#produce junction

[thefantasyfish]

Go ahead and buy yourself the flowers

[helpfulhannah-blog1]

roses are red, violets are blue, but pineapple plants are more fun this year if you can find them. They seem to be all sold out as they are the rage this year. These mini pineapple plants are so adorable even if you cannot eat the fruit no one seems to care. Check out  

[late-nxghts]

[hirocimacruiser]

JUNCTION PRODUCE PREMIUMS

INFINITI Q45(MCM) WIDE BODY PARTS

Junction Produce Premium Infiniti Q45 mc Wide Body Parts

Junction Produce

Premium long-awaited new work

Infiniti Q45 blister!

The last big kit of the year is decided by this

Junction Produce Premium is already making a big break. Junction Produce was newly launched as a brand specializing in wide bodies, and the 20-series Celsior, 10-series Celsior, and Y30 Cima, which were initially announced, seem to be attracting considerable attention. And, as I announced on this page before, the next new work was the Infiniti Q45, but the actual car has been completed, so let's take a look at it right away.

As was the case with the previous three models, the blisters do not protrude so much from the fender. As per the basic concept of this brand, it is a wide body kit that makes the car look bigger. Each part basically inherits the design of the previous Junction, but this 45 has a lot of design added. In particular, the front part has been treated to clearly separate the lip part and the side part, and has a design that has never been seen before in junctions. As a result, the existing 45 aero is changing not only the wide body but also the impression from the front.

The rest of the year is finally coming to an end, but how about 45 owners installing this kit as soon as possible and welcoming the new year with a new version of their favorite car

PIC CAPTIONS

The fenders don't protrude that much, but the space between the front and rear fenders is narrowed, so the blister effect is surprisingly large.

Junction's lineup as a wide body kit will show calmness for the time being with this Q45. This kit, which is currently on the break, is sure to attract attention at year-end and New Year gatherings.

The all-stainless muffler series can be either Type

A scalar developed specifically for this kit. The front is 18×9.5J+12 and the rear is 18×11.5J+6.

The rear fender which is the feature of this kit is beautifully put together

The front has a slightly different surface configuration from this one. The opening has two louvers, and the design has been changed from the existing one.

[garageishima]

[ranticore]

some thoughts about Clothes For Horses

out of practicality the average ironwall citizen wears a blanket made for horses (even if they are not horses). the blankets are bulk-ordered by specialist ironwall tailor shops and modified on the premises, sometimes while the customer is waiting. the modifications lengthen the straps so that they can be easily reached. this is considered okay for casualwear but tacky for formal occasions.

the upper body can usually just wear whatever mass produced human clothing they like. the only item of clothing which is made specifically for these guys is the waist sash (sometimes with an additional cloth drape on the front, which can smarten up an outfit). these are people whose culture has a deep seam of embarrassment at being part animal, and this fact should be hidden if at all possible even though it isn't possible but you just have to try. the junction between fur and skin is always hidden. the orange blanket pictured above is about as skimpy as you could get away with in public. mane hair is usually shaved off for practicality's sake.

for practical work where harnesses and tack are required, these are usually worn over blankets and modified to include no reins/other control apparatus. for those for whom it is possible, horse-shoes are worn on the front feet for daily city life, and on all feet for hard manual labour or any activities/hobbies/etc which require good traction on the hind legs. shoes are usually not made of metal but of a composite into which grip studs can be inserted if necessary. the imagery of hard metal shoes is associated with counterculture movements and sometimes if you wanna look hard you can have your shoes spraypainted to be shiny. barefoot is actually fine in most circumstances

dedicated centaur clothing is stupid expensive because very few manufacturers produce it and the fabric yardage is insane so it is a class signifier. the garment shape & purpose is unisex though due to influence from dominant human cultures in the area, there's still a difference between a Stallion's Manly Robes and a Demure Filly Dress. ideally the full body is covered and the overall impression is of a human strapped to some mysterious shape idk what could possibly be under there. normal human legs i bet.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

Raphael spoils his favourite pet (you). Afab reader, nsft

Read on AO3

-

Freshly-bathed, you wandered into your private room in the House of Hope. You wore nothing but an expensive silken bath robe tied loosely at the front. Your skin was still pleasantly damp. You towelled off your hair and sat in front of the big dark oak vanity you'd been given, searching for a comb. You’d already begun pulling it through your wet locks when your magic tingled excitedly, sensing your Patron's presence. 

“Hello, little mouse,” he murmured. 

“Hello, Raphael.” You could see the devil leaning against your door frame from the reflection in the mirror. His infernal orange eyes were fixed on you and the motions of the comb in your hand. His gaze was heated, but you had long learned not to assume what he might want. Acting demure was in your best interest for now. “Was there something you needed?”

“Hmm…there are many things I want, but I can't say there's much that I need.” Raphael pushed himself up and over. His gait was full of purpose. “And I have you to thank for that, don't I? Always so eager to serve. Such a good pup…” He took the comb from your hand. “Allow me.”

“Oh…alright.” 

You experienced a strange thrill with the first stroke of the comb's teeth. This wasn't quite what you expected but you certainly weren't going to complain. Raphael was usually predictable, but not always. Even after knowing him for so long, he was incredibly hard to read. The devil brushed your hair slow and methodical, almost reverent with his care. He took his time to work any knots free. It was so good, so relaxing, that your eyes began to close. The more you relaxed the more you leaned back into your Patron's broad, warm chest. You felt spoiled. You could easily drift off to sleep like that. Raphael had other ideas.

“I have a gift for you,” he declared, his free hand - oh so warm and soft - stroking the flesh between your neck and shoulder. You gasped quietly. Your eyes snapped open. In the mirror you saw Raphael's burning hunger and felt its equal awaken from dormancy in your blood. You weren't sleepy anymore.

“What kind of gift?”

In response he abandoned the comb, producing a gorgeous gold and leather jewel encrusted choker from his pocket. Branded on its front was a silver ‘R’. Through the mirror you watched him fasten it around your neck. It was enchanted; you felt the runes spark and settle with your magic.

“Consider it an accessory of protection,” he purred into your ear. “Insurance for my best asset.”

“Thank you.” You had no doubt it was far more than what he claimed, but you stopped caring right then because Raphael nuzzled your jaw, dropping rough, open mouthed kisses across your neck. His facial hair, perfectly cultivated evening shadow, created an incredible sensation in junction with his plush thin lips; one of the few advantages his human form had over cambion. “Ah…Raphael…”

“Such a diligent, loyal little warlock I have.” His hands slipped inside your robe, making journeys up your tummy. They left goosebumps and searing heat in their wake. “And how good you look wearing my jewels, my symbol…I could just devour you.” He tugged the lobe of your ear with his teeth. You tried not to squeal.

“Raphael…!”

“I do so love the way you say my name.” The devil at last cupped your breasts, kneading both in his hands. His deft fingers reached your nipples and tweaked them, rubbing over them with his thumbs. He circled again and again and again until the fleshy nubs were almost sore with pleasure. You let your head roll back, baring your neck for your master to kiss and bite. Raphael didn't disappoint. He bit and sucked bruises everywhere; under your jaw, along the column of your throat, your shoulders as he peeled your robe down your shoulders to reach them. He liked to do this as a cambion, sink his fangs in deep, sup on your sweet blood and leave you with marks that lasted weeks. His blunt human teeth, still sharper than a normal person's, gave a different kind of pain. Perhaps you'd been more sensitive from the bath, because you felt like you were on fire. “I think you deserve a reward, don't you?”

You could not answer. Raphael's left hand slid back down your sternum. His fingers tangled into your little patch of pubes, resting just above where he knew your swollen clit was, begging for attention. He grazed it with two fingertips, either on purpose or by accident - likely the former. Your hips bucked. 

“Please,” you whispered, “please, Raphael.”

“Please what, little mouse?” The devil cooed.

“Please touch me…”

“Oh, but I am touching you.” He punctuated the statement by tweaking one of your abused nipples again. You whined. “You need to be more specific than that.”

“Touch my clit. Please, master.”

“Good girl,” the devil growled. You couldn't help it, your entire body shuddered at the praise. “Open your robe for me, then.”

With shaking hands you did as you were told. You undid the sash of its knot and pushed the fabric aside, spreading your legs. You sighed at the cool air's caress. Raphael hummed with approval and circled your clit, pushed his fingers between your mons. With expert precision he dipped them into your entrance and gathered your hot slick, enough to make his next rub of your desperate cunt slicker, harder. You groaned, rolling your hips into his touch, his rhythm. Your bare toes curled into the plush carpet with pleasure.

“Oh, fuck…”

“Look at yourself,” Raphael demanded. From the moment he touched you, you'd been avoiding the mirror. “Look at how debauched you are. Look at how you're falling apart in my hands. Look.”

You could not deny him. You saw yourself, face flushed, half-lidded pupils blown wide, mouth open. You saw your legs spread shamelessly as you jerked your hips with every motion Raphael made. You saw your cunt, soaked and lewdly on display by the devil’s scissored digits, your clit desperately hard and fat with blood being coaxed even further out of its hood by the skill of Raphael's tawny, clever fingers. You saw your hands, one reaching back to grasp at the devil, the other gripping your own thigh, white-knuckled. You saw your heaving chest, one breast still swallowed by the devil's hand. You saw your tousled locks and the blooming marks and bites on your throat. You looked obscene. You looked…good. Behind you, Raphael took in every iota of your image with fierce, possessive desire and dark satisfaction. 

