#I need them to be happy and safe and at peace

[junkpuppet225]

note: Your wish is my command. Part Seven. There’s prob gonna be a part 8. Pinch of smut. A dash of angst. I hope you like it! DarylxFem!Reader. This goes along with the episode East, Season 6 Episode… 16? So spoilers and all that jazz. Enjoy!

You hold your fist up to Denise in a “pound it” motion, receiving a nervous smile as your knuckles touch and she readies herself to leave with Daryl and Rosita. Why she wants to do this you’ll never understand. She’s the only doctor in Alexandria and she has zero experience being outside this gated community. This is a mistake.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Tara will never forgive any of you for letting her go but birds gotta fly and you’re not her keeper. Plus she’s going out there with two complete apocalyptic badasses even if you still narrow your eyes at the thought of Rosita’s horde of luxury lotions she thinks you don’t know about.

The thought takes you back to that night and every other night Daryl’s stood outside your bedroom door desperate for a moment of peace only you can provide. Nights when his fingers sank into your hair the second you open the door - nights that have left an ache embedded deep inside your chest.

Once his shoulder healed things got busy in Alexandria. Pete killed Reg, Rick killed Pete, the wolves, the quarry full of walkers - the food shortage. It’s left your people - Rick’s people - exhausted, physically and mentally and none more so than his right hand. Some nights Daryl comes to you just to wrap himself in your embrace and sleep.

That sharp ache surges through you at the thought of his tired eyes and how he does whatever needs to be done for the community without question or regard for himself. He puts his own wellbeing and happiness off for the good of the group and it breaks your heart a little more every time you have to witness it.

“I want to help.” Denise assures you, answering a question you’ve already forgot.

“Ya got any requests?”

Daryl’s rough voice is at your back suddenly, his hand idly brushing against your hip to bring your attention to him. “Just that you come back in one piece.” The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them, raising the archers eyebrow as you gape at him with wide eyes. You’ve kept these thoughts buried for so long they sound foreign on your tongue. “All of you, I mean. Everyone. Just, come home safe.”

“Always do.” He assures searching your eyes for a long moment with his hand still searing against your skin - calloused fingers idly brushing just under the hem of your shirt. When Denise starts speaking, pleading her case as to why she should go he brings it back to his side giving her most of his attention but glancing back to you now and then while you memorize every detail of his face.

“Promise me.” You whisper, cutting off the doctor’s words as his eyes fall to your parted lips. It takes every ounce of your self control to keep the distance between the two of you - you want to fall to your knees and beg him to sit this one out but you know it’s not your place. Your relationship isn’t a secret, most people give you knowing grins when they see you together but they’ve got it all wrong. This isn’t that and Daryl is just the hot archer you let into your life and your body without question. As soon as the rising sun kisses the horizon he’s off to do whatever’s asked of him leaving you with that sharp, crippling ache you never breathe a word of to anyone. You’re not trying to fall in love in this ruined world and Daryl Dixon’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve it anyway.

Denise and Rosita watch your interaction with curious eyes, mirroring Daryl’s expression as the gears in his head turn. You deserve so much more than he could ever offer you so he forces himself to ignore the ache you leave inside of him, even if it’s slowly killing him.

“I promise.” He finally says, the few words a low whisper between the two of you and they give you no relief or reassurance. The tight ache in the center of your chest only intensifying with each passing moment as you watch the beat up truck stall about three times before the gears grind their way through the large gate, making a mental note to teach Daryl how to drive stick when they get back.

X

When Dale died he felt guilt. With Merle it was anger, Beth - sorrow but now as he forces his shovel into the dry dirt over and over again he just feels empty. Hollow like his heart isn’t even beating. This is on him. He knew better than to bring her. Denise had no fucking reason to be outside of these walls and now she’s gone.

You’re standing across the shallow grave from him with your arms wrapped around yourself. For you the tears of grief don’t come anymore - you’ve lost to much since all this started but that ache in your chest makes it hard to breathe. You should have never let them take her. She didn’t belong out there. Now Tara’s girlfriend is dead and Alexandria doesn’t have a doctor. You can’t even begin to think about what that means for Maggie and her baby.

“The antibiotics you brought back could save Eugene from an infection. Denise did that.”

It’s Carol who speaks but her voice sounds far away - eyes fixated on Daryl as he digs, only stopping to pull another mini bottle of Jack Daniel’s from his pocket to swallow it down in one quick gulp. You watch him toss it to the ground on top of six other empty bottles before returning to the task with a grunt.

“I’m gonna go check on Judith.” You say to no one, eyes lingering on Daryl a moment longer before turning on your heels.

X

“How many more of those do you have?”

Carol’s voice comes out strained as she watches Daryl toss another empty bottle to the pile before grabbing the shovel again. He’s reverted back to only speaking like a cave man with grunts and the occasional growl.

“Have you at least ate something?”

“Yeah.”

He’s lying and he knows she knows he’s lying but he doesn’t really give a fuck, idly wondering why she needs to be here with him while he does this. You know when to give him some fucking space, Carol should take a hint.

“Daryl, this isn’t your fault.”

He dig’s harder.

“Daryl.”

He closes his eyes tightly, taking in a shallow breath as the booze in his system starts making the world spin faster. Fuck. When they open again he resumes digging, ignoring Carol’s glare. “What?” The word comes out low and dangerous, like he may snap any second. This is his fault. He should have killed that motherfucker the first time he crossed him. Denise paid the price for that. Who else is going to pay for his mistakes?

What if it was you out there with them and that pricks bolt sunk into your head? Picturing you lying in this grave sends his shovel to the ground roughly as he searches his empty pockets for another bottle of liquor.

“Motherfucker.”

“Daryl, Denise—-.”

“Don’t, alright? Just fuckin’…, don’t.”

He doesn’t need a pep talk about how this isn’t anyone’s fault but the asshole from the burnt forest. He needs you and the peace you fucking bring him. Then he’s going to hunt that fucker down and make him wish whoever fucked up his face finished the job. Daryl stalks off from Carol to go find you with another low grunt. “Daryl, don’t take this out on her.” Carol calls after him but he’s already halfway there.

X

You close the door behind you as you leave Judith’s bedroom spotting Daryl climbing the stairs a second before he sees you. He looks angry. The muscles in his shoulders and arms wound as tight as coils with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. When he spots you that anger doesn’t go away it just makes room for the desire that fills his ocean eyes.

You brace yourself for the impact of his chest crashing into yours causing your back to hit Judith’s door, quietly pleading with him to calm down before he wakes her. “Alright.” Is all he says then his mouths on yours using his weight to hold you in place. It brings on a sudden rush of adrenaline mixed with fear and sorrow. It’s only a matter of time before he goes after that asshole they killed Denise. He fills your mouth with his desperate tongue, gripping your hips so hard he leaves bruises on your skin. You know he’s hurting and you know there’s nothing you can say to take that pain away right now so you do the only thing you can to keep him here with you.

You kiss him back. Brushing your tongue across his as he groans into your mouth and grasps your ass - lifting you up in his arms as if you’re weightless before bringing your legs around his hips. He smells like whiskey and he doesn’t break your kiss until he’s all but tossed you on his bed, climbing over your heaving chest to find your mouth again. This time isn’t like the first time. It’s not innocent and fun. It reminds you of the night you stood in the middle of Alexandria surrounded by a massive herd of walkers covered in rotting entrails. You watched silently as Daryl climbed to the top of that truck and fired a fucking bazooka into the man made lake just past this house. That night after you washed away one of the worst days of your life he was waiting for you outside of your bedroom. That night he kissed you just like this.

Desperately.

Your fingers rake into his hair as his mouth moves to kiss your jaw, then your throat - resting his forehead against your sternum as he takes in a deep breath gripping your waist roughly. “Jus’…, fuck… jus’ gimme a second.” The room is fucking spinning from too much Jack Daniel’s on an empty stomach - he can almost hear his brother calling him a pussy from beyond the grave. He lifts his face to yours slowly, hooded eyes searching before falling back to your soft lips. “…could’a been you out there.”

The heartache in his voice brings your back off the bed as you help him sit up placing your hands on his hot face as he watches you with tears threatening his eyes. “Was bad enough it was Denise…, but you.. if you…” The thought of you lying lifeless before him with a bolt in your brain causes him to choke on a quiet sob as you bring him to your chest.

Daryl buries his face in the bend of your neck wrapping strong arms around your body as your fingers sink into the back of his hair. “Daryl, I’m right here.” That thought gives him no comfort because he knows all to well how quickly you can be taken away. He says your name, barely a whisper against your throat as you tighten your fingers into his hair forcing him to lift his eyes to yours again. The words he’s so desperate to say are trapped in his throat as he runs a hand over your cheek, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip before he’s kissing you again.

You wish you could say you forced him to stop, made him go downstairs and eat something or talk about all these feelings inside of his head but you never claimed to be strong - especially when it comes to Daryl so you return his kiss just as fiercely, pulling your shirt over you head before demanding his, buttons flying from your shorts as he jerks then down your thighs - pushing you back onto the bed so he can sink into you deeply.

Once he’s inside of you all of the fucked up shit going on disappears and there’s just you and him and the soft groans between you. You card your fingers through his unruly hair as your eyes meet, his thrusts slow and deep - never wanting this to end, never wanting to go back to the outside world. Just as your fingers tighten in the back of his hair to bring his lips to yours he bends his face into your shoulder as a sudden rush of emotion surges through him.

“I love you.”

Everything stops - his slow moving hips, the deep thrusts - even his lungs stop taking in air as he keeps his head bowed beside yours. What the fuck did he just say? He whispers your name against your throat as your fingers slip from his hair, trailing feather light strokes down his back as he finally lifts his eyes to yours - surprised to see the hint of a smile on your lips. “Daryl…, I love you too.” You assure him softly as his mouth finds yours, kissing you until you’re a squirming mess beneath him as he begins to move again - harder this time, bringing your back off the bed as you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your deep moans. “F-fuck, Y/N—-, s-say it again.”

“I love you.” His grunts turn into soft whimpers as you grip him so fucking hard he’s seeing stars, spilling into you a moment later as you wrap your arms around him tightly. You know Daryl better than most and you know this is some kind of fucked up goodbye before he leaves to kill Dwight. You can’t lose him. He can’t leave you again. “D-Daryl, please don’t go after that asshole that killed Denise.” You whisper against his jaw, hot tears pouring from the corners of your eyes as you cling to him.

His back goes stiff at your words, brushing your tears away with a slight nod. “M’not goin’ anywhere.” He’s always lied so easily. Merle taught him how to lie before he taught him how to speak so it comes easy to him when he needs it but he wasn’t lying when he said he loved you. He felt that shit deep in his fucking soul. It just doesn’t change what happened on those train tracks yesterday. That motherfucker deserves to die for what he’s done. “Promise me.”

Daryl whispers your name, silently begging you not to ask this of him. “Daryl. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He whispers he loves you again later that night while he fucks up into you against the shower wall then again as you’re falling asleep wrapped up in his strong arms. He even says it in his head the next morning, chewing his bottom lip as he fights an inner battle before he slips out of the room without a sound. You’re his last thought as he sinks down to his motorcycle and guns it towards Alexandria’s gates to make this right.

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Thorkell x f!reader

word count: 4.6k

contents: NSFW. cw: significant age gap, mentions of violence and alcohol, time-period accurate misogyny/mentions of marriage, time-period inaccurate slang used. Size kink, hand job to completion (m!receiving), possessive language used by Thorkell toward reader including calling her "my wife", romantic smut with a lot of talking.

notes: this was a blast to write and i hope i did our big sturdy tree of a man the justice he deserves. this has been finished for a while but i actually added like 2.5k+ words to it so...yeah! <3

The winter of your village’s invasion has passed and given way to a glorious spring. 

Not long after the first snowfall, the first pillaging occurred. At first they only took sheep and cows, sacking homes for necessary supplies including the meager weaponry farmers must have to keep their families and animals safe. They returned a second time after the snow had accumulated, invading during a storm to cover their tracks. Fluffy white filled in footsteps that could alert the evening watchmen and they came after nightfall to collect once again, dragging off more animals and some able bodied men to work for them. 

The third time is when your father - the village leader - fell to his knees and pleaded with the band, including their leader. He offered them safety and warmth in the dead of winter in exchange for the safety of his villagers. They agreed to cease the violence and sacking as long as their demands and needs were meant. 

Despite their presence things seem strangely peaceful. You believe most people have chosen to ignore the ever present threat as a means to stay positive.

Or they’ve opted to focus on talking about you and the task you’ve been personally assigned thanks to your father - attending the scariest man most of your fellow villagers have ever seen. The madman who is missing an eye and swings an axe nearly as high as the sun. The leader of the group that has decided they needed to be here to choke a trade route that leads to an enemy encampment.

“Thorkell?”

Water splashes around him when he turns to look at you. The candlelight is blazing, recently lit, shining over his shoulders and the definition of them. “Yes?” 

Opting to gaze at the flame rather than what is so beautifully highlighted by it, you clear your throat to gather your courage.

“May I ask you a few questions?”

He sighs, which captures your attention. You look up to witness him bringing his hand up to cup his chin in a comically dramatic gesture for a man nearly too big for the washtub that was custom built to fit his excessively large frame. 

“I tend to believe once a woman has seen the parts of you that you’re to hide with clothes that she can ask you anything.” You roll your eyes. He chuckles, pulling his eyepatch down and back over its empty socket for your comfort. “Speak freely. I won’t punish you unless that’s what you’d like to ask for.”

It pains you to laugh at him though it’s futile to stop yourself. He’s quite charming for a complete oaf, full of affection and brightness that many of his counterparts who scowl at you while you make your way into the quarters where your mother and father used to sleep that have now been commandeered by the visiting viking lack. 

The only reason you’ve been coming for all of these months is to attempt to keep him happy to stave off attacks. You were given permission to do whatever is necessary by your father. Nothing uncouth has happened so far but the longer time has passed the more curious you find yourself becoming about the leader of the group specifically. 

You believe you may have developed a bit of a fondness for him, as dangerous of a prospect as it is. 

That very prospect has led you to believe that questioning him is the right way to change your feelings. Getting to know him will surely only grow the hatred time has doused. You simply need to remind yourself of how terrible he is and always has been.

Clearing your throat, you look up at him through your lashes to find him already gazing over at you, lazing about in his tub. 

“Why do you fight?”

He sits up instantly, grinning. “Because there is little else to live for besides the thrill of battle.” 

You cannot hide your dissatisfaction with the answer despite his glee, a sigh escaping. 

“Yes, yes you’ve told me this more times than I can count. The thrill of battle, the spilling of blood.” 

Fighting is wrong, a lesson you’ve been taught since you were old enough to remember. It’s wrong to harm others and certainly without reason. There’s no telling how many people Thorkell the Tall has harmed against this belief. 

