#Wood Fruit Pie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asphaltsugar · 2 months ago

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somewhere south with fruits sweeter

logan howlett x fem!reader — 6.6k

(s). with your mother smitten during your visit, he was bound to taste her cooking soon. sharing food is an intimate act, and you weren’t expecting to offer something to him, too.

. . . extras: 18+ minors dni; written with origins!logan in mind; one (1) mention of drinking; reader is slightly shorter than logan; no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, only described as a daughter; pet name ‘sweetheart’; descriptive touching and kissing; very brief thigh riding; implied sexual content: oral (r receiving); a lot of fruit & food symbolism—do with that what you will; this is my first longer-length work so comments are much appreciated! x

────────────── gif from @ultrviolecnt

Maybe the fruits tasted all the more ripe, a real pleasure to eat, due to his hands now arranging their shapes in the weathered, woven baskets; you hadn’t seen him when you visited last year and such a change in the apples, peaches, pears would’ve surely made itself known.

He was one your mother brought into casual conversation sitting on the front porch or working simple chores, and she insisted others were doing just the same; who could place blame on them when such a man was sure to bring about hushed dialects and connotations, a secret of sorts kept in the confines of the town’s acres.

Because of your visiting for the season, it was you instead of your mother who drove the half an hour to the familiar wooden shop that rose with the respective fall of the leaves.

It was becoming something of a bore in the years past, but a little less so now with him around, his presence and rather effortless strength admittedly easy on the eyes. Your mother spoke of him with high regard; only a few minutes after stepping out of your car and onto the gravel of the market’s driveway was enough for her praise to turn tangible in the summer heat that first morning, it now being replaced with a push of a breeze.

You noticed that even with the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trecks his boots left behind from mud crawling in the back, he somehow still managed a sort of ease about his figure as he worked. Anything he started in the chill of the morning he got done right as the sun rested its bleary eyes, leaving with a nod and a cigar in between his lips—all without speaking much. When he would carry in fills of crates with jams or fruits and vegetables, he wouldn’t stop to make talk with the customers, instead searching for another task that whispered his name once as wood warmed from the sun, now as a twirl of leaves browned and reddened scuttling against the exterior. You figured he didn’t do so from irritation at the others he worked with—you had known them since you were little and they were nothing if not welcoming—but as a means of simply getting work done; talk not adjacent to his doing must’ve been fruitless.

You didn’t dwell on the fact, instead revelling—as much as you hated to admit—in meeting hazel with an unintelligible finish to the color in the teasing cold the times you had walked with a slow gait through the aisles, brushing past weathered gingham a dusted color from years past.

Tonight you were to be greeted with an infamous cherry pie, having been told to get as many cherries as you pleased, along with anything that seemed ‘good on the soul’. (She might as well have been hinting at him, written his name big and bold, with hearts curving over the letters.)

When you stepped through the doorway and atop the makeshift floor of scuffed wood underneath homemade rugs frayed at the edges, you only barely caught denim shifting out the back, presumably to bring in more boxes with whatever was to be displayed alongside a handwritten note detailing a new price for eager hands and acquired tastes. You stepped around tables with thin cloths acting like decor, embellishments to distinguish one from another, and stopped short when the usual spot for your mother’s preferred cherries was implied with folds in gently disheveled plaid.

At the furrow of your brows and your leaning over adjacent boxes and barrels to see if perhaps they were hidden someplace nearby, a lady to your side gestured to the spot with a jut of her chin.

“Logan just went to grab a new batch, hun. He’ll be back in a second.”

You nodded at her words, involuntarily crossing your arms over your chest to the best of your ability with a basket in your hand. Broken conversations slipped in one ear and out of the other as you waited, talk of food to be prepared or how distant children were growing taller by the day. Shuffling of feet with a deep groan brought your attention back to the space prior, Logan now standing with a crate in his hands, a stitched cloth draped over the top. His tongue prodded at his cheek—the skin there, the bridge of his nose, the knuckles of his hands, beginning to flush pink from a gentle biting of the air outside—as he set it down, taking the covering off and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans after hitting it once against his thigh, the dust trickling down the denim to the floor, the creases in his boots.

You muttered a ‘thank you’, not expecting much more out of him in return. He simply nodded, but a clearing of his throat dragged your eyes to his.

“Your mom the one making the pie?”

He continued talking at the quick flicker of slight confusion that washed over your features, that made your palm pause as it reached out to pick the nicest ones, reds shiny and seductive around inedible pits. “Someone came around last week, told me her daughter was coming to stay for a little while and she wanted to bake something nice.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes, your own drifting upwards to brown strands undone from their styling, now brushing above his brows in light curves.

Knowing your mother spoke of your person to him brought a smile to your lips. “She loves to gossip,” you admitted with a nod to confirm his ask. “Especially over her cherry pie.”

He let out a hum, eyes following the hand that held a bunch of said fruits from their stems. He stayed that way for what felt like a while, though it was really only a few seconds; his gaze was soft, but bore into your basic movement, as if assessing which of the fruits he had brought you so kindly you were to pick.

A call of his name directed them someplace behind you with a lean of his upper half and a hand to his hip.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, catching your eyes as he brushed past your figure, smell of smoke and freshly picked fruits stuck to his skin, mimicking a wanting to bite innate to your psyche, to savor the source at your lips and teeth, though they were all laid out in front of you; perhaps that was the point.

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The next week, with a complaint of the chill that crawled into the crevices of her jacket and a harsh adjusting of the heater, your mother sat in the passenger seat eagerly awaiting an order she had placed with the owner days prior. Turning onto the gravel lot that rocked the interior, you found a vacant spot with a curse at how uneven the small plot had gotten. She let out a gasp and nudged an elbow to your arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already opening the door.

“Look who’s working today.” She knew he worked everyday they were open, but you rolled your eyes with a smile at her teasing nature—she could have her fun, you figured as you followed her out, slamming the door behind you.

Logan, much to your amusement, played into her harmless comments. He worked at the front, adjusting the panneling of the signs welcoming passerby, a carpenter’s belt wrapped around his waist and a nail inbetween his lips. At the shuffling of your mother’s feet coming closer to where he stood, he looked over with a charming smile.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled, nail a mimic of his cigars as he spoke, dipping his head as a hello to the both of you when you stepped to her side.

Your mother dismissed his words with a swat of her gloved hand in the air, flattery evident as a smile. “You’re talkin’. Just here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

He furrowed his brows, shoving the nail into a pocket of his belt, adjusting its hold on his waist. “I might’ve packed them all earlier”—he began to make the way inside, gesturing his chin for you to follow—“but I’ll have you check.”

Not long after, he was carrying crates to the trunk of your car at the insistence she needn’t lift a finger—even with the slight cold becoming familiar with the skin of his own hands. You offered after her, but he repeated his words with a threading of his hand through his hair. There were quiet huffs and groans leaving his lips as he did so, his breath mocking smoke. Your mother instead headed inside, while you stood at the trunk, leaning against the chilled exterior; there wasn’t any harm in looking for a little longer, hearing more evidence of his voice a little closer.

He spoke first, an octave lower and with a lilt of amusement.

“Dinner must be good tonight.” He met your eyes for a split second before placing a hand ahold of the trunk above his head. “Seems like you’re having…” he pinched a cloth from the crate closest to the edge, lifting it with a dramatized slowness, leaning over with a raised brow—something of a defeated breath left his lips. “Why don’t you mind tellin’ me.”

You leaned over for yourself, hands pushing similar cloths for a peek at what it was your mother had bought. The two of you were so close, or so it felt, as if keeping the contents of your trunk hidden from all but the hazel of his and your own. There wasn’t a need for your peripheral; a simple knowing he was near was enough, a certain spark in your nerves for the scene felt intimate, this unveiling of what you were to eat—you knew, of course, what was to be served that night, and he most likely knew that, too.

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Surely they would be sick of seeing you when the sun had dipped with a lazy arch, pulling underneath the horizon. And yet, there was an ache in your mother’s stomach that she insisted could only be softened with one of their homemade pastries, something she shared with you when you were little, and as she focused on dinner—which you’d assume would only make such an itch worse, even given the contrast of savory to sugar—you flipped on the headlights into the last hours of the evening.

You gave something of a guilty nod to the woman at the counter as you made your way to the shelving in the back corner that held the familiar packaging, alongside others. All that was on display was shrouded in thin, gentle slits of white, the moon offering its own of what the sun had given prior. The fruits looked misty eyed, the jars as if filled by a dreamy hand.

Just as quickly as you had pulled into the lot, you were twisting the keys once more; yet this time, a weak sputtering from your engine sounded rather than its usual dull rumble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled, one hand gripping the wheel and the other getting ahold of the key once more, this time with a slower insertion and turn, it’s cold against your palm a mimicry of the early night air. The same cough, akin to a sickness in a body, invading the steel and screws of your car.

With a groan, you threw the door open, circling to the hood and, with a steady grip, lifting it above your head.

It was now far too dark to tell where one part ended and another began, it simply a blend of shadow you certainly did not feel like combing through with the chill as an accomplice.

You smelled the burning end of a cigar before the scraping of gravel along soles.

“You alright?” Logan asked, voice leaking smoke like a lure for both your eyes and ears. His skin was accented with a soft gold from the flickering bulbs of the market as he stopped a few feet away, holding the cigar lazily at his hip. The lighting was bewitching, a natural distraction, and you cursed the way your eyes dragged at the outline of his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, silver of a buckle glinting for a moment as if catching you in the act.

At your not answering, he took another drag, peering into the hood for himself, though you were sure he could guess your response at the knitting of your brows, the irritated grip of your hands to the front bumper.

“C’mon.”

You simply stared as he gestured with his chin, cigar to his lips, front half already turning the other direction. “I’ll take you home”—smoke curled at his cheeks, the hair that was cut shorter to the skin, when he glanced over his shoulder at you having not moved a muscle—“unless you’d rather stay out here.”

Much like when you both had been eyeing the insides of your trunk, it was as though your body knew of his presence just as much as your mind; sitting in his passenger side stiff against the seating, some unconscious reminder that tugged at your joints to keep them still, as if there was an awareness that preceded him in the form of tensed muscles and intrigue, a nipping at your eyes to even just look at him when he was this close, wanting that satisfaction, whatever it was, that came as a consequence to curiosity, infatuation, more like.

“Never seen you this late at the market.”

You cleared your throat, explaining the pastry you bought for your mother. “I think this is just my car’s way of telling me not to.”

A laugh disguised itself as an exhale through his nose. “‘m not that bad.”

Your eyes caught his own when you furrowed your brows in amusement at his words, a barely registrable hint of a smile on his face.

“I didn’t said that,” you argued, though your tone was anything but. He angled the hand resting atop the steering wheel and the palm at his thigh upwards, feigning defense.

