#spice organizer for drawer

[homekitchentech]

The Best Spice Racks for a Spotless Kitchen

In order to keep spices and seasonings readily available when cooking, a spice rack is a necessary kitchen organizer. The best spice racks offer a variety of designs to suit different demands and spaces, combining flair and usefulness. Spice racks that are wall mounted not only free up counter space but also look good in the kitchen. Spice racks that rotate or carousel offer quick access to a wide selection of spices in a small, space-saving design. Tiered racks and drawer inserts keep kitchen cabinets and drawers organized. A few of the characteristics of a high-quality spice rack are clear labeling, movable shelves, and sturdy construction made of BPA-free plastic, wood, or stainless steel.

[liqhtwood]

Kitchen Enclosed A large, elegant kitchen with a u-shaped travertine floor and a beige floor is shown in the photo. It has an island, beaded inset cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, a beige backsplash, and a beige and ceramic backsplash.

[jonahryans]

Kitchen - Enclosed Inspiration for a mid-sized scandinavian u-shaped porcelain tile and brown floor enclosed kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartzite countertops, brown backsplash, porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances, a peninsula and white countertops

[nail-it-in]

Dining - Contemporary Kitchen

Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary galley cork floor eat-in kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, quartz countertops, gray backsplash, mosaic tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances and an island

[professorsteampunk]

Kitchen Enclosed Mid-sized traditional u-shaped enclosed kitchen idea with a dark wood floor and brown walls, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and multicolored countertops.

[benswift-eyeskull]

Kitchen Dining A picture of a medium-sized eclectic l-shaped kitchen with a medium-toned wood floor and brown walls, an undermount sink, dark wood cabinets with recessed panels, quartz countertops, a white backsplash, quartz countertops, paneled appliances, and an island.

[forevercaughtintherain]

Great Room Phoenix An illustration of a sizable open concept transitional kitchen with ceramic tile flooring, an undermount sink, beaded inset cabinets, gray cabinets, quartz countertops, white and glass tile backsplashes, black appliances, and an island.

[aftmartwork]

Enclosed - Kitchen Mid-sized minimalist galley light wood floor enclosed kitchen photo with white cabinets, multicolored backsplash, marble backsplash and stainless steel appliances

[britishnickyy]

Traditional Kitchen in Atlanta A large, conventional u-shaped eat-in kitchen with an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, white backsplash, mosaic tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, and white countertops is shown.

[jaymepollock]

Kitchen - Dining Inspiration for a large timeless u-shaped dark wood floor and brown floor eat-in kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, white backsplash, mosaic tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and white countertops

[charliemwrites]

Unfamiliar Nobody

You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.

Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship

You haven’t been the same since the ritual.

Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.

Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.

It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.

Not so.

That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…

The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.

You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.

You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.

Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.

Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.

And yours hasn’t been the same since.

You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.

You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.

Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.

As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.

The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.

It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.

You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.

Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.

(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)

You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)

The shop was never reorganized.

Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.

“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.

“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”

He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry. 

For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.

You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.

“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”

He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.

“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”

You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.

“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair. 

He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”

Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.

Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.

“Any storms?” you ask.

“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”

You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.

“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”

You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.

Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.

“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”

You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.

“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.

He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”

Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.

“Nikto!”

A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.

You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.

Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.

You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.

“Good evening,” you call.

“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.

While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)

Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.

“Have you need of something?” you ask.

Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.

“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.

You tilt your head. “Anna?”

She blinks. “How did you know?”

Because Nikto grumbled it just now.

“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”

You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.

“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.

She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.

“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”

You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.

“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”

“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.

“Mhmm!”

“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.

The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.

“Anything else?” you ask.

“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.

You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.

“Hold on,” you call, “here.”

You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.

“What is it?”

“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”

She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.

“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.

Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.

“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.

“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.

“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”

He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”

You hum in question, surprised.

“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”

You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”

He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.

“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”

“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”

“As many as you will let me breed into you.”

Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.

“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.

He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.

Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”

You’d thought so.

It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.

Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.

You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.

Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.

A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.

Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.

“Irina,” you greet.

She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.

“You’ve…”

You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.

“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”

She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.

“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”

Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.

You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.

“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”

You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.

It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.

“Would you help me?”

“I would.”

You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.

“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.

Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.

“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.

Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”

“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”

She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.

“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”

You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.

“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”

Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead. 

“What is it?”

“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”

You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.

“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.

“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”

Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.

“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”

You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.

“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”

“Alright. I understand.”