Part of you is sure he keeps a tally somewhere in his shockingly vacant head. He cannot hide how your frustration delights him so he spurs you on.

“Why do you believe we fight, young lady?”

Shaking your head, you toss a well loved linen cloth into the water. He scoops it up and wrings it out, placing it over his shoulder so it doesn’t float away. 

“Thirst for blood trickles downward, my lord. They see how much you love it and it only makes them lust for a taste of it themselves.”

He tilts his head at you, touching his fist to his chest as though he’s touched by your words.

“You think me a lord?”

You snort humorlessly, tipping a little more water out of the bucket in your hands while daring to let your cheek rest against the lip of the tub, placing the bucket down next to your bent knees. 

“My father has instructed me to regard you as one despite your presentation and I cannot defy.”

The Goliath grins at you, blonde facial hair damp with steam from the water you continue to pour into the wooden basin. “Ah, I always knew he was a smart man.” 

Sighing and settling back into the water now that the temperature has risen, he opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s all I’ve ever known from the time I was a boy.” He closes his intact eye like he’s lost in a reverie. “The glory of victory and the bitter encouragement of defeat. I would be half a man without them even if you see it all as beneath you.”

The viking now makes a show of placing his hands on the back of his head, arms bent yet still so wide you almost collide with his elbow when it passes over your head just before you can duck. 

“You mustn’t kill me or else you’ll have no chambermaid.” 

Your tone remains flat though an amused smile rests across pretty lips dappled by fading candlelight. 

The man laughs, it seems to be all he does whenever he’s in your company, cupping his hand to dip it beneath the water and scoop some over his head. Your eyes follow his every move, maintaining sight of his forearm and wrist, his thick fingers and the strands of blonde hair that flatten over his forehead while they’re wet. He pushes them back and they immediately fall forward again, an action that wins a giggle from you.

With a never fading smile, he repeats the motion. Pushing his wet strands back, sliding his hand across their surface, they rebel and return to their home across his forehead. He sighs in mock exasperation, hands no longer cradling his head but instead spread out far beyond the sides of the tub.

“Now you see why I must wear the headband.”

Why is there a swell of warmth in your chest over the boyish smile of this man over twice your age? It curls around your heart like the steam in the room and the smoke from that still fading candle.

This feeling is very inappropriate. 

He’s a warlord who will likely conquer your village and overtake your father. He came here to inflict harm and to claim that which does not belong to him. Swallowing thickly, you sigh and further settle against the side of the tub. There is no response you can come up with to match his wit while hiding your true feelings so you rest a moment, dipping your fingers into the basin and wiggling them gently to warm them up although the room feels far from cold. 

Silence never sits well with Thorkell, nothing but the splashing of water filling his ears. He wishes it were the music and liveliness of an inn, something your small village is missing, but he’ll take listening to you speak in lieu of such things. 

“Do you know what your father told me about you the first day I met him?”

It was gracious he allowed you to enjoy the quiet for even a few minutes. You pretend to think about his question for a moment and then shake your head.

“Haven’t a clue.” A shrug, your shoulder lifting to your cheek. “Did he not offer marriage? My assumption has always been this is why he’s made me come and perform such uncouth tasks for you.”

Clearly you’ve piqued the man’s interest. He raises a blond brow. “No. Although if you believe he’d be willing t–” you shoot him a glance that makes him stop, his tongue stilling in his oversized mouth for just a moment before a sly smirk crosses his face.

“You know how much I like it when you get that fierce look in your eyes.”

You nod coolly despite the beating of your heart. He’s complimenting you? Admiring the tenacity you keep so well hidden beneath your smiles and obedience?

Thorkell liked you from the first time he encountered you, staring curiously at him from across the largest banquet table your people could find. You asked him no questions nor paid him any actual mind when he attempted to smile and raise a mug of ale in your direction, choosing to turn your attention to the children who misunderstood the excitement and celebrated the arrival of the people who may eventually raze the only home they’ve ever known once they no longer need it. 

That was many moons ago, more than the warrior has bothered to continue to count. You came to his chambers that very first night to bathe him, as you were clearly instructed to do, silently and seething with rage. You could likely have concealed it from someone who had seen less of it but he knew instinctively, this man. 

“Kill me if you must but I’d far prefer a kiss from one as fair as you,” he teased.

You dumped water over him with the same expression you wear now but you kept your eyes pinned to the wall instead of glancing at the nude man. Now this was greatly amusing to Thorkell. It also affirmed to him that he did not merely like you but found himself charmed by the lack of warm welcome and determined to bring back what he saw earlier that day sitting across from you.

In the present day, you aren’t bothered by the sight of his unfathomably large, muscled, scarred form nude. Or so you think until he does as he’s doing right this moment, stretching and spreading his long legs out and over the edge until water drips to the floor beneath them. His flaccid cock floats upon the water. You catch sight of it and look away quickly, backing away from the tub to grab the bucket and return to the stove for more hot water. 

Thorkell stops you, reaching to place a hand over yours. His fingers curl around your hand and the handle of the bucket both. “He told me that you wished to someday leave this village.”

You hum, aware he regales all visitors with that tale in hopes one of them will take you off of his hands and alleviate the strain upon his stores and finances. Your father loves you, of course, yet things are only growing more and more strained as the Danes advance. The future has never felt more uncertain, yours or that of your entire family. 

Even before the arrival of your unexpected visitors you longed to go. There’s another side of the landscape your eyes can make out yet you’ve never touched, further away than you can even consider walking by yourself. There are oceans and snow covered hills; grasslands and fertile soil and more than the simple rocky lowlands of your dreary homeland according to the stories the Northmen have told you. More than green, more than gray, more than any of us.

There’s a limitless world out there for those bold enough to take it.

“He told you the truth, Thorkell the Tall.”

The man chuckles, your sarcastic formality leaving him thrilled. His thumb rubs over the back of your hand and each of your knuckles.

You should rip yourself away from the touch of his hand, filthy bloodied paw that it is, yet you stay in place. The rapidly cooling water sloshes when he shifts, the room alongside it when Thorkell makes his way to the edge of the tub to lean over it and loom over you. The candlelight has grown down to a dim flicker, no longer bright enough to highlight his chest or the proof of prior battles that cross it. 

Not that you need the reminder, you can conjure them on your own. Even in the dim light you see him looking at you, a handsome face beginning to be etched by the delicate lines of age with scars that match those on the rest of him nearly touching yours.

“I could take you out there to see it all,” he offers in his best attempt at a whisper. His voice still fills every corner of the room. You shake your head, wiggling your hand beneath his to try and loosen the grip. 

“I cannot leave unless it’s with my husband.”

“Then I’ll talk to your father and arrange our marriage.”

That humourless laugh surfaces once again, your hand shaking beneath his. 

“Will you take me by force if I say no, just as your men have done to many others?”

Thorkell chuckles, astute enough to tell that even if you mean to wound him, it’s merely a scratch. But if you want to play rough, he’ll play right alongside you. 

He’s always carried an inkling you’d prefer it that way to begin with.

“It has never been I who has forced you to do things against your will,” he squeezes your hand and releases it with a mighty groan, shifting in the tub again so that his arms and head dangle over the edge.

It stings to recall that first night all those moons ago when you were forced to face this humiliation. To fill a basin for a man you saw as a predator felt like only staving off your own damnation, the ruination of farmlands and homes. A temporary means to an end.

That once venomously pervasive belief has softened over time and with the lack of aggression from the invaders toward your village.

You realize that while Thorkell is a bloodthirsty, senseless, loud brute he is intelligent. He can tell a story unlike any man you’ve ever met and his tales have always been fantastical. There’s a gentleness beneath his brash exterior, proven in the way he holds your hand not only right now but every other time he has. He hungers for more but don’t you do just the same, wishing to feel the grass of another pasture beneath your feet?

Sighing, you lean back against the side of the tub. The water must be cold now, the candle burned out completely leaving only moonlight to shine through the room though he makes no effort to take his leave. His cock floats ominously, his body relaxed and heavy beside you. 

Would this man truly marry you to give you the life you seek?

“And how would you treat your wife, Thorkell the Tall?” 

The water splashes while he lifts himself up to sitting, one arm remaining out of the tub so he can cup your shoulder in his large hand.

“Same as I treat all women,” he boasts as blunt as ever, gently shaking you which makes you laugh, attempting and failing to shrug him off.

You know he hasn’t taken a lover in your village since arriving, something many of the women have taken offense to despite their husbands if their incessant complaining in any indication.

“I’ve not heard any rumors of your treatment. Care to tell me more?”

Curiosity has always been your strength and weakness both. Fortunately, he’s eager to indulge you regardless. 

“You’ve not heard a single tale about how the women weep when I leave their villages?” He chuckles, lowering his head so that it is over yours once again. “ ‘O Lord, please protect the heathen who showed me Your face while using his tongue’ they cry in the streets.”

You may be unwed but you are no fool and the innuendo is not lost on you. Your face runs hot though you can’t quite place why, chest squeezing.

“So you’ve had many women then?”

The older man smirks, droplets from his hair sliding into your lap and falling into the empty water bucket beside you. 

“I’ve had my share,” he admits, hand sliding up your shoulder to wrap around the side of your neck and head. The delicacy of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, his thumb rubbing a small line across your throat. “Yet not one inspired me to claim her as my wife.”

Conquering is truly all he knows how to do, isn’t it? You scoff and Thorkell feels the vibration against his digit, removing and replacing it with his lips. He places a kiss against the hollow of your throat.

“Northman,” you warn, though the bite in your voice dies to find new life as a breathy sigh when he kisses your neck again. His facial hair scratches against your soft, unblemished skin causing goosebumps to sprout across it. 

“Stop me then, sweeting.”

The term of endearment ensures that your head and heart are no longer communicating, thoughts slipping away like petals on the wind. Your body reacts instinctively to his touch, head tipping backward to allow him access to more. He chuckles against your skin, tongue now laving over the irritated skin left behind from his kisses and the scratch of his scruff. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” you remind impatiently, air escaping your lungs in short puffs. “And I don’t wish to ask it again.”

His hand once again slides from your neck to your back, palm resting between your shoulder blades to pull you closer toward the tub and subsequently his insatiable mouth. It’s easy to forget how large he is yet right now it’s all you can think about - how engulfed you feel by his presence much less his hands. 

“You’ve not let me finish,” he pokes right back in your direction. That large hand slides down your back, his long arm hardly stretching to reach your ass to cup it and give it a playful squeeze. You protest but realize it’s futile, raising yourself up slightly so he can slide his hand fully beneath the backs of your thighs. Thorkell smiles down at you, his other arm now dropped over the side of the tub to cup your chin alongside your behind.

“I cannot promise that I would be able to give my wife a life free from suffering,” he starts. ”I am a warrior. My call will always be to battle no matter how badly she may desire that another truth exists.”

Nodding is all you can manage, averting your eyes from him. Is it strange to find a man so much older and worn than you this handsome? Is there something wrong with you? With the heat in your veins and the throb between your legs? 

Is it evil of you to crave to live this life with him? You can picture it - not here but far away, the vision of his homeland that his stories have created form the blurry outlines of the dream. Long after he’s taken you around the untamed and unowned world and shown you all it has to offer, every hilltop and cavern.

Questions and uncertainties rush by in your head, so quickly you can hardly make sense of them. 

The warrior stares at you curiously, lifting your head to meet his eyes. You’ve chosen to let him finish uninterrupted and he takes advantage of it.

“I would give my wife my heart no matter how far the wind carries me from her side.”

Despite the creeping fears dwelling within your worried mind, you smile at him. It’s soft, even a bit tense, exposing that you are afraid to believe a dream as outlandish as this could come true. The ghost sensation of his lips across your throat returns and you reach for it, running the side of your index finger over the sensitive skin. 

Thorkell realizes where your mind has gone and takes advantage, reaching for your hand and pulling it into the tub. You gasp as your sleeve soaks up a bit of the water, attempting to pull it back yet finding yourself unable to be free of his grasp. Keeping your eyes locked on him, you don’t dare look and see what he’s doing lest you react strongly and alert his men posted outside of the room. 

When you touch something entirely unfamiliar that does not feel like water, you dare sneak a glance and gasp sharply upon realizing he’s flattened your palm across the width of his cock. He chuckles at you, molding your fingers around what he considers his most impressive weapon. 

“And this would be all for my wife.” 

Wrapping his hand all the way around yours, he squeezes and hisses at the softness of your skin. Your palm does not cover even half of his girth, fingers far from touching each other. There is no indication that you wish not to touch him so he continues on, using your hand to slowly stroke his shaft.

“I’d never take another lover if I had my wife,” he serenades you with a humorous note floating through every word, leaning over the tub to look you up and down with a grin. “Although I believe my wife may be a bit too small to take all of my cock.”

That same flushed feeling from earlier returns to your face, the ache between your legs encouraging your thighs to defiantly squeeze together to give you a bit of relief. He glides your hand smoothly from the bulbous tip of his head that leaks fluid he rubs back down the rest of him, thumb resting on the outside of your wrist to keep it steady. Breaths leaving him in soft pants that mirror your own, your brows knitting together when you mewl softly with need.

A mischievous light shimmers in Thorkell’s narrowed eyes now that you’ve openly displayed how his teasing makes you feel. 

“I would like my wife to try, though,” he rasps, throat dry and blood rushing from his head to his painfully hard cock. “To try to take me.” 

You didn’t need the clarification, still you nod and swallow.  There’s no hiding from a direct conversation now. You’ve been confronted. 

There remains a lingering concern that he doesn’t mean it though lust fogs your thoughts too strongly to make you really take a step back and consider if this is real. Your hand moves up and down his cock, his hips gently bucking up and into your fist while cool water splashes around his hips and onto your forearm. 

“Would yo–would you do that for me?” He asks, grunting between each word. His complexion grows more pink with every passing second and you find it adorable that a man of his size flushes in such a manner when he’s being pleasured. 

You gaze into the bathtub, able to barely make out the tinge of red from his throat clear down to the deep flushed pink of the head of his cock. It’s such a strong contrast to dark scars and honed muscle that you whimper again, biting your lower lip and resting your cheek against his fingers.

“Would I do what for you, Thorkell?”

An impure part of you likes to hear him speak in this way, especially about you. Your body. Your pleasure. The visiting invaders have never been shy about sex and their conquests, speaking about them in front of polite company like priests and women alike but you’ve never quite seen this side of the man next to you.

Thorkell only speaks of fighting. The yearning of his blade for blood is all you believed he was capable of feeling until this evening.  

Now you see the man whose heavy, full balls slap against the bottom of your fist each time he thrusts upward to meet his stroke with your hand for who he really is. You see that his passionate blood runs hot for more than just battle just as he sees that you aren’t meant to be a shepherd’s wife. 

“Stretch yourself upon my cock?” The words come through gritted teeth, his body tensing and voice doing the same. “Allow me to fuck you until even the gods know my name you’ve been shouting it so often?”

