#all that and a pickle on the side? sounds good though

[maudeboggins]

sandwiches of the stars, 1929

the clara bow sandwich: jumbo sardines with vinegar mixed with chopped hardboiled eggs on rye, with a pickle ($0.50);

the charlie chaplin sandwich: camembert, roquefort, and sierra cheese on buttered rye ($0.60);

the pola negri sandwich: creamed chicken on toast with parmesan cheese and paprika ($0.75);

the gloria swanson sandwich: egg and sweet corn omelette between buttered toast ($0.40);

the virginia lee sandwich: chicken and tomato on toast with mayonnaise and french dressing ($0.65)

[ceilidho]

landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

-

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours. 

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet. 

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you. 

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you. 

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing. 

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock. 

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console. 

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff. 

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him. 

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning. 

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away. 

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?” 

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under. 

The first week of December hits town like a truck. 

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance. 

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue. 

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first. 

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you. 

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that. 

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark. 

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake. 

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress. 

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water. 

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there. 

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out. 

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance. 

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed. 

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering. 

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur. 

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again. 

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan. 

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up. 

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch. 

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip. 

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back. 

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you. 

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside. 

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized. 

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured. 

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble. 

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly. 

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache. 

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle. 

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor. 

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you. 

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky. 

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs. 

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body. 

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you. 

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Baki Headcanons

Featuring Baki & Yuujirou Hanma, Kaiou Retsu, and Pickle. Vaguely NSFW perhaps. Female reader.

[Baki Masterlist] [Part II]

Baki Hanma

Baki is overall very gentle, caring and kind. It’s just that sometimes his emotions spill out and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

He often daydreams about his future with you, but occasionally his mind wanders to unpleasant scenarios as well. What if you stop loving him? What if you become tired of him? The thought petrifies him and that’s when the scary feelings take over. He can’t possibly let you go, just like that. How far is he willing to go to keep you with him? He hasn’t found an answer yet and hopes he won’t have to find out.

He’s very protective and can be unpredictable, depending on your reaction. He’s relaxed when it comes to other people approaching you, but if he senses the slightest discomfort coming from you he might lose his temper. Whoever dared to make you upset will immediately regret it.

Baki is always very careful not to hurt you or scare you, though when he’s very excited he might be rougher than expected. Intense intimate moments might reveal a very dominant side of him that reminds you he’s a Hanma.

I feel like he’d enjoy marking his ownership. Baki has a lot of scars as proof of his training, so he’d like to display his love in a similar manner. Whether it’s a heavily scratched back, hickeys or bite marks, he likes to leave his prints on you and adores showing off his own. You’re all his and he’s all yours and he wants the entire world to know.

How quickly he can go from a shy confession to firmly holding onto your wrist and begging you to reassure him of your love. His voice breaks into a quiet pleading growl and you can feel shivers of fear running down your spine. You poor thing, there's nothing to be afraid of. Just pure, honest devotion.

Yuujirou Hanma

Yuujirou is extremely prideful and I feel this could be the main reason behind his obsessive behavior: he’s proud to own and display you to others.

He takes great pride in knowing that no one else has this kind of access to you and he will make it known with every chance that you’re his partner.

He’s not very possessive, in the sense that he’s 100% confident you’ll never find someone as good as him. It doesn’t get better than this and he knows you’re aware. Other people flirting with you? He might briefly watch from afar and thoroughly enjoy the pathetic, pitiful attempts.

Yuujirou acknowledges your strength, so the fact that you’d willingly submit to him makes him dizzy with delight. He adores the absolute dominance he has over you and he can barely contain himself just thinking about it.

I feel like he would really, really enjoy public displays. Having other men witness the lewd sounds and expressions you make, knowing fully that they can only dream of the control he has over you is intoxicating and addictive.

He doesn’t even entertain the idea that you might someday leave him. Someone like you can only be satisfied by someone like him and vice versa. You’re smart enough to recognize it, too.

For the first time he doesn’t consider having a lover as a sign of weakness. You’re worthy enough and he sees you as further proof of his power.

Kaiou Retsu

You wouldn’t be able to tell that Retsu is a yandere for you. He takes pride in his self discipline and he’d never allow himself to expose his weakness to you.

In fact, he’s very conflicted about his feelings and embarrassed to admit such frightful, violent urges. He’s terrified he might hurt you someday, but then again, you’d never give him a reason to. You’d never leave him or upset him, would you?

He is discreetly jealous and possessive, though he doesn’t consider it a bad thing. A new rival just means a new opportunity to prove himself to you and show you that nobody else compares. Sometimes the threat goes away by itself, sometimes he has to interfere, but the result is the same: your bond tightens.

Retsu is calculated and analytical and this becomes particularly handy when interacting with you. He can read you like an open book and knows your likes, dislikes, interests and desires by heart. You often comment on his caring nature: “How did you know I was upset?”, “This is actually my favorite dish!”. Of course, he knows.

Sometimes he might go a little overboard on his quest to know you better. He’s rather good at sneaking around and while he does trust you 100%, he can’t say the same about the perverts out there roaming the streets. When you tell him about the latest hangout with your friends he nods lovingly and tries his best to pretend he didn’t just witness every second of it.

I feel like he might really enjoy kinbaku (Japanese bondage). It’s an artful, traditional form of expressing power and restraint. Seeing you tied up reminds him that you belong only to him.

Pickle

Pickle can be defined by mostly raw affection. He lacks the language to express his intricate feelings, but his love for you is there nonetheless.

He is very confused by everything around him and the change frightens him greatly. He needs a constant in his life that he can cling onto, and that constant happens to be you. You’re the only thing that brings him peace in the unknown and he feels like he can’t function properly if you’re not around.

He’s extremely possessive and territorial. He has difficulty understanding the intentions of people around you, and he doesn’t want to take any risks. So anyone getting too close becomes a rival that causes him to go feral.

