#fall fluff ficlets

His mouth sought yours out, hungry and desperate.

You held one another until the suns rose.

"Gotta go soon," he told you, voice husky and eyes roving the contours of your face.

"Stay a little bit longer," you coaxed, twirling your fingers in his soft curls.

His eyes fluttered closed, even as he reluctantly untangled his limbs from the safety of your embrace. "You don't know what that does to me."

You knew exactly what it did to him.

"How long will you be gone this time?"

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he pulled his shirt over his head, mussing those thick waves you were so obsessed with. You couldn't help yourself, reaching out to smooth the wild strands back into place, gently scratching his scalp with your fingernails.

"Mmm, baby," he groaned, twisting around to tackle you to the bed and cover your lips with his own.

"Stay," you whispered, between kisses. "A little longer."

"It'll never be long enough for you, sweetheart," he teased, gazing down at you adoringly as he brushed his fingertips along the softness of your cheek. "Will you wait for me?"

"I always do."

Satisfied, he kissed you again before climbing out of bed and pulling on the rest of his hastily discarded flight suit.

You watched him prepare to leave you again. To do his duty. To be the best pilot, the best man you'd ever known. He turned back to you with a wistful smile.

"Poe, wait, I - "

Seeing you scurry out of bed, he caught you by the elbows, expecting another plea for him to stay, or a joke about him always leaving.

“I…”

“I know,” he nodded, easing his arms around you. The two of you silently swayed, savoring these precious few moments alone.

He kissed you again before activating the door, which opened with a whoosh.

You mean so much to me.

I need you

I’m yours

It doesn’t matter how long you’re gone, I’ll always be waiting for you.

There were a thousand ways you could utter the feelings swelling in your heart, but they all stuck in your throat.

As if he could read every thought inside you, Poe lingered a moment longer. “Your room is kind of small.”

“What?” You laughed at his unexpected comment.

“It’s smaller than mine.”

“Fine, we’ll use yours next time, Commander.”

He smirked. “I’ll help you move your stuff when I get back.”

Your heart stopped. Did he mean…

“Don’t say no,” he sweetly whispered, reaching for your hands. “You know my bed is softer.”

“And bigger,” you giggled.

“Say yes,” he breathed against your lips.

“Yes,” you whispered as his lips met yours.

He finally made it out your door, a confident swagger in his walk. “Hey,” he called back over his shoulder, turning around so he could look at you one more time. “I love you.”

“How much for one of those stuffed frogs?” You hear Marc’s voice drift over the fall festival sounds. “Monster Mash” filters through crackling speakers as squeals and screams seep out of the haunted house. “Step right up” can be heard from multiple game attendants and vendors.

Marc speaks through his body so often, gripping your forearm, squeezing your hip, breathing on your neck. His eyebrows alone shift a dozen different ways to indicate the slightest change of mood. Warm eyes, soft and expressive, telling you of his longing, his regret, his buried pain. Lips pull into a thin line of frustration, an adorable pout or judgmental smirk.

On a really good day, the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs. The sound of it makes your heart soar.

But when he chooses to speak, your ears perk up, because he can communicate so well, and communicates so frequently, without words at all. And all the sounds of the bustling crowd diminish and narrow down to one, singular voice. Because he's talking about you.

“Not for sale, really, but you can win it,” the game’s attendant informs your boyfriend, handing him a dart. "How's your aim?"

That trademark smirk tugs the corner of his mouth as he shrugs. "Not a crescent but...it'll do."

You linger, watching as he pops three balloons with three darts in rapid succession.

"Nice work," the attendant compliments. "That'll get you the middle shelf. Play again, win again, for the top shelf."

Marc extends his hand for a second set of darts. "Gotta get the frog. She loves frogs."

"Ah, winnin' it for your girl?"

He smiles then - a genuine grin that reveals his teeth and shows those eye crinkles you adore.

"Yeah. For my girl."

"Should've won it right in front of her, really impressed her."

