#how to take care of wheat

[umangharyana]

गेहूं की खेती में कॉपर की कमी से बचाव: जानिए फसल को स्वस्थ रखने के उपाय

Wheat Crop : गेहूं की खेती करने वाले किसानों के लिए यह जानना जरूरी है कि फसल में कॉपर (तांबा) की कमी से कई गंभीर समस्याएं हो सकती हैं। कॉपर पौधों की वृद्धि और विकास में अहम भूमिका निभाता है। इसकी कमी के कारण पौधों में प्रोटीन निर्माण बाधित हो सकता है और उनकी प्रतिरक्षा प्रणाली कमजोर हो जाती है। इसका सीधा असर फसल की गुणवत्ता और उत्पादन पर पड़ता है। कॉपर की कमी के लक्षण गेहूं की फसल में कॉपर की कमी…

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

i think the most annoying part of dog food discourse is how many people will act as though proplan/hill’s/Royal canin diets aren’t extremely and prohibitively expensive and that THAT is the reason so many people look into healthy alternatives.

People complain about corn being in the first five ingredients on most of those feeds because, regardless of other factors here, that is not an expensive ingredient. But it makes up a large chunk of the dry food. So the dry food should be fairly affordable, right?

Oh… with tax you’re spending about $100 for one 45lb bag of food where the third ingredient is wheat and the fourth and fifth ingredients are corn.

Oh… well! It’s slightly cheaper! But the second ingredient is rice, third is wheat, fourth is corn, and then fifth is poultry byproduct. None of those are very expensive so this just must be the low end cost of dog food unfortunately. The vets recommend it so surely that means prices aren’t inflated, right?

Oh? This one has similar ingredients with the only real difference being no corn? And it’s half the price?? Well surely that’s just a fluke.

Oh. Oh no.

This one even has CORN in it and it’s $20 cheaper?? Wow!

Like listen at some point I don’t care if your dog food has the ichor of the gods in it, I’m not spending $100 every five days if there are cheaper options with just as many “good” ingredients in it. If you think I’m a dog abuser because I can’t afford this overpriced garbage, that’s too bad. I don’t care. My dogs are perfectly healthy with the food I give them. Great weight and great coat. People giving dog food recommendations that aren’t those top three hyper-expensive dog foods aren’t trying to epic own those dastardly vets half the time, but I really don’t blame the ones who do lose trust in vets when the only heartworm protection they recommend lately are expensive triple-action brands like Simparica Trio that costs $120+ as opposed to the other heartworm protections that are only about $40-$60 on average, which is still cheaper even if you add on a $20-$40 flea and tick protection separately, and only recommend dog food that costs $85+ a bag even if your dog doesn’t have specialized dietary needs.

Those top three foods are GREAT at making competent prescription diets, I don’t deny that. I do still have to criticize the pricing of those prescription diets though because I have spoken to DOZENS of people who had to pull their pets off of a prescription diet and struggle to find something comparable because they couldn’t afford the food, and that’s terrible! These are not poor companies! Purina, Royal Canin, and Hill’s can ABSOLUTELY afford to lower their prices to make their food accessible to people who need it for their animals but they don’t. They probably never will. Because at the core they are run by greedy corporations. It doesn’t matter how many good nutritionists are on board if the company is run by people who put profits over customers and make the food impossible for people to afford.

[fictionadventurer]

Slotting The Long Winter alongside North and South as a book about life in the nineteeth century that counts as a sci fi because it explores how technology affects the lives of the people whose society depends on it, and explores what kind of duty a man has to care for his own business vs. that of the community.

[mrtequilasunset]

I actually got the opposite impression. I thought Kim would be a very picky eater but would not admit that to save his life. Like the kinda guy who’ll eat anything if he has to but there’s very little he actually enjoys and so he grew up thinking that food sucks and rarely tastes good cause children tend not to have the autonomy to eat things they actually like or even figure out what they like unless they have incredibly patient and understanding caregivers

Okay but I actually love this interpretation too your brain is so massive and meaty

[keeps-ache]

[pained] 'that sounded like it hit the rebar in the foundation'

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole A/N: Y'all probably wouldn't believe me if I told you Apple by Charlie XCX inspired this random fic...but anyway, this one goes out to my sweet bb angel @lotusbxtch <3 thank you for always being my partner in crime in the late hours of the evening ilysm

Part II

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The Texas sun beat down on your skin as you rode through the acres of land—your land— stretching out before you. Passed down from generation to generation, this entire pasture of fields and wild barley was yours. After both of your parents died during a freak accident, you inherited the land and dealt with upkeep and farm animals as if it were your life. And it was your life. Every inch of this farmland was yours, no matter what anyone said. 

You pressed your heels into the side of your horse, Mac, and urged him further down through the tall grass. The summer hadn’t been kind to the fields, the grass yellowing in most places, but what would you do about it? Tell the sun to stop shining? All you could do was take care of the land and ensure nothing went wrong. The animals were taken care of, the wild wheat still grew strong in the outskirts past your tiny farm home, and you had enough money to put dinner on the table for yourself at the end of your night. 

No trouble at all. 

What was trouble, though, was Joel Miller riding his ass right down the edge of your land. The sun cast him in a dark silhouette as he rode closer, his broad body sitting tall on the back of his horse. You held back the reigns, shushing Mac gently as you slowed him to a trot, keeping a healthy distance from the insufferable man trespassing onto your fields. 

“Think y’got yourself a bit lost out here, Miller,” you hollered. 

Joel removed the black cowboy hat from his head; the grey hairs streaking through his curls shimmered in the sunlight as he swiped an arm over his sweaty forehead. Every inch of his skin was sunkissed and tan from hours under the sun, his greying beard patchy and well-kept despite his rugged exterior. If he weren’t such an asshole, maybe you’d even consider him attractive, but your irritation with him ran deeper than any other emotion. 

Staring up at you under thick brows, Joel quirked an amused grin and shrugged. 

“Ain’t lost at all, darlin’. S’my land out here.”

You steered Mac forward, keeping yourself parallel with Joel’s body. You weren’t intimidated by any man, let alone Joel Miller. He may have a few decades on you, but that didn’t matter. The Miller family had always been a problem. For generations, they feuded with your family over acres of land that stretched across the horizon, never agreeing on who owned what. Before Joel, his father had caused an uproar in your family, and now he just had to continue causing problems. Would you ever rid yourself of this man and his family?

“I suggest y’take your ass home ‘fore I make you leave,” you warned. 

The wind kicked around you, fanning your hair down around your shoulders. Joel caught how your hair flared under your cowboy hat, and a hint of mischief sparkled inside his dark brown eyes. He was a fucking nuisance and still on your fucking land. 

“Careful now, darlin’. Those are some mighty big fightin’ words.”

You straightened your spine, holding firm on the reigns to keep yourself anchored. Mac huffed impatiently as if he knew how sour your mood was turning. The longer you kept yourself around Joel, the quicker your anger grew. The sun would set soon, and you still had miles to cover before you made it home; you wouldn’t entertain an old cowboy all night, even if he were staring at you like you were a wild horse to be tamed. 

“This is the last time I’m tellin’ you to stay off my land, Joel. I mean it.”

Joel chuckled lightly as if your words meant nothing. He placed his hat back over the matted curls on his head and began riding past you. You glared over your shoulder, watching his body travel further into the horizon and away from the rolling fields of your land. 

**

The summer wasn’t getting any easier. The sun grew brighter each day, and the air thickened with humidity, making it nearly impossible to continue wearing anything restrictive. With no one else around to pester you, you paraded around the stables in a tight top, a pair of daisy dukes, and your usual worn leather boots. The fewer clothes, the better—even if that meant getting bit up by a few mosquitoes here and there. 

You were deep into cleaning Mac’s stall when you heard the sound of hoofs pounding against the dirt ground outside the stables. Your body went rigid; you knew who it was without looking. Who else would it be out here? The horse in the distance bristled as its rider dropped to the ground, his heavy footfall nearing you as you exited the stall with a towel slung over your shoulder. 

Joel stood tall in the entrance, his broad frame sucking in all of the light as he walked closer. He wore an old denim button-up, and the sleeves pushed up his tan forearms, exposing the thickly corded muscles that ran down to his hands. Without a cowboy hat resting over his eyes, you could see how rich and dark they were as they stared you down. Despite hating him, your body reacted on its own accord. You clenched your thighs, trying to quell the ache growing inside your core. Leaning against the stall, you narrowed your eyes, watching Joel stalking closer. His steps were confident—casually, even—as if he owned the damn place. 

“Not sure why y’think it’s okay to come waltzin’ in here,” you scowled, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Ain’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Joel smirked. 

“Fuck off, old man,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. 

“What was that, darlin?” 

Joel stepped forward, and you mimicked his movements, drawing yourself closer to him. Even with his height towering over you, you were unphased. This man wouldn’t get the best of you. 

“Oh, sorry. Should I be speakin’ louder? Ain’t sure if y’got your hearing aids in.”

“No, I heard y’just fine. Just wanna hear you say it again.”

The toe of your boot tapped against his as you glared up at him. With a smug grin stretching across your face, you repeated your retort. 

“Fuck off. Old man.”

Joel’s body tensed, his eyes narrowed as he considered your words. You weren’t backing down; he was on your property and, quite frankly, pissing you off. He could bitch and moan all he wanted about how this land was his birthright, but he was wrong. Your parents settled the matter generations ago and never once faltered against the Millers. That wouldn’t change now. You’d uphold their wishes and continue fighting for what was yours. 

“Y’gotta damn nasty mouth on such a tiny body. Ain’t your parents teach you some manners?” Joel questioned. 

“They taught me enough, but it ain’t gonna stop me from tellin’ you off. So, get the hell off my property,” you demanded. 

You glanced down, noticing Joel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was amusing seeing him all riled up. Who knew he had that kind of spark in him? You wondered just how far you could push him until he snapped. 

“Ain’t you just spoiled rotten. Is that what it is? Y’think everythin’ is yours ‘cause your mommy and daddy said so?”

His voice was taunting, a litany of rhetorical questions to which he didn’t care to know the answer. Whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter because his mind was made up. Stubborn old man.

“I don’t think everythin’ is mine. I know it is,” you objected. “So, move your old ass back to your side of the pasture and get out of my face.”

Joel crowded your body, walking you back towards the stall door until your body pressed into the wood. You lifted your chin defiantly, watching his eyes clouded with rage. 

“Spoiled lil’ brat. Should teach you a lesson for the way you’re speakin’ to me,” Joel growled. 

Let’s see how far we can take this, you thought. 

“Whatcha gonna do? Spank me?” You laughed, gracing him with a rueful smile. 

Placing his hands above you on the door, Joel caged you between his body. You had nowhere to run; truthfully, you didn’t want to run. The incessant ache between your legs was swelling, your underwear practically soaked with the burning anticipation coursing through your veins. 

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, darlin’. S’only gonna make things worse for you.”

“I ain’t scared of you, Joel.”

“You damn well should be,” he warned. 

Joel’s hand shot out to grab the base of your neck, yanking you a breath away from his lips. The rich scent of whiskey wafted off his lips as he held you close, his fingers tightening around your throat. You rolled your tongue across your bottom lip, an invitation for whatever threat he had. You could take it. 

“Y’think it’s cute actin’ this way? Think you’re just tough shit, and no one will put you in your place, hmm?” Joel whispered. 

“You gonna be the one to do it, Joel?” You challenged. 

Joel used his grip on your throat to spin you toward the door, your cheek smashing into the wood as he pinned you against it. The instant sting of his palm radiated through the denim of your shorts, the heat of his hand melting into your skin. You yelped in pain, dragging your nails over the wood that strained against the press of your body. His hand smoothed over the curve of your ass before delivering another jarring smack. 

“Fuck!” You cried, biting back tears. 

“Spoiled.” Smack. “Fuckin’.” Smack. “Brat.” Smack. Smack. 

“Joel, please!” You begged. 

You weren’t sure if you were begging for more or begging for him to stop. Either way, he was unrelenting, his handprint leaving welts on your skin. Joel’s grip on your throat tightened, restricting your breathing as he dug his fingers into the supple skin of your ass. Prodding…smoothing…spanking. A continuous, viscous cycle you were weak against. Every bite of his hand on your body intensified the throbbing between your legs, your clit swelling with need. Repeating slaps against your other cheek forced tears down your face, their path leading down your neck and onto Joel’s warm hand. 

“You cryin’, darlin’?” Joel taunted. “Gonna beg me to stop?”

“Please—” You choked out, your words garbled and strained. 

Joel’s lips touched your ear, his breath fanning over your skin in waves. 

“M’fraid I can’t. Not til’ y’learn your lesson.”

You twisted your head around, your tired eyes connecting with his. There wasn’t a hint of brown in his irises as his pupils swallowed them whole, an unsatisfied look washing over his features. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. 

“Fuck you,” you snarled. 

Joel tilted his head, his graying mustache twitching as his lips curved into a smile. An unmistakable hint of desire masked his expression, keeping you reeled in and wanting more. If he could keep going, then so could you. 

“You just ain’t backin’ down, huh?” Joel questioned. 

You wagged your head back and forth, his fingers squeezing against your windpipes. Joel’s hand coasted up your waist, tugging at the belt loop on your shorts until your body spun to face his. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, you grinned at him, clearly unbothered by the onslaught of pain he had inflicted. 

“That all y’got, old man?” You lipped off. 

“Call me old man one more time, darlin’,” Joel warned his face inches from yours. 

“Old. Man.” You punctuated each word through gritted teeth.

Joel cupped your sex through your jeans, no doubt feeling the arousal seeping through the denim fabric. A rouge whimper fell off your lips, and you bit back any more sounds to give away the desperation rolling through your veins.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he exhaled, but there was a lightness in his voice.

You were both giving into some carnal need, electrifying the humid air around you. You chased his mouth, wanting to lap up every threat on his whiskey-drenched tongue. Joel pulled back, your lips connecting with nothing as you arched forward. With a slight pout, you huffed in annoyance. 

“Look who’s actin’ all desperate now. Just beggin’ for this old man to fuck you.”

“Betcha can’t even get it up in the first place,” you grumbled. 

Joel’s hand connected with your cheek, a rough slap sending your face to the side. Dammit, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d done. The sting of his palm sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your stomach, a burning need just aching to come undone. Thick fingers gripped your jaw, wagging your face side to side. 

“I’ve heard enough of that bratty mouth,” Joel said decisively. 

His hands brushed over your collarbone, grasping your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. Your legs hit the straw-covered ground with a soft thud, your skin scraping against the dry hay. He wasted no time undoing his large belt buckle, working his cock out of the confines of his jeans, and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. Joel was hung like a fucking horse, his length thick and no short of any girth. Precum dribbled down off the tip, the sticky mess enticing you to move closer. Staring up at him through your lashes, you waited for his next move. He might have you on your knees, but you’d have his cock, and that was power in itself. 

“Make use of that mouth and suck,” he commanded. 

You lapped at the precum, his cock twitching against every flick of your tongue. You explored his length, dragging your tongue along the veins running down the underside of his cock. Joel gripped the hair at the crown of your head, guiding your mouth over the tip and down his length. Your nose brushed against the bushy hair at the base, his musky scent flooding your senses—it was intoxicating. 

“There we go,” Joel hummed, his voice gravely and strained. “So fuckin’ full of me y’can’t talk back.”

His name came out muffled as you tried to speak, your tongue flatted against the base of his cock. He pushed his cock a centimeter further, the tip knocking against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, your hands slapping against his thick thighs. 

“I don’t wanna hear y’say a damn word,” Joel growled. “You’re gonna take my fuckin’ cock down your throat and choke on it.”

You clawed at his thighs as tears sprung along your waterline, threatening to spill over the longer he kept himself inside your mouth. His fingers tightened around tiny strands of your hair, anchoring you to his cock as he thrusted himself deeper. You tried to protest and pull away, but his grip on you was unforgiving. 

“Please,” you garbled, spit rolling down your chin. 

“Still actin’ like a spoiled fuckin’ brat, ain’t you? Think y’can get whatever you want?”