Lack of experience aside, you get the distinct impression that he is soon to lose his mind to his pleasure. His chest heaves and the water around him no longer ripples but behaves like a wave capped stormy sea with each determined thrust of his hips, his remaining eye shutting tightly. 

“Yes,” you mutter.

Without further hesitation you reach into the tub and wrap your free hand around his and your other hands to increase the pressure of the grip on his shaft. He moans loud enough you know that the men on the other side of the door have to know what’s happening but you don’t care. 

“Yes, if I am your wife I will let you take me however you like.” 

The words leave you in an anxious jumble, your lower lip wet with saliva and eyes heavily lidded as though it hurts to open them fully in your aroused state. 

“I will not merely allow you to fuck me Thorkell, I will beg you to.” 

You pant, brows knit together expressing how painful the ache of your curious cunt has become. It would be a lie to say you are completely unfamiliar with your body, you’re aware of how to soothe this pain but both of your hands remain locked around him. 

“There’s nothing I desire more than to feel you inside of me.”

One look at your face tells him that you mean it. It’s almost hilarious how wide your pupils are blown and how spit slicked your lower lip is from gnawing it like a starved beast. Thorkell doesn’t laugh though, he merely focuses on chasing the feeling in the lower half of his body. 

“Then inside you I will be,” he assures, tipping his head back while his jaw slackens and falls open. His release spurts all over your hand with another mighty groan announcing its arrival, white coating your knuckles and the cuff of your shirtsleeve. 

You let go of him, backing your top hand away slowly though the one around his shaft remains there locked in his grasp. Awkwardness keeps you anchored in place, patiently waiting for him to say something; anything. 

“I’ll speak with your father in the morning.”

He rises from the water and you nod, eyes wide. He meant it? You may really someday learn what’s just beyond what your eyes can see? 

Thorkell bends at the waist and holds onto the edge of the tub, staring down at you with that same grin he never quite conceals no matter what. He’s so good natured for someone so violent. 

“Go lie down on the bed, my wife, and I will give you a taste of what’s to come.”

And who are you to say no? You scramble to your feet, holding your soiled hand out in front of you until you decide to simply wipe it on your skirt. No sense in feeling shame now, not while a very hungry predator stalks across the wooden floor, leaving a trail of droplets behind him.

[arcane-ish]

So... is this canon? The "Lanes carved from bedrock" theory

There is this fic by @out-there-tmblr called Brush Off All The Dirt about a the backstory of Silco and Vander meeting as young men in the mines.

There's also the big fat Zaun timeline/chronology meta by @sorceressofthesky

They basically propose the following sequence of events of what exactly might have been the backstory of Silco and Vander and the Lanes as Young Men: namely that they built the Lanes up from scratch.

Let's look at the hints.

1.) Silco, Vander and Cassandra Kiraman are roughly the same age range.

2.) The voice on the recording we assume to be Cassandra. Technically we don't know that for sure I think? 2x01 definitely starts with Cassandra talking because she is talking directly to Caityln

"I know you doubt the merit of your birthright, Caitlyn. There's wisdom in that. But remember: You're a Kiramman."

The voice on the recording picks up directly there with

"But remember: You're a Kiramman."

However it is distorted, in theory this could be ie Cassandra's mother talking to Cassandra and just using the same phrasing. That said, my subtitle thing notes Cassandra for that line.

"The rise of industry in the fissures has led to the air becoming increasingly toxic. They call it the Grey. I've instructed our architects to devise a ventilation system."

So Cassandra as a young woman installed the ventilation system. In the picture where the ventilation system is being opened, she is posing with miners who wear gas masks.

3.) When we see the flashbacks of Vander, neither he, nor Silco, not Connel and Felicia wear gas masks, which suggests the conditions were better for them than during the time when Cassandra was posing. So either Vander and Silco became miners after the changes Cassandra made or were around to see it happen. [note another theory, that shows up in the fanfic, is that those people next to Cassandra might be Piltover engineers who get better gear than the normal miners, following the idea that Pilties need masks and Zaunites are just used to the air, but it still never sat right with me that Felicia would raise her children without protection if there were alternatives; I also think the miner gear just looks pretty similar from the drawing to the flashback]

4.) When Felicai talks to Silco and Vander she says "Tonight a harebrained scheme these two bozos cooked up to turn a dank crack in the earth into a thriving, healthy community became a reality." and later "You two are gonna figure this Zaun thing out. I don't care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock, covered in blisters. You're not allowed to fail anymore."

(that line alone is interesting. Does "you are not allowed to fail anymore" imply they have failed before? there's also the line from Silco to Vander "we both know topside won't listen to anything else.")

5.) In season 1 Vander is protective of the Lanes specifically ("Spare the Lanes"). While Silco wants freedom for all of the undercity.

6.) It gives Vander and Silco something to do between Felicia announcing her pregnancy and the bridge fight. Felicia's words suggest that they have already achieved a lot, the Last Drop is already fully there and looking good. And yet it's several years between Vi being a zygote and Vi being a young kid in the opening scene (I would expect her to be at least 5/6). Time for Vi to have a relative safe happy idyllic childhood as per the Remember Me video. And Silco throwing a molotov and looking scared overall seems like a still fairly innocent reaction, suggesting that there wasn't that much all out open war before the Bridge fight (again matching the rosy, peaceful depiction in the Remember Me video). If Silco and Vander were mostly busy building up their community that would explain why Vi had a very happy childhood rather than being born into turmoil or being raised in the middle of a civil war.

So the solution that for example that fanfic proposes is:

there was an area that was unusable due to Gray

after the ventilation system was installed it tentatively became livable

Vander, Silco, Felicia and Connel started to use their mining knowledge to carve out new areas that new people could live in and built a thriving community

that community's economy was heavily based around on smuggling (as per the statements of Amanda, who also says Vander and Silco created the "market" respectively market area).

it would explain why Felicia is still working as a miner when her kids are small rather than let's say working for Vander at the bar. They are not working for rich mine owners, they are doing their own thing and working for something they believe in.

It seems like it was always a vision of the writers that Vander and Silco "built the Lanes" in whatever form. And season 2 could have brought in the additional backstory of Cassandra making it possible thought her air systems and Felicia being one of the miners who helped.

Now personally, I strongly think that "it does not matter what headcanon the writers have, if they didn't put it on screen it does not count" (ie like Amanda saying Viktor bullshitted his way into the academy or that he helped Sky get a spot there). But it's still interesting to ponder what exactly the writers were envisioning.

Personally, i always like the idea more of Silco and Vander as dashing robbers in their youth, more in the style of "this is exactly the sort of job Vander would've pulled when he was our age."

But I'm willing to wrap my head around alternative takes. I think there is some appeal to the idea that there was something that Vander and Silco built up as young men, something that was their baby and Vander stayed attached to it. That they "built the Lanes" together. And they clashed, because Silco wanted to expand beyond that ("You had my respect. The Lanes' respect, but that… that was never enough for you.").

That said, I'm not super enthralled by it and I'm trying to formulate why. For one it seems kind of less dashing than fun robbers and revolutionaries. Again there's some appeal of actually building something. But "let's build an underground town" ...

1.) it just seems kind of small as a dream compared to

2.) it seems kind of close to what Ekko is doing (don't like how things are being run, build your own community, except with less pretty trees and hoverboards).

3.) It feels kind of like a very American sort of dream? Grab a piece of wild land, tame it, built a thriving merchant town on it.

Again, I don't completely hate it (and I really enjoy that fanfic that goes into the weeds of Silco and Vander figuring out the starting logistics). But overall, I'm glad they left it vague enough so I'm free to imagine it more as Silco and Vander organizing heroic miner strikes for better working conditions or being gangsters who work their way up.

[ronearoundblindly]

Fic title: Behind the Mask

Oh yeah!!!! This reeks of Ransom Drysdale. Just screams it (to me, at least, lol).

From this ask game. Gif by @loregifs. Warning for unbelievable softness. Wow.

There's definitely a world where Ran's everyday, bitchy attitude is too exhausting for him to maintain, and he comes home to you a different man. He stands in the foyer, slowly shrugs off his coat and scarf, toes off those fancy shoes, and takes several huge breaths. Ran shuts his eyes and flushes away the world outside his front door.

He smells dinner, and his shoulders drop three whole inches. The corners of his lips aren't pointing down anymore.

"Hey, I'm home," he calls out, relishing the clatter of whatever utensil you were holding and the resounding squeal that travels down the hall like a bellweather for your thumping footsteps.

Ransom is not submissive and he's not--strictly speaking--nice, but his home, your home, is a special bubble where he relax, he can enjoy peace, and he can be a better man than he actually is.

So he scoops you up into a hug when you jump into his arms, he says he missed you, and he asks about your day before mentioning anything about himself. He listens, attention wrapped around you, answering "yes, ma'am" when you check he brought what he promised from the grocery and that he'll go wash up.

He makes it to the kitchen and wonders what else you need with a two glasses of wine in hand.

Of course, Ransom asks that because you say the same thing 90% of the time:

"Just you."

The corners of his lips raise.

This home is the only place he can retell stories about his family and laugh about them. Somehow there's a separation. It's special. You've made it special, and Ran craves that.

He sets the table, brushes you off to let him serve your food, clears all the dishes--though he enjoys still chatting while rinsing them,--and makes you both tea (or dessert).

He prefers sharing desserts from one container, bowl or sleeve. He's actually chatty because he likes chatting with you.

See, when he met you, you wore the same mask: very sarcastic, very bitter, and a hearty dash of bullshit. He spent an hour trying to one-up you with the shittiest-true-story. Ran has no clue who won, and he never cared. He got the impression you--like him--could act mean and indifferent but didn't want to.

Neither of you wanted to be pushed to those extremes all day everyday.

You started by telling Ransom he was allowed to be quiet with you; he didn't need to entertain you in any way. Very quickly he started to drop the pretense. He hung his mask up on the wall next to yours.

Two masks on these four walls that are safe and happy inside.

A/N: whoops, got a little rambly, but I like it 💜 I guess I needed it??? Probably. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[caliboron]

just finished playing mad rat dead

[yujateaandpi]

Hi guys! Yujatea here! If you enjoy my work, I’d like to please ask for a moment of your time to consider helping this family I’m supporting! Shaima is a mother of four children, Abdul Rahim, Walid, Majdi, and baby Amal. Shaima is struggling to support her children since her husband disappeared, and needs urgent help with providing food and resources for them, especially as winter sweeps through Gaza! This family’s fundraising campaign (@familgazaamal1) is completely vetted and I’m trying to use my platforms to raise awareness on their behalf. I’ll be opening my commissions to raise funds for their campaign so keep your eyes peeled! I’ll also post their fundraiser link in my highlights as well! Thanks guys! Let’s do our part to reclaim kindness and uplift each other!

Here's a message from the family:

In Gaza, where conflict looms over daily life, children’s dreams remain a ray of hope. Abdul Rahim, a young boy, dreams of becoming a famous artist, using his drawings to tell the world about the beauty of his homeland. Walid, on the other hand, dreams of playing football in a big stadium, representing his country despite the obstacles around him. Majdi, a cat lover, dreams of becoming a kind person and helping children. Majdi, who dreams of opening an animal shelter to care for animals in Gaza. Even in the midst of war, these children cling to their dreams, believing that one day, despite the difficulties, they will achieve their goals. Their dreams are not only about personal success, but also about shedding light on a world filled with darkness. These dreams symbolize the resilience of Gaza’s children, showing that hope and determination can survive even the most difficult circumstances.

In the heart of the ongoing war, Shaima lives with her four children, constantly struggling with pain and waiting. Her husband, who was once the source of security and happiness, left a long time ago, facing the challenges of war far from them. Every day, Shaima makes earnest efforts to keep life going despite the hardships. She strives to provide food and shelter while trying to instill hope in the hearts of her children, who are still waiting for their father’s return, a father they know little about other than his absence. Her four children, despite their young age, carry great hopes in their hearts. The eldest, who everyone sees as the "little father," dreams of their father returning to embrace them as he did in the past. The youngest, on the other hand, wakes up at night searching for his father's voice, wishing for his return to feel safe again. Shaima's dream is every mother’s dream in this war: for her husband to return safely so they can live together again in peace and security. She dreams of the days when her husband filled their home with joy, and she prays for the end of the war so their family can reunite once more. Yet, amid the destruction and tears, hope remains their strength. Shaima knows that her patience and resilience are what keep the family going. Despite the difficult days, she continues to resist, dreaming of the moment when her family will be whole again, with her husband and the father of her children back home.

[littlegermanboy]

hi everyone, i've been speaking to my friend reem (@danashehab) and she has told me of her difficulties in reaching her fundraising goal to evacuate herself and her family from gaza. her messages break my heart, and i want nothing more than to help her achieve her dream.

before october 7th, reem, her husband, and their five beautiful children, the youngest of which is less than 2 years old, lived in the north of gaza. her husband, fahed, owned a gym which served as their family's source of income.

however, they have since been displaced numerous times after the destruction of their home and fahed's gym. reem's children suffer from the anxiety and terror of growing up in genocide, and reem suffers from the uncertainty of their situation, unsure of what to do or say to give her children hope; this is only made worse by the fact that their campaign has been moving at a snail's pace as of recently.

if you're able, please donate whatever you're able to help reem and her family. reem's endless love for her family and her children are palpable in every message i receive for her, and it is clear that everything she does is for them. as of july 30th, €27,420 / €50,000 has been raised, which is just over half of their goal. if you're unable to donate, please reblog and share to other platforms so reem's family can reach their goal as soon as possible. they deserve to live a life of peace and happiness, safe from the threat of genocide.

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[ahmedbm]

📍🚨please don't skip that 🚨📍📢

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #275 )✅️

Hello dear friends and potential saviors. My name is Ahmed Totah, I am 21 years old, my father is 67, my mother is 55, and my sister is 19 and my brothers Mahmoud 26 and Abdallah 24 and My grandfather is crippled and can't do anythingWho is 91 years old . We now live in the northern Gaza Strip.

Since the beginning of October 7, 2023, and now we are more than 12 months into the war, my family and I have lived a life of relentless violence and suffering after being displaced from our home, more than 10 to 11 times. We have been displaced to schools and relatives, and we are currently living without shelter, and we suffer from food shortages that have forced us to eat animal and bird food due to high prices. Winter has come and we have no blankets or shoes to warm my family. I want you to help me provide for my family's needs and protect them from the bitter cold in winter, and the harsh mud that floods our lives under the rain.

And our suffering in transporting water for drinking, and when it is provided, it is not pure. Diseases, especially rashes, epidemics and pollution, are spreading, while we struggle to survive without proper food, water or medicine. There is no place for anyone, especially children, but

And when it is provided, flour is hardly available through aid (trucks - bershtat) and one day my foot was run over by a truck because of an attack by people and this is because of the lack of flour.

