#the daily bungalow

[dweeeeeb]

Home Building & Construction Floorplan, Blueprint The Daily Bungalow

#Home #Building #Construction #Floorplan #Blueprint #Blueprints #Daily Bungalow

[bradshawsbaby]

Change of Plans

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are supposed to be getting ready to attend the Navy Ball, but after being gone on a mission for three months, your husband has other plans.

Word Count: 4.8k

Author’s Note: Happy International Bob Floyd Fucks Month! Thanks for hosting, @attapullman!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), allusions to sex, innuendos, and fluff because I'm physically incapable of not writing fluff.

All the make-up in the world wasn’t going to hide this hickey.

Groaning in frustration, you rose from the stool at your vanity and leaned in closer to the mirror, dabbing delicately at the sensitive, bruised skin at the base of your throat, right along your collarbone. It felt as though you had already applied half your tube of concealer, and still the purplish mark was glaring back at you, mocking you with its prominence.

It was hopeless.

Maybe you could swap out the necklace you had been planning to wear tonight with a larger one from your jewelry box? Oh, but the one you had already chosen paired so perfectly with your dress. Would anyone believe you if you said you had walked into a kitchen cabinet? Highly unlikely.

“Damn you, Robert Floyd,” you muttered under your breath, futilely smudging another round of concealer on your skin with your beauty blender.

You certainly hadn’t been complaining when your husband had given you the love bites the night before, too swept up in pleasure and your desire for him to have had the forethought to consider the impact his mouth was going to have on your attire for tonight’s big event.

Bob had returned only two days earlier from a three-month mission—the longest he’d been gone since your wedding—and he had been absolutely insatiable since coming home. Not to say that the two of you didn’t enjoy a very healthy and robust sex life, but these past two days had been something else. You’d seen a side of your sweet, mild-mannered husband that thrilled you in its passionate desperation. Just yesterday, he’d held you as a very willing captive in bed all day long, his lips and tongue tracing every curve and contour of your body, his mouth memorizing the taste of your skin.

Hence, the hickies.

At least the rest of them were scattered across your body in places no one else would find. It was just this pesky one on your neck.

Sighing softly, you took a small step backward and turned your head from side to side, surveying the work you’d done from different angles. From a distance, maybe people would think it was a birthmark? Or maybe if you wore your hair down, instead of swept back in the updo you currently had it pinned in, it would serve as a shield.

Or maybe you would just have to walk into the United States Navy Ball letting everyone know that Lieutenant Robert Floyd, the shy, meek WSO that so many people underestimated on a daily basis, enjoyed marking up his wife’s neck.

The Dagger Squad’s return had coincided with the Navy’s birthday, which meant that they had barely been home a couple days and already they were having to don their dress blues for the blowout birthday bash. Bob normally enjoyed attending the ball, but this time, he’d been looking for any excuse to get out of it.

“I just want to stay here with you,” he’d mumbled against your lips just that morning. “You’re the only one I want to be with right now.”

Maybe the hickies hadn’t been as innocuous as you thought. Maybe they had been a calculated attack on your husband’s part to convince you to pull the plug on your evening plans. The thought made you shake your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Just then, you heard Bob’s voice reverberating through your small bungalow, the sound of his footsteps growing closer as he approached the bedroom.

“Sweetheart, do you know where I put my cuff—”

His voice trailed off as soon as he entered the room, which made you glance over your shoulder to discern the reason why.

He was half dressed, clad in his blue dress pants and a crisp white button down shirt, sans the missing cufflinks. But he no longer seemed concerned about that as he stood staring at you, his blue eyes blown wide behind his glasses. He was drinking in the sight of you like a parched man in the desert.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out, his voice almost reverent.

“What?” you giggled softly, feeling your cheeks grow warm under the intensity of his gaze.

Bob just continued to stare, wordlessly appreciating you as his eyes raked you over from head to toe.

You turned back to your vanity mirror to figure out what it was that he found so mesmerizing. You’d been so fixated on hiding that hickey that you hadn’t even paid much attention to what the rest of you looked like.

Your hair and make-up were already done, the blush and lipstick you had chosen doing much to accentuate your features. You hadn’t wanted to get anything on your gown, so you were dressed only in your sheer silk stockings and the little chocolate-colored silk slip that you were going to be wearing underneath your dress. You had to admit that you did look quite good. And Bob always did love you in silk.

“Don’t get any ideas, Lieutenant,” you teased, batting your eyelashes over your shoulder as you leaned in closer to the mirror and carefully wiped at a small smudge of lipstick in the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, honey, do we have to go tonight?” Bob groaned, stepping further into the room and walking right up behind you, his eyes meeting yours in the vanity mirror as he rested his hands on your hips.

“Yes, we do,” you laughed, privately reveling in the feel of his large, warm hands pressed against you. “We told all our friends we would be there, and all your bosses are going to be there, too.”

“They know who I am,” he argued, ducking his head and pressing soft, languid kisses to your shoulder. “I think we’re well past the need for making good impressions.” His lips transferred from one shoulder to the other, leaving a trail of searing kisses in his wake.

“But it’s the Navy’s birthday,” you countered, trying not to waver in your resolve. “You love the Navy.” Your breath caught slightly at the end of that last sentence, but you were hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“I love you more,” Bob murmured, his lips now moving towards your neck. “Besides,” he whispered against your ear, lightly nipping at your earlobe, “the Navy’s had almost 250 birthdays. It won’t mind if I miss one party.”

“What about my dress?” you sighed softly, letting your head loll back against his shoulder as his hands began roaming over your stomach and thighs, his kisses against your neck and shoulders becoming more insistent.

“You can save it for next year,” he chuckled lightly, his broad chest rumbling against your back. “As beautiful as I’m sure you’d look in it, I think you look even more beautiful out of it,” he added in a low voice, his massive hands sliding up your body until they were gently cupping your breasts.

“Bob,” you moaned out softly, trying to scold him even as your eyes fluttered closed from how good his touch felt. “We shouldn’t. We’re going to be late.”

Your husband didn’t respond with words this time, just hummed faintly against your skin while he nibbled gently along your jaw, the veins in his hands standing out against his fair skin as he began kneading and massaging your breasts through the thin material of your slip. You’d always loved his hands—after his beautiful eyes and his kind smile, they were one of your favorite features on him.

“You’re not playing fair,” you giggled breathily, your toes curling and an all too familiar heat pooling between your legs as his hands continued to caress your body, one remaining on your breast while the other glided down along your side, tenderly stroking your stockinged thigh.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling the scent of your perfume. It was his favorite. You always sent him with a bottle of it when he left on a mission or deployment so that he could spray it on his pillow and be reminded of you. When he arrived home two days ago after being gone for three whole months, the bottle was empty. “I missed you so much. Please.”

“Oh, Bobby,” you exhaled, reaching behind you and raking your fingers through his hair, mussing his neatly combed locks. “How could I ever say no to you?”

With that greenlight, Bob swiftly turned you in his arms so that you were facing him, your back to your vanity mirror as he crushed you against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you and his lips crashing against yours in a heated embrace.

Moaning delightedly into his mouth, you wrapped your arms around him, caressing the nape of his neck with your manicured fingers as his hands slid down your back until they were cupping your butt, pulling you even closer to him.

You felt the loss of him when he pulled back, your lips desperately chasing his even as he lifted those big hands of his to cradle your face, one thumb brushing across your bottom lip as he smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“What happened to us being late?” he joked, kissing the tip of your nose and then peppering your cheeks and jaw with tiny, barely-there kisses.

“My husband can be very persuasive,” you grinned, fisting your hands in the front of his dress shirt and turning your face upward, willing his lips to return to yours.

Bob chuckled at that, tenderly brushing a loose lock of hair out of your face. “Oh, sweetheart, I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. Just getting to hold you in my arms again. I never want to let you go,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, just enough to send tingles racing up and down your spine, but not enough to satisfy the ache gnawing at you, deep inside. “Sit down,” he told you quietly, indicating your long-forgotten vanity stool with a short nod of his head.

Swollen lips still desperate for more of his kisses, you pouted slightly, but did as he said, slowly lowering yourself down onto the stool and staring up at your husband, wondering what was on his mind.

But then suddenly your tall, strong, handsome husband was sinking to his knees in front of you and all questions and coherent thoughts flew out of your mind.

“Honey,” he groaned out in a husky voice, burying his face in your lap and littering the tops of your thighs with hot, hungry kisses, his arms coming up to encircle your waist. “I love you. I love you so much,” he murmured, nudging the hem of your slip up slowly with his nose.

“I love you, too, Bobby,” you told him, running your fingers through his hair, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the naked adoration you felt in every little thing he did and said.

Head still resting in your lap, Bob’s arms slowly began to slide back down your body, his fingertips tracing a hot trail down your legs. He loved when you wore silk stockings, his hands running back and forth over the thin, sheer material with a sense of awe. Shifting back slightly, he pushed your slip up so that your stockinged thighs were more fully exposed to him. He gazed at them for a minute or two, as if just wanting to admire their beauty, and then bent his head down, planting one kiss after another on each thigh, all in a neat row. His movements were slow, unhurried, purposeful. He was taking his time worshiping your body and he wanted you to know it.

After several minutes of kissing your thighs, Bob turned his attention to your knees, pressing soft kisses to the insides of each of them. And as his lips danced across your skin, his hands slid up and down the backs of your calves, gently massaging as he went.

“Bobby,” you breathed out, your fingers continuing to run through his hair as you bit your bottom lip, your back arching as you felt your nipples harden and desire pool and pulse between your legs.

“Have I told you lately how much I love these thighs?” he asked, his eyebrows rising as his glance turned upward towards your face, his mouth still skimming the insides of your knees, slowly moving higher. “I could happily spend the rest of my life between these thighs,” he sighed, lightly biting down on the supple flesh.

“Bobby!” you giggled, feeling your skin grow warm from his praise and from how turned on it was making you.

He evidently didn’t want the hickey that you still hadn’t managed to conceal to feel lonely, because he suddenly began a passionate assault on your upper thighs, kissing and sucking and biting until you could see the small red marks appearing, even through your stockings.

Letting out a low moan of arousal, you found yourself tugging on his hair, pulling his head up and dragging his mouth towards yours. Bob happily obliged, his strong arms wrapping securely around your body as he kissed you with a newly unlocked fervor. His long, calloused fingers found purchase in your hair and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care that it would completely ruin the updo you’d spent an hour styling. Your vision had tunneled to only him. He was the only thing that mattered right now.

When the two of you finally pulled away for air, panting and desperately running your hands over each other’s bodies, you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of your lipstick smudged all over your husband’s face.

“I don’t know if it’s your color,” you teased, wiping your hand across his mouth and chin with an amused twinkle in your eye.

Bob laughed in response, but his blue eyes grew darker with want as he gazed at you, your skin flushed and hot to the touch, your own eyes wide and dark with desire, the lipstick practically rubbed clean off your lips.

“Oh, Bob,” you whimpered quietly, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his neck. Two could play at the game he was playing. You peppered kisses up and down the column of his throat, what was left of your lipstick leaving a trail of seduction in your wake. As you moved down towards his collarbone, you realized you had even left a smudge of red on the collar of his crisp white uniform shirt.

Bob’s breathing was growing heavier, more strained, and as you pressed your body closer to his, you could feel how hard he was for you. But it wasn’t until you began sucking softly on the pulse point just beneath his jaw that a tortured groan burst forth from his lips, his grip on your body tightening as he lifted you from the vanity stool and carried you over to the bed, carefully laying you down so that your head was resting against the pillows.

His glasses were slightly askew, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the tent in the front of his uniform pants standing at attention as he gazed down at you with open and unabashed adoration.

You found yourself squeezing your legs together in anticipation as you stared back, your breath catching in your throat when he climbed on top of you, his nose nudging yours as he pressed your foreheads together, looking deeply into your eyes.

“Those were the longest three months of my life,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from both arousal and emotion.

“I know,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek with gentle fingertips. It had been torture waking up to an empty bed every day these past few months. “But it’s over now. We’re together again. I’m right here.”

Bob nodded, tracing the outline of your face as if trying to convince himself that it was true. “You’re right here,” he repeated, dropping a soft, sweet kiss on your lips. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “And I need you so badly.”

Without further preamble, he began kissing his way down your body, paying particular attention to the spot you’d spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to mask earlier. It seemed you would just have to rock the hickey at this point—well, that or invest in a lot of turtlenecks.

You giggled softly as he kissed down your stomach, his light pecks tickling you even through your slip. But the laughter died in your throat the second he began pushing the chocolate-brown fabric up around your waist, his skilled fingers dipping inside the waistband of your stockings and ever so slowly dragging them down your legs.

Moaning softly, you tucked your chin and lowered your gaze to watch his every movement, noting the way he was careful with everything he did, making sure not to tear the fragile silk as he slid it off you, letting the light material flutter to the bedroom floor as he then focused his attention on the small scrap of material still hiding you from him, the brown silk that matched your slip.