He granted you an inch to breathe, pulling you halfway off his cock. You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to latch onto any control. Joel used his grip on your hair to slide your mouth up and down his length, the sound of your lips around his the only noise aside from his labored breathing. You tapped on his thigh twice, hoping he’d relent and give you a reprieve. 

“Real fuckin’ cute,” he laughed. “Struggle all y’want, darlin’. I ain’t stoppin’.”

The tears flowed freely now, mixing with the saliva pooling down your jaw as you worked him deeper down your throat. Every strained attempt to beg him to stop fell on deaf ears; his cock only pushed further down until you had no choice but to sit there completely disarmed and helpless. The scratches left on his thighs didn’t phase him at all, nor did your whimpers as you tried to swallow a breath around him. 

“Keep cryin’, darlin’. Just makes you look prettier when I’m ruinin’ you,” Joel muttered. 

As your nose pressed against the hair at his navel, Joel’s hand brushed over your cheek, collecting a rogue tear on his thumb. Through blurred eyes and running mascara, you blinked up at him right as he tasted the tear pooling on the pad of his fingertip. 

“Delicious,” he hummed.

A dangerous grin split across his face, his hips jerking forward one last time before he wrenched you free from his cock. You coughed violently, the air wooshing back into your lungs with each heaving breath. You swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, wiping off the saliva coating your chin and jaw. 

“You fuckin’ asshole,” you choked out. 

Crouching down, Joel met you at eye level, his eyes soulless and dark. You shivered under his heavy gaze and flinched away from his face as he crowded you. 

“How’s that attitude of yours now?” He questioned. 

You reeled back, sending a glob of spit across the bridge of his nose. Joel scrunched his eyes together, jaw clenched as he wiped away your spit. You bared your teeth at him, still refusing to back down. Joel straightened to his full height, working at shoving his cock back in his jeans. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed; you hated him but wanted more. 

“Guess I ain’t been rough enough,” Joel grumbled, walking down the stable. 

You watched as he picked a bundle of lead rope off the hook near Mac’s stall, weighing it between his hands. A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you saw his eyes light up in mischief. You were so fucked. You half-considered running, but where was the fun in that? Joel would only chase you down, and even that sounded delicious. There was no use in fighting it now; you were in it for the long haul. 

“Now,” he started, his steps slow as he walked back toward your kneeling body. “I’m gonna give you two options. Y’either walk your ass outside like a good girl, or I drag you out by your hair. What’s it gonna be, darlin’?”

“I’ll walk,” you snapped, rising to your feet. 

Your knees ached with each step as you walked into the blinding daylight outside the stables. Gnats swarmed around your face as you stood idle by the entrance, glancing over your shoulder at Joel stalking behind you. The rope swung beside his body as he carried it in his hand, the lingering threat lying within the coarse fibers that wound together. His head jerked over to the tie rack beside the barn, his eyes trained on the vacant stall before the expanse of your land. 

“C’mon, brat.”

He waltzed in front of you, guiding you to the empty platform with a stern look gracing his features. Without a single word, Joel yanked your wrists together, his deft fingers working at knotting the rope around your skin. The fraying pieces bit into your skin, rubbing and burning the longer he twisted it in loops around your hands. He gave the rope a good tug, humming in satisfaction once the binding was tight enough. Guiding your arms upwards, he clipped the lead to the metal loop on one side of the tie rack, keeping your body suspended awkwardly as your wrists ached from the restraint. You refused to say a word, too frustrated even to protest his actions. If you thought you were helpless before, you were utterly powerless now. It was just you, Joel, and the empty stretch of land that went on for miles. 

Joel pressed his body against your back, the warmth of his touch ignited heat within your core all over again. You squirmed as his hands roamed over your curves, his fingers tracing the outline of your breasts under your sweat-covered shirt. He pinched at your nipples, finding their pebbled indentation hidden within your bra. A desperate whine left your lips as you swayed against the pull of the rope, your feet slipping against the ground. 

“See all that land out there,” Joel whispered, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “That’s all mine, darlin’, and I’m gonna make sure you remember that by the time I’m through with you.”

“Tyin’ me up and fuckin’ me ain’t gonna change my mind,” you scoffed. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck some sense into you.”

Joel’s hands worked down your body, making quick work of undoing your shorts and shoving them down to your boots. The hot, sticky summer air breezed over your bare skin, hardly helping to soothe the painful ache between your thighs. Thick, calloused fingers massaged the skin of your hips, kneading your supple curves as you writhed against his touch. You could beg him for more, and oh god, did you want to. You wanted to cave and relinquish everything just to quell the burning pleasure inside your body, but you wouldn’t beg. Not for Joel Miller or any other man. 

Joel swiped a finger through your drenched folds, tutting at your pliancy. The brief touch alone was enough to spark stars behind your eyes, your breath growing shallow.

“Well, would ya’ look at that,” Joel tutted. “You’re soakin’ my fingers, darlin’.”

You refused to say a word, too afraid you’d succumb to your own devices. You wouldn’t ask him to fuck you, but Jesus Christ, you fucking needed it. Every fiber of your being cried for release, and if it meant you had to be tied up and fucked in front of the yellow fields in front of you, then that’s what you’d do. 

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Joel offered. “Say this land is mine and I’ll let you go.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, no doubt a mess after being on your knees before him. There was a cruelty in his eyes that alarmed you, but you were too focused on what you needed, even to feel afraid. 

“This is my land,” you stated, your chin held high. “S’my family’s land and it’s gonna stay that way ‘til I’m in my grave.”

“Wrong fuckin’ answer.”

Joel knocked your legs apart, the denim of his jeans dragging against your slick arousal. There was a moment where there was absolutely nothing, a vacancy of sound or touch that deprived your senses. Maybe you were teetering on the edge of delirium, too far gone to know what he was doing behind you, but then you felt everything. The thick head of his cock brushed against your entrance, rubbing between your silken folds in tantalizing strokes. That was the only warning he gave before pushing himself deeper, splitting you open inch by inch. You cried out as your body worked to stretch around his length, and your vision blackened as the sharp pain of the sensation jolted through your veins. 

“Fuck!” You screamed. 

The adjustment to his size was agonizing despite how wet you were. Nothing could have prepared you for the way Joel broke you open, nor was there anything that could have prepared you for how brutal he would become. Thrust after thrust, he assaulted you, completely breaking you and molding you to his cock. The pull of the rope burnt the skin of your wrists as he took you harder, your body lurching against the restraints with each snap of his hips. Joel tugged your body backward, shifting your legs until you were forced to bend at the waist. Words wouldn’t form on your lips, and you dissolved into a heap of wailing cries as he plunged deeper into you. 

“Where’s all that loudmouthin’ now?” Joel grunted, his fingers bruising your hips. “So fuckin’ cock drunk y’can’t even speak?”

Your silence only drove him crazier, his speed quickening mercilessly. The ache inside your core was all-consuming, a burning wildfire inside your stomach. You dropped your head between your shoulders and dug your nails into your palms, keeping yourself grounded. 

“Joel,” you gasped. “Please.”

You failed in your attempts not to beg this man, throwing everything to the wayside as you succumbed to the pulsing ache between your legs. 

“Shut up, brat,” he snapped. 

“Joel!” You sobbed. “I’m gonna—fuck—please. I need to—to…”

The words turned to ash on your tongue as he snaked a hand around your body, his fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit. You yelped at the roughness of his fingers, the sensation alone nearly causing your legs to buckle beneath you. If it weren’t for the ropes holding you firmly in place, you would have fallen to the ground. 

“Poor thing,” he crooned in your ear. “Y’wanna cum? Is that what you want?”

Another drive of his hips. Another draw of his fingers. Tormenting movements that kept you on the edge of ecstasy and suffering. Your arousal pooled down your inner thighs, mixing with the sticky sweat that clung to every inch of your skin. 

“I need it, Joel,” you gasped. “Christ, please!”

“Y’gonna change your mind?”

“N—.”

Joel pinched your clit between his fingers, and your words drowned out under a helpless wail falling from your lips. He pulled you back by your hair, winding it around his fist as he drew his lips down your neck. The sweltering touch of his mouth on your skin and his rough fingers on your sensitive bud were enough to topple you closer to the edge. The furnace igniting inside your stomach wouldn’t stop any time soon, but you still wouldn’t give up. He was always going to be wrong, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction. 

“Say it, darlin’. Say the words, and y’can cum all over my cock.”

“Never,” you panted. “Never gonna—.”

He pistoned into you, his cock spearing deeper and deeper, completely paralyzing you. Sobs wracked through your body as you took every thrust, and your mind began to float off into a blissed-out haze that drowned out the noise behind you. 

“Gonna own all this fuckin’ land,” Joel gritted out. “Own it just like I own this fuckin’ pussy.”

Please. Please. You weren’t sure if you repeated the words inside your mind or aloud; either way, Joel only huffed a laugh and continued with his repetitive assaults on your body. Your orgasm began barreling toward you, your core fluttering around him as it sparked beneath your skin. Everything inside you tensed up, and your jaw went slack with an outward cry as you slipped under the rapid release coursing inside your body. 

“Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “Fuck… fuck… fuck!”

Your sex clenched around Joel so hard he choked on a breath, his body rigid against yours as you spasmed beneath his hold. Hot, wet streams of your orgasm drenched his cock as he tore through your orgasm with shallow thrusts. Jole rammed into you over and over again until another wave of pleasure slammed into your body. 

“Fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Never said y’could cum, did I?”

His hand vanished from your waist and returned to the welted skin of your ass with a resounding smack. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs to cry out, nor any more tears to shed. You hung against the ropes, limp and pliant, as he took you with abandon. 

With another snap of his hips against yours, Joel spilled into you, his release filling you to the brim as he released a carnal groan. You could barely lift your head to look back at him as he untangled his fingers from your hair and pulled away. 

Every atom inside your body was pulsing with overstimulation, your ass welted and bruised, and your throat raw from screaming. The constant thrum of your heartbeat in your ears smothered the sound of Joel’s belt buckle clanging together, the warmth of his body far removed from yours as you stood on tired legs. Moments passed without a single touch, and you wondered if Joel would leave you there tied to the rack and dripping with cum. 

“Think y’learned your lesson now?” He asked, his voice sounding far away. 

All you could do was wag your head in protest, your eyes pinned down to the floor, fixated on the pool of saliva that had fallen from your lips. Joel appeared beside you, his grey hair dissolved and face red from exertion. He worked at unclasping the rope from the hook, unbinding your wrists until your arms fell limp to your sides. Your body was weightless without the stability of the rope, and you fell forward, anticipating the impact against the cement. Joel was quicker, though, winding a strong arm around your front and holding you up. 

“Easy now, darlin’,” he whispered softly. “Easy.”

Your fingers wrapped around his arm, clinging to anything to escape the impending collapse of your entire body. Your boots scruffed against the cement of the stall, kicking dust into the air around you. With his arm still braced around your chest, he used the other to guide your shorts back up your legs and onto your hips. You hissed as the denim rubbed against your ass, the swell of your skin still prickling with pain no matter how brief the touch was. 

“Can y’stand on your own?” He asked. 

“Mhmm,” you mumbled.

“Attagirl.”

Yet as he released your body, you staggered forward, grasping onto the tie rack for support. Joel waited until you found your balance and offered a hand. You were hesitant but relented silently. He took your wrists in one large hand and began massaging at the reddened skin, working out any tension left from the rope. You stared blankly at him, watching a crease burrow between his eyebrows. You still hated him, right? Right? Something so minimal shouldn’t make your heart pound against your chest, but there you were, speechless as you watched this rough man touch your skin with a tenderness he had yet shown. 

“Suns goin’ down soon,” he muttered, nodding to the sky. 

You peered over your shoulder, surprised to see the sun dipping over the horizon. You hadn’t noticed the pinky hue of the sunset while he fucked you, but now you stared at it in wonderment. 

“Guess it is,” you sighed. “Y’should get your ass off my property ‘fore it gets too late.”

Joel snorted, glancing up at you through thick lashes. In the dwindling sunlight, his eyes had dissolved from onyx back into a glistening amber color, the flecks of rich brown dancing as he looked at you. 

“Stubborn lil’ thing,” he huffed. 

He dropped your hands and straightened to his full height. Perspiration coated his button-up, staining it in dark spots as excess beats of sweat still rolled down his muscular neck. You tamed the flyaways of your hair, trying to minimize the obscenity of your look the longer he stood before you. It was no use after what he had done. 

“Y’ain’t changin’ your mind, huh?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. 

Joel rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into his front pocket. Leaning close, he brought his other hand to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers brush over your cheek before pulling away. 

“Guess I’ll just come back tomorrow and try again.”

“Y’come back here tomorrow, and I’ll shoot you dead, Miller.”

He cracked a grin and began to retreat toward his horse beside the stable. You stood motionless as he mounted the brown mare, slipping the reigns between his hands. Joel gave you a farewell wave before taking off across the flowing fields, his broad figure dissolving into the sunset. You slumped against the wall of the stables, letting your body fall to the ground. A smile slid across your face, taking in the open land before you. 

You didn’t give up. It was all still yours.

[bunny-jpeg]

how can i take your order? all you have to do is pick a dessert, drink and driver/character of your choosing! are you in the mood for a mille-feuille or a big slice of chocolate cake! please, please, please indicate who you want me to write about!!

the servers are from the following: formula one, call of duty, baldur's gate 3, haikyuu, one piece, jujustu kaisen, detective comics (dc), marvel comics (but i am open to any other fandoms you might have in mind! please do not hesitate to ask!!)

i do also accept polyam relationships! (pairing + reader), up to about four people! just to make it manageable on my end!

all orders can be made to the inbox for @bunnys-kisses and i'll get your order together asap! also let me know if you want it extra sweet or a little more spicy !

mille-feuille: “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

butter tart: "let's ruin ourselves for anyone else."

sugar pie: “gonna let daddy hear ya?”

zebra cake: "well, what do we have here?"

carrot cake: "swallow it. all of it."

millionaire shortcake: "if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family."

pots de crème: "if a picture is worth a thousand words, then i could probably get a million dollars for this photo."

oat flapjacks: "i'm not scared of you."

persian rolls: "it's mandatory i finish. you getting to finish is a treat."

spice pie: "i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut."

mushroom pie: "if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up."

lemon slice: "i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making."

swiss roll: "everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you."

pumpkin pie: "i've met strays who were more obedient."

pastry braid: "your job is to make me cum. now get to work."

sausage roll: "i wonder how much i could get for photos of this cunt."

pithivier: "if you don't behave, i'll let the boys take care of you."

tiramisu: “my little slut to ruin.”

sponge toffee: "aw, is someone mad that they can only cum because of me?"

pull-apart bread: "i love you"

powered sugar donuts: "marry me."

blueberry bars: “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.”

pudding chomeur: "i don't share."

ice cream bars: “did you see the way he was eyeing you? he need to know you're mine."

chocolate cake: "do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day."

soufflé: "i'll be gentle."

fried dough: "i know virginity is a stupid concept... but i want to take yours."

apple pie: "now be good and beg. thank you."

vanilla cheesecake: "where are your manners?"

berry trifle: "wrong. try again."

maple cream pie: "either you wear the necklace with my name on it, or wear my bruises around your neck."

s'more: "The accent gets to you, doesn't it?"

belgian waffles: "i cum in that every night."

pancakes: "if you bite me. i'll bite you back."

loaf of whole wheat bread: "you're going to shut that mouth and take me."

jos louis: "does someone need a daddy?"

maple taffy: "oh my god you're stupid."

snowballs: "don't worry, drug tests aren't till next week."

shortbread cookies: "and who does this belong to?"

flan: "i'm not possessive... i'm obsessive."

peach cake: "if you spill a drop, we start all over."

angel food cake: "if he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you."

red velvet cupcake: "if you don't like being called a whore, then stop acting like one."

mince pie: "i'm not jealous."

banana bread: "i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name."

crumb cake: "if you just listened, all of this could've been avoided."

chocolate chip cookies: "you're beautiful when you smile, but you're the prettiest when my cock is in your throat"

nanaimo bars: "who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it."

