#veg*n tag

[lorelune]

braised

|| blade x reader || M || captive reader x necrobiome blade || wc: 3.2k  || ao3 || previous + next ->

The Stellaron Hunters and their newest prize settle in and find routine.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: HELLO >:3c this lil story has me gripped!! this piece is meant to be read after "scrap metal" but can be read as a standalone. mind the tags and enjoy 💕

CW: dark content, captive/pet reader, violence, implied/partially depicted physical abuse, force-feeding, general talk about food and eating, thoughts of violence toward the reader

"They didn't eat again."

Silver Wolf tosses the metal bowl on the counter with a frown. It’s full, heaped with eggs, kixi wafers, and some yogurt-based sauce. It’s untouched, sauce gelatinized from being out in the open air.

Kafka clicks her tongue from the cockpit, pausing her scrolling. Her gaze flicks up, "Not a bite?"

"Nope." Silver Wolf frowns and fidgets. "They didn't even look at me when I gave them their lunch either."

"They haven't eaten since the day before yesterday then. That’s no good." Kafka sounds concerned, but there's an edge to it.

Blade feels antsy. Out of his skin. He doesn't know why.

“They haven’t been drinking much either.” Silver Wolf frowns. “They’ll shrivel up and die at this rate." 

Kafka nods, "That’s more than likely their intention, even if it's a long and foolish way to die. That’s a shame. I thought they'd be better than this."

Blade drums his stiff fingers over the hilt of Shard Sword. He hardly remembers summoning it. 

"Bladie, dear? Try and convince them to have a bite or two tonight." Kafka's attention almost drifts back to her phone before she meets his eyes. Her own are clear, pupils intact. "Be careful, though. Hungry pets will still bite the hand that feeds them."

Blade doesn't reply with anything other than a jerky nod. He ferries himself across the ship to a padded training room and shreds two dozen practice dummies until they're nothing more than piles of polymer leather and filler.

...

Kafka had implemented a rotation. A 'feeding schedule' to acclimate you to your new environment, and get you used to your new comrades. You’re pricklier than she originally anticipated, but she doesn't seem concerned.

(If anything, she seems... delighted. She has a spring to her step that she usually doesn't. She leaves your room glowing.)

It’s Blade's turn to bring you dinner. Your meal is piled into the same metal bowl. Heaps of rice, covered in a sticky sauce with chunks of meat and veg. It’s still steaming as he walks silently to your cell— room. cell. He's not sure.

He undoes each lock (seven) and enters your room without any announcement.

The room is... less destroyed than it was yesterday. When Blade brought you lunch the day before, your mattress had been dragged onto the floor, sheets torn to shreds and spread around the room. You’d thrown a book at his head when he'd entered.

(Which he caught and gave back to you. You looked terrified when he got at all close to you.)

Blade didn’t like it. And he isn't sure why.

Today, you're less frantic. Instead, you’re balled up on your mattress, tucked in a corner with your knees up. Your head is down. You only flinch when Blade enters, but don't regard him otherwise.

Blade's frown deepens.

"Dinner," he says, and sets the food on your nightstand. Kafka has replaced the diffuser you broke the day prior. A new one pumps out an herbal-scented mist. "Eat it."

"Just leave it,” you reply, voice scratchy and raw. You rarely speak to him.

"No. Eat it now."

"I will later."

"You won't. You aren't eating."

"And what's it to you?" You unfurl just a fraction and shoot him a glare. It’s angry. vitriolic and guarded. (But a scared stray will bear its teeth and bite, won't they?)

(What is it to Blade? Other than Kafka's order. There’s something there. There has been something there since he saw you muzzled and dead-eyed, and Blade's always half-aware of it. How it refracts and shudders and fills him with such intense unease. He knows the feeling— recognizes it like the scent of an old lover. But he does not like it. It does not feel like it is his.)

He’s struck with the particular urge to throw you against a wall and watch your skull splatter against the metal paneling.

He doesn't. Because his mara isn't that uncontrollable, not now anyway. Instead, he frowns at your scowl.

"You'll die if you don't eat."

"Ah, and if I die, you'll lose an asset, right? I'm not stupid, I know how these things work." You sound... almost petulant. Blade does not know how to approach you, or it, or this attitude.

"You'll die. You shouldn't die. You should eat and live."

"Fuck you." You snap at him, fist balling up in the sheets at your side. You've picked your nails short and raw. "Fuck you."

Blade doesn't know what to do.

He pushes the bowl closer to you on the nightstand before departing.

Kafka catches him as he heads to the training rooms (again, because he needs to shatter a few holograms with his bare fists if he wants to feel close to sane in the next few hours.)

"Any luck, lovely?" Kafka's expression is kind. She must already know.

"No."

Kafka sighs, and shakes her head. "I'll take care of it, Bladie. I suppose we’ll have to do things the hard way.”

...

Kafka is the one to bring you breakfast the next morning. Blade does not normally keep track of Kafka's morning routine, because she is insane, but considering it involves you, he's more keen to it. Kafka prepares a light breakfast of garlic and shash rice, and secondarily, a shake of greens and nutrient powder.

(He... he thinks he knows the substance. Recognizes the acrid, must-driven smell of it, and remembers how awful it tastes. Like bile mixed with metal shavings. Who knows where Kafka acquires it from. He has smudged out memories of choking it down when Kafka first pulled him out of a crater, covered in blood and scarred— but not dead. Never. Never, never dead— )

Blade fractiously goes to your room and waits outside your door. Kafka is still inside when he arrives, speaking to you in that sweet, syrupy tone that drips into muscle and bone like molten metal.

"You need to eat, darling."

"Fuck you—"

"The more you fight, the harder this will be. Why don't you be good and let me help?"

"Don’t fucking touch me—!"

There’s the muffled sound of a struggle, which Blade assumes isn’t much of a struggle because Kafka is far stronger than she looks. Blade leans against the wall, next to your door. He can feel vibrations of a fight in the soles of his shoes through the floor. The thump of a body hitting the wall echoes.

Blade hears crying. You’re crying.

"Oh, tears? I’ve hardly done anything."

"You’re fucking monsters. Just let me go—!"

"You know that won't happen. Play nice.”

"Don't—!"

You sob, probably, and there's another sharp sound of flesh on steel. Blade would've flinched if he wasn’t an abomination.

"Let me take care of you, sweetheart. The sooner you give in, the easier this is. This doesn't need to be difficult."

"Get off of me—!"

More struggling. Blade closes his eyes and tries to imagine it. Kafka is ruthless in getting what she wants. She knows how to pry people apart, pick at their inside, and pull strings until they fracture. It is why Elio is such a fan of hers. It is why Blade keeps her close, as she knows the delicate, bowstring dance of keeping his mara in check.

He wonders what Kafka sees in you.

(He wonders what he sees in you. You're nothing like— like— who? Who are you so different from?)

Blade has a headache.

The sounds echoing from your room dissolve into muffled sobs and the occasional sharp cough. A gag. Inhaling and what must be your fist beating against the metallic paneling of the floor. He hears Kafka hush you, over and over. Quietly praising you after each gag and retch.

Blade's not sure how long it goes on before things feel still and quiet.

The sound of a kiss, audible, "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"... F-fuck you.

"Such a filthy mouth. Do you need me to wash your mouth out with soap? I'm happy too."

"Wait, don’t— no—“

Blade realizes his shoulders have hiked up. He forces them to lower. You scream and fight just feet away, really. All that separates you is seven locks.

Kafka seems to be handling things. The sounds continues, and become dull background noise. Shouts and pants fade into his thoughts as they get sap-sticky.

(Someone beloved, something far away. Bitter liquor on each other’s lips. Blade can’t recall the name.)

(A comet with a tail burning yellow. It is cold. A blade, driven into his chest. A blade stabbed into his eye. A blade put sidelong through his skull. A blade splitting his throat. Cold, cold, cold, cold.)

(Do you know cold? Do you know how frostbite turns flesh black? Do you know necrosis? What pain do you know?)

Blade, startlingly, does not want you to know pain. He wants you to eat your meals.

Kafka exits, almost startling him. She does not look surprised to see him hovering. She rearms the locks and glances at him from the corner of her eye.

“Down, loverboy. A scared dog will bite.”

“Do not call me that.” 

"Alright, alright,” she laughs and her grin grows sharper. “I’ll be taking care of their meals for the next few days. Listen, grab a medkit, the poor thing needs it. Though, I’ll let them hurt for a while first.”

Kafka walks off, and Blade follows at her heels. There are indentations in Kafka's gloves-- half-moon bite marks of teeth.

He decides he is going to break his own fingers, maybe. He can watch them heal back into place.

It’s meditative.

...

Several days pass with your ‘new routine’. Kafka handles each meal. Blade stays away from your room. The entire wing you’re located in feels nuclear. He stays in the training room. Throws himself at matted walls until his shoulders dislocate, only to pop them back into place to repeat the cycle.

He makes a point to check the kitchen after each of your meal times. There’s always an empty dish, a clean plate. A chunky-looking film left on a glass in the sink. Kafka is diligent, Blade doesn’t doubt this. 

The whole thing fills him with unease.

He asks Kafka to wipe his memory, but she denies him. She’s in the cockpit, swiveling in her seat.

“You don’t need that yet, Bladie. Give it some time.”

“But—”

“Discomfort isn’t mara suffocation, dear.”

“You’re patronizing me.”

She sizes him up, sighing, “Listen to me, keep it together. You’re alright. How about this, you can feed your pet starting tomorrow for lunch. Would that make you feel better?”

It would. He’s not sure why.”

“It would.”

Kafka looks pleased with the outcome of the conversation. She tells Blade to get some rest, pats his cheek, which does take the edge off the mara rooting around in his psyche for purchase. 

Blade takes a long route through the ship to his chambers. A deliberate path that brings him in front of your door. He doesn’t dare to enter, only listen. It’s late, you could be sleeping given the hour— but Blade can hear you shuffling around. Grumbling to yourself. One of your feet is dragging on the floor as you walk. Blade wonders how it was injured. 

He departs after hearing the shifting of your sheets, and the light under your door goes out.

(He feels insane. Insane in a way that isn’t mara-ridden, which is more terrifying. He knows the gnawing beast of Abundance that crawls around inside his skull and bones, he doesn’t know madness that has burrowed itself between his ribs. It feels light, like the carbonation bubbles in the bottled soda back on the Luofu. His palms sweat when he becomes aware of it with each thought of you.)

(Maybe he’ll try tearing out his organs again. That could fix it.)

Blade returns to his room and paces, before stripping and climbing into bed.

It’s only when he’s half-asleep that he realizes he’s hard.

He’s not sure why. 

...

Lunch is some takeout. It scalds his hands through the bowl he heaps it into. Braised trelk ribs with scallion and carrot, ladled over a bed of chewy-looking noodles.

"Bladie," Kafka tells him from the cockpit. She glances at him with a curling smile. "Be careful, they're sensitive."

Blade does not know how to be... careful. Not like how Kafka is implying he thinks anyway.

Silver Wolf snorts from her seat, speaking through a bite of noodle, "You’re asking a human-shaped hydrokenia bomb to be 'careful'?"

"Blade's a good boy, I'm sure he'll do great." Kafka's eyes are that spatial, nebula magenta. He feels pleasantly high when she looks at him. "Won’t you?"

"Yes."

Kafka looks pleased, "Listen, take your meal too. Eating with them will get them comfortable."

Silver Wolf raises an eyebrow, "Is that really a good idea?"

"I think so. Blade can handle it if they get testy."

She looks at him with a grin that's collapsed empires and immolated planets. Blade leaves the room with two bowls in his hands.

When he arrives at your cell— room. It's your room. He unlocks the locks methodically and enters without a greeting.

Today, you are not tucked in the corner of your bed. You’re instead perched in the rounded window, gazing at the starscape. Your knees are raised, and your arms are wrapped around yourself. You look small and defeated, eyes darkened and downcast. Blade watches you rub your shoulders.

You look up when he enters. Blade sets the bowl on the ledge next to you, and sets a pair of chopsticks on top, "You will eat."

It's not a command, but a statement of fact.

You scowl, looking so angry. Alive with it. He recognizes vitriol so easily. It's in your eyes and in the way you bare your teeth at him, ready to strike. Maybe you'll bite down on him, into him, until you taste blood. Blade's sure you wouldn't leave a scar— he heals too quickly from the types of flesh wounds to give him a lasting mark.

(There's something enticing about you trying. Blade does not know the floating, filmy part of himself that suggests such a desire.)

You carry Kafka's mark. There are bruises around your throat, the clear shape of hands. There are lumps across your jaw, darkened in color. Scratches of nails over your neck, down to your collarbones. Your eyes are red-rimmed. Your lip is split, barely scabbed over. You're shaking.

You open your mouth, ready to snap. Maybe you'll spit venom— Blade doesn't know your species. You could.

(Blade remembers your expression on different faces from the glitter of your canines. It reminds him— of—? Jingliu was colder. Frigid in her rage. Dan Feng was always so calm with his, Only shattered near the end, like a tide that swelled too high on the shore to swallow the world whole. Your expression is white-hot, like metal pulled fresh from a stoked forge. Desperation and terror make dull teeth sharp. Actions become erratic and desperate.)

(Blade has not remembered so much, so clearly in a long time. He really needs Kafka to wipe his memory again.)

The mara in him writhes. It’s a necrosis, a vitality that has long since sank into his marrow and will not leave. It rolls through him. Blades tips back his head and rolls his shoulders. There's a high to it, followed by an immediate and tumbling withdrawal and dread and clarity—

And it's all interrupted by the little gasp you make. The abrupt jolt you take backward, into the window, closer to the depths of deep space. Your body thumps against the glass. 

('Fragile', Kafka had said.)

Your mouth closes, and your bloody lower lip wobbles. Tears glitter on your lash line as you retreat. Maybe, Kafka broke you. She’s good at that. 