This is all we have. Before the war destroyed our lives, I had just moved to my home in northern Gaza. It was supposed to be a moment of joy, but our happiness was short-lived. On October 7, everything changed. The day started like any other, but soon the sky darkened with smoke, the ground trembled beneath our feet, and the air was filled with the sounds of terrifying explosions. The bombing was continuous, and my family gathered together, praying that we would survive. When the dust settled, nothing was the same. The bombs continued to fall. Every day, my family and I in Gaza wake up to a living nightmare, in a race against time as the war strips us of any sense of peace and normalcy.

My father and mother kept the key to their house in the hope that they would return to it. My father was shocked by the news of the bombing and explosion of our house that held our memories. Here, our dreams of home were displaced and everything was destroyed.

Our lives are in constant danger, and we are desperate to find a way out - a chance to protect my family and rebuild our future safely. But we cannot do it alone. We need your help to escape this nightmare and start over abroad. My profession before and after the war Before the war, I was proud of my work, I studied Hakim at Al-Aqsa University and built a future for myself and my family. I had a thriving career and a home that I worked hard to establish. But everything disappeared during the war. After the war now, everything has disappeared. My work, my tools, and everything I worked for turned into rubble. The war took everything from us, and now my family lives in a tent, and we struggle to survive. We live in fear, trapped in war, everything we had disappeared one day. Our home is destroyed, our community is in ruins, and the constant sounds of explosions remind us that there is no safe place.

My family and I are trapped in Gaza, living in fear and panic as the bombs fall closer and closer. Every night, the walls shake, and we wonder if we can make it until morning. We have lost everything, and we know that our only chance of survival is to escape this war-torn land. But we can’t do it without your help. Please help my family, my friend. The money raised will go directly to cover the costs of my evacuation and that of my family. This includes:

1. Travel expenses – fare, documents, transportation for me and my family.

2. Temporary shelter – a safe place where we can rest, recover, and begin to rebuild.

3. Basic necessities – food, clothing, and medical care upon arrival.

4. Support to rebuild our lives – access to education, healthcare, and job opportunities in a new country.

My family is made up of 7 people, and we know that we will need $10,000 per person to cover these critical expenses. Why your help matters Can your support make the difference between life and death for my family? Every donation brings us one step closer to leaving the devastation and fear behind, and starting over in a place where we can finally find peace. We cannot do this alone, but through your kindness, we can give our family a chance to live – a chance to rebuild, to dream, and to live without fear. From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for being a part of our journey toward safety and hope. Please help my family escape death and the danger of life. Please help my family.

That's why I'm begging you to share my story and post the link to help my family survive.

#Free Palestine #Free Gaza #All eyes on Palestine #All eyes on Gaza #The war in Gaza @asexual-levia-tan @timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe @sar-soor @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @transmutationdice @sawasawako @appsa @anneemay @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @turtletoria @tortiefrancis @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @communistchameleon @dykesbat @komsomolka @notallmensheviks @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @stuckinapril @lacecap @determinate-negation @deepspaceboytoy @paper-mario-wiki @kibumkim @neechees @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @rooh-afza @shesnake @emil @stuckinapril @side-sidecast @brokenbackmountain @paper-mario-wiki @turian @buttercuparry @littlegermanboy @imjustheretotrytohelp @90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitive @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymoods @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater @toesuckingoctober @waskuyecaozu @a-shade-of-blue @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

[loveanddeepspaceimagines]

Talking to your baby bump ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Zayne carefully arranged pillows to support your sleeping form before settling beside you on the bed, your baby bump now beneath the covers. His hand wandered to stroke gentle circles over the swell, awestruck as always by the miracle inside.

"Hey little one," he murmured softly so as not to wake you. "It's just you and me for a chat." A tiny fluttering kick met his palm, drawing a quiet chuckle.

"I want you to know how excited your dad is to meet you," he continued, voice full of wonder. "I'll teach you everything how to walk, talk...".

His eyes drifted to your peaceful expression, love swelling in his chest. "You're going to have the best mommy, you know. She's the kindest, bravest person I know." Brushing hair from your cheek, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

Turning attentions back to your unborn child, Zayne smiled. "I promise I'll support both of you no matter what. We're gonna have so much fun together, the three of us."

Caressing the bump once more, he whispered, "I love you so much already, little peanut. Can't wait to hold you in my arms."

As if in reply, a stronger fluttering pressed against his palm. Smile stretching ear to ear, he rested his head by your side, content to keep watch over his perfect little growing family.

You were curled up asleep on the couch, your baby bump pressing against the cushions as you rested. Rafayel came over quietly and knelt beside you, gently placing a hand on your stomach.

"Hey little one," he whispered softly so as not to wake you. "It's daddy."

He still couldn't believe there was life growing inside the woman he loved most. Your child wasn't even born yet and already he loved them fiercely.

"I just wanted to tell you how excited I am to meet you," he continued, rubbing gentle circles with his palm. "Your mommy and I have been waiting so long for this."

There was a flutter of movement under his hand and Rafayel's breath caught, overcome at even the smallest response. "I know you can't understand me yet, but I promise I'm going to be the best daddy."

Throughout your pregnancy so far, he had doted on your every need and craving. But in quiet moments like this, he also spoke his heart to your unborn baby through your belly.

"We're going to have so much fun learning and playing together. I'll teach you how to draw if you want!" He chuckled softly. "But most of all, I want you to know how much you are loved already, little one."

He placed a tender kiss to your abdomen resting his cheek there.

The evening sun slanted gently through the bedroom window as you slept, your soft breathing the only sound amid peaceful quiet. Xavier lay beside you, propped on an elbow while watching your belly rise and fall beneath his palm.

9 weeks along now, just the faintest swell showed your child's growth nestled safely within.

Leaning down, he placed a tender kiss to your belly through fabric before whispering, "Hey little one. It's Daddy. I know you can't hear me yet but I just wanted to say hi."

He scooped gentle circles with his hand, half expecting to feel answering flutters even this early. His heart swelled impossibly at the idea of hidden tiny fingers and toes taking shape, getting ready to greet him.

"I can't wait to meet you. Your mom and I will do everything to take care of you, keep you safe and loved."

"You'll know so much love, little peanut. We're going to be a perfect happy family together - just wait and see." Xavier sniffed, emotion rising in his voice. His eyes strayed reverently to your peaceful face.

"You're so lucky to have her as your mom. She's going to be the best." He murmured placing soft kiss to your stomach.

You had drifted off to sleep early in the evening, Sylus sat beside you on the couch, watching your peaceful slumber with a quiet smile.

His large hand drifted to rest gently against the swell of your abdomen, feeling the occasional flutter of tiny movements stirring within. His child, strong and spirited even now, responding to his touch.

"Hey there little one," Sylus murmured low, careful not to wake its mother. "It's just us guys for now. You keeping momma company in there?"

A curious prodding against his palm seemed to answer. His smile widened as he continued his one-sided conversation.

"You're going to turn our whole world upside down soon. But me and your mom, we can't wait to meet you. We'll teach you everything - how to walk, talk. Maybe how to wrestle if you're up for it."

Soft chuckling accompanied the mental image before growing serious once more. "Most of all, we'll make sure you know how much you're loved. No matter what."

His fngertips traced soothing patterns over stretched skin, voice dropping lower. "We'll be here for you always, little crow. Me and your mom against the world."

Glancing once more at your sleeping form, he placed a tender kiss to your belly. "Be good to your mom, you hear? See you real soon, little one."

©loveanddeepspaceimagines 2024

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Hope you enjoyed reading this peace! Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated. I'm hoping i can find mutuals in lads fandom! Thank you for reading!

[imaginedisish]

Liquid Smooth (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Started writing this last night...sooo happy you guys wanted a sex pollen fic! Hope it lives up to everyone's expectations! This one is (obviously) inspired by "Liquid Smooth," by Mitski. ENJOY!

Summary: A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Sex Pollen (so dub!con just to be safe, but not really), Multiple orgasms, Porn Without Plot...literally, implied!age gap, cursing, friends to lovers, fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,797 muahaha

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” you murmur as Logan thumbs through the controls of the X-Jet. “Could’ve done this by myself.” 

Logan scoffs. “I’m not your babysitter, princess.” You roll your eyes at the nickname Logan has specially reserved just for you. “Charles said we’d be safer going together. He knows you can handle yourself.”

The X-Jet cruises effortlessly through the clouds. The air is still today. Calm. You and Logan are on your way to get some sort of flower that Charles claims to have extensive healing properties. It’s an easy mission. No fighting. No violence. You’re unlikely to have to use your powers at all. And yet, you’ve been paired with Logan. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t—admittedly—a little into him. Or rather, pining after him. There’s just something about the sarcasm that’s always thick in his voice; the way he squeezes himself into those thin beaters. How he’s always so self-assured, so thoroughly convinced he’s right. You just can’t help it. You want him. But he isn’t yours, and he probably never will be. He’s a little older—well, a lot, considering he’s been around forever. And you know it’s safer not to make attachments—not to fall in love.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that. 

But having him here with you now, alone, with no buffers…it’s overwhelming. You can smell him—that mix of tobacco and pine and musk and him. He’s suddenly everywhere, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You watch as his long fingers press different buttons, his hands gripping the steering wheel, adjusting thrusters. You stare at those fingers for far too long, your thoughts drifting to what else he can do with them. You think about him curling them deep inside you, stretching you open and—

“Everything okay?” You snap your head to face Logan, swallowing harshly as his voice pulls you back to reality. 

You force a smile, nodding. “Yep!” You say, overcompensating just a bit. “All good,” you lie. You close your eyes, trying to push thoughts of Logan out of your head, denying the heat growing between your legs.

“Good, because we’re almost there,” Logan says, the X-Jet descending carefully. You look out the window to see the trees below. There’s a lake in the distance, but that’s it. No civilization, no houses—no one. It’s empty, peaceful. 

“We’re really in the middle of nowhere, huh?” You say, glancing at Logan. 

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. Warmth blooms in your heart at the sight. “My kind of place,” he says back. The X-Jet descends further as you approach a clear spread of grass to land on just ahead. 

This is, in fact, not your kind of place. The humidity creeps up your back and settles under your skin. The forest is overgrown and impossible to navigate. You let Logan slice through the plant life with his claws, swiping back and forth whenever something gets in your way.

You haven’t been walking for long, but you’re already done. Perhaps Charles was right; a partner is not the worst idea on a mission like this. 

You can see the flower just ahead—yellow petals and a long, green, viny stem. It glows brightly even under the dense forest canopy. “Semper in tenebris lux,” Charles had said; there is always light in darkness. And he was right. The flower illuminates everything in its path. Next to it, you can see a pretty, lavender-colored flower. You stop in your tracks, letting Logan wander ahead as you crouch down to stroke the purple petals. 

“Charles didn’t say anything about not taking other flowers too, right?” You call out, watching as Logan swipes carefully at the stem of the yellow flower. He holds the dainty stem in his large hands as he walks back over to you. 

“No, he didn’t. But you should be careful. It could be poisonous or—”

You ignore Logan, picking the flower anyway. You hold it up to your nose and breathe in. It’s sweet and fragrant. You twist the stem and realize the flower is sticky with sap and pollen. Your twist shakes some of the pollen up, and it lands all over your face. 

“Shit,” you mutter, wiping it away. A gust of wind sweeps through the forest, knocking the flower out of your hand and spreading more of its pollen in the air. You can feel it in your nostrils, getting caught in your throat.

Logan furrows his brows as the pollen falls to the ground. “What the fuck did you do?”

You roll your eyes. “All I did was pick a flower!” You lift your hands, feigning innocence. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You stand up, glancing once at the yellow flower in Logan’s hands and then back at Logan. “It’s pretty.”

He parts his lips, his stare focused on you. “Yeah, it is.” There’s something else in that stare, in those words. Like maybe he isn’t only talking about the flower. You shove those thoughts down as you turn around and walk back to the jet.

Your steps are suddenly very heavy. You scratch at your shoulder. Heat blooms in your chest, your stomach, across your face. You’re irritated and overheated and itchy. Your breath grows heavier and rougher with every step. 

Logan notices immediately. He stops, grabbing your arm. You can’t control the way you lean into his touch, nor the way you’re craving more. “Hey,” he soothes, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice. 

You swallow harshly, nodding. Your throat feels thick, your skin tight and oppressive. “’M’fine,” you mumble. 

“Quit lying. I can tell something’s wrong,” Logan demands. You open your mouth to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t give you the chance, his grip tightening around your arm. “Your skin is on fucking fire, princess. What did you do?” He cocks his head, sniffing as he furrows his brows. His voice is darker now, slower as his eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?”

You take in a sharp breath. And that’s when you feel it, the ache between your thighs, the slick arousal soaking through your panties. The realization smacks you in the face. For a moment, you’re clear-headed, but still terrified. The pollen. That goddamn, fucking pollen. “Logan, look, I think that purple flower had some—"

He cuts you off as he yanks your arm, tugging you towards the ship. “We need to get you back to the jet, okay?”

“Oh, I am so fucked,” you cry. You know you only have a few seconds left before the effects really kick in. “L-Logan,” you stutter, almost moaning as your core burns stronger with need. “T-the pollen was everywhere. What if you got some too?” 

He ignores you, handing you the yellow flower you came here for in the first place. He sweeps one hand under your legs and keeps the other at your back as he lifts you in his arms—bridal style. You can feel his heart beating in his chest. You lean into him again, searching for relief. Wetness pools between your legs. You have never felt this needy before. Your desire hurts, burns, scorches you. You rut your hips, clenching down around nothing. 

“S-stop doing that,” Logan spits, restrained and quiet. 

“C-can’t,” you whine. “It hurts, Logan. It hurts so fucking bad. How come you aren’t like this too?”

He pulls you tighter to his chest. “I feel a little something, but that might just…”

You tilt your head up to look at him. He works his jaw, that perfect jaw. You want to bite it, to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Might just be what?” You ask, tentatively brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat. 

“Nothing, just—fuck,” he groans as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses all around his neck now. “Don’t do that, princess. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Logan,” you beg. The ramp to the jet lowers as you and Logan approach. “N-need you.” You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “Need y-you all the time.” The confession slips easily from your lips. 

Logan’s eyes widen as he walks up the ramp and into the ship. It lifts and seals shut behind him. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart. Let’s just get you back to the mansion as quickly as possible, yeah?”

He places you down on the seat next to him, taking the flower from your hands and putting it in the jar Charles had given you. The leather cold at your back almost feels good, almost relieving—until you realize Logan is no longer holding you, touching you. You reach out towards him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back in. “Don’t go,” you plead, nails digging into his biceps. Your body is on fire. Everything is unbearably painful. “Please,” you whimper. “Need you so fucking bad, just you.” 

“Fuck,” Logan curses. “I am not taking advantage of you. I am not doing this.” He stands, freeing himself from your grasp and walking over to the pilot’s chair. “I’m getting you back to the mansion and we’re going to fix this, okay?”