coffee cake: "knees. now."

sourdough bread: "i'm going to breed you."

blueberry muffins: "i don't think it'll fit."

pound cake with strawberries: "you know i hate going over rules, but just because i like seeing you embarrassed, i'll tell you them again."

croissant: "i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me."

crepe: "pretty girl."

french toast: "you're trying to make me jealous!"

churros: "if you don't shut that little mouth of yours, i will stuff it full. okay?"

shortbread squares: "you're just mad that that my cock fits perfectly in you now. must be a blow to the ego that we're a perfect match."

savory pastry: "let your brother find out."

sweet pastry: "i'll make it all better."

eclairs: "the family's precious little girl. under me like a slut."

boston cream pie: "yeah, i'll use protection."

bagel: “gonna paint you with my teeth.”

crostata: “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.”

tres leches: "i wonder if your brother know i cum in you."

peanut butter bars: “scratch me, bite me, just mark me sweetheart. show them I’m yours.”

eton mess: "be careful. your breath smells like cum."

scones: "but what if they see us!"

english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?"

honey cruller: "i forget how small you are sometimes."

banana split: "don't look at me like that."

beer brownies: "stick your tongue out anymore and you'll look like a dog."

fudge: "your father is pissing me off."

sticky toffee pudding: "the only way this is ending is you getting pregnant."

hot cross buns: "don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up."

brownies: "you're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours."

chocolate mousse: "the only necklace you need is my hand around your throat"

tim bits: "stupid little thing."

fruitcake: "i'll make tonight special."

cornmeal muffin: "i need you most."

devil's food cake: "you're my most unhealthy obsession."

crème caramel: "oh. you thought you were getting away from me?"

banana & chocolate muffins: "i'm only doing this because you need to learn how to behave, rules are rules, and you need to follow them."

custard tart: "i've never done this before."

cinnamon rolls: "no one needs to know."

mango sorbet: "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?"

date squares: "you look better with my marks on you."

figgy duff: "if i buy it, will you stop pouting?"

spicy upside down cake: "let's play a game: don't get caught."

cream puffs: "let me finish inside."

profiteroles: "come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go."

with a side of:

coffee: rivals

tea: semi-public/public sex

juice: cockwarming

mocha coffee: breeding kink

bubble tea: daddy kink

a vodka shot: rough sex

sparkling water: gentle sex

coconut water: alternate universe

energy drink: doggy style

champagne: sugar daddy situation

hard lemonade: possessive behaviour

espresso shot: dirty talking

a glass of wine: cowgirl position

ice capp coffee: werewolf au

bloody mary: vampire au

martini: mafia au

frozen latte: dumbification

frozen lemonade: consensual non-consent

cranberry juice: mean!character

glass of water: aftercare

chocolate milk: tenderness

milkshake: size kink

pina colada: pregnancy

cider: body worship

mai tai: loss of virginity

margarita: unprotected sex

mint julep: punishments

chai: biting/hickies

earl grey: big cock

fishbowl cocktail: protected sex

tonic water: age gap

matcha latte: collars/bondage

root beer: filming/recording

soda: jealousy

americano: oral sex

whisky: degrading language

vitamin water: dom/sub dynamic

irish coffee: high sex

sangria: drunk sex

dark roast coffee: sub!character

dark hot chocolate: sub!reader

iced tea: accidentally launching relationship

lemon water: university/college au

naked & famous: bimbo/ditzy!reader

on the house: author's choice!

ORDER UP!

[ivy-elle]

"What are you even talking about?"

Or: How they react to you being overly intoxicated aka drunk af

Feat. Albedo, Scaramouche

Notes: No mentions of vomiting, do not worry

Version ft. Xiao and Kaeya

“You… are like totally the most beautiful being on this earth. How is that even legal?”

Your drunk-hazed gaze looks up at him, an admiring, nearly even mesmerised expression on your face.

Albedo stifles a surprised laugh behind a cough, his fist concealing his soft smile. “Thank you, y/n. Why don’t you sit down first?”

Obediently, you follow along as he gently guides you to the couch, the slight grin not wanting to leave your face. Even less, when he crouches down in front of you, studying you with intent focus. He can’t help the slight concern slipping into his expression as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

Meanwhile, you seem to have the time of your life with him being so close to you, with his gentle touch, like you’re something delicate.

How is it even real that you are able to call him your friend – let alone your partner. Like, your very own!

Just the way his crystal-like eyes follow yours, his shimmering hair catching the faint light of the room, down to how pretty his lips move when he speaks…

Wait. Right. He speaks. Listen.

Focus.

Right.

“If you’re able to eat right now, I suggest getting some carbohydrates into your system, my love,” he explains, gently tilting your face. “That way we can nudge your blood level back to normal again.”

You barely contain a silly giggle at his tender touch. “I’d eat straight-up eat wheat right now if you asked me to.”

Albedo nods, very slowly, his brows furrowing as he ponders about how to handle this situation best. “I see. Well, that’s not quite what I had in mind.” And yet, a part of him can’t help but be fascinated by your responses. “Would you be satisfied with some toast instead?”

You hum airily, but the moment he lifts himself up you feel your face fall into a pout, immediately missing his warmth.

“Wait,” you quickly try to prevent him from leaving. “On second thought – I am not even that hungry. You can keep staying here. Sitting.”

“I will remain here.” He slips his fingers from yours, a smile tugging his lips. “See? I am just across the room.” You should eat something to prevent some serious hungover.”

You watch him quietly, nearly enchanted by his smooth movements as he prepares some snacks, listening to his soothing voice. Has he always had this effect on you? You can’t tell. You can’t even care less right now.

“Personally, I’ve never experienced a hangover myself, but it starts right after the alcohol level in your blood starts to drop. And given your state…” He offers you a plate with some fresh toast and light fruits, “I presume it’s best to take precautions now.”

“Thank you,” you murmur fondly, accepting the plate. To your relief, Albedo joins you on the couch.

“Slowly. Take your time.”

“Maybe I was starving a bit. Archons, this is good.”

Albedo chuckles softly, gently taking your hand in his. You feel his thumb lightly tracing along your wrist before it settles on your pulse.

Your turn toward him, tilting your head in confusion. “I am still alive. I think.”

His eyes crinkle, soft musing laced in his voice. “Yes, I can see that, my love. I am merely checking your heart rate.”

Albedo looks you over and the moment your eyes meet his again, you feel your heart rate slightly quicken beneath his fingers.

His frown turns into a soft smile. “You’re feeling alright?”

“If you keep touching me this way, I’ll feel even better.” You hum, your eyes drifting to his lips.

But before you can follow your impulses, Albedo draws back, gently pushing you back by your shoulder. “Forgive me, love, but I’d rather you be sober first.”

Now you can’t help but pout, your face scrunching up. “That’s a bit excessive.”

Amused but persisting, he shakes his head, but not before leaning in and to place a soft kiss on your temple.

“Eat up. I’ll set up some tea and antidote for your headache.”

“I see you’ve lost your mind entirely,” Scaramouche remarks dryly as he halts at the doorway.

“Shhh. I need to focus,” you murmur, not even bothering to look up from where you’re lying on the ground. The room is cloaked in darkness - all windows are drawn shut to prevent any lights from falling inside, and disturbing work of art.

Scaramouche’s gaze darts to the perfectly good bed right beside you. Why, in Teyvat’s name, would you prefer the cold, hard floor? Hasn’t his day been eventful enough as it is already?

“Look at this,” you whisper again, and Scaramouche raises an eyebrow as your Electro Vision flickers to life again. His eyes follow your gaze to the ceiling, where charged threads of Electro dance in a chaotic disorder, illuminating the room in soft purple light. But your attention is glued on the lights, absolutely fascinated by this spectacle.

He steps closer, a pinched expression on his face. “Why don’t you-“

Before he can finish, you reach out, snatching his wrist and pulling him down next to you.

“Look!” you repeat once more.

Obviously, you’re only able to actually move him, because he lets you. But he does not lay down on the ground – who do you think he is? Instead, he crouches down next to you, fixing you with a look, like you’ve lost it entirely. His eyes narrow as he notices your abnormally flushed face, grasping that something is not quite right with you.

But you’re completely ignoring his unsettled expression, rather lifting your hand again to tilt his chin upward, directing his to the ceiling. “Listen to the sky, Scara,” you explain in a tone like it’s supposed to clear up everything.

Listen to the sky?

Scaramouche’s eyes dart down to you again, irritation building up inside him now. He dislikes this - having you physically here, but at the same time you not acting like yourself.

“What the hell is going on with you?”

Your eyebrows scrunch up as you turn your head toward him, like you’re pouting that he isn’t taking your lightning show as serious as he should. “You’re always complaining how fake the sky of Teyvat is. So, I recreated it. Now you have your own. Or, my own. Like – ours, I guess.”

For the sake of his pride, Scaramouche quickly schools his face. A strange combination of confusion, irritation and at the same time a strange warmth settles in his chest. His eyes flicker over your slightly dazed features.

“You’re drunk,” he states flatly, trying to sound unbothered.

For that he earns yet another. “Shhh!” This time a small, but sheepish grin tugs at your lips.

For a moment his eyes linger on you, before he tears them away, letting his gaze return to the ceiling. Now that he’s seeing the purple mist of electro from this angle, your perspective…

“How fake can it be, if I created it myself?”

At the sound of your gentle whisper, he feels his resolve weakening, eyes flickering between the charged branches, now finally taking form on the ceiling.

You created … a sky. For him alone.

Then, even softer, as if to not drive him away, you add, “Sometimes you need to be a bit intoxicated to see the world differently.”

Scaramouche stretches his legs out, leaning back on his elbows. “The ground was the best solution you had?” But there is no real bite in his voice, he is way too immersed in the little universe you’ve created in the room.

For him, his own Electro Delusion has always been nothing more than a tool – a means to gain power. To destroy. Yet, here you are again, showing him the other side of the coin, proving, that in destruction lies its own universe of creation.

“You smell nice,” he hears you mutter suddenly, breaking him through his trails of thoughts.

Of course, you’d say something like this right now. Without looking at you, He doesn’t look at you the corner of his mouth twitches. “I know. You, on the other hand, have had better days.”

You gasp, pushing him away lightly. “Rude! I do not smell bad!”

“You reek of alcohol. It’s onerous.”

He hears you grumble something incoherent under your breath, slurring the words into a mess.

Unimpressed, he clicks his tongue. “Consequences of your own actions.”

But as you shift to stand back up, the electro particles above start to dissolve as well. Almost immediately, his hand grabs your wrist, holding you close. “Stay down.”

You stare at him. Then you blink once. Twice. And then a shit-eating-grin spreads on your lips. “Oho! So, you do like my sky. Ha!”

A scoff escapes him as he tries to act nonchalant and averts his eyes back to the ceiling. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I simply prefer not having you stumbling around the room like a drunk sailor, just because you don’t know your limits. Which seem to be quite low.”

You sit back down, not without grouching a quiet “Jerk.”

“Idiot.”

The two of you glare at each other, daring the other to say something. Eventually, you relent, rising your hands and bringing the lighting to life once more.

Scaramouche remains quiet, savouring your presence for a second longer. Before he looks back at the stars again.

Who needs a fake sky, if a whole universe is right there beside him already?

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

[leclerc-hs]

save a bull! - cl16

pairing: bull rider!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which a city girl meets a cowboy OR charles finds himself infatuated with the visiting city girl warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, no smut (maybe in part 2 if y'all want smut), bad writing (sorry lol) word count: ~4.4k author's note: HI. did you miss me? i sure as FUCK missed y'all. so I started writing this MONTHS ago but then took a very long break from this website and writing. it might be very shitty so i apologize for that. it was originally going to be just 1 part but I found myself writing so much that I think 2 parts will be better in the end. PLEASE REACH OUT TO ME WITH ANY FEEDBACK. sorry if this sucks. love you all.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Will you please just consider it!” Abigail pleads beside you on the sidewalk, weaving through the bustling crowd with an effortless grace. The sun casts dappled shadows on the pavement, and the scent of street food mingles with the crisp urban air.

The city feels particularly relentless as you trudge along the crowded sidewalk, your third cup of coffee from the corner deli clutched in one hand, its steam mingling with the bustling street air. Your shoulders droop under the weight of fatigue, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of the city around you. Each step towards your office tower feels heavier, as though the concrete beneath your feet has turned to lead.

The tall buildings loom overhead, their steel and glass facades glinting under the midday sun, but their gleam only seems to amplify the oppressive weight of your exhaustion. The vibrant hum of the city—a symphony of honking taxis, chattering pedestrians, and distant sirens—becomes a monotonous drone.

Your dress, once crisp and sharp, now feels more like a burden, its fabric slightly rumpled from a day spent at your desk.

“I can’t take that much time off of work,” You say, your voice tinged with frustration but softened by a hint of regret. You’re caught in that all-too-familiar tug of war between professional obligations and personal desires. You finally get the chance to turn your head to look at Abigail as you reach a crosswalk, blinking not to cross. You see the disappointment flicker in your friend’s eyes.

“I get it,” Abigail says, her voice steady and tinged with understanding, “I know how demanding your job is. But that doesn’t mean you can’t work from home. Or take personal time. I know you have that option.”

You chuckle softly, admiring her persistence to some degree. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“When is the last time you even took a personal day.”

The answer was never. But she didn’t need to know that.

“Will you stop begging me every second of every day if I say yes?” You ask, half in jest but with a trace of genuine curiosity.

“Obviously,” she replies, her smile widening as she sees the shift in your stance.

The pedestrian light turns green, and as you start to cross the street, you take a deep breath, blinking to steady your thoughts. “Fine.”

Abigail’s face lights up with a victorious grin, her eyes sparkling with triumph. “Really?”

“Yes.”

-

Nestled amidst rolling green hills and expansive grasslands, Abigail’s small family farm is a picturesque retreat. The scene unfolds like a charming pastoral painting, with vibrant hues of green and wheat fields stretching out as far as the eye can see, interspersed with splashes of color from blooming wildflowers.

At the heart of the farm stands a quaint, cozy house, its charm amplified by a wraparound porch adorned with potted flowers. The house itself is a delightful mix of rustic and charming, with its whitewashed clapboard siding, and a steeply pitched roof. 

Adjacent to the house, a well-tended vegetable garden thrives, it’s neat rows of tomatoes, lettuce, and peppers bordered by a low wooden fence. A couple of well-worn garden tools lean against a small shed nearby, evidence of the daily care given.

Further out, a classic red barn structure where a white trimmed roof sits atop. The sounds of clucking hens and the occasional bray of donkey create a lively atmosphere. Near the barn, sits a small paddock with a couple of playful horses, their sleek coats gleaming in the sunlight. 

The fresh air of the farm is almost a sensory overload compared to the city’s fumes. Unlike the city’s dense cocktail of exhaust fumes, asphalt, and various street food vendors, the farm air is pure.

As you sit at the kitchen table, the warmth of the farmhouse envelops you. The rustic charm of the kitchen, with its large wooden table and mismatched chairs, is filled with the sounds of cheerful conversation and shared laughter.

Abigail stands at the center of the room, animatedly catches her family up on the latest happenings in her city life. Her eyes sparkle with excitement, her gestures lively and expressive. The tales of the city hustle almost seem foreign in this serene setting. 

Danny and Luke, her two older brothers, sit across from you at the table. Danny, with his sandy blond hair and easy-going demeanor, leans back in his chair, his face lit up with a relaxed smile. He listens attentively, occasionally interjecting with teasing remarks or playful banter. His presence is warm and reassuring. His wife, Gianna, sits beside him with a small baby boy on her lap.

Luke, on the other hand, exudes a quiet strength. His dark hair is neatly tousled, and his gaze is both thoughtful and amused. His demeanor calm yet engaged.

“It’s so nice to finally meet the girl who makes our Abigail so happy in the city,” Abigail’s mother continues, her voice carrying a note of heartfelt sincerity. “She’s always spoken so highly of you.”

You feel a flush of warmth at the compliment, a mix of gratitude and slight nervousness at the attention all on you. 