"Fucking— I-I mean, fine. I’ll fucking eat." You stumble over your words with a sniffle. Your voice is raw and strained. You rub your nose on your sleeve and scramble for the bowl and utensils.

Blade stares as you eat your first bite. Then your second. Followed by your third. You start crying after the fourth, sobbing with the fifth, and hiccupping between mouthfuls. You're eating too fast, occasionally looking at him with an expression he recognizes as terror. He's used to seeing a look like that at the end of his blade. Frozen before draining of blood and death.

He frowns. You should not look that way..

"Slow down," he says, sitting next to you.

You look at him and wipe over your mouth, lips parting, but seem to think better of speaking. You take another bite, chewing slower. Blade picks up his own bowl and eats small, meticulous bites.

(He shared a meal all the time. Shoulder to shoulder with Dan Feng, splitting casks of viridian wine in the moonlight. Food tastes better when someone you... like is near.)

You finish before him, and don't stop crying. If anything, you cry harder. It sounds painful.

Blade pauses his meal, idling. searching. There's something there. A feeling coated in the roots of mara, but... perhaps it's a delicious agony. Not so much a memory, but a want. Something other than— than what and why—

Blade stands. He departs to your bathroom (there are blood stains on the counter) and grabs a cloth towel. He dampens it with water, letting the sink run until it's pleasantly warm.

He sits closer to you when he returns. You flinch away in retreat, leer away as he comes close, hands up—

"Please, don't, what are you—"

"Hold still." Blade grabs your wrist and you wince.

With entirely conscious thought and great effort, he loosens his grip. And... gently, Blade brings the cloth to your face. He dabs around your eyes, then your cheek and nose, and lastly your mouth. you're frozen, wide-eyed, and still shaking.

When he's done, he grabs a blanket from the bed. He wraps it around your shoulders. It feels... somewhat right.

"You should rest." He tells you. "You need it."

Blade thumbs over a swollen round on your jaw. You tremble, eyes wide.

But maybe a little less scared.

"... Are you gonna stay while you finish eating?" You eye his half-full bowl.

"Yes."

"... 'kay... and you're not gonna rough me up like Kafka did?"

"No." He has no plans to.

"... Fine."

You cautiously make your way back to your little bed, sitting at the head of it, and half-slipping under the covers. It's... cute.

(Blade has not thought of anything as cute in several centuries.)

Blade wants to break your legs.

When he finishes, he collects both bowls, and looks around your room. It's sparse, though. There are a few books on the nightstand.

"... Are you bored?"

"Huh?" You ask. You'd been lost in thought, eyes lost. "Oh, I mean. yeah? There's not much to do."

"I'll bring some things. Bear it until then."

"Oh! Okay." You wrap the blanket around your shoulders tighter. "You're... Bladie, right?"

"Just Blade."

"Oh, okay. sorry." You wring your hands. "Thank you, Blade."

The thing in his chest blooms. A monstrous flower, mycelium under acres of land in a network that eats and never dies. Undergrowth that does nothing but rot and grow, grow and rot. 

Blade doesn't reply as he leaves the room. He gets halfway to the training wing before he has to pause, withdraw his phone, and send Kafka a frantic text: 'Meet me in the weaponry room.’

He pockets his phone before punching the wall. Clumsy fingers break upon impact, and the indentation of the fist remains in the metal. 

#lore writes #blade x reader #blade x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #tw dark content #tw yandere #blade's pov is so :3c #guy is nuts!! bonkers!!! #(affectionate) #alright gonna go farm for fu xuan eheh ENJOY!!

[honeyydrunk]

NOW this is a very niche problem but i don't care!! but i am sick of these y/n rejecting the guy whenever he's like flirting or smth. ill genuinely get so annoyed whenever i see a smut post and reader y/n is like being sassy against the guy's advancement. like haechan or someone will be horrendously flirting and the reader will be like "yeah im never having sex with you," UHM¿? WHAT? I WOULD NEVER SAY THAT. tf you mean y/n? idk who this PERSON is but any neo remotely alludes to a sexual encounter and i am already on him. genuinely y/n declining is CRAZY. we have a whole tumblr acc and are searching for smut fics tf you mean the reader in the story is being oblivious and refuses him!?!?

ME? ME PERSONALLY? ! id be doing everything for those neos. id start a ridiculous self care regime just to be so hot for them . eating cranberries and pineapple, my fruits and veg NO UNHEALTHY FOOD HERE. drinking 5 liters of water a day or smth ridiculous. hitting the gym get my stamina up 💪💪😤. paying 700 or smth for laser to make that pussy HAIRLESS. ripping my whole uterus out getting rid of periods and pregnancy. making myself as available as possible. maybe even becoming an sm trainee to get their plastic surgery u know. id be improving my life becoming the best version of myself studying, getting rich, severe self care, JUST to be amazing got those neos tf?

i am NOT declining anyone's advancements i am not playfully rejecting anyone. i'm the one flirting, i'm making advancements.

those text posts where the guys are sex addicts and the readers like "bro ur an addict" MAN IF I GET A HINT HE WANTS ME, IM THERE !! im the sex addict w them atp

i want to see a reader hopelessly delulu batshit crazy for these hot talented men but bro doesn't confess bc obviously fear of rejection u know maybe just once we get mutual pining mutual downbadness

LETS REFLECT THE DEMOGRAPHIC HERE we're not rejecting anyone, we are literally actively searching for smut fics lets be ridiculously real rn !! pick it up !! (ignore these tags i'm being silly and ridiculous)

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #wayv smut #mark lee smut #haechan smut #jeno smut #jaemin smut #johnny suh smut #jjk smut #alice in borderland smut #chishiya smut #gojo satoru smut #toji smut #skz smut

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter three: fair game - in collaboration with @katiexpunk

*18+ Minors DNI*

Word count: ~6.5k

a/n: katie and I wrote to our slutty hearts' desires. srsly she is a smut fairy & loving friend. plz follow her. @katiexpunk

warning(s): SMUUUUUT.

tags: f & m masturbation, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v, creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, spitting (1), fair date, eating, flirting

NOV 2005

You can’t stop thinking about that night at Joel’s a week ago. The way he touched you, pleasured you in a way that you've never experienced before. The way he kissed you, fervently yet soft. You could kiss him for hours and never tire. 

Not only are you craving his touch, but you also find yourself wanting to learn more about him. You want to know him. The things you’ve learned about him through Sarah and what you’ve picked up on are tiny crumbs, leaving you starving for more. 

You hope he feels the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Joel since that night, as you’ve been drowning at work. You started working for this publishing firm in college, first, as an intern, and now that you’ve finished school, you’re an editor. You agreed to take on extra responsibilities due to your coworker being out on maternity leave, which has exponentially increased your workload, on top of your boss being a micromanaging asshole.

Joel’s been burning the candle at both ends. He’s working against a tight deadline on a big project for a persnickety client and Sarah’s soccer team is in the playoffs for the district championship; he’s incredibly proud but attending her neverending roster of games has left him a bit preoccupied. He never thought he would end up being a soccer dad, but life has a funny way of keeping him on his toes. 

Much like you, he’s replayed you squirting on his leather couch in his mind over and over, a never-ending lascivious reel that plays in his head as he fucks his cock at night. Joel longs to hear those saccharine sounds you make while you ride his cock, your tits bouncing in tandem with your movements. He’s kicking himself for not getting his hands, or mouth, on your pillowy breasts. The cheekiness of forgoing a bra in your bunny costume revealed a side of you that he wants to unleash. 

He wants to know everything; what keeps you up at night, what makes you double over in laughter, your ticklish spots, which movies make you cry without fail, all of your little quirks. Hell, he even wants to know if you believe in aliens. 

+++

You pull into your driveway after a long, grueling day at work. Your brain is so fried you didn’t even turn the music on for the drive home; a rarity for you since you always have music playing in your car, whether it be the FM radio or one of the various CDs you’ve collected over the years. A true indicator of your current state of being. You can’t wait to veg out on the couch, rid your mind of this shitty week, and huddle into an antisocial ball. 

After a few moments of idly sitting in your car, you peel yourself from the driver’s seat and go to retrieve your work tote from your trunk when you hear a deep voice calling out to you, one you’d recognize anywhere. You turn in the direction of the sound and find Joel. He’s clearly working on a renovation project; a miter saw, lumber and a plethora of other tools are set up in his front yard. There’s another man with him, bearing a slight resemblance to Joel. Brothers, maybe? 

“Hey, neighbor!” Joel immediately regrets his word choice, finding it oddly stiff — considering he’s had his face between your thighs. 

“Hey Joel!” You manage to shout back, despite your energy battery being crucially depleted. 

He waves for you to come over. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’re unable to resist him. Not when he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tousled, and coaxing you across the street. 

Though you feel drained, being in close proximity to Joel makes your body thrum in nerves. You’re being energized by anxious attraction. 

Joel and the mystery man greet you at the edge of the yard. 

“This is my brother Tommy. Tommy, this is my neighbor.” 

“So, this is the pretty neighbor you were tellin’ me about,” Tommy says, his southern drawl identical to Joel’s. 

Joel glares at Tommy. If looks could kill. 

Tommy holds out his hand, you tell him your name and give him your hand for a brief shake; much like Joel’s does, his palm size is large in comparison to yours and envelops your full hand. You survey the man in front of you; handsome, dark curly hair like Joel, slightly longer and free of the grays his brother sports, deep brown eyes, similar to Joel’s. The Miller genes are super fucking strong. 

“Nice to meet ya, sweetheart,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes dragging over your figure just a second too long. 

“I’m gonna start packin’ these tools up,” Tommy announces to Joel and then shoots him a wink. It’s obvious he wasn’t aiming for subtlety, clearly wanting to give you and his brother a moment alone. 

Joel shifts his broad frame to face you directly. You wish you didn’t feel so bashful in his presence, but it’s hard to breathe evenly when he is standing so close you can smell him - earthy and a hint of his deodorant wearing off. It should be gross to you, but you want to put his scent in a candle. You’re fucking deranged. 

“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty…” Joel apologizes, looking down at himself, remembering that he probably reeks like a locker room. 

You wave off his apology, giggling at his self-awareness. 

“I wanted to ask you somethin’,'' Joel says, gently wrapping his hand around your arm right above your elbow. Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the touch of his calloused fingers. 

“Okay…” 

“I was wonderin’...” Joel pauses, his fingers now grazing over the soft skin of your arm. 

You gulp in anticipation. “Yes, Joel?” 

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to go on a date with me,'' he asks, his eyes dropping to his boots for a second before coming back up to meet yours, “a proper one.” 

You’re so giddy at his proposition you think you might burst.

“Well, you know…I’ve gotta check my calendar,” you say, a big grin plastered on your face. You see his face drop, but before he can sulk too much you wink at him and say, “yeah, I’d love to,” you exhale and try to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away how excited you actually are. A date. With Joel Miller. 

“You free tomorrow?” he asks, beaming, revealing the dimpled smile you’re so fond of. 

“Lucky for you, I am,” you say, feeling your skin warm. 

“Pick you up at 7?” he asks, dipping his face closer to yours, his hand now on your waist pulling you into him. 

“Works for me,” you confirm while planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, “see you then, neighbor!” you conclude, being sure to emphasize the neighbor in your words, and before he can convince you to stay, you’re sauntering across the street back to your house.

+++

It’s finally here. Your big date with Joel.

The day went by torturously slow, anticipation pulsing through your entire body.

You spent almost two hours getting ready, the majority of the time trying to pick an outfit. You probably changed 30 times, trying to find the outfit that conveyed the perfect balance of sexy, yet subdued. 

You decide on a pair of dark wash flares and a lacy top, both accentuating your figure heavenly. You spritz on a little perfume you save for special occasions. If this ain’t a hell of an occasion. 

Joel, with impeccable timing, rings the doorbell right as you tug your black cowboy boots on. It’s sill relatively warm in Austin, so you decide to forgo a jacket. 

Opening the door, you and Joel take a moment to check the other out, neither of you trying to hide it whatsoever. Joel’s wearing his signature jeans and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veiny, strong forearms. You’d hump his arms given the opportunity. 

“Absolutely stunnin’, sweetheart,” he licks his bottom lip while his brown irises roam over your entire body, paying special attention to your waist and tits. You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for your outfit choice. 

“One could say the same for you, cowboy,” you quip back, a smug grin plastered across your face. 

Your smile shoots blood straight to Joel’s cock. 

He swallows as he realizes the night is just beginning. 

+++

Joel takes you to a quaint diner for your date. From the outside, it’s unassuming; an older building in urgent need of a pressure wash, adjacent to a virtually empty shopping center. A true hole-in-the-wall in the middle of downtown Austin. 

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise ya, they got the best damn burgers in town,” he assures, seeing the questioning look on your face when he pulls into the parking lot. 

You and Joel slide into a booth in the far corner, Joel insisting that booth seating is part of the experience. You both order burgers, per his recommendation and boy, it does not disappoint. 

Between bites of food, you and Joel learn more about each other. The conversation flows easily, both hanging onto each other’s every word; no awkwardness or feigning interest. You both share parts of your childhoods and you share stories from your college days. Joel recounts the mischief he and Tommy got into when they were younger, earning several belly laughs from you. 

Joel loves the way you laugh; candidly, throwing your head back, your shoulders jerking uncontrollably as you try to catch a breath. 

You’re pleased to learn that both you and Joel have a fondness for 80’s action movies, especially the over-the-top-borderline-cheesy ones, and 70’s artists like Fleetwood Mac and Electric Light Orchestra.

Joel asks about your job as an editor. You tell him the different types of manuscripts you have to read; some you drudge through, others you enjoy. “I love seeing how the story progresses from the first rough draft up until the final copy,” you tell him,” a lot of authors are really full of themselves, so you have to boil down a lot of the flowery language and hubris.” 