But that’s not good enough for you. You stand up and walk over to Logan. Your steps are shaky, your legs trembling. Your chest heaves, your heart beating rapidly. You climb into Logan’s lap, straddling him, one leg on either side. “Logan, I can’t fucking wait,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. The pressure feels delicious.  He grabs your hips, stilling you, forcing you in place. And that’s when you feel it: his erection, hard underneath your core. “This isn’t you. You don’t really want this, don’t really want m—”

“It is me,” you protest, squirming against his hold. “Logan, I’ve wanted you for months. I-I was thinking about you t-touching me the whole way here.” You remember the way his fingers dexterously pushed all the right buttons. Need courses through you like a river, and as Logan’s hold on your hips softens, you grind down into his lap, against his erection. “S-so good,” you cry out. 

His hands are still on your hips, but now he’s guiding you, rocking you against his cock. “J-just this though, okay?” 

You hum, pressing your forehead to his, rolling your hips faster. The relief is like heaven. His arms wrap around your back, his fingers trailing up and down soothingly. Logan ruts into you, his erection straining against his jeans. You can feel yourself getting closer, but the pain, the need, it’s all still the same. 

“Logan, it’s not gonna be enough,” you whisper, his lips ghosting yours. “N-need more. Hurts so bad.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, like he’s scared to truly touch you. But he wants to consume your pain, to take it away, to feel it for you. You can see it written across his face, in the way his cock throbs against your swollen clit, how he snaps his hips into yours. 

“I know, princess,” he coos, his hands like fire on your back. Your walls contract around nothing, begging for something to hold onto, to feel something sink deep inside. “Gonna take care of you.” He kisses you again, with more vigor this time, more passion. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

You moan into his mouth. His composure is slipping, disintegrating with every roll, every rock of your hips against his. His cock notches against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure up the base of your spine. He hikes your shirt up, the cold air hitting your overheated skin. “F-feels good,” you stammer. You’re almost there, almost hitting that peak. “S-so close.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Let go for me, know you can do it.” 

You moan his name, your orgasm crashing into you like a crescendo. You know you’re soaking through your clothes, and probably onto Logan’s too. He’s still rutting against you, giving you more. He knows it’s not going to be enough, and he’s right. Need builds back up just as quickly as you found your release. 

 “Lo…” you trail off, looking up at him under lust-filled eyes. You swallow harshly, squirming in his lap helplessly. “G-gotta have you.” 

He presses his forehead to yours. He works his jaw, parting his lips. “Y-you meant it when you said you wanted me before this?” But he already knows the answer. He knows you wouldn’t lie to him about that, not even now. 

“Yes,” you whine, pulling him closer. He tugs your shirt all the way over your head and picks you up, hands firmly gripping your ass. “Still gonna want you after this, too.”

He curses under his breath as he places you down in the pilot’s chair. He’s frenzied and frantic as he hooks his thumbs into your pants and panties, yanking them down your legs and casting them to the side. 

He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands, his thumbs brushing soft circles into your inner thighs. He’s kneeling, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat as his face settles between your legs. 

“Could smell you before, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning over your clit. “Wanted this so fucking bad.” He doesn’t keep you waiting, licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Knew you’d taste perfect. Pretty fucking pussy.” 

You throw your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking harshly. He slips one hand across your back, keeping you close. His free hand climbs up your thigh, fingers exploring your folds as his tongue flits across your swollen bud. He spreads your arousal, prodding against your entrance before shoving two fingers deep inside you. “Logan!” You cry out, your walls clenching around him. He’s stretching you out, his fingers dragging inside you. He pulls out and plunges back in. He isn’t taking his time, isn’t teasing. He’s giving you what you need, pump after pump. 

You look down at him, his face buried in your cunt, consuming you, swallowing you whole like a starving man. He’s lost inside you, lapping at you with unwavering hunger and desire. His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing ever so slightly. You moan his name again, and he hums against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice rocking through your body. He’s wrecking you, but it feels so goddamn good. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he goads you along. He’s adding a third finger now, and you suck him in. You’d take anything he gives you, anything at all. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” 

He sucks roughly, your walls clenching around him at the feeling. “Yeah?” He grunts, sucking again. “You like that? Feels good?” 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, stumbling over that one simple word. “S-so fucking good.” 

“I know, beautiful,” he groans, nipping at your clit in between his rough sucks. “Gonna make that hurt go away, okay?” His voice is like honey, sugar; it’s sweet, addictive. “You just gotta come for me again, can you do that?” His tongue strokes your clit, his fingers pumping faster now. 

You nod your head emphatically, pleasure surging as you near your peak. “Yeah, I-I can,” you huff. 

Logan smiles against your cunt between rough laps. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His fingers scissor inside you, deeper than before. He takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard. 

And that’s all it takes—you’re screaming his name, coming undone, unraveling underneath him. The release is even better than the first, more full, more complete. Logan thrusts in and out a few more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your cunt. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and looks up into your eyes. 

For a moment, the fire inside has been quenched. You feel clear, levelheaded. But it doesn’t last long. “Fuck,” you moan, your head hitting against the headrest of the chair. The fire is back, spreading across your stomach, your chest. “Logan,” you whimper. “I n-need more.”

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he coos, taking you back up into his arms. He hoists you out of the seat, his hands finding your ass, squeezing softly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the jet, setting you down on a storage container. 

You bring your hands up to his biceps. “Need you this time, Lo,” you choke, stroking up and down his arms as the heat builds painfully between your thighs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes searching yours. 

“Always wanted you, always sure,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Wanted you too,” he husks. “But I wanted it to be different, to—” You cut him off. “Just want you. It’s okay like this. I promise.” You grind against him, his erection still straining inside the denim of his jeans. 

He takes the hint, and quickly unbuckles his belt, casting the leather to the metal floor with a clunk. He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs, and lining himself up with your entrance. You push your hips forward, giving him better access. His other hand pushes your bra above your breasts, exposing you completely to him. 

With one hand on his cock and one squeezing your tits gently, he thrusts himself into you. He’s so deep—down to the hilt—stretching you out and working you open. He groans, flicking your nipple with his thumb, his lips at the shell of your ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine, quenching that fire inside. “So warm, so tight.” He pulls out and plunges back in again, filling you up. 

“Lo,” you whine. “More.”

“I know,” he growls, his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out with every thrust. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He squeezes your tits once more before sliding his hand down your body and slipping between where the two of you connect. His fingers find your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “That feel good, beautiful?” 

“Y-yes, Logan, so fucking good,” you cry out as he rocks into you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place. You hope there’s a bruise there later—proof that he touched you, proof that he fucked into you like the world was ending. 

His cock rubs against your walls, your muscles contracting around him, sucking him in deeper. “Squeezing me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. He’s taking all of you, hard and fast. You can feel him twitching inside you, throbbing with the same need you feel pulsing through your veins. 

Logan kisses your jaw, and then just underneath, biting down on your pulse point. You arch your back, your chest meeting his. The contact is delicious, the friction a necessity. He thrusts into you faster now, doing his all to satiate your every need. He’s getting you there, pump after pump, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time. 

It’s working. You can feel yourself slipping again, melting. “Logan,” you hum, too fucked out to say anything other than his name. That beautiful name, like a song in the air, a gentle prayer, a holy ghost. He’s all you need—all you’ve ever needed. 

Your walls contract, squeezing him tightly. “Fuck,” he mutters. You know he’s close too. He strokes your clit, circling roughly. “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it, let me get you there again.” 

“Lo,” you cry, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he fucks into you, rutting his hips, plunging deeper still. It’s all too much. You can feel the pleasure drumming inside you, coming to a head. 

Logan loosens his grip on your hip and slides his hand behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You rest your forehead against his. “Come on my cock, princess, let go.” And you do. You’d do anything for him. You moan as your orgasm tears through you. It’s all blinding white heat, liquid smooth, pleasure wracking your body. 

Logan curses under his breath, close behind. He pulses inside you once, and then he’s coming undone. Your arms wrap around his back, keeping him close, letting him know it’s okay to finish inside. He fills you up, whispering praises in your ear as you both come down from your high. Such a good fucking girl. Did so good for me. So fucking good. Perfect little pussy.

He’s still inside you, pumping slowly as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers let go of your clit, his hands running up your back and tugging you closer to him. He slowly pulls out, keeping you tight against his chest. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You take a deep breath, waiting for the heat to build again, waiting for that need to surge every cell of your being. But there’s nothing. Your nerves are suddenly quiet—silent. 

“I-I think it’s over,” you stutter, still nervous that maybe it’s not. He keeps you there, holding you tightly, ready to start again if necessary. 

After a few minutes, you let yourself relax. It’s not coming back. It’s over. 

Logan presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I’ve still got you. Not going anywhere.” Your heart rate has finally slowed down. The heat is gone. You feel comfortable in your skin again. You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into Logan’s chest. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” Logan reassures, his voice gentle and soft. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You nod against him, but you still feel a sting in your heart. You need to make him know that you meant what you said—need him to know exactly how you feel. You swallow nervously, ready to bite the bullet. 

“Logan,” you breathe. “I-I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the pollen.” You pull yourself from his chest, looking up at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you…” you trail off. “S-still need you now. Nothing’s changed.” 

He smiles down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, darlin’,” he husks. “I wanted you before, and I still do, too.” 

“I know you wanted it to be different. I know it wasn’t—” But he cuts you off, his lips capturing yours, quieting your anxious rambles. “We’ll have other chances. Other times to do it the way I want.” He smirks, running his hands up and down your back. 

Other chances. Other times. More. More. More. “Yeah?” You ask. 

“Yeah, princess.”

tags: @wolviesgirl @dojacatswink @dilf420 @spiderset @pleasantlycrazyworld @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @y-ns-things

[plethorawrites]

(Guys, there's too much Jason consuming my thoughts 😭 I can't write anything else. Someone make me stop. I need to fixate on Dick or Bruce for a bit, please!)

Imagining Jason Todd, whose happy place is his partner and who protected his peace so well his family doesn't even know you exist. It wasn't that he tried to hide it, he just wasn't sure at first if a few dates with you would lead to anything serious. Then, suddenly he was leaving patrol early to come home to your shared apartment because you had a headache and wanted him to hold you. Well, telling them that would simply lead to too many questions of who you were and how your relationship started, so he simply makes up an excuse about forgetting a promise he made to Roy. It wasn't that he didn't think his family wouldn't approve, he knew they would adore you. He just liked how separate it was. How you weren't a part of chaos and the darkness they were. You were his safe place, outside of all the madness that his family caused and he rather liked how calm it was to love you without the pressure of his family and their opinions. He'd tell them when the time was right, he always told himself. He just wasn't sure when that would be.

[elysianightsss]

No because girl you NEEDDDDDD to elaborate on this -> Soulmate AU. Poly!141 x neurodivergent!reader <- I will die happily

Elaboratingggggggg🤭🫠

-

You didn’t think that you’d get this far in life, many reasons spring to mind but the main one is you’re a little different than most people. You can’t cope with certain things and struggle with change. You remember growing up your family would brush off your ‘issues’ and say to just deal with it. How little they understood you.

Moving out was the best decision you ever made, the only change you have ever been happy about. It was necessary and would make your life so much easier on a level only you could understand. You could set up your space the way you like it, the way you need it. And with just you, no one would mess with your stuff just to see you loose it as it was ‘funny’ or move things to suit them better.

This way, you could live in peace.

Task force 141 had just finished a successful mission, camping out in one of the many secret safe houses as they waited for further instructions when they had sent Johnny to the shop for supplies. That’s where he saw you, in a Sainsbury’s supermarket of all places, headphones tight over your ears to block out the world while you tried to decide if the extra two, ninety-nine was worth it or not for the soothing lavender face mask you wanted.

Johnny was quick to subtly snap a picture of you and even go as far as to follow you home before bolting it back to the guys to tell them he’d finally found you. Their last soulmate.

As soon as Johnny showed them the image of you, that was it for them. They had to have you. A burning need coursing through their veins, pumping around their bodies. Nothing would ever be enough until they had you in their arms.

But as said and as they observed themselves, you don’t cope with change.

So they had to situate themselves into your life slowly, one by one.

Johnny and Simon moved in next door to you, and lived there for seven months slowly getting to know you and obviously spying on you. They gradually began to understand you and your cute quirks. They know that you eat the same thing for dinner every night, you use the same plate or bowl and wash it straight after use to make sure it is ready for next time.

You have one set of cutlery, one glass and one mug. Two pillows though you only sleep on one and use the other to hug to sleep. And to top it all off you have one recliner chair and one massive beanbag chair that makes you feel like you’re being hugged tight each time you sit on it. It gives you the deep pressure therapy you desperately need at times.

The guys found your habits strange at first but the more time they spent with you, the more they began to understand you. Understand your need for order, for repetition. And they had experienced first hand what happens when change was forced into your safe space.

Johnny had the bright idea to gift you a set of cutlery a few weeks ago so when he and Simon came round for dinner as they did every Thursday for the past four months, they didn’t have to bring cutlery and plates from their own place, it would already be there.

Simon said it was a bad idea but he couldn’t say no to Johnny, not with how happy he looked while he picked out some pretty baby blue plates and silver cutlery with little mushrooms painted at the end. He boasted to Simon about how much you’d love them while they stood in the queue to pay.

He was wrong.

After dinner was cooked you plated up the food no problem thinking the pretty plates were from their house. Then you opened the kitchen drawer only to hear the clutter and smash of cutlery rubbing together. The sound made a ringing pierce your ears, your hands reaching up to cover them. It was like nails on a chalkboard to you. The sound you heard making you panic beyond measure, your breathing out of control as you slid to your knees.

Johnny’s smile dropped and he sprung into action using the deep pressure therapy you had told him about with your beanbag chair. Simon was quick to removed the extra plates and cutlery from where Johnny had put them and take them back to their place before returning ready to help. He knew he’d need to call John and let him know you had had an episode, but helping you came first.

So you liked constant repetition. If it made you happy, that was absolutely fine with them.

Kyle got himself hired as a barista at your favourite cafe, he learned your usual and practiced at home to make sure every morning when you stopped by on the way to work to drink your coffee and sit with your laptop for twenty minutes, you’d have the perfect drink. He made absolutely sure that it tasted the same every single time. No change.

After a couple of months of smiles and waves here and there he finally got you to open up. Baby steps. A little at a time and now Kyle was taking his twenty minute break at your table while you typed up something for work. You always worked so hard. But he managed to get a few sentences out of you each time and it made his heart sing.

And last but not least, John became your new boss after your last one mysteriously got caught for money laundering. Mr Price was an amazing boss, he didn’t ask for much and was always giving you big opportunities that you’d only ever dreamed of. You had been promoted twice since he became the CEO.