He was careful, calculated in his every movement. He was taking his time with you. He was finally home, finally back where he belonged, and he wasn’t going to take a second of it for granted.

“Bobby,” you gasped softly, your back arching slightly as he began kissing his way up your leg, starting at your ankle. He repeated the same process on your other leg, tormenting you with his languorous movements. You could feel yourself growing soaked with need, burying your manicured fingers in his hair and tugging slightly to signify your impatience.

Bob chuckled lowly against your skin in response, the feel of it causing goosebumps to rise on your legs. His teeth scraped lightly along your inner thigh, and then he was soothing it with gentle kisses. His fingers began ghosting along the waistband of your silk underwear, the dark wet patch at your center only growing as you felt him so close to where you needed him.

“You’re so wet for me,” Bob breathed out, his breath warm against your core as his eyes widened behind his BCGs. You found it endearing, the way he said it. He always said it as if it was the most shocking discovery in the world. As if, even after all this time, he still couldn’t believe that he got you this aroused.

“Yes,” you nodded, reaching down to lightly touch his cheek. “You always get me like this. I need you, Bob.”

Your words lit a fire inside him and all at once he was pressing his face against your clothed core, breathing in your scent and allowing his tongue to gently tease you. You could feel him smiling against you when you let out a gasp of surprise, your hips bucking slightly at the feel of his mouth on you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing kisses to your hip as he firmly hooked his fingers inside the waistband of your panties and dragged them down your legs, tossing them so that they joined your abandoned stockings on the floor.

“Love you, love you,” you moaned as he pushed your legs open wider, settling himself comfortably on his stomach and getting to work.

Your husband’s tongue was a wondrous thing. The sweetest words dripped off it like honey, words that made you feel cherished and loved and known. It was a tongue that could take your breath away when he kissed you with it, those honeyed words still fresh in his mouth as he sought to communicate everything he couldn’t say with words alone. And it was a tongue that could make you fall apart and turn into a whimpering, writhing mess when he put it to use between your legs.

And right now, he was putting it to use.

“Bob! Oh, Bobby!” you cried out, drawing your knees up slightly as he licked a few firm stripes from your entrance up to that tiny bundle of nerves that he knew like the back of his hand. When you felt his hands come to rest on your hips, pressing them down into the mattress, you draped your hands over them, clinging to his fingers like an anchor.

He knew just what to do to get you going, just what to do to turn you on and make you feel like your body was singing. Half the time, you were convinced that he knew your body even better than you yourself did.

Right now, he was lazily tracing figure eights against you with his tongue, a warm-up for the intense pleasure that you knew was soon to follow. You continued to moan and whimper in pleasure, knowing that your husband loved it when he could hear how much you were enjoying yourself. Wanting to encourage him further, you removed one of your hands from his and pressed it against the back of his head, carding your fingers through his soft locks.

You were about to let out a noise of protest when he pulled back slightly, but it was quickly replaced with a sigh of gratification when he used the calloused pads of his fingers to spread you open, gathering your slick on his fingers and spreading it up and down. You could hear him sucking it into his mouth, a pleased hum rumbling from inside his chest, which only pushed you closer to the edge. This man was going to make you come and he had hardly even done anything yet.

“Taste so good, honey,” he mumbled against you, his midwestern drawl coming out thicker, which made you smile. That always happened when he was turned on.

Clearly he was starting to grow as impatient as you were because he dove back in, warm-ups forgotten, and wrapped his lips directly around your clit, sucking with all his might. When you cried out and arched up off the bed, he ran a soothing hand down your thigh, squeezing your flesh to keep you grounded. His glasses slid forward as he pressed his mouth more tightly to you, kissing and sucking and licking like his life depended on it.

You were completely incoherent at that point, reaching out to grip the bedsheets in white-knuckled fists as your husband brought you closer and closer to the brink of an orgasm. When he slipped two fingers inside you and began curling them gently, your mind went completely blank and you found yourself incapable of uttering any word other than his name.

It fell from your lips in an endless litany, your hips grinding against his mouth and your fingers digging sharply into his scalp. He didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, your actions seemed to spur him on further, his fingers increasing their pace as his lips and tongue continued their joint attack on your most sensitive parts.

From the way he was gasping and moaning against you, you knew that he was turned on, too. That was another thing you found so incredibly endearing and so unbelievably sexy about your husband—he loved going down on you. There had been times when he had gotten off from that alone. And he was unapologetic about it.

“Just love the way you taste, sweetheart,” he often told you, a sheepish smile on his face as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I love making you feel that good.”

Glancing downward, trying so hard to catch your breath, you realized that Bob was grinding his hips against the bed as he continued to devour you, and it nearly made you climax right then and there.

Between his ruined shirt and his soon to be ruined pants, you were going to have to get his dress blues to the dry cleaner ASAP.

“B-Bobby, baby, I’m close,” you keened, your eyes squeezing shut as the sensations of pleasure washed over you and coursed through your veins. “So close.”

Bob didn’t reply, just doubled down on his efforts, slipping a third finger inside you and circling your core with his tongue, not relenting until he felt your thighs begin to shake in that telltale way he recognized so well.

The white hot coil that had been tightening deep inside you was nearly at its breaking point, your cries of pleasure turning into breathy pants as you felt yourself teetering right on the edge, hardly able to breathe as your legs tensed up, trapping your husband between your thighs, just like he’d wanted. Both of your hands found purchase in his hair, your legs draped over his shoulders and your body bucking upward off the bed.

With a loud sob of his name, your orgasm exploded around you, stars dancing in your vision and your entire body trembling as the aftershocks coursed through you.

Bob held onto you tightly through it all, gently removing his mouth and his fingers as you became too sensitive, whimpering softly.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered soothingly, collapsing beside you and taking you into his arms. “I’m right here,” he cooed, pressing gentle, tender kisses to your cheek, his fogged-up glasses bumping against your temple.

“Oh, Bobby,” you sighed happily, curling up against his chest and letting him hold you.

The two of you laid there like that for several minutes, lost in the haze of the afterglow. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

Then suddenly Bob was shifting slightly, moving to get out of bed, which had you clinging to him.

“Don’t get up,” you begged, kissing along his jawline. “Let’s just stay in bed.”

Bob chuckled quietly, adjusting his glasses. “What about the Navy Ball that you were so adamant about getting to?”

“I changed my mind,” you grinned, running your fingers over the buttons on his shirt. “Besides,” you added with a wink, “you ruined my hair.”

He laughed loudly at that, pulling you towards him and dropping a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be right back.” he promised you, giving you a few more quick pecks before climbing out of bed.

Sighing softly, you rolled onto your back and twirled a lock of hair that had come loose around your finger. You weren’t sure where your husband was going, but you realized he must have left his phone in another room when you suddenly heard his voice coming from the direction of the living room.

“Hey, Phoenix,” you heard him saying. Even from the bedroom, you could hear the blush in his voice, could imagine him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. It made you smile. “Change of plans. We’re not going to be able to make it tonight.”

There was silence for a moment, and you could imagine his frontseater teasingly giving him hell for ditching when the rest of the squad was being forced to attend after just getting back home. You laughed softly.

“Yeah, tell everyone I’m sorry,” he replied, his voice getting closer. You sat up slightly when you heard Bob tell Phoenix that he thought you were coming down with something.

It was quiet again as Phoenix must have been saying something, and then Bob was back in the room, standing beside the bed and grinning down at you. “Yeah, I think she’s got a fever or something. She’s just burning up,” he said, winking at you.

Giggling softly, you picked up a pillow and whacked him in the leg with it.

“I’ll tell her. Thanks, Phoenix. Have fun tonight,” Bob told her before hanging up with a chuckle. “Phoenix says she hopes you feel better.”

“Robert Floyd!” you laughed, whacking him again. This time, however, he caught the pillow in both hands and used it to pull you closer to him.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I needed to find a quick excuse,” he grinned, kissing you softly. Pulling back, he took the pillow from you and dropped it onto the bed, crawling back in beside you. “Besides, I really do think you’re burning up,” he teased, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“Oh, yeah, I do think I’m coming down with something for sure. I feel hot all over,” you smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I guess you’ll just have to stay in bed all night,” Bob mused, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “As your husband, I think it’s only right that I stay, too, to take care of you.”

“Mmm, yes, I think that sounds like a very wise plan indeed,” you nodded sagely. “But, you know, you might as well get comfortable and take off all these clothes,” you went on, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Excellent point, sweetheart,” he replied, the two of you finally dissolving into a fit of laughter as you helped him strip out of his uniform and throw it to the floor, joining the pile with your previously discarded clothing.

The two of you spent all of that evening, and most of the following morning, in bed. It was just what the doctor ordered.

And when Phoenix texted you the following afternoon to see how you were doing, you were pleased to tell her that you were feeling much better.

#international bob floyd fucks month #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman

[attapullman]

So Hold Me Close and Say Three Words | bungalow!Robert "Bob" Floyd

PART OF THE BIG WINDOWS, SMALL KITCHEN UNIVERSE

Summary: There's only one thing that can get your boyfriend's mind off the horrible popcorn ceiling.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ as always, cockwarming, pet name Honey, title is from McFly's "All About You"

A Note From Mo: Welcome to bungalow!Bob! A dash of acts of service, a sprinkle of a condescension kink, and a whole lot of extremely loving boyfriend. Live-in boyfriend Bob is my biggest indulgence so no one look at me, I'm fragile.

He’s been planted in the big easy chair all morning, staring up at the last project on his list before the kitchen, and sighing. Dragging long fingers through wild hair as his eyes take in the wide expanse of the living room. 

His arch nemesis: the popcorn ceiling.

The little dipples and spikes of joint compound taunt him daily. A major contrast to the rest of the bungalow, all smooth ceilings with stunning walnut beams - one major selling point of the property. And while the previous owner did a great job with the addition bringing in natural light with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the backyard, he was off his rocker for choosing popcorn ceilings. 

Bob hasn’t hate anyone more than the previous owner. Well, maybe the neighbor across the street who stops by a little too much.

Before he moved in, Bob barely noticed any features of the sweet green bungalow you owned. The majority of his time here was spent in the bedroom between your thighs. But the switch flipped that first weekend after he moved his shoebox apartment in. Lounging on the sectional, girl on his chest, book in hand, and one look up at the world’s ugliest ceiling. 

He had to fix it. You deserve your dream house and it was his mission to give it to you. 

The line between his brows is adorable as he mutters something rude at the drywall.

“Bobby, babe, it’s just a ceiling.”

Those wide cornflower blue eyes blink at you, as if noticing for the first time you’re also sitting in the sun-drenched living room enjoying your coffee.

“It’s an ugly ceiling.”

You can’t help but giggle at the disgust in his tone. “It’s not that bad, I don’t notice.”

Your sweet boyfriend just rolls his eyes and leans back, side-eyeing the offending design choice. 

Peering over the edge of your mug, you admire the way the mid-morning sunlight streams through his hair, highlighting it copper. His sweats hang low on his hips, underwear forgotten, black shirt slightly too small with how much he’s filled out with all the manual labor fixing up the house. 

While not the main reason you asked him to move in, pajama Robert Floyd is a high perk of the situation.

The scowl on his face isn’t quite as endearing. Your heart hurts knowing how frustrated he is by the ceiling. He loves you. He loves this house. It’s too much pressure on him wanting to make it perfect.

Ever since he permanently parked his truck in the driveway, Bobby’s been nothing but generous. He sees the charm and coziness of the bungalow, but also the repairs and fixes you’re too busy for. His entire leave was spent weeding the backyard, and your skin still heats remembering his muscles bulging after carrying the pile of boxes from the garage to the attic. 

While you won’t satiate your boyfriend by allowing him to drop cloth the living room and scrape every dimple of drywall off the ceiling today, you do have a better idea for getting Bob’s mind off his dreaded enemy.

His eyes widen as you stand up, admiring the way your body stretches in your cozy waffle knit robe before heading through to the kitchen. Listens to you fiddle with dishes before passing him again to the bedroom. Too far away to hear, he sinks back into the leather armchair, allowing his body to meld to the material while frustration sits low in his gut. 

The birds at the feeder chirp away before you return. Toes against hardwood catch his attention, and Bob’s head turns toward the hallway, mouth dropping open. 

You’re walking toward him in just his threadbare Naval academy shirt. The shirt you put on the first time you stayed the night. The shirt you were wearing when he last came home from deployment and you shyly asked him to move in. His favorite shirt.

“H-honey…” It’s an unfinished sentence as he takes in how the sunlight illuminates you from behind, baring the silhouette of your figure inside his shirt. 

A smile dances on your lips as you come closer, dropping something on the end table with a soft tink. A noise lost as you straddle Bobby’s thighs, his fingers racing to touch as much of you as quickly as possible. Groaning when he realizes that the shirt is all you have on, the soft flesh of your ass swallowed by his big hands. 