In return, he tells you about how he got started as a contractor, hard work rewarded him with promotions until he opened up his own contracting business six years ago. “It’s priceless gettin’ to be your own boss,” he says, “not havin’ to answer to anyone, can be more selective in projects you wanna take on,” he continues, and you swear you’re listening but you’re secretly caught up in the sound of his voice and the way his lips move when he’s talking; hypnotizing you with every word.

Joel opens up about when Sarah came into this world; the happiest day of his life while simultaneously being scared shitless — he was wild and ungovernable, definitely not ready for fatherhood.  

Through the years he’s found his rhythm. He doesn’t talk about her mother and you don’t ask; you’re not looking to dig into that lore on the first date. He tells you what Sarah was like as a baby and the subsequent years. Your heart melts at the adoration and pride that glow in his eyes when he talks about his daughter. 

You both sit in the overused booth, totally absentminded to the world around you. You’re both locked into one another, afraid of missing even the faintest shift in facial expressions. You might as well be the only two people here. 

Taking the final bite of your burger, you tell Joel that you’re inclined to agree that these are the best burgers in town. 

He mumbles something to the effect of “told ya,” before finishing his last bite. 

On the ride home from the diner, you spot an illuminated Ferris wheel, glowing in the distance of the Austin night. 

“Oh, I didn’t know the fair was still in town. I haven’t been in years!” exclaiming a little loudly for a woman your age, “can we…..?” 

Joel can’t say no to you, not when you’re giving him a pleading, pouty look. 

+++ 

Once inside the fairgrounds, you both walk through the selection of vendors, and it doesn’t take long for the funnel cake sign to catch your eye; Joel purchases you one and you continue on your adventure together. 

“Here,” he says, offering you a paper napkin. 

You gently shake your head, shoving another bite of funnel cake into your mouth, “don’t need one.”

He laughs. You look like a stubborn child learning what sugar is for the first time, “you’re gonna get all sticky,” he says, a big grin enveloping his face, your eagerness for the sweetness of the battered dough reminds him of Sarah’s sweet tooth. God, you’re cute – it makes him wish she was with you both tonight. 

Well, that is until he notices it. It’s subtle, but it’s there – a sprinkling of powdered sugar on your cheek and exposed chest.

He knows this is a family event, but he wants to do anything but PG-rated things with you right now.  

He stares at the white dust on your skin until your voice catches his attention again. 

“Maybe I want to be sticky,” you reply, “gives you more to lick off of me later.” 

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on. 

The thought of his tongue on you sends a flood of impure thoughts to his brain; much like the ones he had when you first showed up at his door, covered in remnants of flour, all sugar and sweetness. 

He knows now.

You may be sugar, but fuck, if you haven’t got some spice in you, too. 

+++ 

As you stroll, your eyes grow wide when you see it; a yellow wooden sign with the words “bobbing for apples” in Comic Sans engraved into it. 

“Ah! Joel! Bobbing for apples! I haven’t done that since I was a kid – we have to do it!” you say, your voice is a little too eager and a little too high-pitched, but the childlike wonder on your face is all the convincing that Joel needs. He might not admit it, but he’d give you anything you want. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it, letting you lead the way. 

You and Joel make your way up to the station, and a fair worker in an apron and a straw hat shouts to the crowd, “Come one, come all! Test your skills at an apple grab; the winner gets a prize,” his voice is low in octave but loud enough like he’s speaking through a megaphone. 

A line of fair-goers of all ages quickly forms around the barrels filled with water and apples, and you look at Joel with eager eyes as you step up to yours.

The rules of the game were explained by the worker with a chuckle, “Alright, folks, no hands, just your teeth. Lean in, and bob for an apple, and what you catch is yours to keep plus a prize from the booth to the right.” 

“You sure about this, sweetheart? You’re gonna get all wet,” Joel asks, probably just a smidge too concerned about your well-being considering it’s just bobbing for apples. 

“You gonna act like you don’t know that I’ve been wet this entire night?” you say, not waiting  to hear his response as the worker calls out a loud “GO!” 

Giggles and cheers fill the air as you and your fellow participants lean over the barrel. Your face disappears into the water; your competitiveness in overdrive  – edging yourself deeper and deeper into the water; so far that your shirt gets soaked. You don’t care, though, and you gleam from satisfaction as you resurface with a gleaming red apple held triumphantly between your teeth. 

The crowd erupts in applause at your efforts, and Joel stands watching you with his hands on his hips, a smile plastered on his face. As his gaze drops from the apple in your mouth, he notices the wetness of your shirt and shit, you’re positively drenched. 

It takes Joel all of .0002 seconds to notice the silhouette of your nipples peeking out from your shirt, the goosebumps littering your skin, and the tail ends of your hair wet and starting to curl under the weight of the water. 

You drop the apple from your teeth and catch it in your palm.

“Well, well…looks like you’re on a date with a prize-winnin’ apple picker. Feeling lucky yet?” you tort, attempting to flirt through the uncomfortable press of the damp fabric on your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen that mouth in action, I already knew you were going to win,” he says, “but you know I’d never thought I’d see the day…” he trails off. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused. 

“Never thought I’d see the day that I was jealous of a fuckin’ Red Delicious apple,” he says, humor behind his voice, “s’ashame I wasn’t the one you were bobbin’ for in that barrel.” 

“Listen, if you want to get wet and let me put you in my mouth, I am more than happy to accommodate,” you reply back, your voice flirty and suggestive. 

Joel doesn’t respond, but you see him palm himself through the denim of his jeans at your suggestion, interjecting his thoughts. 

You can’t hide the shivers that take over your body from the chill of the night air and the wetness of your clothing. 

“C’mere, baby, you’re freezin’,” he says, brow furrowed, and arms wide open stretched out to you, beckoning you into his large arms. You take a step forward and step into his brace, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his arms and the aroma of his natural scent. 

You stand there, wet in more ways than one, and let him hold you. Your arms wrap around his thick middle, and he rubs up and down your back with both palms in an attempt to warm you up. He releases you momentarily before saying, “Here, take this.”

You step away from him for a second, giving him space to slip off the flannel he’s wearing, revealing nothing but a white t-shirt underneath; the little tufts of hair peeking out through the collar of his shirt almost send you into a tailspin. 

He holds the flannel open by the collar to face you, encouraging you to put it on. You turn your back to him, allowing him the privilege of holding  it as you slip your arms into the sleeves. The fabric of the shirt is warm from his skin, and the moment you put it on you’re flooded with the smell embedded deep within the fibers; all musk, whiskey, cinnamon, wood, and Joel. 

“Come on, now, you little bobbin’ minx,  let’s go get you your prize,” he says, tilting his head to the prize booth. You grab his hand and let him lead the way this time. 

You and Joel make your way to the prize booth, the smell of kettle corn invades your senses; sure, you were already stuffed with funnel cake and your dinner, but the sweet aroma makes your mouth water. Or maybe it’s just Joel, you’re not quite sure, but you don’t really care. 

In the small structure of the prize booth, the shelves were adorned with a colorful array of stuffed animals of all sizes, trinkets, and games. You carefully assess your prize options while the attendant tries to convince you that of all of the random assortment of prizes, you absolutely need the goldfish. Right. 

You look over the options in front of you for what feels like a good ten minutes before the attendant not so subtly grows tired of your indecision. You sigh. You decide on a small puppy dog with beady plastic brown eyes, and you nod in thanks as he hands it to you, and you and Joel walk away from the booth. 

“Had a tough time decidin’ there, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” Joel asks, not really questioning. 

“Well, to be honest, none of the prizes were really appealing to me,” you respond, playing with the fluffy ears of the stuffed plush in your hands. “I only picked this one because I thought Sarah might like it,” you say. Your consideration for Sarah, and your accepting demeanor to her, warms Joel’s heart. 

“But I can think of one I’d really like to claim,” you say, catching his gaze. You see his jaw clench at your words. 

“Oh yeah? And that would be..?” 

“You,” the word comes out breathy. 

You both stop walking and the crunch of the dirt under his boots and the distant sounds of the fair in the background all but freeze as you stand there, seemingly paused in your own little private moment. 

“Take me home, Joel,” you say, planting your palm on his broad chest and stepping closer to him, your chest nearly flush against his. His hands skate down to your waist, and he closes the gap between your bodies, holding you close enough that you feel the growing bulge between his thighs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, leaning down, planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

And it’s sweet. 

Just like the funnel cake. 

And just like he thinks you are. 

But you have other plans for him tonight. 

And he has the same for you. 

+++ 

You and Joel make your way out of the fairgrounds and to the lot where Joel parked his truck. 

Still wearing his flannel, the stuffed puppy dog intertwined between your crossed arms, you wait for him to open the passenger side door. You all but eye fuck him as he reaches into the depth of the  front pocket of his jeans and grabs his keys. He unlocks the door, and opens it for you; offering you a hand to help guide you in. 

“Always such a gentleman,” you say, placing your hand in his, accepting his offer, using the strength of his arm to help lift yourself into the bed of the truck. 

Joel rounds around the front of the vehicle, unlocks the driver’s side door, and slides in. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life and the radio turns on, “Come a Little Closer” by Dierks Bentley plays over the speakers. 

Deciding to take a note from the lyrics, you don’t bother to buckle yourself into the passenger seat, and instead slide over into the middle seat of the truck, positioning yourself tightly against Joel’s side. You lace your arm through the underside of his and interlock them, your hand curls around his firm bicep. You lean your head into his shoulder, and close your eyes, taking a moment to bask in the solitude of the strong man beneath you. 

He looks down at you for a moment – god, he could get used to this. He dwells on the thought for a moment longer and then begins to drive away. 

You’re clinging to him and you both ride like that in an easy silence, apart from the faint music and the hum of his truck. It has been so long since you felt so content, so at peace with the moment and yourself; not worried about work or life, or anything. It was just you and Joel, and you like it that way. 

Nearly back to your house, and your shared neighborhood, you let your left hand wander on the expanse of his thigh. The time for sweetness is over. The events of the night, your combined obvious want, and the flirtatious taunts catch up with you. 

Joel keeps his eyes on the road, but you don’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens as your hand makes its way closer to his belt buckle. You begin to toy with the cool metal there, and his large palm comes down to cup yours. 

“We’re almost home,” he says, holding your hand tight against his stiffening cock, not letting you move. “But I want to feel you now,” you whine. 

“I know, baby, I know you wanna get your hands on this cock, and I would like nothing more,” he says, “but you’re gonna have to be patient, we only have a few more minutes until we’re there.” 

“And why do I have to be patient, neighbor?” you ask, pulling your hand away, slightly keyed up. Greedy. Horny. 

“Because I wanna give that needy little pussy the attention she deserves,” he says, “and because once I get started, I know ‘m not gonna be able to stop.”

“And neighbor ain’t gonna be what you’ll be calling me,” he says roughly, “I’ll fuckin’ make sure of that, sweetheart.”

He takes a turn and pulls into your neighborhood. You catch a glimpse of Mrs. Morrison taking out her trash. She glares at you in disapproval as you drive past in Joel’s truck. 

You sometimes wonder what your neighbors might think; a pretty little young thing like you, the youngest daughter, hanging out with the older, single-father neighbor across the way. 

But truthfully, you don’t really give a fuck. 

+++ 

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent.  You both pause in silence. 

Joel turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of invite me in behind his voice. 

You glance out the window, your house bathed in the soft glow of your porch light. You turn back to Joel and say “Thank you for tonight, I really had a fun time. But to be honest, I just realized I never got to thank you properly…” 

Joel looks at you and something dark flickers in his gaze. “And what would you need to be thankin’ me for, sweetheart?”  As if he didn’t know. 

“For the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Come in and I’ll return the favor” conjuring your sultriest voice, knowing he doesn’t need an invitation.  

You step out of the truck, and the night air is cool, a  gentle breeze whispers through your hair;  your features are illuminated by the street lights in your neighborhood, and the warm glow casts an inviting aura around you. Joel appears at your side of the truck and helps you exit. 

The gravel under your feet crunches as you walk toward the front porch; the air is charged with electricity, a livewire, a magnetic pull drawing your bodies together. 

The porch light by your door casts a warm yellow glow on your faces. You pause at the front of the step and reach for your house keys in your purse. Your porch swing sways gently in the breeze, its rhythmic creaking adding to the undertone of the moment. 

You insert the key into the lock, but before you can fully turn the doorknob to open the door, Joel already has his large palm on yours, opening the door,  pushing you through the door frame and into your house, his hands cradling your face before he crashes his plush lips into yours. 

The second you’re both fully in your house, Joel's hands are on the hem of your shirt,  silently begging for you to take it off. You let him work on getting you topless, meanwhile, your hands are hastily working to undo his belt buckle, the excitement of finally being able to touch him and him not being able to stop touching you has you worked up.  Joel presses his thighs together against yours, drawing little moans from you while he nips at your neck. 

As much as he is trying to distract you, he’s no match for your determination. In record-breaking time you have his buckle undone and the zipper of his jeans is down; you gracefully fall to your knees before him, tugging his pants and his boxers down with you to the floor. Joel’s cock releases from the confines of his clothing and slaps against his tummy, leaving a little trail of pre-cum in its wake. You already knew he was big, but having him in full view makes you realize just how big he really is. 

You lick your lips and reach out to grab his thick cock, affectionately kissing the tip of his cock; you run your tongue through the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum that drops out before you circle your tongue along the underside of his head. You let your jaw go slack, and you begin to dip down on his length; a gurgling sound escapes your lips as you pull back up again. You do this a few times before letting his hard cock fall from your lips, your lips puffy and coated in saliva, some of it dribbling past your chin. 

You pull off momentarily and smile up at Joel. He thinks you look far too sweet and innocent for someone who is absolutely taking his cock deep in your throat like a champ. He intertwines his fingers through your hair and groans, before gently urging you back down onto his cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart – can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about having that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock,” he says slightly breathless. 

The thought of him thinking about you goes straight to your core and makes you want to mouth fuck him harder. 

You wrap your lips around him again, and he thrusts his hips to glide his cock inside of your mouth to the back of your throat. 

