, shadows dancing on his carved face. The invisible string was brighter now, wrapping around their very beings, no longer neglected.

“It’s a date.”

#theodore nott #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott one shot #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #slytherin boys #theodore nott x y/n

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sweetlyskz · 1 year ago

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Emerald Gem|| Chapter 1

Paring: OT7! x Fem!Reader

Overview: Living away from society has its perks. All natural food from your thoroughly cultivated farm, no nosy neighbors, and peace and security with your animals. But sometimes you did get lonely, having no one to talk to but the cows and pigs. However, when 7 extremely wanted hybrids stumble upon your deserted farm, everything changes.

Genre: Hybrid Au, Strangers to lovers, slow burn

unedited*

At dawn, the roosters began to crow. They were your personal alarm clock. By the afternoon, you would have the Vegetables plowed and all the pigs fed. Emerald garden, full of color, would be watered. After all the chores were done, you could spend time on your hobbies. Painting, writing, cooking.

You truly kept yourself busy. But it became boring at times, lonely.

Emerald manor, your beloved home, was built for a family. With a large living room, a generous dining room, and too many bedrooms, it could be overwhelming for you. You liked to think about how you could fill this space, getting married, having a family. But you quickly realized that those things don’t come easy. Tired of the loneliness, you thought about adopting a pet. Maybe a dog to help with the farm?

And one day while you're cleaning the chicken coop you spot a fox about to pounce on one of the chickens.

“Hey!” you exclaim. “Get out of here!”

The fox stopped in its tracks and peered over at you, giving an intimidating glare. Then you realized, that wasn’t a fox.

It’s a person.

“Wait!” you attempted to come closer, but with each step forward, the fox went two steps backward. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

The fox seemed dubious, cautiously stepping towards you. “F-food, please.” His voice was raspy, sore.

You immediately ran to get some food, coming back to the coop with some leftovers. Maybe this will suffice, you thought. You sat him down on the grass patch next to the chicken's den. You watched him devour the meal, as if he hadn’t eaten anything in weeks. Based on his appearance, he probably hadn’t. His fur coat was dirty and torn. You could see his ribs and his belly rumbled with each bite. “Sorry, miss”, he whispered.

You shook your head. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. I’m Y/n. May I ask your name?”

You could tell he was nervous. Something about your presence made him anxious and fearful. Is he like this with everyone?

“H-Hoseok”, the fox uttered. “But I can’t stay long. My pack is waiting for me.” With a slight struggle, he stumbles back on his two feet. You grab him before he takes off.

“Please wait”, you politely asked. “Let me give you some food to take back to them. Don’t leave yet.”

He paused for a moment, seeming to be pondering over his next steps. “Okay”, he spoke softly. “But don’t be long. They may worry.”

With that, you hurry back into your home, running to the fridge to see what you can scrap up. Hopefully I have enough for all of them, you thought. Maybe you can give them a couple of chickens from the coop.

While carrying plastic wrap covered plates to your garden, you hear a scream coming from the coop. That must be Hoseok. Without haste, you ran to the chicken coops, the food left for the birds. Hovering over Hoseok was what looked like a wolf– well half wolf.

“Back away from him!” You yelled at the top of your lungs, trying to scare off the scary hybrid. He ignored you completely. Suddenly, you gain the courage to step up to it, pushing it off of the fox.

“Are you okay?” You helped him back on his feet, feeling the trembles in his hands. “Did he hurt you?”

“N-no, he would never hurt me”, He stuttered. “You don’t understand.” You looked at him confusingly, then looked at the wolf. He was fuming with anger.

“Y/n, this is my packmate, Joon.”

***

You’re not sure how feeding one hybrid led to having seven hybrids on your couch, but you have no one to blame but yourself.

“You want us to do what?!”

“Live here?” It was really just a random thought that popped in your head. You didn’t give it any thought. And seeing them dirty and hungry on your couch just made you blurt it out. Hoseok seemed thrilled but his Pack alpha, Joon, wasn't too excited.

“You must be out of your mind”, he laughed. “What do you think we are, pets?”

“No, not at all!” You shook your head. Something in the back of your mind tells you that they’ve been burned before, that they’ve been mistreated. You feel sort of sympathetic. Could they not trust anyone? “You guys don’t even have to stay here long. I just want to treat your wounds and offer some food.”

He still seemed doubtful. “Yeah? And what’s in it for you?”