The drive wasn’t too long; neither was conversation. He asked about your mother, how long you were staying for, but more as a means to ease the space in between simple directions from you.

He slowed to a stop in front of your doorstep, shoving the stick into park as you began to get out, opening the door and stepping onto the ground, pastry in hand. You placed a hand against the cool exterior, offering a smile and about to utter a thanks—not entirely dismissing the way he was looking over at you, leaned over to grab a cigar from a case stowed in the glove box, a necklace of some sort having loosened from beneath autumn layers and swaying in tandem with the column of his throat—when your mother’s voice called instead.

“Logan, is that you?” she sang, voice sounding pleasantly surprised and a harsh cut through the relative quiet of the night.

His brow raised in amusement; you rolled your eyes in a silent apology.

He answered nonetheless.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.”

Immediately at his simple confirmation your mother was ushering him in for dinner. And who was he to decline such an offer.

It was far too casual: the way he let you in first, a ghost of a palm over the small of your back; taking off his boots at the front door; nodding at your mother and asking her how she was as he eyed two plates she had already filled with whatever she had made for dinner that night on the countertop. You placed the pastry in her hands, to which she gave a quick kiss to your cheek and insisted the both of you sit and eat before the food got cold.

Without a word he took the two plates in his hands and walked over to the dining table, setting them opposite each other as you stood at your mother’s side, her face implying an explanation as to why you were in his truck, as well as a teasing response to his manners. You merely muttered an ‘I’ll tell you later’ as you filled two cups of water and grabbed two forks and knives.

He nodded as a thanks as you put the glass in front of him. The overhead light was warm, dipping down the slope of his nose and the hair that curled upwards at the nape of his neck—it almost didn’t look like him seated in your home, taking the silverware from your hand, the tips of his fingers brushing again the skin of your hand. It was someone who needn’t falter at the door, who memorized which floorboards creaked their complaints, who muttered ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s to a lover in time with the celestial company.

Watching him eat food from your mother’s hand felt like he was indulging in a part of you, this meal that you’ve eaten time and time before now being offered to him.

“It’s really good.” His voice was practically a whisper, the quietest you’d ever heard it, as if only you could be told such a thing—you hadn’t any part in the plate already nearly scraped clean in front of him, your mother feet away, unwrapping the pastry for dessert.

You nodded, a smile on your lips even with the fact. “Family recipe,” you simply said.

He hummed, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. It met the wood with a gentle clink after a generous sip, tongue darting briefly across his lips.

His eyes drifted to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

“You’re a wonderful cook.”

She turned her head with a smile. “Thank you, Logan.” You hadn’t missed the way she gestured towards yourself with a fork donned with crumbs and raspberry jam. “Though I might have competition soon, what with the pie that’s supposed to be made this week.”

You furrowed your brow in mock irritation, your voice spoken through a smile nonetheless. “Who’s to say it won’t be the worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life?”

She raised her own brow, questioning your words. “If I’ve taught you anything, it’s how to make a damn good pie, hun,” she retorted with conviction in her tone as she averted her attention to her pastry once more.

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, catching Logan’s as your knife’s teeth dragged along what little you had left on your plate; the barely-there smile on his lips told you he was amused by your shortlived banter.

“That a family recipe, too?” he asked.

“It will be, once I figure out how to make it.” You paused to finish your plate, the knife and fork resting nicely atop the porcelain. “Though I’m thinking of a blueberry pie rather than cherry.”

With a nod, he gathered his own plate, reaching over to take yours as he got up from his seat, his way of insisting you need not get up and clean after him nor yourself.

Hazel slightly hooded held the color of yours as he did so. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”

At this point, it almost seemed proximity was an arrangement made from whatever guided your limbs to his, and that same culprit threaded itself in his, for your mother handed you the dish towel when she hastily remembered she needed to call her sister. Whether it was true didn’t matter: here was an excuse to stay close, revel in contact that was teased by the lack of it. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to below his elbows, hair corded at his forearms wet from the tap water, the lather that coated his palms and knuckles. Lavender was a foreign scent to be attached to his skin, not one to prettily mingle with cigar smoke, but your nose got used to it regardless.

It was a quiet process, his washing and your drying. Your eyes would wander to his hands, stay for just a little while, the shine from the warm water accenting the skin something almost seductive with the performance of such a domestic task—if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Over beer you had found in a back cabinet growing lukewarm under the dining lighting, you learned he had gotten the job at the farmer’s market just as the sun opted for a few more hours, offering as a trade deep oranges that shrouded the landscape and any roaming warmth that stuck to wood and grass and skin. He was in the area and needed work, there had been a sign posted near where he was staying of the address and basic requirements, and, in his words, ‘he could use the free food’. Though it made you wonder where exactly it was that he was staying, you didn’t pry. He instead recounted the morning your mother came in and they—though mostly her, he admitted with a smile at your small laugh—had engaged in friendly talk as he carried her groceries to her car.

“She hinted at saving a slice of that cherry pie f’me, for the help.” His lips tugged ever so slightly as he leaned back comfortably, stretching the denim at his thighs taut with a shift in his legs, arms crossed and all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “But I prefer blueberry.”

And how cliché it had been when you first saw him, a rugged yet quiet stature of a man with sweat at his brow and the dents of the muscles lining his arms, blue denim to the dirt of his boots, a worn baseball cap keeping the sun from his eyes, and how cliché it was now that he was in your home and you didn’t mind.

There was a mention from your mother, standing just at the end of the hallway to face the kitchen and the two of you, of a shelf and drawer that needed fixing in the old guest room as you walked him to the door, a calloused hand already wrapped around brass.

“I’ll take a look at it in a few days,” he reasssured her with a soft smile, to which she told him you could offer a few slices of pie in thanks, all with a grin on her face that she also adorned when quoting others’ words of amusing connotation.

He chuckled, a low sound that came from his chest. The old creak of the door was paired with a ‘have a nice night’ as she retreated around the corner into the hallway. You stepped out before him onto the front porch as he swung it closed, though just enough so it didn’t click into place with the frame; the porch light adjacent to it casted a similar color against his skin to the one when he ate.

You didn’t really know why you stood there in the chill that lay stagnant around your home, but he didn’t ask.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding to the door. “That better be a promise.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Depends on how good of a job you do.”

A chuckle, same as before, this time his breath appearing in between the two of you. “Are you doubting me already?”

“There’s only one way to prove me wrong,” you said, raising a shoulder.

He hummed in , barely audible, tilting his head.

Your body wasn’t as stiff, your mind as clouded with nerve as it had been in his passenger seat, though you blame it on his figure having been surrounded by comfort, familiarity, food he had eaten with your cutlery at your dining table and with a good word.

Perhaps that was why it had leaned the small distance towards his own, lips meeting the skin of his cheek and the stubble adorning it. The small smile that he reciprocated was something almost satisfactory, albeit a little bashful, as you put a hand against the door, not missing the brief dart of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again.

“Good night, Logan.”

“G’night.”

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It served as a harsh reminder, the honk that met your ears rather than the usual gentle birdsong. You cursed, shoving the window open with one hand and yelling a ‘give me a minute!’ as you hurriedly dressed in the dwindling dim of your bedroom; the memory that he was picking you up to get your car from the market came far too late for your liking as you made your way to the front door, grabbing the keys and about to say a rushed ‘goodbye’ when the absence of your mother made itself known, as well—she had left to visit her sister, and you noticed the familiar yellowed sheet lined with grooves from cherry staining fingertips placed at the counter.

He gave you an apologetic smile as he stood leaned against the passenger side, eyes following your rushing down the stairs, uncrossing his feet and opening the door for you.

“Too early?” There was humor in his words and the way he eyed the buttons left undone at your sternum.

“You told me you don’t work today,” you reasoned after he circled the hood, closing the driver’s-side door and adjusting the heating, catching your eyes as he did so.

“Early bird get’s the worm, or whatever,” he shrugged. “The worm’s your car.”

You rolled your eyes, though a tired yet amused smile was already at your lips. “I already own it.”

“Regardless.” He rolled out of your driveway, the morning sun through the windshield catching the silver of a ring at his pinky finger. “Don’t want anyone stealing it, do we?”

“No, sir,” you said, eating into this side of him like teeth against a sweet.

A smile akin to the one he adorned at your doorstep hours previously came across his face, and you returned one of your own, despite his eyes on the small bit of gravel road.

He worked as you watched from the wooden fencing behind him. “A simple fix,” he had deemed it, eyeing into the hood of your car. “Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

Beneath gray cotton the plane of his back shifted and stretched. Though it wasn’t as cold as days prior, you noted the pink coming to at the shells of his ears.

“‘s it alright if I come by this afternoon to take a look at that shelf your mother was talking about?” He turned his head just enough to see you nod.

You told him you were going to walk around the market, just to see if there were any new jams or pastries shelved; he watched you leave.

Given the sun had only made its tired arrival a few hours prior, some items were still being arranged nicely atop the patterned cloths, labelled with notes marking the price. The jams were put with ribbons at the lids with their respecting fruit.

There were a few wildberry, a number of blackberry. As you read the labels on some of the fresher desserts, someone carried a crate of needed vegatables behind you; not before they asked if you were the one that came with Logan. You confirmed, wondering for a second if maybe he had work and simply lied, but they spoke before you could with a singular, almost dumbfounded laugh.

“You must’ve put him in some sort of spell,” they said, dropping the crate at a table in front of them and shoving it to the edge. They turned to face you, clapping their hands to dust off chips stuck to thin gloves. “I don’t think we’ve even heard more than a ‘good morning’ from him.”

You couldn’t figure out how to respond to such a blunt way of reiterating something you already knew, but perhaps it was because others had noticed it was you he chose to speak to, and you who implicitly invited him in your home, and you who were to do so again.

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That afternoon, you indulged in the sun that was filtered through the lace curtaining as you gathered cutlery and tins and bowls and plates. The quiet of the house was something you liked every once in a while, as it allowed you to imagine you were cooking for yourself rather than for two; something about only your word and teeth influencing the taste when you were to set up the dining table for yourself, lighting a candle to present a dinner for one was nice to admire.

But you weren’t, for the hammering persisted rooms over once more, a reminder that something sweet was to be offered to him this time.

You might have felt more at ease if he was your lover; you’d have enough tries at that point, perfected a recipe already perfected by your mother. Instead he would be second to cut the lattice for his own pleasure with a fork you would hand over to him—a part of you did not want to disappoint.

Blueberry had since settled into the skin of your fingertips, the backs of your hands, and it made you sigh. Logan, alongside yourself, was to be given this performance of sorts, an edible delicacy that you hadn’t even tasted yet. He might as well gauge sweat in the crust, nerved blood in the filling.

It was not that serious, you told yourself. Yet the fact that it was him made it so.

Something your mother had said to get a rise out of your tired state the night he had taken you home made you roll your eyes at the mere cantation in your head: ‘I saw the way he looked at you when he led you through the door, sat at the dining table; I’m sure he didn’t mind your car breaking down’.