He begins to pick up his pace, holding your head steady by your hair as he fucks into your throat, pressing deeper and deeper until spit pools at the corners of your mouth and slight tears form in the corners of your eyes. He presses you down onto him until your lips are wrapped around the base of him and the coarse hairs that reside there. You’re drowning in the taste of him, hardly able to breathe, but you don’t care; you want him to chase his high, to use your mouth for his own pleasure. He made you come harder than anyone ever has before; this was the least you could do for him. 

“Jesus – look at you, pretty girl, fuck you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grits out, “takin’ it so well, baby.”

His words go straight to your cunt, the ache now insufferable. 

You begin to work him harder with your tongue, struggling for air, and he inches closer to the back of your throat and you begin to gag. Joel pulls out, not wanting to hurt you, and a strand of saliva trails between your lips and his cock. You blink back tears and look up at him, your mascara now a mess on your face, and your eyes glossy. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern. 

You swallow, and reach up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You are okay. More than okay. 

“Peachy. I'm relieved I finally got to return the favor,” you hum, standing to rise to meet his face. 

He wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you tight against the front of his body; you feel the warmth of his tummy, the hardness of his cock, and the strength of his back behind your grip and it makes your legs turn to Jell-O. Fuck, you need him. 

Joel kisses you for a moment, before pulling away and bringing his lips to your ear “Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.” 

You feel your stomach swoop and your folds tingle; you have thought about this moment for so long and you yearn for the stretch of him; to know what it’s like to be filled to the brim with Joel fucking Miller. 

He kicks off his boots, steps out of the clothing bunched around his ankles, and takes your hand to follow you down the hallway into your bedroom. 

Part of him wants to take his time; to make you feel good, to taste you again, and feel you come and come on his fingers. Part of him wants to shuck down your jeans and put your pretty pussy in his face. 

Joel doesn’t particularly think of himself as a selfish man, but he has waited patiently, and he needs you. Now. 

As much as he wants the taste of you on his lips, the part of him that wants to shove himself into your addictive cunt until you forget your name until you forget every other name except for his, is the dominant one right now. 

Once in the bedroom, he crowds you back until the back of your calves meet the edge of your mattress. He grabs both of your hips in a bruising grip and pulls you tight against his chest, his hips grinding into yours, and you lean your face up to kiss him. You think he might kiss you, but instead, he ghosts your lips and leans forward until your back meets the soft fabric of the mattress with an oof, and he’s on top of you. 

He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle. You’ve seen his brute strength in action and the fact that he could overpower you sends a shiver to your clit. 

“So beautiful, darlin’ – you know that?” he kisses your nose and trails a slew of them down your cheek, your jaw, your chin, and neck. Once at the nape of your neck, he nibbles on your earlobe and whispers “You ready for me, sweetheart?” his breath is heavy in your ear. 

You can’t nod fast enough in agreement. 

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he practically purrs the question. 

You want nothing more than to be a good girl for Joel. You nod almost aggressively to make up for the fact that you’re unable to construct a single sentence right now. 

He lets out a satisfied moan and drops his grip on your wrists, and drags his heavy hands down your body to the center of your jeans and undoes the button of your pants, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both your jeans and your panties and pulls them down in one fell swoop. 

He dips down to place a delicate kiss to your tummy and lets the weight of his head rest on the softness of you. He inhales deeply, the aroma of your perfume comforts him, and he fights the urge to dip his face lower and bury himself in your pussy. 

You drop both of your hands and grab his head, your fingers carding through his hair, and he groans. 

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” he says, not really questioning. 

“I am being a good girl,” you respond back, not really sure what prompted his statement. 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. When I put you in a position, I want you to stay there, until I say you can move. Got it?” 

And holy fuck, bossy Joel turns you on. 

You only hum in response. 

“Need you to use your words, sweet girl. Answer me, or I’ll make you,” he says, voice low, his head closer to your center now, almost to exactly where you need him but not quite. 

“Ye - ah, yes, fuck I understand,” sending all of your energy to string the words together. 

He hums in acknowledgment and pushes your hands back up overhead, telling you to keep them there, and only to touch him when he says you can. When he releases your hands and sees that your arms stay put, he rasps out a “good girl”. 

He then reaches down and notches his tip at your entrance, and drags the weight of his thick cock through your glistening folds.

“Mmmm so fuckin’ wet, this all for me?” 

“All for you, J-oel,” you’re trembling, desperate to feel him deep inside you. 

He pauses momentarily, only the tip of him inside you, and god, it’s such a tease. 

You know it’ll sting, but you want him to just fucking bury every inch of himself inside of you. You don’t care about the pain; you crave the stretch of him. 

“Joel – ah, need more,” you moan, “need all of you.” 

“You sure, sweetheart? I ‘don wanna hurt you,” he says, once again concerned about you. 

“Joel, I want you to fucking wreck me. Need you to move, please.” 

After your plea, he obliges. You feel every inch of him, the way he throbs inside of you, and the tip of his head drags against the spongey spot inside of you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to move in and out of you, he feels so fucking good, and you’re so perfectly full. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gruff, still continuing to saw in and out of you. ‘’Want you to look at me while I fuck you.” 

And his words are like music to your fucking ears. He’s the perfect balance of gentleman and fucking filth. 

He brings a hand down to circle your clit, and with the added sensation you’re not far off from your orgasm. You can feel it growing in your stomach with every circle of his thumb and every thrust of his cock. You open your mouth, your jaw slack, and you begin to moan. 

“Fuck, baby – you shouldn’t open your mouth like that,” he moans. 

“And – fuckkkk, why not?” You respond back, breathless from each of his thrusts. 

“Just a reminder of another hole I need to use,” he responds, and then gruffly says “Open,” while pressing his thumb and index finger into your jaw, holding you in place. 

You do as he says, and he spits into your mouth. Your eyes wide as saucers. It was hot, dirty, filthy. 

“Taste how perfect we are together, baby” he says, still pounding into you and circling your clit. 

His words send you into fucking oblivion, and you’re gone. Your vision goes white, and despite his order to keep your eyes open, your eyes fall closed and he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Your tight, slick walls pulse and squeeze around him. His hands squeeze your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin as he rocks your limp and shaky body against his cock, chasing his own orgasm. 

Not long after you’ve come, he’s finishing too. He fucks into you at an erratic pace and then shoots his seed deep into your cunt. 

“Fuckkk, baby” – he trails off, letting the final spurts of his cum paint your walls. 

You let out a sigh, and once again drop your hands to his head, intertwining your hands with the hair behind his head. 

You both lay there in your fucked out bliss and then he pulls out of you, taking a dribble of his cum with him, a glob of it landing on your thigh. 

You’ve never felt so satisfied, to be laying there, content and full of Joel Miller. 

He rolls over onto his side and puts his hand on his chest. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re perfect,” he says. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.” 

You hum in delight and roll over onto his chest, melting into him. 

“You in the mood for some cookies?” you ask, and he beams in delight. 

He hit the fucking lottery with you. 

THE END

#joel fic #joel miller #fanfic #joel x f!reader #joel miller is babygirl #fanfic writer #clawing at my cage #first fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou fic #the last of us hbo

[sugar-omi]

NVM I DID EDIT THIS AND I LITERALLY REWOTE THIS WHOLE THING THEN REWROTE THE LAST HALF SO LIKE ITS BETTER BUT ALSO KINDA SHIT BC ITS ALMOST 7 N I HAVENT SLEPT..... anyway enjoy a piece of whats going on inside emy brain <3333

tags : NSFW, step 4 cove + baxter, all readers, poly cove/reader/baxter, bottom baxter, (service) top cove, mean dom reader!!, over stimulation, they take pics/vid for you, phone sex, dirty talk

synopsis : cove and baxter have some fun while you're away.

baxter felt like his head was spinning...

just a few weeks ago he was planning a wedding, than before he knew it you and cove asked him to be your boyfriend.

and now he's over at your and cove's house, standing in your kitchen with cove draped over his back.

he can't help but squirm, the overwhelming, but welcomed, affection was new to him yet he was soaking it in like a sponge.

cove hums, nuzzling into baxter's neck and starting to press kisses down the side of his neck to his shoulder, pulling baxter's hips back into him.

baxter laughs timidly, not use or expecting this side of cove. "it's hard to make lunch with a giant on your back."

cove smiles and doesn't respond except for sucking a mark under baxter's jaw.

baxter drops the knife he was using to cut up some veg, turning around to face cove. he presses baxter up against the counter, wrapping his arms around him again.

"don't you wanna eat?" baxter pets cove's hair, cupping his cheek.

cove covers baxter's hand with his own, kissing his wrist. "mm... not hungry for food anyway."

baxter flushes, swallowing. baxter is hard to fluster, but something about this usually shy man being so forward makes baxter blush. "what're you hungry for then?"

cove grazes his teeth over baxter's wrist, teasing him. "you."

baxter hums and licks his lips, his eyes dropping to cove's lips as he weighs his options.

"kiss me then..." baxter mumbles, leaning into cove and meeting him in the middle for a deep kiss.

baxter gets lost in the feeling of cove's lips, cove's hands somehow end up under baxter's shirt.

well.. cove's shirt, since baxter lost one of his bags that had his night clothes in them.

he whines into cove's mouth, letting his hands roam over cove's toned shoulders, down his biceps and finally hooking his arms around cove's neck, just losing himself in the kiss.

cove pulls away much to baxter's displeasure, huffing through his nose.

before baxter can say anything else or pull him into another kiss, cove speaks up.

"we don't have to do anything.. i just uh..." cove laughs and smiles shyly. he's so cute. "i'm jus' happy you're here."

baxter feels his heart warm up and swell. he's never been loved like this but fuck it feels good.

baxter tangles his fingers in cove's hair, leaning towards cove. "i'm happy to be here too, so please.." baxter smirks lazily, "indulge me. i want whatever you want.."

this time baxter closes in for a kiss, much more heated than the last kiss and cove lets baxter take control, almost purring because he's so happy to have baxter in his hands.

cove's hands slip down to baxter's butt, and baxter pulls away to make a taunt but cove cuts him off, mumbling something about "jump" before lifting baxter up.

baxter jumps, mostly out of surprise, hooking his arms and legs around cove. baxter laughs, thrilled by the change of position. "oh my... well aren't you assertive." baxter purrs, basking in the flush that comes over cove's face.

cove rolls his eyes, ignoring baxter's comment and starts the trek to your bedroom.

something about cove carrying baxter is strangely arousing, and baxter takes the opportunity to latch onto cove's neck, leaving kisses and faint hickey's on his bronze skin.

cove groans, mumbling something but he seems happy so baxter keeps it up.

cove pinches his thigh, making baxter yelp. "you're gonna make us crash into the wall..."

baxter laughs. "well then pay attention, handsome."

cove doesn't respond, kicking the door open with his foot and he sits baxter on the bed like he's a piece of fine china.

baxter tugs his shirt over his head, throwing it at cove and crawling away to the middle of the bed, purposefully giving cove a view of his boxer clad butt, to make himself comfortable.

he flops onto the mountain of pillows, wiggling. "well, come get me, pretty boy."

cove is very flushed, but if the prominent bulge in his sweats are anything to go by, then this is a very good sign...

cove joins baxter in the middle of the bed, straddling him and pulling him into a kiss.

everything is a blur, and somewhere in the midst of making out, baxter started grinding into cove, moaning into his mouth.

cove falls down to baxter's neck, kissing the mole there. baxter squirms, his nails dragging down cove's back..

"do you wanna stop?" cove speaks around a mouth full of baxter's porcelain skin.

"n-no.. fuck don't stop." baxter gasps, digging his fingers into the muscles of cove's back.

baxter's world feels like it's spinning. cove is so intoxicating, and baxter needs so much more.. baxter pants, rutting up into cove. "please... fuck me.."

cove pulls away, searching baxter's gaze before he nods and reaches over to grab a condom and lube.

he abandons it nearby to tug off his sweatpants and boxers, perhaps a bit too eagerly, but baxter doesn't mind since he's equally as antsy.

baxter's eyes drop to ogle cove's length, biting his lip while he takes in the size..

cove isn't a small man, so baxter expected him to proportional downstairs as well, but thinking and seeing are two different things, and baxter has so many thoughts racing in his head.

"uh.. baxter?" cove speaks up, snapping baxter outta his daze. baxter hums, signaling cove to continue.

"we don't have to go all the way.. or you could top me? whatever you want." cove smiles, feeling sheepish but wanting to be comforting.

"maybe next time, but for now..." baxter starts tugging his boxers off, throwing them off to the side. "i need you in me."

cove swallows, nodding. "tell me if you wanna stop."

baxter should've expected it, or at least have a fleeting thought. cove is so active and so loving that it makes sense that he takes multiple rounds to shower you in pleasure.

but he didn't, and now cove is slowly pulling him apart with his mouth on baxter's cock, holding his hand and keeping his hips down by pressing on baxter's abdomen.

cove takes baxter down his throat, his tongue easily lapping at the bottom of his cock and when he pulls back, a dirty mix of spit and pre-cum fall from cove's puckered lips, pumping his fist over baxter's cock before diving back in.

baxter gasps, his stomach straining when he sucks in a sharp breath. he's gonna cum..

"cove-!" baxter cries, tugging on cove's hair and whining about how close he is. cove is persistent, keeping his lips wrapped around baxter's cock as he cums into cove's waiting mouth.

baxter pants, covering his face with his arm.

fuck he's so sensitive..

cove starts kissing his inner thighs, smiling when baxter gasps and his cock twitches, still hard and flushed.

"you're so cute.." cove purrs, a smile in his voice. baxter peaks at him, watching cove's every move.

cove kisses baxter's hand, "still want more?"

baxter nods, "please.."

cove smiles and reaches for the lube, pouring it over his fingers and settling himself between baxter's legs.

baxter sighs, letting cove work him open with his fingers. "mm-"

cove captures him in a kiss, soaking up baxter's moans, sinking his fingers into his pliable hole, scissoring and massaging his insides with his long digits..

baxter tries to speak in between kisses. "ahh- hurry.. *kiss* up!"

