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meichenxi · 6 months ago

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Language learning: slow learning versus toxic productivity

Or: the process in crisis

Five years ago, all of the productivity advice I read (and gave out) as a successful self-learner of many different languages had one basic premise: that I was not doing enough, and that I could always be doing more.

Several burnouts later, running headlong from one mental illness into another, I'd like to invite you to entertain the exact opposite idea: there is a limit to what you can do. I have run face-first into mine on multiple occasions, and burnt out. At many points I've stopped learning the language at all. Most importantly, I've learnt to be distrustful of the very premise that all of the so-called productivity or optimisation advice is based on.

More is not always more.

Listen to a podcast in the target language whilst you exercise. Exercise to give yourself more energy to learn your target language. Talk to yourself in the shower in your target language. Do Anki whilst eating breakfast. Listen to Glossika whilst walking to work. Change your phone settings to your target language. Bullet journal. Manage your time. Make friends in your target language. Control your time. Write a diary. There's always enough time. These are all things I have done myself and recommended others do, to increase exposure to the language, to increase productivity.

Productivity? What productivity? What, exactly, is it that we are producing? I am producing sentences and words but - for who? Who is listening? Nobody's here, in my room, at 7am on a Sunday. If productivity were just speaking or writing, I'd be productive in my native language too, by virtue of speaking out loud. Or conversely, in language learning circles, should we measure it in terms of input? How many hours did you spend listening to Chinese yesterday? What about today? Is there anything you do in your life, in your daily life, that you could optimise? You're wasting time. There's time here, for those that want it. If you want to get ahead, to be successful, to be a good language learner, you have to know how to use that time. Go online, and debate over which tools are the best; watch your videos. What exactly is it that is being produced?

Productivity is a measuring tool for concrete output: the productivity of a field means how much crop it can yield per harvest. The productivity of a factory is how many mobile phone chargers it can bring to market per year. There are direct and measurable ways to increase this sort of productivity. But what is productivity when it comes to knowledge work? Cal Newport's work, The Minimalists, Essentialism: they all run into the same problem, which is that nobody seems to know what 'productivity' for knowledge workers means at all. You can look at a factory line and see which parts need greasing up, figuratively or literally: it is very difficult, on the other hand, to look at the work of a self-contained writer and tell her where she is going 'wrong'. (And by 'wrong', I mean - slow.) And language learning is an even more particular subset of that particular subset of work.

You could judge a novelists' productivity two ways: by the 'busyness' of her daily writing routine, or the amount of novels she produces. But what exactly is being produced when we learn a language? What is the end product?

In some ways, language learning as a hobby is even more playful than traditionally thought of arts and crafts. (By 'play' I mean something which is done for its own sake, and which is pleasurable, and which may yield next to no monetary reward.) We might think of the poet as sitting on a tree and dangling his feet in the river, a vision of artful indolence, but at the end of the day there is output - a poem. A knitter has a jumper. A potter has a pot. But language learning doesn't follow this [work] + [time] = [tangible output] structure. We can't even use the second metric of 'productivity' to measure it at all. Something is being done, of course - I can learn to speak Greek, and speak it markedly better after two months than one - but my point is you can't look at a day's work and say, this is exactly how much I learnt. Learning is not memorisation in the short term - it's receiving input, and practicing how to wield and use a structure. It doesn't happen over the course of a ten-minute podcast.

Learning happens - encoding happens - when the brain is doing other things. In other words, much like every creative process, you need downtime. You need rest, and sleep, and fun, and brightness and joy in your life. You might 'remember' a bunch of words on Anki, but you need to sleep before you can review them again: that's the whole point.

There is a much wider problem here, a culture of goals and optimising your life and glowing up, and to be honest, I find it disturbing. I think that for a very long time my language learning metrics were a stand-in, a relic, for the kinds of unhealthy and obsessively perfectionist thinking that gave me an eating disorder. How many of us truly believe - genuinely, with every inch of our heart - that we are better people if we 'better' ourselves? Learn more. Exercise more. Study more. How do you feel about yourself at the end of a day, exhausted, because you've completed day 75/100? Do you feel better about yourself because you've achieved? I'm guessing that you do.

For many people - including for myself - this wider culture has spilled over into their hobbies. Hobbies like language learning in particular are a target for this because they are so easily quantifiable - and we are encouraged, if we want to succeed, to quantify them. How else will we know how to improve?

Over the last few years, after burning out, after living off grid and without wifi and doing extreme minimalism and a lot of other lifestyle experiments to try and understand why modern life is so fucking hard, it's become clear that most systems of 'productivity' measure 'optimisation' by getting the most done in a day, but they don't stop to question whether you should be doing those things at all.

They don't stop to ask: what matters? They don't stop to ask: why am I trying to write a novel, finish my dissertation, pursue a romantic relationship, get healthy, learn ice-skating, learn to cook, look after my aging parents, and learn guitar at the same time? They don't ask: how do I prioritise, and where do I find silence? They ask: how do I cram more time in the day? They don't ask: how do I slow time down? They don't ask: how can I know what matters, if I never give myself space to think?

In other words: 'productivity' in language learning is measured by 'busy-work', by how much you can see from the surface.

You can't measure how well the learning is going, exactly, but you can measure how many hours a day you show up and grind. Whether or not that struggle is the best use of your time, or whether you're spending the time on things that will truly bring you value and quality, is a different question altogether.

And it's not one most 'productivity culture' will ever ask.

There will be things in your language learning journey that, to borrow from self-help terminology, no longer serve you. Habits and relics and resources and mindsets that worked for you once, or no longer did. Those books that are too advanced that you feel like you 'should' be able to read. That textbook that's been sitting beside your bed for a year. That habit of scrolling social media in your target language that was helpful when you were at a more intermediate level, but does little for you now that you're advanced.

Take stock of these. Simplify. Do less, but do it better. Productivity culture never stops to ask: what can I do without? It always asks, instead: how can I do more? But maybe - just maybe - the way to do more is to focus on fewer things, but do them well.

Multi-tasking isn't multi-tasking, but switching quickly between different focuses of attention. The average American owns 300,000 things, and watches television for 4-5 hours a day. On average, if you are distracted, it takes you 20 minutes to reach the same level of deep focus: but the average American office worker opens an email within six seconds of receiving it. Are you any better with your phone? How much time do you spend there? If you meditate, that's wonderful, but do you have any time to let yourself think? To walk and to understand how to feel? I don't want to sound like a boomer, but: can you name the birds? Do you live in a place, not just a room?

Stop trying to be 'productive'. Do less. Do it well.

I am now facing a wall in my learning of Chinese, and I'm still not sure how to get around it. The reason for this is because so much of the advice I gave others around language learning, and so much of the advice I found online, is focused on this sort of optimisation. But I no longer want to be listening to something, to be watching something, every second of every day. I have a partner to love and a house to appreciate and I want to spend time, humming and pleasant, alone with my thoughts, and it's summer, dear diary, and I don't want to stay indoors. Routines can keep you afloat, but they can also drown you. Do something different. Do something new. Do something that is not productive, that produces nothing, idle away, walk to work without music and perhaps when you sit down to your language learning that evening, you'll be filled with a renewed vigour and love for it. Do it because you love it, not because you scheduled it in your calendar.

A lesson, related, from my martial arts teacher. He said:

If you are tired, do not train. If you do not train, rest. 'Rest' does not mean go on your phone.

The same principle applies here. If you are tired of learning, which you may well be, rest. Not going on your phone, not watching Netflix. I mean taking a walk and sitting under the tree and looking at the patterning of the sky. I mean lying with your dog and absently scratching his tummy. If you're tired, and you have the luxury to stop - stop. Let yourself be tired. Don't drink caffeine. Sleep.