She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.

“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.

Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs. 

“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.

Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.

“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.

His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.

“Yes,” he hisses.

He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.

Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.

“Give me,” he demands, surging up.

Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.

“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.

“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”

His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold. 

“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.

You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.

“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”

He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.

The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.

“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.

“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.

“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.

Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.

Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.

“The button too,” you request.

Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.

“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.

You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”

You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.

“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.

“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.

“Your choice,” you reply simply.

When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.

“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”

It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.

Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.

In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.

When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.

“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”

You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.

It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.

He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.

“Nikto.”

“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.

You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.

“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”

He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”

“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.

He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.

Winter preparations are well under way.

A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.

Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.

Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.

You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.

Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.

Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.

Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.

Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.

Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.

Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.

The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.

The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.

The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.

You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.

At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.

Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.

Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.

You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.

There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.

Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.

When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.

You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.

The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.

You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.

Nasty creature.

“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.

Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.

You click your tongue, steps never faltering.

“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.

“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.

An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.

Always so messy.

You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.

Only then does the water darken around you.

Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.

Feast before the season’s famine.

You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.

He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.

Wait, no. Not lazy. 

Deliberate.

Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.

You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.

It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.

You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.

“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”

He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

You smile, indulgent.

“I belong to Nobody.”

There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.

[gunillamixtapes]

Kitchen - Scandinavian Kitchen Inspiration for a mid-sized scandinavian u-shaped porcelain tile and brown floor enclosed kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartzite countertops, brown backsplash, porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances, a peninsula and white countertops

[melhorsemsutia]

Enclosed in Richmond

[thewriterg]

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡

pairing(s):spencer reid x gn!reader, mention of spencer x derek

summary:your meanings of a sweet tooth increased to a ten fold when the leaves start to change and the air becomes crisp. however, you have a level of self respect that your boyfriend doesn’t

word count: 650+

warning(s): fluff, pumpkin spice slander, pet names, kissing, and language

A/N: —GIFs; @undertheniall & @chemicalh3arts— im a little rusty give me a break

Spencer eyed you warily at your foreign action. Right before he could press the skin of his lips onto yours, your head turned with a quickness. A passion. The brunette racked his mind of what he could’ve done going down the mental checklist in his head.

Took the trash out, watered the plants, closed the drawer in the kitchen you frequently bump your hip into early mornings going to brew your coffee when he leaves it open, —boxes of tea sitting against each other in tip top shape and organization—

There were established boundaries in your relationship that the two of you silently promised to never cross. However, the doctor couldn’t help but to itch to break your most solid concrete one.

You weren’t allowed to profile one another.

No matter how dire the situation seemed, or how well intended it seemed. No. Profiling

All of this amused you to no end. While you struggled to keep a decent poker face at your boyfriend’s kicked puppy expression, he battled internal conflict on what could’ve changed in two hours. You were fine getting ready this morning, you were fine at the office, you were fine leaving the office, hell you were fine even with him telling you him and Morgan was going to try a coffee shop down the road.

What changed in a mere hour!?

“You’re a liar!” You accuse strongly, it’s funny how your top doctor lover couldn’t pick out the dramatic undertone in your voice. It was only a matter of time before you were going to crack your ‘hurt’ facade.

“What!? Ab-”

“Out of all the seasonal treats… Apple pie, sweet potato pie, cookie butter, pecan everything, apple cider donuts, fritters, cinnamon swirl bread, the list could run forever!” You throw the back of your hand over your forehead in mock distress. It’s comical the way Spencer deflates at the realization.

“You dare try to lay your lips on mine with that horrid, wretched, foul tas-” Before you can finish your sentence the lanky brunette is already plopping down onto the couch surface with a irritable sound of protest muffled by the fabric of your sweater.You smile down at the head full of curls staring back you, running your fingers through them making more by separating the bunches they make.

“Can’t believe I fell for that” He mumbled almost sadly for himself going crazy that he was so weak to your advances… I mean you worked with these types of people everyday! To think you were actually upset with him for a… rational reason. Instead you were ‘hurt’ simply because of his choice of pumpkin spice black coffee Morgan had convinced him to try.

“I can’t believe out of everything you chose pumpkin.” You teased in a matter of factly way while still massaging the back of his scalp. You could feel the curl of the brunette’s lips past the thin sweater you were wearing. When Spencer finally moved his head from being burrowed in your stomach the big guns were out and blazing. A certain pout with his combination of sad eyes made you fold everytime and the brunette knew it too.