The tin was placed into the oven, out of sight, out of mind. It was a little while later when he had stepped around the corner, familiar carpenter’s belt around his waist.

“Shouldn’t cause her any more trouble.” His voice was quiet as he ran a hand through his hair.

You turned to face him, gathering utensils and jars dirtied with ingredients and tossing them into the sink. “Thanks—let me get you a drink, hold on.”

Opening the upper cabinet, you hoped he didn’t catch the sigh that left your lips seeing the only glasses left lining the back of the wood.

But he did, and ever the gentleman, he was at your side with a clear of his throat.

“I’ll get it.” It came out in a near whisper, only for you to hear; not the already setting sun, not as a cue for the moon to bleed the kitchen a gentle white.

You let him. You felt the warmth of his figure as it stood close, akin to all the times prior, a hand just above the small of your back, not making contact but close enough, and the other reaching overhead. The glass chased the last streams of sunlight from the kitchen window, and rather than handing it to you, he set it on the countertop, the soft clink deafening in your ears.

He repositioned himself so he leaned against the counter, hands splayed behind him atop the surface, gesturing to the oven with a tilt of his head. “How’s the pie?”

You caught his eyes, hooded hazel, brushed your hands along your apron as a means to ease the wanting to guide his own back to where it was. “It looks good. Don’t know if you want to wait a little longer to eat it here—if anything you could always take it with you.”

He gave you a smile that was so sincere, so unashamedly forgiving, though for what, you thought, if not to insist you could stay for however long. “I can wait, if it’s alright with you.”

If you did as you wanted—keep your eyes on his—your knees were bound to give underneath you with the way he looked at you, a gentle accepting to waiting alongside you in your kitchen, such a sacred place. “Of course.”

He stayed in place, eyes following as you walked around him to put any last dishes into the sink and leaving them be, not feeling like touching anything else with a smooth finish.

“You can leave those in there,” you told him when you noticed him shift. “Rest for a while.”—directed at him and the dirty dishes. You reached behind yourself to grab the knot at your back, desperate to take the thing off with reasoning much like the pie in the oven—you hadn’t realized just how tightly you had wound the string.

And there he was, ever so reliable, behind you once more as he uttered an ‘I got it’ under his breath, putting his hands over yours and already beginning to unravel the knot himself.

Your previous thought still rang true, like a delicate synth prettily reverberating in your mind: this would be so much easier, bearable, if he were a lover, simply something more than a frequent acquaintance.

And perhaps he heard you, for his hands went to the strap around your neck, fingertips gently grazing against the junctures of your neck and shoulders.

“You should rest, too,” he mumbled as he lifted the fabric above your head, held it out for you. You took it in your hands, staring down at the fabric, what was left of the sun for the evening slithering through window and lace, joining flour and rich violet.

You muttered a ‘thanks’, a sigh. “I know.”

The kitchen fell quiet, not silent, for it contained the two of you; your passing breaths and pulsing heart comparable to the clatter of porcelain beneath familiar conversation.

Water from the tap directed your attention to the sink, where he suddenly stood pouring himself the glass, taking a sip; water hitting the sides of the house came like an afterthought.

It might as well have been his doing, such perfect timing, with the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “D’you know it was s’posed to rain?”

You shook your head. You took it as an attempt to cover the tension that how hung heavy in the air, a rhythmic tune to combat the beat of your pulse and the itch that resided in your hands.

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Blueberry bubbling warmed in pastry spilled into the wood of the kitchen and his nose; he let out a hum at the smell from where the two of you sat on the floor against the cabinets across from each other, his body next to the oven. He pushed his sleeves up, similar to when he stood at the sink with hands of lavender, from the heat that crept as company to the finished taste.

“You ok with me being the first to taste it?” he asked with a nod in your direction, something adjacent to surprise, or disbelief in his voice.

You furrowed a brow—“I never saw what you did to that shelf.”—in reference to the hint your mother had made.

“Feel free to take a look for yourself,” he crossed his arms as if to imply he wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t done a perfect job.

You hummed. “I better not have to call you back here in a week, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A flush betrayed your skin; you hated its response. “So you made it worse, is what I’m hearing.”

He tongued at his cheek, fighting a smile yet narrowing his eyes and shrugging a shoulder. “Define ‘worse’.”

“It’s definitely what you’ll be feeling after you leave without that pie you want so bad,” you said, standing up to check on the oven, adjusting the dish towel that hung from the handle. You let out a small hum at the golden color that blossomed along the crust.

You took it out with delicate hands, the metal of the tin clattering with the stovetop.

“We’ll let it cool.” A declaration implying more wait—though he didn’t seem to mind, if his following your actions and standing behind you with hooded eyes was any indication.

“Looks good.”

You gave him a small, satisfasfied smile, though not necessarily from his words but at the dessert in front of that did, much to your relief, look good. You stayed admiring the work made from your hands to be eaten by them, alongside another whose familiar cigar smoke slowly paired with blueberry; it made a nicer blend than lavender.

It was similar to when he had spoken to you first, the smell of other fruits stuck to his clothing enticing you to reach out and distinguish which ones were where—you were close to acting upon intrigue. You figured he was too, for he did not move—except for one part you could see out of your peripheral.

His voice was soft as he asked: “Is this okay?” He was referring to the hand smoothing over the countertop to rest next to yours, the skin just barely meeting.

You nodded—“Yeah.”—hated the breathy delivery of your response; he hadn’t even done anything, but you wanted to put the same hands that made a necessity sweet upon him, a blunt want and nothing more than to satiate an ache not riddled in your stomach.

His voice was much closer, a little deeper, almost timid in its hushed delivery.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

His kisses were slow, trailing up, up to just below your ear. The hair cut at his cheek left a delicate burn along the skin, yet you leaned your head back to his chest without a second thought.

“Here?” His question was asked along the skin of your cheek, your head tilting as if lured, enchanted by his words. One hand set itself on your hip.

You mumbled an ‘mhm’, resting a hand atop his own; he draped the one on the counter over yours, lacing the fingers. His fingertips were calloused, a welcomed touch akin to natural skin encasing an apple, rough yet promising.

He placed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your lips; you could feel a small smile stretch across his.

You spoke before he could ask, eyes shut and a gentle nod: “Don’t be such a tease.”

He let out an exhale, amused at your words. “My bad, sweetheart.”

At his lips on yours, you turned around, putting the hand alongside his at your hip to his cheek; he threaded the other in a similar fashion atop the counter. He kissed with a gentle fervor, a low hum coming from his throat when you combed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Denim slotted between your legs, an offering to the lust leaking into your blood.

His nose pushed at yours as he tilted his head, quickening to placing pecks to your lips so you could catch the breath he had taken from your lungs. The moon peeking as if with curiosity from behind roaming clouds and lace shrouded his figure in alluring white, accenting the beginnings of a flush to his skin.

He bowed his head to your neck once more, biting the skin and leaving a kiss in its place.

With fog from his touch contaminating your brain, the blueberry baked into pastry snuck into your nose.

Logan put his hands underneath your thighs and lifted your body without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your sternum and mumbling into the skin a claim that he hoped you wouldn’t mind him indulging in something sweeter.

And you didn’t, laying back as he bit and kissed at skin like a man starved, holding you down against your sheets with gentle drags of his palms. The insides of your thighs burned, sweat dotting the fabric underneath you; he insisted a second with praise for the first.

#my works #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #wolverine x y/n #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfic #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine smut

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ot8xbangchansgirlsblog · 4 months ago

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ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜🧸

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣: "who used my kitchen?"

Word count: 4036

Summary: In this chapter, Y/N wakes up to find Felix asleep beside her and makes her way to the kitchen to prepare a big breakfast for her new packmates. Chan praises her cooking and offers to help set up a garden for her, which she gratefully accepts. Y/N has a tense encounter with Hyunjin, who reacts coldly and dismissively. Upset, she retreats to Felix’s room where I.N and Lee Know comfort her. Lee Know speaks with Hyunjin, helping him confront his fears and pain about getting hurt again. The mood lightens when Changbin and Minho’s playful food fight breaks out in the kitchen, making Y/N smile and feel more at ease.

Warning: Angst/comfort, cursing, hate, insecurities,

The next morning, Y/N woke up feeling the weight of Felix’s arms draped around her waist, her legs tangled in the blankets. She groaned as she stretched, trying to ease the stiffness in her neck without disturbing Felix, who was sleeping soundly and peacefully. The pressure on her bladder made her discomfort even more urgent.

Reluctant to wake him, Y/N carefully extricated herself from his embrace and tiptoed to the bathroom. This was the first time in ages she’d slept in a bed, and she savored the comfort. She glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed—she looked disheveled. Knowing she couldn’t face the day like this, she quickly freshened up, borrowing a few items from Felix’s makeup bag: some chapstick, blush, mascara, and concealer.

Feeling somewhat presentable, Y/N made her way to the kitchen. The house was still quiet, the soft snores of her new packmates just audible thanks to her keen omega hearing. The spacious kitchen brought a smile to her face. She had always loved cooking and gardening, memories of her childhood cabin in the woods flashing through her mind. Her father had built it for her, a sanctuary where she could indulge her passions. Although she missed her old pack, she felt a growing sense of gratitude for her new one.

Y/N glanced around the kitchen, methodically pulling out pots and pans. She made a mental note of where each item was stored, ensuring she wouldn’t disrupt Leeknow’s precise organization. With a quiet determination, she set to work, contemplating her options for breakfast. “What to cook?” she murmured, rifling through the ingredients before deciding on pork kimchi jjigae and some pie. It seemed like a perfect choice for the boys.

Her hands moved with practiced ease as she prepared the dish, multitasking by brewing coffee and squeezing fresh juice. She hummed a lively tune, her hips swaying rhythmically. Cooking was her sanctuary, a place where she felt truly at home, and she embraced every aspect of it.

As she chopped vegetables and stirred the pot, Chan wandered into the kitchen, his eyes widening in surprise. “Wow, you’re up early,” he remarked, noting the contrast to his usual routine. Chan was typically the first one awake, starting his day with coffee and catching up on work while the rest of the pack got ready for practice. Today, however, he was greeted by the sight of Y/N already bustling about. “It smells amazing in here,” he added, his voice tinged with genuine appreciation.

Y/N looked up from her tasks, a warm smile spreading across her face at the sight of Chan. “Good morning, Chan!” she chirped, her voice bright with enthusiasm. She gave him a quick, respectful bow before turning back to her cooking. “I’ve made coffee and fresh juice if you’d like some. I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer a fruit bowl, and I couldn’t quite find any,” she explained, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked around the kitchen.