That's the question he's been dying to ask. What about you? You thought about it for a moment. Wouldn’t any human being want to help out someone in need? The answer to that is no. However, maybe they need some good in their lives.

And you could use the company.

“Well, I kind of live here by myself”, You explain. “My parents moved to the city so I don’t see them often, and I don’t have any other family or friends. If I’m being honest, I really just need someone to converse with. And maybe a little help around the house.”

One of the packmates raised his hand, as if asking permission to speak. “We left the other home we were in. They may still be looking for us. We don’t want to put you in any danger.”

“We can figure all that out later”, you promise him. “Right now, you guys just need to wash up and get a proper rest.”

Hoseok turned to Joon, waiting for his response. “Please, Joon. We’ll be good, I promise.”

He glared at you for a second, trying to sense if this was another trap. Maybe she’s genuine, he thought. “Okay, but we won’t stay for long.” You could hear sighs of relief. Even you let out a puff of air, not realizing you were holding your breath.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for trusting me. I know that’s not easy.” You gave them a tour of Emerald farm, showing them their sleeping quarters and where they can wash up. When evening came around, you prepared a feast. Your hybrid guests gobbled down all they could– except Joon. He didn’t eat, probably from fear of being poisoned. Hopefully, one day he’ll trust me, you thought. But for now, all you can do is show them tender care and affection until they believe it.

When it becomes time for everyone to sleep in their rooms, you're left alone in the living room with our thoughts. Maybe some television will clear your mind. You never really use it. Living on a farm left you with plenty of other things to do, but why not? Turning on the television, you flip through the channels until one catches your attention.

Breaking news! Seven dangerous hybrids escaping from a research facility

*Taglist open!

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soie-lux · 2 years ago

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2023 Will Be

Less time online: being present in the moment, not letting online/social media trends influence me in any way. Making the most of each day. Spending more time in nature, admiring the beauty of creation. More time spent on my hobbies, bettering myself, growing into the woman I want to be. Quality time with friends and family

Taking care of my body: pilates throughout the week and walking 4 miles (around 10k steps) as many days as possible. Establishing a healthy sleep schedule. Consuming local, seasonal, and organic produce, grass-fed and free-range animal products, fresh sourdough. Making homemade meals as much as possible.

Stepping out of my comfort zone: not letting fear of the unknown stop me from living an amazing life. Saying yes to new opportunities and trying new things. Exploring parts of the city I've never been to before. Not being scared to travel solo. Making conversation with strangers. Developing new hobbies such as horse riding and painting. Seeing what this beautiful earth has to offer.

Nourishing my soul: starting my day with prayer and gratitude. Walking in obedience to the Lord and putting His will above mine. Spending time in His word daily. Being intentional with my thoughts, words, and actions. Allowing the fruit of the Spirit to influence all things I think, say, and do.

Seeking quality over quantity: getting rid of all the fast-fashion pieces in my closet and slowly but surely replacing them with 100% silk, wool, cotton, linen, and cashmere pieces. Continuing to build my capsule wardrobe. Only investing in luxury pieces when I'm sure they will remain in my closet for years to come. This also applies to my relationships. Contrary to popular belief, we need relationship and community to survive. As long as I'm surrounded with people I love, trust, and care for, that's more than I could ask for. It's the quality, not quantity of close relationship that matters.

#soie lux #blog entry #2023 goals #level up #lifestyle

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lexirosewrites · 2 months ago

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Slick Sundaaaaaaay!

I see a lot of ABO steddie fics featuring Omega Steve who is self conscious for one reason or another because he doesn't have a typical Omega physic and/or behaviors (which is super tasty yum yum) but I live the idea of Eddie being the more swlf conscious one.

Like, Eddie who is not deceptively strong for his size (he has a little bit of natural muscle tone as an Alpha but he never puts it to good use), and who is a little weasel who like to agrivate people but runs away from any kind of real conflict and doesn't have a strong manly scent or any desire for a high powered job to take care of an Omega unless you count is half fleshed out dreams of being a rock star.

Dealers choice of how it happens but Steve basically asks Eddie if he would be interested in couting the Omega and Eddie isn't blind, stupid, or heartless so he jumps on the chance to be with the Omega of his dreams but very quickly finds himself self agonizing about how to be the "right kind" of Alpha for Steve.

So decides he needs to start working out so he can keep his Omega safe even if he knows Steve is more than capable of taking care of himself in that department but his first workout sends him into an asthma attack for the ages so he decides it's more important for Steve to have a living Alpha than a fit one.