Your fingers smooth their way up his torso, gliding over the dark fabric until the long expanse of his neck pulses beneath your ministrations. Eventually curling into his hair, combing it back into place as he gazes at you earnestly. Within moments the two of you so deeply tangled it would take twice as long to separate.

Eyes filled with nothing but love, your lips quirk sweetly before pressing a kiss to his. Allowing it to linger before pulling away to explain. “I appreciate how much work you’re putting into the house, but I don’t want you to stress. Can I help you relax?”

In place of a response, he groans and pulls you tighter to him, relishing the feel of your skin. 

“Is that a yes?” Your laugh fades as he captures your mouth in a soft kiss. The sunlight highlighting him as you gaze lovingly into his oceanic eyes. The same color as the La Jolla print you bought last summer that he just hung up.

Bob is more than happy to spend the rest of the morning making out. Enjoying the soft warmth of you beneath his hands and the taste of your tongue. The morning sun setting the mood while the birds on the porch sing the soundtrack. It was perfect for him.

Well…perfect until you ran your thumb down the outline of his cock and breathed the most sinful words against his jaw.

“Actually, I was thinking I could keep your cock warm?”

His moan is more of a whine as he immediately swallows your tongue, so grateful for this Saturday morning surprise. Raises his hips as you drag his sweats down, releasing his slowly hardening cock into the space between you, already wet at the tip.

“Honey - ah, that feels s’good,” he interrupts himself as your hand wraps around him,”-but we should prep you. Don’t want to hurt you, honey bear.”

Your face splits into a gentle grin, so enamored by the way he takes care of you even when he’s hotly thrusting his hips into your fist. A grin that pops in surprise when his fingers trace along your folds, appreciating the arousal dripping over your thighs. 

It’s so hot that you only wear his shirt without panties.

His rough thumb slips along your clit, working its way in soft circles. It’s a treat the way your nipples harden against his shirt, level with his eyes as your mouth falls open with sounds only for him. He can’t wait to watch you fall apart stretched out on his cock.

A hand on his wrist makes him pause, your half-lidded eyes finding his. You give him a sly smile as you lean forward to the end table. “Don’t need to, you got me nice and open last night, remember?”

As visions of pounding you face down in the bed only hours before run before his eyes, his mouth opens to protest. He’s fully aware of how big he is and how tight you are.

You press your finger to his lips as you raise what you’d grabbed in the bedroom. “A little of this and we’re good, promise.”

The lube bottle slips between your fingers, applying the slick substance along his shaft as you press soothing pecks along his temple.

“Can’t wait to be full of you, Bobby.” His fingers dig into your skin. Your dirty mouth will be the end of him. Especially with how your eyes burn into his while you raise up on your knees, lining up his obscenely shiny cock with your dripping slit.

“You sure you can take all of me, Honey?”

His gaze meets yours with that steely hint of condescension right as his tip breeches your folds, your pathetic nod spurring the beginning of your descent. 

The popcorn ceiling is the last thing on his mind as your velvet insides take him in. The snug fit of you mixed with the heady scent of your sweat has him dizzy, wrapping his strong arms around you to maintain control. It’s hard to think straight when you take every inch of him so beautifully, the lube assisting your efforts.

“Almost there, so close,” Bob breathes against your lips, the hair of his pelvis beginning to brush against your clit. You’re at capacity and there’s still more. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, every time you think you’ve taken all of him, there’s always more.

Breath caught in your chest, his lips swallow your moan as you finally take him to the hilt, hips pressed fully together in their loving embrace. You’re so full, too full, deliciously full. His warm hand along your back soothes you, massaging while gritting himself against how good it feels.

You laugh through the consuming fullness. “This is supposed to be relaxing you, sorry.”

“Hon, never apologize for making me feel this good. This is exactly what I needed.”

Despite the tense way he’s holding his jaw, he looks content. Soft sapphire eyes shining with admiration, sandy hair swept off his forehead, a soft bead of perspiration trailing down his neck as he fights off the need to thrust. You cradle his jaw between your fingers, loving the way he keens beneath your touch. He’s out of a fairytale.

“I love you.”

“Love you more.”

Time stands still - the melody of the birds fading into the sun-drenched morning - as you bask in the feel of each other. Connected as one in the soft leather of his favorite chair. Soothing fingers trail up your back beneath his shirt, skimming the edges of your breasts, as your own trace the defined planes of his features. 

“I just want your house to be perfect. You deserve perfect things.” He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, placing a delicate kiss as he feels your satin walls contract around him.

You whisper against his hair. “It’s our house.”

Actions replace words as his hands travel up your shirt, crossing over your back as he holds you to him, dragging his lips over each spot of skin available. Skin warmed by sun is covered in adoration.

You shift, the pulsing of his shaft dizzying, as the acts of his love pepper your cheeks, your jaw, your sensitive neck. You love him more than words could ever express.

Love you. Love you so, so much.

When your foreheads finally rest against each other, antsy with arousal and admiration, Bob finally can’t help himself. A soft thrust up into your dripping center, the most delicious treat. The desperate whimper you release against his cheek only spurs him on, shifting his hips back once more only to sink fully into the home of your body.

“I think I’m done with cockwarming,” you admit with a breathless smirk as his hips buck into yours once again.

Your horny boyfriend has never heard more beautiful words. 

Strong hands grip your thighs as he pushes himself up to stand, your legs clenching around his lithe waist as your sense of gravity disappears. The shock instantly replaced by the growing hunger consuming you as he walks to the bedroom, still buried deep in you.

“Ugh, stop showing off. You know I think it’s so hot you can carry me mid-sex.”

Bob pauses in the hallway, leaning back to hold your gaze. “Maybe that’s why I keep doing it.”That cobalt steel back in place. “Now be a good girl and let me take you to bed.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @midnightmagpiemama @nerdgirljen @nouis-bum @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld @primroseluna @hauntedduckdefendor @unpretty-reader @erospecies @pinkdaisies9285 @spinning-away @livingoutsidethetardis

join the taglist for any fic

#bungalow!bob #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd smut #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd fan fiction #bob floyd fan fiction #top gun: maverick fan fiction #top gun: maverick smut

[dizzybee03]

Swinging on a Saturday night

Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x OC Ryan Reagan story

It was hard to believe that a little over a week ago Beau and Ryan had been meeting for a drink at The Brass Bullet as "just friends" and tonight they had gone on a dinner date. Beau’s jaguar pulled into Ryan’s driveway and he got out to open the door for her.

“That may have been the best fettuccini Alfredo I’ve ever had! And that tiramisu was to die for! I’m gonna have to run 10 miles tomorrow to make up for eating it but, it was totally worth it” Ryan said. “It was pretty great wasn’t it. They make the pasta fresh daily. Solomon brought me there for lunch a few months ago and I can’t get enough of the place now ” Beau replied shutting the car door as Ryan got out.

“It’s still pretty early, want to come in for a drink" Ryan asked? “We can sit out back on my porch swing for a bit, unless you need to get home?"  “There’s no place else I’d rather be right now” Beau replied looking into Ryan’s eyes.  Ryan grabbed his hand and led him up the front path, stopping to unlock her front door.

“I’ve got some Sam Adams Octoberfest  or wine- I didn’t think to grab any whiskey when I was at the store this morning” Ryan told him as she walked back towards her kitchen kicking her high heels off as she went. Ryan’s home was a modest bungalow and while it wasn’t messy, it definitely looked lived in.There was a basket of laundry abandoned in the hallway, a lone running shoe just inside the kitchen doorway and a weeks worth of mail strewn on the kitchen counter.  “A Sam Adams would be fine” Beau said, glancing around while he rolled the sleeves of his button up shirt. Grabbing 2 beers from the fridge and the bottle opener out of a drawer Ryan led the way out the sliding door off the kitchen-. It opened up to a large porch that faced a spacious fenced in backyard.

“Have a seat” Ryan said motioning to a porch swing adorned with a padded cushion and comfy looking pillows…”I almost forgot the best part” Ryan told Beau, turning to plug in a cord. The back porch was instantly illuminated by several stands of white lights.  Beau patted the spot next to him as Ryan smiled and sat down. Beau casually draped his arm across the back of the swing, his fingers trailing softly over Ryan’s arm. She leaned into him as he tips her chin up- and brushes his lips over hers. Ryan deepens the kiss, her tongue l dancing along his bottom lip seeking entrance into his mouth. Beau’s hands are in her hair and Ryan lets out a quiet moan. She feels so good pressed against him but they have to break apart to catch their breath.

“I was thinking” Beau started, “maybe we should take things slow." 

“What do you mean?” 

“Look, maybe I’m old fashioned but I’m scared shitless that I’ll  ruin the best friendship I’ve got because we rushed into having sex. My biggest fear in life is that I end up alone because I had something great and let it slip through my fingers.”

Ryan took a drink before turning to Beau and saying “I get it, sex complicates things and we need to figure out what these feelings we have really are before going to the next level. And you are old fashioned but it’s one of the things I like about you.”

“What else do you like about me?” He asked, grinning .

“Well, let’s see- for starters I love that you’re  loyal. You didn’t have to start meeting me on Joe’s birthday every year but you did. You’re career oriented and even though you may pretend not to, you care about the people who work under you. I love your dry sense of humor. You're so sarcastic that sometimes you say something and don’t even realize how funny it really is. Hell, I even like the fact that you iron your jeans”

“I do NOT iron my jeans!”

Ryan laughed and threw her hands up saying “ok, ok- I mean it does look like you iron your jeans and you don’t get military style creases like that without ironing your jeans, but whatever you say” she said pointing to the front of Beau's dark washed pants.

He laughed, turning in the swing to face Ryan and said “ok, it’s my turn. I like how dependable you are. I know for a fact that it doesn’t matter who asks you for help, you're always willing to go the extra mile for them. I like the way you’re comfortable in your own skin. You can be just as comfortable makeup free  in jeans and t- shirts as you are wearing a ball gown with your hair up and high heels on. But what I think I like the most is that once you commit, you go all in. You don’t do anything half assed.”

“I just don’t want to disappoint you. What if you decide that you suddenly can’t stand the way I’m constantly running behind. Or what if you find out I’m really not good enough for you” Ryan whispered.

“That’s why we’re taking things slow….but you don’t need to worry about not being good enough for me. I think we balance each other out. I need someone to tell me it’s ok to occasionally wear the pair of jeans that have been laying onthe floor- that they don’t always need to be ironed”. He said with a smile.

“I KNEW IT!!!!!”

“But seriously I know I can be stuffy at times, it comes with being an admiral. I need you to tell me it’s ok to let loose now and then.”

“To taking it slow” Ryan said lifting her half empty beer bottle  towards Beau. “To taking to slow” he said, clinking his bottle to Ryan’s.

“I had fun tonight” she said “Yeah, me too. I’m hoping you’ll let me take you out again. There is a new little bistro I’ve been wanting to try.” Beau told her. “I’d love to! The next few days are pretty crazy for me though. I start training a new recruit at work Monday and will be working 6 nights in a row. I’ve heard this kid is pretty green, only he doesn’t realize it.  I’m honestly not looking forward to it. I’ve been thinking maybe I shouldn’t have turned down that opening for Sgt. Last year.  Then I wouldn’t have to train cocky new boots anymore.” Beau took a sip of his beer before replying “ You’re a great cop and you’ve got so much knowledge to pass on.   It must feel good knowing you’re teaching them how to be a good police officer.” Ryan just shrugged in response.

The two sat in comfortable silence, with Beau’s arm draped across Ryan’s back, swinging on the porch swing for what felt like an eternity.

“Gosh it’s after midnight, I really should head home”.  Beau stated looking at his watch but making no movements to get up.

“Yeah” Ryan replied contentedly as she continued to swing next to Beau. “Or you could always just sit next to me and swing for a little longer.”

And that’s what he did.

************************************************

I’m brand new to writing and wanted to thank everyone for reading! I’ve enjoyed writing for Beau and Ryan and plan to continue writing for them!!

-Thank you Donna for all your help 😘

#beau cyclone simpson #beau simpson x reader #beau simpson #Beau cyclone Simpson x you #top gun maverick

[pigeonphobic]

This recent post I made got me thinking about that fateful summer I spent in the English suburbs as a small Spanish boy.

I remembered another story, this one as horrifying as the previous one was weird.

I mentioned I was staying with a foster family. They were a middle-aged-pushing-elderly couple that lived in a bungalow as part of a little neighborhood. No Wi-Fi.

I forget the husband's name, but the wife, Martha, was really going through it when I showed up at their doorstep to stay for the next three weeks: her mother had been recently hospitalized, and it wasn't looking good.

A lot of mornings they were gone before I woke up. They'd leave a wrapped breakfast with a note saying they were at the hospital, and they'd be back late.

Then one day I got back from daily classes, and they were home. Much earlier than usual.

