#Efficient House Cleaning Tips

[nouearth]

dancing with wolves.

pairing. glen powell x male reader.

word count. 8.8k.

summary. journeying from town to town provided glen a solitude he’d always dreamed of. however, since meeting you, it was all he could complain about.

content warning. smut, western!au, top!glen, yearning!glen, loner!glen, bottom!reader, prostitute!reader, love confession, established relationship, passionate love-making, gagging, deep-throating, handjob (r!receiving), blowjob (r!giving), spanking, overstimulation, milking, anal penetration, breeding.

Cases of whiskey and cider were stacked in a column of two. Six units per beverage, twelve in total as Glen triple-checked the count and label. Though he’d never made a mistake in his deliveries before, it was his vigilance that maintained his good repute amongst the townsfolk. His attentiveness and efficiency in deliveries allowed for trust to be built between him and the towns he’d distribute to.

Months and more, the head of these establishments he’d work with didn’t seem to mind Glen’s uptight and reserved nature. Rather, they were used to it. Penned him as ‘Gunpowder’ because of their inability to see through him, as if the smoke from deflagrated gunpowder had impaired their vision.

As long as the goods were delivered in mint condition, who was to complain that the brooding man marched right on out after receiving his payment without uttering a single word?

Not to mention, his sturdy build was a warning itself to those who’d dared.

“Nearly doubled the shipment from last time.” It was an observation noted to himself. A low mutter that the owner of the saloon caught with a smile, because frankly, the mustached man was known to run the folk’s ears off.

There was a reason why he owned a saloon, and not Glen.

He dropped his payment into his drawstring bag and tucked it into the inside pocket of his shirt. Crime was growing rampant, even in a bustling town like New Vale where a dust storm couldn’t ward off its folks from drinking into the night. Glen wasn’t sure what to make of it. Whether to call them idiots for ignoring the highly alarming signs of bandits gradually killing their way to the west, or brave for living their lives without a single regret.

One would’ve had the same vacillation between labeling Glen as an idiot or a man, for traveling 40 miles and more in his saddle, while the threat of murders loomed over his head.  “God damn, I did! Business been growin’ ever since we’d expanded to include the whores. The fellas can’t keep their hands off of them!” Glen’s ears pricked up from the way the shorter man described the main attraction to his saloon. The man was practically ascending to heaven, tugging on the straps of his suspenders to ground him to the wooden flooring while he boasted about how much of a brilliant man he was for charging patrons by the hour, and taking a percentage of a prostitute’s pay. 

All Glen could do was watch in stoic disgust while the man relished in his own pride, in his own greed.

Though, only for a few seconds before a feeling of guilt and shame took over Glen’s conscious, calling him out on his hypocrisy, on this selfish desire that all the men in the saloon had collectively shared.

He wasn’t much of a better man than the drunkard swaying in his seat, completely shit-faced with a shot glass in his grasp.

Glen tucked his hands into his pockets, leaned to the man’s ear, and lowered his voice to a hush. “The boy in today?”

Coincidentally, he felt a spare coin in his left pocket. The silver ridges scorched his skin like it had come straight from the devil’s fountain, prodding his urges.

“Should be cleaning out back, but I’ll let ‘em know you’re here. You know his room.” The man collected the single coin with a smug grin and tipped his hat. “Nice doing business with ya, and… get y’self a drink. On the house. I’m beginning to treasure your presence.” The march of his steps out to the back were resonant, even with the ragged rhythm of the piano blaring in Glen’s ears as he walked for the stairs.

- - -

The room was left as Glen remembered it.

The thin walls closed in on the oil lamps mounted on the walls. It didn’t take much to light up the room. As bright as candles could be lit, it only emphasized how truly compact the space was. Glen couldn’t imagine that no more than two men could be comfortable standing in this lodging, let alone reside in it. Luckily, Glen was a simple man. He hung his coat on the wall and took his boots off, a much needed relief from the compression at his feet, and he felt satisfied sitting on the miserable mattress. Not from the space, no. Not when he could hear other patrons like him revel in their own pleasure, albeit muffled by the thin walls.

No. It was because he got to see his boy again. Twice a month, like how it had been for almost a year now, and Glen could feel the two weeks of labor thanking him as a huge weight seemingly lifted off his shoulders. 

Traveling from town to town and shipping out whiskey and cider didn’t take much of a toll on his body like herding cattle, but it was uninspiring. Sight-seeing was tranquil, but the sun was beating down on him harder this month. It was tiring. Always on his saddle, on his feet, and now with the threat of robberies ramping, on the defensive, all without so much of a break.

It was lonely. 

And though it was his own fault, it made the moment of seeing his boy all the more special.

Touching you was even more cathartic than he’d like to admit.

Two hard knocks, a beat, then three more, and the door opened.

“You sleepin’ already, Bighorn?” You teased, chuckling to yourself when you could see Glen rise from his position as you locked the door.

Bighorn. The endearment made Glen chuckle.

Glen watched you come into the light as his elbows supported his body, legs extended to stretch the tight muscles in his thighs and calves. A button-up and suspenders, your typical attire as a novice cook. It had to be illegal to look this striking in hand-me-downs covered in flour.

“A second longer, and I would’ve demanded for a refund.” Glen quipped with a simple grin. It was all natural, his body responding to your approach by gathering himself onto his feet. You worked him in mysterious ways. Every step you took, Glen met you half-way. 

Yearn weighted Glen’s heart to match the heaviness of your boots scraping against the floor until you stopped. He stopped in his tracks after, your wide smile reflecting off of his simpler grin, and Glen remained silent, taking you all in with the removal of his hat. 

It wasn’t the first time his eyes ever tracked a man, nor was it the first time his heart ever sped up, but you had this power, this presence, that made him feel anew with the way you looked at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest close to his own. 

Surely, he knew he wasn’t going crazy feeling like his affection for you had shot up like a bull for the past month. And the month before that. 

And the month before that.

“And I would’ve made it up by makin’ sure you get the best sleep of your life. How’s that sound?” You met his eye level, unabashedly smiling wider than you had ever greeted him before. 

He felt flat, like he’d been hit by the train itself. A sharp jolt that sent goosebumps all over his skin, and it was like you read into his soul, because your hands roamed around his body, warding off the tiny prickles over his skin with a caress to his broad chest, over his forearms, against his neck.

It didn’t take long for Glen to realize you were the curator of the bumps on his skin.

“Sounds like an overpromise...” Glen chuckled along with you, his larger hands feeling up your waist, backside, then to your arse, where they felt perfectly at home in his palms. His gaze was just as curious, peeking at the collar of your shirt that revealed the smallest amount of your neck. To your lips, marveling over ruby flesh he’d often daydream about while riding across the plains.

It was becoming a routine. Where the weeks leading up to the end the month felt like the world had a vengeance against you, and this month was surely taking out its worst out on you.

“You got a haircut.” Glen noticed the shorter length of your hair, pushing it back with a swoop of his hand. He then took ahold of your jaw, maneuvering it cheek by cheek to stoically marvel over your cut.

“Was gettin’ hot. Boss man didn’t like how it collected sweat.” Your fingers worked around his collar, unfurling the fold, then folding it back into place.  “You like it?”

“I can see your face clearer. You look good.” Glen’s fingers raked through your hair once before messily ruffling it. You responded with a shove to his chest, knocking him back onto the bed with an unexpected laugh. “Guess I didn’t need to worry about whether you were eating or not. Christ, you gettin’ stronger too.”

A dull ache settled in his chest. He wanted to say something more than, “You look good.” 

No, it fit you. The trimmed hairs on the sides matched how blunt you could be. 

“You bring any gifts for me?”

“You’re sweaty, and that makes me aroused.”

“You pushing 40. That only makes me want you even more.”

“No one can fill my mouth like you do, Glen.”

On the contrary, it also framed your face like you were an angel who didn’t spout nonsense that would render him speechless. Though, he’d gotten used to that now. It made you all the more endearing, how someone could look as passive as you, have a mouth like that.

“Bastard’s been pushing more tasks onto me since business been growing. Same pay too. Man is too cheap to hire another employee. Don’t think I look any different though.” It took all the energy out of him to not sigh when you straddled his lap. He was swelling nicely beneath you, harder and thicker the more you rut your arse against him. “Or… maybe you’re just getting weaker?”

Glen rolled his eyes. “Don’t get so cocky, boy. Wouldn’t want me to beat it out of you, would you?” Your breath hitched when his palm struck down on your left ass cheek as a warning. It was effortlessly done, yet the subtle sting was more than enough to pull a groan out of you.

You brazened yourself, narrowing your eyes into his drawn gaze as you leaned closer, and pulled him halfway up by the collar. “Not if you call that a beatin’.” Your lips grazed against his, and just when Glen leaned closer, you pulled away and resumed your ruts, pushing your arse back onto his palms simultaneously.

“You gon’ regret that.” It was animalistic. The way you drove your hips into him, and the way Glen desperately responded back, groping your ass hard and pushing you flushed to his groin, to the weight of his bulge. He buried his groans into your neck, biting a patch of skin that would draw out whimpers in between your taunts. 

“I ain’t regret nothin’-“ A loud yelp slipped from your mouth. His palm suddenly came down on your ass again. Harder, like the snap of lighting had bit into your skin. It shuddered you to think that it had hurt as much as it did while you were clothed. Yet, that didn’t stop you from unbuckling and drawing out your belt, and then Glen’s. 

“That the best you got? Like a bee-sting. I ain’t impressed.” You muttered into his neck, kissing at the hot flush of skin after stripping you and Glen down to undergarments. Gradually, you worked his top off, licking and kissing every show of skin that would meet your lips, until he was deliciously bare-chested before you.

“I’ll break your damn ass if I have to.” Glen said through gritted teeth. His arms were folded behind his head, cushioning it while he watched your mouth worship every contour of his body like he was a king. Your mouth would latch onto one side of his ribs, suckling on a freckle, while the other admired his abdomen with several, drunken strokes. It took the trail of his stomach hair to pivot your mouth lower, to slip your hand into the opening of his drawers until it was inevitably full with Glen’s semi-hard cock, meaty and thick in your palm.

“You spendin’ the night?” Your ears perked up at the sound of his groans, your gaze followed the source. He was clearly desperate for more than the laze of your strokes as your grasp was loose and open, favoring to feel around his cock than against. 

“That’s what I paid for.” His hips bucked once you began massaging his cock, throbbing harder in the palm of your hand. 

“I’ll make sure it’s worthwhile, then.” With one hand continuing to knead at the tender muscle, you stripped the drawers off of his body, tossing it onto a pile of clothing in the corner.

“Look at me when you talkin’.” It came out more aggressive than he’d like it to, but your eyes lit up when he caught your gaze, a smoldering smile plastered across your face while you stroked him with your knees pressed to the mattress.

“You stressed or what? Don’t usually talk like this to me.” Stripping yourself bare, you resumed tending to his cock after, gulping at the unholy sight of the meaty tool drooling with a thick and ample amount of pre-cum that would surely stain the flooring if you hadn’t caught the sticky rope with your tongue.

You looked extra handsome tonight, Glen thought. Maybe it was the haircut working wonders on him. Making him act all crazy like he’d been bewitched. One strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead when you spat on his cock, and had your grasp around him not remind him, he would’ve forgotten to breathe.

“Just been thinking about my boy. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” You lapped up his cock while he struggled to pour out his words. It was like molasses, the way he’d pause himself to say the right thing so he wouldn’t scare you. Coincidentally, you seemed to be enjoying the taste of his pre-cum like it was molasses as well, sucking it out him with sunken cheeks.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about filling that filthy mouth of yours with even more filth.” He hissed as you began tonguing his slit.

“Y’know how much I love the taste of your seed.” You dragged your tongue over the head, polishing it with several needy sucks, while your gaze maintained on his. One hand was wrapped around the shaft to hold Glen steady, and the other was cupped around his heavy balls, stretching and fondling the loose stretch of skin.

“I know. You like how it’s warm in your mouth, don’t you?” The grasp around his thick cock tightened. Fingers pressed into his veins, stroking the aroused muscle while your mouth worked on his glans, plump and swollen against your lips.

“And how salty it is. Taste better than your whiskey.” Sweat and musk had built up in the thick hairs of his pubic, in the crevice of his glans as you inhaled his scent. The smell of his cock made your own swollen unbearably hard.

“You like my cock too. Like how heavy it is on your tongue.” He had his fingers running through your hair, keeping any strands from obscuring your eyes as you watched him, just as he had been watching you.

“Nothing better than feelin’ my dirty mouth stretch because of the size of it. Can barely wrap my hands around your tool. My asshole struggles too, if not more.”

You loved sucking on the head. It was tender in your mouth, leaking with salt that made your tongue dance into the slit for more. It was beautiful to look at too. Every now and then, you’d slip him out of your mouth to marvel over the glistening view of his cock, swollen in your own spit.

“Yet it don’t stop you, does it? You keep sucking with that hot mouth of yours. Fucking with that tight ass of yours.” He sat up to stretch his hand from your neck and then down to your spine, repeating the affectionate gesture when he’d reach the limit of his mobility.

“Your cock is my liquor.” You held his gaze with pride, proudly slapping his wet cock across your cheek, against your lips, onto your tongue, because you weren’t ashamed for desiring men. 

You weren’t ashamed for needing Glen.

No amount of prejudice can suppress your very existence. 

“You doin’ a whole lot of talking, and not a lot of sucking.” His hand was strong on the back of your neck, massaging as if it would warm your throat up.

You purred, finding the increasing pressure on your neck welcoming as it naturally opened your mouth back up. Your tongue teased Glen for a little longer. Patience had been wearing thin, you could see it in his eyes as they hardened over the lazy trail of your tongue, unbearably sliming at the underside of his heavy cock. His grasp on your neck was clutching, pulling at your tender skin to maneuver you north and wrap your mouth back around him. But you were resisting. You were going to suck his cock on your own terms, on your own accord, flaunting your tongue over his stiffened pole to warm him up because you had all night with him.

You were beautiful like this, working your spit over his cock with your hand, while you silently leaned up for a kiss. He granted those rubies of yours a chaste peck, then another to the dried drool at the corner of your mouth, then another, a fulfilling kiss to your mouth that had drawn out simultaneous groans from the both of you because it was unapologetically more than lust.

You stroked his cock harder, to the warmth of his tongue as it slipped inside of you, keen to explore the cavern that had made his cock feel so glorious, to explore the mouth that often sent Glen into a spiral simply from his own imagination after the very minute he would depart from you.

His heart was beating, accelerating like it had soles to run on, and all it took was the palm of your hand caressing his chest in soothing swoops to ground him back to reality, to the kiss that had been broken in favor of you returning back to your original position between his legs, mouth agape and taunting as ever. 

“Only because I want you to hear what it sounds like when I’m swallowing your cock.“ With those final words, you slid his cock into your mouth without letting your gags falter you.

His cock was heavy, maintaining the girth from base to tip as you took more of him after every cycle. Tears brimmed in your eyes when you’d choke on one attempt of slotting him down your throat. Then they dripped, rolled down your supple cheeks, when you’d work yourself through your gags until your throat closed in around his tool. You’d lie there with your throat stuffed to the brim, your lips clamped shut from the very base despite the fur of his pubic hairs tickling your lips to open back up.

Your ears rattled from your conscience begging you to end your torture, but watching Glen marvel at that mouth of yours made you endure the looming threat of fainting all the more worthwhile. 

“Christ.” Drool spilled from either side of your mouth as Glen helped you stabilize with a palm to your nape. He gently pushed at the sound of your gags, keeping you situated against his groin in case you’d pull away. “You know how to make a man happy, don’t you?”

“Mmfgh—“ It was pointless responding, but Glen expected it. You always had to get the last word. The last sound. 

He maneuvered you by the neck, pulling you back then forward again, your throat making ungodly sounds around his cock in midst of doing so. Occasionally, he’d meet you halfway and thrust himself into your gags, churning the arising saliva that foamed in your mouth back down your air duct, making you choke in the process.

“You miss my cock that much, boy?”

“Mmff-guh!”

He’d pull you back just in time, his cock releasing from the tight hold of your throat like a cork barricading liquor, and you didn’t waste a single second to fill your lungs again with the arousing air.

“You gon’ kill me with that thing, bastard.” Your spit resembled fizz that would spew out from opened cider. Glen kept it to himself, but he thought you looked dashing like this. Flushed in the face, cheeks stained by dried tears, nostrils stung with sniffles, you’d collect your composure quickly after, brazen yourself as if nothing had happened, but from the tremors in your hands, you were dismantled despite working your hand on him again.

“Too much for you?” He asked, reaching over with a hand to knead at the center of your throat. Glen didn’t show many moods, but you were well aware when he was either aroused, angry, or concerned, simply by the movement of his brows. 

You lifted your chin upon the warm of his hand greeting you, grinning at the raise of the man’s brows. “I jest. Too much? Yes. But that’s the fun in it. Not knowing when to stop because I’m so addicted to you.”

“Should be a poet. You’d know how to charm people with your words.” He sighed into your mouth when he pulled you over, kissing you delicately while one hand lowered to gather his cock and yours in one hold, stroking the throbbing masses.

Glen was never too fond of feeling like this. 