There's nothing much he can do about his wet concrete and grass scent which on paper sounds super manly but mostly just smells like a suburban morning so he goes down the employment seeking rabbit hole. He applies for what feels like every Alpha-y job in the Hawkins area but his reputation proceeds him and he never makes it past the first interview. Eventually he gets a call back from a place he applied for after reading the word "painter" and wrote down the number in his notebook with no notes (he didn't say he had a good system) but it turns out to be someone two towns over looking for someone to freelance the painting of dnd and other such figures to sell in a games shop two towns over. It's an ideal job for Eddie but it's deeply entrenched in his need shit and not the kind of thing he was looking for to impress Steve and show him he can provide for him and their future pups. He still takes it because even if it doesn't pay a tone, whatever he DOES make can go toward pampering his Omega and saving up.

It all comes to a head when they go out and Eddie is feeling pretty down on himself after so many failed attempts to "improve" for his Love. Some guy is hitting in Steve while Eddie is RIGHT THERE even though Steve has said no many times and has told him he's there with his Alpha. The guy just keeps leaving and coming back and on his fourth return to their spot Eddie just launches is fist no warning into the guy's face.

That was NOT what he meant to do, he was just getting so fed up and territorial and he was gonna really tell the guy to piss off but the little goblin inside him made him throw a pretty pathetic punch that results in a busted knuckle for him and a slightly bruised and irate beta in front of them.

Steve drags him out and takes him back to the trailer, grumbling the whole time about "stupid Alphas and their stupid instincts" and finally snaps and asks Eddie what the hell has been up with him lately. Eddie just blinks his big dumb eyes at Steve as he points out the job search and the asthma hospital visit and the more expensive gifts and finally asks why he's been acting like such a knot head.

So they talk it out and Steve makes Eddie hold him in his lap so he can tell him all the ways, the ways that matter to Steve, that Eddie takes care of him. Tells him how he doesn't need an Alpha to fight for him but he's never had an Alpha offer him sanctuary like Eddie does. Eddie who never makes him feel stupid for his questions and reads his assigned books to him even though the Alpha is behind on his own school work and let's him build a nest in his bed.

Tells him that he appreciates Eddie trying to make money for their future family, loves that even, but what use does he have for fancy jewlery or a full bouquet of roses? Like, he doesn't even like jewlery that much and he gets much better use of the brand new wool socks Eddie thrifted for him last month in an Indiana winter and the wild flowers he brought him for their first date are much easier to press than huge roses.

Just a series of misinformed adventures for looser Alpha Eddie that end in comical disaster and his Omega who is utterly charmed his his earnest attempts to be a good Alpha but who really just wants a loving mate and partner.

oh i love this😭😭😭 Eddie just wants to be the perfect mate and alpha for his omega, meanwhile Steve can’t figure out what’s going on with the love of his life who is already perfect to him!!!!

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #my asks #anon asks

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bitterrfruit · 1 month ago

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wild cherries [1]

[masterlist]

Price x f!Reader - tags: modern western AU, cowboy!Price, light sadomasochism, brat taming, spanking, humiliation, chasing, dubcon if you squint 18+ mdni - 5k words

Tell me why, Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself When you're old enough to repay but young enough to sell?

Daddy used to warn you about wandering onto the Prices’ property.

The lichen-coated fence that separated their land and your family’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of white oak and ponderosa, crossing the babbling river that fed water to both ranches. The barrier itself was fairly short and easy enough to climb over, but there was one small gap where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were your own long-neglected cherry orchard on the other side.

You had almost lost your little gateway, after so many years away; at a college across the country for four, and hopping between jobs like a rabbit for the next few. In that time the grass surrounding the fence had grown long and dense, the thicket far thornier and weedier than it was when you were a girl.

Then, you really only knew the Prices by name. You were expressly forbidden to talk to, let alone look at any of them. They aren’t nice boys, daddy had told you, I won’t have them near you.

Now there was only one left, and it seemed the rules had changed.

Jonathan Price, the last remaining, was a reticent man. A shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, originating long before you were born, the seeds of which were planted many generations ago. Whatever enmity that existed between dead old men had not quite been passed on to the remaining sons, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Your older brother Miles had told you as much, when he picked you up from the airport a three-hour drive south. More than fifteen years your senior, Miles was thrust into the demanding vacuum your father left, and despite laments, he certainly played the part.