And then started the worst interaction I've had in my life to date.

I need you to understand two things before we dive into this; firstly, that I very barely could get by in English at that point. My process looked something like this:

Build a sentence in Spanish → Check if I know the English words for it → Tweak it until I do → Translate → Say it.

Secondly, that I thought her mom was dead.

So I walked in the door, saw them, and went:

"Oh. Did she die yet?"

Immediately I realize I've said it wrong. We don't have an equivalent of "passed away" as a more polite way to phrase "to die" in Spanish, and my system of translation was optimized for speed, not accuracy. They're looking at me. They're horrified. I want to tell them:

I am sorry for saying that.

I meant to ask if she passed away.

It was a translation problem because in Spanish we don't have the same expression you do .

So I plug that into my little translation system, and what I said to these heartbroken british people that were clothing and feeding me will forever burn in a corner of my mind:

"Sorry. 'Passed away.' I forget how you people are."

.

#i just walked into my room thinking I had fixed it lmao #thankfully she was not dead #tw death mention #story #storytime #funny #bilingual

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Jurassic Park Daily - ‘The Main Road’ to ‘Bungalow’, Fourth Iteration

The tyrannosaur attack is another of the scenes that the movie does brilliantly, and fantastically evokes the text of the book (with the substitution of Gennaro for Regis, to keep the number of characters more manageable).

Good reminder here that ‘electric car’ in the 1990s did not mean what it does in the 2020s; the electric cars in the park are more like the electric buses in some cities that are powered by overhead wires, except these ones are. powered by an underground grid instead. So when the power goes out, like now (thanks Nedry), the cars go out.

I cannot comprehend how Arnold can think that the cars being stopped outside the tyrannosaur paddock, when the electric fences are off, is not a serious problem!

And now Nedry’s dead, so they can’t get him to undo what he did to the system. First named character death!

And Hammond is conpletely, utterly in denial that anything is wrong. This is where it becomes really, really clear the difference in his characterization between the book and the movie. In the movie, a scene with ice cream (where he talks with Dr. Sattler) is elegaic; they both know the park has failed, and he’s mourning the loss of a dream of inspiring wonder with something realand spectacular. Here, the ice cream is a signal of how UTTERLY disconnected he is, insisting in indulgence like nothing is wrong while his own grandchildren are in deadly danger. And then, to drive the point of his callousness home, the speech on why it’s so much more profitable to invest in recreation than medicine.

Oh, and he’s got a young woman as servant who may (if she speaks only French and/or Kreyol) be unable to communicate with anyone else on the island, which is, uh. Creepy vibes.

You know, it’s kind of weird that it took that long for Arnold or Muldoon to connect the dots from ‘Nedry is missing’ and ‘the car is missing’ to ‘Nedry took the car’.

And where are the compys off to?

#jurassic park #jurassic park daily #john hammond

[flowertrigger]

Tag ten people you want to get to know better

Thank you for the tag @apothecarose 💜 @demora00 @mallpretzles 🪻

Relationship Status: Single not mingling.

Song stuck in my head: Sorry I'm boring and have literally nothing in my head right now cause I just listened to two The Daily episodes.

Last song I listened to: Swan Upon Leda - Hozier

Three favorite foods: All forms of potato, pizza, cheese.

Last thing I Googled: "one stick of butter in grams" America why?

Dream trip: At the moment, a tropical beach holiday with the bungalows on the water and soft sand and cocktails, because it's so cold here and I hate it.

Anything I want right now: I want a lot of things 😂. Winning Powerball? Having the ability to finish just one of my wips? To wake up everyday and feel refreshed and well rested?

I'll no pressure tag @ramonaflow @smblmn @carolrain @chelle-68 @stargazer56 @jamilas-pen @beaiola @a-noble-dragon 🐞

#tag game

[cinefairy]

Do you still plan on movin to nyc

UMMM IDEKKK ATP like im indecisive nyc, london, toronto or a little bungalow in the middle of nowhere surrounded by talking rabbits and deers who give me my daily nuts and berries in a nicely wrapped basket. who knows

#ask

[charlotte-of-wales]

The Sussexes are frazzled, fraught and lacking romance – like any couple with young kids

Five years after their wedding, the omens are bad as Harry and Meghan seem to be heading in different directions.

It is hard to believe that five years ago today, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle rode through the streets of Windsor in an Ascot Landau carriage, cheered by adoring crowds on their wedding. At the time, household staff weren’t entirely confident the relationship would go the distance – “no one could see it lasting longer than three years”, according to one insider. Yet as the couple celebrate their “wood” anniversary, Harry and Meghan have proved their doubters wrong.

While their relationships with their own families might not be what they once were, the marriage appears to be going strong, despite the couple’s outwardly diverging priorities.

The Duchess once described them as moving together “like salt and pepper” but they seem to be heading in opposite directions – Meghan looking forward while Harry dwells on the past. The extraordinary events of this week – with the couple claiming they had been “involved in a near catastrophic car chase at the hands of a ring of highly aggressive paparazzi” in New York – seem to expose a chasm between her desire for fame, and Harry’s quest for privacy.

The couple say that after the event, they were subjected to a two-hour “relentless pursuit” by a “gang” of at least six paparazzi. New York City authorities have stated that although photographers made their journey “challenging”, “there were no reported collisions, summonses, injuries, or arrests”.

In pictures of the couple leaving the event, Harry’s discomfort was etched on his face as he used his phone to film the action from the back seat.

However, questions have been raised over how such a campaign sits with the Duchess’s plans to build her “global enterprise”. Meghan signed with leading global talent agency WME in April, amid talk of more “content creation”, a Dior clothing deal and the revamp of her defunct lifestyle blog The Tig.

Given this potential conflict, it is little wonder, then, that the couple have cut quite separate figures lately – with Harry travelling alone to the Coronation on May 6, leaving Meghan in Montecito with their two children, Archie, who turned four that day, and Lilibet who turns two next month.

The last time the Sussexes were photographed together in public was at a basketball game in Los Angeles last month, when they missed the opportunity to smooch on the “kiss cam” that pans in on couples in the stands. Some took the normally tactile couple’s reluctance as a sign all may not be well between them after Meghan’s absence from Harry’s promotional book tour fuelled split rumours.

Such is their independence from each other that the owner of a leading hotel chain in Montecito recently told The Daily Telegraph they have a room set aside for Harry where he occasionally stays on his own.

The Duke has also been known to stay at the uber-exclusive San Vincente Bungalows when visiting LA, which is a two-hour drive from the couple’s £11 million mansion.

“That seems to be his escape place,” said a source of the super secretive and selective members’ club in West Hollywood, which – unlike the Soho House chain also frequented by the Sussexes – bans journalists from joining. A refuge from the rigours of parenting two children under four, Harry has apparently stayed there after attending Barry’s Bootcamp, a high-octane cardio fitness class, at the nearby Beverly Center. One friend described the couple as “like any parents of such young kids: frazzled.”

They added: “They are really happy together and live this idyllic life in Montecito, which is essentially a giant gated community of multimillionaires.

“But at the end of the day, they’ve been through a lot and I think they’ve both felt quite ground down by it all.

“They’re like any married couple, five years in.”

As a Californian, born and bred, Meghan appears more settled than Harry who, by his own admission, still feels torn by his British ties. As he wrote in his book: “I love my mother country and I love my family and I always will.” Although he has repeatedly spoken of embracing the Santa Barbara lifestyle, it is no secret that the Duke – cut off from his family and many of his friends – is heavily reliant on his wife’s social circle.

When they first started dating, Harry was Meghan’s protector, guiding her through a royal life that was alien to her, but now the roles have been reversed and it is the Duke who appears to be struggling to find his way.

That may explain why he is still partially on British time – apparently staying up late into the night, gaming.

Yet with many of his old set still feeling aggrieved at having essentially been “ghosted” after he married Meghan, patience appears to be wearing thin even among his most stalwart supporters.

As one insider explained: “Nobody really speaks to him any more and even the people who have remained by his side have lately begun to fall away because he is so consistently negative. He’s often complaining and rarely asks after others. People had stuck with him because they blamed Meghan for isolating him and cutting him off from his friends and family. But he hasn’t done anything to help himself. Now they just see him as completely lost.”

Harry himself referred to the fact that William regards him as “deluded” – but that sentiment also seems to be shared by those in what he once referred to as his “circle of trust”. The word “narcissistic” also creeps into a lot of conversations about the couple.

According to one former military colleague: “No one in the forces has got any time for him at all, which is such a shame because he was hugely popular. You can blame Meghan, but he’s brought a lot of it on himself.”

While fully supportive of Spare, the media-savvy Duchess let it be known she raised gentle concerns about whether it was the right move. As a source said at the time: “Is this the way she would have approached things? Possibly not. But she will always back him and would never have got involved in promoting such a personal project. This was about his own life, his own journey and his own perspective.”

But with speculation about plans for her own memoir, the Duchess will want to avoid any more negative publicity diminishing the Archewell brand after the couple’s approval ratings have fallen to near Duke of York levels.

If her relaunch doesn’t go to plan, however, a blame game is likely to follow – and as someone who once worked for the couple noted: “When you’re that angry with the world, it leaves little time for romance.”

#tea #susx #articles

[neogandw]

Bi-Daily Doodle 2: Donkey Kong

Little by little the quality doth increase, and with this one I was pushing it a bit farther than Mario's.

Old people are cool too.

Also, music:

As stated previously, I want to highlight music from lesser known areas of each of the series, and one of those lesser known areas for DK is the portable content. In this case: Banana Bungalow.

A shame I couldn't get far on King of Swing, mostly because I think emulation didn't work correctly and one of the gimmicks didn't work as expected. But still, I love this little tune.

Much is said about the love for the tunes of the Country series, and yet not much is brought up about its gameboy equivalent. Oil Drum Slum is one of the unique songs made for Land 1 and it has one hell of a beat.

I believe it plays roughly in the new world for the game, big ape city? I forget, You'd be surprised at how different Land 1 is from Country 1.

In fact, Country 3 GBA has an entirely different soundtrack from Country 3 SNES, go check it out!

Cosmic Highway sounds like rave music to me, and honestly my friends can never pinpoint it as Donkey Kong music until the Title Theme for Donkey Kong Arcade/Donkey Kong Country comes up.

Simians in space, ain't that something.

#Bi-daily doodle #Donkey Kong #Nintendo #Cranky Kong #Music #King K Rool #Youtube

[aristobun]

"   I   know   we   haven't   seen   each   other   in   over   a   decade,   but   you   can   tell   me   anything,   you   know   that   right?   I'm   still   the   same   friend   from   years   ago,   "   Darcy   says.

Helene   gives   him   a   little   smile   in   appreciation   before   dropping   her   gaze   for   just   a   moment,   so   she   can   prepare   herself   to   tell   him   exactly   what   has   been   going   on.   It's   been   almost   four   years   now   since   she   ended   things   with   Joel,   but   the   memory   of   their   time   together   was   pretty   fresh   in   her   mind   on   the   daily.

"   It's   not   just   a   five   minute   conversation,   Darcy,   this   is   gonna   take   all   afternoon,   "   she   chuckles,   though   the   pain   is   hiding   behind   her   eyes.

As   soon   as   he   catches   sight   of   a   glimpse   of   sorrow   within   her   expression,   he   moves   over   to   the   counter   and   flips   the   kettle   on   to   boil   it   and   make   them   both   a   nice,   warm   drink.   He   usually   goes   with   tea   because   most   people   don't   mind   it   and   in   fact   end   up   preferring   it   if   they   aren't   in   the   best   of   spirits,   so   that   is   what   he   places   into   the   mugs.

"   Do   you   take   sugar?   "   he   asks,   laughing   the   moment   she   scowls   at   the   thought   of   it.   "   I'm   guessing   that's   a   no   then.   I   have   mine   with   two   sugars   still,   just   like   when   we   were   kids.   "

"   I   haven't   had   sugar   in   my   tea   since   I   was   about   14.   I   don't   know   what   happened,   but   one   day   I   just   tried   it   without   sugar   and   now   I   can't   stand   the   taste   of   it   if   it's   in   there,   "   she   thinks   back   on   that   time   for   a   minute   as   the   memories   flood   on   in.

"   Yea..   no,   don't   think   I   could   do   that.   If   there's   nothing   sweet   in   there,   I   don't   want   it,   "   he   says,   pouring   the   water   into   the   mugs   so   the   tea   can   brew   for   a   little   while.

Helene   lets   out   a   soft   little   puff   of   air   as   she   sits   herself   at   the   kitchen   table,   glancing   outside   and   feeling   the   rays   of   sunshine   burst   through   the   windows.   The   flowers   in   his   garden   seem   to   be   gently   swaying   in   a   light   breeze   and   suddenly,   she   smiles.   The   fact   that   he   has   such   a   well   groomed   and   protected   flower   garden   makes   her   happy.