Last year, I was able to write 340,000 words of fiction because I focused on one thing: writing my book. Apart from things that I literally needed to do to survive and maintain my health and relationships around me, I didn't set a single other to-do. My daily list looked like: write for three hours. Not a word limit. Not exercise, though I ended up doing that, not learning a language. I imagine that if I had tried to focus on Chinese at the same time that I wouldn't have achieved anywhere near half the result. I still learnt Chinese, a very decent amount - I went to China and Taiwan for three months in total! - but I did it because I wanted to, of a whim, on a Sunday, something fun. It wasn't a must, or anything I was forcing myself to do. Many days I didn't do any Chinese at all. It was so immensely freeing to be able to think, at 11am: I'm finished for today. Even when I was at work, because I knew I was just there to pay the rent, I felt serene. Stressed on a day-to-day level, certainly, because all work is stressful, but - there wasn't any striving. I just did the best I could. And that was enough.

I am writing this, now, as I come out of my first ever information-overload burnout. I've burnt out, but I've never experienced one of these before: even looking at a book, at a phone, physically hurt my eyes. I couldn't bear to listen to people speak and would lock myself away in my room. I physically felt I could not talk, and had to take extensive time off work. Even looking at a pen and a blank page was too much; listening to podcasts was too much; reading the instructions for dinner was too much too. The only way I could heal was by doing absolutely nothing at all. That period shocked me deeply, because it showed me how absolutely dependent I was on having some input of information all of the time. No wonder I was tired.

I know, now, that there are lots of movements built around this same idea, by frustrated learners all over the world: the growing realisation that metrics and Excel and polylogger and tracking tracking tracking can't be the only way to learn. That a list of the number of books you've read in one year is hardly indicative of how well you understood those books, and what you learned from them. You've read 20 books this year already - good job. When do you think about them? What time do you spend on reflection? Why did you choose those books? Which chapters, and which characters, hit you the hardest? Why?

Minimalism, deep work, 'monk mode', essentialism, every writer's dream to run away and write in a cabin in the woods, slow learning, Buddhism, Stoicism, Marie Kondo-ism, the art of less, project 333, my no-buy-year, slow fashion, slow food, slow travel:

What all of these philosophies have in common is the idea that doing things deliberately ('mindfully') means 1) doing things slowly, 2) doing things well, and 3) doing things one at a time.

I am now at a place in my life where I understand the value of time alone with my thoughts. I don't want to listen to podcasts every minute of the waking day, because I need time to think about them. I need time to let the ideas for my novel grow in the dark. Nothing can be heard in noise; so make space for silence. I am a member of the real, living, breathing world, and that means I cannot devote 8 hours a day to Chinese television shows like I could when I was 20. I have to call my father. I have to do the dishes. I want to flex my creative muscles in other ways. Alternatively - I no longer believe that my worth is tied up inherently with how well I do my hobbies.

You're just some guy. There's freedom in that. You, my friend - you suck <3

Let yourself be bad. Let yourself be mediocre. Let yourself 'slide backwards' or regress, because all that means is that you're putting focus somewhere else. It'll come back. It always does.

I'm no longer comfortable, therefore, with the way that the language learning community tackles productivity. Please don't misunderstand; a lot of us have time spare that we could use to do things 'better' for us. I know. But I just believe now that getting rid of things, like the time you spend on your phone, is going to be more helpful in the long run than trying to force yourself into some gruelling, achievement-centric regime that collapses from within after two months of struggle and self-flagellation.

The other realisation I have had is just how much happier I am spending more time being alive, really alive, and less time in front of a screen. For a language like German or Gaelic that's much easier, because you can study with books, but with Chinese you always have to study to some extent with audios, flashcards, computers. Especially if - like me - you can read novels without a dictionary, but cannot handwrite even your Chinese name. So where next?

I don't have any answers. I'm not sure how to pair the two things together, to be honest, because almost all of my language learning has traditionally made use of technology. It's all been goal-orientated, systems-orientated, and despite the fact that I've failed at using these systems every day for years, despite the fact that Anki has NEVER worked for me, despite the fact that I have spent hundreds if not thousands of pounds on courses here, there, a wealth of overwhelm and five thousand words saved on Pleco, did I read that right? Five thousand. No wonder I'm stressed.

Regardless of happiness, it's much easier to achieve a state of deep focus and work when you're not online. After my period of information burnout, I feel actual physical pain from the weight of choices online. It's exhausting. I'm watching a Chinese show, but I want to go on tumblr. I'm on tumblr, but I feel guilty for not watching the Chinese show. I'm constantly torn between doing this and that, never fully committing to anything, seeing a post by Lindie Botes and thinking, damn, she's good. I should be better. But I don't want to compare myself to her. Do you know what? She is good. I admire her immensely. But I don't want to judge my self-worth by some imagined scale of productivity anymore - and, the more time passes, the more I'm not sure what 'productivity' in the context of language learning even means.

Try slow, focused, deep learning. You might just find it works.

There's something refreshing, almost counter-cultural, anti-capitalist, anti-consumerist, anti-rat-race, about this thought. Slow learning. I think there's an answer here, somewhere. It's a problem I've been dancing around for a while; and do you remember how you learnt your first foreign language? For me, it was on the floor, absolutely absorbed in German comic books, flicking through the dictionary furiously and scribbling things down in a notebook. I only had one book, and one dictionary, and one grammar book. I want to go back to that sort of simplicity. There was joy in that.

One again: I don't have any answers. I don't know exactly what direction this blog is going to go in, as I wrestle with these sorts of meta-problems. I'd love to hear your thoughts. And for now, if there's one thing I'd like you to take away from this long and frankly absurdly rambling post (thank you for bearing with me!) it's an alternative answer for the question I get so often, about what you can do to learn the language when you're tired, because:

Yes, you could watch reality TV shows in Chinese, or you could give yourself permission to be human. You could rest.

Thanks guys. Meichenxi out <3

#langblr #language learning #languages #productivity #productivitytips #^ tagging it with all of the above so it reaches the target audience of stressed out 17 year olds #my dudes. my guys. you are loved. or if you are not now - you will be #all will be well

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pomefioredove · 4 months ago

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If the flirty prompts are still open, can I ask for Sebek with the prompt, "Your lips would look so much better on mine." Like the thought of him reading and accidentally saying that out loud with us around, has my brain turned to mush.

Drink some water, eat a snack, and get some sleep.💚

one more sebek fic for the fans 🫡

summary: "your lips would look so much better on mine" type of post: short fic characters: sebek additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

It'd only been a week since Sebek's birthday, and he'd already devoured every book he'd been gifted.

It was as if everyone knew exactly what to get him this year. History editions, magic analyses, training guides...

It was nothing short of a perfect repertoire.

And, soon, he was left with just one he hadn't read yet.

"How unthoughtful,"

In form, it was a nice book; hardcover, with a minimal cover illustration and engraved text, thick but not overbearing. It would make a nice encyclopedia.

Instead, it was a book of love poems.

He supposed he should expect nothing less from the vice housewarden of Pomefiore, but, still. What interest did he have in such things?

But it was all he had left, and he was not in the mood for conversation when he visited you today.

"I'll go put on some tea," you say, starting to get up from your seat. Silver stands first, though, and waves you back down.

"Please, I can do it myself. You've already been a gracious host,"

Sebek rolls his eyes, but says nothing. Silver leaves, Grim circling around him in hopes of getting a treat, and the door closes with a heavy thud.

Sebek returns to his book.

He's only about a third of the way through, and, thus far, it's been nothing but humorous. How the written word pales in comparison to fae oral traditions, he thinks.

This poem is particularly entertaining. He snickers.

"Your lips would look so much better on mine," how ridiculous.

"What?"

"What," Sebek repeats, looking up from the book at last to see your widened eyes.

The horrific realization sinks in like a slow-acting poison.