"i never knew you were so impatient." cove laughs, kissing baxter's cheek.

cove sits up, baxter huffs at the loss, but doesn't complain since cove rips the packet open and is rolling it over his cock before baxter can come up with something.

cove kisses baxter's thigh that's propped up on his shoulder, soothing baxter's stuttered moans with praise as he sinks into him.

"that's it... good boy." cove holds his hand, waiting for baxter to get accustomed to every ink of dick cove sinks into him.

by the time he's taken cove to the hilt he's panting and dazed. he's so full, and cove towering over him like this makes him feel small and vulnerable, and it feels amazing to be smothered like this.

cove laughs, stroking one of baxter's thighs. "you okay? still with me, darling?"

baxter exhales, melting at the pet name you two have dubbed for him. baxter grips the pillows, blinking away his haze. "mm. you.. you can move now."

cove nods, kissing baxter's thigh again and pulls his hips back slowly. baxter hums lowly, enjoying the drag of cove's cock against his gummy walls.

cove pauses, looking up at baxter. "how do you want it?"

baxter bites his lip. oh?

he grins arrogantly and purrs. "hard. don't pull any punches, i want you."

cove doesn't respond verbally, snapping his hips into baxter making him moan loudly.

oh fuck-

baxter barely has time to think, cove's hips rearing back to fuck his hard and deep, his tip bumping into baxter's prostate and making him moan loudly.

it's really good you aren't at his apartment. he'd definitely be getting a noise complaint because baxter doesn't stifle any of his noise.

not that cove would let him anyway, since when baxter turns to bury his face in the pillow, cove smacks his thigh. it doesn't hurt, but it still surprises him.

cove gazes at him lasciviously. "don't hide from me."

baxter nods, panting. "yes, sir."

cove's brow twitches, but instead of biting back at baxter's tease, he thrusts his hips up sharply, making him gasp. cove takes ahold of baxter's hips, holding him in place as he starts bullying baxter's insides.

"ohh fuck-" baxter pulls on the sheets, taking cove's assault. baxter drops his face into the pillow, his load moaning muffled.

cove leans down to bite on baxter's ear, "don't hide your face, i wanna see you fall apart."

baxter moans, turning his head so he's not half-buried in the pillow and cove rewards him with a kiss. he locks hands with baxter, another reward for taking the assault on his insides so well.

cove kisses his cheeks, muttering praise. "good boy, you're doing so well."

cove reaches between them and starts stroking baxter's cock, swiping his thumb over the leaky head. baxter's legs start to shake and he drags his nails down cove's shoulder.

"i-i'm too sensitive!" baxter pants out weakly, but cove just kisses him.

"i know you can cum again for me, you're a good boy aren't you?" cove sings, kissing baxter's cheeks again as he pants and shakes from cove working his sensitive cock.

"i- i'm gonna!" baxter clings onto cove, his toes curly as he cums weakly all over his stomach.

"that's it~ good boy..." cove praises him, working him through his orgasm.

cove goes to say something else, but his phone lighting up from half way under the pillow alerts him. he snatches it up, realizing it's you texting him that you're on the way home from work and going to pick up some take-out for dinner.

💘Y/N💘: otw home, just going to get some take-out 💘Y/N💘: y'all having fun over there?

cove reads baxter the text, and he looks like he wants to say something but doesn't.

baxter smirks lazily, knowing exactly what he's thinking. "do it."

cove blinks owlishly. "what?" "you wanna take a picture of me covered in my cum and split open on your dick right? take it." baxter squirms, purposefully pushing his hips back so cove's cock bumps against his twitchy insides.

cove pants, swallowing as he fumbles to go to the camera app.

baxter has a lust-drunk smile on his face, and even though he feels a wave of fluster wash over him he doesn't hide his face and lets cove take the picture.

cove sends it with a shaky exhale, throwing the phone to the side and he folds himself over baxter. "you're dirty." baxter smiles, glancing at his lips. "you thought about it first."

they don't say anything else, falling into another hot kiss and cove tries to speak without breaking apart.

"flip- mmm, over. *kiss* i haven't came yet.."

baxter obeys, panting shakily when cove slips out of him so baxter can get comfortable on his stomach, slipping a pillow under his hips.

suddenly his phone starts ringing again and baxter picks it up just as cove slips into him. cove sees the caller id, "answer it."

baxter can hear the coyness in his voice but he answers it anyway, excited to see where this is going.

"h- oh!" baxter shouts, cove suddenly snapping his hips into baxter and filling him up.

you forgo any greetings, and after the picture you received you didn't really need one. "you guys are naughty. i'm trying to get us food and you're at home being a couple sluts."

they both moan at your degrading words, and it just makes you laugh. "look at you, can't even answer the phone without moaning like you're in heat."

baxter pants, fisting the sheets. "i-it's... cove just filled me up so suddenly..."

he tries to refute but its useless.

"i know baby, cove is using you like a cock sleeve?" you sympathize, and baxter tries to appreciate it but now cove is holding his hips up and fucking into him wildly and all he can do is moan loudly into the phone.

"oh but you like it don't you, darling?" you purr.

fuck. baxter didn't know you had a side like this to you. a side so dirty yet so fucking attractive.

"just let cove take care of you until i'm back, but for now i want you to stay on the phone and tell me how cove's fucking you."

baxter moans loudly at that, embarrassed but way too aroused by your wish. "h-he's.. *pant* his cock is, hitting my prostate," baxter's words drag and slur.

you hum, "it feels good, doesn't it, darling? it's been awhile since you've been fucked like that, huh?"

your voice is taunting, but it's full of allure and baxter is swimming in it. god he doesn't know what he's going to do when you're here and he's sandwiched between you two.

"hand the phone to cove baby, i wanna see you get fucked."

baxter shakily hands the phone back to cove, and cove lets go of one of his hips to fumble for the camera app. "hi covey." you purr. "y-y/n.." cove pants, picking up the pace suddenly. something about you on the phone while he's fucking your boyfriend is so... hot.

"take a video for me baby, doesn't have to be long, jus' wanna see you."

cove mumbles a string of yes' and he flips the phone so he can get a better angle of his cock pounding baxter's sweet, poor insides.

baxter loses himself in cove's assault, reaching between him and the pillow to tug on his cock. he whines loudly, cove shifting so he's practically mounting baxter so he can abuse his prostate.

"t-that it.." cove swallows, caressing baxter's hip lovingly. "good boy..."

baxter exhales, soaking up the praise. "cove! please.. cum, want you to cum..."

cove leans over him, positioning the camera blindly as he tries to steal a kiss from baxter.

after getting the phone in a decent spot off to the side, giving you a crooked side view. cove takes baxter's hips between his hands again, urging him to relax by smoothing a hand down his back.

"cove!" baxter shouts, the bed bumping against the wall as cove continues his onslaught.

"just a little more, darling..." cove pants, focusing on the way he pistons in and out of baxter.

collapsing on top of baxter, his forehead against baxter's sweaty back, cove ruts into him with a low groan, filling the condom as baxter cums weakly all over the pillow underneath him.

while they're basking in the aftermath, panting and trying to come back to earth, you laugh, making them startle.

"that's gonna be a video for the year." there's rustling and the sound of a engine starting. "i'm coming home now, so no more fun until i get back."

baxter pants, conjuring up a taunt. "and what if we don't wanna wait?"

"even pretty boys get punished, so wait."

the phone clicks as it hangs up.

baxter inhales sharply when cove slowly pulls out of him, and he looks over his shoulder to watch cove languidly tie off the condom and push his hair away from his face, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

oh yeah, he's not waiting.

#our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #cove x mc #cove x reader #olba #baxter ward x reader #cove holden smut #smut #baxter ward #our life baxter #baxter x reader #baxter ward smut #baxter ward x reader smut #baxter ward x mc #cove x baxter #cove holden x baxter ward #cove holden x baxter ward smut

[vegitoswife-archive]

A/N: I've been neglecting Gogeta so here's a lil something dedicated solely to him. I had a slightly different and lengthier version of this initially planned, but figured it'd be better to focus on something more condensed.

SUMMARY: You and Gogeta don't know each other too well, but you invite him over for dinner anyway. [ AU!Gogeta x GN!Adult!Reader ] TAGLIST: @carnal-lnstinct / @yeowangies / @enayru / @miss-taura (Like this post to be added to my tag list!)

CONTENT: Fluff, Slice of Life, "You" eating meat (just as a heads up to any vegeta/rians or veg/ans who peek at this). SFW.

(PROSHIP/COMSHIP DNI. BLANK/UNCUSTOMIZED BLOGS DNI.)

You were surprised by your own boldness. You weren’t quite sure what came over you, but when the idea to invite Gogeta over for dinner at your place sprung into your mind, nothing stopped your mouth from moving and words of said request from spilling out. You were familiar with him enough, and most importantly, comfortable enough to allow him into your living space. You remembered the surprised look that crossed his normally emotionless features, and especially the splash of red that filled his skin. He didn’t respond right away, and you started to worry that you overstepped a line, but he did eventually speak – saying yes.

Here the two of you were now, seated at your lightly decorated dinner table with the light from the setting sun illuminating the room. You had prepared a mere steak dinner, but you were far more focused on seeing how Gogeta reacted to your cooking than you were in eating it yourself at the moment.

“Do you like it?” Your voice broke the stretch of silence between you, though it wasn’t terribly awkward. Gogeta looked up from his plate, singular bang shifting across his forehead, chewing. He nodded, and the pressure weighing your chest down faded.

“Great. I’m glad.” You felt content enough to start eating yourself, but you couldn’t help but still stare somewhat at your guest. How couldn’t you? You weren’t ignorant to how handsome Gogeta was. Today, possibly because you stated this would just be a casual occasion, he was clothed in a turtleneck sweater and navy blue jeans with his black tail coiled around his waist like a makeshift belt. His pair of sneakers, though simple, complemented the entire outfit well. It wasn’t anything to gape at on paper, but on him? He looked dashing, especially with his muscles filling out his sweater so well.

This wasn’t the first time he did. Maybe he always looked good no matter what he was wearing.

“Is there a reason why you arranged this?”

His voice, low and smooth, cut through your train of thought. Dark eyes met your own, and your heart unexplainably quickened. You could sense that he wasn’t being accusatory, only genuinely curious. But how could you put this into words…

“Well…I know we first met not too long ago and aren’t very close, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to spend more time together like this to change that. Break the rest of the ice I guess.” Warmth flooded your face, but you continued to look into his eyes. His brow quirked.

“Are you keen on getting to know me better, then?”

“Yes.” You nodded your head, smiling softly. “Is that ok?”

Gogeta appeared to mull over what to say next, placing his fork and knife down. The way he was gazing at you wasn’t something you could fully put into words, but there was something awfully cute about it. Has anyone ever shown interest in him like this? Most likely not. You frankly struggled to believe otherwise.

“Yes. I don’t mind.” To your delight, a little smile appeared on his face. It further made him endearing, but you could pinpoint something…hesitant? About it. You completely expected him to be honest with you, so you doubted he was lying for your sake, but something told you to question it anyway.

“Are you sure? I get it, if I’m coming off as weird…”

“No, you aren’t. I’m not used to this is all. Someone wanting to…know me.”

So your suspicions were correct. But did his words there carry hidden meaning? You didn’t know for sure. Regardless, now you believed Gogeta just didn’t have much of anyone to talk to like this. A shame. Your interest in his life was growing more and more, but you weren’t at the stage yet where you could try and pry into it. You didn’t want to scare him off. He was so fascinating.

“That’s changed now. But don’t worry, only share what you’re comfortable with me knowing. And I’d be happy to share more about myself too. So don’t be shy.”

You winked at him. He started blushing again, just what you wanted to see. This time, he regained his composure quickly and shot you a little smirk that had you grip your fork tightly. He resumed eating, and you followed suit. He finished his plate in the next minute.

“Oh, did you want seconds?”

“Sure, if you didn’t want any.”

Gogeta ended up eating everything else you prepared for the evening, and still mentioned to you later that he wasn’t full. You certainly learned then that his stomach was apparently bottomless.

(PROSHIP/COMSHIP DNI. BLANK/UNCUSTOMIZED BLOGS DNI.)

#x reader #x reader fanfiction #gogeta x reader #dragon ball x reader #my writing

[finniestoncrane]

Hi finnie, congratulations to your milestone! 💚💚💚 you deserve this! 💚💚💚 I'd like to order a Sit-In, Signature Cocktail with Question Mark Shaped Nuggies, the gotham one please 💚 I'd like to add 🥣 Soup 🍆 Roasted Veg 🍿 Cheese Popcorn 🍗 Chicken Wings + AFAB reader, she/her 💚💚💚 thank you, have a good day 💚

gotham!riddler x gn!reader, word count: 350 content (warnings): teensy bit of dubious consent but then enthusiastic consent, biting/marking the kitchen is now closed! 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block) a/n: anon i swear i didn't ignore your afab💚

There were so many people within earshot. And it wasn't that you were embarrassed by Ed, or embarrased for him, but it was a little too much to be having this extremely personal conversation at work in the bullpen of the GCPD.

You put your hands up, gesturing for him to stop, but typical of Edward Nygma, there was no stopping him mid-rant. So instead you talked over him, causing him to take a breath, closing his lips tight in the straight and uncomfortable smile he wore so often.

"Don't! Zip it! You can't do this here, Ed. It's not... the time, or the place!"

"Well, I've never done this before, I don't know how you're supposed to profess and undying love for-"

"Stop!"

You grabbed his grey, ill-fitting jacket by the sleeves and pulled him into the janitorial closet behind you. He looked shocked, but neither happy or unhappy, until you spoke.

"Listen, Eddie. I... I appreciate what you're saying, but can't we leave this for now? Maybe we can discuss it privately, after work?"