Marc turns his gaze right to you. With a wink, he answers, "She saw me."

Busted.

You laugh delightedly, emerging from your hiding spot and joining Marc, who presents you a huge, bright green, plush frog, with a neon-striped bow tie and extra long arms and legs. Marc uses the frog's arms to wrap around you for a stuffed animal hug.

"Oh my gosh I love him. He's so fluffy."

Marc lives to see the sparkle in your eyes.

"I don't know where we're going to put him. I already cleared a whole shelf for the rest of your frogs. And cleaned out half the closet for your stuff. Maybe he can sit...on our bed." His eyes go round and hopeful, locking onto yours.

"Our bed," you repeat, the air rushing out of your lungs. "You mean, our bed together, and our closet... A-are you asking me - "

Despite the yearning in his eyes and slight tremble of his lip, he pulls the fluffy frog away from you. "Well, my place is where this guy is gonna be, so..."

"Are you blackmailing me with a stuffed frog?" You giggle. "Because it's working. I love him and I have to live with him."

Marc smirks, nodding knowingly. "Is that right?"

"Yes," you breathe against his lips. "Can't live without him."

"Mm-hmm, turkey and all the trimmings for Thanksgiving."

"Right, sorry. Thanksgiving Day is tomorrow, innit? Sorry to disturb you." His cheeks flush as he grants you an apologetic wave.

"No, you're fine. I wanted to host a Friendsgiving or maybe a Neighbors-giving? But I only know you so far," you explain, leading him toward the kitchen. "Maybe next year, after I've met more people. I thought maybe you would like some leftovers, if nothing else."

You go on to explain that, aside from turkey, you're making yams with vegan marshmallows on top and using non-dairy items and vegan butter in the stuffing. You're also working on some green beans, cranberries, and of course, rolls.

"You have to work tomorrow, right?"

"Off at 5:30."

"Would you..." you bounce on your toes apprehensively, your tummy flip-flopping. "Would you like to come over for dinner? I understand if the turkey's a dealbreaker, no worries."

"Could I?" He breathlessly returns. "That would be so lovely, actually."

"Perfect," you beam at him, realizing you should have just asked him in the first place.

"So I guess I'll let you carry on," Steven says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shifting from foot to foot. He nods toward the stack of books he's returning to you. "Loved those. Thanks for the recommendations."

"You already finished them?" You gasp disbelievingly.

"Had some time on my hands."

"Do you have to go? You seem kind of in a hurry."

Steven pauses, confused. "I thought you were cooking."

"No, I was just doing some prep work. We're supposed to read tonight, right?"

"Right." His shoulders relax. "Unless you need help cooking?"

You assure Steven it's all right, putting on the kettle in the process. "Which tea? Blueberry black, white tropical or cinnamon plum?"

"Blueberry black," he decides, reaching with familiarity into the cupboard to retrieve his favorite cup and yours, along with saucers. You gather the spoons, sugar, non-dairy milk and honey.

"You're sure I'm not keeping you?" He politely asks one more time.

You stop in front of him, setting your tray aside. "Steven, it's Wednesday. Eight o'clock. Book time." You smile at him sweetly. "Highlight of my week."

Steven's dark eyes shine with hope and intrigue. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I love our reading dates."

Inching closer, his hands fidget, gaze flickering away from yours before he clears his throat. "So...a date, then?"

"I don't know." You ease toward him, wishing one of you knew how to make an actual move. "Is it?"

The kettle's whistle grants you the reprieve neither of you were actually seeking.

Finally, you settle into to cozy chairs in your living area. Sometimes you read together at Steven's Library - your affectionate nickname for his flat. But typically, your place is more organized and calm. That, and Steven loves your oversized twin chairs.

Since he picked the tea, you would pick the music. Then you grab your current books and settle in. You cozy up with your dark purple cable knit blanket, draped over the back of your chair. Steven tucks his "reading pillow" close to his chest - a mushroom shaped pillow he finds particularly amusing and very you.