This warmth that was similar to downing liquor, yet not quite as strong or as scorching as to the sensation of aged spirit burning his insides.

It was foreign. The heat liked to spread around his body, the aftermath of hot rain he’d reckon. It was steaming inside of him. Pleasant and restful while his muscles eased. He felt like those biscuits he’d eaten for morning, noon, and evening. Buttery, warm, and pillowy. 

That feeling only happened when he was with you.

It was unnerving how much power you held over him without you even realizing. How he’d weaken under the light of your smile, or even the dazed stare of your eyes, where Glen often found himself concerned with for the remaining month as the shadows beneath your eyes would grow with every visit.

You shouldn’t have that effect on him, because no one has managed to ignite such feelings inside of him. Yet you have, effortlessly so, without missing a single beat, and it was alarming to realize that his solitude had become unbearable since you’d came into the picture. 

Frightening, where his solitude would feel like abandonment had something ever happened to you.

“Poets don’t make a home.” You whispered lightheartedly before breaking into soft, hushed moans, where Glen would happily devour as you resumed kissing him with tongue, running your hands over his muscles in meantime.

“And whoring yourself out does?” He sat up, pulling away to raise a questioning brow.

It was naive of you, but Glen knew better than to lecture you in the meantime. He hadn’t seen you in a month and he wasn’t letting a simple discourse interrupt that.

You shrugged, kissing at the underside of his jaw after he pulled you onto his lap. His hands were on your hips, his cock rubbing between your ass cheeks. “No, but at least I get fucked hollow out of it.”

“Forget what I said. If your mouth is this vulgar, I can’t imagine what you’d write on paper. You’d end a famine with folks dying from shock at your smut.” Without warning, one finger slipped inside of your hole. You clenched from surprise, but eventually welcomed him in with the languid kisses Glen would provide on your neck, on your shoulders, and on your chest.

“That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” You arched forward into his embrace, pushing your ass out as Glen twisted another finger inside of you, stretching your hole with two fingers. “I saved the world…” You moaned out in a manner that sent tremors down Glen’s spine. To his cock, when he stuffed another finger inside of you, and curled deep into your resistance. “Don’t do too much. Wanna feel you.”

“You silly.” The keening sound you give out rendered him speechless, along with the dew of your body and face, thinly layered with cold sweat of your own desires. Your hands braced on Glen’s shoulders as he pistoled his fingers inside of you for a little longer. Twisting, spreading, turning, curling, throttling, until you begged for him, in whispers, in hot kisses that muffled your sounds incoherent. 

But Glen was an attentive man; tasting your tongue to feed off of your words, urging you to repeat with a smack to your ass. You would, desperate and delirious as you pushed your ass into the sting of his palm.

“Can’t take it anymore. I need you inside of me. C’mon.” You reached behind to stroke his cock with your spit, simultaneously pressing his shaft between your rump.

“You actin’ like you don’t get hollowed out daily.” Glen’s touch was tender on your cheek, holding the left side delicate in his palm, while his hips moved against your hand and grind, taunting your patience.

“Not like this. Always thinkin’ about you when someone else fucking me. They don’t do it like you.” It came out as a whine, a needy sound as you angled his wet cockhead against your pucker, dangerously pressing when you lifted your hips.

“They don’t satisfy you like I do.” A statement, rather than a query.

“They don’t...” 

Glen was good at casting doubt on people. 

Lies were often evident through the eyes. Novice liars either looked away, or stared too intensely like they were trying to convince themselves.

Your gaze yearned, lingered in search for Glen’s blessing. He held your gaze for a moment, catching a glimpse of stars in your pupils like he wasn’t aware that it was the candles’ doing. Getting lost in your eyes wasn’t warding off the warm feeling in his body. Rather, it began manifesting a smolder, burning more despite kissing you once to fan it away, to make the light in your eyes—the way you looked at him disappear.

He pulled away quickly to look into your eyes again. Burning now, he was burning. 

Again, his lips sealed over yours, and then he pulled back to stare.

The stars winked.

Again.

A few morphed as one, seemingly emptying the space in your pupils.

Again. 

No, Glen was wrong. They weren’t emptying space.

And again.

They were creating space.

He began witnessing the birth of a few more stars after every turn, crystal-like as they glimmered in your pupils once you smiled at his behavior. 

Glen was in silent hysteria, finding himself spiral from one look you’d given him. It was different. Completely unlike anything you’d ever spared him. It felt true. Pure. Honest.

Loved.

There was no way out. He couldn’t find a way to escape if he’d tried. Burying his face into your neck didn’t work. You smelled like bread dough, ones you’d been kneading in the back of the kitchen. Ones he had eaten and marveled over before even meeting you.

Simply closing his eyes had no effect either, as your hand was on his cock, chasing after the throbbing with patient strokes.

“They don’t.” Glen repeated after you, a confirmation into the underside of your jaw.

Glen was never a man who lost. At least, he never lost without putting up a fight. When he spared you one more glance at the sound of your groan, he felt himself crumble and completely melt. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Feel himself melting until all that was left was for bone to be rattled with as you sank yourself back onto his lap, hands braced on his shoulders while you welcomed his cock inside of your cavity, inch by inch

“You’re an angel, y’know that? Every time I see you, I feel like my sins been washed away.” Glen ran a finger along your taut rim, marveling over the way you looked right now, bouncing on his cock, over his lap, your cock swinging in for the ride. He harbored his moans into the crook of your neck, fogging your skin with the warmth of his breath, until you’d break into cold sweats.

“Ironic, ain’t it? What loving a man can do?” You groaned and grunted with exertion as you worked your way lower in tiny thrusts. “They don’t make love to me like you do, just as I don’t make love to them like I do for you. ” You confessed with conviction, and let gravity weigh you down onto Glen’s cock, taking him into your sturdy body. “Only you.”

Glen didn’t hear that right, did he? Loving someone? It was difficult to concentrate with the way you were working his cock. It was a glorious feeling being back inside of you, compact and warm like how he’d remember breaching you. 

You felt so stretched, uncomfortably yet pleasantly filled when you’d lift your hips until only the cockhead remained, and rammed his cock back in with a strong drop of your ass. Your forehead rested on Glen’s, and you could feel every puff of breath he’d exhale. Hear the restraints in his panting as you tied your arms around his neck, and let your weight push him flat onto his back, properly straddling him. 

“You love me? What you talking ‘bout?” He didn’t have the will to stop you. You were so eager, absolutely high on your arousal as you rode his cock with desperate rhythms, but he needed to address the revelation, for his sanity. 

First off, you beat him to the punch. Had it originally played out in his mind, Glen was the one to confess about his feelings, not you.

“What? I-I ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.” It must’ve slipped. You didn’t know when, or how, or maybe Glen was a mind reader because you definitely didn’t say that, did you? You rocked your lower body in quicker ruts, hoping it would distill any remaining questions, and looked off to the corner, silently cursing at yourself.

“You’re lying.” His grip on your hips was sudden, making you come to a pause.

“I ain’t lyin’—“ Your brows furrowed, exasperated at the interruption. Luckily, Glen’s cock was still hard inside you, somehow throbbing even more as you witnessed something clicked within him.

Glen took ahold of your body, arms secured around your waist, before stepping off the bed and carrying you to the lone rocking chair in the corner of the room. “So, you hate me?” 

“What? No, I don’t hate you. You—I—Glen, put me down.” You groaned when Glen sat down on the chair, the position driving his cock impossibly deeper into your body.

He refused despite your attempt in wriggling yourself free. You were strong, but Glen was stronger, tightening his arms around you. “Then what is it? I want to know how you feel before I feel like a fool for loving you too.”

Though, not like he had to hold you with much strength considering your bewilderment stunned you in place. “What? You love me?”

“You tellin’ me you don’t know? What was all that “makin’ love” speech about?” He was just as perplexed as you were. His chest felt heavy with disappointment. He’d been overthinking it, hadn’t he? Glen was a liar, someone who tried to convince himself of the impossible. 

“It felt like you were making love to me. Don’t mean that I thought you actually did.“ 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

A deafening silence as you two stared at each other. You were about to leave his lap, only for him to bound you back to him at the last second.

“Well, I do. I love you.” Glen stated matter-of-factly, a peculiar tone to his official confession, you couldn’t help but chuckle at it.

“Bighorn…” You sighed, surrendering into his arms with the slouch of your body, your chest colliding onto his. Frankly, the thought of being with Glen made you happy, yet nervous at the same time. “You know it don’t matter whether I love you or not. Nothing is gonna happen beyond this. Nothing can happen, unless you wanna risk your life. Mine too.”

“That’s something I’m willin’ to do. I’ve risked my life traveling plains, through towns, carrying expensive liquor. Nothing I won’t do for you.” Your heart felt like a pond with thrown rocks skipping across the surface of water.

“Absolutely not, and that ain’t the same. How you gon’ love me when you’re ten feet underground because of the fact that you love me?” You crossed your arms, frowning at his persistence because… well, it was working. More rocks began breaking the solitude of the pond.

“From the heavens, hopefully. Can leave you with my horse. Got a ranch back at home too. Can leave you with that. You’d have a house like you’d always wanted. Carry on with my business.” Pure dreams. That was all they were. Dreams.

“That’s only if I ain’t buried with you, Bighorn.” As much as you seemed resistant to Glen’s imaginations, you found yourself picturing a better life for you as you buried your head into his neck, listening to his tales. Living on a ranch like he’d described. Cattle and sheep would run free while you struggled to keep up with Glen as you joined him on this new lifestyle. It would be hard work, but by dawn, you’d slip into bed with Glen after dinner, and deem that it was all worth it in the end.

“At least we’ll be together, one way or ‘nother.” He kissed you at your neck, laving your skin in the weakest kisses, almost like he was beginning to surrender to your defiance. “So, you love me? You love me too?”

“I—Bighorn—Glen…” 

He’d come a long way since you’d met him. Describing him as quiet was an understatement. He refused to make small talk when you led him into this room for the first time. It was a quick exchange, a shameful one as Glen power walked out of the saloon without sparing you a single glance. Now, he often spent nights with you, refusing to let go of you even in the deep of his slumber. In retrospect, you could’ve left when you had the chance. You had many opportunities even, to find a better life in the next town, and the next.

The thought of having Glen disappear from your life felt like death itself, so you didn’t, knowing that he would eventually down the line. 

A year later, and he hasn’t. 

Love makes you do crazy things. 

“You know I love you, Glen.” You rubbed his chest sweetly, forewarning him of the disappointment you’d never relieve him from. Tears formed at your waterline, threatening to leak, so you pressed your face deep into his neck, wiping them against his skin. Your heart felt heavy, like it wanted to burst out of your chest to stop you from pushing him away. It would’ve killed you, but at least it would’ve saved Glen the disappointment. “I love you too. I’m glad we sorted that out, but we—”

“No, stop. No more. I love you.” He cut you off with a sudden kiss, whispering into your mouth after. “I love you, and I need you, you understand me?” His palm was back on your rump, kneading at the tender, yet toned flesh, while the other hand pressed his growing erection back to your pucker again, prodding. “No more buts.”

“But—“ Your breath hitched when he slid himself in again, stretching you out like before, yet it felt like an endless slide, digging all the way into the deepest part of your body, like Glen was going to cradle your heart, until he was rooted deep inside of you, balls flushed to the cleft of your ass.

“(M/N), I’ll take care of ya. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of it, you hear me?” Glen cradled your head, kissing at your cheek while you returned to burying it in between his shoulder and neck. “Let me see you.”

“H-hmm, m-mhm—“ His cheeks burned as you made those wanton noises in midst of revealing yourself before him. Flushed in the face, cheeks stricken with tears; one would’ve mistaken you to be ill. Though, in a way you were. You’d been struck by incurable illness that was love.

Glen clicked his tongue, frowning in wonder. “So, so, so pretty. You look so pretty.” He began thrusting into you, resuming where you two had left off. “You look even prettier now that I’m making love to you, you know that?”

“You love me.” You bit your lip, holding back moans because you needed to hear it from Glen again, hear of his devotion for you.

“I love you.” He whispered through grunts, spreading your ass cheeks wide, and you pressed your body forward, arching your ass out as his thrusts ramped up. His cock slammed up into you with raw passion, devoting his remaining strength to holding your ass up, and making himself work for you, all in the name of love.

“I love you.” You repeated between needy whimpers. You soon began to bounce up and down, hands braced on Glen’s shoulders, while you joined his thrusts with your own movements, meeting him halfway. His large cock reared you from behind like a hammer to a nail, pummeling you without break, without the chance to let you breathe. 

It was rather the opposite, to knock the breath out of you. 

You watched close, mouthing at Glen’s neck, then jaw, until you reached his lips, where you’d let hungry moans delicately fall into place. Glen found you breathtaking as you lost your mind with primitive lust. 

“You belong to me, you hear me?” Glen said simply, his features calm. “No one else fucks you like I do.”

Your arms tightened around his neck for a hug. Glen seemed absolutely serene in his love, with you on his lap, fucking yourself into his cock. On the other hand, you were absolutely wrecked. Glen was fucking you harder, knocking guttural moans out of you on each thrust. Your own hole clenched when Glen lifted your ass up, pulling his cock completely out of you until you were squeezing nothing but warm air. He’d expertly dip a finger inside of you, to feel how stretched you were, play with your rim because of how swollen it had gotten, before stretching you back to capacity as he brought you back down on his cock, and onto his upward thrust.

“No one makes love to me like you do.” You panted through his batter, each syllable of word rattling in volume as you had absolutely no sense of it. Glen hummed in agreement while he fucked your ass and jerked your cock all at once. He was taking care of you.

You knew what he meant in the long run; tending to your injuries if you’d happen to fall off his saddle, hosing you down with water when you’d take a dive in the lake, feeding you the last bit of his biscuit because he never liked seeing you hungry. A life far from neglect as Glen had made you realize that you and him shared the dream.

But for now, he was taking care of you. Meticulously so as Glen remembered all the spots that made his tongue taste sugary when you’d moan in his mouth. Glen’s thumb caressed your frenulum, using the pre-cum your cockhead had been spitting to slip his touch in the tightest crevices. The pad of his thumb sailed smooth over the neck of your glans, flicking, pressing, rubbing at the swollen flesh of skin. You sounded so sweet and looked so serene under Glen’s touch, a complete antithesis to how you’d normally present yourself.

Glen was familiar with the roll of your eyes; from the way you’d interact with displeased customers at the bar, or from his demand to hold you throughout the night. But would you hold it against him if Glen revealed that he preferred seeing the whites of your eyes from being fucked impeccably in the ass? With his thick cock, battering your insides until you’d remember the shape of his cock? The motion of it all, digging deep into your ass, into your guts, pummeling through your need to clench hard around him, failing to pause him from hitting that sweet spot, or else you’d spill. Your hands curled into his chest as they were braced on the sweaty surface, and you’d never felt so desired, especially with your reflection in the vanity staring right back at you, providing you a simple glimpse of how beautiful you looked to Glen.

You’re a dirty bastard, Glen reckoned you’d confront him with, only before bending over the mattress and spreading your ass cheeks for him. You lucky that I’m as well, Bighorn.

No. No, you wouldn’t hold it against him. 

You were perfect.

“Close.” You warned, then dropped your head lower to kiss him on the lips, spilling your moans into his mouth in midst. 

Your hips bucked into his fist while simultaneously rocking back into Glen’s cock. His hold on you was secure, clutching to keep you as close to him as possible. You toyed with your nipples, pinching and tugging on them, and Glen accepted those gestures as a silent invitation for him to wrap his lips around one nub at at a time, suckling on the perky bud until you’d gone swollen. You’d join his lips for another kiss in gratitude, thanking him with your tongue as it explored his warm mouth, licking into his panting, his grunts, his devotion for you. You swallowed his spit after, and your fate with Glen was sealed and optimistically beyond your control.

“You look like an angel right now, but your hole’s the devil. Squeezing around my cock like this, holding me so tight like you’re afraid I’m ‘bout to pull out of ya. Christ, you’re so tight. You my dirty angel. My sweet devil.” His hand had abandoned your cock in favor of taking your ass into both palms and spreading them like before, fucking his cock up into you.

Your eyes shared pleasure with his, only your pupils had seem blown since he’d started angling his hips in a way that sent tremors to your body. With your cock in your hand, you gazed down at Glen with dazed passion, lips parted to warn, yet only little sounds had come out instead. “Glen. Christ—“ His cockhead tickled your sweet spot at first, a brief brushing that you didn’t think much of other than the fact that it made your body tremble. But Glen persisted, shifting his body against your gorgeous, helpless, and needy body, and fucked your tight body with force, teeth-bared, sweat beading on his forehead. Your mouth fell open, and your face slackened with unadulterated pleasure. “Damn you, I’m gonna come—“

Glen shuddered, witnessing your gaze blur in and out in an attempt to focus on him as he was on the brink of his control himself. “Do it,” he urged you. “I want you to. Come from my cock. Gonna come too, inside of your hole.”