“Thank you so much for having me,” You smile softly. “I don’t know what I would do without Abigail in my life.”

With a playful glint in Danny’s eye, he chimes in, “I do.”

The room erupts in a chorus of laughter, the sound ringing out with genuine warmth and affection.

You decided right there you may just like it here a lot more than you thought.

-

The silk dress that adorned your body was utterly unsuitable for the rugged rodeo environment, but you didn’t really care. The delicate fabric, with its soft sheen and flowing lines, clashed vividly with the dusty, rough-and-tumble atmosphere of the rodeo.

As you moved through the arena, the contrast became more pronounced. The silk, while beautiful, struggled against the elements—dust from the arena settling onto the fabric, and the occasional splash of beer threatening to leave their mark. The sight of your delicate dress among the crowd of rugged cowboys and cowgirls in their jeans, boots, and plaid shirts drew curious glances.

But you didn’t care. You liked your clothes, the luxurious feel of the silk against your skin, the way it draped with effortless grace. The expensive fabric was a statement of your personal taste, and you embraced it fully, regardless of the setting.

“You could’ve borrowed some jeans, you know?” Abigail chirps beside you, her jeans mostly ripped and worn matched well with her cowboy boots. 

You shrug your shoulders in a noncommittal way. “I’m going to head to the bathroom before this starts. Grab me a drink?” 

“Duh. See you at the seats?” Abigail laughs before sauntering off towards a beer vendor. 

You stand still for a moment, observing Abigail and her brothers joking around as they stroll across the lively rodeo grounds. You can’t help but smile at their playful banter, you didn’t have growing up.

As you watch, lost in the charm of the moment, a rough shoulder unexpectedly collides with yours. The sudden contact jolts you out of your reverie, and you turn to see a burly cowboy in worn jeans and a dusty plaid shirt. 

You swore he was one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen in your life until he opened his big fat mouth.

“You lost?” He laughs, his green eyes bright and mischievous as he adjusts the hat on his head.

“Excuse me?” You reply, a mix of confusion and irritation threading through your voice.

“The city is a long way from here,” He drawls, the smirk on his lips widening with a hint of amusement.

The combination of his cheeky grin , the twinkle in his eye, and the dismissive tone ignites a flicker of anger within you. It feels like a mix of condescension and teasing that sends a sharp heat coursing through your veins. You roll your eyes, unable to hide your annoyance.

“Thanks for the information, jackass,” You snap, shoving past him with a forceful nudge. You march away with purpose, the silk of your dress swishing around your legs with each determined step.

Unbeknownst to you, as you walk away, he can’t help but turn his head to watch the sway of your hips in the thin, delicate fabric. His gaze lingers for a moment longer than necessary, a mixture of surprise and lingering admiration in his eyes as he takes in your retreating figure.

A hand lands firmly on his shoulder, and a voice calls out, “C’mon Charles, you need to get changed.” The words cut through his moment of distraction.

With a slight jolt, he snaps back to reality and glances over, meeting the eyes of his friend who is already gesturing towards the changing area. Reluctantly, he shifts his focus and starts to follow, his gaze now shifting into a more focused, practical demeanor.

-

Finally settled into your seat, far too close to the metal fence for your liking, and smothered between Abigail and Luke, you feel yourself relax as Luke places a tall boy can of beer in your hand, the wet condensation soaking your hand. 

“Hope you can handle a beer,” Luke states, a smile on his lips. “It’s all they had left.”

You bring the can of beer to your lips slowly, savoring the crisp, cool sensation as you take a smooth sip. With a playful glint in your eye, you send a wink in Luke’s direction. “I promise I can handle a beer,” you say with a teasing smile.

Luke’s eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement, and he lets out a hearty chuckle. He lifts his own beer in a casual salute, the gesture accompanied by a nod of approval. As he takes a sip, the cool amber liquid reflecting the warm light of the evening, he meets your gaze with a grin that mirrors your playful confidence.

“So how does this work?” You ask, turning your full attention to Luke while Abigail and Danny are engrossed in their own conversation on the other side of you.

Luke raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “How does what work?” 

You gesture broadly with your hands, waving them in animated circles as you take in the bustling rodeo arena before you. “This,” you say, trying to encompass the entire scene with your sweeping motions.

As if gaining a sense of clarity, the corners of Luke’s lips tug upward. “Why don’t you just watch and find out? It’s about to start.”

You turn your head back to the dirt ring, feeling the adrenaline of the moment as you witness a big brown bull in the chute. Its snorts are visible through the gaps in the metal fences, each exhalation a cloud of steam in the crisp air.

A handsome cowboy, his broad shoulders accentuated by a fitted vest, mounts the bull with practiced ease. He glances up with a confident, almost cocky grin that makes your heart race even faster. Your gaze follows every move he makes, captivated by the way he balances on the bull’s massive back as the gate swings open.

The bull bursts into action, hooves flying and muscles rippling as it twists and bucks in an attempt to throw the rider off. The scene is a whirlwind of motion and raw power—an exhilarating display of skill and bravery. It’s almost surreal, the sheer intensity of the bull’s movements and the cowboy’s unflinching composure.

As the bull spins in tight circle, you glance over to the timer mounted on the fence. The seconds tick away, each moment bringing the eight-second mark closer. When the buzzer finally sounds, signaling the end of the ride, the cowboy springs off the bull with an effortless grace. He tosses a hand in the air, his expression nonchalant as if the wild ride was nothing more than a casual stroll.

The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, their excitement palpable as they all stand up with shouts.

You turn your head back towards Luke, one of the biggest smiles on your face as you meet his eyes in pure astonishment. 

“How about it?” Luke chimes in, taking yet another chug of his beer.

“This is insane!” You take another sip as well.

-

Charles lived for bull riding. It was more than just a passion—it was his livelihood. The cowboy lifestyle, with its raw, untamed essence, had shaped almost every aspect of his existence. 

To him, the bull was not just an animal but a formidable partner in a high-stakes dance of power and control. Two things Charles always loved to have. Every successful ride was a testament to his skill and courage, a dance with danger that left him both exhilarated and humbled. Like this ride. Right now.

He throws his hand in the air, the rush of pure adrenaline coursing through his veins. The feel of the dirt beneath his boots, the deafening roar of the crowd, and an impressive score of 91, was enough to send him shouting in joy. He let his eyes wander the crowd around him, taking it all in like he always loves to do. He livesfor the attention.

So, when he notices a familiar woman seated right before the metal fence, paying little to no attention to the dirt ring, he can’t help but feel just a little annoyed.

He also can’t help but feel more annoyed when he takes notice of that silk fabric again, immediately remembering when he bumped into your frame mere moments ago. Your cherry lips and silky-smooth hair flash into his mind. For a second, he almost forgets the fact that he’s standing in the middle of a dirt ring.

He can’t quite shake the memory of your demeanor and the way you seemed detached from the rodeo’s thrilling chaos. The way you could care less about who he was. It’s a curious juxtaposition against the fervor of the crowd and the adrenaline that still courses through him.

One thing about Charles was that he wanted attention, yes. But right now, he only wanted yours. With that unshakable desire in mind, he strides confidently toward where you’re seated. The metal fences between you both form a barrier, but that doesn’t deter him.

As he approaches, the crowd senses a shift in the energy and falls into an anticipatory hush. Their collective gaze shifts to you and Charles, creating a palpable focus on the interaction.

Charles, his presence commanding and confident, slips his hat through the gap in the metal fence, offering it to you with a smirk. The hat, wide brimmed and well worn, represents a piece of his world.

“To help you fit in better.” His tone a mix of challenge and amusement.

Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and finally saunters off, his gait relaxed yet purposeful. 

-

“What just happened?” Abigail smacks your arm, the one not jolding the hat, as you walk side by side. Her brothers loom behind you, their presence adding to the charged atmosphere of the moment. “Why did Charles fucking Leclerc just give you, his hat?”

You glance at the hat, a bemused expression on your face. “That guy is a total dick is what just happened.”

Abigail’s eyes widen, her excitement barely contained. “What do you mean!” She practically shouts, her voice a mix of disbelief and thrill. “He’s like famous here. Every girl probably hates you right now.”

“Why?” You ask, genuinely puzzled.

“Are you blind?” Abigail’s voice now full sheer joy. “The dude is practically sex on fucking legs. And he’s one of the best bull riders around!”

You look back at the hat again, it suddenly feels heavier in the grasp of your fingertips. “Charles Leclerc is a big deal around here. And he just gave you, his hat. That’s a huge deal.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the slight flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Well, it doesn’t change the fact that he was a jackass earlier. But I guess it’s good to know he’s a big deal around here.”

Abigail bursts into laughter. “You really are something else.”

-

The narrow aisles of the tiny market, with their cramped and cluttered shelves, had you aimlessly strolling in circles. The items on your list—given to you by Abigail’s mom—seemed to elude your every turn. The overhead lights cast a harsh glare on the disorganized assortment of product, making it difficult to find what you needed. You stood there, your eyes narrowing in annoyance, at the crumpled list clutched in your hand.

“Need some help, sweetheart?”

The sound of the deep, velvety voice was enough to draw your attention away from the list. You turned to see Charles standing not even a few feet away, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned casually against a shelf. His eyes, green as ever, created a swirl of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

Although you were known for your stubbornness, often digging your heels in even when it wasn’t your best interest, you had to admit you were out of your depth in the tiny market. There were no signs. No directory.

“Depends,” you reply, the hint of a playful challenge in your voice. Charles raises his eyebrows, a silent prompt for you to elaborate further.

“If you call me city girl even once,” you continue, your tone firm but light-hearted, “I’ll knock you right out.”

The challenge is met with a shit-eating grin, so wide on Charles’s face that it seems almost infectious. His cheeks stretch into an exuberant smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement. And it takes him one step, and one stretch of his arm, to snag that grocery list right out of your dainty fingertips.

-

“You’re cute when you’re real mad, y’know?” He drawls, placing the groceries into the bed of the pick-up truck you borrowed from Abigail’s family.

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re right.” He says, placing the final bag into the truck and leaning against the frame of it with an arm propped up. “You’re just cute.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Charles doesn’t miss the subtle flush the tints the apples of your cheeks with a delicate shade of red. The reaction stirs a flutter in his chest, almost like an addiction that he never wants to stop. 

You’re undeniably cute, with an effortlessly enchanting beauty that makes it difficult to look away. A magnetic pull that Charles just can’t shake. It’s almost as if he’s addicted to getting a reaction out of you. 

-

It’s been days of settling into the rhythm of farm life—enjoying family dinners filmed with hearty laughter and home-cooked meals, gathering around late-night fires that crackle and warm against the cool night air, and rolling up your sleeves to help with daily chores.

Even had a few more run-in's with the famous bull riding man himself. He was sweet, but you couldn't help but feel at complete unease around him. Not in a bad way, but in a my heart won't stop pounding against my rib cage kind of way.

Like when he covered you in his flannel at the latest bonfire, taming the rising goosebumps along your body.

"I don't need this, y'know?"

"Sweetheart, you're cold. Just wear the damn thing."

Or when you bumped into him at one of the farmer's markets and it took no hesitation for him to grab all of your purchases out from under your arm.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doin?"

"Stealing my stuff"

His laugh shot butterflies right into your stomach. "You're something else, sweetheart."

You make a point to be as involved as possible, driven by the genuine desire to contribute and make a sense of responsibility. 

“Should we hit up Rusty Spur’s tonight?” Abigail asks from beside you, her voice light and relaxed as she stands wrapped in a fluffy robe, freshly showered. She’s casually brushing her long, damp hair, the strands falling in soft waves around her shoulders.

“What’s Rusty Spur’s” you ask, leaning over the bathroom sink for a closer look as you apply your last coat of mascara, adding the finishing touch to your makeup.

“The bar,” she replies nonchalantly, her tone suggesting it’s a place she frequents often. “I think we need a night out.”

You glance at her through the mirror, a smile spreading across your face at the prospect of a night out. 

“Yes.”

-

Rusty Spur’s was the kind of country bar that instantly feels like home, even if you’ve never been there before.

As you step inside, the scent of aged wood, spilled beer, and a hint of smoky warmth greets you. The place is packed. 

The flimsy spaghetti straps of your short white dress dig into the skin of your shoulders, their delicate fabric offering little support. Despite its ethereal look, the dress feels unexpectedly snug against your skin. The soft white fabric sways with each step you take as you slip your body in between the crowds of people.

Abigail leads you to a cozy corner of the bar. Almost instantly, a bartender approaches, his familiarity with Abigail evident in the easy smile and warm greeting he offers.

You can’t help but notice just how easy on the eyes he is. He’s dressed, like almost every guy in this bar, in snug jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. His casual yet confident demeanor, coupled with the slight scruff on his beard and his easygoing smile, makes him stand out in the dimly lit bar. 

Within the span of five minutes, a chilled, neck-bottled beer is placed gently into your hand. Taking in the view of the crowd, which is large but not overwhelmingly so, you scan the faces around you. As your gaze moves across the room, no one stands out as particularly familiar—until your eyes land on a table not too far away.

There, seated with a group of friends, is Charles. His presence is unmistakable. Even from a distance, he exudes a charismatic confidence, the kind that draws attention without even trying. He’s relaxed in his posture, laughing and engaging with his companions, the flannel from earlier now swapped for a casual shirt. 

“Wanna dance?” Abigail chimes in your ear, her beer already half gone in the span of a minute.

-

It was almost as if Charles could feel your presence without even seeing you. The dim light of the bar cast flickering shadows. He leaned back against the worn leather of his chair, his senses heightened.

You found yourself completely immersed in the music, your body moving almost involuntary as your shoes glide smoothly across the weathered wooden floor. You’re not exactly sure when it happened, but your body eventually became pressed up against a random guy you’ve only just met on the dance floor. His presence both surprising and pleasant. He’s cute—definitely cute. His hands are gentle on your waist, guiding you through the steps with a natural rhythm. 

He twirls you effortlessly around, guiding your movement with a deft touch that brings a burst of joy. As you complete the spin, you find yourself facing him once more, his eyes twinkling down at you.

With a playful flourish, he slips his cowboy hat onto your head. You can feel the subtle press of the brim against your forehead, much too big for your head. You tilt your head back and laugh, the sound a melodic blend of joy and unrestrained happiness woven into the music. 

In this embrace, everything seems to align perfectly—the rhythm of the music, the warmth of the body, and the whimsical charm of the cowboy hat resting lightly atop your head.

“Do you want t-” The words began to leave the man’s lips, but they were abruptly cut off as a firm muscled arm shoved him away from your embrace. The unexpected force sent him stumbling back, surprise flashing across his face and yours.

The man recovered his footing, confusion turning into indignation as he glared at the one who interrupted. Charles. Meanwhile, you stood your ground, heart racing, caught between the thrill of the moment and unexpected clash.

If looks could kill.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Large fingers reach for the brim of the hat atop your head, snatching it right off before Charles shoves it back into the man’s chest. “Don’t ever put a hat on her head again.” 

His voice was rough and terse, cutting through the ambient noise like a blade. “Let’s go,” He says, not giving the man or you a chance to react. In an instant, his fingers snake around your wrist, pulling you away from the dance floor and into the shadows of a secluded table ticked into the corner of the bar.

The abrupt shift caught you off guard, and your heart raced as he led you through the sea of bodies. The air between you was thick with unspoken words as he tucks you between him and the edge of the table. His grip on your wrist loosens, but his proximity is too close.

“What the hell was that?” Your senses heightened as your eyes locked onto his. The usual light green of his irises, often warm and inviting, was now obscured by a much darker hue, swirling with intensity and something primal. 

His gaze was pointed, sharp, and unyielding. You sensed a storm brewing behind those darkened eyes, and the air around you crackled with anticipation. 

“He put his hat on you, sweetheart.” You scoff almost instantly, bubbling anger simmers in your chest as you let out a soft laugh over the situation.

“Really?” You throw your head back for a mere second as the laugh pushes past your throat. “You shoved him over a hat?”