"   How   long   have   you   been   keeping   this   garden   so   perfect?   "   she   asks,   accepting   the   mug   of   tea   and   offered   digestive   biscuit   with   a   warm   smile.

"   Only   since   I   got   back   here,   but   I've   never   missed   a   day   of   tending   to   them.   I'd   imagine   my   Gran   would   kill   me   if   I   allowed   a   day   to   go   by,   "   he   laughs,   sipping   his   tea.

Darcy   had   been   living   in   Chester   for   the   last   12   years,   but   thoughts   of   home   had   brought   him   back   just   under   two   years   ago   and   he   was   now   living   in   his   Grandmothers   bungalow   about   a   20   minute   drive   from   where   they   had   all   grown   up   as   kids.   They   just   happened   to   pass   by   one   another   while   they   were   both   out   shopping   in   Hoylake   today.

"   I   remember   your   Gran   so   well..   she   used   to   send   me   back   home   at   the   end   of   the   day   with   a   little   bottle   of   apple   juice   and   a   freshly   baked   scone,   "   she   says,   smiling.

Helene   reached   her   hand   across   the   table   and   grasped   his   own,   squeezing   it   gently   to   let   him   know   that   she   understands   such   a   loss,   because   her   own   Grandmother   had   passed   a   few   years   prior   as   well.   The   memory   of   their   childhood   came   racing   back   in   that   moment   and   she   sighed,   but   it   was   a   much   happier   sounding   sigh   than   the   one   before.

"   I   haven't   forgotten,   you   know..   don't   think   you   can   get   away   with   telling   me   all   the   details   by   starting   a   different   topic   of   conversation,   "   Darcy   grins,   sipping   his   tea.

"   Fine,   but   I   promise   you..   you're   not   gonna   be   happy   about   it,   "   she   says,   eyes   lifting   to   meet   his   own   after   he   takes   a   bite   of   the   digestive   biscuit   after   dunking   it   in   the   tea.

"   I'm   willing   to   take   that   risk,   Starling,   "   his   grin   is   still   plastered   on   his   face,   because   he   thinks   this   is   just   going   to   be   some   mild   situation,   not   at   all   prepared   for   the   worst.

Darcy   bristled   almost   immediately   upon   hearing   the   name   Joel,   paired   with   the   word   abuse,   which   Helene   did   notice   but   elected   to   ignore   as   she   further   explained   everything   that   had   happened   over   the   course   of   their   three   year   relationship.   

It   seemed   that   the   male   sitting   across   from   her   was   gripping   his   mug   a   little   too   tightly   between   both   hands,   which   she   did   offer   some   relief   from   in   the   form   of   a   sad,   understanding   smile.

Her   friend   was   absolutely   shaken   by   the   news   she   had   filled   him   in   on,   especially   now   that   he   knew   this   about   the   person   he   used   to   be   friends   with..   and   was   again,   for   the   past   year   and   a   half,   buddies   with   again.   

The   thought   alone   of   Joel   having   handled   Helene   in   such   a   way   made   his   blood   boil   and   he   would   be   lying   if   he   said   he   didn't   feel   like   putting   the   guys   head   through   a   wall   for   the   damage   he   had   caused.

"   Guess   I'll   be   paying   old   pal   Joel   a   visit   this   afternoon,   ay?   "   he   says,   downing   the   rest   of   his   cuppa   and   finishing   up   the   other   half   of   the   biscuit   before   making   a   grab   for   his   coat.

"   Darcy,   please   don't   do   that.   I   kept   it   from   family   and   friends   for   so   long   because   I   knew   that   everyone   would   have   the   same   reaction,   "   she   begged   him,   setting   her   tea   aside   and   tugging   on   the   back   of   his   coat   as   he   made   his   way   out   into   the   hallway.   "   Darcy,   please.   "

It   makes   him   pause   for   a   brief   moment,   weighing   the   options   in   front   of   him,   but   he   still   has   it   in   his   mind   to   at   the   very   least,   knock   the   son   of   a   bitch   onto   his   ass.   

The   anger   that   was   currently   racing   through   his   veins   made   it   very   difficult   to   even   conceive   of   any   other   option   at   this   point   and   he   turns   to   look   at   her,   shooting   a   sad   smile   her   way   but   letting   her   know   at   the   same   time   that   he   cannot   just   sit   idly   by   and   do   nothing.

And   then   off   he   went,   right   out   the   door.   This   wasn't   even   Helene's   house,   but   she   made   sure   to   stay   put   until   he   returned   from   his   rampage,   because   no   doubt,   he   was   going   to   need   someone   there   when   he   got   back   from   dealing   with   whatever   Joel   could   offer.

#save #helene marie starling #darcy howard palmer #my writing #my drabbles #helene's childhood friend

[msmischief101]

♞Pairing: Steo ♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken ♞Tags: alternative universe, witness protection program, mentions of abuse, marshal Theo, roommates (kind of) ♞Words: 4261 ♞Prompt: stuck together for a long time + “you’re lucky you’re cute because your taste in music is awful.” (for anon)

ao3

--- --- ---

a second chance at love

--- --- ---

“Fuck.” Stiles slams the door shut behind him and averts his eyes, almost dropping the two large cups of coffee he just bought from the coffee down the street. “Warn a guy, would you?” It’s too early to run into Theo wearing awfully tight boxer briefs, looking way too good to handle sprawled on the couch. The past four months have been an exhausting endeavor, and he’s really glad that Theo’s boss decided they should pose as roommates instead of a couple. Stiles would’ve rather drowned himself in the large lake behind the bungalow.

Theo chuckles. “I just woke up.” 

“Sweatpants, Raeken. Sweatpants.” Stiles rubs his eyebrow with an exasperated sigh before carefully returning his attention to the other man. It’s only then that he notices the ball of fluff on his thigh, watching him closely. What? Stiles blinks. “Is that a cat?”

Theo stretches languidly. “Yup.” 

“Why is there a cat?” 

As if it understood Stiles, the kitten hops off Theo’s thigh and strolls across the room and directly towards him. It’s adorable. Meowing, the cat brushes around his leg, even going so far as to rub its little head against his shin. 

Stiles crouches down, carefully balancing the coffee with one hand, and lifts the little thing with his other. “Is it yours?” he asks, walking towards the kitchen island. 

Shaking his head, Theo sits up. “Nope.” He stretches again, his tight fucking shirt riding up just enough to expose a tanned line of abs. There is a reason Stiles does not follow Theo down the lake when he’s going for a swim. “I found her under the porch last night.” He shrugs, and the smile on his lips is far too beautiful to handle. “Thought you might like the fluffy company.” 

The kitten meows. 

Stiles wrenches his gaze away from Theo and crooks his arm to offer the cat a more comfortable position. “Well,” he says slowly, watching as the little thing curls against him, “it’s certainly better than the sweatpant-less company I have right now.” Swallowing, Stiles scratches the kitten’s head. He has to lean against the kitchen aisle as she purrs softly, closing her bright green eyes. Stiles doesn’t really remember the last time something so small felt safe around him. Then again, even people twice his size have never felt safe around him because they knew who he was— who he still is married to. 

“You’re such a prude,” Theo says around a yawn. A few weeks ago, the guy wouldn’t have even been awake at this ungodly hour. Now, he’s joining Stiles before he’s finished making breakfast. In return, he gets a fresh cup of coffee with a dash of sugar-free oat milk and nothing else. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I just prefer to have breakfast without your dick being too present.” The words are not even fully out of his mouth when he starts to regret them. That is an extremely poor choice of words. 

Unsurprisingly, Theo smirks. “Is my dick bothering you?”  

“The only dick bothering me is standing next to the couch,” Stiles mutters, returning his attention to the kitten in his arms. That way, he hopefully can forget about Theo being infuriatingly handsome. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He can’t even believe his body decided to be attracted to the next best hot person showing him the bare minimum of kindness barely a month after his last bruise finally healed. Besides, Stiles is in Witness Protection. There’s probably a law against hooking up with your assigned marshal — and he doesn’t want to risk losing Theo. Because Theo does him a world of good without even realizing it. Their daily banter manages to unwind a lot of the bullshit Donovan put into his head for almost ten years. Theo doesn’t magically fix him, but he makes everything a lot more bearable, and that’s something Stiles can’t give back. 

Sighing, Theo raises his hands in mock defeat. “Fine, I’ll get my sweatpants.” 

“And brush your teeth.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Stiles scowls, but Theo salutes him with the biggest grin. It’s impossible not to smile — and if Theo’s exclamation of victory makes Stiles’ heart skip a beat, nobody has to know but him; and perhaps the kitten watching him with bright green eyes. 

— — — 

Stiles drops the grocery bag on the counter with an indignant huff. This was one of the worst shipping trips he’s ever had to endure. Maybe because he’s never been yelled at by an elderly woman for daring to grab the last flour package — probably because of the type of bodyguards that usually followed him around. People used to think twice to even looking at him. 

Scrunching up his face, Stiles shoots Theo a look. “Thanks for nothing, by the way.” He pulls the cat snacks out of the bag with a shake of his head. It’s not that he expected Theo to jump the woman, but it would have been nice if he hadn’t watched him from the other end of the aisle while laughing his ass off. Sure, Stiles is twenty-five, and he probably should know how to defend himself against an old woman. However, he hasn’t been alone outside, much less been allowed to talk to people since he started dating Donovan almost ten years ago. His social skills aren’t exactly the best; especially not when it comes to handling any sort of conflict. Donovan used to deal with that, and Stiles is more than aware that his methods weren’t exactly socially acceptable. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess,” Theo drawls back, dropping the other three bags on the ground. “I’m being paid to protect you from your soon-to-be ex-husband and his buddies… not little old ladies.” 

Huffing, Stile shakes the bag of snacks. “You’re the worst bodyguard ever.” 

“I didn’t expect you to be overwhelmed by someone’s angry grandmother.” Theo leans against the counter, smirking his stupidly handsome smirk. 

Stiles purses his lips. “I’ve never been treated like this is all.” 

A couple of raised brows now accompany the smirk. Theo crosses his arms, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Right, you’re more used to being treated like—“ 

“Shut up.” Stiles slams his free hand down on the counter, startling himself with his reaction. He’s made sure to bury his anger very deep to protect himself. He’s made sure not to show any weakness either, but Stiles can’t deny the tears stinging in his eyes. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” Nobody knew. Nobody ever noticed — or maybe they were simply looking the other way because why should Stiles be treated better than they were? To the public, they looked like the perfect couple. Donovan made sure of that. Things were very different behind closed doors. 

Theo furrows his brows. “I didn’t mean—“ 

“Just—“ Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “Just forget I said anything.” He pushes away from the counter. “It’s your turn to make dinner, by the way.” Shaking the bag of treats again in hopes to draw Agatha out, he walks towards the stairs. “Try not to burn the water this time.” 

If the sudden change in topic jars Theo, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he chuckles and raps his fingers against the counter. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, aren’t you?” 

Even though Stiles wants to be mad at Theo and leave the house to mope somewhere on his own, his body makes it very much impossible to do so. “Never,” Stiles calls over his shoulder, unable to stop the grin from tugging on the corners of his mouth. All of this would be so much easier if Theo were less attractive and especially less charming. But alas. 

“So, I’m just going to put away the groceries all by myself and make dinner?” Theo asks, and his deep scowl is very much audible in his tone. “You’re the worst roommate.” 

Agatha meows at him from the top of the stairs, stretching her small body with a yawn. Smiling, Stiles scoops her into his arms. “Glad to be of service.” He sits down on the top stair, plopping Agatha on his lap, who promptly lies down. He always wanted a pet. It’s the one thing Donovan refused to give him. Probably so he’d stay the only soul Stiles would be attached to — or maybe he was worried a dog might start fighting back when Stiles would not. 

“Are you kidding me?” Theo asks, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Well,” Stiles drawls, scratching Agatha behind her ears, “you know the rules.” Smiling down at the little kitten, he watches her paw at the bag of snacks in his hand. “You do not move if you are used as a pillow.” Especially not if it’s an adorable tiny ball of fluff. Not even being married to someone like Donovan turned him into a complete monster. 

Theo studies him for a while in silence. Eventually, he smiles and grabs one of the grocery bags. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

Stiles can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. Out of all people, his marshal should be the last person to make him blush, but Theo makes it impossible not to be infatuated with him. “So, you don’t mind if I chill with Agatha while you’re doing—“ he gestures in the general direction of the kitchen island “— all of that?” If Stiles hadn’t cooked for them the last four days, mostly because Theo cannot cook for shit, and he kind of hopes he’ll opt for take-out tonight — he’d feel a little bad to let him do everything. Well, then again, all Theo has to do is admit that he cannot cook instead of insisting the pasta disaster was merely an accident. Because it clearly wasn’t. Theo might be able to kill people in multiple different ways, but he’s hopeless in the kitchen. 