You wailed when Glen’s strong thighs slammed into your sweaty ass. A thunder of delicious sounds: your wails and his growls, the bruising smacks of flesh to flesh, the hard rocking of the chair, scraping against the floor; they created a symphony that was nearing a crescendo. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Glen pounded up into you, and your ears blared with sounds of Glen’s pleasure. Your fist pumped your cock until your forearms began to burn, veins pulsing through to power you to your high.

He was gutting you, hollowing your hole out until it would recover just in time for his next visit. You’d remember him for the remaining weeks, his cock pummeling you until your melodic cries had shifted from want to euphoric need.

“Glen..!” You yelled.

Glen kissed you deeply and bit your lower lip, one hand steeling you by the nape to hold your forehead to his. He doesn’t plan on letting go. Watching you like this, submerged in unconditional pleasure, was just as gratifying as hammering into your prostate. “You feel so good, angel. Look at you. Look at that pretty smile, you’re so happy to be filled with my cock. 

You were so full of cock, of Glen’s cock, and you cried from it. Cried from how Glen was taking care of you so well, back to fisting your cock, kissing your neck, pounding your insides out.

Love has never felt so good.

Finally, you came with an arch of your back. Glen’s fist released just in time for thick and heavy ropes to splatter on his chest. Glen stiffened, his eyes daring back and forth between the exhilarating expression on your face and the obscene visual of your cum flooding Glen’s fists as he wrapped his hand back around you, and worked you through your orgasm.

“M-mmfgh, come inside— Need it. I need you.” With your eyes on his, you leaned down to kiss him and take his hands into yours for balance, raising them over his head. They were sticky shut from layers of your cum, but that only made it more thrilling as you rode him. You lifted your hips and brought it down without a single pause, burying his cock inside of you to the hilt.

“Angel, fuck— I’m coming.“

You swallowed his growls, warnings of the inevitable, yet you accelerated like you didn’t hear, slamming your ass down repeatedly, chasing after his high. His hands suddenly grasped hard onto yours, sponging cum out from the locked hands and letting it trail down your arms, and his hips bucked. You could feel his thighs flex, see rapture possess his very being as his gritted teeth no longer could contain the trumpeting sound of his moans, his muscles pulsing. With one more press of your ass, you buried Glen’s cock and felt him come inside of you. Heavy and thick as his hot seed stained your walls. Creamy like butter, when you slowly milked him inside of you with gentle rhythms of your hips. It felt sublime, having your insides contain Glen’s devotion for you.

“You the devil himself…” Glen groaned and his body twitched as you emptied him of seed, stopping once you were satisfied. He then released your hands to embrace your waist, letting you slump into him with relief. Your head rested on his shoulder, and your eyes closed shut.

“You really mean it? You’d wanna live on a ranch together, or something?” You asked, feeling his heart come to a calm with your palm providing soothing strokes to his chest.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He turned, pressing his nose to yours. One hand caressed the small of your back, and occasionally would fondle your rump. Warm and plump in his grasp, he couldn’t help that he was in love with every aspect of you.

You thought about his question for a moment, pursing your lips before shaking your head. “No.”

“Then that’s your answer.” He assured with a kiss to your lips. “We ain’t gotta do it now, or the next month, or the month after that. When you’re ready. Just wanted to know I want a future with you.”

“Me too...” You muttered, playing with his chest hair to distract the sudden conflict you’d been harboring from him. 

Silence filled the room for a moment as he watched you intently. You picked up his hat from the floor and fit it on yourself. 

“There’s that ‘but’ again. What’s the problem?” Glen chuckled, his heart racing again despite maintaining his composure. He playfully flicked the rim of his hat down, making it tilt on your head, and cover your sight line.

“Hey—You ain’t gon’ like it.” You adjusted the hat, sighing in defeat when Glen watched you with vigilance.

“What?” He sat up, making you straighten your posture in turn.

“Think the sheriff’s not gonna like the sound of me quitting.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope.” You pursed your lips again, then sighed. “He’s boss’s most loyal customer. Pays well too. I mean, I don’t know. I may be wrong, but… think he likes me beyond what I do for him. Buys me gift from the city and all.“

“Well, he’s gonna have to prove it. I ain’t leaving without a fight. Not until I’m dead, and even then, I’ll be watchin’ over ya.”

“You a mad man.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[teratosfavouritesnack]

When you decided to purchase one of the latest models of Jack of all Trades, you had no clue how much your life would change... for the better!

As the name suggests, this robot assistant possesses all of the necessary skills to maintain a home clean and safe. You don't have to worry about sweeping the floor, doing the laundry, or cooking when you have no energy for it. Intruders, gas leaks, and power outages are no longer a concern. Your house never looked neater or felt more secure, and your back has never been more grateful.

You had no idea how far his talents would extend, though. Not until one day the robot came to your bedroom and scanned your body - you could tell by the way the circle in its glassy eyes dilated and narrowed like the lens of a camera. Then it stated "Mx, your levels of oxytocin are dropping. Let me be of assistance." You tried convincing him you were alright, but the robot persisted that an oxytocin deficiency could lead to depression, irritability, aggressiveness, anxiety, cardiovascular issues... and so you indulged it, even if only to end the awful litany.

"I can offer sexual intercourse, a therapeutic massage, a session of meditation or aromatherapy-"

"Wait. What? Sexual intercourse?

The robot delivered an affirmative beep before lowering its belly plate. An appendage emerged in the shape of a human penis, though it was wrapped in silicone and resembled a luxurious sex toy. You were so shocked that your mouth opened and closed, unable to utter a word. The heat pooling between your legs however was undeniable, hard to ignore even for the robot. You saw its eyes examine you again. "Your heartbeat has accelerated and your body heat has risen."

Taking those details as an indication that this was exactly what you needed, it moved closer to you. With automated movements, it so effortlessly pulled you to the edge of the bed and removed your bottom clothes. You were so baffled by what was happening that you could only stare in awe at the robot as its metal hands wrapped around your thighs and pried them open. The precise and curt roll of its hips as it slid its appendage inside you made you gasp out loud. You could feel the synthetic dick change size inside your walls, moulding to your cunt and filling every crevice of your channel before it started moving back and forth.

You thought you couldn't be any more shocked than this, but when the synthetic cock started buzzing, making your whole body shake, you completely lost it. The fact that his fingers started vibrating when the robot pressed them onto your swollen clit, intensified your climax tenfold as it crashed upon you, sending your body spasming violently and arching against its cool metal plates.

It remained still, keeping its appendage inside you until your tremors subsided. Then it checked your vitals again and seemingly satisfied by the results, it pulled out of you. It meticulously cleaned you with the same efficiency it employs in wiping every inch of your house clean, then stopped to gaze at your astonished face.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mx?"

"N-No... Thank you."

So, with a cheerful beep, it walked out of your room, leaving you laying half-naked on your bed, speechless and with your mind spinning.

🪷. You can leave a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me <3

[crashandlivewrites]

Spread Your Wings- Part 2

First off: thank you to @your-grace-the-raven-queen for being an amazing beta (and also because she gave my ass hell when I didn't tag her in the first part which was very wrong of me). We support beta readers in this house!

Pairing: PornStar!John Price x PornStar!fem!reader

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, porn industry innaccuracies, your manager being a cunt, things get a lil hot and steamy but no piv yet!!!

Word Count: 3.9k

< Part 1

Read on Ao3

An assistant stepped forward as the cameras stopped rolling, handing you both a couple of wet wipes before placing a towel on the floor, mopping up your mess. Scrubbing his beard with the wipe and tossing it aside, John then turned his attention to you, gently cleaning the inside of your sensitive thighs quickly and efficiently as he’d surely done hundreds of times before. 

“I can do it, it’s fine.” You murmured, hand reaching down as he moved higher up your thigh. He shushed you, shaking his head as he squeezed your arm tenderly. 

“S’alright, sweetheart. I got you. Just rest for me, yeah? We’re not done just yet.” He chuckled, glancing at your eyes to check on you yet again. The hand that wasn’t cleaning between your legs rose up to cup the back of your neck, thumb pressing gently against your skin. “Did it feel that good?” 

“Shut up, you know it did.” Lifting your head up, you focused on his cocky expression, his teasing smirk, his raised brow. Scoffing, you smacked him lightly on the chest, shaking your head as you did so. “You’re incorrigible!” 

“And you squirted. For real. None of that fake shit. I know for a fact Johnny didn’t get that out of you.”  The expression on your face morphed into a pout and he chuckled, tapping underneath your chin. “Don’t pout, sweets. I liked it. Like knowing I made you feel that good.” He tossed the wipe aside and rested both of his large hands on your thighs as he nestled between them. 

Drawing your lip between your teeth, you tipped your head to the side as you stared at him, eyes tracing over the attractive features of his face; the fullness of his cheeks, and the crow's feet around his eyes as he smiled kindly down at you. Your breathing had settled, your heart had calmed down, and so you pushed yourself up a little straighter. Your legs were still quite shaky, but you hooked them back around his hips as best you could, pulling him back into you, his brow cocked with interest. 

“Feeling better already? Mustn’t have done a good enough job then.” Grinning coyly at his words, you ran your hands up his chest, feeling the softness overlaying the firm muscle. 

“You definitely did a good enough job. But maybe I just want more.” It felt easy, natural almost, falling into this flirty banter with him. He’d made it that way with his own flirtatious words and lingering touches. He beamed at your words, nosing along the line of your jaw, inhaling deeply. 

“You know…” he mumbled into the skin of your neck, breath tickling you slightly. “Johnny was right about something. You smell fucking divine, sweet like cherries.” Cupping the back of your head, he tilted it slightly, exposing more of your neck to him as he breathed in deeply and pressed soft kisses along your neck. 

“Yeah?” Your voice was raspy as you felt yourself getting pulled back under the haze of arousal. Before he could respond, a pointed cough broke the intimate moment between the pair of you. John clicked his tongue, sucking in a breath as he pulled back to reveal your manager standing just off to the side expectantly. 

“Can we talk?” His tone was pinched, head jerking over his shoulder as his toe tapped impatiently, causing your body to tense in response. Clearly, John felt the tension, his hands moving to squeeze your shoulders as he faced the smaller man. 

“She’s still feeling a little shaky from the session. Whatever you need to talk to her about, you can say it here.” John turned to you, eyes both warm and serious.  “That good with you, sweets?”  You held his gaze giving a firm note before glancing at your manager’s narrowed eyes and raised eyebrow before the man turned his apathetic expression to you. 

“We’ve got a fair amount of marketable footage, but I’d like more vocals from you. There’s some good audio, I’d just like you to be a little louder, play it up for your audience, y’know?” John bristled at the words, fingers digging slightly into your body as he turned to the side. 

“I think she performed extremely well. Especially for my usual productions—”

“I’m trying to advance her career.” Your manager interrupted without a care, turning a pointed look at you. “Moaning out another man’s name isn’t going to attract people to watch your content. And you need to perform a little more for the camera, too.” 

You glanced between the two men, watching your oblivious manager blinking expectantly at you as John straightened, arms folding across his chest, his head tilting to the side. 

“She’s doing just fine.” He grits out, moving to lean on the bench between you and your manager. “I’m guessing that’s your first time hearing a woman really orgasm. Sounds a bit different than the produced shit you’re used to but let me tell you something.” John stepped forward again, using his height as an intimidation factor as he loomed over the other man. 

“Real shit like that is what keeps people coming back to watch it again and again. She’ll build up a loyal fanbase who appreciate the genuine content. Have a conversation with Kate. She’ll tell you my numbers.” 

“You’re a man. Women like the soft shit. Men don’t. Men wanna hear her cry out like a whore—” 

“I’m a man, aren’t I?” John’s voice was venomous, sending shivers down your spine as you watched the confrontation unfold, legs still feeling too unsteady to step between the men. “And I fucking adored hearing her cum like that.” 

Well, if that didn’t send a fresh wave of arousal directly into your still-wet underwear. 

Your manager simply sniffed, turning his nose up as he spat a final retort before he stalked off. 

“It’s her career anyway, not mine.” 

Snorting, John turned around, anger evident in his eyes and furrowed brow as he stepped back over towards you. His hands returned to rest on your hips as he nestled between your legs once more as you mumbled a soft thanks. 

“What’re you doing with a wanker like that, sweets? He won’t treat you right.” Shrugging, you leaned into him, head resting on his chest as you groaned in frustration. 

“Studio assigned him to me. He’s been alright for the most part, but he’s got a very fixed idea about what a porn star should be.” John hummed at your response, dipping down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head as his thumbs stroked mindless patterns just above the line of your underwear. 

“I’ll link you up with Kate after this, yeah? Give you a better standing in the field. She’s dedicated and will always advocate for your safety and preferences.” You blinked at him in disbelief, but his face seemed genuine. “Nothing to it, I swear. Lemme help you out, alright?”

And how could you say no to that? Not when he was looking down at you with a sharp glint in his eye, and his palm cupping your cheek. Your mouth parted, already leaning in to kiss him when he placed a thumb over your lips, halting your movements.

“You ready for round two, sweets?” You nodded, his thumb still pressed against your lips, just begging to be bitten. He glances over your shoulder with a gorgeous half smile.  “Nik? We’re ready.”   

Nikolai started getting the crew into position as John returned his gaze to you. “And you… don’t think about what that bastard said. With me, I want you to be real. Within reason, of course. Let me hear you moan my name as I kiss you, touch you, fuck you. Promise me that, sweets?” 

He’d enthralled you from the moment you’d first watched him on a whim. The snippet was something that had caught your eye on twitter and made you wet instantly. Here, with him standing before you, you were propelled back to that moment, feeling equally as enchanted. Lips parted slightly and eyes wide, you nodded. 

“Yes sir. Anything for you.” 

“Good girl. My good girl.” His possessive tone was backed up by his hands gripping at your body, pulling you close until your hips were flush with his. He claimed your mouth even before Nikolai had signalled the cameras were back up and running.

The kiss was all-consuming. His hand wrapping around the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he held you to him. Adjusting your leg, you dug a heel into his lower back, locking him into your body as you responded eagerly, hands clawing at his body. Though he was strong and broad, there was a certain softness to him that made it easier to grab eager handfuls of his body, even through the material of his shirt.

Sliding both hands underneath your rear, he lifted you off the counter, walking as he continued to kiss you. His tongue slid alongside yours, roaming and tasting every inch of your mouth as he cupped your ass, fingers digging into the flesh. 

You had no clue what he was planning to do next. All rational thoughts had left your brain. What remained had been taken over by the man you were currently wrapped around. Moaning softly into his lips, your nails scratched lightly at the back of his neck, egging him on. His hands gripped tighter as a deep rumble sounded in his chest. He sat down onto the couch, placing you on his lap so that your wet core was resting up against his prominent bulge. Unable to resist the allure of friction, you ground against him, moaning as you did so. 

Quickly, he took hold of your hair and pulled you back to look into your eyes. 

“Getting greedy now, are you?” He tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowing like a predator lining up his prey. “Ate that pussy out so nicely and now you’re just grinding on my lap like a desperate little thing?” 

He titters, palms sliding up your thighs to push up the satin slip once more, revealing your ass to the camera as his hands roam up your back. Your mouth kept opening, but nothing came out, his actions and words rendering you speechless. 

You knew you should say something, either banter back or be subservient to him for the good of the film, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Not with the way he was staring at you, mock disappointment evident in his eyes. 

“Was gonna take this pretty little number off, but I think I’ll wait now. Make you beg for it.” One hand pulls back, reaching up to hold your jaw and pull you closer so he could whisper into your ear. “Want you to grind on my thigh until you’ve soaked the material through. Got it?” 

“Uh-huh.” You managed to get out, already shuffling to change positions, moving to straddle one of his thick, muscular thighs as he turned your head back to look at him.

“Words, pretty thing. Wanna hear that voice of yours.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl. Now get to it.” He slaps your ass playfully, not enough to make it sting, but enough to jerk you into action. 

Slotting your legs on either side of his thigh, you began a slow grind, dragging yourself along the rough material of his pants, feeling the wide expanse of his leg flex underneath you. Whining softly at the pleasurable tingle spreading through your body, you built a steady pace, your clit throbbing as it dragged down the length of his thigh. Reaching forward, you curl your fingers around his shoulder, nails digging into the firm flesh to stabilise yourself as you continue rocking. 

John was simply watching you, elbow up on the armrest of the couch and tilting his head against his closed fist. His eyes were dark and heady, trailing over your body, humming occasionally as he ran his free hand along your side. 

The touch spurred you on, rolling your hips faster as you felt heat slowly build in your abdomen.

“Good fucking girl. Keep going. Know you can do it.” He grinned lazily, leaning back and bouncing you on the leg you were riding, causing you to loudly cry out his name. 

“That’s it, sweets. Moan for me, cry for me.” Cooing softly at you, his hand reaching down to grip his hard length, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. “See what you do to me? See what my pretty wife makes me feel? Got me so fucking hard, love.” 

You couldn’t help as your eyes immediately trained on the sizeable bulge. You’d seen his cock before, obviously, through your screen at home. But here and now, you were going to see it in person. 

“John… fuck, more John, please. Wanna… I wanna…” With your head hazy from lust, you couldn’t form the sentence, instead choosing to lean forward and reach out, palming at his groin, hips jerking faster, cunt aching and empty as you felt the size of him. 