"I WAS READING!" he says, his own face going red. "I WAS READING ALOUD! THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU!"

You blink. "Oh,"

The door opens. Silver's eyes widen at the scene he's returned to, and he sets down the tea tray.

"What's happened?"

"He said my lips would look better on his," you hum, taking a warm cup from the tray.

"He what?"

"I DID NOT SAY THAT!"

"He was reading out loud," you whisper.

Silver sighs, and then nods. "Ah, I see. You should be more careful with your words, Sebek,"

"HOW DARE YOU SCOLD ME!"

"You should be glad it was only me and the prefect and not f-Lilia. He would never let you hear the end of this,"

As much is true. Sebek shuts his mouth, and Silver hands him a cup of tea to occupy himself with.

He leaves the book at Ramshackle, open on the page he was reading from.

You frame it in the guest room.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #queued

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shogunish · 1 year ago

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𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗲.

pairing. true form! sukuna x f! reader

genre. some sort of romance (?)

contents. set in the heian period, true form sukuna, reader is a concubine, after sex + casual nudity, creampie, violence, blood, mediocre poetry that i wrote myself

summary. sukuna who neither loves nor hates anyone, finds himself attracted to the poetry you write so elegantly.

words. 2.4k

note. based on this random sukuna thought i had.

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3

you had no other choice but to bang your fist against wooden gates in the pouring rain, mud staining your once white robes and strands of hair sticking to your face like a second skin.

"please, let me in!"

what else were you supposed to do when a swarm of curses suddenly terrorized your village, eating your parents' flesh alive and feasting on their corpses once they had died of shock? you had barely made it out of your home, throwing stones at the winged cursed spirits in hopes of gaining some sort of distance, an advantage.

"i'll do anything! i swear!"

you banged your fist harder until splinters pierced your skin and jumped off the wood. but the pain of it wasn't greater than the anguish of losing your loved ones, your home – a place you could no longer return to, a graveyard for the living.

tears of despair ran down your cheeks and you sobbed. wings flapped in the distance. you didn't need to turn around to know that those cursed spirits had caught up to you in the matter of a few minutes. horror crawled up your spine, slinging itself around your neck like the burn of a noose.

"please! i'm begging!"

your heart had already given up when you sunk to your knees, your mind made peace with the fact that this was it. but before you even knew what happened, someone grabbed the collar of your robes, dragged you inside and tossed your body into a puddle of mud like..like you were nothing.

"huh..?" sitting on your knees, your head shot up and your eyes widened once they caught sight of your savior and downfall.

he looked like a beast. four arms and two faces with pink hair slicked back amd an aura that nearly suffocated you. a pair of his arms was crossed over his chest, red eyes glared at you, stared right through the essence of your soul.

ryomen sukuna.

your grandparents always told you stories about him, but you never believed that anyone, or rather anything, like that could exist. nothing but a scary fairytale meant to teach children not to misuse jujutsu or else he'd eat them in their sleep. but he was real. silently, you wished you had listened to grandma and grandpa.

sukuna didn't ask for it, but your trembling body was on autopilot when you lowered your forehead to the wet ground and squeezed your eyes shut.

"do you have any idea how loud you are?" his voice was deep, obviously annoyed by your obnoxious begs and pleads to let you in, to grant you shelter from a horde of lousy cursed spirits.

you dug your fingernails into the ground. "m-my apologies.." your voice died in your throat, hoarse from screaming and begging and trembling out of pure fear. "my village..it got slaughtered and i..i just.."

"did I ask for any of your excuses?" sukuna couldn't care less about your sob story you tried serving him in an attempt to keep your life.

you were about to apologize again when clawed hands grabbed your cheeks, jerked your head upwards and forced you to look at sukuna who appeared to be bored out of his mind. wide-eyed, you stared at him with mud, tears and blood on your face. truly disgusting did you look.

"you said you'd do anything?" sukuna questioned as he regarded your fear-stricken face that looked like it was about to cry again when you dumbly nodded your head.

despite that, he had to admit that your skin seemed well taken care of and the fabric of your robes was neither too shabby nor too expensive. you were neither a farmer nor a noble, but something..in-between.

you reminded him of a poem he once read.

"the ugly little duck that many would have slaughtered

grew into a beautiful swan with grace unknown and beauty unmatched."

a silly swing of mood was all it took for sukuna to change his mind. originally, he wanted to spill the blood of the person who disturbed his rest, but he decided to give you chance to grow into something beautiful, something even someone like him could admire like the poetry he liked to read.

"you'd make a fine concubine." a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

was this..it?

you'd get to keep your life in exchange for pleasuring a mass murderer? you cringed at the thought and had half the mind to say that you'd rather be fed to the wolves than existing for a man's pleasure, but then..the images of your killed loved ones flashed before your eyes.

saying those words out loud would result in a painful, slow death. those cursed spirits would tear the flesh off your bones until you'd die of shock or blood loss.

you yielded. you did say you'd do anything.

"yes..i shall be your concubine as a sign of my gratitude."

those words sealed your fate.

sukuna called for someone named uraume, an androgynous-looking person clothed in monk robes and they took you inside where you were not only granted a bath but also a fresh pair of robes. they said they'd show you around the coming morning, that you would be to sleep in a room with the other concubines and that you had nothing to do but satisfy sukuna's sexual desires.

if you were to disobey, you would die.

just what had you gotten yourself into?

sukuna liked to believe that he didn't care about anyone. people, humans, were nothing but the dirt underneath his feet. maybe even the ants he'd squish if they were lucky enough. but even a curse such as himself found himself drawn to one of the arts humans gave birth to.

it was poetry.

those words would likely never reach sukuna's soul, but he liked the art of putting words together, to think about their meaning. after all, writing was the same as laying your soul bare – similar to showing your nude body to strangers like one of his many concubines.

in full bloom were the cherry blossoms, plum and vibrant. a spring breeze blew by and the engawa creaked underneath sukuna's bare feet. the pond's surface was disturbed by the occasional koi fish getting a little too close to the sun, the water rippled silently before coming to flawless stillness once more.

one more step and a glance towards the ground – what was this? sukuna bent down, picked up a piece of paper and upon turning it around, he was met with fine, onyx brush strokes and a neat handwriting. it was poetry.

sukuna shouldn't be as interested as he was, but maybe it was the good mood he had which allowed him to indulge himself in such silly thing.

"dreams are like bubbles.

fragile and transient, one touch and they cease to exist.

so why is it that i keep blowing bubbles,

hoping that the wind will be more gentle with them than my own fingertips?"

"if pain is time, then this must be eternity."

"his claws, so sharp and lethal and drenched in his arrogance's blood, almost feel as gentle as the breeze ringing in the spring."

and when sukuna raised his gaze, wanting to find a trace of the person who wrote these lines with such anguish, ruby irises found your form sitting underneath a tree. a little book was in your hands, black ink on the tips of your fingers as you dragged the brush across the paper. a faraway look in your eyes and glossy lips parted ever so slightly as you wrote down word for word.

who would've thought that a mere concubine, a woman whose purpose was to please sukuna in any way possible, was capable of creating such beauty? of executing such etiquette and carrying the brush with the sorrows of days gone by.

what else was going on in your mind, in that little soul of yours?

"sukuna. is everything alright?" uraume asked as they emerged from a sliding door. they had just come back from aiding the maids with a task that they needed help with and upon coming back, uraume immediately noticed the foreign expression on sukuna's face.

was this..awe..curiosity..or something entirely different? they couldn't tell.

sukuna crumpled the piece of paper in his fist. "yeah. no need to worry." he reassured his subordinate, but..those words were directed to himself as well.

soon after, sukuna requested you more often and kept you by his side for a little while before you'd pick up your kimono from the ground to go back to your own chambers to wash the sin off your body.

candles lit up sukuna's chamber, dipping the walls in hues of orange and yellow as the flame flickered. paintings as well as weapons made for war decorated the space – tools which still scared you, because what could a being such as sukuna do with these weapons? he could likely do worse than just murder you, you thought.

a sheen of sweat coated your nude body. your breasts rose and fell with each deep breath you took and sukuna's marks littered your skin. his bites on your neck, fingerprints on your thighs and the marks of his claws on your hips which were partly bloody. semen leaking from your entrance, you shivered.