Then comes the best part - the most distracting, delicious part of reading date night: when Steven reaches for his glasses. It's a procedure you have memorized. First, he tosses his curls away from where they fall over his eyes. Then he puts them on, biting his bottom lip, before stealing a glance at you.

Busted. Every time.

Your cheeks heat as your eyes dart back to the book you haven't really started reading. Steven opens his book, clears his throat, shifts in his seat and you glance over every time his finger reaches to turn the page. You notice every twitch of his jaw, every time his corded neck bobs when he swallows, every curl that tumbles across his forehead.

It suddenly occurs to you that not only do you have a crush on your neighbor, you're actually quite smitten.

"You alright, love?" His eyes meet yours before he nods down to your book. "Don't think you've read a thing."

"Oh...could you read out loud?" You quickly recover, closing your book and shrugging helplessly. "Must be going cross-eyed from reading those recipes."

"'Course I can." He beams. Steven likes to read to you, and you find the sound of his voice equally thrilling and calming.

Scooting his chair closer to you, he sets aside the mushroom pillow and moves his book into a good position for you both to see. Then he proceeds to make his non-fiction historical perspective sound like a Grimm's fairy tale.

You reach for your tea, realizing you should have brewed something herbal and calming because your heart flutters every time his arm brushes yours when he turns the page. The cadence of his voice lulls you under a spell somehow.

Placing your tea back down, you resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder or something equally embarrassing, but you want to somehow be closer to him, so you reach for the page next time he needs to turn it.

"I'll help," you whisper as your hands clumsily brush.

Steven almost drops the book, but quickly recovers, covering your hand with his own. "This alright?" Warm brown eyes lock onto yours.

You quickly nod, fighting your nervousness and squeezing his hand to let him know how badly you want this.

Eyes still fixed on yours, he pulls your joined hands to his chest, smiling at you adoringly. He raises the book to continue reading as you bring your opposite hand up to help him hold it in place.

Eventually your head does make its way down onto his shoulder.

You don't know what to say and maybe he doesn't either. But he's holding your hand and you're thankful for that.

You couldn't believe it when his dad, Elias told Nannette, the manager of the only mom and pop Greek-Italian hybrid restaurant near your old neighborhood. Your parents ate dinner there and that's when Nannette told them.

They told you.

You told your husband, who agreed a visit from your old pal was long overdue.

Marc was bringing his wife Layla. You'd seen her picture. She was...effervescently beautiful. She fit Marc's mysterious aura well.

You couldn't wait to meet her and see Marc, and introduce them both to your favorite humans (your family).

Marc was the only way you got through JROTC and you were the only way he made it through living with his asshole of a mother. You were so jealous but so happy for him when he got out of town and joined the Marines.

You were planning to follow in his footsteps somewhat - only you wanted to join the Army like your grandpa. But life took a turn and you went to college instead, meeting your husband there.

Since then, you'd talked to Marc a few times a year on the phone, except when he was in one of his, "no one can reach me" phases. You were happy he had Layla for those.

Marc would celebrate Rosh Hashanah and observe Yom Kippur with his father, so he would be in town for a couple weeks. When he video called you from his dad's basement, you might have screamed a little.

He wanted to bring you along to the old fall festival you used to go to with your closest JROTC buddies. Okay, it was really just the two of you plus this kid named Dan. But Dan lived in New York now. Marc wanted to show Layla that there was life before...well, all the insanity that had happened since.

Layla was some sort of mythical creature, you were sure of it. She fit Marc to a tee and you smiled to yourself at the way Marc gazed at her when she wasn't looking.

Marc shook your husband's hand, noting how they hadn't seen one another since your wedding.

"All right, Spector," you announced, pointing to the rickety old haunted house which graced the festival every year since you were kids. "I suggest we handle this in proper military fashion. We split up and search the house."

"Colonel Mustard - Clue!" He laughed, recognizing the quote from one of your favorite movies as kids.