“Spencer.” It was your turn to whine now dragging out the final ‘R’ in his name and he hummed satisfied. Pursing his lips and inching towards you. However, he was still to be met with a completely different texture than the softness of your lips by rather the palm of your hand.

“You seriously have to brush your teeth”

“Well studies recorded that if you face your discomforts head on then you’re 20% more likely to be less uncomfortable about it.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he inches closer, making you squeal. You quickly turn yourself loose from his hold before it can tighten around your arms and you two spend the evening playing catch the cat with smiles on your faces.

©2024 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[lovebugism]

SAYING UGLY THINGS ON CHRISTMAS EVE WITH STEBE PLEASEEEEEEE

let's just pretend it's still christmas ok? hope you like it angel! — steve gets cruel when he's anxious, and with his parents coming to town, he's practically a timebomb (ditzy!fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort tw for toxic parents, 2.1k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You were only trying to help. 

Really, you were. 

Steve’s been stressing himself sick about his parents coming over, and you’ve been following him around with your heart in your throat, trying to help him before he totally implodes.

He’s always a ticking time bomb when his parents are in town. He doesn’t know how to be anything else when it comes to them. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than perfect because he’s terrified of his mom’s backhanded compliments and his dad’s sneering replies. 

He always turns into his teenage self when he’s scared — and there’s nothing more terrifying than being a teenager again.

You know all this, so you try your best to be supportive when he gets in moods like these. When he’s on edge and fussing over every little thing. You help him dust the top of the fridge and organize the spice cabinet and wipe down all the windows — even though you know his parents won’t notice, or otherwise care, about any of it.

And then, when you finally get the buzzing ball of anxiety to cuddle up with you on the couch, you manage to screw everything up all over again.

His head is on your chest, wild hair still drying from his shower. You hear him sniff once, then twice. “What’s that smell?” he wonders, not entirely apprehensive ‘cause the TV’s got most of his attention.

“What smell?” you ask, more distracted than he is. 

His weight on you is a comforting one. You pet him like a cat accordingly — one palm rubbing up and down the length of his back and the other curling in his hair. With your nose among the chestnut strands, you don’t smell anything other than his floral shampoo.

“It smells like something’s burning.”

You pull back from him and sniff hard once. It smells a bit smoky, like cooking something over a campfire. Because something is burning. Your heart plummets to your stomach at the realization. 

“Oh…” you hum under your breath, blood running ice-cold.

Steve only tenses up because you do. Your warm hands on his body go suddenly rigid. His scruffy chin rubs against the chest of your sweater when he turns to look at you. His honey eyes twinkle with confusion and concern. “Oh, what?”

“I think that might be the turkey…” you answer in a tiny voice because you know what’s coming.

“The what?”

“I put it in while you were in the shower, ‘cause you were so worried it wouldn’t get done in time—”

“Shit, babe!” he blurts and pushes himself off the couch. He rushes towards the kitchen without another look your way. You follow behind him like a puppy and hopelessly try to explain yourself. 

“—And then you wanted to cuddle after, so I laid down and totally forgot about it!”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault?” he scoffs and swings the door of the stove down. He flinches at the billowing gray smoke. He rises again and rummages through an adjacent drawer, in search of oven mitts.

Your face swirls with confusion. “No!”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I forgot!”

“That’s not an excuse, babe!” He grimaces as he reaches into the hot oven. The tray clatters to the stove with a smoking turkey on top. It’s not totally burnt, but it’s hard as a rock and charred all over. Neither of you are chefs, but you could probably guess it’s less than edible. 

“Shit…” Steve huffs under his breath. His hands fall to his waist and he cocks a hip to the side, blinking at the molten turkey before him because he’s at a loss for what to do now.

You stand just behind him, cowering as you wring your hands together. You feel small, like a child moments away from getting scolded. “I’m sorry, Steve,” you murmur, voice wavering. “I just wanted to help—”

He laughs loud. A bitter scoff, at most. “Well, you did a great job of that, didn’t you?” he says with a sour smile on his plush pink lips.

Tears burn the backs of your eyes. You decide to blame it on the lingering smoke. 

“I said I was sorry,” you insist in a tiny voice, trying your best to stand up for yourself. You fucked up. Both of you know it. Rubbing salt in the wound doesn’t help anything.

“That doesn’t fix it, baby!” he argues, hands gesticulating wildly when he turns to you. His chiseled features are sharp with anger, but you decide to count your blessings ‘cause he’s still calling you baby. He only uses your real name when he’s really upset.