Chan chuckled, clearly entertained by her earnestness. “You’re quite the early bird. I usually get up first, make some coffee, and work on my laptop until the others are up. But it looks like I’m not the only one with a morning routine now.” He approached the counter, his gaze taking in the array of dishes and the inviting aroma filling the room. “And it smells absolutely delicious. What are you making, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with pride. “I’m making pork kimchi jjigae. I thought it would be a nice treat for everyone. I love cooking, and I wanted to start the day on a good note.” She paused, then added with a playful smile, “I hope it turns out okay. I’m still figuring out the exact flavors they like.”

Chan’s eyes softened, and he leaned against the counter, looking genuinely impressed. “It’s really kind of you to do this. We’re all lucky to have someone like you around. I can tell you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

Y/N’s smile widened at his compliment. “Thank you, Chan. It’s nice to hear that. I’ve missed having a kitchen to cook in. Back home, my dad built me a cabin where I could cook and garden to my heart’s content. I really enjoyed those times.”

Chan nodded, understanding the sentiment. “I can imagine. It must be comforting to have a space where you can do what you love. You know, if you’re interested, we could set up a little garden for you here. I’d be happy to help build one.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the offer. “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said softly, her cheeks flushing with a hint of shyness. “It’s really generous of you, but…”

Chan smiled warmly. “I insist. I know how important gardening is to you, and I think it would be a great way for you to feel even more at home here. It’ll be a nice project for us to work on together.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up, and she hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Well… if you’re sure, I’d really appreciate it. It would mean a lot to me.”

“Great!” Chan said, clearly pleased. “We’ll get started on it soon. For now, let’s focus on enjoying this delicious meal you’re preparing.” Y/N’s heart swelled with gratitude as Chan moved to assist.

“Ah, this is adorable! But honestly, I think you’ve done more than enough. I’ll handle setting the plates and grab some coffee, if that’s alright with you?” Chan offered, his tone warm and appreciative.

Y/N shook her head, a determined look in her eyes. “No, Chan. You’re the Alpha; Alphas don’t work in the kitchen. Only omegas and betas do,” she said firmly, a playful note in her voice.

Chan raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “No, Y/Nnie. We’re all equal here. Just because I’m the Alpha doesn’t mean I can’t help out. Please understand that,” he said, gently taking her hand and beginning to massage it.

Y/N started to whine in protest, but Chan gave her a playful, almost mischievous glare. She felt her cheeks warm, her defiance melting away under his gaze.

“Alright, Channie, but today let me do this to say thank you,” she said, her voice softening. She knew it was a little white lie to make Chan feel at ease, but she was caught off guard when Chan looked at her with furrowed eyebrows and then broke into a giggle.

“You know,” Chan said, still chuckling, “I can see right through you. You’re trying to make me feel better, but it’s really sweet of you. If you insist, I’ll let you take charge this time, but remember, we’re all here to support each other. It’s a team effort.”

Y/N’s eyes twinkled with a mix of relief and mischief. “Okay, okay, you win,” she said with a smile, her earlier shyness replaced by a genuine grin. “I’ll let you help next time. But for now, enjoy the breakfast!”

Chan’s laughter filled the kitchen, making the atmosphere even more cheerful. As he helped set the table.

As Y/N finished stirring the kimchi jjigae, Chan approached with a mischievous glint in his eye. Before she could react, he gently lifted her onto the counter and stood between her legs, the sudden closeness catching her off guard. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks as slick grew between her legs. what a turn on she thought.

“You know I can hear your thoughts, right?” Chan’s playful remark made Y/N’s face turn a deep shade of red. She jolted slightly, her pulse quickening at his unexpected proximity. could he actually? they weren't mated yet! he must be just playing with her feelings.

“Oppa, you can’t just do that!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and fluster.

“I can and I will,” Chan said with a teasing grin. “So you might as well be honest with me.”

Y/N huffed, trying to maintain her composure, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “It feels like you’re testing my boundaries,” she said, trying to sound stern but failing as a giggle escaped her.

“Then stop trying to hide things. The pack alpha always knows,” Chan chuckled, his laughter warm and reassuring. Y/N playfully nudged him, a soft smile on her lips.

“Will you two horny bastards keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep,” Han’s voice cut through, his tone a mix of irritation and amusement as he passed by the kitchen toward the bathroom. Both Chan and Y/N burst into laughter at Han’s grumbling.

“Sorry!” Y/N called out, her laughter lingering as she returned to setting the table.

Chan grinned and said, “I’ll go get everyone up,” before heading out of the room.

Y/N took a moment to savor her coffee and the quiet before the day’s rush. Soon, the house was alive with the sound of the boys preparing for the day.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Changbin greeted enthusiastically as he entered the kitchen, giving Y/N a cheerful kiss on the top of her head. His scent quickly filled the kitchen making her omega purr. “This looks amazing, and I’m starving!” He quickly sat down, eagerly eyeing the breakfast spread.

“Please go ahead and eat. There’s plenty more, so dig in and tell me about your night,” Y/N said, gesturing to the breakfast spread as she encouraged Changbin to start eating. She was eager to hear how he had slept and what their plans looked like for the day ahead, knowing it was going to be a busy one.

Changbin took a bite of the pork and looked at her with a curious expression. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Y/N sighed contentedly. “I’m feeling great. I had the best sleep ever—the bed was so comfortable.”

Changbin chuckled, “That’s good to hear, jagiya. When we checked in, you, Han, and Felix were all out like lights.”

“It was a long day,” Y/N grumbled, “Sleep is crucial, and I don’t know how you alphas manage it all.”

“Hey! Those ‘alpha powers’ are what help us get through the day,” Changbin teased with a grin.

“Still, it feels so unfair!” Y/N pouted, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. The conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and she turned to see Han and Felix walking into the kitchen, both already dressed and ready for the day.

“Good morning!” Han greeted enthusiastically, taking in the spread of food. “This looks amazing! Did you make all this?”

Y/N smiled, pleased with their reaction. “Yep, I thought I’d treat you all to a big breakfast. Help yourselves!”

Felix took a seat at the table, his eyes lighting up at the spread. “Thanks, Y/N. Everything looks fantastic.”

She handed both Han and Felix a glass of coffee and asked, “How was your night, guys?”

Felix grinned and took a sip of his coffee. “Mine was good, but someone”—he cast a playful glare at Y/N—“left me in a cold, empty bed all alone!”

Y/N pouted in mock indignation. “I had to make breakfast! Now sit and eat before it gets cold, and let me know what you think.”

Han quietly took a seat next to her, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her waist. He laid his head on her back, his warm presence a comforting contrast to the chill of the morning. Y/N nestled into him, savoring his fresh, sweet scent, feeling like she could stay like this forever.

“You should go get dressed, love,” Chan said as he re-entered the kitchen, grabbing some food for himself. “Most of the boys are already ready.”

Y/N giggled at Han’s reluctant response. “Okay, oppa. I’ll be back soon.” She gently put some food on Han’s plate and fed him a bite. His eyes remained closed, and he nuzzled closer to Felix, who was now seated beside him. “Someone’s definitely not a morning person,” Y/N chuckled, handing Han his chopsticks.

“M’ tired,” Han yawned and pouted. “I wanna go back to sleep.”

“Let her get dressed, Ji,” Chan said with a laugh. “She’ll be back soon.”

Han huffed but reluctantly released his grip on Y/N’s hand.

Felix called out as Y/N started to head to the hallway, “I laid out some clothes for you, sweetie. And Channie-hyung said you could use his hoodie, so I left it on the desk.”

“Thanks, Felix!” Y/N said, heading towards the hallway with a warm smile.

frames decorating the walls. The vibrant images and snapshots offered a fleeting distraction, but it was in that moment of distraction that she collided with a solid, unyielding figure.

“Watch where you’re going, damn it!” The voice was a harsh growl that cut through the morning calm, and she felt her entire body stiffen at the sound. Hyunjin.

Her breath caught in her throat. “S-sorry,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again. Are you okay?” She scrambled to her feet, her face flushed with embarrassment and panic.

Hyunjin’s gaze was icy, his eyes narrowing in irritation. Without a hint of sympathy, he looked her up and down with palpable disdain. “Just know your place,” he muttered under his breath as he brushed past her. The forceful jolt of his shoulder against hers sent a shiver through her body, leaving her feeling bruised both physically and emotionally.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest as she watched him walk away, the harshness of his words echoing in her mind. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. She turned and fled towards Felix’s room, her steps frantic and uneven. Fumbling with the lock, she finally secured the door behind her, the click of the latch echoing loudly in the quiet room.

“Y/N, are you okay?” The concerned voice of I.N came through the door, his tone laced with alarm. She could hear the urgency in his knock, the sound of his voice filled with concern.

“Y/N, what happened?” Lee Know’s voice joined in, his words carrying a similar worry. It was as if they were silently coordinating their concern, the murmur of their conversation drifting through the door in hushed tones.

“I’m okay,” she called out, her voice quivering as she tried to calm herself. “Just feeling a bit down.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks, trying to regain her composure before opening the door to her worried friends.

When she finally swung the door open, the immediate scent that hit the air was unmistakable—Hyunjin’s sharp, blueberry fragrance. The recognition was instant, and she saw their eyes widen with realization. The atmosphere in the hallway shifted, the concern deepening into a palpable tension.

“Oh my God, it was Hyunjin, wasn’t it?” I.N’s voice was thick with anger and frustration. His words were a mix of disbelief and indignation, his feelings clear even without seeing his face.

Lee Know’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of her. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice now more tender, though still tinged with concern.

As if on cue, the harsh scoff of Hyunjin’s voice rang out from the hallway. “I didn’t do anything,” he said dismissively, his tone dripping with casual indifference. The sound of his footsteps grew fainter as he retreated, carrying a plate of food as if it were the most mundane thing in the world.

“I’ll go talk to him. I.N, stay with her and make sure she’s alright,” Minho said firmly, his expression a mix of concern and determination. Gently, he pushed I.N into Felix’s room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Minho’s footsteps echoed down the hallway as he made his way to Hyunjin’s room, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders.

He knocked softly on the door, but the response was a muffled groan from inside. Undeterred, Minho reached out through their bond, his voice calm and steady. Hyunjin, it’s me. Can we talk for a moment?

Go away, hyung. I don’t want to talk to any of you, Hyunjin’s voice came through the bond, laced with irritation and a hint of vulnerability. He was seated on the bed, the breakfast that Y/N had prepared spread out before him. Despite his irritation, the food was undeniably delicious, a painful reminder of home that he was reluctant to admit he enjoyed.

I know this is hard for you, my love, Lee Know responded through their bond, his tone gentle yet persistent. Can I come in and we talk? I just want to understand what’s going on and help you through this.

There was a moment of silence before the door creaked open slightly. Taking this as a sign, Lee Know pushed it open and stepped inside. The air was thick with the sharp, sour scent of Hyunjin’s frustration. The room smelled of a bitter, angry beta, a stark contrast to the comforting aroma of breakfast. Hyunjin was sprawled on the bed, surrounded by his mini studio equipment, which was scattered haphazardly across the bedding. His hair was pulled up in its usual bun for practice, and his face was etched with irritation.