Muttering something under his breath, Theo dumps the contents of the three bags quite unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. 

“I’m sorry?” Stiles holds a snack out for Agatha to try. “I didn’t quite catch that.” 

Theo huffs, “I didn’t say anything.” 

When Agatha nibbles on the snack, Stiles looks up again. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I bet it's hard to pronounce.” It’s a lie. He’s very much aware of what Theo’s issue is — his pride. The guy is never going to admit that he can’t cook. No way. Especially not in front of Stiles. Theo would rather order food and pretend that he cooked it than tell him he’s unable to prepare a basic pasta dish. 

For a second, Theo looks like he’s ready to chuck the box of eggs at him. He places them on the counter instead and cocks his head. “What’s your name again?”

Touché. “You know, you could just admit you can’t cook.” 

“I can cook!”

“I’m just saying.” Stiles runs a finger through Agatha’s fur, smiling when she purrs at the affection. “There’s no shame in ordering food.” 

“No,” Theo insists, opening the fridge aggressively. The poor guy does have a really fragile ego. “I can cook. I’m going to cook. We’re going to have a great dinner. Just wait.” 

Chuckling, Stiles raises to his feet, cradling Agatha in his arms. “Call me when you need anything.” Or when the house burns down. But Stiles isn’t going to say that out loud. He’s bruised Theo’s ego easily enough. It probably shouldn’t be this easy to find someone’s weakness and exploit it, yet it’s something that comes a little too easy — and being an asshole usually distracts people from Stiles’ weaknesses. 

Before rounding the corner to go to his bedroom, Stiles watches Theo hurry around the kitchen. His heart aches. He should know better than to fall for the first guy who has shown him some decency — especially if said guy is the marshal assigned to him in this witness protection program. It’s pathetic, really. Stiles smiles and vanishes into his bedroom. 

———

Two hours later, Theo mopes while eating pizza out of a box. 

———

Stiles can’t tell what wakes him first; Agatha’s soft meowing or the creaking of his door. He does, however, know which of the two sounds makes his hand move to the knife under his bed. His fingers curl around the hard handle. His heart slams against his ribs — but the footsteps entering his room do not belong to Donovan. Furrowing his brows, Stiles opens his eyes. “Theo?” That’s not exactly normal. They’ve never entered each other’s bedrooms without knocking, especially not in the middle of the night. “What are you doing here?” He pushes himself up in his bed, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

Theo doesn’t reply. Parts of his face are hidden in the shadows, making his expressions hard to read. 

Finding him standing there silently in the darkness is much more unnerving than Stiles thought it would be. He swallows around the lump in his throat and switches his bedside table lamp on. “Theo?” Stiles asks, furrowing his brows. “Are you okay?” 

Slowly, Theo nods and gestures towards his bed. “May I sit?” 

Under different circumstances, Stiles would have never allowed Theo to sit on his bed wearing nothing but his boxer briefs — apparently, this guy is still wholly unaware of what running around basically naked does to Stiles — but he needs to know what happened. So he nods. “Yeah… sure.” Stiles licks his lips, gaze flicking to Agatha who raises her little head. “What’s going on?” 

Theo pets the kitten before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “You were right.” 

“That happens more often than you’d think,” Stiles remarks, quirking a brow and trying very hard to ignore the fact Theo is sitting on his bed in his boxer briefs. “So, you have to be more specific.” 

A smile is tugging at the corner of Theo’s mouth, but he’s shaking his head. He lets out a breath and rubs his left eyebrow. His blue eyes dart from Stiles to his hands and when he looks at him again, his expression has darkened. “About Donovan.” Theo presses his mouth into a thin line. “He came for you.” 

Stiles shudders despite the warm temperatures outside. Something in Theo’s tone makes it abundantly clear that Donovan did not come to reunite with his lost lover. “Did they…” It’s almost impossible to wrap his head around. Donovan. Ever so elusive Donovan ran right into a trap. Stiles cannot believe he fell into it. Then again, his ego has always been his biggest weakness. “Did they get him?” Because that’s the biggest question. Just because Donovan ran into the trap doesn’t mean he didn’t get out again. He has a way to slip away when you think there’s no way he can. 

Theo nods. “He’s been transported to jail already.” 

For some reason, Stiles expected to be exhilarated about news like this. Donovan being caught was supposed to be the best news of his life. Yet he feels… nothing. He’s not relieved. He’s not happy. It’s just a chapter of his life that’s closed. Stiles curls his hands into fists. But it’s not done. This is far from over. 

It’s never going to be over. 

Theo licks his lips and then places his hand on Stiles’. The touch is soft, lingering almost, and it makes him feel so much more than Donovan being captured does. 

Biting his bottom lip, Stiles turns his hand a little, and his heart slams into his chest when Theo’s finger intertwined with his own. “It’s over,” Theo tells him, his voice so soft Stiles barely catches it over his heart beating in his chest. “Stiles, you are—“ 

“It’s not over,” Stiles replies, pulling his hand away, and curling his arms around himself. “It’s never going to be over for me.” Even if Donovan will end up behind bars, Stiles still has to live with the fact that Donovan killed his father and closest friends, and that those who were still alive have turned their back instead of helping him. Even if that wasn’t the case, he still has to carry ten years' worth of trauma around with him. 

Theo places a hand on his knee. “I’m here.” 

“Theo…” Stiles trails off and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. It’s clear he means well, Stiles is very aware of that, but hearing Theo say stuff like this only reminds Stiles of the expiration date on this accommodation. Eventually, Theo is going to move on and Stiles will stay behind in this fucking house until he’s fully picked himself up off the floor and can become himself again — or rather, whoever he was supposed to become without Donovan. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” It’s stupid to explain because Theo is here doing a job, and Stiles feel for the character he has to play for it. 

Furrowing his brows, Theo scoots a bit higher on the bed and turns to look at him. “I read the files.”

“Not everything he did is in those files.” There is so much more Stiles never talked about because he was scared and ashamed and didn’t want people to look at him differently; people who didn’t even ask if he’s been a victim too. They only cared about Stiles being able to put a stop to one of the most dangerous criminals currently active in the US. He was just the husband who wanted out. They didn’t need a reason. Not really. 

Theo’s expression darkens. It’s not anger per se, but he is still angry enough to make Stiles feel icky. “What did he do to you?” 

Stiles’ heart aches at his words. To you. Maybe it’s obvious Stiles was referring to himself, maybe Stiles is so used to Donovan’s disinterest that the bare minimum sounds like a lot. Stiles hooks his fingers into the blanket. “It doesn’t matter.”

Theo stares at him. “It matters to you.”

“Don’t—“

“He hurt you, didn’t he?” Theo reaches for his hand again. His fingers are as soft as his voice, but his grip is persistent. “If he did—“ 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Don’t make me talk about it. Stiles can’t bear the thought of Theo looking at him any differently when he was the one who made him feel so extremely normal for the first in a long time. Stiles stares at their hands. Part of him wants to pull away, the other part can’t bring himself to let this warmth slip away. He bites his bottom lip harder and tightens his grip on Theo’s fingers. “I can’t face him. I can’t do this.” Stiles always promised himself to get closure. He wanted to appear strong and unbothered, wanted to look Donovan in the eye when he told him he’d make him pay for everything he did to him. Now, thinking about even having to look at him, much less be in the same room with him makes him feel sick to the stomach. 

“Hey, hey.” Theo gets up from the bed, and for a long, agonizing second, Stiles thinks he’s about to leave. Instead, Theo slips under the covers next to him. “There’s time to prepare yourself.” He lets go of Stiles’ hand and wraps an arm around him. 

Falling for Theo has been already easy, but curling into him is the easiest thing he’s ever done. Stiles slips down, leaning his head against Theo’s chest. The heartbeat of another person has always calmed him. It meant they were alive and so is he. “Do I have to identify him?” 

“Probably not.” Theo’s fingers brush through his hair. “We all know who he is.” 

Stiles hums and closes his eyes. Even if Donovan could not see him, looking at him is not something he feels able to do. “I want to make him pay,” Stiles whispers, curling his fingers in Theo’s shirt. “But what if I can’t? What if I’m too weak?” 

“You’re not,” Theo tells him, still running his fingers through Stiles’ hair like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and maybe, it is. At least for them. His thumb brushes over the shell of his ear, hand gliding down to the nape of his neck. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for… you wouldn’t be here otherwise.” His thumb gently presses against the underside of his jaw. 

Stiles pulls away and sits up again, but Theo’s hand never leaves him. He cups his cheek instead, and Stiles finds himself leaning into it, sighing softly. 

“Besides,” Theo whispers with a soft smile, “you have me now.”

That’s when Stiles forces himself to pull away. “For a little while.” 

“No.” Something in Theo’s voice makes Stiles look at him again. There is something hard in his expression, not anger strictly. It seems more like determination. Theo has never been this hard to read as he is now. “For as long as you’ll have me.” 

Stiles licks his lips, gaze flicking down to Theo’s mouth and back up again. Don’t be an idiot. He shakes his head, more to himself than those words that make his heart flutter and hurt at the same time, and looks at his fingers curled into the bedsheets.

Chuckling, Theo adjusts his grip a little and tilts Stiles’ head back. They lock eyes. For a painfully long moment, Theo doesn’t say anything, just looks at him like he’s searching for something. “You’re strong,” he insists, but his voice softens impossibly when he continues, “exceptionally stubborn… and cute.”

Cute. 

Even though Stiles feels heat rush into his cheeks, he draws his brows together in a failed attempt to look offended. 

“To be honest,” Theo continues, tracing an invisible line with his thumb, “you’re lucky you’re cute because your taste in music is awful.” 

“What?” Stiles barks out a laugh, too stunned to process what Theo just said. 

Theo taps his cheek gently with his fingertip. “Fall Out Boy?” 

“Oh, excuse me, Mr. Classic Rock,” Stiles retorts shoving Theo’s shoulder lightly. “Just because your music is from the Stoneage doesn’t mean you have any ground to judge.” The audacity of this guy. Seriously. 

Theo huffs out a breath, but there’s a smirk tugging on his features. “As I said, you’re lucky you are cute.” 

Stiles bites his bottom lip. “Don’t say stuff like that.” 

“Why not?” Theo reaches for him again, fingertips ghosting over Stiles’ jaw. 

Despite himself, Stiles allows the touch yet again, mulling over the right way to answer this question. His words should be everything Stiles could have ever wanted, especially since he has feelings for him. But he can’t say that. “Because I’m scared.” It’s not the best answer, but it’s the closest he can get to the truth. 

“Of me?” Theo sounds almost hurt by the question, and he looks scared of the answer. 

Stiles swallows. “Of falling in love,” he whispers. It’s such a stupid thing to say, especially since he’s already fallen down the rabbit hole. Still, it feels reasonable. The last time he loved someone, it ruined his life, and that of the people he cared about… it broke him. 

For a moment, Theo is quiet. “I can’t promise you I’m perfect,” he says, turning his head with a small smile as Agatha makes her way over to him. “But I’d never hurt you. Ever.” It’s a promise he shouldn’t make because it’s one he cannot keep. “Not like he hurt you.” 

Stiles doesn’t reply. Donovan promised not to hurt him either, and when he started doing it, he blamed it on Stiles, told him he didn’t want to hurt him, and he wouldn’t have to if Stiles just behaved. Not once did Donovan explain what bothered him so much. After a while, Stiles assumed it was being alive. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reaches over and scratches Agatha’s head. She curls into a ball on Theo’s lap, purring softly. It’s almost like she’s trying to make a point. 

Theo brushes his fingers against Stiles’ arm, pulling his hand away when Stiles does the same. “Do you want me to leave?” He doesn’t look at him, but he doesn’t have to. His voice already shows how much it would pain him to walk away right now. 

It would hurt Stiles too. He shakes his head, slowly at first and then more insistently. “No. Stay.” 

Carefully, Theo lifts Athena off his lap and lies down. He locks eyes with Stiles, an eyebrow raised in question. He’s so very careful about making sure Stiles agrees with everything that’s happening at this very moment. 

And he does. He does. 

Stiles slips under the covers as well and curls against Theo, smiling when the other man pulls him close and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“If he ever hurts you again,” Theo whispers into his hair, “I’m going to kill him.” For a heartbeat, he is silent, almost as if he’s considering if he should continue. Then, after a soft sigh, he says, “I’m going to kill him regardless.”  

It’s not an option. Theo shouldn’t even think about that as an option. But despite not wanting any more blood on his hand than he already has, Theo’s words wrap around him like a soft cocoon. A world without Donovan wouldn’t magically erase the shit he went through and how they impact him. It would make him feel much safer though — as safe as he’s safe here, in Theo’s arms. 

Stiles closes his eyes, allowing himself this second chance at love. 

#steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #teen wolf #stiles x theo #theo x stiles #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:steo

[freckleslikestars]

Broken Dreams

Jackson comes back to check on his mother

@xfilesbingo prompt: there's someone in the house

MSR/Post Revival/Teen and Up

2934 words, read here on AO3

She never used to be such a light sleeper. One of her father’s wisdoms was that you catch sleep when you can get it, and you never take it for granted. Obviously, in a large household in a small house, she’d learnt to sleep through pretty much anything. During her residency as a med student, she trained herself to wake to pagers, and with the FBI she learnt to wake when the phone rang, but the sleep between was always deep and heavy.

That changed when William was born. Everyone told her to sleep whenever he did, even if it was just a couple of hours in the middle of the day, but it seemed impossible. A constant, lingering paranoia leached into every moment she was away from him. She was constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the next kidnapper to sneak in through the window, waiting for the next attempt on his life.

When her son was gone, she oscillated between dark, dream-plagued stretches of torpor that pinned her down and left her feeling empty and nights where sleep would not come, and she was left listlessly roaming the corridors and parking lots of various motels until dawn peaked over the horizon, and she’d drop down onto the bed next to Mulder and watch as he dragged himself out of a sleep that left him no more refreshed than she.

When they settled into Farrs Corner, and she started at the hospital, sleep swept over her each night, usually heavy and dreamless and a result of the exhaustion brought on by long hours surrounded by dying children. It wasn’t until a few years later, around the time Mulder was declared a free man, that the dreams started. They varied in tone – sometimes light-hearted and fantastical, sometimes gore and horror filled, and very occasionally just about the humdrum of daily life – but they always followed the same little boy, his reddish-brown hair and impish smile so familiar to her that she recognised him in an instant. She didn’t always have them, and there seemed no pattern as to when her mind conjured her son’s life, no matter how hard she tried to find one. And try to find one, she did: but try as she might, she could never figure out what triggered them, and she could never figure out a way to stop them. She started dreaming of their days on the X Files, too: back in the day when they were younger and spryer, and her partner felt like he had a purpose in life. Whole cases from their past would play out in her mind as she slept, and she’d wake feeling troubled by events that had happened over a decade ago.

When she left, sleep once more became elusive. For the first thirty-odd years of her life, she’d lived in houses and apartments and motels in suburbia and midtown and along highways. The sounds of traffic had lulled her to sleep more effective than any artificial white noise. But then they’d lived out in the country, and they’d been so far away from anyone or anything, and the only sounds on their property at night were those of nature, and she’d grown used to it. So to suddenly, in her sharp bungalow, be surrounded by traffic and the sounds of humanity ticking along through the night was just one more stark divide that separated her life with him from her life without. And she was grateful for it, or at least that’s what she told herself and her mother, because it was a reminder that she was still moving, she hadn’t let her depression grind her to a halt, and she hadn’t let Mulder grind her to a halt. She was still alive, and she was going to keep going, keep growing. But the sounds of traffic that had once soothed her now kept her awake, kept her listening out because she couldn’t hear anything unusual over the sounds of humanity as she could over the sounds of nature back home.

It was just when she’d been starting to sleep marginally better in the shiny bright house that was the exact opposite of everywhere she’d ever called home when he welcomed her back into his arms, into his – no, their – bed. And, for a while at least, she slept like a log. The occasional dream from William – no, Jackson, he preferred Jackson – usually just letting her know she was okay, occasionally showing her something he’d seen or found on his travels, but nothing as gruesome or traumatic as she expected from him.

And then there was a whole new reason to sleep lightly. The rolling life inside of her felt, much like its father, that night-time was not, in fact, for sleeping, but for fidgeting. The first few months of the pregnancy had sedated her, exhausting her and smothering her, not even Jackson having the power to penetrate the darkness that overcame her most nights, but then, with the second trimester, she’d had a burst of energy that seemed to carry her through. She’d lay at night, unable to sleep as little tumbles of movement roiled through her abdomen, a sensation she never in a million years thought she’d feel again. And whilst sometimes her mind would be plagued with anxieties about the future, mostly, she just cradled the tentative hope that had started glowing within her again, following the little movements with a finger as a soft smile warmed her face.

It was on one such night when she heard it. One of the benefits to living out in the middle of nowhere was that you got used to the routine sounds pretty quickly. After about a month, you stopped startling at the screams of foxes and the cries of deer. You stopped noticing the harmony of insects, birds, and frogs that undulated throughout the night. Which, of course, made it easier to identify the noises that didn’t belong.

If Mulder hadn’t been curled up behind her, one arm under her head whilst the other coiled protectively around her belly as his warm breath stirred the hairs at the back of her neck, she’d have sworn he’d just gone out to sit on the porch because no matter how many times she’d oiled the screen door, it still always seemed to squeak, and she’d definitely just heard it. She held her breath, tensing as she strained to hear anything else at all from downstairs. She hadn’t heard the creak of the second step of the porch, which everyone but her and Mulder stepped on without a second thought, but then, perhaps, she hadn’t really been paying attention. She was now, though. A muffled thump echoed its way up the stairs, and her heart rate spiked, panic washing over her. Trying not to make a sound, silently begging the old bedsprings not to groan, she twisted to face Mulder and carefully jostled him awake, pressing her hand against his mouth when he flickered his eyes open and went to grumble a protest. Her eyes flashed, and she shook her head, ‘there’s someone in the house,’ soft as a feather, she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

‘Friend or foe?’ he breathed into her ear, and she shrugged, cringing when the bedspring beneath her shoulder complained loudly. Another jarring sound from downstairs, vaguely hollow and ringing, had them each reaching for their weapons, Scully the little Bernardelli 60 that her father had given her when she joined the bureau and Mulder his PPK, both of them tucked into the top drawer of their nightstands, and slipping carefully out of bed, conscious of each and every squeaky floorboard as they made their way side by side to the stairs.

It was dark as pitch throughout the house, the crescent moon not bright enough to filter through the slats of the blinds, and they strained their eyes to try and see through the blackness as they crept silently down the stairs, weapons raised. As they stepped off the bottom step in sync, Mulder reached out and flicked the lamp on the side table on, bathing the room in a warm yellow and startling their intruder into spinning around on the spot to face them. His hands flew up above his head, half a slice of bread clutched in one, as his eyes widened.

‘Don’t shoot.’

They both maintained a steady aim on him, but Scully’s shoulders relaxed a millimetre, ‘Jackson?’

He swallowed the mouthful of bread that he’d tucked into the pocket of his cheek and smiled weakly, ‘hi.’

‘Hey, kid. You’re gonna have to prove it’s you. Sorry,’ Mulder’s voice was soft with regret. It wasn’t every day the son you thought you’d lost multiple times comes home, but they’d been fooled before.’

‘Uh, how do I do that?’

‘Show me something,’ Scully whispered, ‘show me something that will make me know it’s you.’

All was silent for a minute, then two, until Scully gasped, dropping her gun to her side and hurrying over to him, sitting him down at the kitchen table and running her hands through his hair, checking him over for injuries. At the relaxation of Scully’s guard, Mulder dropped his and made his way, slightly more cautiously, to join them in the kitchen. After her thorough check that he wasn’t injured, she sat in the chair next to him and took his hand, a move that, if he was uncomfortable with, he made an effort to hide it.

‘Why are you here? Why in the middle of the night?’

He studied her face, the laughter lines that carved out from the corners of her eyes and the roundness of her cheeks that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her, ‘I was worried about you. You haven’t been sleeping, and I was worried. And-‘ he hesitated, looked away from them both.

‘What?’

‘I felt a...presence following you in the last few weeks. I couldn’t tell what it was; I’d never felt anything like it. I...you had a dream once about a worm thing – a parasite – in your spine, and I was worried it was something like that,’ his eyes flicked down to the curve of her stomach, ‘I guess I know you’re okay now.’ A complexity of emotions creased his face and he stood abruptly.

‘Jackson?’

‘I should go. I didn’t... I didn’t mean to disturb you. I should go,’ he pulled at the lobe of his ear.

‘Jackson.’

‘She...I was wrong. I thought you were in danger, but now I’m here, now I’m close, she feels warm, like you. So, uh, I’ll just be on my way.’

‘Wait-‘

He shook his head, walked halfway through the living room, and then turned on his heel to look back at them. He hesitated for half a second before blurting out the thing that had clearly been bothering him, ‘don’t give up on her, will you?’

And then he was gone, and they were left sat at the worn kitchen table. ‘What the fuck just happened?’ she gasped, feeling like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. ‘Seriously, what the fuck just happened?’

Wasting not a second more, Mulder went crashing through the house, letting the front door slam behind him as he thundered down the porch steps, ‘Jackson? Jackson!’ He could see the kid jogging up the driveway, and he groaned, not wanting to run over the gravel but seeing no other choice. He wasn’t as young as his son, but he still went for a morning run every day, and it was clearly paying off because, after a short sprint, he reached out and wrapped his arm around Jackson’s upper arm, ‘hey, stop.’

‘Get off me.’

‘Only if you come back inside.’

‘What if I don’t want to?’

Mulder sighed, ‘you can’t just turn up in the middle of the night and leave again within ten minutes. That’s not how this thing works.’

‘What thing?’

‘The parent/son thing. I know we don’t really have much claim to being your parents, but I don’t think you understand just how wanted you are, and you never will if you don’t sit down and listen to us, okay? We’re not...we don’t have any expectations, we just want to open a channel of communication, and I really think that since you’re here; since you came to check she was okay, that part of you wants that, too.’

‘I-‘

‘Plus, you’ve faked your death not once but twice now, right in front of her, and that’s done almost as much damage as giving you up did, so now you both have things to apologise for.’

‘I don’t think I’m ready.’