He absolutely loves naked cuddles. The skin to skin contact soothes him and reminds him of the peaceful days of the past. He wishes you’d ditch the bizarre robes you insist on wearing.

Pickle is very intelligent and gradually learns to integrate in this new society. He’s not as hostile towards it as he was in the beginning, since this strange new world brought him to you and he couldn’t be more thankful for it. It can’t be that bad, then.

Fighting becomes his way to impress and entertain you. It seems that he no longer needs to hunt for food, but what he can do is to show you just how powerful he is and how easily he can protect you from anything.

You had to password the TV because he’s learned to use it and tries to recreate whatever he sees on the screen, whether just plainly romantic or downright inappropriate.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

THE 141 RESPONDING TO READER'S CRAVINGS (pregnant or not) SUSPICIOUSLY BUT STILL GETTING THEM WHAT THEY WANT cuz they love them 😭😭

Hehe, absolutely! I did this one just as pregnant readers cravings if that's okay! I've heard of some really interesting ones to say the least🤣

141's + König's Reactions To Pregnant Readers Cravings

Warnings: mentions of gagging, urge to throw up

Simon Ghost Riley-

Simon awoke to an empty bed, groaning as he stretched his arms out to find your side of the bed cold. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched before swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

His brows furrowed slightly as he could smell the aroma of tomato sauce in the air. It was 8 am, what were you up to downstairs?

He made his way down to the kitchen and found you singing along your favorite song, cooking away at the stove.

"...babe?" He asked, approaching you slowly. "What, uh, what are you making?"

"Have you ever seen the movie ELF? With Will Farrell? That scene where he makes the spaghetti? It just sounded really good." You turned to him with a wide smile, as you giggled maniacally.

Simon swallowed thickly, slightly terrified at what was unfolding in front of him. He'd be lying, though, if he said he didn't find the sight of you adorable. You had a raging bedhead, your makeup still slightly smudged from yesterday, and were draped in one of his shirts, which practically dwarved you despite your growing belly.

He watched as you struggled with the pasta and chuckled slightly before making his way over to you, placing his hands on your waist as he kissed your forehead. "Need help?"

"Yes! Oh, that'd be great. The sauce is almost done. Can you get the syrup and the candy from the pantry?" You turned to him with a smile, and there was no way in hell Simon could ever say no to you.

He did as he was asked and felt his insides churn slightly as he watched you throw all of the ingredients together on the plate.

"Darn bottle won't open!" You huffed in frustration, prompting Simon to come to the rescue. "Thanks, Si. Once it's opened, can you pour it all over the pasta?"

"You want...syrup all over the pasta?" He suddenly realized you were being quite serious about the reference to the Christmas movie. "I uh.. okay."

He felt bile rise in his throat as he poured the syrup all over the pasta and tomato sauce, and it took everything in him not to puke as he watched you scarf it down. "It's SO good, Simon!"

"Sweetheart, I love you, but that looks dreadful." He chuckled, patting you on the head. "I'll go to the store and buy some TUMS, lord knows you'll need it later."

He gave a kiss to your head before grabbing his keys, stopping when you called out to him, waiving a small piece of paper. "Wait! I have a list. Can you get me these?"

"God, you're lucky I love you." He rolled his eyes playfully as he pressed a kiss to your lips. "Oh blood hell, that tastes horrid."

He grabbed the piece of paper and had to bite back a laugh as he looked at what was on the list. "Hot sauce? Ice cream? Tuna? Do I want to know?"

"Probably best not to ask."

John Price-

"Babe, I was going to order us some dinner, what did you want?" Your husband, John, called from the other room.

"I'm actually okay! Order for yourself. Found my new favorite snack." You shouted back, digging into the food in front of you.

Confused, given that you never turned down the chance to order food, John made his way into the kitchen, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you.

You were perched on the counter, 5 months pregnant, and in your lap was a carton of ice cream, with a jar of pickles right next to you. He watched as you scooped at the ice cream with one of the pickles in your hand.

John had to practice wicked self-restraint, as he tried desperately to not puke. "Love. Are you eating pickles... and ice cream?"

You nodded your head vigorously before biting off a chunk of pickle and spooning ice cream into your mouth seconds after. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a content sigh.

"Who knew! That pickles and ice cream would be SUCH a good combination?" You exclaimed, a wide smile on your face. "You should try it!"

"Oh. No, that's all you love. Wouldn't want to take it from you." He replied, trying to be polite. Though he found the idea utterly repulsive, he didn't want to make you feel bad about what you were craving.

John watched on, horrified, as you downed nearly the entire carton of ice cream and at least a half dozen pickles. How you weren't getting sick from it, he'd never know.

"Do you know if we have peanut butter?" You asked, turning to your husband with a hopeful gaze.

John blinked a few times before realizing you were talking to him. "Oh, yeah. Let me uh, grab it for you."

He reached in the cabinet next to you and slid you the jar of peanut butter. You grabbed at it and methodically dipped the pickle you were holding into the peanut butter. This time, Price couldn't hide the look of disgust on his face.

"Oh my God, this is incredible. I don't know why I didn't try this before!"

"I can think of quite a few reasons why a perfectly sane person wouldn't try it." He chuckled, and quickly dodged as you threw the spoon at him.

"Hey, Mister! You know better than to rile up a person when they are pregnant! It's not good for the baby!" You said playfully, as you flicked pickle juice at your husband. "Anyways, go ahead and order whatever you want!"

"Oh, sweetheart, my appetite is long gone."

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

"Hey, when you're out... could you possibly get pickles... and jelly?" You approached your husband shyly as you twirled your hair between your fingers. You'd had this craving for weeks, and it was getting to the point where you could no longer ignore it.

Johnny stiffled a laugh before offering a mock salute. "No idea what you'll do with those, but sure thing. I'll be back soon."