“Talk,” Hyunjin said curtly, his eyes fixed on the plate of food, which he picked at with a sense of begrudging acceptance.

Lee Know sat down beside him, aware of the emotional walls Hyunjin was trying to maintain. He knew that beneath the surface of irritation was someone deeply hurt. “Hyunjin,” he began softly, “I understand you’re struggling right now. But you have to give Y/N a chance. This isn’t just about you; it’s about moving forward and letting go of past hurts.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightened as he continued to eat, clearly torn between his desire to push everyone away and his inherent longing for connection. Lee Know reached out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles.

“Look,” Lee Know said, his voice firm yet caring, “I know you’re in pain. I know you’re feeling overwhelmed by all of this. But isolating yourself and pushing others away isn’t going to solve anything. You need to confront these feelings and be open to the possibility of healing.”

Hyunjin’s eyes met Lee Know’s for a fleeting moment, filled with a storm of emotions. There was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze, quickly masked by a scowl. “I just don’t want to deal with this right now,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s going to hurt us, hyung. Why can’t we just be eight? Why do we have to be nine?”

The words cut through the room like a knife. Hyunjin’s chest ached as he thought about the trauma they had all experienced when “he” left. The fear of going through that kind of pain again was almost unbearable. “What if I get attached? What if she leaves? You know how my beta reacted last time. I can’t go through that again... I refuse to,” he said, his voice breaking.

Tears began to well up in Hyunjin’s eyes, and he struggled to hold them back. The emotional dam he’d built up was finally breaking, and he let out a sob. Minho, who had been listening closely, gently pulled him into a hug. He knew that Hyunjin needed comfort more than anything right now.

“You need to give her a chance,” Minho said softly, rubbing Hyunjin’s back in a soothing manner. “I know it hurts, and it hurts us all. But we’re trying to move on, and you know deep down you feel a connection with her. Have you not seen your paintings for the past few months?”

Hyunjin sighed heavily, his tears flowing freely now. “I’m sorry for yesterday. I was a jerk, and you all didn’t deserve that. I ruined everything,” he admitted, his voice choked with guilt.

“It’s okay,” Lee Know reassured him, wiping away Hyunjin’s tears with gentle hands. “Just try to get to know her before shutting her out completely. I know she’s eager to understand you, and if you don’t like her, we can take it from there.”

Hyunjin looked up at Minho with red-rimmed eyes, his heart heavy with regret and vulnerability. “Thanks, hyung. This means a lot,” he said quietly, his voice filled with gratitude.

Minho smiled, his eyes softening with warmth. “Anytime, Hyunjin. Just remember, we’re all in this together. Give her a chance, and give yourself a chance to heal.”

As Minho pulled back, Hyunjin took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him.

“I really needed that,” Hyunjin chuckled, his earlier tension melting away. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lee Know replied warmly.

“I love you both!” Changbin’s voice rang out dramatically. The two betas, still squeezed in the hug, burst into laughter as Changbin pretended to weep theatrically before pulling them both into a tight embrace.

“Have you been there the whole time?” Minho asked, giving Changbin a mock glare.

Changbin, still grinning, shrugged sheepishly. “I couldn’t help it, okay! I smelled my baby beta was upset, and I had to come or I’d have gone mad.”

“Dude, you seriously need to stop walking into conversations,” Hyunjin said, lightly punching Changbin’s arm.

“Aish!” Changbin exclaimed with a playful wince. “Well, I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Sorry to interrupt this love fest, but hyung says we need to go downstairs. We’re leaving soon, and Minho and I.N haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“By the way!” Minho suddenly jumped up, darting into the corridor. “Who used my kitchen without asking?!” His voice echoed through the house.

In response, there was a chorus of giggles and muffled laughter. Y/N, who had been sitting in the other room, smacked her forehead in realization. She had completely forgotten to ask permission before using the kitchen. Guilt was written all over her face.

I.N snickered and playfully mimed zipping his lips shut before tossing the imaginary key away. Y/N giggled at his antics and quickly ran into the bathroom to get dressed, feeling much better than she had before.

“Han, I swear if it was you, you’re going into the air fryer with tissue in your mouth!” Minho’s voice carried through the house, followed by a cacophony of running footsteps, yelps, and bursts of laughter.

Y/N emerged from the bathroom, now dressed in a skirt and crop top that Felix had picked out for her, she quickly grabbed the hoodie chan had let her use. As she made her way to the kitchen with I.N’s hand in hers, she hoped that no one had snitched on her. But when she reached the kitchen, her face turned bright red with embarrassment.

The sight before her was enough to make her heart race. Minho and Changbin were in the middle of a playful food fight, their laughter echoing through the room. Pieces of breakfast were scattered around, and the chaotic scene was a far cry from the calm, organized kitchen she had envisioned. She stood frozen for a moment, her cheeks flushed, feeling as if she had walked straight into a comedy show.

I.N gave her a reassuring squeeze, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he noticed her embarrassment. “Welcome to the chaos,” he said with a grin. “Looks like you’re in for a wild morning.”

Y/N laughed nervously, her earlier anxiety melting away in the face of the lively, chaotic scene.

🍄🌻🥞🌿

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Taglist: @ihrtlix @bowsnbang @katsukis1wife @thegingerthatwaited @thicccurls (open)

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icarusredwings · 4 months ago

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What things smell like according to Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine. A series of smell based headcanons. Do with these whatever you want :)

People:

Ororo: burnt marshmellows, rain, chunky chocolate chip cookies, protien shakes, spansih rice, chillies, and cocoa butter. She always smells great.

Scott: cucumber shampoo, the remaints of a bonfire the next day, fresh dry cleaning, axe shower gel, lavender sheets

Jean: caramel latte, lavender sheets, vanilla spiced chai, books, mint ice cream, fruit smoothies, stinky hair product, lemon poppy seed muffins, sassafras

Hank: Books, sanatizer, various chemicals, a very specifc fur dander, kinda musky but in a 'im covered in fur and sweaty' kind of way.

Rouge: "Dolly Parton", brick and concrete dust, cherry blossoms body spray, freshly engraved wood, strawberries and milk conditioner, spicy gaucamole and freshly sizzled sausages.

Gambit: tv static, a fresh deck of cards at the casino, spicy jumbo, gin, lime jello, hair gel, "suprisingly good actually"

Kurt: brimstone, smoke from franckinsense, myrrh, a less smelling dander then hank, Holy chrism oil (olive oil and Balsam made by catholic priests), metal, and blue raspberry. Fur/ beard pomade sometimes for special ocassions.

Morph: even when changed he can smell is sandlewood shampoo, he smells like how "Jack Outta smell", latex, pine and cedar, clear nail polish, "that ugly quilt that your grandma kept on the back of her couch that was the warmest, softest thing you've ever slept with."

Charles: Old man fart, metal, chalk, shoe polish, nutmeg, wool, "a trusting hug", books, mahogany, expensive champagne.

Laura: "teen spirit", a shitty cheap "girl power" deodorant that doesn't do well hiding the sweat, apples and peaches, kinda woodsy.

Wade: Cancer, gun smoke, citrus dish soap, blood, oranges, taco sauce, infected skin once in awhile, red dye 40, slight over cooked and crispy apple pie, sugary cereal

Puppins: wet dog, dog dander, oatmeal senstive skin puppy shampoo, chicken, "the dirtest trash she can find to roll in on her walk"

Althea: Old lady, way too strong perfumes, butter biscuits, tea, peppermint candies, more cocaine, "baby powder", lanvender linens, cotton and daisy's Landry detergent.

Feelings/emotions:

Big/serious lies: smell like Gasoline and salty sand near the sea.

Small fibs/playful/ teasing lies: smell like Anise

Lies with decent intentions/are bent truths: smell like honey

Those two are easily mixed up.

Innocent (the person truly believes it. Ex. A child saying dinos are real) truth: smells like thick vanilla creamer.

Filling, whole truths (the person knows for a fact its a truth) smells: like fresh baked rolls/buns

Cancer smells vary like: urine, nail polish remover, some people have a pungent semi sweet smell like rotting fruit, and tar is another smell, depending on which part of the body. If already in late stages, one can smell like cadavers. Even spicy almost.

Pregnant people vary in scent but he can smell the rise of different hormones: Some hormones sweeter then other. If you asked him he would say cinnamon or dying roses. If you're later in your term the scents are more soft like lotion or custard. Lemon ussually.

Serotonin; cheese, lemon cakes, fruity, a bit light, and flakey like a pastry. Marshmellow fluff.

Dopamine; sweet fresh coffee, doritos(?), cocaine. Don't ask why he knows what cocaine smells like. He was alive during coke cocaine.

Endorphins; Sweaty Sex, mint, dark chocolate, violets, chemicals, varies by persons pheromones

Oxytocin; "playful cherries", freshly washed cotton pillows, the warmth of a bath, skin on skin hugs, strawberries

Joy/relaxation/relief: Jasmine, vanilla sugar cookies, fresh soup.

Anger/disapproval/hurt: smoke, the back end of a cigarette, spicy curry, iron, blood, "spoiled raw chicken left out too long"

Fear/excitment/anxiousness: Adrenaline smells like oil, paint, salty pretzels almost.

Tears: Oceans, lillies, fresh water lakes

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f10werfae · 2 years ago

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Milf and Cookies

pairing; Lumberjack!Henry x Pregnant!Shy!Reader

summary: Henry’s wants his shy wife’s titty milk and pussy, a gender reveal, and baby Marly the Cat goes missing. (Lactation!Kink)(Dilf!Henry)(Dom!Henry)

(short story 🫶)

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are appreciated🫶

Lumberjack Masterlist, Henry Masterlist

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“H-Hen, I-I can’t find b-baby Marly” Y/n whined plopping herself onto her grumpy husband’s lap, his hands instinctively reaching around to grope her ass, clad in some soft cotton shorts. “Shh s’okay sugar cube, ‘m sure our baby hasn’t toddled off too far” Henry grumbled moving his hand up to smooth over her 8 month bump, feeling his little miracle squirming inside their momma.

“B-But she isn’t i-in her cat h-house, o-or the bed a-and not even the nursery!” Y/n whined blowing her nose as Henry held the tissue for her, her fingers fiddling with the hem of his white vest, his new tattoo on his chest being exposed slightly. “baby bun don’t worry your pretty lil head alright? We can go find baby Marly together, now have you checked everywhere in the house?”