You were now executive editor under him as the chief editor at one of the best publishers in the country. Pirons Classics, number two in the UK and number four in the World. To say the guys were proud that you worked there in the first place was an understatement. Their smart girl.

He called you sweet nicknames and brought you lunch everyday. The same thing, a pesto and cheese sandwich and a snack of your choosing from the vending machines. You don’t remember when it started but you were always too shy to say anything so it became a regular thing.

If you were to sit and think real hard about the situation you would realise how changes had been introduced into your life ever since the four of them appeared. But they were subtle changes and you genuinely couldn’t remember a time when these changes weren’t normal. On top of that, these four men were the only people besides yourself, that you felt comfortable, relaxed and content around.

So for the first time you don’t sit and think, for the first time you just let it happen and you don’t notice the difference.

Johnny and Simon were more involved with you than the other two. They were the closest to you currently with the status of your best friends which Johnny most certainly bragged to the other two about. You had known them for almost a year now and they didn’t exactly hide their romantic relationship but didn’t exactly flaunt it either.

You had found it kinda hot when you saw them kiss and even though it was unusual for you, you luckily managed to keep your mouth shut about it.

You had no idea they had noticed.

[valalice]

Hello there!! I really love your work! Could I request some older! gf caitlyn with some subtle and soft dominance? Doesnt need to be nsfw [but won’t complain if it is ;))]

It could just be about how she acts with the reader when in public, at home, etc. [i.e: cooking for reader when they’re busy for exams, putting her hand on reader’s thighs when sitting in public, or big spooning reader when they head to bed.]

That’s all. Please remember to stay hydrated and take frequent breaks! Keep being you and don’t overwork yourself :)).

— 🐢

ꪆৎ HEAVEN, HEAVEN. ft. 𝓬𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓵𝔂𝓷 𝓴𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓷.

ʚɞ summary. subtle ways your older girlfriend caitlyn shows dominance towards you.

warnings. fem!reader. reader is in college. age gap (10 years or more). no use of y/n. modern au! where cait is an office worker. fluff. in one headcanon there's a mention of curly hair (it's all for inclusivity and bias tbh—coming from a girl with curly hair). pet names ie: darling, love, baby, ect. smut nsfw. bottom!reader. dom!cait. hair pulling. mommy kink (reader calling cait mommy & cait calling herself mommy). squirting. cait had a bush. reader is a brat kinda. slight exhibition. fingering (r!receiving). orgasm denial. oral (c! receiving). strap (r!receiving). the strap is referred to as cait's cock. not proofread. wc. roughly 2k to 3k

an. thank you for the request, lovie! and i'm happy that you're enjoying my work ☺️ i decided to take this request and turn it into a headcanon format so i hope that's okay! you are too cute with your kind words and i hope you are taking care of yourself, drinking lots of water and eating yummy meals <3 i also decided to add some nsfw headcanons 🙈 so i hope you guys enjoy them. and for any of these headcanons i am willing to expand on them if you guys are interest :) remember to support your writers by reblogging & commenting !

m.list. | arcane m.list.

࣪ ˖ SAFE FOR WORK.

‣ straight away with caitlyn you notice her dominance. even before the two of you started dating and she was courting you, as she'd say when reminiscing with you or her friends on the early stages of you two, she exuded an air around her that's nothing less than confidence, pride, and dominance. she's already tall at 6 foot, but her posture is always upright, her appearance sleek, and she reveled in maintaining eye contact. and before her you usually didn't find people who were overtly dominant attractive, but when it comes to caitlyn it's completely different, natural. it's the way she carry's herself and it rubs off on you.

‣ the first subtle way of cait's dominance you noticed was her ability to make decisions. she's knows what she wants and how she wants it, and that's something you're relieved about, being too indecisive at times. so being able to let caitlyn reign free on decision making was something that gave you peace of mind. and it wasn't that she was a control freak (she kind of is, but that isn't the point), she helps level out the playing field when you're iffy.

"what would you like to eat for lunch, darling? my treat." she ask, clicking on her keys to unlock her car, taking the bag from off you shoulders to hold it in her hand.

"hm," breaking away from cait to walk around her car to the passenger seat, just before your slide in. "i don't really know." you cringe, you couldn't even count on your fingers how many times you've said this phrase in your relationship so far.

you hear caitlyn hum and the sound of her swinging open the back seat door and the shuffle of her setting your bag in the backseat before you enter your seat. she joins you in the driver's seat, clicking in her seat belt, her gaze settling upon you scrolling away on your phone. "would you like to eat out somewhere or pick up fast food and we can take it back to my place?"

your head darts up to look at your girlfriend, lips twisting up, thinking about your options. "i want something good."

that's earns a chuckle from cait, "i know that silly," her hand coming up to boop you on your noise, which caused you to scrunch it and giggle, swatting her hand away. "but what is exactly good?" she presses.

"well what do you think is good?"

"that wasn't the question."

you grumble, "you're so difficult."

"says you." she teases.

"'m always the one who picks. what would you like." you ask turning in your seat towards her as best as you can.

"i'm fine with whatever you'd like. you know that."

biting your lip you think about the choices she gave you earlier. "i think we should go back to your place."

"that's a start. do you have a taste for anything."

"i already answered that."

"darling." she sing songs in a tone similar to a warning.

she starts the engine, finally, and you immediately connect to the bluetooth.

"y'know we haven't had chinese in awhile." she proses, eyeing your expression from the corner of her eye.

"oh, that sounds really good actually."

cait perks up in the drivers seat, "you're usual?"

"yep!"

"alright," she stretches forward to twist the volume nob lower. "i'm going to call it in and we'll pick it up on the way home."

‣ cait also does the general dominate things; like opening up doors of any kind for you when she can, interlocking your fingers when the two of you walk together, walking slightly in front of you at all times as well as guiding you. you secretly love it though when instead of guiding you through a crowd by being in front of you, you love it when she does it by standing behind you, a hand or both hands securely on your hips as she leads you forward from behind. she's also a firm believer of switching places when walking, on the street and you're near the road? she's switching with you. in the parking lot and your facing the intersections? she's using her hand on your lower back to guide you to be the closest near the parked cars.

‣ she will also never let her girl look out of place, so she fixes anything that is "off" with your appearance. like fixing a certain stand of hair, taking that fallen eyelash off of your cheek and raising her finger with the piece of your fine hair on it in front of your lips so you could wish and blow it away, fixing your jacket so it's straight or the neckline of your shirt or dress, the straps of your bra will never be showing when you're wearing thin strapped items as long as caitlyn's around. holding your little compact mirror while you fix up your makeup or reapply your lipgloss. your necklaces will always be facing the correct way. picking off lint or stray hairs from your clothing. and she somehow always notices when your sneakers are starting to untie before your, pulling you aside so she can get on a knee and pat her propped up knee so you can place your foot there and allow her to tie your shoe, when she's done she pats your foot to let you know and she dust herself off before leaning down to give you a kiss.

‣ when out in public she'll usually always keep one hand on you at all times. in a comforting way for the both of you, especially if the two of you will be around her friends or people her age. she knows you get antsy around them and there's anxiety about being the youngest in a room full of older people. so, there will always be a comforting arm wrapped around your waist or a hand in or lap or on your thigh.

you look around the room, there's people you've met before. caitlyn's friends and a few colleagues, but for the most part a majority of them are new faces. and you can't help but feel like everyone is looking at you.

you've never been insecure about being with caitlyn. yes she's older than you, but it's never stopped you from feeling head over heels for her and that feeling overpowers any doubt or insecurity you could ever have. it's the fact that it seems like you're the youngest in the room, there's nothing inherently bad about that. but everyone here is successful, and you're well. . . a college student working a job that has nothing to do with what you're going to school for.

a warm hand snaps you out of your thoughts. lifting your head, caitlyn's already looking at you with a soft expression. "you're shaking your leg, love."

"oh," looking down at the leg with cait's hand on it, still shaking. you stop it on command, focusing your gaze back on your girlfriend.

"are you okay?" she tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowing and the ponytail her blue hair is in swishes behind her, cute.

you give her a tight smile, nodding your head. "hm." you hope you're convincing enough.

caitlyn takes in a breath, breaking her gaze from you to look around the room. "y'know that woman over there went for the same major as you." she points out.

"really?" observing the woman who's talking with a few of their colleagues before turning your wide gaze back to your girlfriend.

"hm. she doesn't do work with it," she pauses, turning her head back to you with soft eyes. "but, what she does now is something she loves."

her hand smoothing up and your thigh, comforting you. "what i'm trying to say is that don't worry about your path right now being different from others around you." she reassures. reaching out to take a hand from your lap to take it in hers, bringing your hand to her lips and pressing a kiss.

flushing at her gesture, "thank you, cait." your voice small enough for only her to hear in the chatter of the room. your hand stays up near her lips and she presses a few more kisses, causing you to giggle.

"there she is." she muses.

you bring her hand holding yours down down into your lap to clasp her hand in between yours. leaning forward, a few inches from her face.

"kiss?"

caitlyn leans forward to meet your lips, not connecting them just yet. "any thing for my darling." she whispers against your lips.

‣ it was also established pretty early that caitlyn is the big spoon in the relationship. she enjoys and you love it. caitlyn also finds it pretty cute whenever the two of you are laying anywhere whether it's the sofa or in bed that you turn your back to her and keep shifting until she notices your moving form, coming up to wrap herself around your backside. not really big spooning but caitlyn enjoys the feeling and pressure of your laying on top of her, always telling you how it grounds her whenever she pulls you along to the bed and flops you on top of her. but you never complain because you find it comforting too, the side of your head press against her soft chest, focusing on the steady rise and fall of it and the buh dumbs of her heartbeat, you usually fall asleep quickly like this.

‣ older gf!caitlyn knows how draining it is to be in college. you get so focused on your education by sainting grades or completing assignments, not to mention the exams. so, she's always doing her best to help you out and make sure that you keep yourself in check rather that be mentally or physically. during hard times where you have midterms or finals or just back to back exams caitlyn will always tell you to not worry about picking up shifts at your job, she already knows you're overworking yourself by studying and doesn't want you to exhaust yourself further by working long hours. because she knows you and that if you could study then work a shift and study some more afterwards you would, but she knows that isn't healthy for you. so she always reassures you by saying that she'll support you financially for a little bit, transfer sums of money into you bank account for rent, bills, groceries, ect. it gives her peace of mind to know that she able to take a weight off your shoulders and provide for you. cait is also an insanely amazing cook and you always rave about her cooking, so she began taking a day out of her week every week to cook you some premade meals. she always comes stocked and ready on a weekend to your place with her tote full of meals to pile into your fridge. and during exam season it became pretty common for you to send time at hers for a few days. she does it to watch over you to make sure you're not running on fumes, but you like to think of her as a built in study buddy for reviews. during these days cait will come home from work to most likely find you at the dinning table studying, she'll kiss you on your forehead, and she'll head straight to the kitchen to cook dinner. as much as you dread exam season you don't dread spending this time with cait, there's just something so inherently domestic about cait providing for you. coming home and cooking dinner for the both of you, it makes your mind go numb. and it makes her feel successful when at night when she drags you to bed and for her to wake up to begin getting ready for work that you're still in bed soundly sleeping and that you didn't sneak off somewhere to study.

"dinner's ready." caitlyn chims, poking her head into the dinning room where you sit.

you lift your head up from your notes to eye her. sniffing the aroma around you. "chicken alfredo?"

"hm. you said something about craving it last week, so when i went shopping i picked up the ingredients."

"you're so sweet, cait." you hum, watching as she exits back into the kitchen. you prop your elbow up the table to rest your head in your hand, eyes flicking back down to your notes. you needed to understand—no—absorb this material into your brain for your exam coming up in a few days. listing off multiple curses within your head for taking this course and major and your professor for being a difficult teacher.

there's crinkling of sheets of paper around you. cait's suddenly bending across the table to organize the scattered papers in her hands. "c'mon, love. you can study a little more later."

fixing your gaze back up causing your eyebrows to raise, dumbfounded as you watched her. releasing your head from your hand to reach it out for the papers. "but—"

"but?" her tone is questioning and harsh. blue eyes narrowing at you.

"just a few more minutes, please, baby. i almost have this down."

you watching her graceful figure walk to the edge of the table where the rest of your materials lie and she places the stack down. she stands tall, placing a hand on her hips. "you can always study some more afterwards," she begins to walk over towards where you sit. "your notes aren't going to miraculously grow legs and run away, love. they'll be here." she assures. you blink and look back down at the notes in front of you, then back up at caitlyn. and for the first time you notice her attire, her hairs in a messy ponytail, still in her work attire but she's discarded her blouse and is only in her under tank top and slacks, she too has has had a long day.

"okay." you agree.

caitlyn smiles, showing off her toothy grin and her front gap you adore. she takes the material in front of you and places it with the rest.

"we're eating at the island. i have a sneaky feeling your cute bum has been sat on that chair all day." she teases.

you stand, bones cracking. your eyes shoot straight to look at cait, the both of you bursting into laughter. the noise proving her suspicions correct.

she sways back towards you, "come before the food gets cold." she muffles out, taming her laughter.

beelining to the kitchen island you sit back down, but now on a high top chair. lifting yourself up by your hands on the counter to eye the dish of chicken alfredo on the other side of the counter.

"looks s'yummy, cait."

"hope it is."

"always is" you correct.

watching as she stands on the other side, empty plate in hand with tongs in the other, dishing up some pasta and chicken.

"good?"

you eye the plate, "hm" you nod.

she heads behind her to the stove where steamed broccoli lies, piling some onto you plate. opening a drawer next to the stove, grabbing a fork and slamming it shut with her hip. she turns around and walks around the island. the clank of the plate landing on the counter, placing the fork down next to it.

"dig in, darling." pressing a kiss into your hair before going to fix her plate.

‣ she takes care of you in softer domestic ways. such as taking off your makeup for you after a long day or a night out with friends. bathing you and carefully washing over you in the shower. washing your hair, even going as far to learn the type of products you use and buying spares for her place so she's always stocked if you happen to spend days at her place and it's a wash day. she even learns how to care for you hair type if you have curly hair, hearing you complain endlessly about the process of washing and styling it, so she'd take it upon herself to observe you and learn so that way she can help and maybe even completely take over the process to give your poor arms a break. a certain domestic thing she does is call her place home. not just her home but your home too. whenever you're spending the night and the two of you out she'll always say "alright, let's head home, love." at the end of it. and it never fails to make your heart skip a beat that she views her space as your guys's collective space. she makes it knows that she's ready for you to move in whenever you feel most comfortable, and the day that you announce that you're ready to live together she is beaming.

࣪ ˖ NOT SAFE FOR WORK.

‣ a subtle way she asserts dominance is maintaining eye contact with you. she relishes in being able to make you flustered from simple eye contact, watching you get all fidgety and stumble over your words. but it's also her silent cue whenever you're acting out in public. a tilt of her head, dark gaze, heavy lids and a narrowed eyes will usually set you in place.