“You wanna see it, baby? Wanna see my cock?” He whispered into your ear, his heavy breathing fanning over your neck as he groaned, his own hips jolting slightly at the contact of your hand. “No, not yet… fuck, not yet sweets. Just wait a little bit longer f’me, yeah? Gonna make it worth the wait, love.”

He pulled away, removing your hand before placing his palms on either side, hoisting you up so you straddled his lap properly, feeling the hardness of his erection against your throbbing clit. Barely needing the guidance of his hands, you immediately resumed your grind, moaning desperately, arms linking behind his neck. Cursing under his breath, John’s fingers were digging into your thighs, joining in the rhythm now as you felt yourself edging closer yet again. 

Your panties were stuck to you, wetness surely leaking through to his jeans as you continued to rub yourself on him like someone first discovering how good grinding on something felt.

“Oh fuck yeah, pretty girl, just like that.” John rumbled deeply, head tipping forward to rest on your shoulder as his breathing came out in short pants. “Feel so fucking good grinding on my cock like this. This how you’re gonna ride me? Until your pussy’s drooling all over me and you can barely speak?” 

Tipping your head back and keening, you were completely enthralled with everything this man was doing to you. The feel of him under your body, the sound of his rough voice telling you just how good you were making him feel, the musky smell of him… everything. His mere presence could make you almost forget everything around you, the cameras, the set, the crew all melting into nothing as you were set alight. Nodding deliriously was all you could manage now, hands gripping tightly around him as you leaned forward, your chest nearing his face. 

Groaning, John latched onto your nipple, teeth and tongue swirling around the stiff bud through the satin of the dress you were wearing. Growling in frustration, his hands left your hips, gripping the neckline of the slip dress and tearing it down the middle. Your noise of surprise was cut off as he pushed you back to arm's length, halting your movements, his pupils dark and dilated as he stared hungrily at your exposed body. 

“Jesus, sweetheart. You have any idea how goddamn gorgeous you are? How fucking immaculate your tits are?”

“My husband does seem to tell me that from time to time.” You teased, surprising even yourself with the line, making sure to run your hands up your now bare body to cup your breasts and squeeze them enticingly for both the camera and for him. John let out a low whistle, brow quirking and eyes sparking mischievously at your response, as if he also had almost forgotten he was at work right now. 

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re my fuckin’ wife. Mine. Aren’t you? Putting on this show just for me, aren’t you?” You nodded; eyes fixing on his during the last line. His gaze was intense, his hands were perched high on your thighs, squeezing ever so slightly. Your mind trailed back to moments earlier, just before you restarted filming, when he said he wanted you to be genuine. For him.

Swiping your tongue over your bottom lip, you ran your hands up his shirt, toying with the buttons. 

“I wanna see you, too.” You whispered, a little more sincerely, keeping your eyes level with him for a scarce moment before grinning cheekily, and tearing his shirt open. Buttons popped off, skittering along the tiled floor. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, love. You’re gonna drive me insane.” He grunts, eyes wide in shock at your assertiveness. But you don’t even get to admire his glorious, fuzzy chest as he leans up to reclaim your mouth, spanking your ass as he did so.

This kiss was different than before. This kiss was carnal, heated, and possessive with teeth biting down on your lip. The bristles of his beard scratching against the soft skin of your face while his palms hungrily slid over your body, tugging away the last of the torn fabric, leaving you only in your soaked underwear as you begin to grind down on him again. The pace was rough, fast, and needy. Greedy hands roamed bare skin, clutching and tugging in exploration as your tongues melded together similarly, seeking to map out every inch of one another before it was too late, and the moment between you two would be over. 

“Feels so good— oh my god— fuck, John, please!” The noises coming from your mouth were loud and frantic as you picked up the pace. As if to shut you up, John pressed two of his thick fingers into your mouth, tickling the back of your throat as he leaned in. 

“Suck ‘em for me. Show me how well you can take them. Get them nice and wet. Gotta put my fingers in you first, stretch out that tiny little cunt for my thick cock, yeah?” His breathing was ragged, coming out in harsh grunts as he continued to drive his hips up to meet yours. 

Moaning around his fingers, your eyes fluttered closed as you sucked them deep, tongue sweeping between the digits, spreading your saliva as he pressed the pads of his fingers on your tongue. His lips parted as he watched you, as though engraving every single one of your features into his mind.

“Yeah, that’s it, pretty girl. Suck my fingers as you grind against my cock. Picture it’s in your mouth and gimme a show.” Hearing the roughness in his tone and you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was just as affected by you as you were by him, even if it was just in this moment.

Looking directly at him, lips swollen from his brutal kiss earlier, you began bobbing your head along the length of his fingers, sucking and swirling your tongue around his digits, craving something else in your mouth. The feral glint in his eyes spurring you on, taking them all the way down. Blinking back tears from your lashes, you swallowed around his fingers, choking slightly which set him off. 

Swearing under his breath, John pulled his fingers from your mouth, placing them back down onto your hips as he controlled your movements. His eyes were focused on where you were rubbing against him, his thumbs digging into your skin as he thrust his hips up to match your pace. The friction making him groan gutturally and you whine softly. Tilting his head back, you could see his eyes were glazed and hazy, looking up at you in awe. 

“You’re something fucking else, sweetheart.” His voice husky as he panted heavily, rhythm turning uncoordinated and desperate. Resting your forehead against his and cupping his face gently, your uneven breaths intermingled with his as you screwed your eyes shut at the delicious throbbing of your clit every time it dragged up his hard cock. 

“So pretty, so damn fucking pretty like this.” He whispered, nose nudging against yours. “Makin’ me feel so good, fuck—” His praises cut off with a strangled moan and his grip tightened. 

In the back of your mind, you knew this wasn’t ideal for filming. Grinding on your partner like some high school teen in her boyfriend’s first car wasn’t exactly a top search in porn, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. It was you and him and the fire that was burning through your veins. 

Coming to his senses, John’s grip on your hips tightened as he pushed you back off his lap, effectively ceasing all your movements as you frown in confusion. 

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked hesitantly, the tone of your voice heavy and thick as you tried to regulate your breathing. John simply chuckled, shaking his head. He tipped his head back over the couch, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“Jesus love, making me feel like a young lad again.” The corners of your mouth were twitching upwards, the pieces in your mind clicking together. 

“You need a breather there, John?” You couldn’t help but tease him, reaching down towards his crotch, but getting stopped by his firm grip. 

“You’re a downright menace, you know that?” Giggling, you leaned in to press soft pecks to his cheek, his nose, his forehead; covering his face in kisses as he laughed along with you. 

“Alright, you.” Pinning both your wrists behind your back and tugging your back, John managed to put some space between you both. “Menace, I tell you.” 

Regretfully, you relented your assault, sliding down onto the couch next to him. 

“At least I wasn’t about to cream in my pants.” 

“I’m sorry, love, have you seen the state of my jeans?” His own tone was ribbing as he gestured to the seat of his pants, which showed clear stains from your arousal. Biting your lip, you blinked up at him and shrugged. 

“I’m so terribly sorry, did you want me to stop?” His brow raised at your sarcasm, scoffing as he shook his head. 

“The gall of her?” John looked over at Kate who was flashing a smile of her own as she typed away on her phone. 

“Someone was bound to put you in your place, John.” Making a noise of protest, John looked over at Nik for support, but got none there either. 

During the exchange, you spared a glance over at your own manager, who was scowling in the corner with his arms folded and yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Turning your gaze back to John, you nudged him slightly. 

“It’s alright, old man, I can wait all day for you to get it back up.” 

Nikolai let out a barking laugh as John turned his head to look at you incredulously. Moving too quickly for you to process, he pushed you onto your back and pulled you closer to him by your ankles. Letting out a yelp of surprise, your eyes were wide as they stared up at him, his gaze a strange mix of playfulness and interest. 

“You’re cheeky, I’ll give you that. But I’ve got years on you, sweet thing. I can make your head spin in ways you’ve never even imagined.” 

“Prove it.” His eyes narrowed at the snarky retort and one corner of his mouth pulled into a vicious smirk. 

“Oh sweetheart, be very careful what you wish for.” He purred, caressing your skin softly and you felt yourself practically melt under him with anticipation.

Taglist

@ferns-fics (I thought there was another couple who asked but I couldn't find you, apologies! I'll try and make better note for next time)

[kitchenwitchtingss]

50 KITCHEN WITCH TIPS TO MAKE YOU FEEL MORE WITCHY

(And other useful things I've learned over the years)

Hi! This is a list of dos, don'ts, tips, tricks, and other fun things that I've learned over the years. I always love finding more effective and efficient ways of doing things so if you have any cool things you'd like to add, leave them in the comments or reblog. I'd love to read it.

Anyways... On with the list ^_^

Light candles around your kitchen space (just make sure nothing flammable is near you)

Annotate your cookbooks with the correspondence of the ingredients.

Mediating is really good to calm the mind before cooking.

Cut oranges and lemons thinly, dry them, and hang them with twine around your kitchen

Need a cleansing tip? Open all your windows near your kitchen. Let some fresh air in.

Cutting sigils into apples, pie crusts, and carved potatoes.

Save lemon and orange rinds, freeze them, and then use them to clean the garbage disposal.

Make infused oils and honey: Things like garlic honey, lavender honey, herb oil, sun oil, moon oil, dandelion oil, and other different edible oils are very fun and useful to make.

Hid sigils in pages of your cookbooks and kitchen witch journals.

Add some plants! Snake plants and spider plants don't need too much light, and growing your own herbs in your kitchen is awesome too. Basil, lavender, thyme, aloe vera, rosemary, etc. are good fits. You could also add some plants that require more sunlight on the kitchen window sill. Like cacti and succulents.

Bring crystals into your kitchen space such as rose quartz, clear quartz, amethyst, or whatever you want the space's intentions to be.

I keep a small money tree on the sill, along with cacti for luck and protection.

Make a simmer Pot! Mostly because it makes the whole house smell good, easy, and fun.

Stir clockwise for best results!

Learning how to pickle things is actually pretty witchy. Plus, anyone could do it as it requires absolutely no kitchen experience. You could pickle any vegetable, even if you don't like pickles. I originally learned this after having to take shelter from a natural disaster. A person brought a bunch of stuff and taught us how to pickle things with different spices and herbs. Very fun!

Decorate your kitchen with your favorite stuff. Crystals, decor, heat mits, that cool mushroom cake stand you've been eyeing at the World Market for the past 2 weeks, cool looking curtains, sun catchers. Why stop there? Paint the walls, hang shelves full of marked-up cookbooks that are a little too well-loved and thumbed through.

Wanna be the person that has the amazing-smelling house every time people come over? Syrups take some time to simmer down, it's actually a pretty good time to leave it on the stove to simmer. Since syrups have a lot of aromatic ingredients, it acts as a really good-smelling simmer pot.

Hang up herbs to dry with twine from cabinets that are rarely used.

Invest in that new set of plates and cups.

Homemade jams, butter, sauces, and syrups are your best friend.

Crochet or knit your own dish rags, pot holders, etc.

Don't pour extremely hot things into a glass that's not Pyrex, it will break, and you will be very sad about it.

Don't cook anything while extremely upset or emotional (For safety reasons)

Make recipes you want to make, not just because you'll like the effect. Make it because you think it's tasty.

Chinese Five Spice works in place of herbs for protection and luck spells a lot of the time! It's cheaper to buy 1 spice than 4 different spices that total up to 15 dollars when you could just spend 3-4 dollars.

Take a shower before cooking (I don't know how to explain this one other than it makes you feel better)

Don't use microfiber/plastic material clothes on hot burners, it will fuse to the burner and melt. It is VERY hard to get off.

I don't know if I need to put this one but I did see someone do it so nonstick pan = wooden utensils and plastic utensils, metal pan = metal utensils. Do not use a metal spoon in a nonstick pan, please. It can make you very sick.

Keep your pets away from hot oil, open ovens, and hot pans.

You can proof bread dough in the fridge overnight if you don't have the time to bake, or want to eat fresh bread right in the morning.

Need a quick witchy meal for dinner in 12 minutes? Use premade tomato pasta sauce and doctor it up with thyme, rosemary, and garlic, for protection and distilling stagnant energies. Serve with pasta of your liking.

You can substitute Butter for Crisco/shortening, buttermilk for 1 cup of milk + 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, and heavy cream for 1 cup of half and half plus 2 tbsp of butter.

Use leftover animal bones to make bone broth

Teach yourself the art of bread scoring (It's fun, and you can show it off to your loved ones!)

Collect and hoard your own and others' family recipes.

Sometimes the food doesn't have to be a spell, sometimes it just makes you feel good and you don't know why.

Listen to your favorite music in the kitchen, it makes the monotonous things like chopping veggies move faster.

Invest in a vegetable chopper if you don't like chopping vegetables.

Find a really good hot cocoa recipe and make it once a week. Master it. Just for your own happiness because hot cocoa is really good. You could also be the friend/family member that makes the best hot cocoa ever.

Focaccia Bread Lasts a very long time, and it's very easy to make!

Keep a first aid kit near where the oven is, in case of burns, cuts, or serious injuries where time is everything.

Quick Bread and no-rise loaves are simple for beginners, tasty, and take little time. They also feel very witchy to make.

Study a bit of Herbalism! It's fun and really helps better understand the herbs you're putting into your food.

While something is boiling, put your wooden spoon over the pot to minimize the chance of something boiling over.

Try a bit of coffee magick, it's simple to get into, and gives you a boost of energy to take on the day!

If you're over 21, wine-making is a very interesting way to celebrate the sabbats. Just with that, make sure you KNOW what you're doing. With anything fermented, there's always a risk if you don't store things correctly. Apple wines, strawberry wines, dandelion wines, etc. all very cool to experiment with. If you're not over 21, vinegar is a similar way to experiment.

Hang up some witchy things, sigils, photos, cool magnets, and other things that give you joy on your fridge. (Sometimes if you are lucky they have some fun magnets at five below)

If you live in the US, for some reason, there are a lot of books in the book section dedicated to witchcraft and spirituality. At least where I live. And they are all under 5 dollars!

Teas are the cheapest and easiest things you can practice being a kitchen witch.

[luvnami]

not a glory hole! - chapter 4

an | stuff gets more interesting in the next few chapters, i promise / mlist cw | mdni (18+)

“how did you even fall through the wall?”

ushijima empties the dustpan into a trash bin. he looks over at you, the tips of his ears turning red. 

“i was cleaning.”

“you were cleaning.”

“i lost my balance and i fell.”

“through the wall, no less.”

he ducks his head and ties the trash bag with a knot at the top. you watch ushijima, arms crossed over your chest as he makes quick work of it. efficient, you note. just like the tabloids say he is on the volleyball courts. 

“you know, you owe me. for ruining my house, peeping at me while i was naked, and causing me to possibly lose my deposit,” you say casually. 

ushijima squints at you. “i did not peep.”

you give him a knowing look and he frowns. he didn’t do it on purpose, simply stated a fact that you were actually naked when he fell face-up on your living room floor. 

“what do you want?” 

you grin.

“an interview.”

ushijima’s face falls a little. god, your manager is going to love the scoop on this one. maybe you’ll get enough of a bonus to fix the wall.

[hellfirexwhore]

Forget What You've Heard E.M.

Line cook!Eddie Munson x Bartender!Reader

Sorry it took so long between posts! I've been working all day every day so it's busy over here. I hope you enjoy! 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied / posted as original work on any platform.

Your favorite co-worker's flirty nature is your favorite part of the workday, but is it genuine? Someone is feeding you lies just as your patrons are being fed mozzarella sticks and Eddie is determined to convince you he's not just playing games with your heart.

Misunderstanding, hurt/comfort, fluff, cursing, an asshole named Dylan (We all know one), use of Y/N

Wordcount 4.7k

You smile to yourself as you count up the tips you've made so far. Bartending has done wonders for your wallet, and it's totally worth it if you can look over the long hours on your feet, creeps trying to get into your pants, and going home smelling like sour mix and sweat. You just moved to Hawkins 6 months ago and since living on your own is expensive, you serve beers and shake cocktails at the karaoke bar downtown to make a living. It's easy work and you're good at it, but there's just one issue; your favorite co-worker is a huge distraction. Eddie is the cutest damn line cook you've ever seen with his curly hair always tied into a low bun and his smile that you're sure could cure a number of diseases, but those things don't make it easy to do your job efficiently. It's nearly impossible to grab a platter of nachos from the window without him throwing out a wink and calling you sweetheart, telling you you're doing a good job, or even sliding a basket of fries to you with a finger to his lips as a way of saying "Don't tell on me, honey." 

Tonight is no different. Eddie has been a total menace all night, flashing you that flirty smile, keeping you from your work with his corny pick-up lines that he insists will get him a date with you one day, making conversation, and giving you extra sides of ranch without making you ring them in first like the kitchen manager does. The second you walked into the back to set your bag down after arriving, he told you your hair looked absolutely ravishing even though it's just thrown into a clip like always, making you blush like crazy. It took nearly 20 minutes to get the scarlet red tint to leave your cheeks, and though you tried your hardest to hide it, Eddie sure as hell noticed, leaving a smile on his face throughout the busy evening.