“Yes, that's right,” he snarled, husky and low, “now you see what I see. And all of it is mine.”

“Yes, it's yours,” you choked out, “I'm yours, I'm yours!”

You wouldn't last, watching Raphael touch your cunt like that. Your climax was roaring to the surface with reckless abandon. Your guts were taught and your pussy ached, screaming for release. Raphael pushed the pad of his thumb down hard on your clit, his index and middle fingers rubbing directly on your leaking hole. You felt the tell-tale pulse of infernal magic set your nerves ablaze.

“Watch yourself, little mouse,” he commanded, voice rough, “watch yourself finish for me.”

“Gods…Raphael…!”

Yet again, you did as you were told. You watched your back arch and your expression twist then go slack as your orgasm rippled through you. You watched your cunt spasm, clench, ooze your release all over Raphael's fingers. You watched your hips give a few shallow thrusts as Raphael drew out your orgasm, rubbing until you whimpered for him to stop. You watched yourself relax in the afterglow. You watched the devil watching you; ravenous, terrifying, beautiful. You watched him hold up his hand, showing you your hot cum clinging to his digits. You watched him use that cum to draw a letter on your quivering stomach, smirking as he did so.

‘R’.

[beom-pyu]

brighter ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ choi soobin

choi soobin x fem!reader , tags; nsfw , established relationship , pushing my sweet bf soobin agenda just hear me out okay

warnings: smut (minors dni!!!) , face sitting , cunninglus (fem!receiving) , insecure!reader + slight and brief mentions of weight (pls don't read if this can be triggering for you!!! always take care of yourself first <3) , manhandling (?) idk soobin is strong , making out

a/n: requested here !!! tbh i feel like this is kinda sucky but i'm so obsessed with this soobin so this is the best my mushy smooth brain can produce at the moment HELP

also a big thank you for 250+ followers!!! i appreciate all of the love and support for my works <3 you all are absolutely amazing

wc: 1.2k+

“i want you to sit on my face.”

you freeze at the words that tumble out of soobin’s mouth as he marks up your neck from where you sit in his lap. your hand stills in his hair, your heart pounding in your ears. 

“what?” you breathe out, quiet and restrained. soobin’s lips stop their attack on your neck, pulling back to look up into your eyes. his pupils are blown out wide, lips puffy and swollen from your makeout session. he looks completely fucked out—your stomach flips at the sight.

“i want you to sit on my face, baby,” he mumbles before his lips are kissing up your jaw, his big hands gripping your waist firmly. you sigh softly at the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin, your hands continuing their movement in his hair.

“what if i suffocate you or something?” you reply and you feel soobin chuckle at your words, his laugh leaving butterfly tingles on your skin. his nose nudges the junction between your neck and your shoulder, taking in every inch of you.

“what if i want you to?” he finally replies and you can already feel yourself growing dizzy. his hands reach down to massage your thighs before they make their way up your dress to rest on your bare waist, thumbs pressing into your skin as he rolls his hips up into your throbbing core.

you can’t do anything but moan as he captures your lips, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip. you gasp in his mouth, his tongue running across your teeth. it’s intoxicating, addicting, and you already feel yourself losing whatever ounce of self-control in your body. he pulls away for a second, still so close that his breath fans over your wet lips, his forehead pressed against yours.

“please, baby. wanna make you feel good,” he pants, one of his hands coming down to play with the waistband of your panties, reaching around to trail his fingers down your spine. your back arches into his touch and he smiles that beautiful dimpled smile, his eyes so innocent and sparkling—a complete opposite from the way his fingers sinfully dance against your skin.

“don’t wanna hurt you,” you mumble, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss his lips once again—you just can’t get enough of him. he smells so good, his body so strong and sturdy. a moan leaves your lips as his hand dips into your panties to rub your clit before trailing down your soaking slit, drinking up the noises leaving your mouth.

“just let me taste you, gorgeous. you won’t hurt me, i promise,” he speaks against your lips, and you finally give in, nodding a bit in his hold. he smiles brightly as you raise up off of his lap so he can scoot down the bed, laying flat against the sheets.

he looks too good under you, eyes gleaming and eager, chest rising and falling quickly as his hands keep a strong grip on your hips. his shiny hair is splayed out against the duvet, all messed up and wild from your hands.

you lean down to press a small kiss to his lips, your noses bumping softly from the action. you feel one of soobin’s hands tug at your dress, ordering a quiet “take this off for me” and you quickly oblige, pulling the fabric off of your body hastily.

his eyes ogle at your figure, darting from your perfect boobs to your cute belly button, his hands roaming over any piece of you he can reach. you try not to shy away from his gaze—how could you when he stares at you with the biggest hearts in his eyes, simply out of breath by your presence? 

“come here, baby.” 

his fingers tap your thighs and you move to climb up his body until you’re hovering right above his perfect face. his fingers are gentle as they pull your panties to the side, his eyes flicking up to yours for a brief moment. you shiver at his warm breath against your sensitive folds, feeling his hands find home on your waist. you slightly lower yourself towards his lips, still too anxious to put all of your body weight on him. 

soobin kisses your clit lovingly before licking a long stripe up your pussy, moaning against your core at your taste. you whimper at the warmth, loving the way his tongue flicks against your pussy like he has been starved for years. your eyes flutter shut at the way his skillful lips eat you alive, his tongue burying itself in your sopping hole, thumbs rubbing small circles into your skin.

he lips are slow as they make out with your cunt, sucking at your clit, soaking up the little noises that leave your lips. your legs begin to tremble from holding yourself up and soobin notices—he wraps his arms around your torso before pulling you fully down on his face, holding you still as he ravages your pussy, licking up your juices as his nose nudges at your clit. your hand shoots up to cover your mouth as your moans grow in volume, completely wrecked from soobin’s mouth alone.

your muffling doesn’t last long though—soobin reaches up to grab your hand away from your mouth, holding your hand down by his head as your back arches, pushing yourself further down on his lips.

soobin lets out a deep groan when your hips begin moving back and forth, chasing your impending high. his tongue fucks in and out of you, swirling around your sensitive bud, sucking your folds. your juices run down his chin, spit and slick covering his cheeks and nose as you practically ride his face. 

“soob—feels so good, fuck,” you babble out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes from the intensity of it all. you can feel the blood rushing through your veins, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. your entire body shakes in his stronghold, getting lost in the way he grunts and moans with your weight on top of him.

“gonna—fuck—-gonna cum.” soobin’s tongue simply speeds up at your words, flicking over your overwhelmed clit as your cunt gushes into his mouth. it’s nasty, it’s lewd, and it’s everything and more. your eyes are tightly screwed shut as pulses of pleasure run through your body before your hips stutter, white exploding from behind your eyes.

and soobin doesn’t stop, his lips kissing your spent pussy as you come down, keeping you in place against his face as if he’s your personal chair. you wouldn’t mind that at all.

you eventually move off of his face, sitting on his hard chest as you gaze down at his ruined state, feeling heat rush to your core again at the mere sight. his eyes are glazed over, a dazed smile on his glistening lips, his chin literally dripping with your cum and his spit. his hands come to rest on your thighs, drawing soft shapes into your skin as he gazes up at you. his dark eyes are filled with so much love and affection, your chest burns at the passion of it all, your body heating up at his stare.

“see? you didn’t kill me.”

reblogs are highly cherished!

masterlist

©️BEOM-PYU

[nightbunnysong]

Foods that promote gut health

Maintaining a healthy gastrointestinal (GI) tract is vital for overall health, given its role in nutrient absorption, immune regulation, and maintaining a balanced microbiome. Gastrointestinal irritation can lead to dysbiosis, inflammation, and impaired barrier function, which can have systemic consequences. This article explores specific foods that have been shown to support gut health at the biochemical level and to alleviate GI irritation.

1. Chicken bone broth

A SOURCE OF COLLAGEN AND AMINO ACIDS

Chicken bone broth is rich in collagen, gelatin, and various amino acids, including glycine and proline, which play a critical role in maintaining the integrity of the gut mucosa. Collagen and gelatin are broken down in the stomach to release these amino acids, which are then utilized in the synthesis of extracellular matrix components. Glycine, in particular, has anti-inflammatory properties and contributes to the stabilization of the intestinal epithelial barrier by promoting tight junction integrity. This supports mucosal healing and reduces permeability, thereby mitigating the symptoms of leaky gut syndrome.

Additionally, bone broth contains glutamine, a conditionally essential amino acid that serves as a primary fuel source for enterocytes, the cells lining the gut. Glutamine supplementation has been shown to reduce intestinal permeability and inflammation, making bone broth a beneficial dietary component for repairing a compromised gut lining.

2. Vegetable soups

RICH IN PREBIOTIC FIBERS

Vegetable soups, especially those made from high-fiber vegetables like carrots, celery, and leafy greens, provide an abundance of prebiotic fibers, such as inulin and pectin. Prebiotics are non-digestible carbohydrates that resist digestion in the upper GI tract and reach the colon intact, where they undergo fermentation by the gut microbiota. This fermentation process produces short-chain fatty acids (SCFAs) like butyrate, propionate, and acetate, which serve as an energy source for colonocytes and have anti-inflammatory effects.