His eyes remain narrowed, the amusement that might have danced there moments ago, no longer present. “Do you even know what that means?” He presses, his voice low and intense as he leans into your ear, the weight of his words hanging between you.

“What a hat means?” Confusion flickers across your features. The question so out of place, and yet the gravity of his tone suggests otherwise.

Before you can grasp the implications, you felt his fingers sneak their way to you, warmth and firmness splayed along your waist. The contact sent a jolt of awareness through you, igniting the tension the crackled in the air. It was a possessive gesture. 

His gaze never wavers, and the connection between you deepens.

“You wear that hat; you ride that cowboy.”

For a moment, you freeze. 

“And in no fucking world, would I let you wear anyone’s but mine.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Down Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller. 

Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as. 

You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down. 

You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen. 

You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual. 

Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space. 

As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer. 

A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant. 

You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames. 

The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal. 

“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.” 

He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.” 

“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble. 

He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead. 

The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell. 

“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?” 

The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...” 

“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.” 

“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer. 

“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron. 

“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.” 

They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job. 

“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun. 

“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.” 

“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks. 

“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around. 

You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals. 

You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you. 

“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask. 

“Black’s fine,” he assures. 

“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.” 

“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?” 

“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?” 

“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?” 

He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you. 

“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.” 

“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.” 

“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner. 

“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.” 

“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.” 

He gives a gentle smile. 

“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.” 

“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.” 

You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV. 

“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly. 

“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.” 

“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases. 

“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.” 

You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.” 

“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts. 

“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?” 

“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.” 

“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders. 

“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug. 

“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.” 

You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.” 

“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you. 

“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself. 

“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly. 

“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.” 

“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.” 

“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles. 

“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?” 

Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.” 

You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?” 

“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks. 

“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?” 

“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.” 

“Alright,” you back away and turn back. 

Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter. 

As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself. 

The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor. 

You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there. 

“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him. 

“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?” 

“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.” 

“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.” 

“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?” 

“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.” 

He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own. 

“Do you sing?” He asks. 

“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter. 

“Ah,” Steve nods. 

“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.” 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve says. 

You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place. 

“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table. 

[markrosewater]

Hi mark. It’s me, the guy that was complaining about orphans of the wheat. I wanted to start by apologizing for using the word lazy. I wasn’t trying to say that the people who make this game don’t put a ton of thought and effort and care into it, but I totally get how my wording made it sound like I was trying to say that. I’m genuinely sorry I came off like I was belittling the immense work you all do.

I also want to clarify that I wasn’t trying to say “I don’t like this thing therefore it is bad”. Millions of people play magic, all with very different tastes, and I’m just one weirdo. Everybody is going to have aspects of the game they like and aspects they dislike, my opinion is not objectively correct.

What I was originally trying to get at was that it feels as though a lot of designs that are “based on” something feel like they are getting more overt. Bonny Pall is the example my brain always goes back to because the name is almost the exact same thing as what it’s flavored after, Paul Bunyan. Orphans of the wheat is just a more recent example of this and what sparked me sending my initial message.

A few years ago, I saw a video on YouTube of a speech you made, I think it was your 30 years 30 lessons one. In it you talk about how akroan horse was originally Akroan Lion, and players didn’t get it, but when you changed it to akroan horse, suddenly people loved it and it felt so flavorful. I get that it’s important to make sure that people get the reference when you’re making one. And I get that it’s a delicate balance. Too subtle, and people don’t get it; but too overt, and bozos like me send giant messages complaining.

My qualm with Children of the wheat is that it is an example of a pattern I feel like I’m seeing where you are erring on the side of “gotta make sure they get it”, to the point that sometimes it feels like the reference is being beaten over our head. But I do recognize how that’s just my perspective and other people have different opinions on where the line is for “too obvious”. For example, I think Altanak and say its name are awesome. I like how the art is someone looking in a mirror and if you say its name three times then you summon the big bad monster. But I totally get how someone else might see that and say “well all they did was make Bloody Mary a bug”. And I also totally get how there might be another person who didn’t even get the reference and would’ve needed a card called “mutilated Miranda” to realize it.

This whole *thing* is just my way of saying that designs that are references to something feel like they are more and more often mutilated Miranda or Bonny Pall or orphans of the wheat, and that fewer and fewer of them are getting even one step removed from what they are referencing.

Thanks for taking the time to write back. It means a lot to me. How close we get to references is something we’re constantly reevaluating. We’ve definitely got the note that this year indexes too high on the obvious references.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The fathers of Rome

Marcus/Geta/Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : fluff, comfort, crying, kissing a bit emotional, birth, family issues, written before the movie came out characters may be different

Summary : Two Emperors and the general of the army all had important duties and responsibilities but by the grace of the gods and with devotion of love the three most influential men find themselves with the news of a pregnant wife. Each of them has a slightly different approach to taking care of his pregnant wife and the birth, because a birth could always go wrong and the gods were rarely merciful.

info : I wanted to write something sweet for the three of them and I know that they could be good fathers (if you romanticize a little bit) now have fun reading and have a nice day.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcus Acacius

It was thought that the battlefield was his home and the sword was his wife but few knew that in a vast field of olive trees and wheat fields stood a large villa in which a woman lived with a small household and prayed between her altars to the gods that her beloved husband would return home safely.

A story of a leader of the army of Rome and his wife a former oracle who met him, foretold him his future yet his eyes, his voice and his being would not depart from her own prophecies.

An initial love of safety in times of peace, she appreciated his protective nature in a world that belonged almost entirely to Rome, danger still lurked everywhere. He, in turn, was captured by her grace and care, this devotion to those in need or to himself when she waited on him to heal his wounds and the two felt safe and complete together.

A husband who rushed home on horseback so fast he rode to her from the support posts when the emperors called him back the sleep was won she saw the shadow on the horizon from the balcony and even mounted her horse to meet him, ,,My heart" he embraced her each time still seeing the dirt and emaciation on him after being away for months sometimes years.

His hands closed around her, an embrace, a heartfelt kiss, tears in her eyes when she finally saw him again before they rode back to the villa together, she helped him bathe and wash her before he pulled her into the water himself, not wanting to leave her side and unable to do so for too long, he had missed her, not only her lovely eyes, her voice that he loved to listen to, her hair that he ran through and her hands that he clasped every time he wanted to be close to her but couldn't in public.

But with such intimacy comes love and with love comes desire, desire for each other, desire for each other's bodies and this desire was pursued many nights and on some bright days they were also close until he had to leave again, for the next raid not knowing that only two months after he was gone he received a letter with scrawled writing full of excitement.

A letter that moved him to tears when he read it for the first time, ,,I'm going…to be a father" he mumbled to himself in his tent above and above he realized that love for each other would grow into a life, a little baby that would look like both of them and a big smile stayed on his lips as he hurriedly wrote back to her expressing his joy and his heart, how excited he was himself, how proud he was of her and how much he loved her and praying to the gods that the battle would be won quickly.

The letters changed from weekly to daily as her pregnancy progressed and he received drawings of what she looked like, along with dried flowers she was growing that were made into tea and tinctures to help her body.

The couple were happy with words, kisses seemed to spread across the infinity and she was sent a piece of clothing by Marcus and remembered that he would return to her and their child.

Everything went well until he received the letter that she would go into labor in the next few days, the war took longer than expected, but it was the first and only time he gave his sergeant the lead and started the journey back on his own responsibility, which would take several days, but he had to go to her the fear and worry that something could go wrong that he would lose her or that the child was not healthy.

Fear and worry clutched at his heart as he drove his horse faster and faster as fast as he could back home where he burst through the front door and heard the screams of pain that scared him to death calling her name, he hurried up the stairs to the shared bedroom where he found her crouching by the bed, apparently lying down would lead to complications.

,,Love I'm-I'm here everything will be fine" he murmured hastily pressing kisses on her hand which she immediately grasped painfully and screamed again as she tried to get their child out of her, he could still see the love for him in her tear-stained eyes on her sweat-smeared body they were both covered in blood from the death of the battlefield and the birth of new life as she continued to push and the midwife helped her too.

She screamed out his name her pain and Marcus became more and more afraid of losing her with every pain she had as she continued to hold her giving her courage and hope when his own hands trembled as he heard the ,,I can see the head my lady keep pushing" from the midwife who did everything she could to make the birth as easy as possible.

,,You can do it my heart I'm here push again" he whispered to her as she looked at him in pain he saw the fear and yet the deniability that he was with her before she let out one last scream and he heard a bright scream next to blood splattering on the floor, a bright scream that echoed and seemed never to stop.

,,Congratulations, a healthy baby boy!" the older woman announced, dabbing the newborn baby lightly before wrapping him in linen so he could be held better, while Marcus helped his wife back onto the bed, covering her lightly and giving her a long kiss, ,,I am so very proud my darling," he whispered placing a kiss on her head, before taking his son in his arms, those light, dark hairs on the delicate head belonging to him but the pretty eyes were hers.

His eyes filled with tears of pride and reassurance as he stroked his son and gave her the little bundle she clutched, ,,A piece of love from both of us," she uttered, crying with happiness as she looked into her son's curious face and he chuckled at her as the two parents spent the next few hours together on the bed with pure happiness as the little baby went from laughing with gurgling laughter, to crying and finally falling asleep exhausted in the equally exhausted arms of his parents.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emperor Geta

The younger but stronger emperor of Rome, the warrior and leader who did not subordinate himself and enjoyed the Coloseum. A young man whose golden lure was not the only thing that seemed to be gold, he bought and made whatever he wanted, be it new armor, a sword, an army or even slaves that he could kill or do anything else with.

But in his life, his only blood besides his older brother Caracalla, there was only one marriage predestined by his father that he should marry her.

Pretty, coming from wealth and power but not a woman he had chosen, it was like fate, his father had decided like a god on the life of his son but it had been like that for some time now and as much as the couple was celebrated in public, the false smiles and hand-holding of the inner circle was seen through, they were both torn.

As much as they tried to understand each other and she appreciated his gift of attention to Rome, as much as he thought she was pretty and appreciated her patience as a true virtue, they never seemed to be in the same mood. There never seemed to have been a thread of fate.

,,Can love ever arise from a loveless duty?" she had once asked him when he wanted to retire in the evenings, avoiding her to occupy himself with his important things that his older brother wasn't interested in and always finding an excuse to avoid her.

She saw the guilt disappear from his eyes in the blink of an eye, saw him straighten the rings on his fingers before he replied with a ,,Love comes from the heart… a duty from the words of others" before he left her room and avoided her for another night, a night that followed one after the other until one day they attended his brother's wedding, Caracalla also married a highborn woman and gave the Roman Empire its first heir, as it should be - it was all just a matter of time.

A fact that Geta also knew, even if with a smile his bright eyes wished nothing but death for his sister-in-law, a plague that she and his brother would have to endure,

,,I want to see you in my chamber after the feast and that is not a question" he murmured to his wife who looked at him with an uneasy look, she had seen the looks, knew what was going on in her husband and yet in a horrible fate she felt the duty in her heart she had to bear him an heir.

The festivities dragged on for a long time, but with wine that overwhelmed her senses she distracted herself from what was going to happen, what he was going to do just because his place in the order of precedence would be changed, she followed his words, made a simple excuse and retired to her husband's room.

She had also heard the wine on his lips as that night began with a kiss, senses dazed by wine and yet there was still a kind of tenderness in his touch despite his hatred, she still held him close to her heart, something she clung to as hope.

A hope and love a lust she would not have expected from him overcame the nights of nights she saw for the first time his jealousy coupled with love,.

,,I know you are trying my love" he told her again and again his hand placed on her tree day after day she seemed to realize if she was pregnant until the day one of the midwives and his healer confirmed she was pregnant and a few tests brought the uncertainty to an end.

She still couldn't believe it was true, she felt his arms around her body and words of praise but double-edged words coming at her as Geta looked at her with a look that told her he had never felt more love for her than now, ,,My Empress pregnant with my heir" he murmured and immediately let the news spread everywhere rubbing it straight into the face of his brother and especially his sister-in-law who was not yet pregnant.

The time after that was filled with happiness and yet paranoia, he was only more attached to her, paying attention to everything and having the room for the child decorated with her taste, choosing the furniture and the colors, ,,The room of the future emperor," he announced to her as she leaned on him and saw the room with pictures of heroic deeds and old legends showing victories.

,,A truly impressive room," she admitted and felt her hands relax on her now round belly as time passed, the moons and suns came quickly and her pregnancy increased, the closer she got to the birth the more excited Geta seemed to become, insisting on being present the whole time…an insistence she kept, only a few moons later her contractions came and the palace was filled with screams and weeping.

Geta shouted at the midwives and healers to kill them all or he would kill them personally while he supported his wife with words and did not flinch when her bloodied hand reached for him, ,,You are doing very well I am with you dear, with our son you will make it" he told her again and again kissing her forehead and giving her hopeful kisses until he shouted more death threats until the news came that it was almost done.

The last screams were full of pain and she clung to him even more, the pain increasing with the thought that had plagued her for months and her heart stopped when she heard the voice of the midwife saying ,,My emperor it's a…girl" and the room slowly fell silent, only the shrill cry of the baby could be heard, a baby without the right sex, a girl no heir.

Her heavy breathing and the tears rolling down her cheeks as he pulled away from her with a jerk, she was supported by her midwives who helped her onto the bed and took care of her as best they could while she watched Geta take her daughter in his arms and turn his back on her, not seeing how he looked with this "disappointing" birth.

,,Everyone out now!" he shouted making the little baby cry again and yet everyone complied, ,,Geta I'm-I'm sorry" she started trying to get to him when she heard a sniffle and paused, at first she thought it was the baby but it giggled and a clearing of the throat was heard before he turned to her.

Her worry vanished when she saw his expression it was pride, it was appreciation it was happiness, ,,The future of the empire an empress from the love of her parents…she will become a goddess" he murmured and came to his wife in bed put the baby in her arms and gave the little girl a kiss on the head while he held his wife's hand and gently stroked it.

He was not disappointed he had gotten something so much better, he had gotten love and a wife who was everything to him a family of his own the only imperial family of ancient Rome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emperor Caracalla

The elder son, the first emperor to rule with his younger but much more suitable brother, a pair of brothers who ruled together and brought Rome to the top of the world with its army and its strength, but above all a young man with a woman at his side.

A woman, the Empress of Rome, beautiful, handsome and caring, popular with the people and not underestimated in politics because of her own country of origin and family…but a young woman without children.

A woman without children from an age when she would not be empress she would take other jobs nor have a choice but an empress was not a politician, a warrior or even a farmer an empress was and should always be a mother first so it has always been but not with her.

The wedding was moons ago and even if it was a little difficult at first their hearts were close she loved her playful husband who was always loving to her and had a penchant for entertainment of any kind.

As long as Carcalla wasn't bored, he knew that his brother was concerned with everything else, including politics, for which he had little taste when it wasn't a matter of attack or execution, she could only entertain him by acting, playing or playing in the arena, and as much as they both enjoyed it, she became more unhappy.

,,Your smile is fading, don't you like it? I can hire a new actor or buy new slaves right away," the blonde immediately offered and waved the troupe out so he could talk to his wife who had been laughing all evening, her hand detached from her belly and handed him the parchment he had skimmed over in the morning.

A parchment with the emperor's seal, a message from his brother that Geta had taken a wife of his own on a state visit, ,,The betrothal and wedding, what's with that, starlet?" he asked, tossing the paper carelessly aside before rising and going to the table of fruit and helping himself to the grapes.

He didn't understand the seriousness, the worry or even what it meant for the future, not that they hadn't slept together often, the wedding night had been consummated and they had often shared the bed but it had never led to anything, she rose from her chair and went to him, taking his hand and seeking his gaze.

,,Cara. ..you're still the older one, a duty is on me and I don't know if I can ever give you…an heir" she said the lump in her throat almost cutting off her voice hoping he would understand.

She saw the humor fade from his face and he considered before he gave an almost stunned expression and grabbed both her hands hastily, squeezing them and locking them in a hasty kiss over and over until she broke away to catch her breath, ,,Please I-it may well be me…all this he may be the politician but I am the elder, the first and you do your duty every day you are with me.