‣ caitlyn knew a lot about herself before she met you, she kept a list of all things she liked and didn't like, and those things rarely changed. but what she didn't know is that she'd find being called mommy so attractive. she knows she can be assertive and demanding at times, always the one with the plan. she was even deemed the "mom friend" when she was younger, but not once in any of her other relationships had anyone called her mommy. and maybe it's because she's never dated anyone, before you, with a large age gap. but the first time the word escaped between your sweet lips it was when cait had you face down, ass up, drooling into a pillow. fucking you at a particular angle with her cock that caused you to go dumb and roll your eyes to the back of your skull. realization didn't strike you when it muttered out, you were too far gone, but of course caitlyn heard it, she hears everything. her hips stilling. "what was that?" you barely heard her question, only worrying about the fact that she stopped fucking you, pressing your hips back to gain her attention to begin thrusting again. "please—mommy." oh. she liked that.

‣ older gf!caitlyn expects nothing but the best behavior of her sweet darling. she finds it intolerable and disrespectful when you decide to be a brat and act out, and when you take it further and push her past her warnings? she's seething. but two can play that game.

cait lets out a laugh along with her friends. the two of you were where at this restaurant for hours now. you didn't mind your girlfriend's friends, you loved and enjoyed their company. but you didn't expect to be here for this long and it's getting antagonizing having to sit and pretend like your understanding anything any of them are saying, especially when cait looks like that, blue hair flowing down her back, dainty silver jewelry decorating her body, in that black silk dress the one with the modest (you don't think do) slit. you begged her to cancel the moment you saw her, but she persisted, and now you're suffering.

she's even been uptight today, shutting down your sly advances, saying something about acting out and wanting to enjoy a night with her friends in a long time when the two of you took a bathroom break. the bathroom break had backfired too, you prosed the question about going to the bathroom hoping she'd shuffle you into a stall and finger you, but that was a bust.

when you peak down to look at the time on your phone you catch something interesting from the corner of your eye. caitlyn's exposed thigh from the slit, her dress is bunched up a little at her waist so the amount of skin showing is more.

your nimble fingers trace down her thigh, smirking at the feel of goosebumps rising on her skin. settling your hand on her thigh, not too far low and not too high, just yet.

cait turns her head to peer down at the hand on her thigh, your pinky rubbing back and forth on the soft skin. then to your face, you flash her a smile and she does the same, pressing a quick peck to your lips before she turns her attention back to her friends. you feel as though a grey gloomy cloud was cast over you in that moment.

in a burst of inspiration you begin to inch your hand high, little by little until a few of your finger tips are dipping past the slit of that dress towards her clothed cunt.

her head instantly snaps towards you, eyes narrowed.

"what do you think you're doing?"

"i want to play." you shrug.

"and i told you not here."

"but i really want it," your gaze on caitlyn growing dark. "mommy." purring out the name so only the two of your could hear it

caitlyn's eyebrows raise in shock before they settle back down, turning her head to see her friends are still deep in conversation. her hand pulling yours from between her thighs. there isn't a harsh grip around your hand but it is tight, and with that hand she pulls you forward.

"fix your attitude and behave. maybe i'll think about touching you when we get back home."

you sit up straighter a grin forming on your face. nodding your head "m'kay." caitlyn squints her eyes at your sudden sudden change, releasing your hand.

a few moments pass by and you're already thinking of defying cait again. this time your hand finds her shoulder. you're bored so you begin to trace shapes on it, but then that gets boring so you start toying with her dress strap.

"stop that." her voice startles you.

you roll you eyes, confidently, because caitlyn isn't even looking at you.

"'m not even doing anything."

"yet." the pronunciation of the word is precise and harsh.

she turns back to you, "you're thinking of doing something. so i suggest before you do, that you don't."

"cait." you whine.

"what's going on with you, hm?"

"i told you."

"you're never this bad in public." that's true, but you've never had to wait this long for your girlfriend to touch you.

"you don't get it."

she eyes you. "no, i think i do," leaning forward her lips ghost yours. "seems as though i've spoiled you rotten which is causing you to act like a little slut in front of all my friends."

her voice dropped to an octive, enacting a reaction of chills down your body, wetness pooling between your thighs.

"be quiet or you won't cum for a week." she commands, pressing a kiss to your lips and refocusing herself.

"wha—"

suddenly caitlyn's hand dismisses the fabric of your skirt to between your thighs. fingers getting to work by rubbing at your clothes clit. you look up to see that cait now has her drink in her other hand, bringing it up to her lips to take a sip. her peripheral vision catching you and flicking her eyes to you, corking an eyebrow up at you.

as she is finished with her drink and sets it down her fingers push past your panties, spreading your legs a little wider to welcome her large hand. slow lazy circles on you clit was all you got for awhile, but it was enough to simmer your ache.

without warning cait bullies a finger into your sopping heat, causing you to let out a loud gasp. the entire table turning to you.

"are you okay?" one of her friends asks.

"yeah. you feeling alright, love?" her voice is laced in false concern. slipping another finger into your greedy cunt, observing your reaction.

you shuffle, looking around the table, then down at your empty plate. you can see cait's hand flexing as she pumps fingers in and out of you.

"uh— none of us has ordered dessert yet! it's not a dinner without dessert," you prose. "hm, right?"

the table agrees, and someone beckons the waiter over.

while everyone is occupied, caitlyn leans forward to your ear. "quick thinking, little one." she praises, watching as the waiter takes everyone's dessert orders. "order up, love."

"and what would you like?" the waiter asks.

biting down on your lip, hard. "hm, what's good?" there was an infliction on your voice from cait pressing her thumb against your clit as she fingers you.

"the molten lava cake is our most popular—"

you cut them off. "i'll take that!" a muffled moan escaped through your mouth, "hmm, sounds very delicious." hoping that saved yourself.

the waiter writes it down on their pad, turning their attention to caitlyn. "and for you ma'am?"

"oh, her and i will share." she confirms.

as the waiter walks off your head turns to cait, glossy eyes boring into her cold blue eyes. "cait—"

"i know" she shushes, she already knows you're close by the way you're desperate sucking her fingers back in. you're not sure if it's all in your head, but you swear cait fingering you underneath the table is causing the obscene squelches from your messy cunt to reverb and echo through the restaurant. to combat the noise you squeeze your thighs around cait's hand, but she persists.

flinging a hand down to grip at the hand between your thighs, you're so close that you don't even care if her friends caught on. not when her slender fingers that spot so deep within that only cait can reach.

just as you legs begin to shake uncontrollably, caitlyn whips her fingers from you needy cunt and between your thighs. grabbing the cloth napkin to wipe off your juices from her fingers, an icy glare is sent your way as she sets it back down, one that tells you everything.

brats don't get to cum.

‣ going back to spooning with caitlyn, she also loves to place you in her lap while the two of you watch tv. your head in the crook of her shoulder and a hand of hers in your hair, playing with it. until suddenly when she was innocently twirling a piece of your hair you'll feel a tug at it, causing you to gasp unexpectedly. or she'll get straight to it, so a her hand will find its way on the nape of your neck, slim fingers threading themselves through the underside of your hair before she yanks, now this will cause you to moan out, head falling back so she's cradling it in her hand. wet lips finding their way to your exposed neck, kissing and nipping away at the sensitive skin. you'll whine out, only for cait to shh you, "let me have my fun, love."

‣ there's something intoxicating about you being naked while caitlyn is completely clothed. the contrast between your crumbling figure and her composure. she also loves seeing how your sensitive body reacts to the feeling of her clothes on your body. her favorite is to press her clothed chest to your bare one while the two of you are messily making out, your nipples immediately hardening. even the way she can feel your slick soaking through her slack covered thigh, tainting the material. it drives her insane when she makes you squirt, your juices all over her button up making the material darker.

‣ when you're particularly needy and need something to shut you up she'll shove a few fingers in your mouth, watching the way your eyelids drop and you focus on sucking on her fingers. on other occasions she'll order you on your knees, grabbing a cushion for them. and she'll strip slowly and teasingly for you.

you watch her hips sway, raking in her naked body. her blue bush in your face and you feel drool pool into your mouth, gulping. a hand comes to your chin, pushing your head up to look up at her.

"you've been needy," she begins. "but, you've also been good. so i was thinking of putting your neediness to use, i want your mouth."

nodding your head aggressively, eyes dropping back down.

"words."

a hand still on your chin tips your head, peering up with wide doe eyes, cait's expression is cold as she stands over you. "yes, use me mommy, please."

her face relaxes and she smiles down at you, "good girl." your chin is released and her hand smooths over the back of your head, pushing it forward.

taking her clit in your mouth, you moan into her. lapping her up, you free your hands from your lap, placing them on her hips to burry yourself further between her pretty thighs. eyes fluttering shut, savoring the taste of the woman standing above you.

"ah, that's it. s'good." cait's noises of pleasure sounds like music to your ears. opening your eyes to view up her body, she truly is a stallion. her eyes are shut, her shirt long discarded on the floor as she toys with one of her breast, her hand still on your head keeping you pressed up close to her, and her mouth is agape.

your wet muscle working away at her, gliding through her sticky folds. slurping up all her arousal, not wasting a drop.

"so—" she begins. but gasp when you take her clit and suck on it. "shit. so," she gasp again, "so eager to please."

nodding into her, not wanting to let up. releasing a moan into her, causing the grasp in your hair to tighten.

"c'mon, love. make me cum," doe eyes staring back into her drowsy eyes as she lazily talks. "make mommy cum."

caitlyn addressing herself as mommy made you clench your thighs, the ache between your thighs becoming very apparent.

your pushed so far into her that your nose is up against her bush, her scent only enhancing your eagerness.

cait begin to slightly rock back and forth in your mouth maneuvering your head so she's practical long dragging her cunt against your face. your finger nails grip into her hips, adding to her movements. her juices dripping down your chin to dip down your neck.

"fuck!" she yelps, her sweet release washing over her shuttering body and you quickly slurp it up.

the grip in your hair releases. when your satisfied you let up, but quickly you place a kiss upon cait's clit, letting up with a mwah. a shiny sheen covering the bottom half of your face, even the tip of your nose.

cait's hand finds it's way on your face once again, but it cradles you jaw this time, thumb swiping over your plump, slick cover lips.

"my baby always knows how to care of me, doesn't she?" she purs, droopy eyes sparkling down at you with a dazzling smile to match.

‣ whenever cait is strapping you she prefers to be gentle with you. it'll take a lot of begging and or pressing your luck to get her to be really rough with you (like the first time you ever called her mommy). she also just prefers it. she likes taking it slow with you whenever she fucks you with her cock, in missionary so she's able to see your twisted up face from pleasure. she's also just a plain sucker for intimacy, the two of you so close that you're not even sharing space the space you two take up is its own completely new thing. everything of the outside world just washes away, and she gets to focus on you and only you. she loves being able to look you in your eye and dip her head in the crook of your neck to litter kisses and love bites across it and down your collarbones to your tits. and she really loves when you cum, your back arching off the bed your chest pressing further into hers, your head falling back, mouth agape and releasing pretty moans and whines of your climax, even your toes curling and uncurling. she eats it up. she loves it. she loves you.

[mmywanda]

Pretty When You Sleep — W.M

——

Pairing: Dark!WandaMaximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Nights are lot more dangerous than you think.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, drugging, blood, murder, stalking, mentions of a knives, strap-on.

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: This is a dark fic, if you find any of the warnings triggering, please do not read. Happy Halloween! men & minors dni.

Beta read by @poulengp <3

——

It started off small.

All the shoes you left in a mess by the door now neatly stacked up, laces undone, just so they were easier to slip on. The lamp you'd accidently leave on before falling asleep, being off when you woke up in the morning. Clothes that were dumped on the floor, suddenly folded up in your drawer.

Then it got weirder.

Your purse being filled with fifty dollar bills on the mornings you worried you wouldn't have enough to afford your groceries. Some of your clothes, specifically underwear, going missing. Your phone being in the other room when you woke up. Waking up with different pyjama bottoms on.

As it got worse, you found yourself confiding in your friend. Well, a little more than a friend, but the two of you had never labelled it. The two of you sat in the corner of a local cafe, coffee warming up your hands. It was a cool autumn day, causing you to wrap up in a scarf and fluffy coat. This crimson coloured scarf had suddenly appeared in your closet, right when you needed it. It should have been wrong to wear something that had inexplicably appeared in your home, but it was cold, and what else were you to do?

"It's just getting weird. Even the leftovers in my fridge that were about to be mouldy are being thrown away. I see it in my garbage bag. And you know me, I don't even throw it out until it's literally gone blue."

Erin laughed, "You're quite careless. And disgusting." Yes, you were, but that wasn't the point!

"Shush. I'm actually worried here. I'm starting to think.. no.. no one can be breaking into my apartment every night, I'd wake up and hear them. God, I think I'm going mad." You mumbled, hand gripping tightly around the coffee mug. It reminded you of the time you'd left a cold cup of tea on the side, and had fallen asleep. When you woke up an hour later, the cup was hot, as if it had just been warmed up again.

"You've added another lock to your door, you don't even have a spare key for it. It's impossible for someone to break in. And you live on the top floor. Honey, you've been exhausted recently, it's not uncommon for people to get forgetful. You probably did those things while sleepy." Erin reassured you, placing a hand over yours.

You sighed deeply, downing the last drops of drink you had left, Erin doing the same. "Yeah, you're probably right. It's just.. strange."

—

As you entered your apartment late at night, instead of throwing your keys carelessly on a table, you decided to tuck them in the nightstand by your bed. Just to be safe, even if it was just for your own peace of mind. You jumped into the shower, cracking open the window so the steam could be let out. You lived on the top floor of your block, no one could look in, which was always a good thing because your bathroom got very steamy, recently the ceiling paper even curling at the side from the condensation. Making a mental note to look up the prices for someone to redecorate.

You really needed a shower today, you and Erin had gotten a little.. excited earlier, and it always made you cringe not showering before bed after an evening of sex. Under the warm water, you hummed a song you'd had stuck in your head all day. It was a song you didn't even recognise, in fact you weren't even sure you'd heard it before. All you knew was that it was in a different language, and it was comforting.

Once clean, you felt overwhelmingly tired, it had been a long day, so you decided to go straight to bed after having your usual cup of camomile tea, with two spoons of sugar. Then you got into bed. Before you could doze off though, you decided to read for a bit, opening up your latest novel of your favourite author. It can't have been too exciting though, because you fell asleep before the first chapter was over.

When dawn broke, the early sun breaking through cracks in your window, you stirred, blinking a few times. Something felt strange, like every morning for the past few months. You felt a stickiness between your thighs, and your pyjama bottoms were definitely not the ones you fell asleep in. You stared down at the light blue shorts, eyebrows furrowed. Were you a sleepwalker? No, your past roommates would have told you. Maybe you'd had a really good dream and just forgotten it? Fuck, this was weird.