Butyrate, in particular, has been shown to strengthen the gut barrier by enhancing the expression of tight junction proteins and by modulating the immune response within the gut-associated lymphoid tissue (GALT). Additionally, SCFAs lower the pH of the colon, creating an environment that is less favorable for pathogenic bacteria, thus promoting a balanced microbiome.

3. Miso soup

A PROBIOTIC POWERHOUSE

Miso, a fermented product made from soybeans, rice, or barley, is rich in probiotics, particularly strains of Lactobacillus and Bifidobacterium. These beneficial bacteria contribute to the maintenance of a healthy gut microbiome by outcompeting pathogenic bacteria for resources and attachment sites on the intestinal epithelium.

Probiotics in miso also produce antimicrobial substances like bacteriocins and lactic acid, which inhibit the growth of harmful bacteria. Additionally, these microbes can enhance the production of anti-inflammatory cytokines and reduce the secretion of pro-inflammatory cytokines, thereby modulating the gut immune response and reducing intestinal inflammation.

The fermentation process of miso also results in the production of bioactive peptides, which have been shown to have antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties, further contributing to the healing of the GI tract.

4. Nettle Tea

ANTI-INFLAMMATORY PHYTOCHEMICALS

Nettle (Urtica dioica) is a medicinal plant known for its potent anti-inflammatory properties, largely attributed to its high content of polyphenolic compounds, flavonoids, and carotenoids. These bioactive compounds inhibit the activity of pro-inflammatory enzymes such as cyclooxygenase (COX) and lipoxygenase (LOX), thereby reducing the production of inflammatory mediators like prostaglandins and leukotrienes.

Nettle also contains high levels of vitamins A, C, and K, as well as minerals such as iron and magnesium, which are essential for maintaining cellular functions and supporting the immune system. The antioxidative properties of nettle’s polyphenols help to mitigate oxidative stress, a key factor in gut inflammation and irritation.

5. Fermented vegetables

ENHANCING MICROBIAL DIVERSITY

Fermented vegetables like sauerkraut and kimchi are rich sources of live probiotics and their metabolites, which play a crucial role in maintaining gut health. The fermentation process not only preserves the vegetables but also enriches them with beneficial bacteria, such as Lactobacillus plantarum and Leuconostoc mesenteroides, which can colonize the gut and enhance microbial diversity.

These probiotics have been shown to improve the gut’s mucosal barrier function by increasing the expression of mucin genes and enhancing the production of SCFAs. Moreover, the metabolites produced during fermentation, such as lactic acid and bacteriocins, exert antimicrobial effects against pathogens, thereby promoting a balanced and healthy microbiome.

6. Oats and whole grains

PREBIOTIC SOLUBLE FIBER

Oats are rich in beta-glucan, a type of soluble fiber that acts as a prebiotic, selectively stimulating the growth of beneficial bacteria in the gut. The fermentation of beta-glucan by colonic bacteria results in the production of SCFAs, which, as previously mentioned, have anti-inflammatory and gut-protective effects.

In addition to their prebiotic properties, beta-glucans modulate the immune system by binding to receptors on immune cells, such as macrophages and dendritic cells, thereby enhancing their ability to respond to pathogens while reducing unnecessary inflammatory responses. This immune-modulating effect is particularly beneficial in managing conditions such as irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) and inflammatory bowel disease (IBD).

[photos from Pinterest]

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: B for Breeding

Summary: You, Swan Maiden of the Lake become King Morpheus's favorite concubine, but it's not enough.

Notes: ~1.7k words, this is just straight-up depressing. Also, don't have a child because you think it would be unconditional love.

Warnings: MDNI - 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it seriously), p in v, minor fingering, unrequited love, toxic love (from both parties honestly), manipulative love, slight AU? I don't really know, angst no comfort

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

A for Aphrodisiac ⇆ C for Cockwarming

The grandfather clock strikes 12 when the door to your bedroom opens. He comes, always, on the last strike of midnight. His footsteps are quiet when he enters your space but just loud enough for you to hear him. You sit slowly from your lying position on your large bed. You’re decorated head to toe in silk and lace, just how he likes it. 

The Dream King has one queen that he is devoted to only in marriage. In his spare time, he has six concubines to satisfy his needs whenever he needs them, wherever he needs them. Politics was never a subject you understood much, but you understood enough as to why your parents all but gave you to him when he first saw you. He thought that there was no other creature as beautiful as you. 

The first time he saw you, you were a swan swimming languidly in a pond far off in the Dreaming. When you come to the surface, soft white feathers retract, your neck shortens, and your legs lengthen until you stand naked in your human form. You didn’t even notice the Dream King staring at you as you brushed your wet hair with your fingers and admired your reflection on the pond’s surface. 

From that day forth you were nothing but a concubine in Morpheus’ harem. He showered you in gifts, courted you, and wooed you all in an effort to decrease the sting of missing home. You never came in contact with the other five concubines, unknown to you that they kept their distance on purpose. Their disdain for you comes from spite as jealousy wraps its hands around them like a parasite. You were his majesty’s favorite and each moment he spent with you means less time with them instead. The Queen never visited you either, neither did she the other concubines, insisting she was simply better than common whores. She could produce an heir to the throne, you could not. 

Life in the palace gets lonely, so you learn to latch onto Lord Morpheus quickly. If you performed well then perhaps he will stay the night. Talk to you until your eyes are closed or take you out for more than 10 minutes to walk to the palace gardens. You put on a smile when he comes near you, kneeling by the bed so you two are the same height. 

“My sweetness,” He calls to you and caresses your cheek.

You lean into the touch, starved for attention as you have been stuck in your room for the past few days, alone. He chuckles at your reaction as he retracts, your face chasing him but stops quickly. He keeps his eyes on you when he strips himself of his robes, the fabric creasing against itself as it slumps onto the cold floor. His cold hand comes into contact with your shoulder, wasting no time, as he guides you to lie down under him. 

“Forgive me for neglecting you, my dear,” He murmurs against your soft skin, followed by a bruising kiss to the junction of your neck. You only respond with a whimper, your fists clenching at the satin sheets below you. The love bruises he gave you a few days ago still haven’t healed and new ones always appeared. Your once pure skin is now always stained with his love. 

Your legs rub against each other as you try to satiate the gnawing arousal that is growing in your core. You kept your eyes on him when his fingers traced lightly over your clothed breast. The pleasure of it is just as good as the time before. Good enough to close your eyes and feel it all, but he doesn’t like it when you close your eyes, you remind yourself. 

His hands bring the bottom of your camisole over your hip and the night air hits your legs. He hikes it higher and removes it over your head and throws it on the floor near his clothes. Shivers run down your spine, goosebumps prickling at your thighs and hardening your breasts. Your hands go to his upper arm and squeeze at the muscle underneath. His knee prys your legs apart and pushes onto your cunt, which elicits another whine from you and you grind yourself onto him. 

“Patience, dear,” He whispers, his lips leave your neck, and trail slow kisses down to close his mouth over your tit. 

His hand wanders closer to your core, tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before pressing his palm into your clit. He looks at you again when he does it and a smug smile grows on his face seeing the way your face contorts to his feverish touch. Your hands trail upwards and trace his jawline, admiring his face lovingly. 

His eyes grow darker as his lust continues to grow and you swallow down your fear. You lean your face closer to his, his soft lips within your reach. Lord Morpheus ducks away instead and focuses his attention on giving you more love bites, not bothering to soothe the pain after he clamps his teeth on your skin. You swallow again, willing the loneliness of his actions to the bottom of your stomach, to will it never to show its ugly face again. 

Instead, you run your fingers through his unruly hair as his hands now take your underwear off. He throws it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. This time, when his fingers return, they tease your aroused entrance. The wetness of you aiding him as his fingers enter, your needy cunt sucking the finger in. 

Your breath grows rapid and heavy as his fingers move deliberately, its sole purpose to get you opened and ready for him. He guides your legs and rests one over his hip and presses himself into your core, his arousal slipping across your slit. 

He presses his lips to your collarbone before fully sheathing himself into you, grinning as he feels the way your body trembles underneath him. He doesn’t find the patience to wait and removes his cock and fills you again. Your head is thrown back by the familiar pleasure and you clamp your mouth shut, embarrassed to make noise at such a late hour. 

“No, my treasure,” Morpheus voices with displeasure on the tip of his tongue. “I want you to scream my name. I want everyone in the palace to know who the King’s favorite concubine is. Can you do that for me?”

You nod quickly as another forceful thrust enters you. 

“With words,” He commands, leering down at your flushed body. Your hair was starting to get tangled amongst itself and your lips dry from heavy breath.

“Yes, my King,” You weep out, thoughts preoccupied with what he was giving you and your nails run down his back, leaving red streaks of pleasure across his pale skin. 

The Dream King hums in satisfaction before he turns his attention to your skin again, trying to find unmarked spots to mark you again. Your pleasure becomes overwhelming and almost on the verge of pain. His next stroke hits the deepest part of you and you can’t help the scream that is ripped from your throat. Your cries of ecstasy echoed in the large room and slipped through the hallways of the castle. 

“Mhm, just like that,” He praises and you turn into jelly under his words. He murmurs his worship about your skin, your hair, how beautifully glowing you looked underneath him, skin dewy, and muscles trembling. 

His hand caresses between your two bodies, pressing down on your lower stomach. The action causes your sensual pleasure to increase tenfold and your skin feels feverish. He rubs a small circle just under your stomach and hums above you again. 