"Hey sweetheart, I've got those wings for the bar top ready for you." You hear from behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You smile to yourself at the nickname and put the glass you've just finished washing upside down on the drying mat. 

You turn around to an always grinning Eddie leaning his elbows on the stainless steel of the mini counter under the window to the back of house and holding the ticket in between his index and middle digits. You take the slip of paper out of his hand slowly, letting your fingers touch for a moment before stabbing it through the small metal spike to your right. Every once in a while, you like to indulge in his flirtatiousness, though it makes you nervous. Eddie's fun, he's nice, and dishing back what he gives to you every day isn't hurting anyone. "Thank you, Eddie."

"Any time, sugar." He replies, winking and turning to grab a new ticket and drop an order of potato skins in the fryer. You shake your head, smiling from ear to ear, turning to serve the hot plate to one of your regulars. 

The rest of the shift goes great. Your tips are higher than you had planned, nobody had to be thrown out for fighting, and you got to hear a wonderful rendition of "My Heart Will Go On" sang by a very intoxicated older gentleman during the karaoke session. As you clean up the bar for the night, as always, you can't stop thinking about Eddie. You think tonight might actually be the night you ask him to hang out with you outside of work, though he's invited you to go get some late night pizza before, playfully pouting when you have to decline, telling him that you're exhausted and have to go back to the bar to open the next day. You've wanted to say yes, but Eddie makes you nervous. You're feeling bold tonight though, and you're optimistic. 

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie is in the kitchen cleaning the fryers, taking out the trash, and scrubbing the floors absentmindedly, almost like he's in auto-pilot because he can't get you out of his head. He wants so badly to ask you out, but he's tried that and you don't seem interested. He realizes you probably just flirt with him for fun, a harmless workplace friendship with some winks and pet names sprinkled in, but over the past four months, he's developed a serious crush on you. 

There's just something about you that makes you so different from everyone he's ever dated or been interested in. He doesn't feel like he has to change who he is for you. There's nothing better for Eddie's ego than how easy it is to make you smile, and goddammit what a beautiful smile it is. Every time you look at him through your lashes, blushing at something stupid he's said, Eddie feels like he could lift the entire building up with one hand and not even break a sweat. He fears he's in too deep at this point, the innocent flirting leading to him finding himself thinking about you even once he's gone home for the night. 

"Hey Eddie boy, I think you missed a spot." Eddie rolls his eyes at the irritating voice coming at him from his left. Dylan is one of the most insufferable people he's ever met and of course, he has the honor of working beside him at least 3 nights out of the week. 

Eddie doesn't turn his attention to Dylan, just continues wiping down the steel counter top. "Bite me, jackass." 

"Wow, someone's sassy today, huh? What, you didn't get enough attention from your little bartender tonight?" He smarmily replies, a disgustingly annoying grin on his face. Dylan, to Eddie's dismay, has picked up on the little "situation" between you two, making a joke of it every chance he can in an attempt to piss him off. 

Eddie laughs humorlessly, throwing his rag down and turning to the bane of his existence, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dude shut the fuck up."

"Hey look man, I get it! I'm just saying it's embarrassing watching you stare at her like a fucking creep all day. She does look pretty smokin' in those jeans though, so I don't blame you. Hey maybe I'll ask her out tonight, see if I can get some tail. Think she'll give up the goods?" He's smirking while Eddie's blood is raising in temperature. He can practically feel smoke coming out of his ears hearing this sorry excuse for a man speaking about you like you're just a piece of ass and not the sweet, funny, beautiful person you are. 

"I swear to God, I'll bust your teeth in." Eddie seethes, trying to keep his cool, at least while you're in the building. You're blissfully unaware of their hatred for one another and the last thing he needs is for you to see him throwing his fist into Dylan's face for talking about you. That wouldn't be very "innocent flirtationship" of him. 

"Guys! Come on, finish cleaning and knock it off. I don't have the energy for your cat fights tonight." The kitchen manager huffs, stepping between the two of them with a severely annoyed look on his face. Wordlessly, Eddie takes one more look at Dylan, picks his rag back up, and continues his task of degreasing all of the surfaces. He wants to get it over with and be able to clock in time to catch you before you leave and walk you to your car.

Dylan, the vindictive man he is, takes the opportunity to make his way through the swinging kitchen door and into the main bar area while Eddie isn't paying attention. You look up, expecting to find Eddie standing there, but confused when it's the guy you barely speak to heading in your direction.

"Hey Y/N, you do good tonight?" He asks, leaning against the bar. You smile politely, still wrist deep in soapy water from washing the bar glasses and beer mugs. 

"Yeah, better than I expected actually. Did you need something?" You ask, not rudely, but assuming he came for something specific seeing as he's never made small talk with you before.

Dylan takes a breath and rests his elbows on the hard wood of the bar top, shaking his head like he's trying to think of how to tell you what he sauntered up to you for. You begin to dry your hands, getting a little nervous thinking that maybe the manager had sent him up here to tell you something you've done wrong. You're still relatively new and you've never gotten in trouble here before, but you can't think of anything else he would need to say to you. "Look, I know you and Munson are friends, and I see the way you look at him. You like him, and before you deny it, just listen to me." 

Your heart starts to race. Did he tell Eddie? Did Eddie say something to him? How are you going to face him when apparently other people are picking up on this? Are you this obvious? You can't take it anymore so you nod, waiting for more information as you toy with your hands. 

"You seem sweet, okay and I don't want to see someone like you hurt by someone like him. Eddie and I are cool, but this is what he does. he flirts with the new ones, takes them home, and never speaks to them again. When another newbie comes in, he starts it all over again. I just thought you should know since I'm sure you're a genuinely nice person and I'm certain Eddie is taking advantage of that." Your heart drops at his words. You feared you were being played with, but you didn't want to believe it. You fell for Eddie's charms, and now it's time to face the harsh reality that you had completely misunderstood this whole situation and made yourself look like an idiot in front of everyone. 

"Um, wow. Well thanks for telling me, I appreciate it. I'm gonna finish up here and head out. Have a good rest of your night." You say, rushing through so you don't tear up mid-sentence. Dylan nods, not saying another word but offering a sympathetic smile before turning on his heel and going back through the door he came. You pull the plug to the dish sink, gather your signed receipts to shove into the drawer, and give the glazed wood one last wipe down. You hear Eddie say your name through the window but you act like you can't hear him. 

This whole thing could have been avoided if you wouldn't have fallen for the good looks and quirks of the fuzzy-headed, wild-eyed line cook. You never should have caught feelings in the workplace; that's like rule number 001 in the service industry. Never, under any circumstances, canoodle with your co-workers. You thought maybe this was an exception but now here you are, proven wrong. 

Heading through the swinging door to the kitchen, you avoid eye contact with everyone, especially Eddie, as you walk straight to the back to gather your things. You feel humiliated and giving Eddie the satisfaction of seeing you upset is out of the question so the sooner you can get out of the building, the better. You give quiet goodbyes to the managers and make a quick escape, or you at least try to before a hand reaches out to hold your forearm. 

"Hey, wait for me. I'll walk you to your car." Eddie says softly, giving you a soft smile. You can't bear to look him in the eyes, so you gently pull away, shaking your head. 

"It's fine Eddie, thanks though." You reply, turning to finally leave. Eddie watches as you throw your bag strap onto your shoulder and hurriedly make your way to the exit. Hurt washes over him and he's more confused than when he learned what a tampon is in middle school. He furrows his brow and slumps his shoulders, going back to his final task before he can leave for the night. He doubts you're still going to be in the parking lot by the time he can get out there, but his heart is racing like he might have a shot at catching you before you leave. 

Did he say something? Did his flirting finally make you uncomfortable tonight? He racks his brain trying to come up with some sort of reason why you would be upset with him. Normally, he would suggest that maybe you're just tired but even when you're on the verge of falling asleep where you stand, you can still manage to give him a sleepy smile and a breathy laugh at another one of his terrible jokes. Maybe he took it too far. Maybe he weirded you out or gave you the wrong idea. It wouldn't be the first time he's scared someone off.

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You continue to go to work as normal, doing your best to not entertain anything Eddie had to say. The more distance you can create between the two of you, the less likely you'll get hurt. The time for stepping away from him to protect your feelings ended long ago but now it's time to do some damage control before you get worse. You get attached to people, and unfortunately that includes the bad people too. 

You thought long and hard about whether or not you actually believed Dylan. I mean it's his first time actually talking to you and he breaks the news to you that Eddie just wanted to get into your pants? Why would he care? After going back and forth with yourself over it for your entire day off, you don't know what to think but what you do know is that if they really are friends and if Dylan actually does care, then the safe bet is to just stay away. If he's telling the truth and you ignore that to continue growing your feelings for Eddie, you're in for a world of hurt and that's just not something you can deal with right now. 

You're not mean to Eddie when you work now; you just treat him like everyone else. You say "please" and "thank you", you ring in your extra sauces when you need them, you greet him just like you greet every other cook, and you don't flirt or bat your lashes at him anymore. Eventually, he is going to ask why but until he does, you can't bring yourself to ask him about it. It's humiliating and if he does have bad intentions, he's not going to be honest about it anyway so what's the point in starting that conversation? 

Eddie is trying everything. These past few days have been hell for him and he's grasping at straws. He offers to make you fries, you tell him, "Thank you, but I'm not hungry." He tries to ask you about your day, you apologize and say you're busy. He tries to catch you before you leave at night, but you practically sprint for the door the second you're finished with your side work. 

He watches through the window as you smile at your last patron of the night, desperately wishing that smile was for him. You haven't paid him any mind in 3 days and it's driving him crazy. It might be a little better if he actually knew what he did, but he's completely clueless. The awkward interactions are eating away at Eddie, and he knows if he doesn't say something soon, he'll explode. He starts his cleaning and breaking down the line as quickly as possible in an attempt to finish before you do so you don't run away from him again like you have been. If he doesn't get this straightened out, he doesn't know what he'll do. 

Your last tab is cashed out and you begin your cleaning, causing Eddie to pick up his pace. He knows it'll take you 20 minutes max now that you and him aren't chatting throughout to slow you down. As long as nobody gets in his way, he's determined to finally be able to talk to you tonight. Not playful banter, no pick up lines, just a real conversation. The sooner he gets back into your good graces, the better. 

"Trouble in paradise?" Eddie turns to see Dylan smirking with his arms across his chest. So much for nobody getting in his way. 

Eddie laughs humorlessly and goes back to his work. "Fuck off, dude." 

"Look man I'm just saying it seems like there's a little riff between the lovebirds lately. I wonder what happened, hm?" Dylan replies, his tone condescending as ever, doing his best to get a rise out of Eddie. To his dismay, it's working. 

"You don't know shit." Eddie mumbles, wringing out a sanitizer rag, his fingers already becoming little prunes extended from his hands from the extensive cleaning. 

"I don't know about that one, Ed. We had a really riveting conversation, seriously it was interesting, and I'm sure I know a little more than you think." This stops Eddie in his tracks. He breathes hard through his nose and turns on his heel, grabbing Dylan by his shirt and shoving him against the wall. 

"What the fuck did you say to her? Huh? Are you the reason she won't fucking talk to me? What the hell is wrong with you, you jealous son of a bitch?!" Eddie shouts. The manager on duty is already trying to break the two of them up and you hear the commotion from the front, peering your head into the window to see what the hell is going on. 

"Ooh Munson is mad! I just told her exactly what you're up to, that's all." Dylan says, calm as ever, a disgusting smile on his face. "Punching me won't undo it, so go ahead." 

"Enough! I swear to god, I will kick you both out." Eddie reluctantly loosens his grip on the boy's clothing, only pulling away completely when he's certain the risk of getting fired isn't worth hitting Dylan, even though the want to is overwhelming. 

 Eddie looks to you, his heart breaking at the disappointed look on your face. He decides this ends now. He has no idea what filth and lies have been planted in your head, but he needs to fix it and fast. He gives one last scowl to the man he was just threatening, and backs up, walking out of the kitchen door. 

He approaches the bar and you freeze. You don't know what you're supposed to say or do, so you do and say nothing. He has a soft look on his face, one very different than the one he was wearing in the kitchen just a minute prior. It's almost as if his rock hard persona turns to cotton candy when he's in your presence, and if you ask Eddie, that's exactly how that works. 

"Look, I know you don't want to talk to me and I'm still not entirely sure why, but please wait for me. Please talk to me, let me figure out what the hell happened, and let me fix it." He pleads. You think it over quickly, trying to figure out of this is something you even want to get into right now. You question his motives, still confused as ever. Helpless, you nod and see the relief wash over his entire body, giving you the same feeling as when you're in the middle of a horrific thunderstorm, and in an instant, the sun comes out of the dark clouds. Whether this conversation leaves you feeling like a sunny summer day or it leads to another crack of thunder, you're unsure but you have half an hour before you find out. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sit there at the bar having finished your closing work, waiting for Eddie to finish his. Against your better judgement, you're happy to talk to him again but nothing can stop the knot in your stomach from growing tighter. All you wanted to do today was make some money, go home, cook dinner, take a bath, and watch a movie in bed but now, you're sitting here, anxiety building up in your body like a tower of mix-matched Lego pieces. 

You're taken out of your thoughts when Eddie exits the kitchen and walks toward you, not looking any less nervous than he did earlier in the evening. "Hey, sorry I took so long." 

"It's okay." You say quietly, standing up from the bar stool and pulling the strap of your backpack up onto your shoulder. "Do you want to talk outside?" 

Eddie nods, giving you a tight smile. He leads you out of the front door and around to the side of the building to the employee parking lot, not saying a word just yet. the silence is broken by the flick of your lighter, illuminating the tip of a cigarette freshly placed in your mouth, inhaling the smoke and feeling the tiniest amount of tension wash away. 

You lean against your car waiting for him to speak, still not really sure what you're supposed to say. He's the one that needed to defend himself, he's the one who wanted this conversation to happen. 

"Look, I don't know what Dylan told you but I can assure you it was a lie." He starts. He's fidgeting with his fingers, avoiding eye contact. He's lost every ounce of confidence he once had when he's on the other side of the wall passing you a basket of chicken tenders. 

"If you don't know what he said, then how would you know that?" You reply, taking another drag of your cigarette. You're hoping he's being genuine and not just defensive right off the bat, but if someone is lying about you, you'd feel defensive too. Everything is still fuzzy and figuring out this mess is like putting the pieces of a clear puzzle together.

"Because he fucking hates me. He does shit just to piss me off." Eddie shakes his head, pulling his own pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one between his lush lips. 

"Why would he hate you, Eddie? What did you do?" You don't mean to point blame at him but he had to have done something to make someone hate him to the point of making up a lie to make you ignore him for days.

"When I first started, he thought I was flirting with this girl he had a thing for, and she got a crush on me. She didn't want to hang out with him anymore and he thought I just swooped in and stole her. I didn't even like her like that but since then, he's made it his job to make my life a living hell when he's here. That includes fucking this-" Eddie gestures his hand between the both of you, "-up for me." 

"He told me you're fucking with me." You say, suddenly fixing your eyes on your sneakers. You almost shudder thinking back at the way your heart dropped to your stomach when Dylan first spoke to you. "Said you flirt with the new ones to get into their pants and then move on to the next one." 

Eddie's eyes widen, looking like he's a child being told Santa isn't real. The genuine look of shock is very convincing, and you're close to dropping every allegation from that expression alone. "Jesus Christ. Y/N, I promise that's not what's going on here." 

"How can I know that for sure? I felt like an idiot after he told me that. I was humiliated thinking I fell for some sleazy game you were playing." You're trying not to tear up. You can feel the thickness in your throat as you speak, hoping Eddie doesn't pick up on it. Six months of growing feelings for someone isn't something to fuck around about, and you might have taken this more seriously than it was intended, but when you're in that close of proximity with someone for that long, itching for the other to make a move, it's hard to not be heartbroken when something happens to it. 

"Sweetheart, I flirt with you because I like you. At first, it was just fun and I thought you were cute, but now I have a big, fat, stupid crush on you and I think about you all the time. I don't ask you to hang out with me after work so I can take you to my van and get your clothes off. I ask you to hang out with me because I like the way you make me feel." Eddie responds, making eye contact with you finally, searching your eyes for any trace of doubt. He wants you to know how serious he is. This isn't just a fling for him, much like it never was for you. You had a feeling this could turn into something special, though it goes against everything people tell you about workplace relationships. 

"And what would that feeling be?" You inquire, not breaking the contact between his chocolate pools and your own, finding a boldness in yourself that you didn't know existed. 

"You make me feel like I'm the coolest guy in the world. You laugh at my stupid jokes, you compliment me, you're interested in what I have to say.." He trails off with a fond smile on his face. There's a softness about him that balances out the roughness of his edges, endearing you even further. He reaches out to grab your soft hand with his rough one. "I really fucking like you." 

"I really like you too. I was going to ask you out the night Dylan dropped a bomb on me." You admit, rubbing your thumb over the skin of his hand. 

"That motherfucker." Eddie shakes his head, getting angry all over again at the fact that he finally had his chance and it got ruined for him in an instant. "I'm going to kick his ass." 

You pull your hand out of his and smack him lightly on the chest. "No, you can't get fired! Who will I talk to all day?"