~

You met Johnny at the door when he returned, and were quick to grab the bag from his hands and sprint to the kitchen. You tore through the bag to grab the jar of pickles, and the jelly, and made quick work of spending the jelly all across the pickle.

"So, you going to make a peanut butter and jelly sandy? I didn't know if we had bread so I bought it... I bought..." Johnny's words trailed off as his eyes landed on you, practically inhaling the jelly covered pickle.

You turned to him with a sheepish gaze as you swallowed the remainder of your concoction. "What?"

"You just...ate pickles and jelly?" He asked, his brows raising.

"Look, it sounds gross, but I promise you, it tastes amazing. Try it!" You held up the second jellied pickle to him with a proud smile.

Johnny shook his head, chuckling and against his better judgment, grabbed the pickle from you, and took a bite.

"Not.. Not terrible." He said, coughing slightly. "Have you heard of dipping chips in honey though? Heard that's a weird craving but am tempted to try it if you're down, we've got the ingredients for it."

From that moment on, Johnny helped you with any pregnancy craving you had, and even encouraged some of them. He'd find various combinations on social media and would try them along with you.

The two of you even made it a game to see who could come up with the tastiest, weirdest combination. Surprisingly, Johnny won nearly every time.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

"Hey, babeeee?" You called out to your husband, Kyle, who was cooking breakfast in the kitchen.

"Yeah love, what's up?" Kyle asked, looking over his shoulder as he flipped the bacon.

"Could you possibly put a glob of Nutella on the side with my plate of bacon?" You bit your lip nervously, unsure of how Kyle would react to the unusual request.

"Sure, but what did you need it for? I don't have any toast made."

"I uh...dipping the bacon in it sounded rather good, so I wanted to try it."

"Well that's a new one, don't think I've heard that one before." Kyle chuckled.

He finished up cooking and put together a small plate of bacon and Nutella for you. He stared at it for a moment, wondering how you possibly could've come up with this concoction. To say he was curious of how it would taste, was an understatement.

He walked over to you with a smile and handed you the plate, laughing softly as you did a small happy dance. "One plate of bacon and Nutella for my love."

"Oh, it smells heavenly, thanks, Ky!" You dug right into the food, groaning loudly as it tasted even better than you thought it would. "Kyle, you have to take a bite. I know it looks gross, but it's so good."

Kyle couldn't help himself. The giant smile on your face had you looking adorable, and he'd do anything to make you happy. He walked over and took one of the slices of bacon before dipping it in the Nutella.

"Holy shit. This is so delicious, babe." His eyes lit up as the flavor exploded on his tongue. He grabbed another slice of bacon and used it to scoop up a large bit of the hazelnut spread.

You giggled as you moved the plate to the middle of the table, and gestured to the seat next to you.

Needless to say, the two of you spent the better part of that morning eating Nutella and bacon, not that either of you were complaining.

König-

"Maus, what's all this in the cart?" König asked as he watched you throw yet another thing into your overflowing shopping cart.

"Oh! I'm just super hungry. I had a few things I wanted to try out." You gave him an elated glance before barreling down another aisle to grab another ingredient.

König chuckled to himself before looking down at the array of ingredients in the cart. You had everything from hot sauce to ice cream to oranges. He swallowed thickly as he remembered reading something in one of the pregnancy books he bought about the weird cravings those who were pregnant got.

You both made it home about an hour later, and he watched as you bolted inside, with one of the bags tucked firmly in your arms. He followed behind you and nearly gagged when he watched you grab the bottle of hot sauce and the jar of peanut butter. Surely... you weren't going to..

"Kö, can you get me a spoon?" You asked sweetly as you opened the ingredients in front of you.

König stood there for a moment, unable to process what was happening before he shook himself. He walked over slowly, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and handing it to you hesitantly. He watched as you snatched it from his hands, got a spoonful of peanut butter, and drizzled a decent bit of hot sauce on top.

You put the spoonful in your mouth and licked the entire spoon clean, moaning as you absorbed the taste. You put the spoon back in the peanut butter, before repeating the process with the hot sauce. "This is just what I needed."

"It...it tastes good?" König asked, bewildered. In his life, he'd seen people eat some pretty weird shit, but this easily took the cake.

"Oh gosh, it so does. Try it?" You asked, beaming as you turned to him. He gulped audibly as he approached you, taking the outstretched spoon.

You watched him with a hopeful gaze, as he took a tiny bit of the concoction on the spoon. He did his best to keep a straight face as he processed the taste and was trying not to gag as he desperately did not want to hurt your feelings.

He cleared his throat a few times before darting over to the fridge to grab a drink. He grabbed the first beverage he could find and downed it. "Maus.."

You gave a small giggle as you watched your husband's struggles. "Not a fan?"

"Oh, no, it was.. it was good. I'm just very thirsty." He gasped out as he finished the last of his drink. "Perhaps, I could make you a better snack though? I don't know how filling this will be for you."

"What kind of snack did you have in mind?"

König gave a hearty chuckle. "Well considering we bought half the store today, I'm sure I could come up with something."

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

[acknowledge-reigns]

Worst To Me (Roman Reigns x Black!fem oc SMUT! 18+!!!)

Description: After Roman loses his title he knows the perfect way to blow off some steam.

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, masochist sub!oc, sadist Dom!Roman but obviously ssc, nipple play, spanking, rough sex, dirty talk, name calling (slut/slutty, toy.), petnames (babygirl, sweetness), edging, hair pulling/tugging, begging, marking/love bites, creampie, Honorifics (My tribal Chief. Daddy).

Song: Worst To Me by Noah Davis.

Other stories featuring Roman x Lilah include: Jealous, 34+35, There Goes My Baby and Nonsense.

My entire Masterlist can be found here.

Face claim: Jaylon Barron

Again, MDNI!!! THIS IS AN 18+ FAN FICTION. As always my stories are about Roman Reigns NOT Joe Anoa'i. Mostly smut with sprinkles of Angst and Fluff.