“I want to see you round with my child, to see you glow with the effects of pregnancy,” He voices and in the back of your head you’re shaking your head no. 

You knew the consequences of siring a bastard. You may be the King’s favorite but that would not protect you against the wrath of her majesty, the Queen. Yet, another part of you silences the doubt quickly. Your child would be something of both you and the king’s. With a tear sliding down your cheek you wished for your child to love you in a way that Lord Morpheus never would. To give you the attention you deserved, to give you something to love. 

Your body spasms and your cunt clenches as your orgasm comes to you unexpectedly, another wonton cry leaves your lips. Morpheus groans at the sudden tightness before emptying himself into you. The only sound that fills the room is the panting of your heavy breaths. Your arms hang behind his neck again and you look at him with adoration. 

“My king,” You whisper like a prayer to him. “Will you keep true to your wish?”

He cocks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “Do not think too deeply about it, my treasure.” His pet names for you feel empty to you now. 

Your arms drop from his neck at the abrupt change in attitude. You suddenly feel very self-aware of your vulnerable body and cross your arms over your chest to both cover and ground yourself. 

Morpheus removes his body from yours and the cold night air takes his place instead. Your thighs are sore and sticky from your coupling but all it does is make you feel dirty. 

“Your child would be of no use to me, it was only said in the moment.” He picks up his clothes from the floor, leaving yours untouched. 

He leaves you just as he came to you, quietly and without warning. The soft click of the closing door brings you back to the presence. His words hang heavy in the air and swim around your head just like the little tetra that used to swim around your body in the lake. 

Your hand delicately swipes across your lower stomach and you clench your thighs closed. If you hope to become with child this time around, then you wouldn’t need Morpheus. Silent tears run down your cheeks and you hug yourself. 

He wouldn’t spend the night again, leaving you in an empty bed of your combined lovemaking. The satin sheets under you suddenly feel too rough, the air too cold, and the shadows in the room dance as they point and mock at you. 

As if the king could love you back. 

A for Aphrodisiac || C for Cockwarming

Main Masterlist ⇆ Series Masterlist

Is it unhinged of me to say that that gif of Dream crying is hot? No? What's that? I'm just ovulating? Oh, ok.

♡ Yours, Layla

[resident-idiot-simp]

(x)

Logan doesn't realize he is drooling he's already half out of his mind with hunger. Wade is all but dragging him to their room as they get worried stares that are waved off.

As soon as the door is closed and locked with instructions that Wade expects regular meals Logan is as good as lost as he begans to take deep inhales and starts lightly mouthing at the junction of Wade's neck. His already existing fangs are longer and Wade looks like he might combust.

Logan is panting now as he mouths more purposely at the mercenary's neck and Wade drags him the rest of the way to their nest. "You can drink as much as you like peanut." Wade reassures and as if waiting for that permission Logan immediately latches on fangs punching scared skin. Both men let out a delightfuly sinful noise and Logan begins to drink deeply.

Wade isn't surprised at the sheer volume of blood Logan quickly drinks he knows full well Logan's metabolism is a wonder not unlike his own. He's most likely metabolizing every drop the instant his body can. It's all Wade's healing factor can do to produce the life necessary essence for Logan to greedy suck down.

Wade barely had the right mind to grab onto the mutant and hold him close as he drunkenly strokes Logan's hair. Logan for his part is nothing but instincts as he growls and shakes his head slightly from side to side like an animal would to their prey.

The mutant drinks and drinks and Wade has definitely lost his sense of time as he is at the mercy of this beast. Eventually the feeding slows and Wade distantly thinks the worst of it must be over. He almost mourns it and if he's planning a future ordeal just like this well who can blame him?

(I have more ideas but I'm not going to do that because Tumblr will nuke me off the face of the earth)

(x)

[maniculum]

An Excerpt from the Aberdeen Bestiary

I've started preparing the bestiaryposting, and have encountered one entry that doesn't really fit into what we're doing. Not only is it one of the longest entries, but instead of "let me tell you about this animal", it's taking more of a "we all already know about this animal, so I'm going to share some stories about specific ones" approach. But out of a sense of completionism, I can't just not post it, so here you go.

Dog

The Latin name for the dog, canis, seems to have a Greek origin. For in Greek it is called cenos, although some think that it is called after the musical sound, canor, of its barking, because when it howls, it is also said to sing, canere. No creature is more intelligent than the dog, for dogs have more understanding than other animals; they alone recognise their names and love their masters.

There are many kinds of dogs: some track down the wild beasts of the forests to catch them; others by their vigilance guard flocks of sheep from the attacks of wolves; others as watch-dogs in the home guard the property of their masters lest it be stolen by thieves at night and sacrifice their lives for their master; they willingly go after game with their master; they guard his body even when he is dead and do not leave it. Finally, their nature is that they cannot exist without man.

Also of the nature of dogs

We read that dogs have such great love for their masters, as when King Garamentes was caught by his enemies and taken into captivity, two hundred dogs went in formation through enemy lines and led him back from exile, fighting off those who resisted them. When Jason [Licio] was killed, his dog rejected food and died of starvation. The dog of King Lysimachus threw itself in the flame when its master's funeral pyre was lit and was consumed by fire along with him. When Apius and Junius Pictinius were consuls, a dog that could not be driven away from its master, who had been condemned, accompanied him to prison; when, soon afterwards, he was executed, it followed him, howling. When the people of Rome, out of pity, caused it to be fed, it carried the food to its dead master's mouth. Finally, when its master's corpse was thrown into the Tiber, the dog swam to it and tried to keep it from sinking.

When a dog picks up the track of a hare or a deer and comes to a place where the trail divides or to a junction splitting into several directions, it goes to the beginning of each path and silently reasons with itself, as if by syllogism, on the basis of its keen sense of smell. 'Either the animal went off in this direction,' it says,'or that, or certainly it took this turning.’

Again on the nature of dogs

Often, also, when a murder has been committed, dogs have produced clear evidence of the guilt of the accused, with the result that their unspoken testimony is for the most part believed. They say that at Antioch, in a distant quarter of the city at dusk, a man was murdered, who had his dog with him on a lead. A soldier had been the perpetrator of the deed, with robbery as his motive. Undercover of the growing darkness, he fled elsewhere. The corpse lay unburied; the crowd of onlookers was large; the dog stayed at its master's side, howling over his sad fate. It happened that the man who had committed the crime, acting confidently in order to convince people of his innocence - such is the cunning way in which men think- joined the circle of onlookers and, feigning grief, approached the corpse. Then the dog, briefly abandoning its doleful lament, took up the arms of vengeance, seized the man and held him, and, softly singing a pitiful song, as in the epilogue of a tragedy, moved everyone to tears; and the fact that the dog held that man alone, of the many that were there, and did not let him go, lent weight to its case. In the end, the murderer was at a loss because the evidence in the case was so plain; he could not clear himself by objecting that he was the victim of anyone's hate, enmity, envy or spite, and he could no longer rebut the charge. Because it was very difficult for him, he suffered punishment, because he could offer no defence.

A dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it. A dog's way of life is said to be wholly temperate. A puppy's tongue is generally a cure for internal injuries. It is characteristic of a dog that it returns to its vomit and eats it again. If a dog swims across a river carrying a piece of meat or anything of that sort in its mouth, and sees its shadow, it opens its mouth and in hastening to seize the other piece of meat, it loses the one it was carrying.

In some ways preachers are like dogs: by their admonitions and righteous ways they are always driving off the ambushes laid by the Devil, lest he seize and carry off God's treasure - Christian souls. As the dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it, the wounds of sinners, laid bare in confession, are cleansed by the correction of the priest. As the dog's tongue heals man's internal wounds, the secrets of his heart are often purified by the deeds and discourse of the Church's teachers. As the dog is said to be temperate in its ways, the man who is set over others diligently studies wisdom and must avoid drunkenness and gluttony in every way, for Sodom perished in a surfeit of food. Indeed, there is no quicker way for the Devil, his enemy, to take possession of man than through his greedy gullet. The dog returning to its vomit signifies those who, after making their confession, heedlessly return to wrongdoing. The dog leaving its meat behind in the river, out of desire for its shadow, signifies foolish men who often forsake what is theirs by right out of desire for some unknown object; with the result that, while they are unable to obtain the object of their desire, they needlessly lose what they have given up.

Some dogs are called licisici, wolf-hounds, because they are born of wolves and dogs, when by chance these mate. In India bitches are tethered at night in the forests to breed with wild tigers, by whom they are mounted, producing very fierce dogs, so strong that with their grip they can pull down lions.

[thelightsandtheroses]

six. even the iron still fears the rot

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Chapter summary: the past comes back to haunt you leading to a drastic decision. Chapter warnings: angst, discussions and flashbacks to descriptions of cults, religion and cult behaviour, past emotional abuse, love bombing and manipulation, the cult leader is a dangerous person, one instance of physical violence, guilt, PTSD , there is the very briefest allusion to homophobia (not direct), flashbacks, discussions of death and canon typical violence, passing mention of being an orphan, breakups, reference to pregnancy (reader is a single mother).  Reader has a backstory but no physical descriptors. Word Count: 4.4k Notes -This is a big chapter, beginning a plot I have had planned for a long time and that I was so nervous about. I must thank the lovely @joelsgreys encouraged and supported me to write this idea from the start. The chapter title is from Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain (who can you believe I only discovered last week?!) Also I changed the image aesthetic a bit as I've loved seeing some other fics with this sort of three pic moodboard recently.