As you continued to speak, Ed stopped listening, suddenly aware of himself in the reflection of the mirror above the sink behind you. Where his better half spoke to him.

"Come on, Ed! Sometimes, you have to show someone what they're missing to let them realise how badly they want you!"

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the voice in his head, encouraging him to indulge, but it was relentless.

"If she's so worried about people hearing about you two, maybe you should let them see the proof. Mark her up, make it obvious even to the dolts in uniform."

Your words were stifled in your mouth as Ed pressed his lips to yours. And you remained silent as he trailed the kisses along your cheek and jaw, gently curving to your neck where he sunk his teeth in. In surprise, you gasped, but made no moves to push him away, especially when he started sucking the skin into his mouth. You could feel the bruise forming, your skin prickling as your body tensed, leaning into his embrace.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad for people to know.

#finnie writes #finnie1500

[draguta]

.a court of fate and fortune | thirty.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex (p in v)

chapter word count: 5209

a/n: sorry folks, i know this is a long one, but it had to be done! enjoyyyy

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please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

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The Passing Of Time

The Night Court wilderness was far from the plush comfort of Velaris. It was cold, closer in temperature to Windhaven, and the lines of trees seemed to stretch forever. It was endless, the walking, and the only thing that kept you moving was the knowledge that each step would take you closer to the end of the day, when the sentinels would light the fire and you’d be able to cuddle up in the tent with Lucien.

A week and a half passed, and you were entirely fed-up. Your body had been stiff from the end of the first day, and the muscle aches hadn’t dulled since then. Your mood hadn’t improved much either, and the others had noticed.

“I just don’t understand why we couldn’t just winnow,” you moaned as you slumped down onto the ground as Wren lit the fire, and Lucien prepared the tent behind you.

“Winnowing would defeat the point,” Bron chuckled. “If you’re looking for something, you can’t skip out half the area by winnowing. We might winnow right past her.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes, and leaned back against your hands, stretching your legs and crossing your ankles, the only position you could sit in that would alleviate your burning muscles. “There has to be a better way than walking everywhere,” you muttered.

“Like what?” Silas asked with a raised brow, crouching down across the fire to begin skinning the two squirrels he’d caught earlier in the day for dinner. You grimaced as he slit one of the animals at the rear and began spreading the cut apart, sliding his dagger further in with each cut.

“This is Prythian, surely there’s some kind of magic that could make this easier for us?” You implored, tutting your tongue slightly in annoyance.

“Do you ever stop complaining?” Wren snorted, just as the flames of the fire began to grow, billowing in the crisp breeze - you didn’t want to remind them that Lucien had fire magic running through his veins, and could have lit the fire in seconds. If they wanted to practise their survival skills, you’d let them, and after eleven days trekking through the snowy landscape of what was considered the most dangerous court in Prythian, Lucien seemed to have no want in helping them either.

“No, she doesn’t,” Lucien remarked from behind you, coming to join the others now that the tent was erect. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before grabbing a knife to begin chopping some of the few veg your group had left to throw into the stew for dinner.

“I can remember someone being much worse on their first trailing trek,” Silas interjected, shooting Lucien a cunning smirk. Lucien grumbled something under his breath.

“So,” you said with raised brows, turning to Lucien, “you’ve spent all week telling me off for complaining, when you were just as bad?”

Lucien sucked in a harsh breath, the warmth of it hitting the icy air as he exhaled through his nose, forming a cloud in front of him. He tossed the knife to the ground at your feet and stood, turning away from you. “At least I actually help.”

You winced as he stalked off - perhaps your complaining had been a little overboard. But it was that complaining that had kept your focus, rather than the burning problem you were still trying to face. How to keep your little group away from Velaris.

“You’ve been to the Night Court before,” Hart said slowly. Your eyes snapped up to meet his pretty blue ones - he was younger than the others except for Wren, and was, out of the whole group, the only one you didn’t really know that well. Perhaps that was why he had asked such an impertinent question. The others flinched at his words; they all knew what your time in the Night Court had been like. Or rather, they knew what you wanted everyone in Spring to think of those months you were there - that you had been tortured and treated badly, that Rhysand was a ruthless dictator, and that the streets there ran red with blood. Hart, apparently, hadn’t heard those rumours, or was simply too naïve to care that bringing them up might have haunted you, had they been true. “Don’t you have any idea where they might be keeping her?”

Velaris. They were keeping her in Velaris, you were sure of it. Neither Azriel nor Rhysand had specifically said so, but you knew Rhys well enough by now to know that, if Feyre was no longer under Tamlin’s thumb and a threat to that city he loved so much, it would be there that he would take her to recover after the manor.

But you couldn’t take them there. None of these sentinels - Silas, Wren, Bron, Hart - not even Lucien, could know about Velaris. Not until you were sure they were safe, that they wouldn’t go and tell Tamlin, and ensure Velaris was turned into a target, rather than the safe sanctuary it had become over the years.

But that was just the problem - you didn’t even know where Velaris was from where you were there, trekking through the forests. You could have been walking right toward it, for all you knew. You’d only left Velaris twice during your time in the Night Court - once to visit the Moonstone Palace above Hewn City, and the other to go to Windhaven - and both times you had winnowed there, and couldn’t exactly make much note of the direction in which you were travelling.

Windhaven. In the mountains - that was easy enough to find. Simple enough to suggest Feyre was being kept with the Illyrian legions, considering it was no secret that Rhys’ armies were made up of the winged-faeries, and with its mountain position, it should be easy enough to find. Maybe - just maybe - you could take them toward Windhaven, and hope that they would give up before they even got there, or the Illyrians would scare them off before they found any trace of Feyre or Rhysand - any mention of Velaris.

“There was one place they took me,” you said slowly, schooling your voice to sound as if it were trembling, as if you were scared to even say the words. “It was the only time they took me out of wherever it was they were keeping me - somewhere called Windhaven.”

“Windhaven?” Lucien asked, turning back around at your confession, eyes narrowed. You nodded firmly.

“It was snowy - somewhere in the mountains I think,” you said softly. “Maybe that’s where they’re keeping Feyre.”

Silas looked up to Lucien, who nodded his head in confirmation. “It’s the closest thing to a lead we’ve got,” Lucien said, moving to position himself beside you on the ground again.

“Do you think you’d be able to work out the direction?” Silas asked, actions frozen, dagger hanging limply from his hand. You swallowed once.

“Probably,” you said truthfully - at least that wasn’t a lie. “If I can get a good view, if we could find a clearing or something, I think I’d be able to find the mountain range.”

A hand clamped down on your shoulder - Bron, from somewhere behind you - as he said, “Good job, Y/N.”

Lucien smiled gently, snaking an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him, resting his chin on your head as he inhaled sharply. “Thank you, my love,” he said, quiet enough that it was only audible to your ears. “I’m sorry I’ve been so moody recently. This place…it has me on edge.”

You closed your eyes, shuffling closer to his warmth. “It’s okay.”

“You’re sure about this Windhaven place?” Lucien asked slowly.

You shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s the only place I can think of.”

Another lie. Another deceit to your friends - your mate, and the people you loved the most - to add to the list of mistruths you’d already spewed to them. How would they feel if they were ever to find out how many times you’d duped them? Would they ever forgive you?

You couldn’t think about that now. Not with Lucien's warmth seeping into your chilled bones. Not with the fire flickering a comforting orange glow toward you in the dimming night. Not with the smell of the stew, already beginning to bubble in the pot above the fire, wafting toward you, making your mouth water. Not surrounded by your friends.

Three weeks, and you could have sworn your exhaustion had become tangible. You could feel it in the air around you with every step you took, as if it were a force pushing against you, making each and every footstep forward more difficult than the last. You’d made a silent promise to yourself to never travel across courts by foot again - Lucien could take you everywhere with him, so long as you were winnowing or riding.

You’d spotted that familiar mountain range, the one you were sure was home to the Windhaven camp, weeks ago, and your group had been trekking that way ever since. It loomed over you, high above the frost-coated tree tops, a marker of the end to your journey. It seemed to grow colder the closer you got to it, and it almost felt as if it grew taller, more intimidating, with each and every step in its shadow.

Your mood hadn’t improved much either, and the others were catching onto that. They were beginning to realise how you grew more defiant, slower in your pace, the closer to the steppes you got. You prayed they wouldn’t work out that you were trying to delay them as much as you could.

But Lucien knew something was wrong, you could tell from the way his eyes remained almost constantly trained on you, and how no matter where you went, he always seemed to be at your side. Of course he knew something was wrong, he knew you better than anyone else. But you refused to give him an inch, no matter how much you wanted to tell him exactly why you were acting like such a brat, why you were constantly complaining and asking for breaks. You would keep that to yourself for now, for the sake of Rhys and the Inner Circle - your friends. For the sake of Velaris.

“What is it, Y/N?” Lucien asked one night once the pair of you were safe inside your tent. You were camped so close to the steppes now that it unnerved you, with only the hiking climb upward remaining until you were at Windhaven. The others were asleep already, long-since hunkered down in their own tents surrounding the fire, and whilst Lucien had retired to bed a while ago, an hour or so after you had, he’d remained staring at the ceiling of the tent, not even attempting to sleep. Until now.

“What do you mean?” You asked, roused from your peaceful doze. You rolled over, turning to look at him. He narrowed his eyes toward you as if trying to see you properly in the dim orange glow from the fire outside that seeped through the crack in the tent flaps; his golden eye seemed to glow of its own accord in the darkness. The Night Court was always so dark.

“I feel like you’re keeping something from me,” he said softly. There was something there, laced into his tone - hurt. “I didn’t think we would keep secrets from each other anymore.”

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” you replied. You shuffled further down into your bed, peering up at him from under your blankets. “Why would you think I was keeping something from you?”

“All of the complaining, and the breaks, and the changes in route that you’re insisting upon,” he commented, not trying to hide the irritation in his tone. He was right - you had suggested they change route on more than one occasion, pulling them further into the wilderness to loop back around for no other reason than to offer time. “It’s like you’re trying to delay us.”

“I’m not-”

“What is it you’re keeping from me, Y/N?” He said again, firmer this time.

‘Tell him,’ a little voice in your head said. ‘Tell him about Velaris.’ You had been certain that Velaris was the closest thing to a home you were going to find in Prythian, but it had always felt like there was something missing there. You’d realised, after a great deal of thought, that the missing thing was Lucien, and had since spent days fantasising over what your lives would look like in the City of Starlight together. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to tell him just so you could see that fantasy play out. But-

But it wasn’t time for that, not now. Not when the whole world was turning upside down around you. Velaris had to remain hidden, for now - had to remain safe.

You reached upward, clasping his face gently between your hands. His warmth seeped into your palms despite the cold - he was always warm, a trait from his Autumn Court blood that you were particularly fond of, especially in the icy wilds of the Night Court, where the frost bit at your fingers and threatened hypothermia with each passing day.

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” you whispered, glancing between his eyes, the way they danced from your own eyes, down to your lips, and back up again.

“Then you’re doing it just to frustrate me,” he ground out. In an instant he was rolling on top of you, pinning you in place beneath him, hair falling around you both like a canopy of Autumn leaves. “Are you doing it just to piss me off, Y/N? Do you want me to get angry?”

“No,” you whispered. He was so close - if you moved upward just an inch your lips would be against his. It had been so long. He hadn’t touched you since Hybern. His hands planted themselves over your own, stroking tenderly at the backs of your palms.

“You’re so cold,” he noted, voice low and whispered. “Perhaps you want to rile me up so I would come in here and warm you up.”

His hands were moving down your arms now, caressing the skin, warming every inch of you. They reached your shoulders, squeezing once at the flesh there, and then moved down, along your ribs, to your hips, to the band of your trousers.

“No, Lucien,” you whispered. “I-I would never.”

His thumbs hooked into your waistband, pulling them down over your hips, underwear sweeping over your thighs at the same time, pooling around your knees. You expected the chill to hit your bare skin, to make you all-too aware of how much you wanted him then, but the sharp sting of the cold never came. In fact, the tent had warmed up immensely. Lucien threw you a cocky smirk - he had heated the tent, enough that you could both strip off a small amount of your layers, enough that you might connect your bodies properly.

His hand slid between the pair of you, the knuckle of one of his fingers brushing over your wetness, eliciting a gasp from you that made Lucien chuckle as he pulled at the strings of his trousers, releasing his length to rest against your thigh.

“You mean to tell me this wasn’t what you planned?” He asked, leaning in to ghost the words across your skin where your shoulder met your neck. It was so warm, so alluring, that it made your mouth water, made you arch up from the sleep mat to meet his body. As your pebbled nipples - visible even through the thick shirt that you had worn to bed, met with his chest, you felt him twitch against your thigh, smearing his arousal against your skin. “You mean to tell me this wasn’t what you wanted?”

One agonisingly slow thrust and he was inside you to the hilt, and a moan reverberated through your chest, louder than intended. But that feeling, of being so full of him again, of feeling him so deep…you couldn’t help yourself. He rolled his hips again, slowly grinding his body against yours as his lips travelled up your neck to your jawline, nipping and sucking.

“I always want you,” you breathed out. He groaned, seeming to involuntarily buck his hips toward you as if your words themselves were close to breaking the leash he’d given himself; the action caused your eyes to roll back and another moan to escape your lips.

“Quiet my love,” he said against your skin, leaning up to nibble at your bottom lip. His hips rolled again, and he found a rhythm, slow and passionate and enough to have your toes curling and your hands reaching up to clutch at his arm, his hair, his back - anywhere that you could reach. “You wouldn't want the others to wake up and hear those beautiful noises you make for me would you?”

He bit down harder on your lip, dragging it between his teeth and pulling it away from your teeth to suck at it. His rhythm became stronger, harder, and you could feel that coil tightening inside you as he hit you perfectly each and every time.