As Roman walked backstage, frustration and anger coursed through his veins. How fucking dare they. Seth, Jey, Sami. Every person who he ever loved that had stabbed him in the back had to just cost him the title. He lost to Cody fucking Rhodes of all people. He knew he needed to release some tension.

Lilah was always there to provide him with what he needed - she craved that pain and pleasure in equal measure as much as he craved giving it to her. A perfect little canvas for him to mark up. To make her scream and writhe, whimper and moan. Bring back his sense of control.

Tonight, she would be the one who helped him forget about everything else. She was waiting for him in his private locker room, wearing nothing but red and black lingerie that hugged her curves perfectly just as he'd instructed her to before he went out for his match.

Without a single word he grabbed her roughly by the waist and pinned her against the wall, his strong arms holding her in place as he pressed his lips against hers with a force that left no room for questioning who's in charge here. She moaned softly into the kiss and arched her back towards him, eager to feel more of his touch but he paused.

"Safeword, babygirl?" Roman questioned.

"Pickles, My Tribal Chief." Lilah responded.

"Good. Remember it, Sweetness because I'm not gon' go easy on you tonight." He stated as he began exploring every inch of her body with rough hands having made quick work of undoing her bra.

"Do your worst." Lilah teased.

With a smirk he began squeezing and pinching her hardened little nipples, taking his time enjoying her reactions as he twisted them. She squirmed beneath him, begging for mercy through whimpers and gasps.

Roman ignored her pleas, since none of them were their agreed upon safe word and continued to unleash his pent-up frustration on her body. He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck where he sank his teeth into the tender flesh without hesitation. She let out a cry of pain that quickly turned into moans of utter bliss as he sucked hard enough to leave marks all over her.

Fuck. He was marking his territory. As if he were saying 'They can take my title, they can take everything else but can't nobody take my woman'.

Roman smirked, he knew she was enjoying every second of it, even though she pretended otherwise. He let go of her hair and spun her around so that she was facing away from him, giving him access to that plump juicy ass he loved so much. With a low growl, he pulled down her panties and spanked her hard enough to make her gasp and illicit a nice appealing jiggle.

He spanked her repeatedly, alternating between left and right sides with each blow. The sound of his palm meeting her flesh echoed through the room, mingling with their heavy breathing. She could feel herself getting wetter by the second.

"You forgetting to thank your Tribal Chief huh? I know my little toy knows better than that." Roman spat oozing dominance from his very core that left her breathless as he slapped her ass harder.

"Fuck! Thank you, My Tribal Chief." Lilah cried out.

He felt his anger and frustration slowly dissipating as he lost himself in the sensation of punishing Lilah. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up, carrying her towards a nearby bench where he bent her over with ease. He could manhandle her like a little rag doll, in truth he could probably manhandle most anyone that way if he wanted to. He's Roman Reigns.

Roman positioned himself behind her. Lilah felt his hot breath against her skin and then the unmistakable sensation of him entering her from behind. He started thrusting hard and fast, using all his strength to claim every inch of her body as his own. His. Something Cody can't take. Something Seth can't take. Something Jey can't take.

Lilah let out a moan as Roman pounded into her relentlessly. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge with each passing second, but she knew better than to beg for release before he was ready to give it. Not when he was like this. He needed to feel completely in control.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, keeping her in place as he felt his own pleasure building up inside him as he continued to ravage Lilah's body. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I love those pretty little noises you make you hear me? You gon' let the whole locker room hear you fucking acknowledge me." Roman said.

She was unable to form coherent words with the way he was making her feel. With a wicked grin on his face, Roman increased the pace of his thrusts. "I own this fucking pussy. I will always own this fucking pussy." Roman growled, "Say it!" he demanded.

"You own this fucking pussy" Lilah repeated barely between moans.

"Say it again. Say it again. Louder." Roman ordered.

"You own this fucking pussy, daddy." She stated as loud and clear as she could.

"That's what I thought. This slutty little pussy acknowledges me." Roman let out that smug little chuckle he does.

Roman could feel himself getting closer to the edge but He slowed down his pace and focused on hitting all the right spots inside Lilah, causing her body to shudder with pleasure. She let out a series of high-pitched moans that filled the room with an intoxicating energy. This is control. This is power.

He continued to tease Lilah, bringing her right to the brink of orgasm before pulling away just in time. He enjoyed seeing her squirm beneath him, desperate for release but unable to do anything about it without his permission. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of denial and torture, he let go completely and allowed himself to be consumed by the pleasure. Lilah let out a scream of ecstasy as she reached her peak, her body convulsing with waves of pleasure that seemed to go on forever and ever. Roman followed suit soon after, his own release hitting him like a tidal wave as he buried himself deep inside her one final time filling her with his seed.

After cleaning up and catching their breath, Roman led Lilah over to the locker room couch where they could relax in each other's arms. He wrapped his muscular arms around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head gently. "Are you okay?" he asked softly as he stroked her hair back from her face. "That was... intense."

"I should be asking you that. I know what that title meant to you." Lilah said.

Roman sighed and pulled her even closer, his expression growing serious. "It did mean a lot to me," he admitted quietly. "But at the end of the day, it's just a belt. It doesn't define who I am. I'll always be Roman Reigns." He paused for a moment before continuing. "What matters most is that we stay together through thick and thin, no matter what happens. Belt or no belt."

"Wait, is that what all this was about? you were worried I'd leave you if you aren't champion?" Lilah asked softly.

Roman looked away for a moment, embarrassed that he'd let his insecurities get the best of him. "Maybe," he admitted reluctantly. "I know it sounds stupid now, but I guess deep down I was afraid you'd stop loving me if I wasn't on top anymore."

There it was. That trauma rearing it's ugly head. People leave. Seth left. Jey left. Sami left. Hell, Dean left. That same trauma that cost him his damn title tonight.