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“We need to talk about the Junction.”

In seven words, Beau and Sean have swept away every sense of security, of hope, of foolish optimism from you.

None of you speak as you unlock the library with shaking, sweaty hands. It takes three attempts to put the key in the lock, you can hear a strange sound, almost like an injured animal in the distance. The three of you walk in.

You lean against the wall, shutting your eyes as you try and centre yourself before you can look at your best friends’ faces.

“What’s happened?” you ask finally. "Why are you bringing up the past?"

Now is not then, you tell yourself. You are not that person anymore - you are a mother, you are stronger, more resilient. You repaired your cracks with gold. You are whole, you are different, you are you.

The Junction has no idea what they’re facing. If they’re here. If this is happening.

Sean reaches into his pocket and produces a small piece of paper. There’s a design on it, simple but familiar.

“Tommy and Joel found this less than five miles away on patrol. It was carved onto a tree.”

“Carved?”

“Yeah, so they took a sketch of it. They were asking around the Tipsy Bison about it, wondered if had seen the symbol before - knew it wasn’t Fireflies or FEDRA, guess it worried them. They showed it to me,” Beau says flatly. “I wondered if it was them, so I went straight to Sean. He said - he said it was, or he thinks it is. We need you to confirm it though.”

“It’s them, isn’t it?” Sean asks, his voice soft and eyes desperate for you to say no, to stop this nightmare in its tracks.

You can’t say it. You can only nod, meeting your best friend’s heartbroken eyes reluctantly.

“Scouting symbol,” you say quietly. ‘He designed it as a code but he designed a lot of things like that, I didn’t expect much  would come of it at the time. I guess -” You pause. “If they’re nearby then it sounds they lost the settlement and have been moving around. I can’t remember exactly what the symbol was meant to mean, but it was definitely for scouting, or to mark - to mark something.”

You thought you would have more time. Time to build something with Joel, to watch Gabriel become the man you know he will be. You had started to hope, to dream.

Dreaming has always been dangerous.

You’ve been on borrowed time for seventeen years.

You expected to panic, to feel more anxious or upset. You had thought you’d sob, fall apart on the floor like you have before, burn with the agony of it all. There’s ice running through you instead and a cool detachment. You don’t recognise your voice, don’t recognise your body. You’re gone, an observer watching a stranger so far away from reality.

“How soon can we get ammo, get supplies?” you ask.

“You can’t think we’re going to outrun this, sweetheart. Not when they’re less than five miles away,” Beau says, shaking his head.

“We’re fucked,” Sean whispers, “less than five miles this morning, they could be - shit. We can’t even run, can we? We’re fucked.” He looks down at his hands, rakes his hands over his hair.

Your past has finally come back to haunt you.

You should have just told Gabriel the truth about his father.  You should have told him where you took him away from.

You should have told him a lot of things.

2004

“We are at a moment right now where the only thing we can do is change. The old ways failed us; we let our hate, our differences, our selfishness dictate our lives and we have all paid a price for this. In our loss, in their names, we stand at a junction and we have a choice right now. Will you listen to me? Will we move forward together and carve a new path, take the route to peace and away from the horrors we have seen?”

The world’s changed a lot in the last six months. Pandemics, death, a whole new dictionary where abbreviations like FEDRA, QZs mean something now and some many words have become redundant. There’s been a lot of death. Survival, that feels like the best outcome right now, living feels like something impossible.

They’ll find a cure soon. The smartest people left in the world are working on it.

They’ll find a cure soon.  This can’t go on like this forever.

They’ll find a cure soon. There’s no other option.

One day in a year or two, you’ll look back on this with Sean and giggle. Do you remember the winter of 2003? Do you remember when we had to live in a QZ and when mushrooms became sinister for a short time? It’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, huddled around a fire and after a long and normal life. You’ll go back to cinemas and dinner at restaurants, to finally getting broadband installed, to a future. There will be scars, of course, but society will move on before you’ve even recognised those.

Humanity will survive, it will endure this. You have to believe that.

There are rumours though - rumours of life in and outside the QZ being lawless, of the loss of society, that humanity isn’t thriving right now.

You had different plans for this year. You didn’t expect to be in a small one bedroomed apartment with Sean. You didn’t expect to be an orphan - or an assumed one at least. Maybe they’re still alive. You hope they are, hope their flight made it to their location, that Cordyceps isn’t so bad over there. You wonder what their lives are like - a two-week vacation that’s turned into months. You’ll laugh about this with them one day.

You live in denial because it’s easier. Because one day this will be all a bad memory. You’ll be back on the path towards the life and career you were working towards, and the months spent picking up shifts in a laundromat and community kitchen to live in a run-down building will soon be a distant memory.

You meet him on a Tuesday. You’re at the laundromat and reading a battered library book, enjoying this rare moment when you’re alone,  when he walks in.

There’s something about him that immediately commands your attention. He’s tall, muscular and carries himself with confidence.

“Hi,” he says, noticing you watching him.  “Haven’t seen you before.”

You nod, placing your book down quietly. “There’s only one dryer working, I’m afraid.” You’re not sure if there’ll ever be more than one dryer working at this point - there’s a shortage of parts and tumble dryers are hardly a priority right now. The one working dryer will just become a Frankenstein of other machine parts, of hope and duct tape until it finally dies. Maybe there will be a cure by then though.

“That’s no worry. I’m Ethan,” the man replies with a faint smile.

You say your name in response and he repeats it like he’s trying to store it in his memory. You feel exposed, perceived in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

You suspect though. You suspect that somehow an axis has marginally tilted, a change has occurred.

You don’t believe in love at first sight. Life isn’t like a movie after all, or if it is, then right now it’s only a horror film. You don’t believe that you can just fall someone instantly. Or you didn’t.

It’s magnetic, his energy, his charisma. You love how his voice sounds, the way his hair falls slightly into piercing eyes. He speaks with care, looks at you like he really cares what you think to his words. He reminds you of the men you’d fantasise about meeting while in college. You thought you’d just wander into a coffee shop on your way to your next seminar and there he’d be.

Even here in a dingy and dirty laundromat, you feel those butterflies.

You’re sure you’ve never met anyone like him before and you have a sense that you will never meet anyone else like him.

You have no idea how right you are.

“Is it a church thing? Really?” Sean asks, taking a gulp of water before leaning against the kitchen sink. “I thought you said after your parents -”

“I don’t think it’s really religious,” you say, “Ethan told me it was more about a sense of self than anything theistic. It’s like a support group from what he said.”

“Thought you hated therapy.”

“Yeah, well, then the world ended.”

“Touché. Can’t you go alone?”

“I could, but I don’t want to,” you say, a teasing smile as you meet your best friend’s eyes.  “I want you to meet Ethan. Tell me what you think.”

You need Sean to meet Ethan because it feels like Ethan could be important. You want Sean to like him, to approve of him. You need to him to.

“I don’t know, hon, it sounds - I don’t know what it’s about.”

“Sean, it’s just a workshop, what harm could it possibly do?”

Sean cocks an eyebrow and sighs. “Fine, we’ll check it out. How bad can it be?”

Famous last words.

“The Junction is here. Humanity has failed in our mission, but it isn’t all lost. We can start afresh, become something better. Every one of us in this room has hope, has what is needed to rebuild our world to save us. The threats of cordyceps, of violence cannot stand in our way …  we must not let these evil forces win.”

It starts so slowly. You become friends as he frequents the launderette more and more. You get to know each other..

You’re not what sure to expect from his workshops but his words are compelling. He makes sense. What he says is rational - until it strays into something else, but it’s still got that root of logic. He’s just stressed, you reason, more people are talking about the workshops.

You fall for him.

He brings you a bunch of roses to the laundrette. Roses.

You haven’t seen roses since the outbreak, you’re not sure anyone has ever bought you flowers like this. You have no idea how he’s got them, but he’s got them for you.

He’s so smart, so compassionate and it’s more than that, he really listens to you. Falling in love with Ethan is the easiest thing in the world.  You hadn’t spent much time dating before the outbreak, had been too afraid in the immediate aftermath. You think Ethan might be the first man you’ve ever fallen in love with.

He starts to invite to sit with him at his workshops, places an arm around you when you speak in sessions. You swell with pride because out of everyone, he’s chosen you.

So you drag Sean to more workshops, you bring friends from your apartment building. You want more people to hear Ethan because he’s changed your life. What else could he do for people?

Time passes. Ethan’s language starts to change again. It’s starting to shift from collective processing of the trauma, the unceasing horror of the last year to something different. It’s less about you all and more about Ethan, about his visions and him. Ethan knows the way through the Junction.

He’ll lead you all through.

It’s your fault really, what happens next. You set everything in motion. You’re almost mugged on the way home from the launderette one night. His next workshop talks about the pain of this post-cordyceps world, of the way FEDRA encourages lawlessness to steer us from the right path, towards evil and ruin.

He says that the QZ is actively fighting against you all need to do. It is fighting for the wrong turn at the next junction. That can’t happen. You can’t raise a family here, make a life, not when society continues to fall apart in front of you. You’re scared walking to your apartment at night now, so you think he must be right. There’s the possibility of something better with him.

So when Ethan says maybe it’s time to leave the QZ, you think he might be right. Of course you’d go with him, where else could you go? You beg Sean to come with you, you’re terrified he’ll die when the QZ falls otherwise.