As he pulled up at your leg, it slipped from the confines of your trousers, and he hoisted it up over his hip, leaning down to press sloppy, quick kisses to the skin of your inner thigh.

“Look at this,” he murmured, his voice so low, so feral, that it sent sparks right down to your core. Your eyes fluttered open and found his as they fell down to where the two of you were connected. You followed his eyeline, watching as he sank himself deep into you with each thrust. “Look how well you take me, my love. Look how perfectly we fit together.”

“M-Made for each other,” you stuttered out. His eyes snapped up to yours, and you could see the concentration written into the lines on his face - he was trying not to find his pleasure too soon, was trying to wait so the pair of you could cross that line and fall into ecstasy together.

“We were made for each other,” he confirmed, snapping his hips harder into you, accenting each word with a wave of pleasure that shot through you, tingling through your entire body like the fire that ran through his veins. “There is no one else in this world for me, my love. Only you.”

“M-Me too,” you managed, arching your back again, offering him the perfect angle to lean down and nibble at your neck, likely leaving behind a purple bruise that you’d struggle to explain to the others the next day. “O-Only you, Lucien.”

A harsh snap of his hips, hitting you in the perfect spot that had you mumbling his name incoherently. “So, will you stop trying to piss me off then?” He asked. Another harsh thrust and a tug of your hair. “Otherwise I may not warm you up again.”

“I-I will,” you stuttered. A bite of his teeth to that purple bruise on your neck, another sharp thrust that had your legs shaking - so close. You were so close.

“Good girl,” he said, snaking his free hand down between your bodies, never letting up the new relentless pace that he had set. “Then come for me, Y/N.”

And you did. His fingers caressed your clit, and your body shattered, pieced itself back together, and then shattered again. Your legs shook, but he held you in place, savouring every second of your pleasure. And when you clenched, it threw him over the edge alongside you, spilling himself into you with a low whisper of your name.

Then there was a light - a different kind of light to the soft glow of the fire outside. This seemed to burst through the darkness of the tent, as if the very sun had fallen from the sky to share in your pleasure. But it wasn’t the sun, you realised as you squinted your eyes open, but rather Lucien. His skin glowed a dazzling brightness that encased the pair of you in rays of golden light. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, his mouth parted slightly as his climax washed through him, and then as his high and yours together began to fade, the light dimmed until it was nothing more than a slight light dancing in his eye.

“What was that?” You breathed out as he slumped against your chest, ear pressed against your skin as though he were listening for your heart.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s never happened before. Maybe…Maybe it’s just some remnant of my fire power.”

“Maybe,” you agreed, brushing a hand over his silken hair. But you knew that the light that had shone from him like a beacon was not the light of a fire. That had been a different light, brighter and clearer.

Morning brought with it a crisp dew that lay against the fallen snow from the night before. Everyone huddled around the now extinguished fire, bundled up in the warmest clothes to battle against the breeze that the day’s trek would bring with it, scoffing down the remnant of last night’s dinner and a few pieces of weeks-old fruit that Hart had found in his pack, for breakfast.

“You know,” Silas said eventually, the words fighting their way around the chattering of his teeth. “You two could have at least tried to be quiet last night. Some of us were trying to sleep, you know.”

You paused mid-bite of your apple, eyes wide in shock. A flush crept its way up your neck and coated your cheeks - embarrassment and guilt were the root cause. “I-I didn’t know you could hear us.”

“It’s not like this place is particularly noisy,” Wren pointed out with a knowing smirk. “Sound carries.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, looking to Lucien in shock. But to your surprise, the emissary simply curled his lips, seemingly holding back a laugh.

“You don’t need to apologise to him, Y/N,” he chuckled. “I’ve heard far worse things coming out of that dormitory of theirs.”

Silas shot Lucien a smirk. “Oh yes, you definitely don’t need to apologise,” the commander retorted. “Maybe next time, you should just invite me to join in instead. I hate to be left out of all the fun.”

Your jaw practically dropped. “You’re joking, right?”

“He’s definitely not joking,” Bron cut in with a snigger. “Silas jokes about many things, but that is not one of them.”

“Well,” Lucien said with a shrug, challenging eyes trained on the commander, “maybe we can arrange it. It sounds like an agreeable idea if you ask me.”

You turned your shocked expression on Lucien. “Are you serious?”

“Well, why not?” Lucien countered. “He’s a good-looking fellow.”

You shook your head, standing bolt upright in a second and moving to pack away your tent, mumbling under your breath, “It’s too fucking early for this.”

The sounds of raucous male laughter echoed after you.

You pondered that light for the following days as your group began the ascent up the mountain side. You had never seen magic like it, not in either of the courts you had visited before, nor Under the Mountain. It seemed so…distinctive. So special.

The bond, you had come to the conclusion. It had to be the bond. Perhaps the bond had snapped into place for Lucien that night at last, and he simply hadn’t realised it. Although how he couldn’t have noticed that tie between the two of you, you weren’t sure. Why he had glowed like that when that hadn’t happened when it had snapped for you, you didn’t know. And why the far end of that bond between you still felt so void, you had no idea.

So many questions.

Yet, five days later after the camp was set up between the trees on the side of that steppe, you made a decision, and quickly got to work skinning the rabbit Wren had caught that afternoon. It was gruesome work, and you had to admit that you didn’t know the first thing about cooking really, but you did you best, and worked through it, even with the blood and grime and entrails that buried themselves under your nails.

“You made this?” Silas asked with a raised eyebrow as you handed him the bowl of rabbit stew. It looked okay, you thought - perhaps not as good as the stew Silas usually made, but good enough for consumption.

“Yes, didn’t you see me toiling away over the fire all evening?” You snarked in reply, handing Wren and Bron their bowls as well.

“Well yes, but are you sure Lucien or Wren didn’t make this and you just pretended you did?” Silas asked, cautiously taking a spoonful and sniffing it. You rolled your eyes, reaching over to take the final two bowls from him.

“I made it,” you said. “And it’ll taste damn good too.”

You turned then, and handed that final bowl to Lucien. He barely even noticed, mumbling a thank you and returning to sharpening his blade. But you perched there beside him, watching from the corner of your eye. He had no idea how momentous this moment was for you, and you could only hope that the bond had snapped, and that this…this would work. It would work, because if it didn’t, you didn’t know what you would do.

And when he took that first spoonful, you held your breath, watching and waiting. He hummed, nodding his head in satisfaction at the taste, but-

Nothing. There was no miraculous moment of clarity, no realisation in his eyes that he was sat beside his mate. There was nothing but the grateful groans of hungry males and the sound of them slurping up the stew you had made.

It hadn’t worked.

And for some reason, you’d barely been able to look at Lucien for the rest of the night.

“How do we even know Feyre will be at Windhaven?” Silas asked as the group pushed their way further up the mountain, coming to a stop at a flat plane that hung from the side of the steppe, blanketed in forestry.

“We don’t,” Lucien said, shooting you a look that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. Frustration, no doubt, as you had changed the route once again. They still hadn’t given up though, not even after four weeks of endless trekking and any distraction that you could think of. Lucien knew - he had said as much - that you were doing it on purpose, but you prayed he didn’t work out the reason, that you were doing it to keep Feyre hidden from them in the hopes that they would surrender to their exhaustion and head home to tell Tamlin it was a pointless mission.

“But it’s our best hope, right?” Wren interjected, looking between Lucien and you and back again.

“It’s the only lead we have,” Lucien explained, pressing his lips into a tight line. He turned to you fully, coming to a stop. “Do you even know where we’re going?”

“I’ve only been to Windhaven once,” you countered. “And we winnowed there. It’s not like I went trekking through the damned forest.”

Lucien clicked his tongue in annoyance. “This is a waste of time,” he finally said, turning away from you to look out over the forest below, stretching as far as the eye could see, and the mountains that reached upward in the far distance. “It might be our only lead, but we’ve been walking aimlessly here for weeks, wasting precious time.”

“Then let’s go home,” you suggested, reaching forward to take his hand. But when he looked at you, there was fire flashing in his eyes.

“Without Feyre?” He asked. “I know you said that she’s in no danger, that she’s okay. But we have orders, Y/N, to take her back to Spring with us.”

“And if we don’t go to Windhaven, how do you propose we find her?” You countered. The shuffle of awkward feet sounded from the sentinels behind you, but you didn’t pay it any heed. “Do we just keep wandering the wilderness until we find any sign of her?”

Lucien turned to you fully then, shoulders broad and jaw gritted. “If Feyre thought you were in any kind of danger, or needed any kind of help, do you really think she would hesitate to try and find you?” He huffed a breath through his nose. “I know you say that there is no threat to her, but I can’t believe that enough to confirm it to Tamlin, unless I see it with my own eyes first.”

“So, you think I’m a liar?” You asked in disbelief. You didn’t care that Silas and the others were hearing the truth of your opinion on the Night Court, didn’t care if they thought it was true or not.

“No,” Lucien countered. “But I do think you’re keeping something from me - from us - and I’m yet to work out why.”

You breathed out a bitter laugh. “The Night Court is not the place you think it is, Lucien.”

“How can I know that?” Lucien asked, the anger rising in his voice.

“Because you should trust me, just as I trust you,” you snapped in return. “The Night Court is not filled with monsters and enemies. We have a common enemy - Hybern. So please, just trust me on this.”

“Perhaps, if you love it so much, maybe you should stay here then,” Lucien bit back. “You are close to Night’s High Lord after all. Maybe a little too close.”

You stared at him in shock - shock at the words he had thrown at you like weapons. And they hurt like weapons too, as if each and every one of them was a dagger aimed at your heart. Because he wasn’t meant to think of you like that, not now. Not when he knew you wouldn’t fall into any other male’s bed, not when he knew he was the only person you would ever love.

So you spun on your heel, ignoring his shouts of your name and apologies that trailed after you, and stalked into the forest. You didn’t know where you were walking to, only that you needed to get away from him, to get away from the thoughts that were pelting you relentlessly.

'Whore, whore, whore. Dirty whore.'

However, the words eddied and died with every breath, every step away from them that you took. You just needed a minute, and then you would go back and apologise for running them ragged trekking in circles, and would listen to his unending apologies too; you could think of more than a few ways you could make it up to each other that night.

But the rustle of something behind you caused you to freeze. Something was moving in the brush - footsteps sounded, slow and predatory, and they were heading your way. Your hand fell to the amber-encrusted hilt of your sword, and you turned slowly, carefully.

What you saw waiting for you between the trees made your heart stop.

Taglist

Complete: | @loveshineslikethesky | @elleclairez | @lostpirateinwonderland | @judig92 | @old-enough-to-know-better73 | @atrashsith | @chanaaaannel |

Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove | @lumos-barnes | @cumuluscranium | @dreamlandreader | @enrichmenttimeinmyenclosure | @rachelnicolee | @callmelovergirl |

#ACOTAR #ACOTAR fanfiction #ACOTAR fanfic #Lucien Vanserra #Lucien #Lucien ACOTAR #Lucien Vanserra fanfiction #Lucien Vanserra fanfic #Lucien fanfiction #Lucien fanfic #Lucien x reader #Lucien Vanserra x reader #Lucien x you #Lucien Vanserra x you #Lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra x y/n #rhysand #feyre #tamlin #cassian #azriel #amarantha #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #lucien smut #lucien vanserra smut #acotar smut

[motleyfolk]

Craft/Lifestyle Bookmarks

Since tumblr mobile tags play up, just compiling all my bookmarks here, so I can use it on mobile and find things easier. None are like fact-checked, using them as inspo or starting points. Some are taken from solarpunksoup’s soup.

Last updated: 14/12/23

Herbology and Nature

Alchemy Works - Herb and Resins for Magic Enyclopedia Type Thing (found from this post)

Bee Friendly Garden

Bird Feeding

Free Seeds

Gardening for Climate Resistance

Guerilla Gardening

Heirloom Seeds

Plant Insiders Knowledge

Plant Dye for Fabrics

Recommended Reading

Seed Saving

Veg Growth Cheat Sheet

Pinkies Parlour - Janky old website but has info on flowers and religious symbology.

Physical Craft/Hobby

Toilet Roll Satchel

Cleansing and Another

Sewing, Mending, Craft

Projects & Patterns

Misc Projects

Making Stuff & Doing Things Book Rec

Miracle Hands - Free hobby and craft craftbook and pattern downloads

Practice Prayer  - Lil affirmation/helpful customizable tool for whatever hobby you have.

Tips for writing

Poetic/Thought Provoking

The weird little kid

Sustainability

Worshipping The World

Life/Craft

How To Sleep Better

Wardrobe Management + Misc

Thrifting Online

Make Your Own Socks

Mega Cooking Help

Random Life Skills (how to unclog toilet n stuff)

Upcycling Jumpers

Misc Recipes/Craft Stuff

Baking With Brain Fog and/or Arthritis - Includes tips for other disabilities

Solarpunk Masterlist - Cool SP list by @evilautisticsociety​

Journaling Prompts - Inspo if you don’t like writing diary entries and wnat other ways to journal.

More Journaling Prompts

Unfuck Your Habitat - How to clean your house, get rid of shitty habits in a gender neutral, inclusive of the mentally ill, students, full time job-ers, etc that fts small or large challenges, simple cleaning checklists, etc.

The Order of the Good Death - The current western funeral practices are bad for the community and environment, this site discusses that and gives you several ways to change it, from small personal to wider community.

New Year Resolution alt mindset

How to keep yourself warm in cold houses or outdoors

Mental/Physical Health

You feel like shit. - Simple interactive, flow chart questionnaire to help you identify why you’re feeling like shit right now and to make sure you’ve done basic self-care. *

the quiet place - 90 second relaxation exercise on stepping back from social media *

Pixel Thoughts - Put your worry in a star and watch it disappear in 60 seconds. *

Meditation Basic Instructions - Helpful detailed guide on meditating.