“I’m gonna have to go all the way to the store and make it all over again!”

“I’ll pay for it, Stevie, it’s okay—”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?”

“My parents are coming over tonight! And if everything’s not perfect, I will never hear the end of it,” he agonizes, voice fragile and close to breaking. His honey eyes go glassy when the red emotion slowly turns blue. “About how I can’t make it on my own, how I moved out too early— how I never should’ve moved in with you.”

His words sting a little bit, in the most literal sense. The very center of your chest starts to ache, like he’s shoved a red-hot knife into your sternum. 

You try to shrug it off as best you can. “Well, who cares what your parents say?”

“I do! I have to, ‘cause I’m the one that’ll have to hear about it every goddamn day!”

His misplaced anger begins to build, like the looming shadow of a boogeyman. The weight of it starts to suffocate you. At a loss of how to make any of it better (because you’ve got a record of doing the exact opposite) you try to bring your high-strung boy down again.

“It’s just a turkey, Steve. We can make another.”

You prepare yourself for an argument, but Steve only huffs — so deep it makes his chest rise and fall. His head tips back as he rubs two wide palms over his face, down to his chin and back up again. He swipes his fingers through the still-drying strands of his unstyled hair and doesn’t say a single word. 

His teeth are clenched tight. You can tell by the sudden sharpness of his jaw and the way his temples are slightly shifted. His eyes are still shut as he breathes in deep, rhythmic patterns. You can almost hear him counting to ten inside his head in attempts to calm back down again.

Steve is painfully self-aware of how hotheaded he gets when he’s anxious. Every little thing feels like the end of the world when he’s cranked up to one hundred. Problem is, he only realizes how cruel he’s being after he’s hurt someone with it.

That someone in question is you now. The sweeter-than-sugar you, the brighter-than-sunshine you, the well-meaning-but-sometimes-totally-careless you. 

And Steve, on the other hand, is utterly troubled. He’s harsh, and he’s hopeless, and he loves you so much he’s not totally sure what to do with it all. Sometimes it scratches him like barbs. Maybe that’s why he confuses love and anger so often.

He thinks of his parents — how they were supposed to love him, how maybe they do, how they have a terrible way of showing it, and how he isn’t at all deserving of the way they treat him — and something inside him seethes. It burns somewhere deep within his ribcage and squirms like a feral animal trying to break free.

He feels trapped and he turns violent, like some kind of hurt dog. ‘Cause if he can’t be loved, then he might as well be feared. And sometimes he bites you, the warmhearted stranger willing to love something that doesn’t know how to love itself. And maybe that’s why he snaps at you when he’s so high-strung. 

You love him the most, out of everybody in the whole entire world, and no one could understand all this quite like you do.

“You’re right,” he sighs when he comes down to earth again, arms falling to his sides when his shoulders are no longer tense. 

The shades of red give way to something more golden when he looks at you. It makes his heart twist because you’re still looking at him the same way you were ten minutes ago — like you’re looking at the rest of your life in the flesh.

One more breath, and the worry slips away.

“Yeah, you’re right— it’s just a turkey— everything’s fine.”

You want to comfort him. Your wringing hands ache with the longing to hold him like you were before all this, with his cheek to your chest so your heartbeat can keep him grounded. You’re just not sure if he wants that yet.

So you linger in place and try not to implode with your yearning.

“I can get a storebought one before they come over if you want,” you offer meekly, peering at him beneath your lashes. “I don’t think they’ll know the difference if we just lie and say we made it.”

He laughs again. One snorted breath, but much more genuine this time. A grin blossoms like a pretty flower on his rose-petaled mouth. It’s impossible not to smile back at him.

“Or we can just, like, not say anything, and watch my parents pretend to like it,” he jokes.

“That’s evil,” you say, hiding your giggle behind your palm. “But then we’d probably have to eat it, too— to make it believable and everything, you know? And I don’t think I can put that in my mouth without gagging.” You snort a laugh at yourself, then grow strangely serious as you mumble, “That’s what she said.”

Steve laughs, loud and boyish. It paints the kitchen golden and makes your chest feel all sparkly. “C’mere,” he hums with a grin, throwing his arms out for you. 

You gravitate towards him instantly, like he’s the sun and you’ve just suffered a terribly long winter. You hug him tight accordingly — suffocating, warm, and tender. He holds you back the same. 