Mulder gave a sympathetic smile, ‘I get that. The problem is, you could wait forever, putting off what needs to be done because you don’t feel ready. Just sit and have a cup of tea with us, and we can talk as much or as little as you like. But I think we’d both like the chance to explain.’

~~~

She was slumped over the kitchen table sobbing when she heard two sets of footsteps on the porch, and it took all of her willpower to sit herself up and get her eyes wiped and sniffles under control in the five seconds it took for the door to be opened and the two tall frames to traipse into the house. Whilst Mulder walked over to put the kettle on to boil, he hesitantly folded his lanky limbs back into the chair he’d been sitting on.

‘It wasn’t for lack of love,’ she whispered, ‘I prayed for you every single day, and I loved you more than you can ever know. But it wasn’t safe, and I couldn’t find any other way to save you. It wasn’t you I was giving up on; it was myself.’

‘I don’t really know how to do this.’

She smiled and reached out to cover his hand with her own, then thought better of it and pressed her palms together in her lap, ‘That’s okay, I don’t really know how to do this either.’ Three mugs of tea were placed on the table, and Mulder joined them.

‘Oh, uh...sorry I faked my death. Twice.’

‘It’s okay. I understand why you did it.’

He fiddled with his mug of tea, cupping the heat within his palms, ‘can-‘ he cleared his throat, ‘can I ask why you haven’t had another kid until now?’

She hummed and nodded, watching his face in profile as his brow creased and uncreased – his face was so very readable. ‘I’m infertile. We tried for a long time to have you, and then we stopped trying, and then you came along. You were my miracle. My impossible little miracle. And then, after...’

‘We both had a lot of guilt,’ Mulder finished for her, taking her hand in his own and pressing a kiss to the back of it, ‘and, of course, the whole infertile thing. We tried again around ’09, but it was too much for us both.’

‘Is that why you broke up?’

‘How do you know about that?’ he asked.

‘I, uh...I didn’t know who you were, but it started feeling painful when she thought about you.’

‘Hm. It wasn’t entirely why we broke up, but I think it contributed.’

‘You do?’ Mulder looked over at her.

‘Yeah. Neither of us was well, and we were both in denial about it, and I think that was the main reason, but I think there were other things that contributed.’

‘Huh. You never said.’

‘Never seemed like the right time to bring it up,’ she shrugged.

‘That still doesn’t explain why and how you’re now having a kid.’

‘Well...we weren’t actually trying.’

‘We weren’t technically together – I knew we’d make it in the end, but your Mom isn’t so great on blind faith.’

‘Pssh, you didn’t know. You thought it was going to be a one-time thing.’

‘Two-time, don’t forget. Three if you count the morning after.’

Jackson gagged, ‘oh, dude, I did not need to know that.’

‘Anyway, you may have thought that, but I knew,’ Mulder murmured.

‘Either way, we were...less cautious than we should have been. Which is a lesson to you, Jackson. Protection is-‘

‘I’m seventeen. I’ve had the talk. I really don’t want to hear it from someone I don’t really know very well, sorry.’

‘Okay,’ she smirked as he blushed and shifted under her gaze. ‘Honestly, though, we don’t know how or why I conceived again. Miracle two-point-oh.’

‘Miracle two: electric boogaloo.’

Scully sniggered, ‘miracle two: this time, it’s personal.’

‘Oh, my god, you guys are so lame,’ Jackson groaned, unable to stop the smile that had started tugging at the corner of his mouth.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Mulder said, patting him on the shoulder as he stood up, ‘I’ll get the couch made up for you.’

‘Wait, what?’

‘Kid, it’s three AM; if you think your mother’s gonna let you leave at this time of night, you’ve got another thing coming.’

She waited until Mulder was out of earshot, ‘if you really don’t feel comfortable staying, I don’t mind. Mulder might, but it’s up to you. I...I would like it, though, if you stayed. Had breakfast with us tomorrow, talked some more. I don’t know about you, but I’d really like to get to know you.’

He bobbed his head in a vague nod and shrugged, ‘I can’t make any promises, but I think I’d like that, too.’

Tagging @today-in-fic

#got a column in my bingo do a little happy dance #my writing #msr #xf fanfic #txf #the x files #x files #post revival #xf bingo

[desert-bluffs-and-me]

WTNV quick rundown - The Novel -

This is the post about random facts we learnt about other (non-protag) citizens of NV! Basic Plot of the Novel is here. Diane, Josh and Jackie random facts here. NV/King City and MITTJ random facts here.

The history of the town of Night Vale is long and complicated, reaching back thousands of years to the earliest indigenous people in the desert. We will cover none of this here. […] It is a friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful and mysterious lights past overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale.

Old Woman Josie's house is a 'small tract house whose tract no longer stood' and she makes a moderate income selling items the Erikas have touched. It is a low bungalow, avocado green, with a neat lawn kept well watered in a dry climate 'at the expense of some other place'. The lawn is surrounded by a border of pebbles arranged into geometric patterns (perhaps meant to ward off evil). The fence between the lawn and the car lot is tall and chainlink. She has a metal gate and in her side yard there is an outdoor seating area made of rusted metal. There's rocking chairs with cushions whose fabric has faded nearly all the way white in the sun.

Josie walks with a cane and has long hair but also an 'olympic atheletes body' perched on an old womans' skeleton.

Josie has a cloth-wrapped bundle buried in her garden. She digs it up when she's talking to Jackie. She later reveals it's an idol to old gods she was using as 'lawn decorations' but it was 'too needy'.

Cecil considers it is job to hide dangerous knowledge from NV.

Citizens called Chris Brody and Stuart Robinson are mentioned.

Cecil conducted a 3 hours interview with himself, interrogating himself on his motivations, where he is in life, why he's not in a different place in life, whose fault that is and why he said that one embarassing thing once.

There is a woman called Sheila who sits in the Moonlite and takes notes on people as they enter. She touches a flamingo, causing her to reply her life over and over to the point of touching it, completely aware of the loop and powerless in it. She eventually breaks it by becoming an intern for Cecil, but later dies falling down a pit of the flamigos, splintering herself into many versions of herself even as the primary one hits the bottom and dies.

Laura, the waitress with branches coming out of her, also produces fruit which patrons take off and eat. However, she also bleeds from these branches including when harvested from.

When the Erika's appear and disappear or move there is a flash of blinding bright blackness, a darkness so radient it makes you feel like your heart will break. They also 'don't see gender' so have trouble telling humans gender. They are said to be made of bright black beams of light and when they shrug there is the flutter of hundreds of tiny wings. Where eyes might be on a human there is a shadowy glow that you can taste in the back of your mouth (tastes like strawberry candy covered in mud).

The Glow Cloud (all hail) opens a new roller rink downtown.

Intern Jodi accidentally or on purpose alphabatizes her self as part of the SSP's daily census of every item in NV, leaving most of the stations items un-alphabatised.

The NV PTA threatens to block the doors to the school with literal bodies they own if the school board won't prevent kids learning about dangerous topics like drug use and library science during recess. The school board responds that PTA funds should not be used to purchase so many bodies.

Cecil invites people to drop by his genius boyfriends lab if they want things explained (like clouds, which he explains earlier in the broadcast).

Scientists are 'pack animals' and Carlos is their leader in NV. His lab is on the outskirts of the 'science district' which is pretty rundown because scientists don't like gentrification. Several different kinds of scientist live together which sometimes results in public conflicts but mostly they get along. Carlos lab is clearly labelled with a simple illuminated yellow and black LAB sign and a handwritten 'we are open' sign in the front window.

Carlos describes Cecil as as overenthusiastic, consumed with his work and having very little understanding of science and he loves him a lot. Aside from Cecil and science, Carlos says there's nothing he loves more than helping people. He came to NV for what was supposed to be a short research fellowship with the community college. Scientists Nilanjana and Stan are mentioned.

Carlos says he never missed Cecil's show and that he's not been in NV nearly long enough. He also says it's unscientific for him to talk about his experiences in the otherworld/himself.

Steve Carlsberg is fond of invisible pie.

There is a guard outside of city hall but he's wearing a mask which blocks out all sound and sight.

The mayors receptionist is an elderly man who is nonverbal and communicates via gestures.

Dana openly wishes she weren't mayor and misses her intern days.

Cecil attended Earl's/Tourniquets dinner party and couldn't taste anything for weeks after which is apparently a good thing.

The TV news anchors are insectoid-like humanoid creatures called Tim and Trinh who can talk directly to Diane. There's also somebody called Ben who works at the tv station.

Cecil mentions that interns wear a tunic and have duties which include mimeographs, making coffee and editing his slash fics. He doesn't seem to remember that most of his interns die, insisting that most of them must have gone on to do good things.

According to Carlos, the four steps of scientific method are: find an object you want to know more about, hook that object up to a machine using wires and tubes, write things on a clipboard and then read the results that the machine prints.

Carlos says that the flamingos are not made of materials native to NV because plastic and metal stakes don't grow in the desert.

Carlos is part of Cecil's bowling league team.

#wtnv #wtnv quick rundown #wtnv the novel #wtnv the novel rundown

[tripcabinet]

Capturing Paradise: Photography Tips for Your Maldives Trip

The Maldives, a tropical paradise made of 26 coral atolls and over 1,000 coral islands, is a dream destination for lots. With its crystal-clear waters, overwater bungalows, plentiful marine lifestyles, and lovely sunsets, it's no surprise that the Maldives is a photographer's paradise. Whether you're a professional photographer or simply want to up your Instagram recreation, right here are a few photography pointers to help you seize the splendor of the Maldives.

Timing is Everything

One of the maximum critical elements in pictures is timing, and in the Maldives, timing is often synonymous with the golden hour. The golden hour occurs throughout sunrise and sundown while the sun's warm, gentle light bathes the whole lot in a magical glow. Try to devise your photoshoots around those times to capture the Maldivian landscape at its maximum mesmerizing.

Experiment with Reflections

The Maldives' calm, shallow waters create ideal opportunities for mirrored image photographs. Whether you're photographing palm trees, overwater bungalows, or the sky at sundown, try and capture the mirrored picture within the water to add depth and beauty in your pictures.

Invest in Waterproof Gear

Given that the Maldives is all about its aquatic wonders, recall making an investment in waterproof camera gear or a water-resistant telephone case. Underwater pictures can screen an entirely new global teeming with colourful coral, fish, and different marine existence. Don't forget to discover snorkeling and diving to seize these enchanting underwater scenes.

Apply a Polarizing Filter

A polarizing filter can be a game-changer when shooting in tropical locations like the Maldives. It also helps reduce glare and glare, making the water crystal clear and the sky a deep blue. Particularly useful for beach and underwater photography.

Get Aerial Shots

If you have access to a drone, the Maldives is an ideal place to take advantage of it. Aerial photos can give you a unique view of the islands, showcasing their dramatic shapes, the shimmering turquoise of the lakes and the contrast between the sea and the pristine white beaches

Draw attention to the wildlife

The Maldives has everything from colorful fish to beautiful manta rays and exotic sea turtles. Patience and a good underwater camera can help capture these creatures in their natural habitat. Respect the environment and marine life when photographing them.

Include human factors

Include people in your photos to enhance and tell the story of your images. Whether it’s a loved one watching the sunset or a local Maldivian going about their daily life, human elements can make your images more relatable and meaningful.

Go beyond the beach

While the Maldives is famous for its beaches, don’t forget to explore the local villages, culture and daily life. Documenting these parts of the Maldives provides a clear and accurate view of the destination.

Caution after work

Post-processing can enhance the look of your images, but keep in mind not to overdo it. Keep the natural beauty of the Maldives alive, and aim for balanced colors to make your photos true to life.

Respect the environment

Finally, as you discover the beauty of the Maldives, remember to be a responsible traveler and respect the environment. Don’t disturb fragile coral, collect your own trash, or follow any local guidelines for proper painting.

In conclusion, Maldives offers endless photo opportunities. Whether you’re a professional photographer or a hobbyist with a smartphone, these tips will help you capture the highlights of this tropical paradise. So, pack your cameras, head to the Maldives and start capturing your piece of paradise In conclusion, the Maldives offers an endless array of photographic opportunities. And to make your trip even more convenient and enjoyable, consider booking a Maldives tour package that can take care of all the details, allowing you to focus on capturing those breathtaking moments.

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Beyond Beaches: Embracing Adventure and Tranquility Activities to do in the Maldives

Nestled in the heart of the Indian Ocean, the Maldives embodies paradise on Earth, renowned for its pristine white-sand beaches, crystalline waters, and abundant marine life. Beyond its breathtaking landscapes, this archipelago offers many activities that cater to every traveler’s desire for relaxation, adventure, and cultural exploration. Whether you seek to bask in the sun, explore the ocean’s depths, or immerse yourself in local traditions, the Maldives has something for everyone. Here’s a glimpse into the enchanting activities that await you in this tropical haven, perfect for those considering Maldives tour packages from India.

Snorkelling and Diving:

The Maldives is celebrated for its vibrant underwater world, making it a dream destination for snorkelers and divers. With some of the world’s most diverse and colorful coral reefs, you’ll have the chance to encounter mesmerizing marine life, including majestic manta rays, graceful sea turtles, and an array of tropical fish. Popular diving spots like the Banana Reef and Maaya Thila offer an unforgettable opportunity to explore the underwater realm.

Overwater Bungalow Retreat:

Enjoy luxury by staying in one of the Maldives’ iconic overwater bungalows. These idyllic accommodations offer unparalleled views of the azure ocean, with direct access to the water below. Relax on your private deck, dip into the lagoon from your doorstep, and revel in the beauty of the sunset from the comfort of your room.

Sunset Cruise:

Embark on a romantic sunset cruise and witness the Maldives’ breathtaking landscapes bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. Whether you choose a traditional dhoni sailboat or a modern luxury yacht, this experience is bound to be a highlight of your trip, offering tranquility and panoramic views of the horizon.

Dolphin Watching:

The Maldives is home to several dolphins that grace its waters with their playful presence. Book a dolphin-watching excursion to observe these intelligent creatures as they frolic in their natural habitat, creating unforgettable memories for families and couples.

Local Island Visits:

To truly immerse yourself in the culture of the Maldives, take a trip to one of the local islands. Experience the daily life of the Maldivian people, sample traditional cuisine, and engage with local artisans. This is a fantastic opportunity to gain insight into the local way of life beyond the luxury resorts.

Water Sports Adventures:

For the thrill-seekers, the Maldives offers a range of exhilarating water sports activities. From parasailing and jet skiing to kite surfing and windsurfing, there’s no shortage of options for those seeking an adrenaline rush against stunning natural beauty.

Spa and Wellness Retreats:

Indulge in ultimate relaxation with a spa treatment set against the backdrop of the ocean. Many luxury resorts in the Maldives offer world-class spa facilities that incorporate traditional techniques and local ingredients, providing a truly rejuvenating experience for both body and mind.

Marine Conservation Efforts:

For travelers passionate about preserving the environment, the Maldives presents opportunities to engage in marine conservation efforts. Participate in coral planting initiatives and protect the delicate marine ecosystem that makes the Maldives extraordinary.

Underwater Restaurants:

Delight in a culinary adventure by dining at one of the Maldives’ famous underwater restaurants. With panoramic windows that showcase the underwater world, you can savour gourmet cuisine while surrounded by the enchanting marine life of the Indian Ocean.

Seaplane Tours:

Take to the skies and gain a new perspective on the Maldives’ beauty with a seaplane tour. Marvel at the intricate network of islands and atolls and capture breathtaking aerial views that encapsulate the magic of this tropical paradise.

Conclusion

In the Maldives, every moment is an invitation to experience pure wonder. Whether you’re seeking relaxation, adventure, or cultural enrichment, this tropical haven promises to fulfil your every desire. With its luxurious resorts, stunning landscapes, and a rich tapestry of marine life, the Maldives is undoubtedly a destination on every traveler’s bucket list. If you felt the urge to book your tickets and tour to Maldives just get in touch with Yashvi Tour and Travels.

Article Source : https://www.yashvitours.com/beyond-beaches-embracing-adventure-and-tranquility-activities-to-do-in-the-maldives/

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