"You've been doing just fine not talking to anyone." Eddie jokes, raising his eyebrows and bringing his cigarette to his lips, inhaling the smoke that seems to make this whole thing easier. After having a sick stomach for hours, he skipped his smoke breaks, partially leading to his angry outburst.

"Yeah and it was miserable! Do you know how much I hated having to go through my shift without hearing you call me sweetheart?" You laugh, a sound Eddie missed, even for just three days. 

He smiles down at you, dazzling as always. You missing him as much as he missed you is actively washing away his worries one by one like a salty body of water washing away a structurally questionable sandcastle. "I won't deprive you anymore." 

"I appreciate that." You grin, taking his hand back into yours. 

"Does that mean you believe me? You can ask anyone, I'm serious. I talk about you all the time. The guys make fun of me for my "heart eyes" the entire time you're here. Ask Adam, Levi, Grant, Brandon-" 

"Okay, okay." You cut off his adorable rambling. "Yes, I believe you."

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. You can see his shoulders relax, his jaw loosen, and his posture seems straighter. "Good because I mean it. I'm sorry this was such a mess for you. Hopefully I can make up for it?"

"And how do you plan to do that, Munson?" You tease, giving him the flirty look he had been wishing to see from you again. He can't take his eyes off of the way you look at him through your thick lashes. 

He moves closer to you subtly, moving slowly so he can relish in the moment. "Can I start with that date?" 

"You sure can." You say just above a whisper. You're lost in his eyes once again, but this time, it's not just playful. There's a brand new feeling getting introduced here and it blows your mind that it was first kindled in a greasy kitchen. 

As long as Eddie is here, things are easy. You have your flirty boy back and being at work is a little easier again. With Eddie right behind you serving up winks and pet names just as often as he serves up appetizers, going home smelling like beer and deep fried cheese is worth it. 

[beansricejc]

john wick x f!reader: the client

this is really short & I might just expand on this if my brain allows it. seasonal depression is hittin me, sorry pookies

warnings: p in v, dub(?), free use, house cleaner, 508 words

Being a housekeeper wasn’t necessarily the job you had in mind when adults would ask you what you wanted to be when you were older as a child.

It paid the bills.

Got you gas in your tank.

And now what exactly was it getting you?

You decided to take this stranger's offer.

Dumb idea.

“Maybe some leggings. A tank top?” You recall him saying to you in your initial consultation. You never thought too much of it, but if he was paying you $700 extra an hour, you’d do it.

Initially you objected, shoving the middle aged man away and scoffing. But that cologne, his sultry brown eyes and grunts that came from his mouth, the upturn of his lips as he saw you fought back. It amused him. You could tell. A woman that didn’t cave to his advances right away?

The idea was insane to him.

The words echoed into your ears as you’re cleaning his floors, not that you’re doing a good job of it. There’s no way anyone can be an efficient cleaner with a pair of calloused hands manhandling your hips while his own snap against your ass. A gasp leaves your mouth, this man, he’s so fucking big. The girth of his cock was something you had to adjust to, and you still weren’t used to it. Your cunt feels so full, you’re struggling to stay in place as your knees slip on the wooden floor from the mixture of cleaner and sweat.

“Make sure to get the corners, sweetheart.” John’s rugged voice orders you, and you can hardly understand how he expects you to actually be proficient with your task at hand as his cock makes an absolute mess of you. “Do you know how to get blood stains out of a rug?” He randomly asks, you feel his rough fingers squirm their way to your clit. The pressure he uses as he rubs, along with his length that’s now just mounted all the way inside of you, it’s just too much to bare. John’s leaking tip is even nudging your cervix at this convenient angle.

How the fuck are you supposed to answer him? You can’t even think straight, drool dripping from your ajar lips as your eyes roll back.

His hand leaves your clit as it whacks your right ass cheek.

“Agh!” you squeal, snapping back into reality… sort of.

“I asked you a question.” John cleared his throat. “Blood stains.”

“Yeah, ye-yeah, ah shit.” You babble, you feel your hips and back instinctually arch further and deeper for him. Your ass and cock filled cunt fully on display for this complete stranger, the perverted stranger that persuaded you into wearing tight clothing for your first shift. The stranger who’s buried inside of you.

Of course you can’t see his face, but John has his biggest shit eating grin on.

“God, such a pretty little whore for me.” John grunted, his finger going and repeating their movements as your eyes rolled back again. “I can’t wait to have you clean my shower next.”

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - October 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles on Patreon!

1. EV owners volunteer to drive voters to the polls in 11 states (and you can too)

“ChargeTheVote.org is a nonpartisan voter education and engagement initiative to enhance voter turnout in the 2024 election by providing zero-emission transportation in electric vehicles (EVs) to local polling locations. ChargeTheVote will also host a webinar for those who are interested in participating this coming Tuesday, October 22 at 7pm Eastern time.”

2. Kenya moves 50 elephants to a larger park, says it’s a sign poaching is low

“The elephant population in the […”Mwea National Reserve”…] has flourished from its capacity of 50 to a whopping 156 […] requiring the relocation of about 100 of [them…. The] overpopulation in Mwea highlighted the success of conservation efforts over the last three decades.”

3. Australian start-up secures $9m for mine-based gravity energy storage technology

““We expect to configure the gravitational storage technology [which the company “hopes to deploy in disused mines”] for mid-duration storage applications of 4 to 24 hours, deliver 80% energy efficiency and to enable reuse of critical grid infrastructure.“”

4. Africa’s little-known golden cat gets a conservation boost, with community help

“[H]unting households were given a pregnant sow [… so that they] had access to meat without needing to trap it in the wild. […] To address income needs, Embaka started […] a savings and loan co-op[… and an] incentive for the locals to give up hunting in exchange for regular dental care.”

5. 4.8M borrowers — including 1M in public service — have had student debt forgiven

“That brings the total amount of student debt relief under the administration to $175 billion[….] The Education Department said that before Biden's presidency, only 7,000 public servants had ever received student debt relief through the Public Service Loan Forgiveness program. […] "That’s an increase of more than 14,000% in less than four years.””

6. Puerto Rico closes $861M DOE loan guarantee for huge solar, battery project

“The solar plants combined will have 200 megawatts of solar capacity — enough to power 43,000 homes — while the battery systems are expected to provide up to 285 megawatts of storage capacity. [… O]ver the next 10 years, more than 90 percent of solar capacity in Puerto Rico will come from distributed resources like rooftop solar.”

7. Tim Walz Defends Queer And Trans Youth At Length In Interview With Glennon Doyle

“Walz discussed positive legislative actions, such as codifying hate crime laws and increasing education[.… “We] need to appoint judges who uphold the right to marriage, uphold the right to be who you are [… and] to get the medical care that you need.””

8. Next-Generation Geothermal Development Important Tool for Clean Energy Economy

““The newest forms of geothermal energy hold the promise of generating electricity 24 hours a day using an endlessly renewable, pollution-free resource[… that] causes less disturbance to public lands and wildlife habitat […] than many other forms of energy development[….]”

9. Sarah McBride hopes bid to be first transgender congresswoman encourages ’empathy’ for trans people

““Folks know I am personally invested in equality as an LGBTQ person. But my priorities are going to be affordable child care, paid family and medical leave, housing, health care, reproductive freedom. […] We know throughout history that the power of proximity has opened even the most-closed of hearts and minds.”“

10. At Mexico’s school for jaguars, big cats learn skills to return to the wild

“[A team of scientists] have successfully released two jaguars, and are currently working to reintroduce two other jaguars and three pumas (Puma concolor). [… “Wildlife simulation”] “keeps the jaguars active and reduces the impact of captivity and a sedentary lifestyle[….]””

October 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[drunkgoth-bimb0]

I’ve always been a loner. I had some trouble making friends growing up but was overall pretty outgoing and could fake it with the best of them. I had a handful of people I called friends my entire life, but always I kept them at arms length. I knew I was different. i’ve always been a pervert, too. I dont even bother wondering why anymore or trying to figure out what made me this way, It doesn’t matter. I’ve always been this curious needy thing. I don’t have any hope for that changing.

It’s something I’ve come to accept, though it took some work especially in my existential teenage years. I use to struggle so with the shame of it all, I drowned in my own desire and resented myself for it. All my life I’d been a freak. There had been no escaping it or explaining it away, and those nights spent groveling in the shame of submission while trying to fight it off and hating myself for aching to be pushed toward the edge made me what I am now. Still a freak, but self aware and at peace with having some wires crossed.

As an adult I focus strongly on what I CAN control in life. In fact I try to control every aspect of my life, down to the smallest detail. Every calorie I consume is counted for, every minute of the day is scheduled with some chore or task. I keep my hair dyed and fixed, my makeup on daily, and my outfits specifically set aside the night before. I am efficient at keeping my home and body clean and tidy, keeping dinner on the table nightly and laundry upkept diligently. I’ve been reading more into these Bimbo rules and ideologies, and I’ve never felt more seen. I’ve also been reading up about Misogyny and the natural role of females in history and society, and I am now entirely sure of it. I am a traditional bimbo, a homemaker, I am anything my Man wants me to be. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be seen, to be controlled, to be craved so deeply, thought of constantly. I’ve always wanted to be kept pristine and on display but also of use by cooking dinners for Men but keeping my waist in check, by cleaning the house daily and my body daily always making sure I look my 100 percent best for Men. That is my purpose. To be a bimbo cumdump maid for Men.

I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been since I came to that realization and started living accordingly. I do my lashes and makeup daily, have a cleaning routine daily, am in a calorie deficit, and only consume bimbo/misogynist media! I am working on updating my wardrobe and trying hard to find links for good hypnosis!! I also read that drinking or smoking daily can help change your mindset and personality so I decided to become a drunk bimbo! It’s been fantastic. I get cute and drunk and do my little tasks around town like grocery shopping and getting coffee and all the Men are soo nice to me! It’s like they can sense it.

I work every day on being the bestest hottest drunk bimbo cumdump I can be!! I hope to further develop my new bimbo self and hope to update in the future!!

Comment if you enjoy this confession and if you have tips for me in this journey!💘

[fruitalike]

OBVIOUSLY || Trans Elliott x Male Reader

RATING: Explicit, 18+ obviously

PARING: TRANS Elliott x Male Reader

TAGS: TRANS ELLIOTT, as always, you're married, 2nd person, oral/p.i.v. sex, multiple orgasms/positions, pwp, maybe mirror sex, spit as lube/spit kink a little bit..., HHHHAFU (House Husbands Have Heart Aprons Fanfic Universe)

WORDS: 3476

SUMMARY:

“How much longer?” You ask, and Elliott whips his head back around to face you, face even redder still. “How much longer for what?” He’s flustered again; but it’s different now than it was when you’d first come home. You watch him chew his lip nervously, but he stops when he notices you’re staring. “Until the food gets out of the oven,” you say, your eyes still on his lips until you see them quiver, then you look up into his eyes instead, tilting your head just enough, “obviously.”

READ ON AO3

OR...

(genital words: cock/head/tip, chest/nipples, lips/cunt/walls/g-spot)

You arrive home at your expected time, but your husband greets you as you walk up the front steps regardless. He opens the door as you make it onto the porch. “It’s not done,” he says, he’s flustered—you’re not sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed or because he’s been rushing, maybe both. “I… I just need, like, fi- ten minutes. Ten minutes and you can come in. It won’t be done but you can come in.”

You can tell by the look on his face that you should probably hold in the chuckle you feel in your throat. Elliott is a bit of a mess, more comfortable clothes replace his usual formal attire, his hair is all over his face, and his eyebrows are a bit furrowed, and he’s red in the face. Any desire you have to laugh is solely based on how cute he looks; but you refrain anyways. “I’ll just wait out here. You let me know when you’re ready for me to come in, okay?”

Elliott breathes a sigh of relief. “I swear it won’t take long,” he says, though even he doesn’t seem convinced, “it’s just- I lost track of time, and… y’know. It’ll be fine.” You go to reassure him, but he just repeats himself, “It’ll be fine,” he whips around and slinks back into the house. Though you’re sure that you can hear him repeat it to himself again as he closes the door.

Once you’re sure he’s too far inside the house to hear you, you do finally chuckle to yourself. He’s just too sweet. Taking a seat on the swinging bench on the front porch, you resign yourself to waiting indefinitely for whatever Elliott had planned. It seemed like he was cooking something, judging by the heart apron he wore, and the various foodstuffs all over it. You rub your eyes as the fall breeze relaxes you. You could use a nice, home cooked meal.

You’re awoken from your near slumber as Elliott opens the front door again. He smiles at you and beckons you inside. It takes you a second to gather yourself enough to follow him in, but once you do, it’s obvious he’s cooking something. “Don’t look too hard at the oven.”

“How about I just go take a shower?” Again, he seems relieved by your offer. Elliott kisses you as you head for the bathroom.

Given the state of the kitchen, you figure you can take your time in the shower. You try not to spend too much time thinking about what Elliott’s cooking for you. Of course, you do wonder. But you try to put it out of your mind. The water is almost viciously hot, but that’s what it takes to soothe you at this point. Your skin grows tender as you scrub all of the farm’s grime down the drain. It doesn’t bother you, though. Better to actually feel clean. You make sure to put on plenty of lotion afterwards, anyways.

You lose track of time in the shower, but years on the farm have made you painfully efficient regardless—it’s barely been half an hour by the time you’ve finished. You still head for the kitchen once you’ve dried off and put clean clothes on. Evidently, half an hour was all that Elliott needed to get the kitchen back under control. He was too considerate to run any water while you were showering, but all of the dirty dishes are stacked neatly in the sink. The counter tops are wiped clean of any of the detritus that had accumulated there as he cooked. More importantly, he seemed much calmer: he’s no longer flushed, or as disheveled (you hesitate to even refer to him that way—Elliott was always far too formal to find himself truly disheveled, well, unless… you know) as he had been before. He comes to your side the moment you enter the kitchen. He wraps his arms around your neck and kisses your cheek multiple times. “No peaking,” he says, playfully turning you away from the kitchen with his hold on you.

“I wasn’t even looking!” There’s just enough playful exasperation in your tone that Elliott laughs a little; even as you can’t help but try to smell what’s cooking in the air. Only now do you notice that he’s opened the windows—clearly trying to keep the aroma from what ever it is he’s cooking from building up in the room, what a tease.

He releases you from his grasp and you sit at the island in the kitchen. Your eyes naturally follow him as he walks in front of you, standing between the counter you rest at and the oven, shielding whatever he was cooking from your prying eyes. “Can I get you something to drink?” He asks, trying to make his appearance in front of you seem a little more natural, as wiping down the already clean counter tops didn’t quite justify it.

“Sure,” you say. You’re not particularly thirsty. You just like watching Elliott squirm, nervously wiping his hands on his heart adorned apron as he prepares a glass of hot apple cider for you. A pot of it was already on the stove, surely another one of his tricks to distract from whatever he has in the oven.

He brings it to you, coming around the side of the kitchen island, mug in hand. Elliott sits up on the counter as you drink your cider, ever the distraction. You were wrong before—you definitely needed this cider. The warmth soothes you more than a shower ever could. Perhaps your husband knows you a little too well. He reaches for your hand and you intertwine your fingers. You pull on his hand and he scoots across the counter so that he’s in front of you. He carefully spreads his legs so that sitting in front of you is easier for him. You’re sure that that’s all there is to it.

Both of Elliott’s distractingly long legs dangle to either side of you. You gingerly place your mug between his legs, looking up at him. The warmth from the cup radiates between his legs, you can tell by how red his face continues to get as your mug rests between his thighs.

Finding yourself parched, you reach for your cider again with your free hand. Of course your other hand is still delicately intertwined with your husbands. You choose to ignore the embarrassed glances that Elliott shoots your way. His face reddens still as you continue to sip your delicious drink so thoughtfully prepared for you by your loving husband, who shifts restlessly on the counter as you make a show of ignoring him.

There’s a twitching in the front of his pants, and Elliott squeezes his thighs together, seizing the opportunity to do so while you still have your mug in hand. He carefully places his feet between your thighs, his own legs pressed together in a slight embarrassment. It’s obvious that his feet don’t really have anywhere else to go (as long as keeping them off of the counter was a priority), but you can’t help but see it as yet another distraction.

You finally release Elliott’s hand to place it on his left foot where it meets his ankle—acknowledging his distraction as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. He turns away from you, to look at the oven, of course. You trace your fingers up and down the back of his ankle, smirking to yourself as you feel him get chills. “How much longer?” You ask, and Elliott whips his head back around to face you, face even redder still.

“How much longer for what?” He’s flustered again; but it’s different now than it was when you’d first come home. You watch him chew his lip nervously, but he stops when he notices you’re staring.

“Until the food gets out of the oven,” you say, your eyes still on his lips until you see them quiver, then you look up into his eyes instead, tilting your head just enough, “obviously.” His breath hitches on your slightly snarky tone. He turns away from your gaze and wets his lips trying to find something to say; he’s already so caught up in you.

“Not long.” Is all he can manage. You’ve finished your drink, so you set your mug on the counter top. The light clatter startles Elliott. “Really?” You ask, calling him on his bluff. You’re tracing your thumb up and down the top of his foot as you speak; the rest of your fingers still, now.