Deciding there was nothing you could really do about the situation, you got up, opting to take another shower to get rid of the icky feeling.

It was when you were munching on your chocolate flavoured cereal that you heard your phone ping. Automatically, you put your spoon down, picking up the device you so heavily relied upon. It was a text from an unknown number, causing you to frown. Opening it, you saw there was a picture attached to the text. And when you examined it, your blood ran cold.

It was a picture of you, naked in bed. Your body spread out, intimate area completely exposed.

"What the fuck?" You whispered, reading what had come with it.

Unknown number: Three orgasms in one night, that's your record so far.

You didn't know what to think— someone had.. touched you while you were asleep? They broke in and did this to you? You shivered in fear, your shaky hands typing out a response before you could even think about what the police would say if you went to them; to not engage with a dangerous person.

You: Who the fuck is this?

There was no reply. Not when you left for work, not when you arrived home in the evening.

You were rigid with fear. A sensible person would have called the police, or at least called someone like Erin, asked to stay over, but you just couldn't. Every time you were about to dial a number, something inside you made you stop. You couldn't explain it.

So here you were, sat bolt upright on your couch. It was around eleven, and your eyes were growing heavy. Your camomile tea mug now empty, you blinked a few times, just aching to lay down and rest. No, you had to stay up! You had to see who had been breaking into your home. But.. you were so tired, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over you. Your eyes closed slowly, slumping down and falling into a deep sleep.

—

The next morning the first thing you did was check your phone, seeing if the stranger had replied, and they had. Two images attached to a message. And what you saw horrified you. The first picture, one of you in bed, with a.. strap-on, buried inside you. It made you feel sick, that someone had done this to you unwillingly. Though the expression on your face, clearly asleep but pleasure in your features. You could even see your own arousal dripping down the toy.

The second image quite literally made you throw up, You ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl as the picture burned in your mind. It had been someone laying on a floor, covered in blood, a knife wedged in their chest.

You had to go to the police. There was no choice now. For some reason, you looked back at the picture, and your mouth dropped open. That someone was a familiar.

It was Erin.

You just knew, it was her jacket, her brown eyes wide open in fear, her blue dyed hair drenched in her own blood. It caused you to throw up again.

—

"I—I think my best friend has been murdered."

You whispered in a shaky voice to a police officer who had sat you down in a cold grey room. After seeing what you'd been sent, not even reading the message that had come with it, you rushed down to the local police station, practically screaming for someone to talk to.

"Why do you suspect this?" He asked in a gruff voice. He didn't seem to be all that serious about the situation, upsetting you even further.

"I've got pictures! And texts!" Your fingers fumbled around your pocket to retrieve your phone, opening your messages app.

It wasn't there.

"So?" The officer prompted, clearly unimpressed.

"It was.. it was right here.." You mumbled, opening every contact you had in case it had magically gotten messed up.

But no, the messages had vanished.

"Look, lady, I think you should go home and get some rest. You look tired. Our minds make things up when we're lacking sleep."

"But—"

"Listen, if something happens, come back in. But for now, you're making empty claims."

Hanging your head down dejectedly, you fought back tears. You knew Erin was dead. You just knew it.

—

Tonight you weren't going to fall asleep. Just to make sure, you downed two mugs of strong coffee instead of your tea. You hated it, but you couldn't risk falling asleep. The intruder— the murderer, was going to break in, you were sure.

The time ticked on. Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, one o'clock..

Until your phone buzzed. Dread washed over you. There was no one else who would be making your phone light up at this time of night.

Unknown number: How am I meant to enjoy you when you don't have your tea? You look so pretty when you sleep.

This confused you. Why would they be concerned about what beverage you were drinking? You typed out a response quickly.

You: I'm not scared of you.

It was a stupid thing to say, you knew that really. But the only thing you could think of was to pretend you weren't scared. Maybe that would make them bored and leave you alone. All you could think about what Erin's lifeless body. The blood, god.. all that blood..

Unknown number: See you soon, sweetheart.

Your eyes widened in horror; what the fuck did that mean? This person was on their way? Sickness rose up in your throat, and you ran to your kitchen, grabbing the first sharp object you could find— a medium sized kitchen knife. You clutched it to your chest, running to your bedroom, locking the door and panting heavily. You considered pushing some furniture against the door, but you knew you needed to call the police. Then you realised you'd left your phone in the kitchen.

Fuck! Fuck!

You had put yourself in the worst position possible. But before you could panic over that, you felt a gust of cold air. You frowned, turning around to see the window wide open. You definitely hadn't left it like that before, but it was also impossible for anyone else to have opened it. You lived on the top floor for Christ's sake!

Not knowing what to do first; close the window, get your phone, block the door, or just curl up in a ball and hope it would all just go away. You opted for grabbing your phone. If you could call the police, they'd be on their way, hopefully before your stalker could arrive.

Cautiously unlocking the bedroom door, you stepped out into the hallway. The lights that had previously been on, were off, leaving the whole apartment pitch black apart from the moon shining through the windows and the bedroom light.

Your steps were slow, ears straining to hear anything, but there was silence. The only sound heard was the hammering of your heart in your chest.

Until the silence was broken.

"Seeing you awake is strange. But exciting nonetheless."

The voice came from right behind you. Spinning around in horror, you finally came face to face with the person who had been tormenting you.

"Tormenting? That's a bit harsh, sweetheart."

The woman was dressed in all black, a hood covering most of her face. Light from the bedroom accentuated her figure, but more importantly, the silhouette of a knife and a cloth in her hands.

"W—who are you?" It was an attempt at a shout, maybe to attract the attention of the apartment below you, but your voice could barely manage a squeak.

"I've told you before, baby. You're a forgetful thing when you're asleep, mhm?" She stepped forward, causing you to take a step back.

"You've been taking advantage of me! You've been breaking into my home! You killed.. Erin!" You whispered, backing up against the wall. You had no where to go. You were most likely to die, just like Erin.

"Sweet girl, I'm not going to kill you. I could never hurt you." The woman's voice was almost softer as she approached you, only two feet away now. Was she reading your mind?

"But you killed my friend." The images of Erin's body filled your mind, and how you were going to end up just like her.

"Your 'friend'? Please, she was begging for her own life, not for you to be safe." She let out a cold laugh. "It was so satisfying, the sound of my blade tearing through her flesh and tissue." It almost sounded like she'd gotten pleasure from it

Finally, you got some sense and energy into you as she expressed her fucked up feelings. You let out a shattering scream, "HELP! HELP!"

The woman sighed in disappointment. It took her less than a second to raise the cloth up to your face, covering your nose and mouth. The smell of chemicals was overwhelming. You fought against it, until you couldn't anymore. Body falling limp to the ground.

—

The noise that woke you up was the sound of a squeaking. Your eyes wouldn't open, wondering what was going on. You then felt something inside you, a pressure building up in your lower stomach. What—

Finally, your vision became clearer. You blinked a few times, looking around you. The scene became pretty clear.

The woman was in between your legs, a strap-on buried inside you, just like that photo. The squeaking was the bed as she thrusted into you.

You should have screamed, but the pressure in your abdomen was too intense. You let out a whine, trying to move your tired body, but it was useless. You didn't even want to stop it, it felt too.. good.

"You're awake." She stated, a slight pant in her voice. Her hood was down now, revealing her auburn wavy hair, pale skin and deep green eyes.

"Let me.." You trailed off, because you didn't know whether to say 'go' or 'come'.

She let out a chuckle, holding your hips firmly as she thrusted into you. The feeling was delicious. Something about the fact your body was sleepy, heavy, while being fucked by a woman so dangerous..

No! Why are you thinking like this? It almost felt like your thoughts weren't yours anymore. Were you going insane?

The woman grunted, wet noises filling the room, making it very apparent that your body did not hate this at all. "You can come for me, it'll be your third."

Your third? You couldn't even bring yourself to ask about it, your body just trembled, a pending orgasm taking over, making you whimper in delight.

"Fuck!"

Tears filled your eyes from the sheer pleasure, and the fact that you should have hated this. You were filled with so much shame and guilt. This was the person who had killed your best friend, who'd stripped you of your dignity.

"Shh, darling, you don't have to feel guilty. You're allowed to feel pleasure. And your friend, well, she was just in the way."

Her twisted words made you feel sick again, but you didn't have time to dwell on that because the woman's hand suddenly reached down and started to circle your clit while simultaneously thrusting into you. A loud groan escaped your throat, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head.

"You're going to beat your record, four times will be an achievement." Her accented voice was hot and heavy, turning you on even more.

"I— mhm!" You tried to speak, but you didn't know what to say.

"Let go, detka, show me how good I make you feel." She gripped your waist with her spare hand, red manicured nails digging into your skin.

Without warning, you came hard, spilling all over the strap. The woman moaned, slowing down her thrusts and eventually pulling out, leaving you unbearably empty. She slipped the strap off and went to straddle you, leaning her head down to kiss your neck. You felt utter bliss, forgetting how incredibly fucked up and sick this was.

"Seeing as this is the first time we've met while you've been conscious, I'll introduce myself. I'm Wanda." She giggled, as if nothing had just happened, and had been happening for months. Your head spun, recognising that name somehow, as if it had been spoken in your dreams.

"Relax now, sweet thing. I'll be here when you wake up." Wanda said softly, lying beside you, wrapping the duvet around your naked body. Her arm laid loosely across your stomach, hearing her breathing slow down to something calmer than before.

You didn't say anything, too busy feeling a wave of satisfaction, as awful as that sounded. It was like your mind was used to this, and that it was something you'd always wanted.

The last thing you remembered was a soft lullaby, in a language you didn't recognise. You'd heard it before, in your dreams. And it brought you great comfort.

——

Tags: @rezwrites @hatdog96 @ion-news @esposadejoyhuerta @moimmmm @grimlygoblin @lizziesflower @yandereloverb312 @beggingonmykneesforher

——

[hedgehog-moss]

My chickens have not been lucky this winter—the youngest one, Louise Michel, despite her revolutionary name, was eaten by a fox earlier this year. At least this new year was off to an auspicious start for this fox and her family. It made me think about Fantastic Mr Fox and how this book indoctrinates small children into directing their empathy towards the beleaguered fox family, while the hen characters are complete non-people—they are even called stupid at one point, even though they are just sitting in their coop, doing their chicken job!

Anyway. Dru survived the fox attack unscathed and non-traumatised, which made me respect her even more than I already did. Drusilla is quite old by now, and she has survived everything—the fox attack that killed her first coopmate, Cordélia; several air strikes by birds of prey; Pandolf trying to scare her to serve his own dog interests... Even though she has long stopped laying eggs, she is a precious asset to my chicken coop: I am going to get new baby hens in the spring and I need Dru to teach them her strategies to win the Darwinian struggle for existence. As an elderly hen, her job is no longer to provide eggs, but wisdom.

And then I heard Dru cry out one afternoon, as if she had been attacked by something.

I felt confused as I ran out to rescue her—I'd seen her just five minutes before when I went out to distribute hay, she was near the pasture gate hanging out with the llamas, donkey, and dog. There's no way a fox would attack a chicken surrounded by such a security detail. I quickly found her, sitting just outside the pasture, in her normal brooding position, she didn't seem hurt—but Pandolf ran towards her as well, and she didn't move out of his way. That was very unusual. Pandolf runs at things and people like a fluffy corrida bull, happy to knock you over with the force of his love (there's a reason the French equivalent of "like a bull in a china shop" is "like a dog in a bowling game"), and Dru always makes sure to jump out of his way, boosting herself with her wings if necessary.

I wondered if she had a broken wing, but when I started examining her she made a very eloquent "urghh go away" gesture at me with both of her wings, so she could move them. Her legs didn't seem injured either, but she refused to get up. I ended up carrying her back to her coop so she could sit in peace and process her feelings, but she wasn't feeling better the next morning. She clucked at me amicably when I visited her but she didn't go outside all day, so I had to leave food and water outside her room like a bemused parent trying to accommodate an angsty teenager.

Since I hadn't been able to detect any injuries and she was eating normally, I thought she might be depressed. Maybe it had taken her some time to understand that she had lost her friend and was all alone in her coop, and then the realisation had hit her, and her normal chicken activities suddenly felt meaningless. That didn't really explain the sharp cry I'd heard the day before, though.

(I hadn't noticed until I took a closer look at the above photo that there is a dirty stain on the wall of the laying box! Embarrassing. But to my defence, chickens are not very clean creatures and keeping their coop clean is a Sisyphean task. I guess I always focus on cleaning the parts where the hens sit and walk, and hadn't leaned over to look at the inside wall. I've now cleaned it up with a brush—but I almost regret doing so, because a friend gave the stain a beautiful and mystical interpretation:

I waited a couple of days to see if Dru's agoraphobia got better, but on Day 3 of her refusing to leave her coop, I decided to take her to the vet.

The farmer who was sitting next to Dru and me in the waiting room seemed very puzzled about my decision to bring a chicken past her prime and no longer laying eggs to the vet for a diagnosis. At first he assumed that I hoped to have her diagnosed as Safe To Eat.

I told him about how this hen is very good at surviving, and I want her to pass on her knowledge to future generations.

Dru looked cranky at the vet, maybe because there was a poster on the wall that said "What's for dinner tonight?" and she took it personally.

Fun chicken fact: the rounder a hen is, the angrier. She may look like an adorable cream puff, but she is a ball of rage:

The vet noticed that her leg was a bit swollen, and said it could be an infection, or maybe some heavy animal had stepped on her foot. He gave me antibiotics and anti-inflammatories and then I had fun trying to make my cranky chicken take her meds every day. Do you think getting a cat to take a pill is difficult? Try it with an animal who evolved from raptors.

Here are screenshots from a video (which my wifi refused to load)—Dru wasn't having a good time, but trust me, neither was I. It was a daily struggle. On the other hand, I discovered that she loves cherry tomatoes! I had a cherry tomato plant in my greenhouse that was only here to keep the aquaponic system going in the winter, I wasn't eating the fruit as they were bitter February tomatoes, and for some reason it didn't occur to me to offer them to my chicken until I was walking around the greenhouse looking for some insect to reward her for taking her medicine. The daily tomato treat delighted her a lot more than some boring insect :)

Well, we are reaching the end of this adventure—Dru will get new coopmates soon (and hopefully start teaching them her secrets immediately) and the vet visit was very worth it 😊 She still has trouble going down the ladder of her coop so I go get her every morning and carry her near my house, but she is walking and, more importantly, scratching around for food again! Here's a little video:

Oh, no, wait, we aren't done—I must ask everyone to take part in the Trial of Pirlouit.

The vet did say it looked as if some heavy animal had stepped on Dru's foot... Considering the llamas are very delicate walkers, and Pandolf is a reckless brute but isn't heavy enough to break a chicken's leg, this makes Pirlouit the main suspect.