"may i assume you're satisfied for the night, sukuna?" you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes still hazy from your orgasm.

sukuna's lower arm was wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. it was the most gentle touch you had ever received from him.

he hummed as if he was in thought. "..not quite."

immediately, you squirmed into a more upright position, eyes wide and shimmering even in the dim light. "i promise i can do better! if you let me just–" deft fingers attempted to raise the blanket from sukuna's lower half, but he stopped you, shaking his head.

"no, not that. rather.." he trailed off, watching the confusion grow in your eyes. "..i desire to know whether it's you who's lost a page of poetry?" sukuna's voice was deep, smooth like velvet, yet as dark as the abyss in his pupils. "the other concubines wouldn't even know how to write poetry, so..the only one left is you, [name]."

heat rose to your face. ashamed, you raise the blanket up to your collarbone as if it could hide the words sukuna had found. "..how did you..?"

"i found it when i stepped on it." sukuna was gentle when he cupped your chin with his clawed fingers and made you look at him. "consider me impressed."

surprise was written all over your face, lips parted, eyes wide and all that. you swore your heart was beating in your throat. did sukuna, the king of curses, just praise you?

he never praised anyone.

"..pardon..?" you breathed out. was this some kind of dream? a lucid dream? or maybe you were put under a spell? whichever it was..it felt pleasant.

"i'm not going to repeat myself." sukuna brushed a few strands of hair out of your face, tucking the strand behind your ear. "but i am going to keep you by my side. it appears that you're good for more than meets the eye."

that night, sukuna handed you a brush, ink and a piece of paper. he kept you by his side the entire night, wanting to hear the words you put to paper until you had fallen asleep with your head on his shoulder and his marks on your skin.

people said that love came all different shapes and forms: platonic love, familial love, erotic love, the love one held towards a pet and so on. if one were to ask sukuna what sort of affections he held towards you when you sat by his side, filling pages of poetry for him to read, he likely would remain silent.

because as arrogant as he was as the king of curses, as much as he didn't care about anyone but himself, he could not deny the fact that, in your company, he found peace amidst the violence that he caused himself.

sukuna liked the way you sat next to him with no fear, gentle eyes focused on that little notebook and a brush in your hand. silently would you sit next to the catastrophe that was sukuna, pouring your feelings onto paper that would one day fade and crumble like leaves in the wind. yes, even your tranquil self would one day fade into nothing like the ink on your papers.

"will you miss me when it's my turn to go?" you asked without looking at sukuna. a few cherry blossoms petals got tangled in your hair.

sukuna was gentle when he used one of his hands to pick the petal out of your hair. he should've said no without hesitating so long, because despite your appearance, you were awfully perceptive – that much sukuna had learned.

a smile graced your lips. seated next to sukuna on the engawa had become your favorite pastime even though he would use your body later on with no regard for your aching limbs.

"what? am I dear to you?" you teased the king of curses. within the last few months, you had become attuned to each other without meaning to.

"..if it is possible for a curse to love."

a sigh slipped sukuna's lips. he begrudgingly entertained your thoughts. "it seems that my treatment towards you has got to your head, [name]."

at that, you giggle into your notebook, eyes closed and the apples of your cheeks tinting a hue of red. "maybe a little bit. i was merely wondering if.."

sukuna was certain that he didn't love you, but rather the words you wrote. they flowed like water, written with grace unknown and beauty unmatched. each syllable was either fragile like a petal or sturdy like a warrior on horseback. it was funny how your poetry was a reflection of yourself.

when you sat next to sukuna, you were tender but when he'd order you into his chamber, you'd take and obey his orders like a samurai with nothing but moans on your lips.

"my affection has nothing to do with you." sukuna said after a pause.

"how sad." you mused, putting your brush down. "a being who has been living for so long and never experienced any sort of love. it must be lonely."

that day when you pressed a kiss to sukuna's cheek like a lover would, he wondered…if maybe you were attached to him instead.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna

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thecherrytarot · 2 years ago

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

how will they heal you?

pile 1 → pile 2 → pile 3

Pick the photo you feel the most drawn to and please remember that this is a general reading so take what resonates!!

listen to: love me like that by Sam Kim

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏:

"you see the world in colours i view it black and white. paint me a picture, out of the lines that i live in all of the time"

They will heal you by letting you shine in your feminine energy, regardless of your gender. With them, you feel in touch with your divine feminine energy and your creative side will shine. They will help you gain strength and for some of you, it could even mean that they give you the strength and confidence to be vulnerable and show emotions. You no longer have to pretend that you are some cold-hearted person that isn't affected by anything. I just saw someone crying alone and then heard a voice say "It is okay, let it out, I am here with you" so take however that resonates. They will help you by showing you the world through a new and better perspective. You will stop looking at life through illusions and negative ways. I feel like in some way or the other they will remind you of your past self, the one that you had to leave behind in order to move forward. They will bring that version of you back and make you believe in a 'magical world' once again.

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐:

"sunshine left today, got caught in the rain, all alone. can you come and pick me up from my blues? or am I late to ask you?"

This might be someone who is a foreigner and/or a long distance and for some of you, you might meet them when studying abroad (either you or them also could be both) I keep thinking about the movie "Like Crazy" where an American guy falls in love with a British student but yours is with a much happier ending. They will heal you by being there for you, life will feel less complicated and you will feel like all that you have been through was worth and now no matter what happens you will rise because now you have someone that has your back. You will get out of your bubble with them and be more sociable and childlike (i keep imaging a bunch of friends driving in a car late at night, listening to indie/alt songs and singing out loud, laughing and having the time of their lives) also instead of how will they heal, I'm getting the message of the connection feels like. There will be a strong psychic connection between you and them, the moment your eyes meet you will know and they will know that this is the "warmth" that you both have been searching for. Like when Lana Del Rey said it in her poem called The land of 1,000 fires, "I have never really fallen in love but whatever this feeling is i wish everyone could experience it."

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑:

(this pile has a similar message to pile 1, so make sure to check it out in case you felt drawn to it)

"i get defensive and insecure my own worst critic behind a closing door, i'm fragile and fractured, that's for sure, i burned myself down to the ground. oh, can I ask of you to treat me soft and tender, love me hard and true? keep my heart from building walls so high, you can't get through, treat me soft and tender"

They will heal you by helping you love yourself and how you need to give importance to yourself first and that too in a healing manner instead of selfish (your old pattern) You might have thought that you knew how to take care of yourself by prioritizing yourself but still found yourself being stuck in the same old negative cycles, they will help you understand the true and the raw meaning of self-love. They help you by providing the stability that you always desired. I feel like a lot of you were abandoned in the past and after that, you put your guard up and pushed people away from you but then you come across them, and it takes you by surprise because you didn't expect to catch feelings for someone so fast. You found yourself in a dilemma because you have such strong feelings for them and yet, you feel afraid cause you don't want them to abandon you. Don't worry, they will help you get out of your old and no longer-needed mindset of resisting the change that you know will set you free.