Your husband eyed Layla. "Does he quote that movie as much as this one does?"

"Oh, I'm sure he could recite it entirely if we were really bored," she chuckled.

"All right, who is feeling brave today?" You questioned conspiratorially, rubbing your hands together like a clichéd villain.

"Definitely you," your husband prompted, giving you a playful push forward.

"No way. We both have the house memorized," Marc said. "We've been in it at least fifty times."

"I got this," Layla chimed, easing around you to the front of your small party. She elbowed her husband. "Try to keep up."

"I'll bring up the rear," you decided, inching sneakily behind your hubby, ready to scare the shit out of him when the moment presented itself.

"Bad idea," Marc told him, pretending to talk under his breath. "I wouldn't trust any one of us for one second inside this house."

"Believe me, there's no way I'm getting jump scared from behind," your husband agreed.

"You are just no damn fun, Spector." You glared at him playfully.

"All right, forward march, et cetera," your husband said. "Layla, we're counting on you."

"On it," she piped, bravely barreling ahead.

As soon as darkness blinded you inside the doorway, your not-into-horror husband reached for your hand. You smiled to yourself, squeezing it reassuringly. You hadn't toured the haunted house in years, since your husband was a rom com kind of guy, so it meant so much to you that he and Layla let you and your high school bestie share this memory with them.

Turned out, the haunted house employees had switched things around since you'd last entered, so you were able to enjoy a few good scares. The costumes looked amazing and you were impressed. Anticipation built as you rounded the last corner, ready for the insane clown with the pretend (but loud) chainsaw.

Marc Spector actually laughed out delightedly. That was rare, even when he was a kid. "I love that guy," he bellowed, reaching in front of him to squeeze Layla's shoulders as she led your group toward the exit.

"He definitely looks as insane as you described," she laughed, not phased in the least by the clown's crazy antics.

Your hubby, fourth in line, had three people in front of him to absorb some of the scare, but you felt him crowd in behind you to hurry out the exit.

"Told you I should have been in the back," you teased him. "The clown's gonna get you from behind."

"That sounded..." Marc began.

"...so wrong," your husband concluded, the two of them sharing a chuckle at your expense.

The four of you tried to decide whether to try a nauseating ride before or after consuming festival food, but you stopped when you spotted the fortune teller.

"Marc, it's her!" You pointed animatedly before nudging your husband's arm. "That's the lady that told me I was going to marry you."

Your hubby glanced between you and Marc skeptically. "What?"

"It's true," Marc confirmed. "We went in there," he paused, double checking with you, "fall of junior year?" You nodded. "And his fortune teller lady said that you would go to college and meet your husband."

"That's kind of vague," Layla laughed.

"True, but I was planning to enlist in the Army at that point," you went on. "But fortune teller lady said I would go to college and I would meet a very tall, very handsome man, who I would marry." You gazed up at your hubby. "And I did."

"That is a very cool story, actually," Layla said sincerely before turning to her own husband. "And what did she tell you?"

"That I would find a partner to do battle with."

Their gazes locked and you knew, right then, that Marc was definitely, finally okay.

"That reminds me, by the way..." Layla nodded toward you and your hubby. "We actually have something to tell you guys."

"And no - it's not about kids," Marc interjected before you could lose your shit.

"No it's not," Layla confirmed.

"Well, what is it?" You asked, bouncing on your toes.

With a final nod of encouragement from his wife, Marc folded his arms over his chest. "Have you guys ever heard of Moon Knight?"

The darker, redder horse beside her let out a slightly annoyed squeal, which made you chuckle before granting her equal attention, speaking so softly, Poe could barely hear you.

Polishing off the rest of his caf - or coffee, as Earthlings called it - Poe set his ceramic mug down, hoping to be of some use.

Weeks had passed since he'd come to be here with you - since his X-wing spun out of control, through a black hole to a galaxy far, far away. It took the two of you almost a week to successfully hide his nearly obliterated ship on your farm and make up a cover story, should anyone come knocking.