“Mhm even u-under the bed”

“How on hell did you get onto the ground?” Henry quirked knowing damn well she struggled to even get clothes on or lotion up after a shower, leading to him having to lather her up in her coconut body butter, and helping her get her clothes on (that’s on the odd occasion she didn’t sleep in the nude) “I-I used my stool t-to help me down”

A sharp squeal immediately left her pouty lips as his hands made contact with her ass, grabbing onto it, “aw sugar pie, if you need help ya call daddy, don’t ya momma?” He growled through gritted teeth as she nodded, it wasn’t surprising that now he had knocked her up, his possessive and protectiveness had increased by ten folds. Helping her to slip on some shorts, he held her hand tightly as they both slipped on their matching fluffy crocs (ones she again insisted they buy at the market)

Her mood instantly lightening up at the sight of all the flowers and fruits starting to bloom, with her giggling at simply nothing and everything; Henry swinging their hands and bringing it up to kiss her knuckles every few minutes. “W-what if w-we can’t find b-baby?” She whimpered remembering why they were out there in the first place,

“I’ll find her momma don’t you worry, in fact a’ think I can see her from ‘ere” Henry stopped looking in between the tall grass to see their tiny white flur baby, mingling with a larger black grumpy looking cat, how ironic. “Looks like Marly got a boyfriend” Henry chuckled bending down to see both of the cats cuddling together, their tails interlinked as the black cat licked up Marly’s fur.

“O-Oh my! They’re so cute” Y/n squealed looking up to Henry, with that same sparkle in her eyes, he already knew what she was about to ask, “Fine yes okay, we can take him home, as long as we don’t find a collar on him or anythin like that, sound okay sugar cube?” She nodded eagerly picking up Marly, watching as the black cat walked alongside them to the log wood cabin.

“Now come on momma, let’s leave these two in their bed while I tend to my baby, we still have to cut the box remember?” He whispered, seeing the sugar cube shaped cupcake sitting waiting for them, it had only arrived that morning; in it contained the gender of their little miracle and God could he not wait. With Y/n wanting Marly to be with them for the whole experience. “O-Oh yeah, I f-forgot”

“S’okay baby I know you’re dumbed out, can’t help it with your condition” He smiled sickly rubbing over her stomach as he sat them both onto the couch, the box sitting on her lap as she giggled and nodded along to his insult. His hands combing back her hair gingerly, her nose wrinkling every so often. “C-can we cut i-it now? m’ excited” She whispered wiggling on his lap, watching intently as he took the cupcake from her hands, peeling back its covering.

“Open wide bun” He whispered watching her take a bite, showcasing that she would be bringing a precious baby boy and baby girl into the world. The perfect mix of them both, a tiny Henry and an even tinier Y/n, both of them cocooned away in their momma’s stomach all safe and sound. “I-It’s both? Does that m-mean twins Hen?” She said shocked, feeling Henry smirk and chuckle as he licked up the cream from her lips and chin; not only did he manage to knock her up, but he managed to double it.

“Aww baby I could fuck you till the sun goes down, my little petal givin’ me two miracles at once, your pussy really musta milked my cock for all its worth” His hands patted her stomach as tears rushed to her eyes, she finally knew what she was having, her own little boy and girl; if anything this was a dream to her. “S-stop it, y-you’re ruinin’ the moment, tell y-your dads to s-stop it” She sniffed putting her hand on too of Henry’s, feeling the strong kicks following their touch everywhere they moved, their babies were here right now.

“You better not take her away from me squirts, Cus a’ swear my woman is-“

“Y-you gotta l-learn to share” Y/n huffed crossing her arms, “Yeah sure, one tit for them and one for me” Henry chuckled leaning down to press a kiss onto the exposed part of her chest, cupping underneath it and squeezing the swollen flesh softly, watching as her shirt dampened due to her milk coming in earlier than normal. He maintained eye contact with her as he licked over her hardened nipple over the thin fabric, the sweet milk streaming into hid mouth ad he started to suckle gently, a habit he had picked up to help her fall asleep and him at the same time. Sometimes with him waking up due to her nipple popping out of his mouth, or with her when she realised the pressure in them was building up again. Either way it was a new bonding experience for them both

“I wan’ go to b-bed, m’ tired” She whispered kissing the top of his, her eyed lidded while she watched him press kisses onto her tits, taking his sweet time with each one of them. “Alright sugar, I’ve got ya, get ya all nice n’ snuggled in” He grunted picking her up, carrying her to their shared marital bedroom, their pictures littering the room in pink fluffy photo frames she had chosen.

Sitting slightly upwards with an extra pillow underneath her head, she shuffled towards Henry’s side, letting him lay his head onto her puffy chest; sighing out in relief as he started kissing and sucking at her nipples. Lifting his head up he spat some of her own milk into her mouth, letting her taste it as he licked wetly into her mouth, drool and excess milk dripping from the sides of their lips. His babygirl’s sweet milk was the best thing he had tasted, and he’d rather die before sharing it with someone else but he knew better than to mess with his woman and their babies. Their baby boy and baby girl, their miracles

———

PSA: I know this is short, but tomorrow I’m posting a full fic on how Shy!Y/n lost her virginity to Lumberjack!Henry :)) So if you would like tagged in that tomorrow please let me know🫶

library blog: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

taglist: @pandaxnienke @thereisa8ella @beck07990 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @madebylilly @kebabgirl67 @marvelgurl @uwiuwi @stormcloudss @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @aerangi @bookfrog242 @alina02 @alexxavicry @hp-hogwartsexpress @angelmather1 @ggmimitf @thebaileybugle @p4st3lst4rs @kzhlvlysstuff @thoughtsofreid @cilliansangel @theekyliepage @cookielovesbook-akie @elenavampire21 @rosiesluv7 @yaminax @esposadomd @meyocoko @disaster-rose @severewobblerlightdragon @kemillyfreitas @adoreyouusugar @queensgirl718 @sweetybuzz25 @livesinfantasyland @louyoursins @lightdragonrayne @realm-of-azrael @cruelfvkingsummer @shecamedowninabubble @sweetanimebakery @rinimitchell @rebeccapineapple @namjoons-t1ddies @sparklemarysunshine @noideawhyimdoingthislol @ameliascreampuffs @kimhtoo17

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill rpf #rpf #henry cavill oneshot #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x shy!reader #henry cavill x short!reader #henry cavill x wife!reader #henry cavill x pregnant!reader #dad!henry cavill #lumberjack!henry cavill

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phoenixyfriend · 1 month ago

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Ko-fi prompt from IndigoMay:

What would be the economic impact if people could magically grow whatever food they liked? Including fodder for animals.

This is a very wide-ranging question, like... when was the magic introduced? What was the state of agriculture before that? Is this food generated from existing matter, delivered by gods, or something else?

I'm going to narrow this to:

What would happen if people could, starting tomorrow, grow any plant...

That is edible, by either humans or livestock, with appropriate treatment.

Without delay, meaning that the time sink is several minutes instead of weeks or months.

Without concerns for weather or other natural dangers like fungal infections or pests, or requirements for water or fertilizer.

Without depleting soil nutrients, so long as they have arable land to work with.

Without relying on fresh seeds or other 'raw ingredients' like leaf cuttings.

Well... let's start small.

Personal Basis - people who are not farmers

People who do not normally grow things would start angling to acquire some kind basic gardening implements. For some, like those who live in the suburbs, this would be as simple as going into the backyard. For those in cities, they'd need to get a window box or similar to use. If you have free, guaranteed fresh plant matter, that's already a good thing, but the time and care required to keep a garden alive is more than some people can manage due to work or children or housing. With immediate food that requires minimal effort, a lot of those hurdles are removed. You can grow the two tomatoes you need for dinner, and then put the pot of soil away for tomorrow.

The cost of

Personal Basis - small farmers

The obvious impacts for those who are small farmers is that people are less likely to buy their raw ingredients. Most of these small farmers would start looking into modifying their operations to do things that require processing.

Growing apples in your house for a snack is fine--if you have a pot big enough for a small tree, and a way to dispose of the wood if it's a one-time thing--but if you want applesauce or cider or pie, someone who knows how to cook or bake needs to do that part. You can grow wheat, but your chances of having the necessary tools to grind flour are slim. You can grow cashews, but fuck knows how you're going to process that without poisoning yourself! You can grow grapes on your trellis, but that doesn't mean you have the knowledge to make wine without accidentally going straight to vinegar. You can grow corn, but that doesn't mean you know the best way to dry it to make popcorn.

So small farms shift to those products that either need processing, or are part of an animal-based food. This includes things like flowers for bees. You can't really control bees, so just 'grow and go' might incite the bees to leave somehow. Maybe they can sense magic! Who knows!

Another option would be to focus on unique or heirloom things. If you go to a farmer's market, you might be going just to see all the fruits you've never encountered before. If there's an apple stand one year, and suddenly you can grow your own apples at home, then maybe what they start doing is growing unique or rare cultivars that you've never heard of, and that's their new niche. It's not that you can't grow the apples, but would you grow them if you've never heard of them? Plus, the apple stand is doing sauces and ciders now.

Mid-tier and large farms

These farms will start to focus in on large-scale crops that don't go straight to tables or cooking pots in homes. Scrap the eggplants, the cucumbers, the blueberries. Focus on:

Fruits and vegetables that are needed for popular secondary products, like tomatoes (ketchup, marinara), or oranges (juice), or corn (anything with fructose corn syrups, popcorn).

Plants that are popular but NEED processing to be edible, like coffee beans, cocoa beans, or wheat, that most people just don't have.

Plants that are needed in massive quantities for animal feed, such as alfalfa or chicken grains.

Now, I think these large farms would still be in production. We'd see a massive reduction in water usage, which is great (except for cranberries, I guess), but many of these products would still be needed in quantities that need industrial levels of processing. Someone needs to pick the oranges, to drive them to the juicing facility, the facility needs to juice and treat and preserve and bottle them, and then that needs to be driven to the store. The reduced time to grow, reduced water usage, reduced waste from natural predators or dangers, and general ability to plan things more efficiently would result in lower costs for many of these products in a truly free market... but would possibly also rise in cost as companies try to maintain a consistent flow of profit.

Sure you can make the juice at home, but what if you're already at work? There's still a demand for products; most of us can get water from a tap at home, but there are still convenience stores selling bottled water on every other corner in a big city.

I think the most interesting of these concerns would be grazing animals, like sheep, cattle, and goats. Being able to 'refresh' the grass of a single field without having to rotate the animals to new pastures once they've eaten away at one, and without damaging the nutrient profiles of the one they're staying at, means reduced deforestation or soil destabilization in agricultural areas. We'd see a fairly significant stalling of things like the decimation of Mongolia's grasslands if the goats didn't need as much grazing land.

Maintaining the meat industry would be one of the most constant sources of demand for large-scale agriculture, given that other products could go through cycles to more efficiently use land. You can grow and harvest oranges for Tropicana on Monday, grapes for Welch's on Tuesday, soy beans for Silk on Wednesday, tomatoes for Heinz on Thursday, and so on. They probably won't need more than they used to.