#future spouse tarot reading #fs tarot reading #fs tarot #love tarot reading #love tarot #free tarot reading #pac tarot #pac reading #general tarot reading #tarot reading #pick a card reading #free tarot #love pac #fs pac

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evanslvr · 2 years ago

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𝙫𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙙 𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 < 𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑜𝑛 >

• 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙯𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 •

• 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙔 𝙀𝙓𝙋𝙇𝙄𝘾𝙄𝙏 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝘼𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿•

𝙖/𝙣: 𝙞𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙡𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙞 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙔 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩

(𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙯𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪)

wc: 912

•••

𝑝𝑟𝑒-𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒:

I couldn't stop staring at her, she was so beautiful and goddess like. The way she would play with her hair and the way she would smile was so hypnotic. I would love to see her on her knees, looking up at me with those pretty eyes, or to have her laying on my bed as I fucked her, showing her no mercy. I would kill just to hear her moan out my name and beg for me to slow down.

***

"Tate, Tate please! It's too much!" She whimpers, as i thrusted harshly into her tight pussy. I wrap my hand around her neck and squeeze hardly, making her whimper even louder. "I'm almost there baby," I growl in her ear, "you're gonna make me cum soon." She moans loudly and arches her head back into the pillow, still pleading for me to slow down my pace. I wasn't going to, I wanted her to feel every inch of me inside of her.

I grab her wrists and pin them over her head, holding her in place. I could hear the slapping sounds of our bodies meeting and the wet squelching noises that came from between us. I leaned forward and kissed her softly, letting my tongue slide into her mouth as I slowly pulled out. I pushed back in, fucking her harder and faster until we were both breathing heavily.

"Please..." She begs, gasping for air. "I can't take it anymore!" I pull out completely and slam back into her again, this time much more forcefully. She screams and bucks against me as I bury myself deep inside of her, hitting all the right spots. "Oh, baby, you're so fucking tight.."I pant, feeling my cock pulsing with pleasure.

Her body trembles and shakes, and I can tell she's close to another orgasm. I push her onto her back and lean over her, kissing her deeply before I suck on her neck. She gasps and shivers, pressing her chest against mine. Her hands run through my messy hair, and I can feel her nails digging deeply into my scalp.

"Don't stop...don't stop...please don't stop," she cries, I grab her legs and spread them a little wide, giving me full access to her pussy. I bite her shoulder and hold her down, continuing to thrust into her with all my strength. "Fuck yes! Oh fuck!" She screams, her voice cracking. I watch as her whole body tenses up, and then she lets out a long wail of ecstasy.

I start to feel light headed as well, but I keep going. I want to give her the most intense orgasm possible, and I know I can do it. "Come on baby, come for me," I whisper in her ear, rubbing my thumb along her clit. She groans and starts to buck her hips up against me, pushing me deeper inside of her. I reach up and cup her breasts, squeezing them roughly as I continue to thrust. "Yes! Yes! Oh God, YES!" She screams, arching her back and throwing her head back. Her body goes rigid and she starts to shake violently, clenching around me as she cums.

I let go of her arms and grab her thighs, holding her steady. Loud moans escaped my mouth and that's when I quickly pulled out and released onto her stomach, nearly coating it . She gasps for breath and lays still, catching her breath.

***

"Tate?" I instantly jump out of my thoughts once I heard a voice. I look in the direction of the voice and surprisingly it was Y/n. "O-oh..h-hey..Y/n."

"What are you doing here?" I ask, turning towards her. "I uhm...I just wanted to see if i could borrow the poem you're reading. You know. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." She says, blushing slightly.

I nod, handing the book over to her. "Thanks, Tate." She says, smiling subtly. I smile back at her and then look away. "Also, Tate, uh.." She starts. "You know that science project we have?" I nodded, "Well, I don't really have a partner so I was wondering if you would wanna be my partner? It's okay if you don't want to."

I was shocked and flustered. Out of all the people she knows why would she choose me? "Uhm, really? Are-are you sure?" I stammer. She nods, biting her

lip. "Yeah, I am." She takes a deep breath and looks at me, straight into my eyes. "Oh..well..maybe we could do it at your house?" I said, hoping she'll say yes. I really don't want her to meet my mother. "Yeah, sure that'll be fine. See you later, Tate.." She says, walking away.

I stare after her, wondering what just happened. I was so confused, nobody really wanted to hang out with me so it was surprising to have her ask me that. Plus, it was weird, knowing that I just fantasized about her. I can't believe I did that. I was so embarrassed when I realized what I was thinking.

God, I'm such a weirdo.

••••

A/n: I need professional help. I apologize deeply for my sins.

#ahs #ahs fanfic #evan peters #tate langdon #kit walker #kai anderson #smut #tate langdon smut #american horror story #kit walker ahs #ahs murder house #ahs coven #ahs smut #fanfiction #smut fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic smut #evanpeters

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abyssal-author-and-artist · 24 days ago

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My blog is generally pretty lighthearted and I stick to reblogging art and fic and fun stuff, but you know what. I feel like I need to say this.

I am a trans teen in the US. I'm seventeen, so too young to have voted. I'm terrified for my life right now. I usually post about college but I'm actually concurrently enrolled in high school still and the kid who sits behind me in first period government is a massive Trump fanboy. I'm going to have to go to high school Monday and talk about the election. I'm going to have to hear my deadname called and hear people in my super conservative high school talk about how happy they are Trump won. Everything is terrifying. I walk outside of my house and I'm scared I'll be shot. Several months ago I promised that I'd kill myself if that bastard won.

He did and I'm still here.

I'm not thriving. I'm not living my best life. I'm barely living. But I'm surviving. I'm coping. I'm trying my goddamned best. It's hard. I want so bad to just go and take as much medication as I can and slit my wrist for good measure and pass away in my sleep. But I'm still here. And I will be here.

I am in so much pain. But I'm living on spite and determination and everything I can scrape together. I know I need support and those around me need support. So consider this a support masterpost.

Support:

First thing you should see if you're a trans person in the US.

Here's a link to the Trevor Project and here's a link to their suicide hotline page. They've already saved my life once before. Please note - they recommend calling if you need immediate support. Donate if you can, please.

This post is both a suicide hotline masterlist and a post mentioning how something feels deeply wrong here with this election.

On the topic of something being wrong, sign this petition. I'm only seventeen but I did this and it might not feel like much but if we couldn't shoot that bastard (I am not pro-gun but I am when it comes to him) then we'll do the next best thing. Here's the link to the petition itself. Make sure to check the post every once in a while - the original petition got taken down and this is important.

I follow a lot of gimmick blogs, so I got to see this post encouraging us to be loud. Because we should be. Because if we die they've won and my mom didn't smoke weed on the steps of the state capital of Colorado to legalize it just so her son could roll over and die.

Here is the Tumblr Hot Beverage Masterpost, as I've taken to calling it. My personal favorites are the London Fog in the replies, earl grey with milk, honey, and vanilla (in the tags), and some additions from me are hot chocolate with peppermint melted into it, earl grey with lavender, caramel apple tea, and really anything else you can think of. Trust me. This post works better than you think.

Read this post if you haven't seen it already. It's half poem, half Tumblr being Tumblr, all wonderful to read.

Things I just like to see:

PM Seymour and Bettina Levy both have shown their support for everyone struggling right now. It might not be much, but I still really appreciate it and seeing support can really help.

The cat with the kind and reassuring face. No other context.

Four panel comic of hope. Because you're more than enough.

Can't find the post where I found this but this is a link to a virtual toy where you can make your own galaxy.

Please. Eat something. Drink a hot beverage. Draw, write, read, knit, sew, sculpt, bake, do something that helps. Reach out to friends, even if they're online friends. Talk to someone you trust. Make vent art. Write vent fics. It doesn't matter what you do as long as it helps.

Do not roll over and die. Live. Live on spite. Live on determination. Live on shitposts and live on heartfelt stories like this one. If you have anything to add to this post please do. Add more resources. Add more love to this post. I know I'm just a guy on the internet saying shit, but I still care about everyone who sees this post.