He squirms. “I’m… not giving specifics,” he hesitates, “obviously.” Elliott seems proud that he’s turned your snark back on you but all you do is smirk; and move your hand up to his calf. “Is there time for anything?”

“… Like what?” He asks, as if he hadn’t just squeezed his thighs together. You move your hand further up his calf. “You know.”

“Maybe… it’d have to be quick.”

“Can you be quick?” He huffs but spreads his legs just enough to slide down into your lap, you kiss him immediately; he reciprocates desperately. “Yes.” He says quietly after you’d pulled away. You can tell by the way he’s trembling he’s telling the truth. He’s always so excitable.

You can only kiss him so long before you begin to really question the integrity of the bar stool you’re sitting on; the metal creaking with every sudden movement. You stand and usher Elliott back up onto the counter top. He pulls you to him and you grind against him. You can feel how eager he is through his sweatpants.

Kissing him again, you’re able to slide his sweats and underwear down with ease. You elect to still leave them on, just in case he needs to quickly slip away to cater to whatever he’s cooking. Of course, you hope that he won’t need to; that he’ll be at your mercy until you’re done with him.

You ease him onto his back and crouch between his legs, too weary of the bar stool to use it. Some of your limited time obviously goes to kissing and delicately nipping at Elliott’s inner thighs, much to his chagrin. He whines as you tease him. “Please,” he begs, your kisses inching closer and closer, teasing out more and more of his desperation, “just… please.”

Your tongue slips between his lips with practiced brevity; tracing right up to where his cock aches for your attention. You kiss around it a little at first, just enough to tease him a little more before you allow yourself to fully give into your carnal desires. Elliott gasps as you finally lick him. His hips try to buck up into your mouth, chasing the friction you expertly provide.

You pin Elliott’s legs to the counter top: leaning forward you rest an arm on the back of each of his thighs; using one hand to hold him by the ankles and keeping his feet in the air; the other rests on his pubic mound, and you use your thumb to pull him taught. His little cock is even more exposed to you now, his tip peeking out of his foreskin. He whimpers as you focus the tip of your tongue on his head.

Soon, even you have grown tired of your merciless teasing. “Behave.” You warn before taking Elliott into your mouth completely. You can feel the muscles in his legs flex—desperately trying to keep himself still. He cries out for you as you suckle his tiny cock, letting your teeth graze his head.

Motion in your periphery causes you to look to your right. You can’t help but notice both your and Elliott’s reflection in the screen of the television in the living room. Obviously, you’re awkwardly half-way crouched between his legs, but Elliott’s the main event. He’s sprawled out on the kitchen island, his lower back flush with the bar top, beloved husband folding him in half. His shoulders make contact with the lower part of the counter and his hair billows all over it. You make a mental note that his head is hanging off the edge of the counter top. Occasionally you can hear his nails scratch against the underside of the bar as you continue to suck him off, but his other hand shamelessly gropes at his own chest through his heart apron. You don’t need to consult his reflection to know that he’s teasing his own nipples, you can feel it in the way his cock twitches in your mouth.

Elliott won’t last much longer like this, so you pick up the pace a little. You swirl your tongue and bob your head a little faster, and make quick work of your beloved husband. He’s crying out for you and cumming on your face within seconds. His thighs tremble as you continue to tease his aching cock, and you can feel your own cock twitch in your pants. You need to be inside on him.

You kiss him a few times before pulling yourself off of him. Standing back up straight makes your back crack, so you take a second to stretch it out. Once you’ve gotten comfortable again you let your hard cock rest against his ass. “You want it?” You ask, and Elliott seems to shift a little, checking the oven, again, undoubtedly.

“Please,” he begs, again, “fuck me.” As much as you’d love to hear it, he doesn’t have to beg you twice. You shove your own pants and underwear down to around your knees and let your cock out. You spit on your cock out of habit, but Elliott hardly needs it. You rub your spit up and down your cock as you watch him quiver; if he hadn’t been wet enough for you after his orgasm, he would be now. He whimpers when you rub your cock up against his. He stops holding onto the counter to reach down and jerk your cock a couple of times, you thrust into his hand. “Put it in… put it in.”

You oblige, angling your cock with Elliott’s cunt, but letting him push your tip in since he was so eager. He hisses at the feeling, and you can’t help but snicker a bit as you slowly thrust in. He always wants more than he can take. But it doesn’t take long for him to get used to you, especially as he continues to masturbate openly—still rubbing his nipples and jerking himself off, too.

He only stops when you thrust into him a little harder, causing him to lurch forward and grab onto the counter top between his legs to stabilize himself. You hold onto him a little firmer and trace your thumbs across his sides. “I’ve got you,” you say, leaning forward a little and spitting on his cock, “you can touch yourself as much as you want.”

Elliott whimpers at your taunting tone, but follows through nonetheless, rubbing his little cock in time with your thrusts. You’re careful with how hard you’re fucking him, not wanting to concuss him as his head continued to hang off the lower counter top. But, you’re still picking up the pace. You only have a little while longer to fuck him until dinner’s ready, after all.

Carefully, you fuck him faster still, Elliott hanging on your every movement. As much as you’d love to, you don’t even have to fuck him particularly hard to have his cunt desperately squeezing you with every thrust. Perhaps you know your husband a little too well. You tighten your grip on his sides when you feel his muscles start to tense, and you position your thrusts towards the angle you know he likes the most.

He doesn’t last much longer. His toes curl and you feel compelled to watch him in the reflection of the television again. He cries out for you as he struggles through his orgasm, jerking himself rapidly even as he tries to control his own movements carefully, still in such a precarious position. You keep a slower, gentle pace to ease him through his orgasm, holding onto him for reassurance; your own end far ahead.

Once he’s come down a bit, you pull out and he sits up on the counter. Elliott kisses you sloppily, wrapping his arms around your neck. All care for any mess on the kitchen counter long gone. He’s leaning into you and running his fingers through your hair; swaying ever so slightly, you imagine it’s from all the blood rushing back down from his head. He pulls away from the kiss and just looks at you, excess desperation in his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “Is there time for just a little more?”

His fingers stop moving in your hair and just hang there instead. He gives a meek nod. “…Maybe.” He says, as if to hide his own desire.

Once more you usher him, this time down from the counter top. He kisses you again but you pull away, kissing his cheek and then his neck. He moans for you, overstimulated but still desperate for more. You have him by his biceps, so it’s easy for you to turn him around and press his chest to the counter top. He whines softly as you rub your cock up against his cunt.

Elliott’s leaned over the bar part of the kitchen island, his fingers naturally wrapping around the edge of the counter, holding himself still. You gather his hair up in one hand, wrapping it around itself for a better hold. “Just keep an eye on it for me, okay? I’d hate for all your hard work to go to waste.” He only whimpers in response, so you tug on his hair. “Okay?”

“I will, I will, just… please.” He’s looking back at you, moving hips trying to push your cock back inside of him. You oblige, pounding into him rather harshly. Elliott lurches forward and cries out for you in the best way. He squeezes down on you when your balls smack against his cock, you can feel it twitch, too.

You’ll never get used to how sensitive he is inside once you’re in the second round. His walls can’t help but quiver around you with every thrust. He’s in a better position now, so you can thrust into him as hard and as fast as you both would like. Elliott continuously begs you for more, and you can only provide.

His thighs quiver with every thrust, and the island itself seems to creak a little when you really pound into him. You ignore it. You can’t possibly pay any mind to something as unimportant as the structural integrity of your home when your husband is crying out for you like this. You’re ratcheting up the pressure, constantly aiming for and pounding into his g-spot. All Elliott can do is punctuate every thrust with a cry of “please, please, please!”

He’s barely coherent. But you can feel his orgasm drawing closer and closer—the way he’s bearing down on you makes it hard for you to keep a steady pace. Your grip tightens on him again as you feel your orgasm building as well. You pull on his hair again, and you swear you can hear his fingernails scrapping against the underside of the counter top.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” There’s something so special about shredding Elliott’s eloquence with your cock—it makes your toes curl. You keep the same hold on his hair as you feel him tense up all over. “I’m going—fuck! I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

His cunt squeezes you hard and you feel him gush with his orgasm, coating you and trickling down your bare thighs. You’re not far behind him, careful not to tug on his hair anymore than you already had, lest you begin to rip out his delicate mane. Thrusting as hard and as fast and as deep as you can manage, you release deep into your husband; crying out for him just as he had for you. There’s no discernible rhythm to the last of your thrusts, all that’s left is your desperation.

You pull him up from the counter, your cock still inside of him even as you begin to soften. Your hips still pistoning slightly as you pull his back to your chest; hands roaming him all over to soothe the both of you. His chest heaving still, he reaches for your hand.

You intertwine you fingers again, just as you had before. “Elliott…” you drag out his name dramatically, tracing his jawline with the pointer finger on your free hand, “how much longer do we have to wait for the food?”

Elliott glances at the oven. “Just a little longer,” he says, “obviously.”

[mychlapci]

Single mommy-to-be Sentinel Prime accidentally conditioning himself into getting aroused at the thought of being a good housemecha. Deciding that even thought the pregnancy was a surprise he wasn’t going to be known as some kind of dead-beat failure of a parent, his own pride forcing him to actually study up. Maybe too proud to find a transfluid donor, so he has to take supplements. Of course, they’re administered by valve… and the applicator might as well be a false spike.

Pregnant, desperately horny Sentinel rocking on his new favorite toy as he watches his parenting tips and housekeeping vids, trying to keep from overloading as his hand teases his limp, useless spike absentmindedly. I imagine he’d still be too proud to touch his node, and by the time he’d be desperate enough to try he’d be too round with his bitlet to reach. Biting his lip and whining with need when his next vid ends, the friendly mech narrating assuring him that he’ll “do a great job, carrier!” It’s just more efficient to do both at the same time, learn what he needs to prove he’s the best while getting the necessary nutrients for the bitlet. Anything to get back to work faster, after all.

Those thoughts would fade as the pregnancy progressed, as he grew heavier and hormonal. A mech as strong and brilliant as Sentinel Prime would never be an absent parent after all, never mind the twitch of his valve when he thought about being a good, dedicated mommy. Of course he’d need to stay home until the bitlet weaned, at bare minimum. Breast is best, or so his vids keep telling him as his own pair swell with energon. And maybe in time he’d even realize what he’s done to himself, turned into a perfect, pretty single mommy, but it’d be too late to stop the arousal building behind his panels as the nesting phase kicks in and he starts cleaning the house top to bottom in preparation for the baby. Can’t stop the lubricant from drooling into his closed panel when mechanisms ask to touch his round, firm belly or complement him on his glow. Finally getting his overload as he takes his supplements while he picks out nursery furniture, riding the applicator like a dedicated single mommy should.

…and maybe the vids have some kind of underlying hypnotic qualities to help him along, meant to get him out of the way—whether by the Decepticons or the Autobots. But then again, maybe not.

you are so insane for this (affectionate). the wification of Sentinel continues… i love the word “conditioning” it brings up very exciting fantasies. 

hgrhhh Sentinel watching pregnancy care videos with the toy slowly pumping nutritious fluid into his gestation tank, valve wet and throbbing the entire time, but he doesn’t allow himself to ride the applicator because he’s far too proud to admit, even to himself, that being pregnant turns him on. But it just keeps getting harder and harder to not move the more the videos assure him he’s going to be a great mommy - the words just make him feel so weird and so good, it’s almost… suspicious. But he doesn’t have the time to think about that. Of course he’ll be a good mommy. Who'd be a better fit than him? Slowly, over time, he starts to grind against the applicator, ceiling node crackling with charge, his spike pressurized just enough to hang out of its sheath, but staying limp as his frame directs all attention to his valve. He starts cleaning around the house more, panels leaking a little as he begins to get off to the fantasy of being a good housewife. 

Sentinel using the applicator while thinking about all the people who’ve asked to touch his baby-bump since he’s started to show, imagining how jealous they must be of his pregnancy, how pathetic they are to invade his personal space just to get a piece of this. They must be able to tell he’s going to be a good mommy and are all envious. hgrhhh Sentinel casually browsing furniture for the nursery and riding the applicator like a pro, sinking his valve on it while holding the data-pad up to his face, valve squirting out fluids as he gets closer and closer to his overload. At this point he’s too horny to pretend his node doesn’t throb when he looks down and sees his pregnancy belly. He has to keep riding the applicator, he has to, he needs to get all those nutrients into his tank so that his baby is big and healthy. Maybe he overloads but the applicator is not done pumping, so he has to keep sitting on it while his array quivers, until all the fluids are drained and stored inside of his tank, fingers shaking as he keeps on picking out the nursery furniture. 

[ofcartographers]

○ behind a name — johnny “soap” mactavish/simon “ghost” riley — crack 「 “Oi, it’s ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish!” A nameless Sergeant claps Soap’s shoulder from behind and narrowly avoids taking an elbow to the face when the Scot attempts to buck him off. “Awa’ an bile yer heid!” Soap splutter, but the man appears unaffected by the smaller man’s threats. The nameless Sergeant’s next move makes Ghost freeze: in a true act of brazeness, Nameless Sergeant drops his hands to the swell of Soap’s ass and squeezes. “Still got that fat arse I see,” He has the gall to sneer. --- ᴏʀ: Soap’s nickname is not from how quickly he cleans house, but rather on how he had the most fuckable ass in the SAS 」

The first time Ghost hears about the Scot’s nickname, he almost laughs at the ludicrousness of it. “What the hell kinda name is ‘Soap’?” He sneers instead.

He won’t deny the fleeting notion of it perhaps being related to the crude saying of “don’t drop the soap” but instantly dismisses it as such because surely no sane man would adopt a moniker with such an implication behind it.

Price is quick to allay his uncertainty. “The lad’s called ‘Soap’ because of how quickly he cleans house. Nearly beat Gaz’s record during selection,” the Captain hums. “I handpicked him myself, so I don’t wanna hear shite from you, Ghost, ” he says, fixing the man with a pointed look.

Ghost lets out a huff of laughter at this. “Fair ‘nough,” he nods, taking a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and grinding the smoldering butt beneath the heel of his boot. “So when do I meet this ‘Soap’?”

---

When Ghost finally meets the man, he’s nothing like he expected him to be. For one thing, he’s Scottish and a bloody loud one at that — especially for someone who’s meant to be quick and efficient at cleaning house.

He’s also much smaller than Ghost had anticipated — though most people seem small when compared to his own 6’4” stature. For what Soap lacks in reach he makes up for in strength with his strong frame, muscled arms, and thick legs that even once allowed him to pin the Brit himself in a sparring match. Just the once though and it had absolutely nothing to do with how the smaller man’s form felt against his own.

Ghost eventually forgets all about the nickname entirely — often preferring to address him as “Johnny” instead, due to the lovely flush that settles across the bridge of the Scot’s nose each time he says it — until they have a run in with a few of Soap’s former company, that is.

“Oi, it’s ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish!” A nameless Sergeant claps Soap’s shoulder from behind and narrowly avoids taking an elbow to the face when the Scot attempts to buck him off. “Awa’ an bile yer heid! ” Soap splutters, but the man appears unaffected by the smaller man’s threats.

The nameless Sergeant's next move makes Ghost freeze: in an act of true brazenness, Nameless Sergeant drops his hands to the swell of Soap’s ass and squeezes. “Still got that fat arse I see,” He has the gall to sneer.

Soap lets out a strangled yelp at this and Ghost sees red . “Sergeant!” He barks, causing the group of men to immediately stand at attention, their backs ramrod straight. 

“I don’t know what sorry company you come from, but I don’t tolerate any of that shite here — Do I make myself clear?” He snarls into the face of Nameless Sergeant who’s trembling and swallowing nervously. “Y-Yes, Lieutenant!” The man’s voice warbles.

“Now get out of my sight!” Ghost all but growls and the group is gone. Soap is running a frustrated hand through his mohawk, the tips of his ears red with embarrassment. “Alright, So—” The nickname nearly slips out, “Johnny?” He opts for instead, especially given what just happened.

Soap is rubbing the back of his neck — a nervous habit of his, Ghost’s noticed — when he peers up at Ghost, his face is still slightly flushed. “Aye,” he nods and chews his lip for a second before locking eyes with the taller man. “I can explain.”

Truth be told, Ghost wasn’t intending on addressing the incident at all, given how upset it had made Soap — but curiosity gets the better of him. Before he can answer, the sound of booted steps echoing at the end of the hallway makes them both freeze. “Not here,” Soap hisses, gesturing for the taller man to follow.

They arrive at what appears to be Soap’s personal quarters, based on the amount of Celtic F.C. memorabilia on the walls. Once inside, Ghost nestles himself against the closed door. “Well, go on then,” he goads.

Clearly the smaller man is filled with nervous energy, as he begins pacing the length of the room, his hands moving animatedly as he speaks. “That bawbag ye met back there was from me time in the SAS. Blootered eejits came up with the name ‘cos—” And the Scot says the last bit in a flurry that Ghost doesn’t quite catch.

“Slow down there, Johnny,” Ghost drawls for emphasis and he swears the man shudders at the call of his name. Interesting.