His arms curl around your back, wide palms spreading along the length of it. He noses at your hair and presses a gentle kiss there. “Sorry for yelling,” he apologizes, mostly muffled from where he’s holding you so intently. “You forgot. It’s okay. I overreacted.”

It’s still hard for him to apologize sometimes. Even when he’s in the wrong. Especially when he’s in the wrong. He grew up with parents who fought and then acted like nothing happened the next day. There was never any closure. Just bottled up feelings.

It feels good to be wrong — to acknowledge it and to still be loved after.

“I really was trying to help,” you mutter, burying the words into his chest.

Steve nods against you. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse—”

“You didn’t make it worse, don’t say that,” Steve interjects before the words can properly leave your mouth. He squeezes you tighter, in hopes it’ll make his words stick more. “You know I’d stress myself to death if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah. And if your parents came home to a corpse, that’d be really morbid,” you murmur gently.

Steve chuckles when he pulls away from you. He unwraps his arms from around you, just to hold your face in his hands. His palms are warm and softly calloused against your cheeks. He swipes his thumbs over the warm apple of them.

“It would be,” he concurs with a nod and a big, dumb grin. His honey eyes sparkle as they melt for you. “I’ll tell them that when they come over— that you singlehandedly saved their son. They’ll have to love you, then.”

He says it like it’s a joke, but it isn’t really. It’s true in a lot of ways. Way more than you know.

“Think they’ll still like me even if you don’t say all that?” you wonder meekly and with your nose scruched, peering up at him with a hopeful gaze.

“Oh. Yeah. Totally,” Steve scoffs without thinking twice. He shrugs like it’s obvious with his face twisted like he’s confused why you’d even ask. “They’ll fall in love with you the second they see you.”

“Well, that’s just dramatic,” you mumble, laughing under your breath. 

You’re not nearly as confident as he is because you have no idea you’re made of flower petals, sunsets, and winter skies — all things delicate, tender, and impossibly loveable.

“I’m pretty sure it’s impossible not to be in love with you,” Steve insists, still cradling your face in his palms. It’s easier than saying that he loves you so much that he’d follow you anywhere — or that the rest of the world could fall apart, and he wouldn’t care as long as you were standing with him. 

“I think you’re biased,” you tease with a quiet smile.

“I know from firsthand experience, babe,” he argues with a rosy smile. “I’m pretty sure I’m an expert on the matter, actually.”

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 10: We Should Get Married

From: Bigger Houses Series

Pairing: Mountain Ranger! Ari x Reader

Summary: Ari’s got a special date planned for you in a special location the two of you hold near and dear

Word Count: 3,229

Content/Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, smut, outdoor sex, protected sex (woo hoo! He comes in the condom), cockwarming, nudity, kissing, mentions of alcohol consumption (champagne), happy tears, loooooove or whatever, nervous and organized Ari, semi-unsuspecting Duchess, good friends, discussions of marriage, I think an engagement ring should be a warning

A/N: It’s been too long! I’m so happy to finally release another chapter of our majestic mountain man.

PLEASE screech with me in asks, comments, and reblogs!! Much love!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Below is the song which inspired this chapter.

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Ari had run his hands through his hair in nervousness so many times today that he was afraid he was about to go bald. His hiking boots paced on the floor of the ranger station as he bit his nails, a nasty old habit, and went through the plan with his coworkers and friends once again.

“Max, you’re sure you can do that?”

Max rolled his eyes, albeit with a smile, and nodded once again.

“Yes, Ari. It’ll be good training for my next lumberjack competition, anyway. You know nothing is gonna keep me from climbing up a tree for a good shot.”

Ari nodded and blew out a breath, hands on his hips.

“Okay, okay, good. And Rachel, appointment all booked?”

She smiled. “Yep! Today after work, so she’ll be all ready for tomorrow. Oh! And before I forget, here is your special package. I know you said you were going to pick it up from the jeweler, but I knew I’d be seeing you today, so one less thing to worry about going into town for.”

Ari reached for the bag Rachel held out for him, feeling the small box was there. He gingerly nestled his fingers in the cinched opening and pulled to get to the contents, taking out and rolling the velvet box between his fingers. He carefully opened it up to check the contents, the sparkle in his eye matching that of the item in front of him. A rare grin grew on the mountain ranger’s face for how anxious he had been, planning for tomorrow this whole week.

“Thank you for this. It’s perfect, just like her.”