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babybemydownfall · 3 months ago

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things that shimmer in the dark Part IV: Rhys ( Part III ) There was no point denying it so I kissed her instead, hard and demanding. I wanted her tongue on mine, her body melting, opening for me; wanted to make love to her, to feel her surrender - to us, and everything we could be. AKA An all night love-fest in the Archeron manor. Definitely NSFW. Read on AO3 or under the cut below. (Also, I only recently realised that my avatar, which comes from a poem by Iain S Thomas and which I've had for 10+ years, is Rhysand: There you are. I've been looking for you. How spooky.)

By the time we retired to bed after finalising our letter to the Queens, it was gone midnight. Feyre was tense and exhausted. I’d felt her all afternoon and evening, her shield weak, her emotions pouring out across our bond. She’d been anxious and angry; frustrated and forgiving. And whenever she looked at me, she burned.

I had worn a mask all my life, ingrained in me from a young age. And I had very rarely let it slip, despite times when I’d felt overwhelming rage or fear or despair. But it turned out that the most powerful distraction of all was lust. Whenever Feyre turned her beautiful blue-grey eyes on me, I struggled to stay composed, to keep my expression neutral and my breathing even. When her awful oldest sister questioned whether she was too good for human food anymore and Feyre replied that she could eat, drink, fuck and fight even better than before, my fork clanged to my plate as everything inside me went taut with desire. I wanted her so badly, so immediately, that it took every ounce of my willpower not to grab her and winnow us straight back to my house.

And later, as we wrote and rewrote the damned letter, the four of us arguing over each word and punctuation mark, her closeness was certainly a hindrance. When she leaned in to read what I’d written, I felt her long hair brushing my neck; the curve of her breast against my arm. The scent of her skin, of her arousal, was intoxicating. I would not let Cass and Azriel suspect a thing but whenever I was sure they weren’t looking, I touched her as much as I dared - my finger brushing hers on the page; my thigh shifting on my chair so it pressed against her knee. I loved the way her body reacted: a soft, short inhale; a pulse of longing down the bond.

I found myself thinking multiple times that I was so glad we had had each other in the kitchen earlier. I couldn’t imagine how difficult the rest of the day would have been without that release. And I had meant what I’d said to her there: this thing between us was a bad idea, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I had spent the previous day avoiding her, my mind constantly churning over what I should do. Getting drunk hadn’t helped - I only ended up sad and missing her. I had barely slept afterwards, thanks to the alcohol and my racing thoughts and the memories of our first morning together which left me with a very persistent erection.

When she found me in the kitchen, I still didn’t know what the right thing to do was. But as soon as I scented her, when I saw how fucking stunning she looked and how she went slack with longing for me, I realised there was no actual choice here. I couldn’t just bare myself to her - literally and emotionally - and simply walk away. She was my mate. This was bigger than both of us: it was what the Cauldron had destined; a bond more sacred and permanent than any other. It was inescapable. Undeniable. And Feyre didn’t know the truth, but I knew she felt it too: that we were something extraordinary.

And now, finally, we were alone together once again. She hadn’t reacted when I’d said we would share a room - a room I had immediately shielded, to keep loud sounds in and bad things out. But she did turn to me in surprise when I made my own bed appear and sat down on it.

“What are you doing?”

I looked up at her, still dressed in her stunning turquoise outfit. She wore it like she belonged in the Night Court. Or perhaps it wore her. It wanted her - just as I did.

“Being on my best behaviour,” I replied evenly. “We’re in your father’s house. I didn’t know if you’d want to…”

“I’ve spent all evening trying to keep my hands off you. And now you don’t want to touch me?”

She sounded like she was annoyed with me, which made me smile. “Oh, I do want to touch you, Feyre darling.” My voice was low. “Every single inch of you.”

There was a fire crackling in the hearth across the room and it shone in her dark eyes, in the golden waves of her hair. I leaned back on my outstretched arms and her gaze travelled down my body. I was still fully dressed but she knew what lay beneath now; and if I hadn’t been wearing black, she would have been able to see my cock rise in my pants.

“The last time I was in this house,” she said quietly, “I left to run after Tamlin. To go under the mountain and save him. And yet here I am, barely any time later… with you.” She tugged at her sleeve, looking around the room. “That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

I waited until her eyes met mine again. She seemed so vulnerable, so young all of a sudden. “I don’t think it is,” I told her honestly. “I don’t think time is what matters, in our case.”

“Then what does matter?”

I held out my hand. “Come here.”

Slowly she moved towards me and took it, standing between my legs. I may as well have been kneeling before her again, such was her position of power over me right now.

“What matters, Feyre, is how you feel. What makes you happy. What helps you heal. And I think I can speak to that, because you are all those things for me. Already.”

I felt her tremble in front of me. She was scared. And I knew why - but I couldn’t hide the depth of my feelings from her. I didn’t want to.

“Why does this seem so… inevitable?” she whispered.

Because I am your mate.

I could have told her then. No doubt it would have helped ease the guilt she still carried over Tamlin, the confusion she felt over us. But this was not the place: not in the human lands, in her family home; not when there was danger out there, lurking beyond my Court’s protection. And not when it meant I would have to face her rejection - because she wasn’t ready yet. Wasn’t healed, wasn’t strong enough. And neither was I, to have her push me away.

For now I would take whatever she was willing to give - her friendship, her smiles, her body - and not think too far into the future. As she had so wisely said: we might all die soon. And I would be a fool not to enjoy every moment with her, because I had known from the second I first saw her that she was the light in my eternal darkness.

Instead of saying any of that, I lifted my hands to her hips and guided her to straddle my lap. She did so without hesitation, settling halfway along my thighs - not near enough to feel how hard I was for her. Not yet. But having her this close, all to myself behind a locked door, I felt my soul sigh.

There you are. I’ve been looking for you.

“Perhaps it is inevitable,” I said softly. “The question is, what do you want to do about it? You are in charge here. I will follow your lead.”

I had never uttered those words before, outside of battle when I fell in line behind my commander. But I trusted Feyre with everything I was. I saw her, with all her broken pieces and her courageous human heart and the magic she contained which had nothing to do with her powers. I wanted it all.

And she wanted me too. It was in her beautiful eyes; written all over her face. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her neck. I felt her body melt in my arms, her head tilting back. My name rose from her lips to the ceiling, like a prayer.

“Rhys.”

I kissed her there again, the scent of her blood filling my senses; moved up to her ear where I breathed: “What do you want, darling?”

Her fingers slid into my hair, drawing me back so she could look at me. At the same time, I took hold of her hips and pulled her into me, connecting the heat of her core with the raging hardness of mine.

The air sparked around us and we both groaned.

“You,” Feyre murmured, her breath on my mouth, her gaze filled with nothing but lust - that most powerful of emotions, sweeping everything else aside. “I want you. All over me. All night long.”

A smile started to form on my lips but she kissed me before it got there. And from that moment on, we were lost. Our hands slipped beneath each other’s clothes onto warm, sensitive skin. I had never had the pleasure of physically undressing her before, of slowly revealing her exquisite body inch by inch. I followed the fabric of her top with my lips, from her navel to her ribcage to her bare breasts, so pert and full and ready for my attention. She moaned so headily when I circled my tongue over her nipples and I could smell her arousal as it flooded her underwear, as she ground herself against my length.

The top disappeared over her head and then we worked together to remove mine as well. As our mouths found each other again I slid my arm up along the column of her spine, my hand splayed between her shoulder blades, and drew her further into me so her bare chest pressed against mine. Her kisses were voracious, her moans constant as she rocked her hips and took her pleasure from me.

Untamed Feyre was the hottest thing I had ever encountered.

And then she suddenly pulled back to look at me, her eyes so dark with desire, her voice husky as she commanded: “Take me to bed, Rhys.”

I could not have refused her if my life depended on it.