That’s another mistake.

2005

“The thing is, it’s not about cordyceps. Not really. That was only the vehicle to lead us here, to show me the way forward. We must build afresh here. I have been spoken to and I know this - this community is the only way humanity survives. I will lead us to ensure that humanity is not lost. We had to leave the QZ because the agents of chaos and evil were there, they knew what we needed to do, they knew my mission. We have a chance here. We have a chance here to grow and survive and thrive. This is my mission, our collective goal. The Junction will succeed where FEDRA failed, where the old ways. I received a message; we’re heeding it by being here. The hard work is being done now. The Junction is the future.”

The Junction move to what was once a gated community many miles outside of the QZ. It’s self-sufficient to a point, with high walls, generators, and access to facilities. In some ways,  it’s almost like a miniature QZ- it’s better though.

 A former resident suggested the location to Ethan and he said he knew right there and then it was where you all need to be. He said it was a sign; that he was told everyone needed to be there.

It’s going to be idyllic. That’s what he’s promised. It’s what you believe.

You love him.

You marry Ethan on a summer’s day to the entire Junction as witnesses. You are so in love, you don’t see the looming clouds, the storm ahead. It’s a whirlwind romance, a sign of hope in this terrifying world. Your relationship, he tells you, is a symbol for all of his followers, it’s the lynchpin to keep your community together.

You read through his notes, they’re less like inspirational words and more like sermons now, but he says that’s fine. He says he’s spoken to the Divine . It’s his duty, his destiny. It’s yours to help him too.

You believe he is a good man. It’s your responsibility to help him lead everyone through this mess.

You love him.

When you’re in love you can excuse things though. Those subtle language shifts: we to I, debates on decisions to instructions, the focus on how you represent him as opposed to how you feel, what you want.

The pressure starts to constrict around your neck just a little. It’s all becoming too much, you’re not Ethan, you don’t know how to be a leader, or a leader’s wife.

You take every note he offers in the spirit of self-improvement , tweak every behaviour to get things right. Ethan needs this from you.

The Junction needs this from you.

You need to do better.

You love him.

And if you notice the way Sean’s brow furrows every time you speak or see him now, the way he shakes his head sometimes, or the way he opens his mouth but doesn’t seem able to say the words he wants to,  you put it aside. He’s struggling to adjust - that’s all.

It has to work here.  If it doesn’t, you know you will die outside the Junction, that the QZs will already be falling. Ethan tells you he’s heard on the radio numerous have already fallen. You can’t find the same messages on the radio when you try alone though. You believe him though.

You’re the last stand for humanity.

This is the only way.

Ethan is your only option.

You are so in love with him.

Time passes. There’s a bad harvest, the seeds don’t take. Ethan says, it’s a sign the group’s faith is false, that they are somehow poisoning the group. Ethan becomes obsessed with the fact he needs to root the traitor out.

You’re not allowed to proof-read his speeches anymore, not involved in his congregation. He won’t discuss his beliefs, his visions with you.

You are in love with him though.

His eyes on you feel searching, scathing, and sinister.

You start to feel scared; a twisting sense of sickness and fear that perhaps this, this isn’t going to be okay. This isn’t just an intentional community, is it?

You have doubts about Ethan too, about the glint in his eyes, about the way he sometimes talks about Sean or other congregants, about you. 

He doesn’t like you leaving the house these days because you keep saying the wrong things, keep unintentionally undermining his views. You stop answering the door to Sean, you listen to old radio broadcasts and wish you could be a better wife. A better believer.

After one sermon, he breaks the radio by throwing it against the living room wall. Your world becomes so much smaller again.

The doubts are getting louder now. Maybe the Junction is … no, that word belongs in movies and tv shows, in a time that’s long since passed. However, maybe it’s not what you thought. Maybe Ethan’s not what you thought.

It’s just … you really do love him, right?

“Is it you?” Ethan asks, eyes wild and desperate. You’re not sure what’s happened; one second you’re in your kitchen, sitting at the table and talking to him and now you can feel the cold wall against your back, Ethan’s hot breath so close to you, the feel of his hand on your hair. “Are you the reason why? Are you the reason why this is falling apart? You don’t believe, do you? It’s you, it’s you. You’re a curse, you’re a goddamned curse.” “Of course I believe, of course I do.” “You’re lying.” He’s right about that. Ethan is not who you thought. The Junction is dangerous. You need to leave. You know this now. You don’t want to die here.  You don’t want Sean to die here either; you bought him into this mess, the two of you need to leave this place soon.  Alive.

Jackson, WY, 2024

There isn’t much of a choice. You need suppliers, weapons, a plan before you can even think about leaving Jackson.

Beau’s right - this isn’t something you can outrun. It isn’t as simple as it used to be. Gabriel’s too old to be told he’s going on an adventure and cheerfully tag along without question - it was hard enough getting him to leave Kansas.

There’s Joel too, Ellie … you don’t know what to tell them.

You know that Jackson isn’t safe with the looming threat of the Junction. You’ve built a life here; a home and you want to protect that.

Besides they could already be here, you think, mentally running through every trader or newcomer you remember seeing in recent weeks.

“Is everything okay?” Gabriel asks softly, sitting next to you on the faded couch. “Beau and Sean seem … tense.”

“They’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Gabriel frowns, looks away.

You could tell him. He’s sixteen. You could tell him the truth. He wants the truth.

You can barely live with it though; barely live with your own part in it all. You proofread his sermons. You want to give him a father that’s safe, a memory of a good man. Not a deranged, dangerous cult leader.

The air is thick with smoke. You can hear the flames consuming the wooden building, can hear people yelling in the distance. Your distraction failed. There’s a gun in your hands, aiming at him. You can’t stop shaking. “Just - just let us leave,” you say desperately. “You’re my wife.” “Ethan -” “You’re pregnant, you think I didn’t know?” Your panic heightens. This is the reason you’ve been desperate to escape with Sean, to find somewhere else ... you didn’t think he knew. “I won’t let you go like this. I won’t let you take a child from me.  My child. They’re going to - when he’s born, everything will be okay again.” No. Ethan cannot be in your child’s life. You cannot raise a child in a cult. You raise your hands once more and pull the trigger.

“You know I love you, right?” you ask your son.

“Mum,” he groans, sounding out every syllable - the epitome of a teenager, ”Of course I know that.”

“Good, I’d do anything for you, kid.”

 Love.

It’s a strange word; a weapon, a revelation, a lullaby. You grew up with messages about soulmates, about princesses finding their Prince Charming and happy-ever-afters. The world changed; those views were exposed for their naïveté more than ever. It became a dream. Something for other people, not you. Then you met Ethan and love became real, tangible. Dangerous.

You didn’t want that type of love again. Relationships were casual, you kept detached, held something back.

Then Joel stole your goddamn bench and ruined everything.

You feel an ache in your stomach as you watch him working on the porch of an empty house. The mailbox says it belonged to the Bensons, you wonder where they are, what became of them, who will move to this house one day.

“How is it?” you call.

Joel looks up and over at you, a smile widening.

You want to drink in every detail of Joel, commit every freckle, the feel of his fingers on your skin, the sound of his voice as he talks to you, the way he looks when he wakes up … every single part of him.

“Hi,” he says lowly, wincing slightly as he stands up. “It’s in pretty good shape actually - just the porch here needs some work.”

“Wow,” you say, aimlessly swinging your hands as you move closer to him.

“How’s the library been?”

“I wasn’t there today,” you say, honestly, “I had to help Sean.” Not that either of you achieved much. You were in the greenhouses and spent most of your day planning, panicking, and pacifying your anxieties.

There were no immediate solutions to the situation you’d found yourselves in so none of you slept much last night as the worry permeated your mind. Except for Gabriel, perhaps - your beautiful son, the reason you needed a better plan.

Well, there are other reasons too.

Joel touches your shoulder gently. “You okay, sweetheart? You look -”

“Don’t, don’t you finish that sentence, darling,” you say in your breeziest voice.

Joel frowns slightly, furrows his brow.

“How’s Ellie?” you ask, desperate to get this conversation back on track.

“She’s good. Gabriel?”

“I think he has a girlfriend,” you admit, giving yourself just a moment of normality. “Or boyfriend. I think he’s dating, regardless.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh, he’s got the signs.” It pulls at your heart; your son won’t want to leave Jackson. He’s building a life here. A decent one.

You were starting to do the same.

“I am not looking forward to that with Ellie,” Joel admits.

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? You’re worried?”

“Who doesn’t worry?”

“Touché.”

“So, what’d I owe the pleasure of this visit to?” he asks, honey sweet as he slips his hands around your waste, leans close to you, his lips on the edge of your collarbone. “not that it isn’t a highlight of my day.”

“Just wanted to say hello.” You feel the heat of his breath as he chuckles, kissing you briefly.

He smells like soap and the outdoors. There’s a lingering hint of mint, of firewood too.

“That works for me.”

He guides you against the wall and as he works his way up your neck, to your jaw, mumbling sweet nothings against your skin, you wish it could be different.

You want to stay here in this moment, or at least you want to stay here with Joel right now.

They could already be on their way.

“Joel -”I love you.

The words hang in the air, unspoken but clear. He must know, surely?

“Yeah?” he asks, looking at you carefully.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

You know you shouldn’t look at him, but you owe him this at least.

His face crumples; confusion, shock, uncertainty. You watch how he works through every moment before shaping his expression into something blank, a look you haven’t seen him wear before.