“It wasn’t a question,” he chided, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. There it was, that glimmer of your father’s spirit, especially bright whenever Miles got away with telling you what to do.

You hung your elbow out of the window of his carmine red Silverado - a new toy - and rested your chin on the back of your hand.

Only offered back a grumble; “I don’t even know him.”

A lie.

You had encountered him the last time you returned home for summer, and the time before that. Encountered was the sweeter way to put it, pestered might be better suited.

Once you heard he had finally come home, you found yourself impishly eager to pry, to observe, to take a mere glance at the last remaining man of the family yours hated so ferociously. You were strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way. Intrigued by the mystery that shrouded him, the man you were never allowed to know.

And you had always been at the mercy of your wicked curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college, then during your brief stints of being in-between jobs. When you ventured through the gap in the fence, you’d prowl around his estate like you were attempting to memorise a maze. You’d peek into his old and empty shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

The most recent occasion you had slithered into his orchard, last summer, he had caught you. While your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries, you heard him holler;

Hey! I see you in there, missy!

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a hare and hopped back over the fence.

There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady, he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks. You hear me?

Miles chuckled at your retort, dragging you back from the warmth of your rose-tinted reverie. “Well, he knows you.”

“So?” You bit, shutting your eyes as the warm summer wind lapped at your skin.

“So, it’d be rude if you don’t go and say hi.”

“I don’t think he’d care whether I say hi,” you muttered. “He hates us.”

Miles returned a terse sigh. “I’m trying to change that. I don’t want us to keep fighting the same fight our dads did. I don’t think anyone alive even remembers what the fight was about.”

You knew you were getting close to home when you drove past the towering boxelder tree with the crooked trunk, the one you had named the wobbly tree as a little girl; it always looked like it was on the verge of toppling over. From that tree onwards, you had committed the landscape to memory. The distant mountain peaks that caught the red glow of the afternoon sun. The dense lumber pines that coated the closer rolling hills. The rows of poplars and cedar windbreaks that protected their plots of farmland. The blue and yellow wildflowers that grew over the edges of the chip seal road.

You listened to the roar of cicadas, loud enough to be heard over the engine of the truck; a sound you didn’t realise you missed so dearly until you escaped the perpetual industrial hum of the inner city.

Home, at last. Under the old log archway, boasting the hanging wrought iron sigil of a rearing stallion, and your family’s claim; Fenton Ranch. The truck rolled over the raw gravel of your long driveway, reduced to dust under decades of heavy tyres. You could smell home in the air; distant firesmoke, livestock, cut grass. You drove past the stables, then the sheds, you spotted some of the familiar faces of ranch hands that had worked for your father before they worked for Miles. Among them, some new ones.

Your generations-old house came into view, two storeys high with a wrap-around veranda, cladded in chipped white siding and adorned in carved cornices. Sat atop a circular hill of dry grass, it was sheltered by a ring of century-old white oaks that kept it shaded from the blistering summer sun.

At the top of the porch steps stood your sister Evelyn, tall and strawberry-blonde, she leaned against a column and offered an insouciant wave as Miles pulled the truck to a stop.

Dust rose from under your sandalled feet as you hopped out of the truck and into the gravel, raising your arms to the sky to stretch out the tension that had built in your stomach. As the stretch forced a squeal through your gritted teeth, Evelyn called to you;

“Hope you don’t think you’re on vacation, Honeybee.”

There was a touch of humour in her tone, but knowing your ever-pragmatic sister, she was not joking.

You did think it funny how quickly hearing your nickname hurled you back in time, had you feeling as though you had never left home. A teasing sobriquet stemming from your toddlerhood; having learned that bees get their honey from flowers, you developed a penchant for suckling on them - clovers and dandelions that you had picked from the grass, honeysuckle and lilac plucked from bushes within reach. My little honeybee, mom used to call you. A nickname that stood firm after she passed, repeated in honour of her, so often that as far as those around you were concerned it had long usurped your birth name.

Miles hauled your old suitcase from the bed of his truck, unrequested; he was a gentleman, on occasion, when he felt it appropriate to be one. You followed him towards the house, stopping to greet your sister en route as he continued to carry your cargo to your bedroom.

Evelyn gave you a smile and hug with her slender arms, quick and purposeful. Straight to business; “So what happened with Wendell Bishop? I thought you liked it there?”