I carried her there, drawing back the duvet and laying her down. I had already warmed the sheets and she looked surprised, grateful. But she didn’t speak - couldn’t, perhaps - as she grasped at my shoulders and pulled me onto her, reclaiming my mouth, touching every part of me within reach. I covered us again, burying down with her into the softness of the bed as we kissed on and on. I had never known how thoroughly arousing it was, to be half-bare and writhing around by the light of the fire, our sounds hushed and urgent. Despite my shield, we were both aware of my brothers just next door, of Feyre’s sisters down the hall - but that only added to the mood.

This was secret and sacred and ours.

I eventually trailed my lips down to her breasts again, and then further - kissing her centre through her trousers before kneeling between her legs and slipping them off entirely. She was wearing the same lacy white panties I’d watched her put back on in the kitchen, and they were wet through. I heard myself growl as I pulled them off too, the urge to taste her impossible to resist, but she stopped me from getting anywhere near her with her bare foot on my chest.

I stared at her, unable to fathom why she would deny me.

“I’m in charge, remember?” she said firmly. “Lie down.”

Giving up control was not natural for me - but Feyre was a goddess and I obeyed.

She made very quick work of my pants and underwear, and then slid all the way down the bed and wrapped her hot mouth around me. I had never known anything so good before: the sight of her there, the brush of her hair and her hands on my thighs and abdomen, the way she sucked and licked and bobbed up and down-

I reached for her after barely any time at all, tugging on her shoulders, groaning her name. But she ignored me and carried on. Her eyes met mine and I imprinted the image in my mind, of the lust and determination in her gaze, of my cock disappearing between her lips over and over again, her rhythm faultless, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Feyre,” I gasped, “I’m-”

She scratched her fingernails all the way down my torso and I came, so hard I lost all of my senses for the longest, most ecstatic moment. I felt her fingers cover my mouth, to keep me quiet, but there was no fucking chance when her tongue was still swirling over me, when my hips were still bucking and I was still coming. It was unbearable and heavenly and I never, ever wanted it to end.

Eventually I did return to the present; felt Feyre retreat and opened my eyes to find her looking down at me with a very satisfied smirk. I was too dazed to speak, to tell her how fucking amazing she felt and what I wanted to do to her next - but it didn’t matter. She had let her fingers drift down onto my chest; I took her wrist and brought her palm back to my lips, licking the tattooed eye there in a single broad stroke. Her smirk disappeared as she felt me in her very core.

I tugged on her hips, pulling her up my body until she was kneeling over my face. She braced herself on the headboard and I inhaled her incredible scent, all her muscles trembling, her breathing shallow, ragged. And then I feasted on her, gorging myself on her softness and her taste, eating her gorgeous cunt until she was all over my face. I kneaded her ass, explored her thighs; slid two fingers inside her and fucked her like that while I sucked on her clit. She came in no time at all, with a muffled scream and a gush of wetness which I lapped up like I was dying of thirst.

When she collapsed onto me, I gently drew her back down into bed to lie by my side so we were facing one another, our limbs loosely entwined. I took half a second to clean my face with magic, but left her taste on my tongue. It would be sacrilege to erase that.

She smiled, gazing at me through heavily lidded eyes. “You are very good at that,” she said, and she shivered - an aftershock. It made my cock ache for her.

“You taste fucking divine, Feyre. I can’t get enough of you. And your mouth…” I outlined her lips with my thumb; they parted and I traced over her bottom teeth too. “So pretty, yet so wicked. I’ve never felt anything so phenomenal.”

I pressed my lower body into hers, letting her know I was ready for more. She looked straight at me and bit down on my nail, firm enough to hurt. Beneath the duvet I felt her hand wrap around my length. Flames roared to life in my blood once more and I hissed, like the wild beast I was.

“So eager,” she teased, licking the sensitive pad of my thumb.

There was no point denying it so I kissed her instead, hard and demanding. I wanted her tongue on mine, her body melting, opening for me; wanted to make love to her, to feel her surrender - to us, and everything we could be. Without thinking I reached for her down the bond, needing her closer, even though physically there was no space between us. As I felt her grip onto me, an embrace around my very soul, I rolled on top of her perfect body and thrust inside her: back where I belonged.

She cried out at being so full; hooked her legs around my waist, inviting me deeper, and I moved slowly at first, trying to be restrained until that became impossible. She felt so good, so right, that I just couldn’t contain myself. And she wanted it: I felt her desire envelop mine inside my mind, where we were intertwined; swallowed the words she gasped into my mouth - “Harder… More… Rhys! Fuck… Yes, more…”

I tilted her pelvis with my hand and reached new depths, and she broke away from my kiss to let out the most guttural sound as she clenched and shook and stretched around me. I dipped my head, sucking on her neck, her right breast, her nipple; kept rolling my hips, fucking her faster and harder than ever before. We were both grunting, moaning, sweat on our skin, her nails digging into my back - and then we were coming, together, a crescendo of movement and sound and rising, cresting pleasure that felt like it would never end.

It didn’t, for a long time. I might have drifted off to sleep briefly, for when I next opened my eyes I was lying on my front on the bed, the duvet over my lower body, feeling more relaxed than I had in decades.

I reached out for Feyre down the bond, checking she was okay; felt her in the adjoining bathroom and closed my eyes again, letting myself doze. Eventually I heard her footsteps on the carpet and then the bed shifted as she sat beside me. Her fingertips traced lightly down my spine and I groaned at how nice it felt.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos here,” she said softly. “And your wings…” She touched the strong muscles of my upper back. “I want to see you with them.”

My voice was so low it made my ribcage vibrate. “You have.”

“Naked,” she clarified.

I smiled. “One day. Not here.”

She leaned in, surrounding me with her scent, her hair; pressed gentle kisses to my ear, my cheek, the corner of my lips. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched me with so much tenderness. The last time anyone had cared about me like this. It made my throat hurt.

When I finally opened my eyes her face was all I could see, so close to mine, our every breath shared. She smiled and sat back up, and that’s when I realised she was wearing my shirt. It was unbuttoned, and she was still completely naked beneath. I had never seen anything so sexy.

My emotions were forgotten in an instant.

“Feyre.”

I rose up, kneeling in front of her, taking her in.

“I was cold,” she said, a little defensive, a little surprised by the strength of my reaction.

“You look…” I reached for her, pulling her against me. I had thought I was completely sated - I was wrong. “Let me warm you up.”

This insatiable need for each other, this wild passion - it felt endless. Frenzied. We fell to the bed and she straddled my waist, discarding the shirt to the floor. As she began to kiss me all over, the small part of my brain which remained functional wondered what would happen if she ever accepted the mating bond. How we would survive.

Then it gave in as Feyre washed over me, as I let myself drown in her once again.

When she rode me she held my hands, our fingers interlaced. I could do nothing but stare at her. The way the firelight danced over the planes of her body as she moved; the flush on her skin, the dark desire pouring from her eyes. I was no painter, but she was a piece of art.

“Feyre darling,” I breathed, grazing my palms along her thighs, feeling my climax building slowly, deliciously. “Will you touch yourself for me? I want to watch you.”

Her dream of me was only a night ago - it felt like a century.

She put her fingers in my mouth and I licked them, my desire rocketing at how fearless she was, how unembarrassed. If I had thought she’d be hesitant in bed or perhaps shied by our age gap, by her relative lack of experience, I was wrong. And yet she was not a sultry, confident vixen either. I could only conclude that she really did trust me, enough to be herself, to show herself to me - to be bare in every possible way.

And that made me more hopeful for our future together than anything else we’d said or done.

Now she circled her clit, her left hand holding her breast, pinching her nipple. Her tattoos were a stunning contrast to the rest of her pale skin. When the sensations became too much, her head tilted back and her spine arched, her long messy curls almost reaching her bottom. And still I watched, my hips now thrusting of their own accord, meeting her movements. I was already at the edge; could have let myself fall at any second. But I held on, waiting for her, completely awed by how fucking incredible she was.