It also took quite a lot of convincing for Poe to believe that there was no one on Earth who could help repair his ship - not without drawing the kind of attention that would get him locked up or put under a microscope.

So, he decided to trust you.

You gave him a bed in your spare room, two warm meals a day, and in return, he helped out on your small farm. He wasn't sure how he could ever get home, but this place wasn't so bad, for now.

"Are there horses where you're from?" You asked Poe a bit later, brushing the coat of your sweet Annabelle.

"There were animals called orbaks one one of the moons of a planet called Endor. And I think there are your kind of horses on its forest moon. Never seen those myself, though," Poe explained, gesturing toward your animal.

A warm smile brightened your face. "So did you ever ride an orbak?"

"No," he cockily grinned. "I was too busy flying my X-wing. My best friend rode one in battle though. It was - what do you say? ‘Badass.’”

Giggling at the colloquialism, you finished brushing Annabelle's mane and reached for the fly spray. "I cannot believe you've been in actual battles. In space. You must think Earth is so boring."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Earth has wars, right? Battles, soldiers? It's the same thing."

"True, but no laser guns and laser swords and powerful wizards and talking furry...what did you call Chewbacca?"

"A Wookiee," Poe chuckled.

After spraying Annabelle, you fed her a quick treat and saddled her. "You be nice to Poe, sweet girl," you instructed her affectionately. "He's new to this."

"Are you sure you don't want to ride her?" Poe politely asked you. "I can try the other one."

You glared at him half-jokingly. "I promise you do not want to ride Arzola. She's not for newbies."

Dark eyebrows shot up at the challenge. "You know, I can fly anything."

"Fly, sure. Ride?" Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you winked at him. "Leave the riding to me."

Poe Dameron had never backed down from a challenge in his life, and two in a row had just been laid before him.

Arzola. And you.

"Her loss," he playfully shrugged, carefully approaching the moodier chestnut. "You don't know what you're missing, sweetheart."

"Are you flirting with my horse?" You swatted his arm with a pretend huff.

Trapping your hand against his bicep with incredible reflexes, his eyes locked with yours before momentarily flickering down to your lips. "Not with her."

Arzola nudged her way between the two of you protectively, breaking your temporary trance.

Clearing your throat, you nodded toward her saddle. "Come on, I'll show you how to do this."

Soon enough, you and Poe guided Arzola and Annabelle, respectively, out for an early morning ride.

As expected, Poe was a natural and quickly took command of Annabelle, showing no signs of nervousness and forming an instant bond with her. He seemed so good at it, you almost felt a mildly jealous pang at how she warmed to him. He'd tried out Annabelle a couple times, on quick walks around the paddock, but this was the first real ride.

Sunlight spilled over the horizon, illuminating the path before you, inviting you to rush headlong to where light kissed the earth.

You clicked twice, urging Arzola ahead into a full run, which Annabelle immediately followed.

Poe, of course, accepted the challenge and gave Annabelle a gentle squeeze with his legs. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Annabelle neighed out an affirmation, galloping ahead of the competition. Arzola possessed fiery spirit in spades, but Annabelle's legs were longer, and she preferred to think of herself as the favorite.

"That's my girl," Poe bellowed out a joyful laugh as crisp autumn air whipped through his curls, tossing them carelessly around his forehead. He chanced a look at you, flashing you a devastating grin, dark eyes bright and reddened by the sun's kiss, almost a twin color to Arzola's coat.

This was closest you'd come to seeing him in action, aside from a few projects he'd attempted with a hammer around the farm, and you had to admit, it was a good look on him.

Despite the joy surging through you at the chance to take both your girls out for a run, and with Poe, no less, you still possessed a competitive streak of your own.

With a powerful command you'd probably come to regret, you granted Arzola the permission she was impatiently waiting for, to run top speed and catch the stranger riding her adoptive sister.