“Why?” he asks gruffly.

“I just think we need to pause things.”

“Is it because of what happened with Ellie?”

“No, no, not at all,” you say in a panic, remembering the stern conversation you’d had after Ellie’s suspicious accident.

Joel is in the kitchen with his arms folded, flannel rolled up to his elbows and his  scarred, tanned skin exposed. “Total honesty […] that goes both ways, sweetheart.”

Joel was right and he deserves honesty, he deserves someone who can tell him their truths, but you can’t. Not yet.

Not when Gabriel doesn’t know, not when you fear the inevitable judgment on Joel’s face. You helped him edit his sermons, you married him, you didn’t see it until it was too late. Ignorance doesn’t excuse complicity to you though.

You need to protect Ellie too, protect Joel, protect Jackson as well as your family. The Junction would be so dangerous to them - they’re an invasive species, they see something habitable and they would take it over, spread the rot from inside. They might already be doing that.

You can’t be with Joel right now. You just can’t.

A thousand words sit at your lips; you will yourself to give him some sort of explanation, some sort of better parting. When you’re dead, he’ll remember this. maybe it’s better this way. You ruin yourself to him now so he doesn’t have to mourn you, so you’re not another loss or excuse to shut his heart away. You are committing a kindness to him and incomparable damage to yourself because you do love him. You do, you love him in a way that terrifies and soothes you all at once. You feel like it’s been years and decades but maybe Joel is the right person for you at last.

You will not damn him to mourn another lost love though.

This is a kindness.

“I’m sorry,” you say flatly and you step off the porch and away from him, unable to look back in case he disappears.

It’s for him, it’s for him, you’re doing this for him, for Ellie, for Gabriel, for Sean and Beau. This pain is your penance.

Tag List

YHIM: @orcasoul@pedropascalsbbg @yoursoulsunbreakable@iamskyereads@genetics4life@everyth1ngfan@frickatives@perennialdoll247@joelsgreys@pedrobaby@missladym1981@noisynightmarepoetry@picketniffler @titlee78

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[doodle-pops]

Sunshine and Peaches

Elladan x reader

Kinktober 2023: Somnophilia

Warnings: fem!reader, somnophilia (consensual), groping, spooning sex, a little cockwarming

Words: 1.8k

Synopsis: Returning from a hunt, Elladan stumbles upon his loving spouse, garmented in nothing but the unconditional desire for him to devour you on such a beautiful morning.

List of Requests

A sensual moan escaped your lips the moment you felt the tingle of pleasure growing in your abdomen, leaving butterflies floating around in your cunt. Your walls naturally clenched around the length that was traversing your moist passageway like a smooth criminal. Deep in your dream and yearning for his touch, his presence, just him, you couldn’t distinguish between illusion and reality. But your body knew it was Elladan; it was being pleasured by a familiar touch, his hips gently rolling against your backside. Hot breath, raspy and desperate, washed over your neck from behind, and an iron grip encircled your waist, holding you securely. Your body trembled under the recognizable sensation.

The sensual rolls of his hips, bumping gently against your ass, and the barely audible sounds they produced were eclipsed by his passionate whimpers. He whispers your name, a mix of cries and praise for the wonder of your body and how much he had missed your warmth. In response, your body instinctively adjusts to heighten the moment's pleasure. You nestled your head deeper into the pillow and rested it on his shoulder, letting out a breathless sigh and a soft hum. This dream felt more vivid than you had experienced in the past week.

The weight and warmth, the texture and vibration, the scent and sound—they all felt remarkably real. No mirage could conjure such an intense and pleasurable experience that exceeded the limits of the mind, body, and soul. Yet, you allowed yourself to be drawn deeper into the dream, unwilling to walk away from the boundless pleasure enveloping you. Somewhere in the midst of it all, your right leg was lifted into the air, bent at an angle that allowed him greater access to your heat. It was then that the rhythmic sound of his hips meeting your ass reverberated through the open expanse of your chambers.

The slight increase in his panting shifted from being moaned into your neck to your ear. With each change in pitch and the passionate words he uttered, you found yourself growing wetter, drowning in your own arousal, with squelches that echoed in harmony with the increasing tempo. While his right hand was gripped your right leg, his left shifted to your waist to grope your breast, while his mouth found the junction of your neck and nibbled. The sweet scent of peaches from your skin, a reminder of your nightly bath, lingered, driving him wild with the knowledge that you had prepared yourself using his favourite fragrances. Just how much had you been thinking of him during his absence?

The rhythmic sound of his hips thrusting and the soft slap of his balls against your skin echoed in your ears. After weeks of being out in the cold, this sensation felt remarkably real, unlike any dream you’d ever had. As you sank deeper into Elladan’s embrace, your hand instinctively reached for his wavy hair, giving it a gentle tug. “Hmm...feels so good,” you whispered as his pace quickened.

Grinning against the curve of your neck, he found your drowsy state utterly endearing, especially when you mumbled without awareness. His fingers squeezed your breast, teasing and tweaking each nipple. You arched into his touch, allowing the tip of his cock to brush against your most sensitive spot. A gasp and a groan escaped your lips as pleasure surged through you. In your semi–conscious state, he found it impossible to be gentle, interpreting your eager responses as an invitation to heighten the intensity.

Moving his hands from your breast, he ventured lower to your clit, where your arousal had already coated your folds. It was effortless for him to trace circles around your sensitive nub. Despite the temptation to take you roughly in the morning light, he continued to tenderly play with your clit while intensifying his thrusts. The bed frame shook, emitting squeaks and groans in response to the force of his movements. Your grip on each other tightened, eliminating any space between you. Your sweaty bodies rocked against each other, slipping and sliding beneath the morning sun’s gentle rays. Your hands clung to each other both consciously and unconsciously, desperately trying to stay close. Breathless moans and whimpers escaped your lips, intermingled with words of praise and affection.

At this point, it was impossible to remain in slumber, given the mounting pressure and heat welling up in the pit of your stomach. Even the vigour of his thrusts as his cock slid in and out, fitting perfectly into your cunt, eventually roused you. Twisting in his arms with a groggy expression and sleep still lingering in your eyes, you gazed at the familiar face whose eyes were closed, his head buried in your neck. The mop of inky hair in your peripheral vision and the rhythmic motion of his length caressing your sweet spot repeatedly confirmed that your dreams were indeed real. “E–Elladan?” you attempted to greet, but it escaped as a questioning moan that caught his attention.

He bit your shoulder and then leaned in to bequeathed a messy kiss. Your heads bumped against each other, causing you to laugh and fully wake from your slumber. While your lips reconnected in a passionate kiss, his hips fervently pumped, bringing you both to your morning climax. Your other hand reached down to join his, which was already drawing circles on your sensitive nub. The shiver that coursed through your body as your fingers joined his made him smile into the kiss. He always appreciated it when you helped or joined him in pleasuring each other; it added an extra layer of intimacy.

“Are you close, dearest?” he panted against your lips, breaking into a whine as his hips stuttered from the sudden squeeze of your inner muscles. “Finish with me this morning.”

“Uh–huh.” You nodded your head, and as he whispered his request, you pulled his head closer to meet your lips once more, ignoring the occasional clash of teeth. On the other end, his hand slipped from its grip on your leg, quickly readjusting to rest in the crook of his elbow. A flick of his tongue past your lips stole your breath, and the combination of his kiss and the rapid rhythm of his thrusts left you breathless. You could attest that he was more eager during this encounter than the last. Whimpering into his mouth was all you could do as the kiss grew increasingly passionate, and he took control of the rhythm.

As you gasped for air and pressed your face into the pillow, his relentless thrusts persisted, each one sending ripples of pleasure coursing through your body. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and you found yourself surrendering completely to the sensations that engulfed you. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest like a drum, synchronized with the rhythm of his passionate lovemaking. Your fingers dug into the sheets, clutching them tightly as you writhed beneath him. The world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you in this electric, intimate connection.

His primal desire and your unbridled arousal mingled in the room, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. Beads of sweat glistened on your skin, a testament to the fervour of your shared passion. The room seemed to grow warmer with each thrust as if the very air around you crackled with desire. With every powerful push, he took you to the edge and then pulled you back, expertly teasing your senses. Your moans and gasps were a symphony of desire, echoing through the room as your bodies moved together in perfect harmony.

The pillow muffled your cries, but they were a indication to the ecstasy that consumed you. This was a moment where words failed, where the language of the body spoke volumes, expressing a depth of connection that words could never convey.

“Ah! Feels so...good. Ngghh!” Your words were cut short as your whimpering escalated into a loud moan, your orgasm suddenly washing over you, spreading its cool flames throughout your body. You clung tightly to him, fingers gripping his hair strands and tugging sharply as you arched into his slower thrusts, guiding his tip against your already sensitive sweet spot. As intense as the sensation was, coursing through your body and reducing you to a quivering puddle of pleasure, the gentle rocking of his hips was surprisingly soothing now that his fingers had left your clit.

You both ground against each other slowly, holding each other close as the waves of your orgasms flooded your bodies with bliss. You took a moment to revel in his warmth and presence. His scent filled your nostrils, a mixture of your passionate encounter, the warmth of the morning sun, and his own natural fragrance. He nuzzled his cheek against yours and peppered your shoulder with wet kisses, although it was mostly you spooning him rather than the other way around. You giggled at the ticklish sensation, and slight shivers and goosebumps still adorned some parts of your arms and legs from his relentless gyrations.