Meanwhile, the cows gotta eat. And eat. And eat.

Corporations

This one is fun! MONSANTO'S GONNA BE PISSED.

So, magically growing food, you don't need seeds, at least in this case. Or you can coax more product out of a seed you already have planted. You've gotten eight cycles corn out of this one stalk this season!

So Monsanto loses some of that insane seed monopoly situation.

You'd see a decrease in pesticides and anti-fungal products as agriculture speeds up a cycle by enough to prevent the spread of dangerous infestations. It's not going to kill your entire farm if you find fungus one day and have to burn it to prevent the spread. You lost one day's profit, not a full year's.

This impacts Monsanto too. Remember the Roundup debacle?

Now, to be clear, there are still plants that will rely on pesticides and anti-fungals. The premise only covers food, after all, so there are still important plants that will need longer, dedicated growing seasons.

Industry-wide shifts

Sooooooooooo a lot of the money starts to come from non-edible plants. This is your cottons, linens, hemps, latex/rubber trees, cork trees, lumber, and so on.

As the needed arable land necessary to feed humanity (and our livestock) decreases, more land is freed up for return to indigenous peoples, reclamation by nature, usage for alternate cultivation, housing, or... well, other capitalist ventures, like bitcoin mining or whatever.

On a geopolitical level, this causes some interesting shifts in places that draw their power from being 'breadbasket' nations. For instance, if you remember the start of the Russo-Ukrainian war, we saw some major pressures being placed by virtue of some countries (e.g. Lebanon, Pakistan) getting most of their wheat from Ukraine, and the war suddenly cutting off a massive portion of how they fed their people. Much of Ukraine's support, in those early days, derived from their importance as a breadbasket nation. If everyone can grown their own food, that moves the lines. Countries that are poor on space or water can stop relying on trade to survive in terms of water. Countries that rely on their agriculture to be able to trade for other things need to diversify their economies, and fast.

(Does mean that Saudi Arabia can stop using Arizona's water, though.)

The greatest shifts would come down to water usage and pollution, I think. Agriculture is currently one of the biggest contributors to the climate crisis, and the reduction of water use by farming would be a massive help. However, I'm less sure of how we'd see meat consumption change. The greater availability of fresh fruits and vegetables could result in a shift towards more plant-based diets worldwide, but just as easily we could see large agricultural corporations (and those that rely on them, like John Deere or the aforementioned Monsanto) market meat to consumers as a greater rate due to the profit margin.

Oh, also, I have a feeling that a lot of those corporations would try to get garden centers shut down, or buy out ceramic pot and planter factories. If you can't grow anything at home because you don't have a window planter, you have to buy from the store, right?

#ko fi #ko-fi #ko fi prompts #phoenix talks #magic #agriculture #microeconomics #macroeconomics #politics #environmentalism #water usage #pollution

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loousir · 1 year ago

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[Orc] More than meets the eye

Kinktober Day 1: Muscles/Body Mods

Larek

Male Orc x Male Reader

Notes/Warnings: Piercings all over (🍌 included), lemon, smut, muscle touching, chest sucking, top for bottom, bottom reader, Larek is bigger than you regardless of your size for plot purposes, did I mention piercings?

Masterlist

If you like my work, please consider reblogging!

Sorry I'm late to kinktober, will work on catching up! All of these will be probably be short, please forgive 🙏

Every day, you would see him outside working. Larek was one of few Orcs who lived in your village. His primary job was working as a guard. In his free time, he would chop wood and help build housing for newcomers or those who needed it. He was quiet and his face may have that typical scary Orc look, he was sweet to everyone he met. And especially sweet to you. You weren't sure why but you didn't mind the attention even though there were others who you felt would be better suited for him. Today you did your usual 'gawk at the towns hottie' but you didn't realize he had been noticing you and intentionally flexed his muscles a little more than usual.

It made you blush every time he did, much to his delight. After watching him for a little while, longer, you decided you should probably go do your shopping for the day. At least before it starts to get busy. Dressing in comfortable but casual clothes, you slipped your shoes on, grabbed your basket and keys, and made your way out into the market. Your eyes scanned over all the fresh fruits and veg the vendors had to offer, picking the best of the best. Little had you realized, Larek had decided he would join you on your early morning pick up. You were thanking a young vendor when you turned around without looking, bumping into his chest. "Oh, I'm sorry-" You said quickly, looking up to the man. "Ah L-Larek, good morning!" You said, stepping back as a blush crossed your cheeks. He chuckled.

"Good morning to you too. How are you?" He asked, leaning down just a bit to look at you. You couldn't help but smile and shrug. "Same as always." You said with a small chuckle, finally looking back up to him. Larek smiled and held his hand out. "I'd like to join you, let me carry that." He said, bluntness being his specialty. "Are you sure?" You asked softly, grabbing the basket like you were about to give it to him. He insisted and nodded. "It'd be my pleasure." You were convinced by his smile and telling gaze, handing him the basket that had grown quite heavy. Of course, he carried it like it was nothing. "I still have a few more things to pick up if that's ok." You said, glancing away again as Larek placed himself besides you. "That's alright. I'll help you finish up."

You couldn't help but smile more at his kindness, wanting to find a way to repay him. You were never one to take without giving back. While you picked up the last few things you needed, you spotted a pumpkin cart that had just came in. "Could I grab a couple of those? I wanna make a pie." You asked, making Larek chuckle. "Its your gold, why ask me?" He questioned, making you blush softly as he lead the two of you over to the cart. "Well you're already carrying so much..." Larek just chuckled again. "What's a couple pumpkins to the mix? Worried I can't carry it?" He teased, making you flustered and him just smile at your response. "Get the ones you want. I'll be ok." He reassured, making you nod. He was very smooth with his words and you couldn't help but do as he told you. You picked the best pie pumpkins to which he easily carried with the arm that didn't have the basket.

With a small thank you and payment to the vendor, the two of you made the trip back to your home. You unlocked the door and let Larek in first. He walked straight to the kitchen and you stopped to slip your shoes off and lock the front door again. "Could you set them on the counter-!" Larek had already set them down and was disturbingly quiet for his size. He cut you off by sweeping you off your feet, holding you up with ease. "You're lighter than the groceries." He said, slipping his shoes off as well while you just blushed and held on tight. "Why did you do that..?" You asked, making Larek chuckle as he just carried you around. "You must not have noticed my advances towards you?" He questioned more than stated.

"Your what?" You asked, pulling back to look at him. The look in his eyes was a bit sad but his face otherwise. "No... I, I didnt." You said softly, admiring his strong features. Larek smiled, "Well... I'm, very, interested in you." He said, hands moving to hold you up by your thighs. You inhaled sharply and blushed more, unable to hide it from him. His hands were large and well worn, yet delicate as if he squeesed too hard, you would shatter. "I know you watch me in the mornings." He said, locking eyes with you, keeping your attention on him. "Do you like men with big muscles?" He asked, already knowing the answer. You nodded, making him tilt his head a bit. "Where's your room?" You pointed to the slightly ajar door that led to your bedroom. "Wait are we-?" Larek didn't let you finish when he set you on the bed.

"Stay there." He said lowly, making you shiver at the tone. Larek slowly unbuttoned his shirt, making sure you were watching him the whole time. The lower he got, the more that was exposed. Even though you could appreciate a gut, he didn't have any signs of one. His abs and chest were solid, pure muscle. Lareks hands carefully slipped the fabric off his shoulders and arms, letting it fall to the floor. His orcish tattoos stood out against his olive green skin. You had never seen him without a shirt and the tattoos made him way more attractive to you. It was obvious when it came to his ears and nose piercing but what really got you going was seeing that he had nipple piercings too. "Good gods..." You panted out, a tent already starting to form in your pants.

Larek grinned and untied his belt, pulling it out and dropping it to the floor with his shirt. He beckoned you over and you followed, slipping off the bed to stand in front of him. He looked down at you, the same grin still lining his lips. He took your hands and placed them on his abs. "Go on. You're getting a first hand look at the things you've been watching for so long." He said lowly as you looked up to him with wide eyes. Since you were invited to, you ran your hands all over. Starting from his abs, trailing up to his ribs, then just under his chest. Your breath caught when you looked back up to him again to see him biting his bottom lip. "Keep going..." He purred, voice rubbing through his chest. You reached up and grabbed his chest. It was softer than you anticipated but you loved how big and muscular it was. He moaned when you squeezed them before moving to pinch and pull at his pierced nipples.

"Yeah... Just like that..." He said, licking his lips as he watched you feel him up. You couldn't help yourself, almost as if you were getting pulled in. You found your mouth connecting to his chest, sucking on the perky bud, rolling the piercing over your tongue. Larek moaned again and grabbed the back of your neck, holding on to keep you close, forcing you to suck at his chest. His other hand pulled you in, pressing your body against his. You could feel the bulge in his pants pressing against you. 'Fuck he's big' you thought, Larek pulling you away only to switch you to the other side. Your eyes rolled closed as his other hand slipped itself in your pants to grope at your ass.

Once Larek seemed satisfied, he pulled you away and made you face him. "Take them off." He was referring to his own pants and briefs, which were growing ever tighter as he continued to get hard. You nodded and looked up to him as you slowly unbuttoned his pants, delicate fingers slipping under the wristband, pulling them down to his ankles. Larek stepped out of them and kicked them to the pile of clothes he had made. "Almost there." He whispered, watching as you slowly slipped his brief down as well, his hard cock bouncing to display. "Holy fuck..." You whispered, seeing that he also had piercings lining the underneath of his shaft. Larek tilted his head at your reaction. "Think you'll be ok?" You eagerly nodded and he grinned again, picking you up and throwing you on the bed. "Good..." He growled, ripping your shirt off. You gasped at the sudden exposure. Thankfully, you didn't like these clothes much anyway as he also ripped your pants off, leaving you in your underwear.

Having this muscle hunk hover over you made your cock drip with pre, already soaking through the fabric that hid your sensitive area. Larek looked up to you to see if this was ok to continue with and you nodded. He leaned down and bit the waistband, pulling them down with his teeth, making you wonder if he's done this before. That thought quickly dissipated when he spread your legs, seating himself between them. He didn't even asked and reached over to your side dresser, instantly finding the lube you stored inside of it. "I knew you were a little perv..." He teased, making you cover your face. Larek chuckled and poured the cool liquid over your entrance, rubbing it in gently.

You were worried you wouldn't be able to take his fingers let alone his cock. "L-Larek... Just, slow please..." You panted out, cock twitching when he flashed a toothy grin. "I'll be gentle." He said, slowly pushing a finger in, making your gasp and close your eyes tight. Larek used his other hand to move your arms away from your face. "Look here." He said, wanting you to look at him again. You slowly opened your eyes and looked up to him, lingering for a moment before trading down to his body and, also, dripping cock. "You turn me on so much..." He spoke in a deep tone, leaning down as he slowly slipped another finger in, making your toes curl. "Larek..!" You moaned out, feeling him stretch your hole. "Almost there..." He said working you open for potentially a third. Larek pulled you in for a kiss, instantly slipping his tongue in to reveal he also has multiple tongue piercings right down the middle. You could never see them but were surprised there was more than one.