The marketing agency that recently had you in their employ, the third company you had worked for in the last two years. You stifled a roll of your eyes with a slow blink, not wanting to argue with your sister in the first five minutes of returning home - though it would be far from the first time. Despite Evelyn being closer in age to your brother than yourself, you bickered like you had been born a day apart.

“It was fine, I just - it wasn’t for me.”

“Ugh, for God’s sake, Bee.” She groaned, “it’s never for you.”

You had no dispute within you but a shrug, and you walked past her to head indoors.

“You know you can’t float around forever,” she barked after you, and you shut the screen door behind you.

The interior of your house was breezy, windows and doors open to allow the summer draught to flow through every room and corridor like blood through veins. The old hardwood creaked and groaned underfoot as you wandered towards the staircase, catching brief glances at the old family photographs that peppered the patterned walls. Some from your childhood, some faded sepia film dating back three generations; Fenton ancestors whose names you had forgotten or never learned.

Miles brushed past you as you made your way to your bedroom, and he stopped you with a word.

“Evelyn made jam,” he said, and the edge in his tone told you that you needed to stop and listen.

The recipe for the strawberry jam the women of your family would make on special occasions was one passed down from grandmother to mother to daughter since the inception of the line. It incorporated a touch of cranberry to make it a little tart, a sprinkle of salt to deepen the flavour. What made it extra special, mom would say, was that it was made with love. You didn’t imagine Evelyn put much love into it, because it wasn’t written explicitly into the recipe, wasn’t given quantifiable measurements.

“You’ll take him some, won’t you?” Miles asked, when you only gave him a small grin of pleasant disinterest.

You chewed your lip, kicked the floorboards with your heel. Inevitably, you would have slinked over the fence and skulked around the Prices’ land once the sun kissed the horizon, once you could be sure the man and his ranchmen would be settling in for supper. Some unfathomable part of you would rather be caught by him in the act of a crime, than to knock on his door like a sycophant.

There was something vaguely humiliating about the idea, presenting yourself on his doorstep, as though supplicating for approval you didn’t want or need. Obvious that you had been ordered by your authoritarian brother to go and apologise to Mr Price for your past transgressions. While, in actuality, Miles was not at all privy to such transgressions, you knew Jonathan would find sneering satisfaction in seeing you feign politeness, play at being ladylike.

As far as Miles could tell from your sulking, though, you were merely nervous about being forced to greet an intimidating stranger. Not entirely incorrect, you supposed.

“Sure,” you finally conceded, with a huff. “I’ll go over in a bit.”

Miles offered a pleased grin under his sun-bleached beard, placed his sturdy and grateful hands on your shoulders. “‘Preciate it, Bee.”

You took a brief hour to recuperate after the long drive. Rinsed your face and combed out your wind-knotted hair, unpacked your well fed suitcase into your old and rickety chest-of-drawers. Everything you owned you had stuffed into luggage - the lease at your little apartment had come to an end, you knew you’d be home for the foreseeable future. You hung your winter coats away in your closet, out of season. You lined up your shoes and boots by the door.

You greeted the working collies with a scruff of their heads and a kiss on their noses, as you ventured outside into the heat of the afternoon. You said hello to the greying foreman who knew you from your girlhood.

“Soda’s turned out behind the barn,” he told you, and you gave him a sunny smile as you trudged over in your well-worn boots; their tan leather dry and wrinkly, the thread of the embroidered paisley patterning had come loose in spots after years of putting the boots to work.

You spotted your painted mare in the middle of the paddock behind the stables, grazing on golden grass, dried to hay. Recognised her by the white splotches on her chestnut coat, the bright stripe that ran down the centre of her head and turned her snout pink. She raised her head at your familiar whistle, and you heard her whinny cheerily before she trotted towards the log fence you leaned over.

“Hey, sweet girl,” you cooed. You petted her snout with a loving hand, and she nickered softly to greet you. “Missed ya.”

You led her through the gate into the shade of the barn, adjusted her bridle over her head and fed the bit between her teeth. Using an old step-stool you hoisted yourself up and over her back, with no stirrups to help you.

You had always preferred riding bareback; Soda’s coat was soft, and her back was narrow and forgiving. You imagined saddles as corsets, that the poor girl lacked the kind of mouth that could tell you how sorely uncomfortable it was. But you thought she said as much in the ways she could, with a toss of her head and a loud snort whenever she was approached with one.