You were running around the house like crazy trying to tidy up as dinner was cooking on the stove. After a couple weeks of insane work, Ari had convinced you to take two days off to relax and treat yourself. It wasn’t without your resistance, but finally you gave in since it would be a good opportunity to finally get to some things done around the house you’d been putting off. It was a chance to deep clean, but unfortunately, rush it a little since you wanted your day tomorrow to be all relaxation.

So far, you had reorganized the entire kitchen and spice cabinets, swept and mopped the whole house, tidied the bathroom, and washed all your bedding and laundry. All that was left was a little light dusting that was sort of high up, so you’d figured you’d wait for the next time Ari came over for him to get those high places, or at least make sure you didn’t fall when trying to reach the top of your cabinets.

You were sprawled on your floor between semi-folded piles of laundry, dresser drawers pulled open and emptied in an attempt to reorganize when you heard a knock on the door. You pushed yourself up with a groan and shuffled over the hardwood floors in your socks, pushing up your old, oversized sweatshirt sleeves, and readjusting your sweatpants before reaching for the door handle. When you turned it, you were surprised to be met by Rachel’s smiling face. And then it hit you and you facepalmed.

“Rach! Hi, oh my gosh, it totally slipped my mind. We have that nail appointment, don’t we?”

She laughed as you gestured for her to come through the door. “Yeah, I figured you either forgot or were busy when I called twice and you didn’t pick up. No worries, though. It’s not for another half hour.”

You blew some hair out of your face and checked your watch as you closed the door.

“Okay. That’s good, then. I’m going to go change. You can help yourself to dinner if you haven’t eaten yet and then we can go?”

“Sounds good.” She nodded as she already went to open your cabinets to grab a plate.

Taking a rare chance to pamper yourself was a treat. You laid in bed late Friday morning, sighing as you looked out the window, sipping a coffee that was lukewarm at this point, but you didn’t mind. It was made with love. Ari had stopped by just an hour ago before his Ranger shift and made it for you, pleasantly surprised to find you still tangled in the sheets. It was rare for you to sleep in this late, but he was glad you’d taken his advice on giving yourself a break, a chance to relax for once. You deserved it with how hard you worked.

You watched him intently that morning, the then-steaming mug of coffee snug in your hands, as he strode over to your closet. He slid the hangers from one side to the other, searching for something specific until he found it. “Ah! Here it is.”

He turned and set it on your dresser: a sundress. The one you had worn on your first date in the mountains where Ari had shown you his favorite overlook of town.

“This one’s my favorite. Wear it tonight? I’ll take you out.”

Your face morphed into a sleepy smile, voice still a little raspy.

“Okay. Then you and me can come back here afterwards? We’ve both got the weekend off.”

He grinned, moving across the room in only a few steps, leaning over and reaching for his hands to frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as his fingertips barely tangled in your hair. Ari nodded, his golden brown locks swaying beautifully as he did, as he leaned in, placing a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, and finally deeply and lovingly on your lips.

“Perfect, Duchess. I love you.”

And with that, he was out the door.

Ari showed up at your house that evening when the sun was low in the sky, but there was still a little time before it set below the horizon. You walked down the steps out to his truck, surprised to see him dressed up more than usual. He wore a flannel shirt, but you could tell it was a new, fresh one. Crisp. The colors were complimentary to those of your dress. Where was he taking you? Somewhere fancy? You trotted out to see him and leaned into him as he squeezed you tight.

When you pulled away, you ran your hands up and down his chest on the soft fabric while his hands rested on your waist.

“So what’s the special occasion, Bear?”

He smiled and shrugged, grabbing your hand and leading you to the truck. “Just another day in paradise. There have to be a special occasion for me to treat my girl?”

Ari was playing it cool on the outside, but underneath the surface, he was a nervous wreck. He had wiped his hands several times on his good jeans so you wouldn’t be able to feel how clammy they were. His heart was beating a mile a minute, but he did his best to keep his breathing even. This was meant to be a happy occasion, and deep down, he knew what your answer would be. He had known for months, really when he looked back at the signs, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still nervous.

You giggled as you hopped up on the seat. “Of course not. I’ve just never seen you this dressed up. You look spiffy. I like it.”

Ari huffed out a laugh as he climbed up in the truck behind you and closed the door. “More than the ranger shorts? More than that old ballcap I always see your drooling over?”

You turned your torso towards him, holding your hands up to stop that thought. “Woah, woah. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I will say it’s a top contender, though. Me and my sweet babe who looks absolutely dapper. But I’d happily spend everyday forever with you, in any clothes you want.”