,,I leave no room for doubt, do you understand?" he demanded and she found his hopefulness, confidence and euphoria truly inspiring that a small smile crept onto her lips before he took her in his arms the imperial couple found themselves together again that night, taking help from potions, tinctures and many other forbidden practices that they hardly left the bedchamber together for the next few days.

It was clear to everyone what was happening behind the closed doors but after trying and trying this hope was to pay off with her first discomfort and the first change, ,,Congratulations my Emperor you are finally pregnant" the healer announced as he listened to the results of the test and her report, her tears wetting the tunic of her husband who hugged her and twirled around and was all the more pleased.

The news also pleased the people and even when she saw the looks on Geta's face and his wife she knew she had done her duty she would give Rome an heir, she had not disappointed Caracalla, ,,You can never let me down everything will go well the gods are with us" he told her reading she put up stowage in the child's room and her own for the next moons so that she was protected and the child inside her.

The protection seemed to help Geta until a point, and everything seemed to go well until the day of the birth, when blood and tears covered the floor, ,,What's wrong with my wife?" Caracalla who was holding her hand on the bed but the dagger at his side seemed to slaughter anyone who did anything wrong.

He kissed her hands and fingers, tried to cool her forehead with cool cloths and tell her again that she was doing well, ,,It seems that the Empress is pregnant with twins," said one of the midwives who had already brought out the size of the belly and the prolonged birth.

It was news she needed to cry out and Caracalla was filled with joy which he only showed when she continued to scream and push with the help of Caracalla who got into a kneeling position and the moments of pain merged until the first child was pushed out, ,,A boy!" the midwife shouted and took care of the little creature while the younger one continued to hold on to her husband.

The blonde gave her a proud kiss on the head, ,,Do you hear that? Our son love you can do it I am here" he murmured over and over until another cry from her side and a second bright cry told them that it was done that night a boy and his sister were born, Caracalla proudly and happily held the little babies and immediately spoke to them while praising them over and over.

The little family was not only complete but was now a little conversation of their own for each other, they had brought themselves together through love and received two sweet little gifts because they believed that their love was stronger than anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@morallyinept

@parvanovel -> I konw pregnancy is one thing but it's fluff so have fun :)

@sweetpascal

[ofpd]

1st century roman siege of jerusalem dashboard simulator

🐮 barkamtza

why does this shit always happen to me

#oh my goddd the ONE time it seems like people actually wanna hang out with me. #turns out they meant to invite kamtza instead #everyone hates me and i was SO fucking nice i offered to pay for the party #god i'm so pathetic. kms kms kms #they're gonna pay for this i swear #delete later

0 notes

📜 zekharya-ben-avkolas

Ok so obv it's not ok to sacrifice a blemished calf but the blemish is just on the eyelid? So maybe it's ok? But also and i don't want people to start going around thinking that it's ok to sacrifice blemished animals. But the thing is that if i don't bar Kamtza will tell the Romans we insulted them and that will be bad probably. And like no one likes bar Kamtza anyway will people really miss him..... but ugh neither of these seem like good things to do i don't feel like it's my place to make a decision about this :/

32 notes

🏛 vespasian reblogged

🏺neronero

off to war wish me luck! 🇲🇪🏹

🏺neronero

nvm guys. ✡️✡️

🏛 vespasian

my turn lol

53 notes

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport reblogged

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport

Hey everyone! These are difficult times, and some friends and I have put together some mutual aid resources for our community to have access to wheat, barley, wine, salt, oil, and wood! More info below the cut. Take care of yourselves! 🫶

Read more

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport

fuck

7,235 notes

⚔️ biryonei-yerushalayim

anonymous asked:

Hey, I'm trying to ask this in good faith, and I hope you can take it that way. how can you possibly defend burning our grain stores. I understand that you want to radicalize more people but you're taking things too far. Jerusalem's blood is on your hands.

anon, what you need to understand is that the blame for the carnage in jerusalem lies primarily in the hands of the roman invaders and secondarily in the hands of the rabbis for refusing to resist. would you have told the hashmonaim not to resist their oppressors by any means necessary? just because this is getting inconvenient for you doesn't mean we shouldn't be doing it. it's frankly offensive that you'd imply that we, the defenders of jerusalem, should incur any blame for her current state.

#biryonim.answer #grain storage discourse

231 notes

🛡 goel-yisrael

did anyone else see the "zealot blocklist" going around lmaooo

#how do these liberals expect anyone to take them seriously #do they not have anything better to do.

7 notes

📚 stammaim reblogged

stopbeingpoor-deactivated3830102

ughh why is my servant so incompetent! i deserve the best flour why doesn't he get it...

stopbeingpoor

ykw i'll go get some myself. i'm desperate at this point i gotta do something

stopbeingpoor

EWWWW update: i stepped in something NASTY. this is why i don't fucking go out oh my god im gonna die

stopbeingpoor

gonna throw my gold & silver away for the good of the peasants or whatever it's not like it's any use to me when im literally dying -_-

📚 stammaim

lmao look at this it's exactly what yehezkel was talking about! ur gold won't save you!

#yehezkel #marta b. baitos

162 notes

🕎 yalla-hapoel

🌿 amicus-iudaeorum asked:

Hey, love your posts! They're very informative about the Jewish perspective on this war. I'm just wondering whether you condemn the actions of the zealots? I don't really feel comfortable following someone who supports that.

are you fr.

#if youre seriously concerned about this idt this is the blog for you i fear

28 notes

🛡 goel-yisrael reblogged

📖 ben-zakkai

⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️ lol

🛡 goel-yisrael

? what does this mean

🗡 abbasikkara

dw about it bestie

🛡 goel-yisrael

ok 💗 yay 💗

6 notes

👩🏽‍🌾 discoursedumpblog

I've compiled a list of some of the most rabid zealots on this website. Remember, don't engage, just block and move on.

Read more

152 notes

🏛 vespasian reblogged

🏛 vespasian

some jew got an audience with me & called me king (im literally not lol thats so disrespectful to the actual king + if i was king then he shouldve met w me much earlier??), i think i should kill him

🏛 vespasian

AND my shoe is being so annoying. horrible day 👎

📖 ben-zakkai

omg just came across this old post

🏛 vespasian

OMG sorry i don't mean it anymore 🙏

14 notes

🫒 a-simple-yid

yirmiyahu tzadak...

#not to pretentiously quote tanakh but literally like. #hashiveinu hashem eilekha venashuva hadeish yameinu kekedem.

3 notes

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Rook Hunt - Savanaclaw Dorm Uniform Voice Lines

Savanaclaw Dorm Uniform Rook does not have a vignette

When Summoned: I vow here and now upon my ever-burning tenacious spirit that I shall repay this favor!

Summon Line: Welcome to Savanaclaw! ...I kid. It's a rather strange sensation to stand before you in this attire.

Groooovy!!: For the sake of bringing back the beautiful world that I cherish... I must strike to put a stop to this treacherous dream!

Home: Ah yes, I feel the spirit of persistence flowing through me.

Swap Looks: Time for a short break.

Home Idle 1: My hair is easily damaged by UV rays. If I don't take proper care of it, it starts to develop a wheat-like texture.

Home Idle 2: Oh là là! There are holes in my denim jeans around my knees... This would always happen whenever I would get caught up in chasing after animals.

Home Idle 3: You know how we stay in shared rooms until our junior year? As I thoroughly enjoy private time to myself, I found it quite nervewracking.

Home Idle - Login: I never would have imagined being able to traverse through a dream like this. ...My heart leaps in anticipation of the beautiful world I will witness!

Home Idle - Groovy: I truly do wish to see a movie where Neige-kun and Vil are both together the lead roles. One day, when that happens, you and I should go watch together!

Home Tap 1: I had forgotten just how easy it was to move around in the Savanaclaw dorm uniform... It's a refreshing sensation, especially since I'm more used to the Pomefiore dorm uniform now.

Home Tap 2: Are you interested in the paper I keep in my waist pouch? I keep these on hand to easily sketch my observations, or attach notes to arrows.

Home Tap 3: The King of Beasts overcame adversity and after strenuous efforts, was able to secure the throne. I absolutely hold his persistent spirit in high regards.

Home Tap 4: Truthfully, in the past, I would always just cut my bangs with a knife. At the time all I cared about was to keep my vision clear, after all.

Home Tap 5: My hat is dirty? Ah, you're right, it's covered in leaves, sticks, and even dirt... Fufu, if Vil were to see this unsightly mess, I would be in for a tongue-lashing.

Home Tap - Groovy: I find it slightly embarrassing to have others witnessing my innermost thoughts. Of course, you would keep to yourself anything you see or hear in my dreams... Wouldn't you?

Duo: [ROOK]: Vil, I dedicate this victory to you! [VIL]: Do ensure that you take them down, Rook.

Requested by @thelonepearl.

[eff4freddie]

For the Glory of Rome

General Acacius x F!Reader x M!OFC Words: 6k

Explicit. Minors DNI

Inspired by that slutty little knee in that tunic, and also general Acacius brainrot Leaving your farming village behind, you have managed to secure a position as the lady's maid for a Senator's wife, and while it's better than where you started, you can't help but feel you haven't quite found your home. Good thing you have your friend Antonius, the Senator's guard, and his ability to sniff out a rumour or two about the famed and revered General of Rome.

Warnings: Here be smut, MMF, oral (M receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, losing virginity, age gap (reader is 23, Acacius is...however old Acacius is), Roman orgies woop woooop, group sex, Lucilla being her Queenly self, the inner thigh omg, lifting tunics in a generally slutty manor, historical inaccuracy

Tagging @baronessvonglitter hope it was worth the wait!

You’d heard things. Not entirely on purpose. But as a lady in waiting for the wife of a Senator it was almost impossible not to overhear the occasional gossip over tea, whispers behind open palms. You knew of the proclivities of the emperors, learning words you’d never heard before back in your village. Having left at the age of 18, you realised quickly how much you still had to learn about the world the moment you stepped one gentle foot into it. Now several years later, you still felt in awe of the grandeur, of the marble and gold, of the magnitude of a city even if you were yet to feel you had fully earned your place in it.  

You didn’t mind the work. It was better than the fields, and on days when the sun beat down on the marble beneath your feet you remembered the unbearable heat of the swaying wheat, the burn of the dirt between your toes.

Still. Sometimes your robes itched, and you felt the ache in your shoulders carrying the urns of water up from the well to the lady’s bath. You often slumped into your quarters at sundown, bone tired and too weary to venture out of the statehouse. You had made it all the way to the Capital, you mused, only to teeter on the edges of it.

Only once a month were you able to take an afternoon to yourself, and on these occasions you wondered down to the markets, to the souks snaking along the inside of the walls, listening for your own accent, for your own words. You drank peppermint tea on woven rugs laid clean over dust, swapped tales with the other ladies’ maids, and as much as you could steered clear of the barracks, of the curious eyes of the soldiers as they trained, caked in grime and sweat, even in the heat of high noon.

It was through these expeditions that you heard news of the war, of the glory of Rome spreading its wings across the Empire. You heard rumours, snatches of victories brought about by the great General Acacius, a man you assumed to be as feral as he was cunning. No one you met talked ill of him, a whisper of awe passing over their faces as they swapped tales of having passed him in the street, of standing on the sidelines upon his return, upon his departure. You were aware of his famed good looks. You hoped, one day, to steal a glance at him, from him.  

--

Antonius, the Senator’s guard and one of your only friends at the statehouse, seemed to enjoy shocking you with stories of the palace, grinning at the way your cheeks grew hot.

He stood, slumped against the perimeter wall as he sought the shade, tugging at the collar of his leather cuirass, unadorned.

‘That can’t possibly be correct,’ you whispered, a load of linens bundled in your arms for washing.

‘I do not play,’ he defended, holding his hands aloft. You scoffed.

‘But how would they…fit?’ you asked, intensely aware of your innocence as the smile spread across Antonius’ face.

‘Well, one must be slow, one must be careful. But the hole in the centre…well, that is surprisingly pliant. The one at the rear, that can take some negotiation.’

You considered this, turning it over in your mind to try and make sense of it.  

‘But where do the…limbs go?’ you asked, watching as Antonius tried not to laugh. You swatted at him. ‘You know what I mean…’ you said.

‘All I know is that it’s Emperor Gata’s favourite method,’ he said, shrugging. You shook your head.

‘Such things…the Gods would never endorse,’ you stated, with considerable conviction.

‘My sweet dove, they do it with their sanction. They are the emperors, after all.’

You shrugged this thought away.

‘I have to attend to the linens,’ you said, ready to dismiss both the images in your mind and Antonius along with them.

‘I’ve heard of other, less…salacious affairs,’ he said. ‘The emperors tend to act with impunity. Not everyone has the same privilege. Not even the higher ranks.’

‘The higher ranks?’ you asked, your ears perking up.  

‘The military ranks, the Senators.’

You swivelled your head to the statehouse, your mind uncomprehending.

‘Not my…’

‘Oh Gods, no, not them,’ Antonius laughed. ‘They’d be more likely to break a hip than make a man come.’ You felt the heat furiously cross your cheeks at this crassness. ‘No, but the General…’

He trailed away, watching you closely as you felt your spine straighten.

‘But he has Lucilla, and everyone knows he is devoted…’

‘Just what I’ve heard,’ Antonius shrugged. My cousin is in the military, and he has heard…’

‘He’s heard stories, tall tales,’ you interrupted, a puff of indignation escaping you along with it. You weren’t sure why, but the idea of the General doing…those things…made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t entirely sure about.

‘I can ask him for more details,’ Antonius offered, and you rolled your eyes at him, heaving the linens over your shoulder and making for the riverbed.

--

You knew Antonius well enough to know that he spent more time with you than the other servants and lady’s maids, that he waited for you at the end of a long day to walk you back the 50 yards to your quarters. You were flattered, and you were aware that he was handsome, but he was also young, and impressionable, and thoughtless in his approach to the world. Just once he had attempted a kiss as he stood, a respectable distance from your room, his hat clasped tight to his chest. You had let him, because you were curious if nothing else, and had felt little when his dry lips brushed yours. You had wondered what all the fuss was about. He hadn’t attempted it again.

You also knew Antonius well enough to know he was unsatisfied as a simple guard of a Senator, that he too had ambitions of military life, of travels to foreign lands, of conquer. You knew that in these moments of quiet at the statehouse he drew his sword only to dance with his own shadow, the glint of the metal sometimes blinding in the afternoon sun. You knew he was often at the barracks, that his cousin often fed him news of the war, tales that he breathlessly retold to you and that you were sure he had embellished on the journey back.

So it was that the night he appeared at the door of your quarters, cheeks rosy from the gentle warmth of the night and of his own excitement, that you took several moments to believe him.

‘He’s returned, the army has returned.’

‘Who has?’ you asked, gathering your robe around you, not having ever had a man appear in your door.

‘The General…the troops return in a week. He has returned early. There will be a procession in the morning.’

‘Are you going?’ you asked, and you watched Antonius’s smile broaden on his ruddy cheeks.

‘The Senator will be on hand to welcome him, as will the emperors.’

You felt your pulse quicken at your breast.

‘Can I…’ you started to ask, and then faltered. You had already seen the way his face was falling.

‘The senator’s wives aren’t usually…in attendance,’ he finished, quietly, and you felt your stomach fall.

‘Of course,’ you said.

‘Are you not scheduled for an afternoon away?’ he asked, and you shook your head. ‘Could you not ask for…’

‘Good night, Antonius,’ you said, pushing him back so that you could close your door. You couldn’t stand the pity on his face as he gazed at you. Couldn’t stomach the idea of missing out, again, so near to the city and yet far enough to be as though still just a silly girl amongst the wheat.

--

You could hear the cheers of the crowds drifting up on the breeze as you stood, jug poised, in the courtyard of the statehouse. Beside you, the senator’s wife gazed idly at the sky.

‘Do you thirst for blood in the same way as the emperors?’ she asked you, coming out of her reverie.