Besides, you often took her for rides on a whim, forgoing instructions to stay within sight of the house - it was easier to hop on her back and trot off into the trees without having to saddle her.

Your short powder-pink sundress rode up your bare thighs as you adjusted your legs to bestride your horse. You tugged the linen hem down with a shimmy, to avoid revealing the treats underneath to the odd ranchman that passed by. Mom would always chastise you when you rode in a skirt, hammered on about how indecent and impractical it was. She wasn’t here to tell you so, now. If she was, you would have told her it was too hot for jeans.

“Hey,” you heard a sharp holler from your sister, she trotted towards you as you rode Soda out of the barn. “Hold up.”

You looked down at Evelyn - only on horseback did you have the ability to do so - and she raised a crocheted net bag for you to take. Carrying three jars of jam, each a different shape and with multi-coloured lids - you had almost forgotten your homecoming gift.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, with an apologetic giggle, taking the bag by the handle. “Is there still some left for us?”

“Plenty,” Evelyn replied through a smile. “He doesn’t get all of it.”

“What’s a lonely man going to do with all this jam, anyway?” You asked coyly, and Evelyn pursed her lips at the playful derision in your words.

“Hopefully, eat it with a spoon and think about how kind we were to share it with him,” she answered, with her brows raised. “And come to ask us for more.”

You tilted your head, a bewildered knit between your brows. “You guys buttering him up for something?”

She gave you that pacifying grin, the one that told you she believed the true answer would be beyond you. “‘S nothin’ like that, Bee. We’re just trying to smooth things over.”

Her answer was dishonest, you saw through her simper. But it was never worth the effort to pry any further. “Whatever,” you chuffed, tugging at the reins and setting off.

“You can take the truck, you know,” Evelyn yapped, before you had the chance to give Soda a gentle kick to speed her up.

Shrugged. “It’s a nice ride.”

Evelyn frowned at that. “How would you know, hm?”

Another shrug, you concealed the flush in your cheeks as you turned to trot down the drive.

It was a nice ride. Soda had a steady gait that never made you sore, and she was pleased for the outing, as easily bored as you were. You decided to take the conventional route to the Price ranch - this was an official visit, after all. Stayed in line with the drive, you mindlessly plucked leaves off of reaching branches as you passed them and tossed them to the grass beneath you. Cars and pickups passed you on the road, kicking up dust and making you squint. The sun of the late afternoon was baking on your back, but the warmth was a tender embrace, and the gentle breeze that cooled you was a kiss to follow it.

The majority of the trees on the Price Ranch were bunched around its borders, though the odd fir or cottonwood was scattered among the wheatgrass-coated hills; enough shade for his hordes of black anguses to huddle under.

You passed under the towering arch of the gate, the logs aged and splintering, the stone pillars holding them up were worn down by wind and dust. The sign above you flaunted in great big letters, like a shout, PRICE. Beneath it the head of a longhorn, carved directly into the stained pine shield that hung from its chains. The road to his gargantuan farmhouse was winding but mostly flat, and you gave Soda an encouraging pat on the side of her neck, as if she was the one in need of reassurance.

Even the house was foreboding, much like the man himself - dark and expansive, constructed with stacked logs and piled stones, rock chimneys climbed up three of its walls. Its windows were vast but few and far between, grids of stained wood crossed over the glass and made it difficult to see in from a distance; to your chagrin.

You dismounted Soda by a fenced pasture, and hitched her reins to one of its posts. She was a loyal girl, but as helplessly subject to her curiosity as you; she needed an anchor to keep her from drifting away and whinnying at the stallion in the paddock over.

Patting down your skirt and hanging the bag of clinking jars from your shoulder, you marched with an artificial confidence up the stone steps of his front entrance. Drummed the front door with your knuckles in three sturdy knocks, you hung the net bag by the handle from two demure hands, fingers knitted together.

You swallowed.

Came the deep thumping of heavy footsteps, they approached the other side of the door, slow and beating. A clatter, a thud.

The door swung open and just about vacuumed you inside, you adjusted your feet so you didn’t lose balance.

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.”

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin.

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change.

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay.

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose.

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him.

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers.

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Miles made me come and say hi.”

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance.

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.”

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment.

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?”

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it.

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise.

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.”

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.”

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?”

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you.

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.”

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath.

“I bet you are.”

The air became thick, filled your lungs like smoke, and you almost coughed in the loaded silence.