Despite the vigor and exertion involved with riding a horse at a full gallop, the look on Poe's face as he stared out over the horizon could be considered nothing short of pure peace.

The two of you slowed and finally brought your animals to a stop. After walking them for a few minutes, you offered them a drink from a hose and trough near a ramshackle tool shed at the far end of your property.

You and Poe sat down on the creaky old steps leading up to the door, taking a moment to have a drink yourselves while the sun finally climbed all the way to full daylight.

"Thanks for this," he softly uttered, turning to gaze at your profile.

Although you felt him staring, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes.

"You're welcome." Finishing off your water bottle, you glanced over at your horses. "Annabelle likes you. Really likes you. She usually can't be bothered to race Arzola."

"Why is that?"

"She's just gentle. She must've had a good reason to challenge her," You explained with a knowing wink.

Poe beamed proudly, following your gaze over to the magnificent creatures. "They're amazing animals. I know it doesn't make sense, but Arzola reminds me of BB-8 a little bit."

"Of a robot?" You scoffed. "For real?"

"A droid," Poe corrected. "Believe me, they can have spirit."

"He must be wonderful," you sympathized, knowing he was separated from the little guy.

Poe ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, eyes dipping as he contemplated a life so far away from everything he'd ever known.

Swallowing, he bravely scooted a little closer to you, meeting your eyes with the openness and sincerity you'd come to expect from him.

"He would be really happy to know that I met someone like you. Someone who helped me. Protected me."

Your lip trembled slightly under his intensity. You'd never met a man like him in your life. There couldn't possibly be anyone like him, at least not on this planet.

Laying your hand gently over his, you spoke from your heart. "I know you didn't plan on any of this, but I'm happy I met you, Poe."

Sure, you had friends. Life in the midwestern United States was altogether different from London. But it had seemed important to Marc, to come back. To try.

He needed you to know this part of him.

So, a house meant a neighborhood. Which meant neighbors, who eventually became friends.

The first time Marc took you to a Cubs game was pure magic. Wrigley Field may as well have been his own personal Disneyland. His transformation into a bright-eyed child, with every pipe organ tune or crack of the bat, made your heart swell with love.

Marc was quite good on the grill and his kosher pre-game cuisine was becoming popular amongst friends and neighbors.

You would hang back and watch him sometimes, humming to himself. He still maintained a private bubble, even in a crowd, but when he hummed, you knew he was comfortable.

A life out of the service of an ancient deity was a good look on him.

“Sweetheart, can you watch the grill for me? I gotta get something out of the truck.”

You smile playfully, taking the spatula from his hand. “Mr. Spector, you trust me to man your meat?”

‘You know it.” He winks, swatting your backside. Yanking his Cubs cap off his head, he plops it on yours playfully, raking his hand through his messy curls. “Hold that for me.”

You pick up on the tune he started, humming to yourself as you flip the burgers.

After a few minutes, you feel strong hands grab your hips from behind, squeezing possessively. “Hey baby,” he breathes on your ear.

“Mmm, hey.” You turn your head to meet an incoming kiss which he indulges in a moment too long for a neighborly gathering. “Want your hat back?”

“Nope, looks better on you. I’ll take the spatula though before you burn everything.”

“I did no such thing,” you pout, but you can see he’s teasing.

“Hey, Spector, you two grilling or you need some time alone?” Your neighbor Glen teases.

Passing him the spatula, Marc playfully grabs your hips again. “Definitely time alone. We’ll be in the truck,” he jokes, pressing a kiss to your giggling lips.

The little old ladies adore him. He helps them in and out of the van with a kiss on the hand.

The men love to tell him long stories. He listens to them like they are the most interesting people in the world

So there are many reasons you became slightly smitten

You accompany the senior adults on many outings like the movies or to a concert. Today is a fall festival.

Jake's only job is to drive the van there and back, but he ends up walking around with everyone, helping out, while the seniors shop for antiques and crafts, eat a snack and listen to live music.