‘No, my lady,’ you said, quietly. You watched as the breeze tickled the purple flowers of the vine crawling over your heads.

‘Do you thirst for anything?’ she asked.

You thought, a longing in your chest that surprised you, of the General. Of the crowds braying for him, of victory and of petals falling from the sky. You thought of being just that close to greatness, to what felt so much like real, actual life.

‘No, my lady,’ you repeated, setting the jug down beside your elbow.

‘I thirst for the lives of our soldiers, returned safe. And I long for peace, I think,’ she said, idly. You found yourself nodding.

‘I long for a thoughtful Rome,’ you said, quietly, and she regarded you, then. You watched as her painted brow arched.

‘Indeed,’ she said, after more than a handful of breaths. You found yourself exhaling as she stood.

‘I also long for a nap,’ she said, her little laugh tinkering along the stones as you walked with her to her room.

Later, when the evening sun was dipping low over the coast, and the Senator had returned cheerily wine-drunk and returned to his quarters to presumably inconvenience his wife, you stood with your shawl wrapped tight over your shoulders letting Antonius regale you of his exploits.

‘He is just as handsome as they said,’ he reported, breathless. ‘Broad, and…I don’t know how to explain it, just…an authority. He is poised. He is calm. He…observes.’

You felt a little shiver of something tight in your belly, and you swallowed it down.

‘What of the emperors?’ you asked, unsure why you felt the need to change the subject.

‘Mad, both of them,’ he dismissed, and you hissed for him to be quiet, glancing around to make sure no-one heard. He grinned at you, your concern for him evidently delighting you.

‘Gather your things,’ he whispered, trailing a hand over your forearm and watching the goosebumps appear. You looked up at him, questioning. ‘The Senator snores, your lady has eaten, there is no call for you now. Soon it will be dark, and I have solved a mystery.’

Even in the dying light you could see something dark, mischievous, glinting out from behind his eyes. You shivered, an involuntary little thing, as his fingertip dropped to trace along your side.

‘I don’t…’ you started but he shushed you.

‘You will need to trust me,’ he said. ‘But we’re not likely to ever have the chance for this again. Please, take it. With me.’

You found yourself nodding, a war of elephants in your chest. His grin only widened, his entire face now subsumed by it, it seemed.

‘Bring a cloak, and…your best tunic’, he finished, politely. ‘Perfume your skin and your hair. Don’t ask questions, and meet me in the courtyard as soon as you can.’

--

You were relieved that he led you away from the barracks, out to the east wall trailing down towards the docks. Here, there were fewer guards, but you were still careful, walking a step behind Antonius as he guided you, his hand trailing behind him to hold yours.

I have solved a mystery, you thought, turning his words over and over in your head. Beneath you your tunic shifted, light, over your softened skin and you felt the coil of something hot and tight in your belly. You were very sure this was a bad idea, and also that you were finally feeling something other than that of the observer.

At last, he pulled up beside a gate, bracketed by two short shrubs and a portly looking guard. Antonius pressed a coper token to the guard’s palm and he shuffled aside, nodding to you both, his eyes travelling over your body in a way that made you quite uneasy.

Antonius led you through the gate to reveal a simple courtyard, the smell of salt in the air lingering from the nearby shore.

‘These are the General’s quarters,’ he explained in a hushed tone as you felt your body go rigid. ‘The General and his lady Lucilla have a residence, of course, as befitting a man of his stature, everyone knows that. But he keeps this place also, close to the water in the event of naval attack.’

Over the rush of blood in your ears you heard laughter,  the gentle melody of a lyre, drifting from a room to your side.

‘Come…’ Antonius whispered, tucking you to his side and ushering you into the main doors in front of you. ‘It’s all true,’ he said, his voice dripping in awe.

For a moment, you struggled to understand what you were seeing. As you stepped into the low light you saw only a writhing mass beneath you, a constant movement accompanied by guttural gasps, by groans. As your eyes adjusted to the flickering torches you started to make out shapes, cloth laid over skin, fingers adorned with rings and wine stretching into the open air in the centre of the room. You took a step away, your hand flying to your mouth, Antonius holding you steady with a warm hand on the small of your back.

‘Antonius, those are…’

‘Lovers,’ he finished for you, ‘tens of them, coupling and recoupling.’ You looked back at him, the flickering light casting unfamiliar shadows over his features as he watched. A woman let out a high-pitched squeal, another laughing as she convulsed beneath the back of an unknown man.

‘But where is the…’ and you trailed away, then, your eyes further adjusting as you scanned the room. There, to your right and tucked away in the corner, two ornate chairs holding the General and his lady, their gazes trained on the writhing mass. You realised they were raised on a kind of dais, the General holding his lady’s hand as she sipped, simply, on wine. Their stillness, their stern observation, somehow more thrilling than the pleasure unfolding at their feet.

‘They just watch,’ Antonius whispered in your ear, pushing you from the doorway and over to the side wall where you could re-orient. ‘It’s said that Acacius only ever watches, but sometimes Lucilla…’

‘Sometimes Lucilla what?’ you asked, unable to take your eyes from the couple. Acacius, stripped of his ceremonial armour from the afternoon, sat wrapped in a simple tunic, gold stitching of laurels adorning his shoulders and his red cape. Lucilla, easily the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, sat beside him, cowl of fine silk over her head, legs crossed at the ankle as her husband occasionally let go her hand to stroke idly at her knee.

‘Sometimes she beckons for a pretty young thing to rub her feet, to sit across her lap and let her draw her fingers along their spine. She is apparently quite unbothered as to their sex.’

Your eyes drifted back to the General, the skin of his strong thighs, his scarred knees, peeking out from beneath his tunic.

‘Does he ever…?’ you asked, and Antonius shook his head.

‘Apparently, he could, if he chose to. Lucilla wouldn’t mind it, it’s said. But he refrains, on the basis that he has never found another to tempt him away from his wife.’

You nodded, tearing your eyes from him to stare hard at the stone beneath your feet. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs, the blush of your cheeks, your shawl suddenly heavy across your shoulders, across your chest. In front of you a woman sucked gloriously at the nipple of another as she poured wine down her chest, the red liquid pulling in the mouth of her lover as they both gasped in delight.

‘This is how they celebrate his return from war,’ Antonius informed you, glee lacing his words.

‘The heat…’ you said, sweat gathering. ‘Antonius, will you help me…’ you said, reaching for the fastening at your neck. He nodded, fingers light and reverent on your skin as he pulled it from you, your simple tunic falling free from underneath it and letting the air, finally, to you. You almost moaned, the relief of it so acute.

‘Oh…’ Antonius gasped, lowly, and for a moment you thought he had spotted some fault in your dress before you looked at his eyes and saw he was looking over your head. You turned your gaze to where his was looking, to the chairs in the corner of the room.

The General’s gaze had turned to you, the flip of your shawl enough to draw his attention even in the half-light, and you watched, transfixed, as he stared, unwavering. You felt the roaring fire of want sear up through your belly, unmatched only by the flames licking at your face.

You weren’t an experienced girl, although you had some dealings with one of the farm boys in the village before you’d turned 16, your father’s disapproval only driving you closer towards him, such that you had let him fumble under your tunic for a few minutes until he squirmed and gasped in release without you ever having touched him, his resulting shame keeping you from him far more effectively than your father’s words ever did.

But you knew what it looked like when a man was desirous. When he had landed his gaze upon an object and set upon wanting it, and you saw it now, in the hungering look of the General as his eyes travelled over your frame.

‘He’s seen us,’ Antonius whispered, and you nodded, letting him lead you by the elbow towards the throng in the centre of the room. You kept your eyes on the General’s, his own stare almost unblinking, as he watched your gentle progression.

‘Gods…’ Antonius muttered beside you, finding an empty seat on the end of a long couch and pulling you down onto him, your back to his so that you remained, front on, in the General’s eyeline. ‘The intensity of his study.’

You shuddered, turning to ash as the General’s eyes roamed over you, leaving a scorching path across your skin. You saw his eyes linger at your chest, your pulse thick and fast and your breathing near panting as Antonius shifted beneath you, allowing your knees to part either side.

‘If I can show him what I can do,’ Antonius whispered into your ear, your skin aflame where the General’s eyes touched it, ‘maybe he will have me for his army, his private army.’

‘What you can do?’ you asked, not comprehending, until Antonius grasped your breast in his paw and tugged, earning him a gasp from your pretty mouth.

‘How vigorously I can fuck,’ Antonius said, pausing to chew on the lobe of your ear, watching as your eyes listed close, a shiver running along your spine. ‘I think he would like to watch me fuck you, don’t you?’ he asked.

You weren’t sure you were hearing Antonius. The General’s eyes had not strayed from you, even in the half-light, even with the masses of bodies surrounding you both. From across the room, he watched you, his jaw set hard and his hand gripping tight at the arm of his chair.

‘Reveal me,’ you whispered, lifting your hands to tug at your tunic.

‘Yes, my lady,’ Antonius grunted, sliding his hands under the fabric and shifting you in his lap so that it slid smooth over your body. You felt your hair fall as it came away, your tresses tumbling over your shoulders as you bore yourself to the General of Rome.

You watched as his eyes slid over your skin, his deep gulp as they settled between your only slightly parted thighs. Hooking your knees over Antonius’, you settled back against him, leaning your head to his chin to nibble at his jaw while you kept your eyes locked to the General’s. Antonius’ hands came first to cup your breasts, tweaking and twisting your nipples hard enough to make you writhe on his lap, then travelled lower, tracing over your belly and towards your sex, your core open and exposed to the night air, to the darkness, to the heat of the General’s gaze.

‘Gods, you are soaking,’ Antonius groaned in your ear, his fingers sliding over your folds to stroke, slow and languid, at your bud. You let out a high little whimper, a ghost of a groan carried to the rafters, as your hips jerked all of their own. You felt him shift again, spreading his thighs wider, your sex unfolding like a water lily in the first light of dawn.

Behind you, beside you, the chorus of libidinous excess churned, a sea of cunts and breasts and aching, heavy cocks. You felt entirely outside your own body, for a moment watching from the rafters as you squirmed in Antonius’ lap, your sex open and drooling for the General as he watched from the other side of the room. You could feel the weight of his glare on you, your eyes drawn again to him as he leant ever so slowly forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he took you in.

‘Such a pretty little cunt, look at him staring at it,’ Antonius grinned. ‘He’ll think I’m the emperor when I spread it with my cock.’

You groaned, Antonius switching his hands so that his right continued to strum at your clit while his left parted you, pulled your folds apart to slip a finger to your core. You stuttered, your hips rolling as you took him in, hissing at the stretch of even his single finger.

‘Gods, have you ever had another here before?’ he asked, and you shook your head.

‘Not properly,’ you said. ‘Not with his…thing.’

‘Such a sweet girl,’ he said, biting a little at your earlobe. ‘Can’t even say “cock” without pink atop your cheeks.’

You could feel that he was hard, his thing, his cock, grinding into your bottom as you squirmed in his lap.

‘Put your heels up on my knees,’ he said, leaning you back further into his chest to allow it. ‘Show him all of you, let him see me open up this pretty little cunt.’

You flopped, boneless, against him, gasping to the ceiling as he slid another finger to join the first. The sting of it soon abating, leaving only a pulsing need in its wake. Is this what everyone had been going on about all this time? Suddenly, you understood it.

‘Oh, Gods,’ you gasped, as he rubbed tight circles into your pulsing bud. ‘Oh!’ you shuddered again, something shimmering and hot in your belly starting to wind its way around your core.

Then, suddenly, stillness. You groaned in frustration, your eyes snapping open to turn to Antonius. You only paused when you saw shock, jaw hanging open and eyebrows arched high on his forehead.

‘Antonius!’ you gasped, his hands still inside you but unmoving.

‘He has beckoned for us,’ he whispered, and you turned, rising your head off Antonius’ shoulder to stare down the valley between your thighs. You watched as Acacius, his eyes now fixed on your spread sex, lifted his hand to the air, waving for you.

--

You had only been a girl when you mother took you aside and explained the unfolding paths your life could take. If you were to stay on the farm you were to marry, to bear children, to raise them up in the same fields she had raised you. To maybe have boys and watch them carry the glory of the Empire on their shoulders into battle, to maybe have girls and watch them birth the next generation of Rome. If you were to leave you would work, and it would be toil and largely thankless, servitude at the steps of a bigger life not likely to ever be within your grasp. The proximity of it maybe enough to carry you, maybe not.

You were to make your decision quickly. Soon, you would bleed.

And you knew that you were lucky, in a sense, to have a mother that afforded you a choice, to have a father that allowed you to pack your meagre belongings into a satchel of his design. But in the nights when you waited in your quarters for sleep to come, in the nights when your back ached from beating linens against rocks by the river, from pressing powder to the folds on your lady’s skin just to watch her leave to revel without you, you wondered whether you had made the right one.

The General only became more striking as you closed the distance between you, crawling on your hands and knees to get to him over the writhing bodies of your compatriots. You felt Antonius behind you, his shuffle to keep up as you waded, your eyes still locked to Acacius’ even now. As you neared him, as you felt the ambient heat of his body start to press into your own, as you met his hungered gaze with one full of longing, of desire, in your own, you felt for the first time at the core of your own life, at the pulsing centre of it. At the place you had been destined to arrive all this time, ambling towards it without knowing your heading.

You glanced to the General’s side, to Lucilla who watched you with a gentle smile adorning her lips. You saw she held her husband’s hand in hers as his other gripped the edge of the chair, his body leaning towards yours as you crawled to him.

‘Pretty little thing,’ you heard her murmur to him, and you again felt pink again adorn your cheeks. Acacius only nodded, his jaw set tight as he reached his hand to you. You reared up on your knees, stumbling towards him, letting him pull you forward until your arms rested atop his thighs. You could see, now, the tremble of the tunic as it covered his pulsing cock, could smell the sweet smell of orange and cedar that he had bathed himself in. Drunk on his gaze you let your hands slide, feeling the heat of his thighs as his muscles twitched beneath your touch, the man almost jumping out of his chair when you took the hem of his skirt in your fingers and folded it, lifting it gently to lie atop his lap.

Your eyes fell to it, his aching, leaking cock standing proud from the thicket of hair between his thighs. You watched, marvelled, at the way it pulsed in time with his heart.

‘I don’t know that she has ever seen one before,’ Lucilla commented, and you glanced at her, suddenly shy. ‘So precious,’ she continued. ‘So lucky that her first is that of the General of Rome.’

Acacius grunted, his fingers starting to tremble as your stare returned to his member. Behind you, Antonius approached, unnoticed, sinking down to his knees to lean over you, his hands steadying himself on your hips.

‘It’s beautiful, General,’ he said, as he trailed his fingers up your spine, idly. ‘Mouthwatering.’

You nodded, agreeing, flexing your fingers to try and push the shake out.

‘Reach out and take it in your hand,’ Antonius instructed, and you heard the General gasp, looking up at him to watch his eyes darken.

‘Gods, has she never…?’

‘She’s fresh as a new bud,’ Antonius reported, proudly, easing his fingers over your bottom and letting them slip again, to your dripping sex. ‘She tastes as a dew formed by the first dawn,’ he went on, collecting your slick at his fingers and then raising them, an offering, to the man seated above you. ‘Taste?’ he said.

Acacius leant forward, sucking Antonius’ fingertips into his mouth, his eyes closing in awe as he muffled out a groan. ‘Gods, like early Spring,’ he said.

You watched as his cock twitched again, your nose full of the smell of his hot skin, of something hard and masculine, something dangerous and deadly. You licked your lips, your mouth descending to his tip almost without thought, your tongue reaching to lick at the little ridge of skin on the underside of his glorious, throbbing shaft.

‘Oh, she’s fresh like a bud but filthy like a whore,’ Lucilla observed, smiling indulgently at her husband. Acacius turned to her, his brows saddled.

‘My lady, I…’

‘Hush,’ she said, raising a hand to her husband’s cheek as he shuddered, your tongue sliding to tease at the slit where he leaked. ‘Enjoy, my love. For all you’ve done, for the glory of Rome.’