Lilah smiled softly and reached up to caress Roman's cheek. "Hey, listen to me," she said gently. "You don't need a title to be worthy of my love. You are an incredible person with so much talent and potential that it takes my breath away sometimes. I will always love and acknowledge you." She paused for a moment before adding, "No matter what".

Roman felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to Lilah's words. He knew she was being sincere and that her love for him ran deep, but it still didn't completely erase the doubts that had been nagging at him ever since he lost the title. "I appreciate everything you just said," he finally managed to choke out after a few moments of silence. "But I can't help feeling like I let everyone down when I lost my title.. The family.. I was supposed to keep us at the top of the mountain."

Lilah nodded in understanding and wrapped her arms around Roman's neck, pulling him close. "I know how much it means to you," she said softly. "But the truth is, no one can keep us at the top forever. Sometimes we have to take a step back and rebuild before we can come out stronger than ever. You did it for four years, Roman. That's special." She said

Roman smiled at Lilah's words and kissed her gently on the forehead. "You always know just what to say," he said softly. "I don't know where I would be without you." He pulled her closer and held her tightly, feeling grateful for her love and support. Roman and Lilah stayed cuddled up on the locker room couch for a while longer, enjoying each other's company and trying to forget about the stresses of their professional lives. Eventually, though, they knew that it was time to get back out there and face whatever challenges lay ahead. Just not right now.

[velvet-paradox]

Balance

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: Sebastian Krueger x Female reader Summary: your fuck buddy takes you in the shower. Length: Medium Tagging: @synnersaint @shyjellyfish26 @kosmokenny @butterscotch-babie @cesneo @deaddainish @allkot @jacket-slut99 @hers-area @1-fuzzy-squirrels @hailmesuckers @ella-bella-ella @spookylilbay @t6ylors @salamanderstuff @hh-spnxx @akii1833 @malyshka-3 @etoilebleue @gremlingottoosilly @talktothemoon2 Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, strong language, explicit content, established relationship, voyeurisms (ya'll are fucking in a shower so that counts), unprotected p in v, swallowing, cum eating, detailed smut.

ENJOY!!!

He wasn't a creepy by any means, he was more observant; a fly on the wall, curious in nature. Intrusive thoughts lead to intrusive visions and the more he sat and dwelled on them the more obsessed he'd become. These feelings were not on his radar. There was no expectation, no limits, no planned process. Fly by the seat of his pants, devil may care, play things but ear but then he happened to meet you. And all that flew right out the fucking window.

Uh oh.

This was new, very new territory for the man. He'd been requested, specifically by a man named captain John Price of the 141. He'd be on retainer, handsomely paid, taken care of with the highest respect. With the sum he'd been offered who was he to turn it down? A little stint, all expenses paid as well, was a dream. As he thought of where he'd vacation after you had stepped into the frame. Shattered what resolve he'd had, the walls he'd neatly laid by hand, trauma after trauma.

You touched your ear, earrings dangling in the light and handed Price a neat stack of color coded folders one early afternoon. You looked at him. Sebastian thought you'd be nervous, skittish, afraid even by his head to toe covering, sitting widely at the back of the briefing room, taking up as much space as he needed. But you didn't. He'd later found out why.

He'd heard the name König once or twice in passing, a monster, a thief in the night, the boogeyman. If you weren't scared of König then there's no way you'd be scared of him. And you weren't. You were sweet on him just as he was to you. If he wasn't careful you'd give him a toothache.

It started with casual pleasantries.

Good morning, Krueger.

Gut Morgen my dear.

Two sugars, right?

No pickles.

You fell asleep once with your head against his bicep, exhausted, wiped out. Your head was so small in comparison to his arm, he could crush you like a bug. He'd done so with enemies of the past. He just looked down at you with a smile behind his head covering, blushing a little as you shifted deeper into his side.

You were never in field. Kept safe on base or at the rendezvous point. Out of sight, out of harm and yet even though you were never with him on the battlefield, you were on his mind. Maybe you felt it. Some telekinesis going on but as he laid low, out of harms way on a rooftop in the scorching Sahara, his comms crackled to life.

"Come in Krueger, what's your location?"

"Rooftop. Ten clicks south of the point, target inbound."

"Good. Ghost and Sergeant soap are on their way, wait for my go ahead before clearing the building."

"Roger that."

"Hey Sebastian?"

The sound of his birth name, coming from your mouth made him suddenly hyper aware and stiff. You only ever called him Krueger and it was in that very moment, that dusty hot second that he realized you'd canceled everyone else out, this was a one on one channel.

Alone.

"Ja?"

"You get this job done and make it back to base in one piece," your voice paused and returned momentarily with a smile he could only imagine. "I'll let you buy me dinner."

He'd never gotten a job done quicker than that. No wasted ammo, no casualties. His black heart was full and pumping when he boarded the helo, shoving their prisoner to the wall, seatbelt maybe a little too tight but for good reason, keep him for safe travel and questioning. He had a pep in his step and a grin on his face the whole time.

No one suspected a thing.

You were too cool, too aloof and breezy to let anything unsavory exist. He wondered how did it. How you could be so vulnerable, docile and submissive behind closed doors but be this calm outside of them. Balance, he supposed.

He watched you chat with Gaz, laughing at one of his many told jokes, one he'd heard a handful of times since joining the company. He could only muse how many times you must've heard it.

Kreuger leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, listening but not paying any attention oh no. His sole attention was on you. How you smiled, the way you gently touched his Kyle's shoulder, the way your eyes glinted in the awful florescent lighting. The curve of your mouth, the tilt of your hip. The way your face changed when you caught him watching you.

You were trouble.

A brat.

The way you just so happen to let slip that you'd been needing a long hot shower after this exhausting week let him know your next move. Which meant Sebastian knew his.