A Soft Murmur - Ambient Sound Mixer

Baking With Brain Fog and/or Arthritis - Includes tips for other disabilities

Self Care Checklist

softheartclinic - Cutesy self care fun

Scarleteen - Inclusive sex education website

The Analog Brain - Helps with executive dysfunction, figuring out if this is an impulsive decision. Lil question tool thingy

Taking care of your spine

Tarot

Year Ahead Tarot

Spells

Anatomy of a Spell

Basics of Spellcraft

Magic Circle for Spellcasting

Seeds of The Future Spell

Spell Design

Spell Dictation

Writing Spells for Beginners

Grimoire/Shadow Work/Exercises

Dig Through The Ditches

Grimoire Prompts and Another and Another

Home Brews

Make Your Own Folklore

Shadow Work Prompts

Organising Study Materials

Quantifying Your Craft

Yule

A neurodivergent witch's guide to starting a grimoire

Misc Resources

Witchy Resource Doc - Includes books, websites, yters, ingredients, etc.

Online Research

Research Jumping Points Inspo

How To Ward and Another

Recommended Reading  

Cailleach’s Herbarium - Scottish Folk Practitioner, lots of Scottish based history, folk magic, folklore, etc.

What is Sympathetic Magic - Infographic and links

Historical Scottish Beltane

Witchcraft on a budget

#bookmark #resources #motleyspoke #motleylinks

[digirhys]

• do not tag as kin/me/ID/etc • do not repost/use •

Gonna be traveling all day the day after Valentines Day this year so bf and I don't have any big plans for the day itself @w@ been busy w last-minute con prep when I'm not working, too, so haven't had much time to draw!!!

Decided to veg out after dinner last night n draw this while we watched TV instead of pinning and cutting the fabric for my bag :V;;;;; I'll do that Friday instead, and likely do the sewing on Saturday✌🏻

#rhys art #original character #oc: Rory #oc: Tobias

[beyond-far-horizons]

Hey hon, for the ask: 2,4,18,20,27 and 29? 😊

Hey hon, sorry it took so long to answer this - it's been a difficult week.

Right FYI for folks reading this - I'm not tagging it and I'm not getting into a debate esp re the first answer given that it's an emotive topic. With that said - let's begin!

2) Thoughts on veg@nism?

I have mixed feelings that are hard to articulate esp on here and given how fraught the topic is, is why I'm hesitant to answer the question. In short, I have a huge deal of respect for veg@ns but I'd struggle to be one. I do want to try to bring in more of it when I can, mainly because I find the industrialisation of food/farming so repellent. I hate the idea of animals suffering so I try when I can to avoid meat or to get things that are well sourced. My feelings on this subject have changed and developed across the years and it's complex so I think it's always worth thinking about. For example, although I hate the thought of killing something for food, I don't necessarily think that it's wrong. What I think is wrong is lack of compassion. Animals should be treated with respect, care and not as a product without feelings. I respect Indigenous communities for example that don't sentimentalise animals but respect and care for them and the world as part of a whole with themselves as a part of it. I also admit that I love meat and some of my favourite foods are dairy. Food is one of the few pleasures in my life so I don't want to be dictated to or guilt-tripped about that especially by people who haven't thought the topic through and just want to evangelise and gatekeep others (however understandable and worthy the cause.)

Also there's the tension with the fact that veg@n products aren't always environmentally friendly - mass deforestation for mono-crops like soya (although this happens for cattle grazing too) and toxic plastic for leather. There's another Indigenous perspective (I'm thinking of certain Plant Shamans in the Amazon for example) that view plants as having their own souls and awareness and if you think that sounds weird there are scientific studies revealing the sensitivity and intelligence of plants (look into rhizome forests for example.) Movements like Animism, Post-Animism, Post-Humanism incorporate the Non and More-than Human worlds and this includes plant-life. Are we and animals more important than them? How did we decide that just because we can't see their pain? Or is that just anthropomorphising them? It's another perspective for sure.

I don't think there's any easy answers but thinking in that way is the main reason I decided to get a forest burial if I can, instead of getting cremated. If I take from the earth as part of the circle of life well I should give back and there's no better way I think than to become a tree and give back when I die (yep this post just got weird lol, but seriously this is what I'm talking about - circle of life!) This way I get to be something that I adored in life - a blossom tree - as well as a whole eco-system supporting lichen, insects, birds, people etc. And I think that is pretty awesome. But that doesn't get round the central dilemma so I'm still working on it and doing the best I can in difficult times.

4)Mythical Creature you believe/think is real?

As a Brit I have a weird hope that the Loch Ness monster is real because I loved learning about it as a kid and it's too awesome to think that a prehistoric monster still lives in the modern age. I think the folkloric White Hart (Arthurian/British symbol of Kingship/Sovereignty) is real in terms of the Universe throwing up symbols sometimes. There was a really bad omen for my country in recent years when one was shot running through Manchester and that tells you everything you need to know about our government and current state of the country even if it was allegedly for health and safety reasons.

18) Your Boba/Tea order?

I'm ashamed to say I've never tried these. Sorry but they just look weird. As a English Breakfast tea-drinking cliché I don't trust cold tea or weird balls that look like rabbit droppings. Hehe sorry. I should give it go sometime. If we are talking actual tea then what we Brits call 'Builders tea' aka black tea with a little milk and one sweetener x 3 a day. Can't function without it.

20) Favourite Disney Princess Movie?

Ooh, good question! I love the Golden Age - Little Mermaid (I pretended to be Ariel as a kid for ages, drew her, had a whole toy cave set and dolls etc), Aladdin(first movie I saw in the cinema, had posters, toys etc) and Beauty and the Beast. Special shout out to Hunchback of Notredame as well even though that's not a Princess movie, it's awesome and I love Esmeralda. However the prize has to go to B & B. I was and still am obsessed with that movie, I think I can still recite it line for line. My friend and I spent one sleepover casting our school year group as the cast in our heads and then singing (badly) all the songs on a walk. I also have Belle's colouring (can't claim I look exactly like her, can I?) and more importantly can do a mean impression of many of the characters esp the Narrator and the bookstore owner (minor characters for the win!) Did I mention I was obsessed?

27) What’s your favourite or go-to outfit?

Difficult one...I'm (again) living out of a suitcase and carrying more weight than I want to so I don't have all the clothing options I'd like rn. Ideal world my favourite piece of clothing is this little black dress I have that you can wear for the office or for a night out - it makes me look great and I used to match it with different accessories including this beautiful pink and gold belt. Both are in storage now cos mama's too chubby to fit them! At present it's my chunky white grandma cardigan over black trousers with a different colour top and jewellery - pastels or vivids like bright red.

29) Preferred pasta noodle?

The phrasing of this question upsets me - is it fave pasta or fave noodle? I know them as two different things. So I'll cheat and answer for both! Haha.

Fave pasta...I...don't really have one. I like all of them - twists, shells, linguine (my internet is playing up so I can't check all the italian names.)

Favourite noodle - love a lot of them but Naruto and I share a love for ramen so ramen noodles!!

Thanks and hope that wasn't too much information overload!

#personal #asks #tw animal death #pl no debates I respect your opinion just respect mine folks #I just dread the militant activists from the tags seeing the first one and harassing me #no joke I have seen those ppl in action and it was scary

[beenjen]

Call me ‘may’be day 8 of Jen caring about Jen

- I stayed up until 1 am because Lilith’s pediatrician has a website you can self schedule but it has to be after midnight…. Then she was up at 5. Double ear infection - this happened, because SOMEONE didn’t give her her allergy medicine/decongestant, she has to have a little bit of a when she has heavy allergies and this last several weeks has been really bad.

So we were at the pediatrician early. Glad it’s not the flu/Covid/strep, but it pisses me off when people don’t listen to me about medical shit. I’M MEDICAL. What’s done is done, she has not felt great, we snuggled a lot. I bribed her with watered down OJ, started ABX, C will stay home with her tomorrow and work out of his home office and I feel better about us having her and noodling her than her being at daycare and not feeling well.

- my final retainer came in at the orthodontist. I’ll wear it for 6 months and then I guess keep it as a whitening tray? I’ll have a night one that I wear here on out, or most nights anyways after than and I’m done.

- Lilith took a nap in her stroller while I ran/walked 3 miles on my fav trail. It started getting muggy as it’s been raining then got into the 80s then I felt that with her having poor allergies it was prob a dick move to have her out like that and called it a short one.

- ordered delivery groceries of some yogurt, apple sauce, mac n’ cheese, little things I know she will maybe be enticed to eat. Plenty of fresh fruit and she loves cucumbers and carrots so stocked up.

Came home and worked on laundry; kept her out of ballet because she just didn’t feel up for it. Then when C came home he tagged me out so I could go to a yoga class.

It was incredible. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been able to really be with a teacher so focused on breath/movement - that’s the whole goal of yoga and when you can get that rhythm, it’s magic. So glad that worked out and I’ll be looking for more classes by this teacher for sure.

- our older dog Luna, has been having incontinence issues. She has a rather large lipoma on her side and I’m wondering if now that it’s gotten bigger, the recommendation to remove it may have changed, and it could be causing pressure for her… so instead of the nice, relaxing day I planned for myself on Thursday, I’ll be taking my old girl to the vet. Glad it worked out they could get us in then, I really hope our sweet girl has more time with us. Losing my damn dog is absolutely opposite of what I need at the moment.

- Drank my water, actually ate light today and juiced some veg for my gut. I always feel so good when I do a cleanse like that and it really does something for me mentally. Carrots for the win.

Happy week guys xx

[lydiardbell]

"FUN FACT ABOUT AVENGERS GAMMA XV YOU COULD ONLY LEARN WITH AN EXCLUSIVE COMICON FUNKO" #filmhistory #militaryhistory #thirdcrusade #kinglouisxii #cats #dogs #vegan #veg*n #doctorwho #impala #oncelerxsans

I think perhaps some of those tags aren't relevant friend

[rockewell]

1. H: 168cm

HW: 55kg

CW: 50kg

LW: 49kg

GW: 45kg

2. H: 168cm. yes. I wish i was a little bit taller because then i could restrict the same but loose more weight.

3. tbh i just want thin thighs + waist. my waist is 25in? idk i wish my thigh gap was bigger.

4. hair loss. brittle nails.

5. i am very motivated by image. i just don’t wan to be insecure.

6. no but i snack mindlessly.

7. they constantly tell me to eat more.

8. 80+(can range up to120)x20m swim x2/week (1hr each time). jump rope challenge every day 1000+. intense 500kcal cardio every three days (mon, thur, sun etc). constant exercise when idle (lilly sabri slim leg workout/snatched waist). aim for 3k steps.

9. yes but they’re all overweight anyways.

10. snacking. breakfast desert. juices. cake and brownies. crisps.

11. idk i just use tags.

12. choc ceral w semi skimmed milk (110kcal)

two slices of bread (200kcal) w/ hot drink (about 75-120kcal). chocolate bar (114kcal) = 400kcal

small homemade pizza (base 110kcal) + sauce (50kcal) + mozzarella (190kcal) = 350kcal

total= 860 + dessert (anything under 300kcal)

13. trying to just workout more tbh. so ig healthy.

14. 45kg by june.

15. i was raised veg so i don’t really know any better lol.

16. almost a yr ago. six months i changed my eating and now i’m changing my habits again.

17. maybe. i’m not diagnosed with anything.

18. milk chocolate.

19. breakfast an hr ago.

20. n/a

21. size 4/6 uk (0-2 us) however i wear size 8 (4) in skirts because i like to wear them on my waist. size 5.5 shoe which is like a 38 or 39 eu.

22. 49kg. my parents made me and i was on break for three weeks from swimming.

23. not really. i want to weigh less for vanity and for swimming.

24. i dont care ngl. do what the fuck you want as long as it doesn’t negatively impact me.

25. nope. i’ve tried a few times but i can never bring myself to.

26. bikinis.

27. think about those fat people wieiad’s. they make me feel so ill. or the smell of a vape or something else gross.

28. i already have a gap i just want it bigger because i hate my thighs touching lol.

29. the smell of rain

[sapphicshart]

why am i seeing so many veg*n anti honey posts lately. like, in the bees tag. go away. your takes are rancid and usually INCREDIBLY racist

[finniestoncrane]

G'day I'm here for the BBQ Platter. If I could get that to takeout please? And with a signature cocktail. And for sides could I get a half sandwich, oysters, roasted veg and sauteed mushrooms?

general!boomer x gn!reader, word count: 300 content (warnings): rough sex, inexpereienced partner, praise!kink, the kitchen is now closed! 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block) a/n: thank you anon! i think this is my peak lmao but i'm so happy and grateful 💚

digger would eat up an inexperienced partner, someone he can teach all his best moves to

someone who might be more inclined to forgive any clumsiness

anyone who can utter the phrase "i've never done anything like this before" drives him wild

like he's conquering unknown lands, staking his claim in you, making you completely his

letting you place all your trust in him, as misguided as that might be...

since he can get quite... rough? posessive? competitive even?

either way, you're in his hands now, and he'll tell you to sit back and relax while he shows you how good he is

in a bid to keep you comforted, or placated, whatever, he'll shower you with praise

there's a never ending barrage of compliments coming your way

"you're taking my cock pretty well, love"

"you feel so good, so tight, fuckin' perfect"

"you look so hot from this angle, babe"

not romantic by any means, but they send a tingle through your body either way

and makes it easier for you to know exactly what to say when he asks you the most important question

"do you want it gentle, or do you want it rough, sweetheart?"

because of course, you're saying rough

you want him to use you, to show you everything he's capable of, everything you've been missing

and you know you've chosen correctly when he growls into your ear

"that's the right answer, gorgeous"

a sharp increase in pace and force, you're reduced to a whimpering, drooling, red raw mess under him

exactly the way he wants you

unable to think about anything but him, bruised and marked by him, your entire body transformed into something to remember him by

not that you'll forget easily, not in a hurry anyway

and if you ever feel yourself beginning to forget how he amazing he felt

rest-assured that he's always a quick phone call away

#finnie writes #finnie1500