That's when the two of you notice the corn maze. Definitely not an activity for the seniors but Jake nods toward it.

"Do you own boots?"

You lift your booted foot, turning it this way and that.

"You're not scared of a little mud, are you?"

"Jake, we cannot take them in there, you know that."

"Maybe we could come back another time. Like tomorrow night?" His dark eyebrows arch curiously.

You point to yourself, mouthing, "Me?"

"Yeah, you." He winks.

So that's how you end up on a date with Jake, at a corn maze.

"I didn't think people liked to do corn mazes at night."

"They do if it's a haunted corn maze."

At the maze entrance, there's a creepy looking clown selling a variety of glow-in-the-dark items to illuminate the maze and make it more fun.

Jake buys you a glowing headband and multicolored flashlight. You feel like a kid again.

"How do I look?" You twirl around once after fixing your headband in place.

"Glowing."

The two of you enter the maze, brandishing your neon gadgets to ward off anything too spooky.

"No one's gonna jump out and grab me, are they?" You whisper, huddling next to him.

"Not if they wanna keep their arms," he quite seriously assures you, taking the opportunity to pull you close.

After enduring more than enough jump scares, you realize you might actually be lost.

"Please tell me you know the way out of here. I haven't been paying attention," you confess, shining your light this way and that.

Jake has finally released his hold on you as the two of you try one path after another.

For some reason you get the giggles and start laughing every time you hit a dead end.

"If we get stuck in here, I'm going to blind you with this flashlight," you warn, brandishing it like a weapon.

"Good luck with that," he cockily teases, holding up his own flashlight and making a whooshing lightsaber-type sound.

This leads to a quick duel, and you're thrilled to learn that the suave, sexy Jake is actually as big of a nerd as you are, at least in some respects.

"Come on, I think we're close to the entrance," he encourages, boldly taking your hand to lead you along.

"There's no way you know where we are," you tease. "You just want to hold my hand."

"Accurate." He grins. "Well, this anyway." He brings your fingers to his lips and steals a kiss.

You turn another corner and realize you're at the exit.

"Jake, we did it!" You cheer, throwing your arms around him in celebration.

It feels good to hug him. To hold his hand. To be close. To have his undivided attention.

"I thought you were just nice to everyone," you admit as you stroll along near the food trucks. "I didn't think you liked me as much as..."

You trail off, realizing what you just blurted out.

"I knew it." He winks. "It's the mustache, right?"

You breathlessly laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "It's everything."

- hay ride - carnival - haunted house - apple orchard/picking - baking - trickORtreating - corn maze - hiking/nature bathing - playing/jumping in leaves - swinging on a rope or porch swing - horseback riding - pumpkin carving/pumpkin patch - cozy fire - read a book - tailgate party/sporting event -

🧡 Romance 💫 🖤

- first kiss - forehead kiss - kiss on cheek - hug - holding each other - rocking back and forth - holding hands - falling asleep together - head on shoulder - cuddles - first date - first ‘i love you’ - new love - established love - gaze into eyes - nuzzling neck - rubbing noses - touching foreheads - caressing cheek/touching face - holding nape of neck - grasping shoulders gently - grabbing by the hips - stare across the room/field - hear them talking about you

(Same list of prompts to save or share)

Step 2: Pick a Character:

All spots are taken! 🖤🧡

Step 3:

Send me an ✨ask✨ with the prompt and character you want. Please send 2 characters, in your order of preference, in case your first choice is already taken.

Step 4:

I will update this list every time I get an ask, so you know who’s still available.

Step 5:

I will write you thots, blurbs, headcanons or a ficlet (<1000 words). I plan to have them all done by US Thanksgiving Day (Nov. 28).

That's it! First come, first served! There will be 6 total stories. Spots are FULL, but I might be able to squeeze in more.

Yes, I do take platonic requests!

xoxo

Ivy

🍁🖤🍂🧡🍁🖤🍂🧡🍁🖤🍂🧡