It wasn't too long after departure did he venture out of his temporary quarters. A plain grey dresser and matching desk, walk in closet that was mostly bare save for a few key items and his toiletries, a decent king sized bed that he'd fucked you on all four corners of. The first of many late nights and bj's were had on those crisp sheets.

He waited until the rookies had their lights out checks before he slipped out of his room, a heavy towel around his bare shoulders, his tattoos and scars on display as he made his way down to the showers. Luckily the staff had their own private showers, no sharing or horseplay in there. There were at least stalls and cubicles for safety and privacy. Perfect. Krueger made sure the coast was clear before slipping into the room. The sound of a powerful shower head filled the space, warm steam and the scent of your body wash cloaked him in perverse glee. He double locked the door, holding onto the ends of his towel around his shoulders, Sebastian strutted through the locker room. He could hear you humming, coming around one of the corners he caught you with your face dripping with water, the palms of your hands at your eyes.

"Well what have we here?"

His thick accent made you jump and cover your not so private parts. You twisted and turned you're body to shield yourself.

"Krueger! You scared me you little perv, you're not supposed to be in here."

He laughed at your display, still soapy and slick. "I am not Krueger when we are alone, remember? Or… does my little toy need some reminding?"

"Sebastian!"

"What?"

"You can't… what if someone else is in here?"

"There isn't."

"How do you know?"

"Hallo!!??" He shouted, cupping around his mouth, he smiled in silence. "See? It's just you, me and the terrible water pressure."

You scoffed at that.

"Well… are you going to finish cleaning up or what?"

"With you watching?"

"Ja. Why not?"

"I feel like a goldfish." You admitted, still keeping some of your dignity which Krueger thought was cute.

"My dear, I have seen you much more compromising positions than simply bathing."

"That's not the point." You stuttered and looked down at your toes. "Should I perhaps join you then, schatzi? Would that be better?"

The water from your lashes streaked down your cheeks when you smiled and held out your soapy loofah. "Much."

….

He'd said it plenty of times before; you never looked better but each time it was a lie for the next time he got you alone. The suds of soap on your already soft and wet skin glistened in the low light, dripping down your arms, your legs, how the soap clung to your collarbones.

Beautiful.

Krueger removed his face covering, his belly flipped when you eyes him up and down as he stepped out of his sweats, kicking them aside along with his towel. Your traveling eyes only furthered his confidence as he came into your shower cubicle.

His wingspan was enough to block you in the tight quarters, the water rushed over your curves as you backed up, letting him into the space. His mind played tricks and thought intrusively that he could bust down these bricks like cardboard at the look you were giving him just then.

"Is this better, mein schatz?"

"Come closer." You breathed and moved around the shower, keeping your eyes locked on his as it was his turn to stand underneath the water. It splashed and dribbled down his body, his muscles warming in its delicate embrace.

Your hands looked so small whenever you touched him, going over his abdomen with the soapy loofah. He didn't mind that he'd be smelling like mango and shea. He found it pleasing, reminded him of you and suddenly the thought of having to buy a bottle of the stuff to occupy his toiletries once he left this place made him a little somber.

He didn't want to leave you.

The big killing man had a soft spot for you.

Sure, the others gave him shit for following you around like you had some invisible leash around his neck, he'd break fingers and backs of any of your enemies if given the lucky chance. He did so with ease because he was the one to warm your bed, make you laugh and hold you close.

Better to just fuck it out, his feelings could sort themselves down as they circled down the drain.

Your begging made him harder, you both knew his cock fit but to hear you beg for it, plead for him to give it to you made him feral. He grabbed your hip hard and placed your foot on the soap dish partition as he leaned forward, teasing you both as he tapped the head of his cock against your clit, slipping the shaft between your folds. He didn't press in right away, making you arch and pull him closer with a hand on the nape of his neck.

"Make it fit, Sebastian. Make it fit. Stretch me out." You whined, watching him rock his cock up against your folds, coating him with your arousal.

"That's what you want, hmm? Are you worried it won't?" Krueger teased, smiling at your focused face.

"I just…I just want it in me," you batted your lashes then, inching your pussy forward, begging for a little more friction, something only his cock could seem to reach. "I need you."

"Ah, and not just five minutes ago you were shooing me out of here, no? Now look at you, looking to get fucked in the showers by a visiting war criminal."

"Are you trying to turn me on even more?" Your giggle melted into a satisfied moan when he stuffed himself inside you. Thick, rock hard pulsing muscle sinking in deeper. You rested your head on his shoulder the closer he got.

"Oh fuck. That's it."

"This what you wanted, my dear? How quickly you fold for me, ja? How quickly your resolve leaves your body once you are full of me."

Krueger taunted, circling his hips as he held your ankle on the soap dish. His other hand came up to cup your breast as he really started to move and fuck you.

It was so hot and dirty, soap slick skin, sloppy wet kisses caught in between. You licked inside his mouth, your nails scratching down his back. You matched his enthusiasm, moving in unison.

Krueger planted his feet along the slick floor, grunting your name, panting out little phrases.

"Good girl."

"Keep it coming, baby. That's it."

"Good job baby, good job taking it all in."

"Ohhh you are really trying to milk my cock, hmmm? Go on then, squeeze me, squeeze it all out."

You sunk your teeth into his shoulder, keening and begging for more. The grey cloud of leaving you, this moment, this kind of sex crept around his shoulders. He hated it, shaking his head, wetting his face under the water.

"It's so good. You're so good," you cooed, petting his face and staring blissfully into his eyes. "So so good to me."

Krueger would be lying if your admittance didn't steal his breath. How you looked, in general and the way you looked at him like he was everything. Some precious jewel, a forbidden item. He licked his lips and kissed you hard, holding you somehow closer as his cock brushed up deep, nudging a spot inside your cunt that drove you wild. You bit his tongue.

"Oh shit, do that again! Fuck that's good."