Ari smirked as he turned the keys in the ignition. “Even no clothes?”

You poked a finger into his chest. “Now that, sir, might be my favorite outfit of yours.”

You knew exactly what was happening when Ari pulled onto the rocky road between the evergreens and past the creek bed. Well, at least you thought you did. The same magic was in the air as a year ago when he had brought you out here the first time, except now, there was somehow even more. More electricity, more love, more beauty in it all. After all that time, nothing had faded. It had grown brighter.

More than just metaphorically. Physically, too. As Ari pulled the truck towards the familiar Rocky cliff, small twinkling lights came into your vision. You looked over at him and tilted your head to the side as he put the truck in park.

“Ari, what’s going on? You did this?”

He turned towards you and smiled, gathering your hands in his and placing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course I did. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen out here, but I figured some extra ambiance would be nice. I’ve got picnic supplies in the back, why don’t we hop on out and I’ll grab them, meet you over at the blanket that’s set out. Sound good?”

You nodded and gave him a final kiss as he helped you down out of the cab. While Ari hung back, you made your way out near the cliff edge to the blanket where fairy lights were strewn across a small wooden arch, along with ivy and some buds of your favorite flowers. You leaned over to sniff one, the floral scent mixing with the surrounding pine in the refreshing mist that covered the mountains. As you looked out over the town in the valley, you could see the peachy sun just starting to dip below the horizon. This was your favorite time of day next to the sunrise, as the golden hour light bathed the scenery.

You stood back up and took a deep breath in, relaxing your shoulders as your heard Ari’s steps coming up behind you.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this view.”

“Neither will I.” Ari’s voice came from right behind you, but not as high up as you would’ve expected. And he sounded like he had stopped moving. Usually, he would’ve come up and hugged you from behind to share the view, but something must’ve stopped him. You turned around to investigate.

When you did so, your gaze was drawn downward, finding Ari’s face lower than yours. He was on a knee, sharing the blanket you were standing on. Your breathing started picking up and you covered your mouth in a gasp as you saw what was in his hands: a small wooden box that housed a ring. A beautiful emerald, framed by twisting vines of gold. It was so unique. The deep green matched the wooded mountains around you, and somehow seemed mimetic to the love you and Ari shared. A comforting, natural, golden tie between hearts. The ring was perfect, and so you.

Before Ari could even say a word, tears were flooding your eyes.

“Yes! Oh my gosh. Yes, Ari, Yes!!”

He laughed and smiled as he gently took your hand that you had frantically shoved out in front of you and slid the ring on your finger. In a second, you were falling into him, throwing your arms around his neck in the tightest hug, turning your head to kiss his bearded cheek over and over again.

“I love you. I love you so much.”

Ari stood up, your feet no longer on the ground from his squeeze around your torso, spinning you around in celebration. When he finally set you down, he pulled back and held your hands in his, kissing the new ring that fit perfectly onto your finger, looking deeply into your eyes and giggling with elation.

“I love you, too, Duchess. Baby, I had a whole speech planned and I didn’t even get to say it!”

You shook your head and sniffled, smiling profusely. “Okay, okay, sorry. Go ahead, say it now.”

Ari took a quick breath and rubbed his thumbs over your knuckles as he began.

“When I brought you here a year ago, I told you that this was my favorite spot on earth. But I want you to know, you’re my favorite spot on earth. I’d be so happy anywhere with you. You saved me, and you’ve given me endless grace, and I’m so honored that you’re willing to let me be your husband.”

Ari’s eyes were watering now with emotion as you moved your hands to his cheeks, pulling him down for another kiss. Afterwards, he turned his head and kissed the inside of your left hand, right at the underside of your newly adorned engagement band. He was already obsessed with seeing you in it. Feral, even, and you could tell by the way his gaze darkened, exactly what he was feeling. A smirk grew on your face.

“Right here or truck bed?”

Ari’s grin matched your own. “Truck bed. You go ahead and get over there. I’ve gotta make a call first.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, so you slowly started walking as Ari pulled out his phone from his back pocket.

“Max, hope you got some good photos, but I’m gonna need you to climb down real quick from that tree and get outta here.”

Ari looked at you with a dopey smile. “My fiancée and I are about to do something I don’t want you to see, especially with a telescopic lens.”

Ari shoved his phone back in his pocket and jogged after you.

“Yes! Oh my gosh. Yes, Ari, Yes!!”