You closed your eyes, hollowing your cheeks to prepare yourself to take him into your mouth, your jaw already aching at his girth. You heard him groan, his hands falling to your hair, tangling himself in your tresses as you worked.

Behind you, Antonius crouched, freeing himself from his tunic so that he could notch himself at your entrance, his cock prodding at your gentle, silken folds.

‘General,’ he gasped, as Acacius whimpered under your tongue. ‘She’s gripping me, pulling me into her untouched cunt.’

‘Go gentle,’ he grunted. ‘A precious one as this…’ he trailed off as you reached up to grasp him by the base, saliva and the General’s leaking come starting to collect and run over your chin. He found himself unable to speak as you opened your eyes to gaze up at him, the desire in his eyes bathing you in heat.

‘Gods…’ Antonius groaned as you felt him push into you, a gasp catching in your chest as you swallowed around the General’s cock. You felt the grip in your hair tighten, saw the way Acacius started to rock his hips, squirming on the seat beneath him as you took him further down, into your throat.

You felt the sting, the stretch as Antonius slid into you, his first thrust knocking you further into Acacius’ chest, his cock slipping from your mouth as you steadied yourself. You gasped, lungs burning for air. Your brows saddled, a whimper escaping you.

‘Does it hurt, my sweet little dolly?’ Acacius asked and you nodded, permitting a wince as Antonius again bucked his hips. Acacius breathed, his eyes roaming your face as a tear gathered at your waterline.

‘Want it to be you,’ you whispered, Antonius’ cock fucking the truth right out of you as you rocked backwards and forwards on your knees, leaning on the naked lap of the most desired man in Rome. He came forward, then, lifting his hand to cup the side of your head, fingers stretching over the back of your skull as he cradled your jaw. He allowed the fingertips of his other hand to travel the plains of your body, pausing only momentarily to paw at the swell of your breast before gliding them further, his muscled and sun-kissed arm extending to allow him to travel to your folds, to your straining, quivering clit.

You jolted, the pad of his finger rubbing gentle circles, the squeeze of Antonius immediately lessening, the pinch giving way, finally, to a sense of fullness, of completeness, of finally being entire.

You whimpered, the General holding your head in his hand to lock his eyes to yours, your body rolling and jerking beneath you as he held you fast to him. Behind you Antonius worked, his cock soaring into you, his fingertips digging hard into your hips.

The General watched you, studied the way your face twisted, contorted in pleasure. With his fingers at your sex, he spread your slick and you felt it collecting at the apex of your thighs, spreading over your skin. Your groans went unheeded, lost to the debauched sounds of the room, as you felt pressure build low in your belly, a coiling of something essential, tight in your core.

Still, he watched you, kept you trapped beneath him, his gaze warm, almost loving, as he held you through it. You realised, as the ache in your core set to burning, as the wildfire caught on dry grass and sparked an inferno racing from your cunt to your chest to your throat, that he was giving this to you, this first time, that he held you entirely in his orbit and in his grip, that you were his to play with, his to stroke and pleasure and consume, that you would let him for as long as he would have you, that more than anything in this moment you were cherished, that you were desired, that you were prized.

‘I want it to be me, too,’ he murmured low, a secret between two lovers, as you started to lose control of your breath.

‘General..!’ you gasped, the feeling so strong you were terrified it would wash you away with it, his gaze unwavering in the face of such peril.

‘Let it take you, little dolly,’ he said, his fingers continuing to push you further, your pulsing little clit aching for him, from him.

Behind you, Antonius grunted, his thrusts becoming fast and unruly as he started to lose his form.

‘I can’t hold it,’ he said over your head, almost apologetic.

‘Give her everything,’ Acacius ordered, his eyes still on you as your brows saddled.

‘Good girl,’ he murmured, your eyes slamming shut as you gave yourself in to it, as you let it breach your walls, flood the arena, made you breathe in not air but the whispers of the Gods above you, your shuddering form bowed in pleasure for their reverence.

--

Dawn threatened, and as the muddy light streamed in over the piles of bodies you counted fifteen separate sets of arms and legs. Perched on the end of the couch, wrapped in your shawl and your tunic again with no memory of having put them back over your skin, you roused Antonius and assembled yourselves before sneaking back to the Senator’s statehouse. His wife will be seeking breakfast and for you to wash her hair this morning. You will see if you can sneak some hot water for yourself as you pour hers.

On shaky legs, you stood with Antonius in the courtyard, seeking your bearings. You shuddered, the morning cold biting harder than you expected, an ache between your thighs a not-unwelcome reminder of the night before.

Above your heads, the General and his lady’s open window revealed the sound of gentle slumber.

You escaped through the back alleys, a giggle forming in your chest both at your memories of the night before and at your now complete inability to look Antonius in the eye. You found yourself mooning over him suddenly, as though your time with the General and his lady had forged something new between you, a bond you’re curious to explore. As you made your way back to the statehouse, contemplating this development, the dawn finally properly broke, the pink and purple light staining the marble around you. In front of you, the palace glowed, ethereal, the city only beginning to wake.

You looked down at your feet, stationed steady on the stones. You considered, for the first time, that you were home.

[cece693]

Hiii!

I just recently saw your PJO fanfics about Nico and I loved them.

And I also noticed the severe lack of PJO x male reader fics in general. So I was hoping if you could write a fanfic with son of Demeter reader x Percy Jackson. (Can be a fanfic or just headcannons ur choice)

You don't have to do this request but it would be nice ^-^

Alright ty for listening to my Ted talk

Wildflower (Percy Jackson x Son of Demeter)

Thanks for the request :) You really had me dig out my books to remember how Demeter was portrayed, and surprisingly, she's kind, so it wasn't much trouble doing this request. It seems I got carried away, so I hope you enjoy!

tags: fluff, some angst, overprotective Demeter, who knows who your father is, headcanon and fanfic, mentions of calypso, break up/make up

Being a son of Demeter is a big deal. Because although she wasn't a virgin like Artemis or Hestia, it was rather difficult for a mortal to catch her attention. So not only are you a demigod but also cursed (lucky) to be a descendent of such an esteemed goddess.

Compared to other campers, you don't hate your godly parent. Sure, your mom is absent for many things and your memories of her are rather scarce, but, on the flip side, you are made aware of just how much your mother loves you. Afterall, you are her youngest child and she must keep an eye on you.

So, when news reaches her that you've begun dating Percy Jackson, she grows overprotective. What do you expect? After the whole fiasco with your sister, Persephone, she wants the best for her son. So expect the goddess to keep an eye on you two.

Percy doesn't mind your mother's overbearingness. In fact, it reminds him of his own mother. However, this doesn't mean that Percy is reckless. Demeter might be kind, but inquiring her wrath was stupid. So, he's extra careful and strives to show respect to the goddess—never stepping on flowers, always keeping a respectful distance from sacred plants, and treating every piece of nature as if Demeter herself is watching.

It takes some time, but your mother comes around. In fact, she's pleased you found someone 'worthy' of your affections. This might or might not have something to do with the fact that Percy has begun helping you tend a garden dedicated to her. Growing flowers known to be sacred to Demeter, like poppies and wheat. They work on it together, Percy’s hands clumsy but earnest.

Not everything in your relationship is easy. There are times, winter and fall especially, when your mood is foul and Percy is no help at all. His recklessness and impulsivity always ticks you off, but none more so when he keeps secrets from you. Like how Calypso kissed him before departing Ogygia.

The moment you saw him walking down the hill, something was off. He had that nervous look in his sea-green eyes, the one he got when he was about to face something dangerous—only this time, it was you. You crossed your arms, trying to root yourself in place, like your mother, Demeter, had taught you. But the anger simmering inside made that hard.

Percy reached you, giving a half-hearted smile. “Hey, I—”

“You kissed her?” Your words cut through the air like a sharp gust of wind.

Percy blinked, looking caught off guard. “What? No, it’s not like that—”

“Don’t lie to me, Percy.” You felt your fists tighten, your connection to the earth deepening as the grass beneath your feet curled and twisted with your emotions. “You let her kiss you, didn’t you?”

His brows furrowed, and he stepped closer. “It wasn’t like that. Calypso was—she was saying goodbye. It wasn’t…I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“You didn’t want to hurt her?” You repeated, the words feeling bitter on your tongue. “What about me? Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Percy exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “I was stuck on her island. I didn’t ask to be there! She kissed me because she had to say goodbye to something she couldn’t keep. It wasn’t my choice.”

You laughed, but it was bitter, like the taste of dry soil. “Maybe not, but you didn’t stop her either.”

Percy’s eyes flashed with frustration, the sea’s storm brewing behind them. “Come on, that’s not fair!” he snapped, his voice rising above the whispering trees. “I was stuck on a cursed island, not on some vacation! What was I supposed to do? Tell her no? I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.”

You took a step back, the sting of his words making your chest tighten. But anger pushed you forward again, overriding any hint of reason. “No, what’s unfair is me thinking you were gone, Percy!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The pain had to come out somehow. “I waited here for weeks, wondering if this was the quest that would take you away from me forever. Did you even think once of me while you were away? Or was Calypso the only thing on your mind?”

Percy opened his mouth, but for a moment, no words came out. The guilt that flashed across his face was brief, but it was there, plain as day. “Of course I thought of you,” he said, his voice softer now, though still tinged with frustration. “I thought about you every single day. But I was stuck on that island with no way out. It wasn’t about wanting to be with her. I was just trying to survive.”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?” You could feel the vines creeping up again, brushing against your ankles like a reminder of everything you were trying to hold in. “You were trapped; I get that. But a kiss, Percy? Do you know how that sounds?”

“I didn’t want this to happen,” he whispered, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You looked away, blinking back the sting of tears you refused to let him see. “Well, you did.”

The silence between you was heavy, thicker than any storm. Percy stared at you, guilt and regret etched into every line of his face. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, almost to himself.

You swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down. “I don’t either, but right now, I need to figure out if I even want to.”

To say Demeter was mad at Percy is an understatement. The goddess's wrath casted a dark cloud over Camp Half-Blood that left even the bravest demigods feeling uneasy. Percy found himself stuck inside his cabin, trapped by an invisible force of nature, the very flora that usually thrived in the camp now threatening to attack him.

Not even Poseidon, the god of the sea, could ease some of Demeter’s anger. He tried to vouch for Percy and his love for you, yet the mere mention of Percy's name caused your mother to shake the ground beneath him. That was the first and last time he meddled in your affairs.

The campers were worried for both of you—the fight had clearly affected everyone, their agriculture suffering greatly, but they truly believed you guys were it. So it pained them to see the perfect couple at the verge of going seperate ways.

It was Annabeth who managed to get you two to talk things through. With her acting as the mediator, you three were locked inside a room and forced to speak about your feelings. Looking back, it was comical how it closely resembled marriage counseling.

The room felt thick with tension, every breath heavy as if weighed down by the unspoken emotions swirling between you, Percy, and Annabeth. You sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, legs bouncing anxiously, eyes fixed on the floor as if the threadbare carpet held the answers you desperately sought. Percy was beside you, close but not close enough. The usual warmth of his presence felt distant, and though you could sense his guilt radiating off him, it wasn’t enough to bridge the gap.

Annabeth stood before you both, arms crossed over her chest, her expression a blend of sympathy and frustration. She was here as a mediator, but even the daughter of Athena couldn’t easily navigate this emotional minefield. “Let’s just go over the events,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She turned to Percy, urging him to explain. “What led to the kiss?”

Percy sighed deeply, running a hand through his unruly hair as he gathered his thoughts. “Calypso gave me some items—supplies, food—and made sure the raft was stable enough to withstand the ocean’s currents. I was grateful; she’d done so much to help me. So, I turned to say goodbye and thank her when she…when she suddenly kissed me.” He glanced at you, his eyes pleading. “M/N, please believe me when I say that I didn’t reciprocate—I didn’t want it.”

You finally looked up, eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him flinch. “That’s not the problem, Percy,” you said, your voice surprisingly calm but laced with hurt. “What hurt me was that you didn’t push her away, that she thought you were interested enough to even try.”

You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to keep your composure. “During your time on Ogygia, did you ever once mention that you had a boyfriend? Did you ever think of me when you were with her?”

Percy’s eyes widened in panic, the hurt in your words cutting deeper than any monster’s blade ever could. He reached out, but his hand fell short, hovering between you as if afraid to cross the fragile line that now separated you two. Desperation filled his voice as he finally spoke, each word trembling with urgency and raw honesty.

“I did tell her,” Percy blurted, his voice cracking. “Gods, I talked about you all the time. From the moment I set foot on that island, I told Calypso about you. Every single day. I told her how you were waiting for me, how you were my anchor���my reason for fighting and my reason I couldn’t stay with her. She knew, M/N. She knew you were my everything.” He ran a hand over his face, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill.

Annabeth’s expression softened as she glanced at you, silently urging you to listen. Percy’s words were coming from the heart, and even she couldn’t deny the sincerity in his voice. But the pain in your eyes remained.

“When I first got there, I was barely conscious,” Percy continued, his voice softer now, tinged with a mix of sorrow and desperation. “I was so beaten up, so tired, and all I could do was mumble your name. Over and over, even in my sleep. She heard me say it—Calypso heard me calling out for you, asking for you.” He paused, swallowing hard. “She knew there was someone else. She knew how much I loved you. I made it clear, but I didn’t push her away fast enough. I was stupid, and I’m so sorry.”

You felt your heart twist at his confession, the image of Percy lying on that distant shore, broken and alone, but still calling out for you. It was the kind of story you had dreamed about before—the hero fighting impossible odds, returning home to the one he loved. But now, hearing it from his lips, the romance was stripped away, leaving only the raw truth of a mistake made in a vulnerable moment.

Annabeth cleared her throat, trying to diffuse the tension, but even she seemed at a loss. “Look,” she said gently, “what matters now is where you go from here. You two have been through worse together. If you still want this—if you still want each other—then you’ll find a way.”

Percy reached out again, hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’m not perfect, M/N. I screw up, and I hurt you, but I want to make this right. I love you, and I’ll spend every day proving it if you’ll let me.”

Even if you forgive Percy, you take baby steps to rebuild your trust. You agree to talk more openly about your feelings and avoid keeping secrets from one another. Percy goes out of his way to make you feel valued, leaving you notes, planning small dates, and constantly reminding you how much you mean to him.

Percy knows he didn't only need to seek forgiveness from you, but your mother. To truly show his commitment, he request a chance to speak to the goddess. It’s terrifying—facing the goddess’s wrath head-on—but he humbly apologizes and explains how deeply he loves you, promising to never let you feel sidelined again. Demeter doesn’t forgive easily, but she appreciates Percy’s bravery and sincerity, granting her reluctant approval with a warning not to hurt her son again.

To solidify his commitment, Percy organizes a surprise picnic in the strawberry fields—your favorite spot. It’s filled with your favorite foods, and Percy shyly presents a flower crown he made himself, though it’s a little uneven. It’s simple but heartfelt, symbolizing his renewed promise to always cherish you.

After reconciling, you and Percy start talking about your future together, beyond Camp Half-Blood. You both decide that New Rome is the perfect place to build a life after everything you’ve been through. The idea of living among other demigods and having a peaceful life feels like a dream finally within reach.

The move to New Rome is filled with excitement and nerves. You find a cozy apartment together, and even simple things like grocery shopping or decorating the space feel like small adventures. It’s a fresh start, and every day feels like you’re building something new, hand in hand.

One evening after a particularly good day—whether it’s celebrating an exam passed or simply enjoying each other’s company—Percy gets down on one knee. He doesn’t have a grand speech prepared; he just tells you how much you mean to him and how he can’t imagine a life without you. The ring is simple, with a small gemstone that reminds you of the sea, and you say yes without hesitation.

Surrounded by your friends from Camp Half-Blood and New Rome, you and Percy get married in a beautiful ceremony filled with flowers and ocean-themed decorations. Demeter attends, blessing the union with flourishing blooms, a sign of her approval and happiness for you both. The ceremony is intimate, filled with laughter, tears, and the undeniable feeling that you’ve both found your forever.