If things had been different, I would have told her I loved her. The words were on the tip of my tongue, filling my mind. I let the smallest trickle of that golden feeling travel down the bond to her. Even though she didn’t know its name, I knew she liked it - saw the smile on her lips, felt her clench and tighten as I pounded into her harder, faster, as she peaked and then shattered.

It was too much. I lifted her off me, turning her onto her front, pulling up her hips. She was weak, boneless; still in the throes of her pleasure. “You have to be quiet,” I rasped and then I thrust inside her again, deeper than ever before. Her hands fisted the duvet and she bit it, her screams subdued but still there, still heavenly to hear.

“Feyre,” I groaned, the sweetest sound in the world. “Fuck, Feyre. You feel- I’m so- ”

I spilled inside her with a roar, breaking my own rule but utterly unable to care. I felt her coming too, a continuation of her last orgasm. Endless, all-consuming fulfilment.

This time we were both thoroughly done. I fell to her side, bringing her body with me so I was spooned up behind her, quickly cleaning us up with half a thought. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to move again. I didn’t want to. I pressed my face into her neck, inhaling her, wishing I could disappear into her forever. If there was nothing else but this, I would die happy.

Our breathing gradually slowed. The fire had burned low, the moon now illuminating us through the uncovered window. I ran the fingers of my left hand along the ink on Feyre’s arm, watching as the soft blonde hairs stood on end in my wake. I knew the bond that tied us together wasn’t the bargain that had been written on her skin: it was the mating bond. That’s why we could communicate, why we could feel so much of each other. I wondered how it would change if we were ever truly mated. How much more of her I would feel, how deeply I would know her. I wanted her to be mine so badly it made my soul ache.

The bond was another secret I kept. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold it inside.

“What time is it?” she asked, her words merging into a yawn.

“Fuck knows.” I was tired and emotional, which always made me swear more. That and having sex with Feyre.

I pulled the covers over us and then looked outside. The air was still and crisp. There had been snowfall earlier, but it had stopped now. “Usually,” I said, voicing my thoughts aloud, “I can feel the night. The coming of the dawn. But the darkness is different on this side of the Wall. It’s not… mine.”

She turned her head towards me. The moonlight caught her eyes, making them shine. “I love your darkness,” she said quietly. “I feel it, under my skin. It soothes me. Of all the powers I was given, yours is my favourite.”

You were made for me, I wanted to tell her. Wanted to shout it, for the whole world to hear. It’s so obvious. Can’t you see?

And then she went on sleepily: “The nights feel longer here. I was born on the longest, actually. The Winter Solstice.”

I was stunned. Totally speechless. She must have mistaken my silence for fatigue, because she whispered goodnight and in less than a minute, she was asleep.

I held her, wide awake, heart hammering. I kissed the point of her ear and murmured, so softly it was almost inaudible: “You are my mate, Feyre Archeron. And I fucking love you.”

TBC...

#feysand #feysand smut #feysand fanfic #feyre x rhysand #feysand fic

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joekeeryswife · 2 years ago

Text

Regretful - s.h & e.m

hello loves i hope you’re all okay, this is my first steddie x reader imagine and idk why i’m so nervous but there defo will be a part two (because it’s angst tehe). this is also so short so i’m sorry. please request some steddie x reader, Steve and Eddie imagines i’m honestly running out of ideas. probably has a few mistakes but please take your time to read this and enjoy 🤍

taglist (feel free to add yourself🤍) : @loverboy-poems

you and Steve were both angry- angry at each other and Eddie had no idea what to do. the argument had started all because Steve had compared you to Nancy yet again.

Steve felt like he had done nothing wrong- all he said was he ‘didn’t think Nancy would be as loud as you’ when you were joking around with Robin and you finally snapped. you had never bought it to light that Steve compared you to Nancy but it was getting to you, making you feel insecure and you had enough.

now you were back at Eddie’s trailer screaming at each other. “well done y/n. always making a scene for the littlest things. was it really necessary?” Steve clapped his hands sarcastically. Eddies head was going back and forth as he watched the two of you argue.

“god Steve you’re infuriating. you have no idea how you make me feel when you do that” your anger was boiling inside you. Steve rolled his eyes at the comment. “this was the first time i said anything about Nancy y/n. you’re so sensitive”

you could be sensitive and you knew that but with this you knew you definitely weren’t being sensitive. you scoffed. “no i’m not Steve. you compare me to Nancy all the time”

now you were really shouting at each other and it was echoing through the trailer. “guys cmon-” Eddie was cut off almost instantly “shut up Eddie” both you and Steve shouted, turning your attention towards him.

that made Eddie settle into the sofa and just observe the two of you- what more could he do? “all you do when she’s around is compare me to her” you said in a calmer voice, if you were being honest you didn’t want to argue in the first place. all you wanted to do was let Steve know how he was making you feel when he compared you to Nancy.

“you’re delusional. i’ve never compared you to her” Steve wasn’t just angry, he was confused- he never ever compared you to Nancy. well, from what he thought. you rolled your eyes and shook your head. he really wasn’t getting it. “you need to realise that not everything revolves around you y/n- Nancy would never-”

“don’t you even finish that sentence Steve.” you cut him off, not wanting to hear him compare you to her yet again. “you don’t get to say you’ve never done it when you clearly do it all the time and to be honest with you it’s making me not like myself because all i do now is compare myself to Nancy when you’re around and i shouldn’t have to. i’m my own person and you should love me for me”

Steve laughed “y/n that’s a little dramatic” you couldn’t believe it- he was completely disregarding your feelings like they were some sort of joke to him. “are you seriously laughing at me Steve? all you do is compare me to Nancy- i understand she was your first love but you’ve got to realise i’m not Nancy and i never will be.” your anger was building up again.

“yeah well sometimes i wish you were” Steve shouted. wow. “enough” Eddie stood up- this had gone too far. your eyes filled with tears as your anger subsided into hurt. you had never in your almost year long relationship ever felt this hurt.

Steve never wanted to take words back until now. he instantly regretted it. of course he didn’t wish you were Nancy- you were perfect the way you were and he knew he took this too far. you looked down at the trailer floor as a few tears fell from your eyes. you knew Steve still had love for Nancy and he always would but this was just mean.

“y/n. i’m so sorry-” you sniffled, not wanting to hear his stupid apologies. Eddie had now gotten between the both of you and was facing you. both of his lovers arguing over something that could have been avoided if Steve just realised what he was doing.

your tears were quickly flowing down your flushed cheeks as his words sank in. “baby calm down” Eddie but his hand on your shoulder and the other on your cheek wiping the tears away softly. Eddie craned his neck so he could look at Steve. Eddie was angry Steve had said that to you but this wasn’t the right time for him to shout at him.

you sniffled and wiped under your eyes before taking a step back from Eddie. “i’m gonna go” you said quickly brushed past both Steve and Eddie and got to the front door before either one of them could stop you. Eddie turned to Steve with the angriest expression on his face.

“why would you say that to her?” Steve was now looking down at the carpet, guilt eating him alive. Steve didn’t have an answer for Eddie, he had no idea why he even said that to you. Steve stayed silent making Eddie scoff and walk to the front door so he could find you, make sure you were okay. he didn’t want you walking home in the dark- it was stupid for him to even let you walk out on your own.

now Steve was alone in Eddie’s trailer. he walked to the sofa and sat down, a loud sigh coming from him. he wanted to slap himself. he had the perfect girl right in front of him and she loved him and he fucked it up because he was stupid enough to keep brining up Nancy. “idiot idiot idiot” he said to himself as he let his head fall into his hands. he had some serious apologising to do.

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