The Scot takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. “They call me ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish ‘cos I got ‘the most fuckable arse in the SAS’,” He says more slowly this time, emphasizing the last bit with air quotes.

With a booted foot, Ghost pushes himself off the door he was propped against and begins to stalk towards Soap. “Is that so?” He clicks his tongue as his eyes rove down the form of the smaller man — dropping his gaze to appreciate the swell of his backside.

Soap lets out what could only be qualified as an indigent squawk.  “Steamin’ bloody Jesus!” He squawks and has the audacity to cover his behind with his hands, like a nan clutching her pearls. “L.T are ye checkin’ me oot?” 

Ghost nearly lets out a chuckle at this. “Nothin’ to write home about,” He scoffs instead and that’s the wrong thing to say — or right, depending on how you look at it — because Soap flushes red and he’s pissed.

Suddenly, the smaller man is stepping into Ghost’s space. “‘Nothin’ ta write home aboot’?” The Scot spits, his accent thick — a common occurrence when he’s worked up — as he twists around and cocks his hip, jutting his ass out. “This?” He jerks a thumb backwards for good measure.

The hunger in Ghost’s gaze is searing hot as his dark eyes raze Soap’s backside like coals. Ghost’s hands itch at his sides for just a touch of the proffered Scot before him — like a feast before a starving man, ready to be devoured  — but opts for crossing his arms across his chest instead, his muscles tight with tension. “I suppose I could be convinced,” Ghost suggests with a shrug, the implication behind his words perverse.

Luckily, Soap is quick to catch on to the suggestive undertones of Ghost’s response. “Oh,” the smaller man breathes out, uncharacteristically quiet for once in his life — but only for a beat because within the next second the cocky Sergeant that Ghost has been captivated by is back with a wicked grin. “Aye, that can be arranged.”

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Febuwhump Day 9 -- Bees

Tw: allergic reaction, struggle to breath, medical whump (trach)

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Wild repeated the phrase over and over again to anyone who would listen. To Warrior, who initially yelled at him for his idiotic actions when he dragged Wind back into camp, panicking and stumbling, unable to take a full breath on his own. To Sky, who was sent over by Time to interview him to determine just what had happened, once Wind was stabilized by Warrior and Hyrule’s combined, frantic efforts. To Twilight now, who was trying to get him to uncross his arms so he could rub salve into his numerous welts.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Wild dragged the brim of his hood down over his face, hiding himself from Twilight’s gaze. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for him to get hurt!” he pleaded. “We were just restocking food! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! It was an accident! I didn’t know that he’d do that!”

Nearby, Wind wheezed and wheezed where he sat by the extinguished campfire, fat tears spilling over his puffy lips. His throat and tongue had swollen to the point he couldn’t draw a single breath, nevermind drink a potion—the tube, fashioned from a hollowed-out river reed, that Warrior had driven with brutal efficiency into the base of his neck whistled with each labored inhale and exhale. The rest of the heroes hovered around him, holding his hands and petting his hair as he curled over himself, seemingly unaware of his surroundings as he struggled to breathe through a literal straw.

“You couldn’t've known that he was allergic,” Twilight said softly. “He didn’t know himself. It ain't neither of your fault.”

Wind had been delighted to be invited to accompany Wild on a scouting trip to replenish their dwindling food supplies. They’d spent the morning and the better part of the afternoon scavenging for mushrooms and fruits and herbs in the forests around where the Chain had set up camp for the day, with Wild pointing out each and informing Wind of the healing properties or their use in different meals that he’d like to try. And then they stumbled upon the beehive.

The hive itself hung off of a sturdy branch next to a fast-flowing river, positioned behind the abandoned cabin out by Hateno Fort. Golden honey dripped from its exposed comb, shining deliciously in the light of the afternoon sun; bees buzzed around the clearing, drifting lazily from flower to flower and poking curiously at Wind and Wild’s faces and hands as they came to stand underneath it. Wind tracked the insects with marked interest, though he stayed still at Wild’s warning of their stingers.

“What’s all that yellow stuff hanging from their… house?”

“Honey?” Wild had answered from where he crouched in the tall grass, readying himself a torch and a length of clean fabric with which to catch the honeycomb itself without getting his fingers stung. “You’ve had honey before, haven’t you?”

“Nope.” Wind shook his head, sending the bee that had landed on the tip of his ear into a stuttering flight around him before it found another perch in his curly hair. “Never even seen a bee before this adventure.”

“Well, you’re going to try some today,” Wild said. He lit his torch and held it aloft. “Go back to camp, and I’ll meet you there. They may seem docile now, but they’ll swarm as soon as I pull their hive down, and I don’t want you getting attacked.”

“What? No, I wanna see!” Wind protested in a whine. “We’ve just been foraging all day, this sounds actually cool! What are you gonna do, knock 'em down and grab the honey, you called it?”

Wild found that Wind’s puppy eyes were impossible to resist when they were turned upon him. Besides, if Wind thought it was cool … “Fine, you can watch,” Wild grumbled, secretly pleased with the audience. “Just get back, as far back as you can. And when I yell for you to run, you run, you hear? They won’t follow far, but I don’t want you getting stung. Their stings don't really hurt, but they are annoying.”

Wind retreated to the edge of the clearing, bouncing with excitement. Once he was safely out of range of any immediate retaliatory stings, Wild swung at the beehive with his torch and knocked it to the ground. There it cracked open, spilling out golden honey and a dark, writhing blanket of agitated insects crawling over the surface of the exposed honeycomb. In one swift motion, Wild dove for the broken hive, wrapped it up in his swath of fabric and secured it with a twist before its inhabitants could take flight, and hightailed it out of there as the sound of angry buzzing filled his ears, shrieking at Wind to “RUN!”

They both shot off, with Wild sprinting towards the abandoned cabin and Wind fleeing back in the direction of camp. But Wild had only made it a few paces before he was drawn up short by Wind’s surprised yelp, followed by the soft thud of him hitting the ground. “Wild! Help!”

Wild spun around, his breath catching when he realized that Wind had tripped over some unseen root on the ground and fallen. Wind scrambled to get up, swatting at the first of the bees that buzzed around his face, but tripped over his own feet in his haste and landed back on the forest floor. 

Wild abandoned his bounty and turned on his heel, thrusting his torch forwards as he doubled back, towards the building swarm of angry bees. 

“I’m coming, Wind! Get up! Run!”  

Bees stung Wild’s exposed face and arms as he dove through the swarm to get to Wind, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Once there, Wild yanked him up, throwing his cloak over him as he dragged him into a sprint away from the growing swarm. They were nearly back to camp before the sound of angry buzzing faded behind them, and once it was gone, they both doubled over themselves, panting and laughing delightedly to themselves over their little escapade.

“I told you to run!” Wild gasped out. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry, I… I fell!” Wind got out between wheezing laughs.  “It’s not like… not like I meant to!” 

“Did any of them get you?” Wild had asked, scrunching his face up in displeasure as he surveyed the little puckered marks rising all up and down his arms. More made themselves known in little bright sparks of pain all over his body—above his left eyebrow, at the nape of his neck, down the back of his shirt. “I had to drop the hive, we’ll need to go back for it.”

“Yeah… yeah just… just one, I think.” Wind poked at a mark on his wrist, then hissed through his teeth, shaking out his hand. “You said that they don’t really hurt! This… this hurts!”  

“Oh please, it’s just a little bee sting. I got stung all over coming back for your sorry self.” Wild straightened with a roll of his eyes. He pulled his cloak away from Wind, slinging it back over his own shoulders. “Let me see.”

And Wild blanched to see the white, swollen lump on Wind’s wrist, already larger in circumference than two or three rupees lined up end to end. Its edge grew rapidly before Wild’s eyes.

“What?” Wind asked, peering up into Wild’s eyes with worry. He pulled his wrist away, clutching it to his chest. “Is that… that not normal?”

Wild schooled his shocked features back into something more neutral. “Probably. You’re fine.” He took Wind’s hand in his own, pulling him after him, towards camp. “Let’s get back to camp.”

Wind stumbled after him. “But I thought… I thought that we were… were going back for… for the honey?” Despite having stopped running minutes ago, his breath only grew more labored. He tried to jerk his arm away, but Wild only redoubled his grip. Wild couldn’t help but notice that he’d turned clammy. “Wild… Wild stop for a second, I… I’m not feeling so good all of the sudden…” He raised a hand to his throat. “I can’t—I can’t—”

“C’mon,” Wild said firmly. “We’re getting you to the others. I’ll get it later.”

Wild was nearly carrying him by the time they made it back to the other heroes. They spilled into camp, and Wind was whisked away from Wild at the first glance. Even now Wild stared after him, guilt eating him alive. He should have told Wind to leave, because there had always been a risk that he got stung. He should have known, when Wind said he’d never even seen a bee before, that he could have some allergy just lurking underneath the skin, waiting to be discovered with a singular sting. He should have anticipated that he would have been more unsteady on the uneven ground, coming from a background that consisted both of a flat island and the rocking sea. He shouldn’t have hesitated when he saw the swelling on his hand, wasting precious seconds that could have saved his skin, if they’d gotten a potion down his closing throat fast enough. He should have, should have, should have, should have….

“Wild, listen to me.” Twilight’s hand jostled his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. He’ll be alright, Hyrule said that his swelling is already going down.”

Wild shook his head, dragging his hood down lower over his head. What if he didn’t get better? What if the swelling didn’t go down, and the straw he was breathing through failed, and he suffocated because of Wild? What if—

“Wild!” Warrior snapped from across the clearing. His glare was deadly to meet—he, out of all of the heroes, had been the most upset over Wind’s current state. Still ringing in Wild’s ears was his shout from hours ago of what kind of idiots go around and intentionally knock down beehives! “Wind wants to say something to you, apparently.”

Wild’s eyes slid over to Wind guiltily. He truly looked awful—his face flushed, lips and even his eyelids bulging, that cursed straw in his neck weeping blood at the edges. Nevertheless, there was a spark of mischief in his eyes as he swatted Warrior away and pushed himself up face Wild. ‘Do I still get to try the honey?’ Wind signed, his movements shaky. ‘Did you go back and get it?’

Wild laughed a little, incredulous. ‘Not yet. I will. If you still want it.’

‘I do.’ Wind gave a thumbs up and a grin, a hurt looking thing with his swollen lips, and closed his eyes as he leaned back against Warrior’s shoulder. ‘Worth it, then.’ 

Warrior frowned in disapproval, as did every other hero in sight of his hands. Wild collapsed into a fit of giggles, then, swiping at his teary eyes. Yeah. He’d be all right.

Read this on ao3! HCH Febuwhump Day 9 -- Bees

Or check out the whole series here! HotCheetoHatred's Febuwhump 2024

[makingspiritualityreal]

How to be victorious with the 8th house Saturn? How to work with it and not against?

Saturn Ground Rules

You can't work against Saturn. Saturn is the limitation and the ultimate boundary setter, it's merciless. Every time you try, you will hit your head against a brick wall. It's going to be the way it has to be and that's the end of the story.

These are tips on how to work with any Saturn.

1. Be patient. You may not like certain things about your life in that area, but make the most out of it and don't fight it. Wait, it will eventually come to you. In the area of Saturn, resolution is promised.

2. Surrender. You have no idea when exactly and how will the resolution come to you. Saturn will teach you that you know nothing. You may not even be able to conceive what is right for you in the area of your Saturn, because Saturn has the blessings of Jupiter. It has the perspective of the whole cosmos, and from that it will choose exactly what works for you at the right time.

3. Realise Saturn's position. It always thinks of the bigger picture. If you're an individual, to Saturn you matter as an individual within this Universe. You have to put yourself in this perspective. You will get from Saturn what works personally for you in the context of a bigger picture.

4. Release moodiness and instant gratification. Accept temporary feelings of lack and realise they're not forever. Realise how little you actually need in the area of your Saturn, realise having more means more responsibility, focus on quality rather than quantity.

5. Recycle and repurpose something if you can. Saturn hates waste. If you can, organize, improve upon, manage or clean something up and get something good out of it. You may be surprised by how many treasures you can find.

6. Go to less known, more exclusive places to get what you want. You ever heard about the social withdrawal and elitism of those who are truly rich? Saturn is the planet of shadows, it hides what is precious (Venus) to protect it. It rules masses and common people, but also those who rule common people, and they like to stay away from most people. People who are truly rich and influential only satisfy themselves with the highest quality. Often, they get things custom made, from suppliers not known to common people, sourced locally.

7. Get some perspective and boundaries. Be educated in the matters of your Saturn. Be objective. Plan and execute what you can control, let go of what you can't. Don't settle for less, be merciless in discernment of what you let into your life. Be efficient. Try to be right not out of your ego, but out of observation, in a way that solves the issue.

Your Saturn is in the 8th which is a good position, because the 8th house is produced for by Saturn. You will have good results from it, unless it's afflicted by aspect or sign.

[blackcataugury]

Candle Magic, Part 2 - Candle Care & Upkeep 🕯

Greetings, friends! ✨

I wanted to write a little follow up to my Candle Magic post because I know how important candles are to witches and candle-fanatics, everywhere. I wanted to offer some helpful tips and tricks on candle maintenance and upkeep that can help prolong the lives of your candles, thus ensuring that you make the most out of the money that was spent on them.  

At first, I know it might sound silly to imply that there’s more to candle maintenance besides “Light it and make sure to blow it out when you’re done with it to avoid burning your house down.” But in actuality, there are so many little things that we can do in order to help our candles burn cleaner and extend the lives of our candles.

The First Burn?

A candle’s first burn on a new wick can decide the overall life of your candle, and if you aren’t careful, you can actually ruin a candle right off the bat if you aren’t paying attention to it. For a candle’s first burn, you want to make sure that it burns long enough to evenly melt the wax along the entire surface of the candle. This prevents your next few burns from melting and drying the wax unevenly, causing inward tunneling of the wax—thus decreasing your candle’s overall lifespan. Too much tunneling will make it so that the wicks refuse to stay lit, no matter how much you try to burn away the wax that surrounds it. I’ve had a few candles that were ruined almost immediately by this, and it’s so disappointing. It’s often recommended to avoid lighting your new candles until you can dedicate a good chunk of time to allow the whole surface to melt for this exact reason; usually an hour will do the trick to ensure that the wax melts evenly across the entire candle surface.

Other Tips?

As another more obvious pro-tip, you want to make sure that you keep the wax clean from wick trimmings, hair, dust, match sticks that you might use to light the candle, or other unwanted debris that didn’t come embedded in the wax. Many of these fragments are dangerous and can catch fire if the flame hits any of it.

Extinguishing your candle also takes a bit of finesse. It is recommended that a lid or proper candle flame snuffer be used to put the flame out, rather than blowing it out. In doing so, you prevent an unwanted extra smoking or hot wax from splattering up into your face or all over the lip of the jar. It also prevents wax from being moved around to potentially dry and settle unevenly, which can eventually lead to tunneling through more burn/dry cycles. Keep your candles in a safe space at room temperature that avoids direct sunlight when not in use to avoid the candle naturally melting and cooling. Avoid windy or drafty spaces when burning candles, as these two things can decrease your candle’s burn time, cause the wax to melt unevenly (leads to tunneling), and diminish the throw of the candle’s scent if it is a scented one.

Wick trimming is another piece of maintenance you can do to help prolong your candle’s life. You should always trim the wick with either a proper wick trimmer or a pair of sturdy scissors between candle lightings. Keeping the wick approximately 6 millimeters from the wax can help prevent unwanted soot buildup around the lip of the jar, as well as unpleasant “mushrooming” of the wick. “Mushrooming” is when the wick gets too charred and bends over to touch itself or the wax that it is embedded in. Once this happens, it’s incredibly difficult to salvage, as the wick often refuses to light or stay lit for extended periods of time again.

Examine the Flame

You can tell a lot about your candle’s health and overall lifespan just by examining the flame that gets produced upon lighting. A candle that burns cleanly and efficiently has a flame that doesn’t flicker too much and sits more upright. If your flame flickers too much or just won’t stay upright despite there being no drafts or wind present, you should snuff out the flame and allow for some time to cool before trimming the wick. Once trimmed, you can relight and reexamine the flame to see if it looks better.

The End of a Candle’s Life?

One of the most important tips that I learned the hard way after startling myself several times - don’t burn the candle all the way down. Tempting as it may be to use every last drop of wax that you physically can, you want to leave about 10 millimeters of wax before finally calling it quits on a candle, especially if your candle comes in a glass jar. Reason being that you don’t want the flame getting too close to the candle jar’s base and overheating it. Glass will shatter, and other materials may get dangerously hot and melt or split. I’ve had jars straight-up explode unexpectedly from this because I wasn’t paying attention and wanted to use up all the wax. Leftover wax still got everywhere even after the jar exploded, and I had to wait for it all to dry so it could be scraped up and cleaned appropriately. Don’t be like the old negligent me—don’t burn your candles all the way down. 🤡

I will likely write a part 3 post for this series on Candle Magic dedicated to making your candles, for those that feel so inclined to try crafting their own candles, like some of my fall candles shown above. It’s rewarding and relaxing, and I’ll have tips to help make things more affordable, as well as for recycling and refurbishing candle jars for your manufacturing process. Until next time, friends. <3