"Ja, you like that? Like how I fit so perfectly in your perfect little cunt," Sebastian chuckled as you nodded frantically. "Wish I could take you with me. Keep you like trinket. Fuck, clench around me."

"I am." You moaned.

Sebastian paused, lifting your chin from his shoulder, cupping your cheek. He blinked rapidly.

"I put in a transfer."

"What? Why?"

"Why not? I'm not even from here!"

He gave you sideways look, brows coming together, broken pieces of him were being molded together, weaved together with whatever witchcraft you had. He would never get enough.

"Fuck yes." Krueger kissed you again, sweeter than the last but there was more feeling behind it. "You're mine. All mine now."

Your sobs for more boosted his already incredibly high ego, making him fuck you faster, made him feral with desire as he pinched your nipples, bit the side of your neck, groaned almost pathetically into your ear, licked the shell of it. He called you every beautiful word he knew, huffing when you sang his name.

"Fuck I'm… it's coming, I'm coming, Make me cum, please! I need it, I need it so badly. I'm gonna' cum so fucking hard, don't stop don't stop don't--"

"Atta' girl, there's my girl, Moan it out baby, let me hear it. Let me know how good you feel right now." Krueger sighed when you responded in kind, whining and throbbing your release around him. He wasn't going to last much longer either, everything felt so decadent and warm and safe.

Sebastian pulled out, fucking his fist instead but lost his balance as you suddenly dropped down to your knees, your hot mouth on his cock, tasting yourself along with his pre-cum made him groan. His breath hiccupped the deeper you took him down your throat.

"Fuck… that's it baby, good God you're so good at taking cock. Doesn't matter which hole. Swallow it down, that's it. Be a good girl, fuck… swallow it all down. It's coming baby, get that pretty mouth ready for me. I can't---I'm coming. Here it comes baby."

You looked like a goddess down there, swallowing his load, gulping it down. You barely showed him your empty mouth before he hauled your ass back up to your feet, crushing you into a sudsy embrace. He kissed you again, tasting everything.

"You are everything to me." He confessed.

"That's why I'm coming with you. Where you go, I go."

He'd figure something out, he thought as the water began to chill. Mixing business with pleasure was always a toss up, could make for a shaky foundation but that's the thing with balance.

[leighsartworks216]

We'll Figure It Out

Harvey x gn!Farmer

Been really going through it with finals and now that I'm sick and feeling like garbage, this just wanted to come outta me. I'm working on a sweeter one to balance this one out. Not proofread at all

Warnings: hurt/comfort, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts (not explicit), crying, brief reference to alcoholism, drugs and suicide

Word Count: 1,013

Masterlist

AO3

The farmer grumbled. The blankets were too warm, but the thought of pushing them off and starting the day was even more unpleasant. From the window of Harvey’s room, they could see the sunlight streaming through. But it was too bright, and promised a long day ahead. Again.

They sighed as they shuffled further into the too-warm blankets, pressing their face into their too-warm pillow, grappling with how uncomfortable their too-warm pajamas were. They had to tamp down their emotions so they didn’t frustratedly try ripping it all off at once, no matter how tempting it sounded.

“Honey?”

Two knocks sounded from the door frame. Robin hadn’t bothered to install doors. When it was just them living there in the dingy one-room cabin, it was fine. Now it only served to irritate them as Harvey’s shoes switched from padding on carpet to crossing the hardwood floor of the bedroom.

The edge of the bed sunk down with his weight as he sat down. His hand naturally found its way to their leg, rubbing mindless patterns through the blanket onto their thigh. The familiar scent of coffee reached their nose. No doubt his other hand was occupied with a freshly brewed cup of their farm-grown beans. He always said Gus couldn’t make a cup this good, though you insisted Gus probably used the beans you sold to Pierre to make his own saloon goods.

“What’s wrong? You’re usually up by now.”

He waited patiently as they sighed into their pillow, before turning their head until their mouth was uncovered. “What time is it?” they mumbled.

He glanced at the clock on their side table. “8:30, just about.”

“Hmmph.”

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

They heaved a long, drawn out sigh. “Which Harvey am I talking to?”

His ministrations paused for a moment, before he began rubbing circles against them. “Which would you prefer?”

“... Husband Harvey.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Can you tell me, as your husband, what’s wrong today?”

Time stretched on. He began to doubt they’d answer at all, or maybe they’d chosen to lapse back into the selective muteness they’d arrived to the valley relying on. He still remembers how shocked he was when they first spoke. By that time, over a year had gone by, and he’d long accepted this stranger as an odd new addition, running into the clinic with jars of pickles and hot coffee before leaving just as soon as they came.

Ever since they’d presented him that bouquet from Pierre’s, they’d opened up more. Some days were harder than others for them to speak, but he never held it against them. Now, though, some bitter part of him wished they’d give his frayed nerves a break. He ignored it in favor of giving them time.

Eventually, they unburied their face and stared across the bed into his room. His radio receiver sat untouched, waiting for a rainy day to be used again. A half-built model airplane rested on the table amidst paint and glue. A book on the floor he kept forgetting to pick up, fallen from his shelf of other miniature models of planes. He wondered what they were looking at, or for.

“I…” They swallowed. They began picking at a string on the corner of their pillowcase. “I wish I hadn’t woken up.”

He hm’d. “Were you having a good dream?”

Their fingers twirled the string around them, tugging futilely on the stubborn fiber. “No, I, um…” They pulled until their fingertips changed color. “I wish I hadn’t woken up, at all…”

Everything in Harvey’s body shot to high alert. Memories of checking teenage patients in Zuzu City who didn’t look him in the eyes as he tried explaining how the stuff they were putting into their bodies was slowly killing them. Adults who’d come in reeking of liquor, claiming they’d only had one or two drinks that week, who scoffed when he tried advising them against drinking. One patient who had already decided what they would do that night, regardless of what he said.