He was quite fond of the intimate closeness that followed their passionate sessions. “You’re back earlier than I expected, El,” you giggled as his hair tickled your skin while he nestled his head further into your neck, showering you with a cascade of affectionate kisses.

His hands, filled with playful intent, roamed up your body, pausing to gently cup your breast, eliciting delighted laughter from you. “Hmm, I am,” he replied, “I missed you dearly, hence my returned before the moon reached its peak.” He continued to squeeze your breasts while sensually moving his hips against yours, enticingly teasing you. His expert touch and movements left you momentarily speechless, and a soft sigh escaped your lips. Your hands reached around to interlace with his, aiding him in massaging your breasts. As you did so, his lips trailed along your earlobe, nibbling and kissing the delicate flesh, intending to share his pleasure–filled moans with you. He knew how much you enjoyed his whispered affections.

“You should wake me up like this more often...”

His right hand ventured downward, tracing ticklish paths along your abdomen before cupping your pussy. His middle finger delicately slipped between your folds, caressing your clit. Your body responded with a gentle shiver, encouraging him to apply more pressure, watching as you slowly surrendered to his touch. As your hips began to sway against his finger, causing his length, still nestled within you, to stir, you panted with growing desire.

“Then another round it is.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou

[moonshynecybin]

you had a fantasy au forever ago… how does marc find out vale loves him

i for one. always believe rosquez is just as horny as it is tortured and just as stupid as it is horny. i think it’s this fraught thing where after a LONG saga of trying to keep marc safe and worrying about him (marc is captain of the guard/general!!! it’s his whole job to keep VALE safe but vale thinks about any scenario where marc sacrifices his life to save him and it feels like open HEART SURGERY…) and after trying to ease him into a more bureaucratic role as “advisor” (luca voice comma dryly. pecco already does all that. you are teaching him things a consort knows. you do realize that. it’s important to me that you’ve realized that.) by involving him on strategy and policy he i think. entirely without thinking through the emotional implications wherein. decides marc needs to get married to him. truly the only way he can make marc safe the only way he can physically keep him off the battlefield the only way he can. marriage is a political and transactional enterprise to him and he SHANT fall in love anyways so whatever. get married to marc present his most cogent military mind as unequivocally allied with him and keep marc from killing himself 8000x problem solved. the small ruthless part of him also is like. marc cannot leave me and stage a coup with our neighbors to the west if he is legally bound to me :) forever :)

(i would say they have a break up in this universe because vale is a lil insecure about marc’s ability to rule slash uccio meddlings but. it all brings glory to vale here. it’s all under his banner. that’s part of what he liked about marc to begin with… now if marc came from another noble house?? late stage royal parentage reveal??? then shit would get cwazy)

and he lays this all out to our capricorn moon queen marc marquez who sees the logic here and despite KNOWING it’s a bad idea because he is ass over teakettle in love with vale he ALSO sees this as like. the ultimate way to keep vale safe. he can contribute the same way he does now and he knows he’ll never have all of vale but at least he’ll have SOME of him… be able to produce an heir… so he says yes and vale’s like cool. chill. married as work associates. cool.

it’s all this emotional distancing/repression/denial that plays out into what they THINK is a business transaction until it’s the NIGHT OF. and they have to go in there and consummate their MARRIAGE. and vale lays marc out on their fine silken marriage bed and kisses his scarred arm and asks him if it’s okay and watches the way marc’s eyes squeeze shut when he pushes inside of him and the way he shivers when vale’s presses his mouth to the junction of his shoulder and his neck. the flex of his stomach the splay of his thighs the way he’s looking at vale like he’s something new. something that no one has ever seen before… feeling things no one has ever felt before (marc marquez may very well believe valentino rossi invented the prostate orgasm here) and THATS when vale thinks. uh oh !

[anonsickficker]

{blade x kafka} four days [short_scenarios]

CONTENT BENEATH THE CUT CONTAINS MENTIONS OF {ERUCTATION}, {STUFFING} PLEASE BE WARNED!!!

Kafka kneads Blade’s slightly puffy abdomen, registering the vibrations of the contracting muscles of his stomach, processing every bite that he’s being fed.

She knows he’s not full— at least not as full as she’d like him to be.

“Kafka… no more, please…”, he pushes at her shoulder, turning away to choke out a stifled belch. Kafka frowns a little at the disregard that he shows towards his obvious discomfort, but returns to her straight face when Blade decides to face her once again.

“You’ve neglected four days' worth of sustenance, as I’ve heard from Silver Wolf. What exactly do you do with the allowance that I grant you?”, Kafka loops the last few noodles around her chopsticks, cupping her palm underneath them as she lifts the bite-sized portion to his mouth. She pushes the tips of the chopsticks against his bottom lip with unwavering, steady fingers.

The noodles do indeed slide through Blade’s lips, which he parts only in fear of soiling Kafka’s pristine white shirt. From one of his many concealed pockets, he produces a stack of bills, handing them to her. She eyes the bills, then shoots a dissatisfied look back at him, balancing the chopsticks onto the rim of the now empty bowl as he chews, without so much as a word concerning the unused currency betwixt his battered fingertips.

“I gave that to you to use. Not for you to act as my personal bank account.”, she scowls, reaching for yet another dish. This time, it’s fried rice, prompting her to pick the spoon, allowing the chopsticks a brief moment of retire.

In a moment of dissatisfaction, she digs the utensil into the rice, but nudges the spoon to his mouth tenderly as always. Though the reluctance in Blade’s eyes is apparent, he accepts the food, only swallowing when Kafka nods, and decides he’s broken it down enough in his mouth not to choke.

Blade eats without a word, only ducking away to swallow any burps that had threatened to escape his lips, and to reduce any hiccups to subtle hitches of breath. Kafka’s worry only grows, yet her expression refuses to let such debilitative emotions show themselves.

“Kafka— urp— please… I’m so full…”, at this point, they’d made it through seven different dishes, all of which had been selected by Kafka herself.

“We still have another five to go, Bladie.”, she coos, pressing a palm flat on his now noticeably distended stomach, “To make up for all of those missed meals.”

And right then, Kafka feels as if she’s gained true understanding of the phrase ‘expect the unexpected’.

Blade falls into her, leaning his forehead into the junction of her neck and shoulder, resting his hands on her trim waist. And, for the first time, he properly whines into the crook of her neck, quietly, begging for her to cease. She can only blink in surprise for a few seconds, freezing up to register her current position.

“Oh, alright.”

Blade exhales softly as he’s wrapped in warmth, and lifts his head when Kafka calls his pet name once more.

The groaning of his insides have become unbearably loud at this point, and Kafka confirms her previous worries as she pushes lightly into his side, the action immediately forcing a thick belch from Blade’s oesophagus. Blade stutters in response to his lapse in manners, eventually settling on lowering his flushed face and muttering a ‘sorry’ in an amendment to his rudeness.

Blade swallows down the next burp that threatens to leave his lips, but it remains somewhat audible nonetheless. Kafka does not take kindly to his seemingly polite behaviour, taking hold of his lower jaw and fixing it in place.

“You’re keeping this open.”, she glowers, freeing him from her grip. Much to her content, his jaw does not move from the position she’d set it in. Kafka uses this opportunity to push both palms into his previously nonexistent underbelly, fingers enveloped in the groaning mess it had become.

She feels the movement of his innards, squirming to dislodge another bout of air as it makes its way up his throat. She watches his Adam’s Apple bob, before he parts his lips, just a little, ducks his head, and releases a long, satiated belch, something that manages to shock even Kafka for a split second. She massages any smaller after-burps out of him, focusing on the underside of his abdomen, as he clings onto her, refusing to allow their eyes to meet.

“No worries, Bladie.”, Kafka smiles, as she’s finally able to witness the effects of her endeavours, stroking firmly on Blade’s stomach now, each moment of pressure on his hopelessly over-capacitated abdomen displacing another section of air, eliciting another string of deep, satisfied burps, which the man can only dip his head down to stifle. Blade grasps at Kafka’s shoulders when he gets a little too out of breath, and she rubs reassuring circles into his broad upper back before moving onto another tight spot, working every little pocket of excess air out, each low, heavy belch from him soothing her aforementioned worries just a little bit more.

Once all of his helpless burps have been reduced down to stuffed hiccups, she lets him off, giving his now firm, distended upper belly a few final pats. She cards the fingers of her unoccupied hand through his tangled hair, scratching her fingernails against his scalp gently. He instinctually moves away, before relenting to his natural reaction to the comforting act, by leaning into her touch.

Kafka basks in their now shared warmth for just a little while longer, before moving to clean up the empty dishes. Honestly, he’d done a number on all of the food she had ordered, obediently finishing off enough for a family of four, and then some.

“Kafka…”, his fingers wrap around hers, effectively shackling her in place. Though he doesn’t say much, Kafka doesn’t need another word from him to know his desires. She picks a throw blanket from the pile, prioritising covering him before shifting herself beneath it as well.

Their hands are still joined as she watches him finally fall into a much-deserved slumber.

another 1000 words of weird stuff.. thank you for reading this far 🙇

this is based on {tumsnstuff}'s kafka and blade post.. i recommend it.... without that this writing would not have been made 🙇

i chose 4 because 4 and die/death in chinese are similar sounding (for blade), but its also a convenient number