Your hands clawed into his chest as you ground your body against his harder, faster. Ari’s flannel shirt had been hastily unbuttoned and opened, his tan chest on display and pants tossed off to the side as you straddled his waist, sundress long gone. It was a wild act of love in the middle of the wilderness. Ari’s feet were planted on the blanket he had laid out in the truck bed as he thrusted upwards to meet you. His blunt fingertips dug slightly into your hips, guiding your movements. The sun had fallen in the sky, the last drops of light remaining, just enough to cause the new gemstone you wore to sparkle almost as much as the eyes of your new fiancé.

Ari grunted and groaned as he continued to look up at you, his muscles growing sore and faltering with exhaustion of chasing your mutual, pleasureful release. You could see the pleading in his eyes as you clenched, the both of you nearing your peak.

The sensation of the hair at Ari’s base tickling your clit had been stimulating you slowly in a gradual climb, but not enough to tip you over the edge, the two of you prolonging this aspect of your celebration of a life tied together.

Ari took one of his large hands and snaked it towards your belly, fingers putting pressure just above your mound and thumb making small circles on your slick clit. The begging that you had only read on his face became verbal as you clenched harder at the stimulation.

“Please, Angel. I’m so close. Come for me. Come with me, baby. I-I-“

Ari let out a loud groan that morphed into almost a whimper as he threw his head into your chest while he spilled into the condom. His breaths were heaving with satisfaction. Your arms cradled his head against you and your body shook with your orgasm, triggered by seeing him like that. You rode out your high with a few slow grinds of your hips before collapsing on top of Ari. He leaned back against the rear window of his truck, looking up at you, the happiest he had ever been. Ari had never been this at peace, this satisfied with his life, but right now, it was better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

You looked down at him, having moved your hands to the sides of his neck as he had pulled away, your thumbs brushing the sensitive skin of his jugular.

Ari was positively enamored. He had been this whole time, but now he knew for sure, he belonged to you. You belonged to each other.

“Let’s get married right now.”

Your eyes went wide and you laughed. “Sex was that good, huh?”

The smile had no prospect of being wiped off Ari’s face. “I mean, it’s always good. But that was better somehow. I can’t wait to see what it’s like when we’re husband and wife.”

One of your hands moved over his heart. “Bear, I guarantee you it’ll be much better, considering I’ll be the one going feral over you wearing a wedding band.”

He shrugged. “So then why not right now? Drive out to a little chapel in Vegas, hire an Elvis, ride away into the sunset in one of those ridiculous pink limousines with the longhorns on the hood. We can find you a little white dress, I’ll rent a cheap suit. Ya know, feed each other wedding cake, the whole shebang.”

You just giggled and shook your head. “No. I’ve gotta tell my mom. I want our family and friends there.”

Ari sighed, but acquiesced. “I know, I know. It was worth a shot, though. Ain’t no point in waiting when you know, though…. ya know?”

You nodded. “I know, hun. And trust me, I’d get married to you in a heartbeat, but look how much work you put into this engagement. I want that in the wedding. Sure, it’s our special day, but we’re sharing it with family. And I want it to be as beautiful as the love we share.”

Ari’s eyebrows raised as he blew out a breath. “If you want what I did for this engagement on a wedding scale, I’m not sure we’re gonna have money for a honeymoon. We can go to Paris, but it’ll just have to be the one in Tennessee.”

You grimaced thinking about how much Ari must’ve spent. Flowers were expensive! And honestly, probably so was the ring. But you knew that the amount of money spent wasn’t what it was about. It was about showing how much you loved each other through your gestures.

“No need to go bankrupt. We’ll keep it small and thrifty. All I care about is people seeing how devoted I am to you.”

Ari smiled, the small stress that had painted his brow melting away from your reassurance. Just as he was sitting up to give you a kiss, his stomach grumbled, causing you both to laugh.

“Oh yeah, this was supposed to be a picnic. Okay, babe, pull out the food and let’s get at it.”

Ari stole a kiss and leaned over, opening the picnic basket as you let out a whine at the feeling of him inside you. That reminded you that you were both sitting here naked, too. From on top of the food, Ari pulled out a warm blanket, heated by the steamy container lids. He draped it over the two of you, the skin of your chests comfortably pressed together.

The rest of the night was filled with more than enough warmth, love, laughter, and champagne sipping for the two of you.

Next >

Bonus A/N: hngggg squeeeee!!😍🫣 that is all.

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