“Y’know,” he started, crossing his arms over his wide chest, tucking his hands under his arms and inadvertently augmenting the biceps you shamelessly stared at. “Your sister came ‘round the other day. Warned me about you.”

Your brow furrowed at that. “Really?”

You could tell he battled a grin, he licked his teeth behind stiff lips. “Uh huh.”

Wondering how often he had conversed with her, you swallowed the juvenile jealousy that rose in your throat. “What’d she say.”

“That you’re prone to getting in trouble,” he said, through a deep purr. “But she told me you don’t try to.”

You tilted your head, and the sly simper that had you had been containing finally curled in your lips. “I don’t know why she’d say somethin’ like-”

“I don’t believe her,” he gritted, steamrolling over your flimsy defence.

Heat blossomed in the apples of your cheeks. “You don't?”

“No,” he rumbled, leaning down to you. His face a foot from yours, you shrunk under his glower, watching him cautiously from under flitting lashes. “I think you try very hard.”

You held your tongue between your teeth, taming it before it gushed out something you might regret. Clawed at your mind for any kind of refutation, but it melted like sugar on your tongue.

Watching in bashful silence, John reached forward and hooked a finger into your bag. Reaching inside, he plucked out a jar; it was dwarfed within his wide hand, he spun it around in his palm as though looking for a label. He went to open it, and the tendons and muscles of his forearms rippled under his skin as he twisted off the stubborn gingham-patterned lid. It broke loose with a pop.

He dipped his pointer finger into the juicy red preserves, scooping out a lump of it. Thick finger sticky with the sugared fruit, he put the tip of it between his lips, sucked it clean as he looked down the bridge of his nose at you.

His mouth made wet noises as he evaluated the flavours with his tongue, you felt a flutter in your core. Lips pursed, he raised his eyebrows. “‘S good,” he remarked.

You smiled sheepishly. “Well, it’s yours,” you raise the bag. “These too.”

He twisted the lid back onto the jar, then took a step towards you as he reached for your net bag and dropped the jar back in with the rest. And he continued forward, another step, and you landed on your hind foot. You inched backwards as he loomed over you, and backwards again; you felt your heel go over the edge of the top step, your balance tipped - until his firm hand caught your upper arm, and he swiftly held you upright.

Lost for words, you opened your mouth. “I-”

But he shut you up with a bear grip of both of your shoulders, and adrenaline needled down the nape of your neck. He lifted you a few inches off the step, and spun you around like a doll before dropping you unceremoniously back to your feet, facing out towards your horse.

He was instructing you to leave, unsaid but unsubtle.

“Go on,” he chuffed, and your breath hitched as he gave you a cajoling pat on your behind with his palm to coax you forward.

You obliged him, walking abashedly towards Soda with your heart in your throat and your gift ungiven. He followed you closely, not allowing more than two feet of distance to grow between his body and yours; as though prepared to snatch you if you dared to bolt.

“Tell your sister, I don’t want her goddamn gifts,” he sneered, and you dared not look over your shoulder at him.

Soda gave you a quiet nicker as you came to a stop beside her, ears flicking nervously at the predator behind you. You shushed her gently as you unhitched her reins, and using the bottom rail of the fence you stepped up to mount her. Reaching over her back, your legs hung over her side as you awkwardly tried to pull yourself upward.

You felt the evening breeze under your skirt, quietly aware of how much of yourself you bared to him. You wondered whether he might be stealing his glances, if he might have spotted the pink hem of the panties you wore underneath. You wondered if he thought they were pretty. You wondered if he wanted to see what they concealed.

You yipped as you suddenly felt his hand against your ass, a heavy fist; realising quickly that he had clutched the hem of your dress, when he tugged it downwards to give you some decency. Scolding you implicitly.

With a frayed breath, he growled; “And I don’t want fuckin’ trouble.”

Swallowing a timid gasp, you pulled yourself up onto the mare’s back and mounted her properly, legs hanging over either side of her torso. You hoped that from your perch he couldn’t see the glowing red in your cheeks, the flare of heat that spread over your decolletage like a rash.

“You hear me?” He badgered, arms crossed and brow rigid.

You gave him a winsome nod, an imperceptible simper, as you gave Soda a soft kick in her side to set her off.

With an innocent grin, you crooned; “I’ll do my best, mister.”

can you tell i love neil young

#john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price #john price x f!reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #cowboy price #bitterfruit fics

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