"Larek please-" He cut you off with a moan as he slipped a third in, throughly stretching you to make sure you were ready for him. "Please just fuck me already..." You said, cock twitching and dripping, begging to cum. Larek kissed you again as he pulled his fingers out, lubing himself up as he watched you squirm under him. "I'm pushing in now." He said, only taking a second to himself up before he pushed the tip in. He moaned out, hands holding on to your waist as the first of five piercings slipped in. You panted as you tried to relax, wanting to let him push in more. The piercing rubbed against your walls, not enough to hurt but not enough to feel good either. "Keep going..." You begged, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

Larek leaned down and let you cling on to him. He slowly pushed in again, one more popping in followed by another not far behind. Two more left and he'll be all the way. You already felt so full but wanted to take all of him. With a nod, Larek pushed himself all the way in. You moaned and throw your head back, having him all the way really filled you out. "Fuck..." You whimpered as he kissed at your collarbone. "I'm gonna start slow." He said, slowly pulling himself out before pushing back in. The feeling of the piercings turned it up to a twelve as he started to fuck you. "Oh gods... Oh fuck please..." You moaned out, begging him to go faster and harder. Larek picked up his pace, pressing your face into his chest again, squeezing it between his pecks.

"Fuck... We barely started and I'm already getting close..." He admitted. You felt a wave of pleasure knowing that your turned him on that much. "Me too." You mumbled out, voice muffled slightly as he fucked into you. Larek moaned lowly as he edged closer and closer. As soon as he got close, he started to stroke you as well, wanting to cum together. You moaned out as he finally touched your aching dick. "Fuck!" He groaned out, pulling out and stroking himself, finishing by shooting his load all over your thighs and ass. His other hand tensing and stroking your to your own orgasm. Your eyes rolled closed again as your climaxed, cumming all over both your stomachs. Larek fell to the side of you, panting softly as he pulled you close. "That was fucking good..." He said, a pleasure look plastered on his face. You smiled and nodded, biting your lip as you kissed at his chest and collarbone.

"Think you have enough energy for a few more rounds? I'm still hard as a rock..."

#monster male #monster x male reader #exophilia #m4m #male monster x reader #x male reader #monster lover #monster male x male reader #mxm #male reader #orc x male reader #male orc x male reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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suzukiblu · 2 months ago

Note

pls let match know Thatcher he deserves a family (and pie)

The kitchen table is solid wood, small and perfectly round with four chairs around it, so there’s no apparent head to it or anything similar. The dated-looking embroidered tablecloth and woven placemats on it are all identical, and Martha is already setting a potholder in the center of it and the alleged pie on top of that. It’s . . . a pie.

Match knows literally nothing about pie except for the basic definition of what it is. He can recognize it visually and knows it’s a dessert–pastry and baked fruit, traditionally, but there are variants–and the sight of Martha neatly setting it out is exactly as unreal as everything else about both her, Jonathan, and this entire place.

#eulaliafluffboll #wip: clark panic-adopts his teenage clones

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quillpenartistz · 2 months ago

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・❥・ Headcanon time ・❥・

╰┈➤ Here’s only a few headcanons I’ve made throughout my whole ego phase [my life basically]. Some that I have are already pretty popular amongst the community, so that must mean I’m doing something right!!!

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯

・❥・ Wilford Headcanons

╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

•⌇⌦ Can shift fragments of reality intentionally and unintentionally [he can’t necessarily manipulate all of reality itself. But he is aware of his existence and its purpose - he knows he is a character meant to play in a story and he simply goes along with it, all while manipulating and shifting the story in some ways.] His reality shifting power is similar to Wanda’s [marvel] reality manipulating powers in a way, though watered down. He can sneeze confetti, take out balloons out of thin air, spawn bubbles in his hands, teleport, and defy the laws of physics.

•⌇⌦ With his reality shifting abilities, he can turn into AU [alternate universe] versions of himself. Maybe there’s a universe where he’s a cartoon? Chibi? Horror eldritch creature? He can turn into those versions of himself in the physical world whenever he wants! The laws of those universes will then apply to the world he is in [such as onomatopoeia words appearing in physical text midair.]

•⌇⌦ He is easily distracted and can never sit still. He always tries to actively distract himself from the darker parts of his mind.

•⌇⌦ His body ‘desaturates’ similar to pinkie pie from my little pony whenever he is in a ‘dull mood’ or when someone drives him to the point of being sad.

•⌇⌦ He loves stickers a lot, he can never stop collecting them. Mischievously, he also likes to splash glitter onto anything he deems necessary [to torture people to clean it up, but he claims that it’s just to ‘liven things up’ a bit.]

•⌇⌦ Too much creamer in coffee kind of guy [“Can I have coffee with my vanilla creamer please?”]

•⌇⌦ Constantly eats and smells like fruit candies.

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.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯

・❥・ Dark Headcanons

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•⌇⌦ More monster than human. [Yes, Dark is all the mansion, Celine, and Damien in one walking corpse. However, overtime, as Damien fell into the role of the villain, he may have embraced it a bit much. He still cares about his sister very dearly… so much so that he made sure she’s in a permanent sleep. Celine, even in her sleep, knows about this, and parts of herself influences Damien - thus influencing Dark as a whole. He is completely merciless, sadistic, manipulative, and couldn’t care less about the consequences of his actions as long as it benefits himself and his plan. Besides, he is immensely powerful, so if he is met with his consequences, he simply destroys them.

•⌇⌦ He is also very aware he is nothing more than a character, but, he knows he’s much more than this. Because he knows he’s a character, you often see him staring at the fourth wall but never necessarily addressing it [unlike Wilford.]

•⌇⌦ Can read minds and telepathically speak to people, conceal his presence, move through shadows, mimic voices, shift shadows and blend into them, and can turn himself into a Raven. Ravens hold a lot of symbolism, but for Dark specifically, The Raven means ‘Death, bad omen, bringer of chaos, transformation & metamorphosis, and the duality of existence’. He often stalks, observes, and travels within this form of himself.

•⌇⌦ Camera’s, no matter what kind, CANNOT pick up him as a whole. Whenever a picture is taken, a video, or anything of that sort is taken of him, he will always appear as a sporadic blur of blue, red, and black. He can never be caught on any footage.

•⌇⌦ Whenever he is present in a room, depending on his mood, the ringing sound that emits from him can completely shatter ANY kind of surface. Glass, wood, stone, etc. His surroundings also turn a bit desaturated/monotone whenever he’s around.

•⌇⌦ EXTREMELY tall, eerily tall, to the point it is very obviously inhuman.

•⌇⌦ Can take form of people’s fears and/or desires [used for manipulation tactics.]

•⌇⌦ Loves being praised for any reason. In fact, he could get distracted by it… likely because he’s slightly egotistical.

•⌇⌦ His body, to the touch, is always ice cold. Just being around him gives off cold chills and makes rooms colder.

•⌇⌦ Neck twitches constantly.

•⌇⌦ He’s highly patient.

•⌇⌦ Smells like smoke and old candles.

•⌇⌦ He is constantly tired, yet he never sleeps.

•⌇⌦ He can be referred to as Damien only by Wilford as he knows it’s a comfort for Wilford rather than anything else.

•⌇⌦ Dark wisps, like smoke, often emits from his hair and leaves a feint trail wherever he walks.

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.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

・❥・ Bonus Short-Story ・❥・

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

A fuchsia haired man sat on a weathered wooden bench, the crisp autumn air swirling around him, carrying with it the scent of fallen leaves and the hint of change. The trees stood tall and dark, their skeletal branches reaching out like gnarled fingers against the dark sky. Beneath the rolling clouds of black was a light shower of cold rain, paired with occasional deep bellows of thunder. Wilford, unbothered by the weather, wore a bright yellow coat that bore a striking contrast to the muted colors of the dark day, yet he felt oddly muted himself, as if the world around him had absorbed all the vibrancy he once possessed just moments ago. He stared at the trees, his curled mustache twitching as he was lost in thought. The shadows cast by the branches danced around him, triggering a flood of memories that flickered in his mind like fading autumn light. This time of year always made him contemplative how everything seemed to prepare for a long slumber, how decay and beauty coexisted in a delicate balance. Just as a gust of wind dragged him out of his thoughts and rippled up his spine, a dark figure swooped down from the sky. It landed gracefully next to him, perching on the back of the bench; its form a sleek raven whose feathers shimmered black as the void. The raven’s eyes glowed with an otherworldly stygian energy, deep pools of darkness that could drag anything into them.

Wilford turned to the raven, raising an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you a striking little creature?” he quipped, a grin tugging at his lips. “What brings you to my little corner of the world? Here to steal my bread?” The raven tilted its head, regarding him with an unsettling calm, remaining silent but observant. Fragments of its being would fall out of place and come back together, as if reality itself fought against the creatures existence. Wilford leaned back against the bench, hearing it creak from his weight while his expression shifted. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the roles we play, the expectations we uphold… it’s exhausting.” He glanced at the raven, as if seeking validation. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m still just a part of the show. One of the many characters in this unending, chaotic play. Am I the hero, the jester, or maybe even the villain? It’s hard to tell when the lines blur! As if I would use any scripted lines… but you know what I mean.” The raven hopped a bit closer, its gaze cold. Wilford felt a familiar chill run through him from the stare. “And then there’s the bigger picture. All those choices we make, the paths we tread. Are they truly ours? Or are we really just puppets on strings, guided by forces beyond our understanding? It’s like we’re all just fragments of a larger story, one even I can never understand, lost in a labyrinth of our own making.”

The raven remained silent, but its intensity seemed to deepen, as if it understood. Wilford sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess what I’m really trying to say is… I’m not sure where I fit into all of this. Sometimes I want to scream, to break free from agonizing expectation. But then I think—what if in doing so, I lose everything that makes me… me? Do I even have the power to break this? If I do, what would happen?” He would ask, hoping for an answer. With a rustle of feathers, the raven leaned in slightly, almost as if offering comfort. “You will never know until you try, William. Every great discovery begins with a leap of faith.” The raven spoke without its beak moving an inch. The raven studied the man in the yellow coat for a moment longer, and then, with a powerful flap, it took to the air, soaring high above the trees. As it ascended, Wilford felt an odd sense of clarity settle over him. He smiled softly to himself, the weight of the world feeling a little lighter as he returned his gaze to the autumn trees. In the depths of uncertainty, there was hope. A chance to steer his path towards an unforeseeable future. And it was all only a leap of faith away.

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

・❥Thank you for reading! If you wish to see more, request some ideas. What are you curious about the most?❥・

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