His hand stilled entirely on their leg, tense. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, all spiraling from bad to worse.

As a husband. As a husband. They don’t want a doctor right now. What would a husband do?

The dip in the bed lifted as he stood. The farmer, his dear farmer, curled in on themself, burying their face in the pillow again. Succumbed to their thoughts. Accepting that he would not help.

They jolted when they felt the bed shift as he crawled in from his side. His shoes were abandoned on the floor, jacket removed and laid over the foot of the bed where their cat liked to sleep. They watched, lost on what to do, as he laid before them, scooched down so he was eye-level despite his height. He brushed a hand over their cheek, knuckles pushing away loose hair and spare dirt from the day before.

He looked them in the eye.

“Talk to me, honey.”

His eyes flickered across their face as they stared at him. A slight tremor in their lower lip, their eyes becoming glossy, the hesitation melting away as they sighed shakily and leaned their head closer to him. He gladly closed the gap, resting their foreheads together. They closed it further, dragging their too-warm body away from the too-warm imprint they’d created last night, wrapping their arms around him, not caring how warm he was against them, just needing him close.

He watched their face crumple as the tears finally flooded to the corners of their eyes. Their body shook with the sob that ripped its way from their throat. He shushed them softly as he pulled away to place a kiss to their temple. They pressed forward into his neck, tucking their head under his chin and finding the bare skin there despite the shirt collar blocking it. He wrapped his arm around their shoulder and supported the back of their neck, keeping them close.

“We’ll figure it out, dear. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

[zabo-writes]

Hanging Around (Scar + Grian)

Grian gets spooked and his avian tendencies make him stress grip the ceiling of the Barge. Scar encounters him in this awkward predicament.

-------------------------

Grian was in a bit of a pickle.

His day had been fairly normal:

He mined ten full shulker boxes of sand and gravel to restock at the Barge. 

He avoided the back of his base like a plague. 

He fed Mumbo’s weird sentient base… all very normal, non stressful activities.

Inside the Barge, as Grian was opening the chests to collect his diamonds, he suddenly slipped and set off a firework rocket. It made a loud BANG sound, and left lots of pretty purple paper bits all over the floor that were going to be a pain to get out later. It had been mostly harmless really, only a tick or two of damage, but on instinct Grian jumped and grabbed onto the campfire-thatched ceiling of his upper floor for dear life.

This would not have been a problem, were it not for the fact that his talons had caught the wood in a stress grip, and now he couldn’t let go.

Grian was stuck on the ceiling.

He sighed. It wasn’t often that his avian behaviors interfered with his day to day, but boy did they choose the most awkward times! Grian stretched his wings in annoyance.

Okay! Let's assess the damage: 

His entire left foot’s talons were wrapped securely around the campfire wood on the roof of the barge. He had no control over the vice-like grip strength that his talons held in these situations. Depending on the level of stress that induced it, this could keep him stuck for anywhere from minutes to hours. 

His right hand had grasped a fence post on the wall to stable himself in his fright. That grip was less… grippy? His knuckles were still white with tension, but in his experience he was usually able to gain control over his hand far more quickly. Grian wasn’t really sure why, maybe it was because his feet were more bird-like, and his hands were less so? He wasn’t going to question it.

Right foot, left hand, and both wings free to flail idly while he waited. And bump awkwardly into all his chests.

With a bit of focus and begrudgingly calm breathing, Grian managed to dislodge his other hand. Great! Now he could hang upside down like a bat while he waited for his foot to be less grippy. Nothing to see here, just an average day at the Barge, doing his stretches… 

Grian really hoped no one came in to see him like this.

But it seemed luck was not in his favor today, as he began to hear singing in the distance growing slowly louder as someone approached. And singing generally only meant the arrival of one person in particular.

“Why, hello there! What are you up to on this fine afternoon Grian? Hanging around?”

Grian leveled Scar with his most unimpressed expression, though the effect was slightly diminished by his predicament. Scar shamelessly eyed the avian down and up, undeterred.

Growing a little self conscious of his jumper slipping and showing his stomach, Grian adjusted his arms so he was leaning extremely casually against the wall. Very casual and also comfortable. He hoped Scar left soon because he could not keep this up for long.

“Hello Scar. I’m doing quite well actually! Just doing my daily stretches.”

Scar nodded sagely, “Ohh I see! Always good to stay fit, that’s good, keep the muscles strong.” 

“Yes, precisely! So, did you need something?”

“Hmm, I actually came by looking for some lanterns, but I think I’ll do some leisurely shopping around the Barge! I’m sure you don’t mind, do you, Grian?”

Grian did mind, actually! He minded very much, Scar! Grian cursed his bird luck under his breath, but gritted out “Don’t you have some mayoral duties to attend to? More evil lasers to build?”

“It’s not evil! It has solar panels,” Scar said as he brought himself face to face with the hanging avian, placing his hands on the sides of Grian’s shoulders, “And besides. I’m much more intrigued on what’s going on with you. I think you’re lying, pesky bird.”

Grian felt his face grow hot. He tried to shift away, to no avail.

“Scar…”

“C’mon! You can tell me, what's up?”

“..... I’m a bit stuck.”

“Really?!” Scar gasped, “Stuck in your own shop? If this isn’t Grian-safe, it surely isn’t Scar safe… I may need to write you a citation!”

“No, no, it's like a bird thing. I got spooked by a rocket and then I stress-gripped the ceiling.”

Scar’s face lit up in a way that usually did not mean good things for Grian.

“Oh, I can help you calm down! Hold on right there Grian, I’ve got just the wizard crystal for this occasion…”

“I really don’t think that's needed here,” Grian protested as Scar rifled through his enderchest, coming out triumphantly with a pink piece of glass. 

“Here we go! A one of a kind calming crystal just for you! Oh, and I can go get Jellie for you as well, she’s very calm…”

In the midst of Scar’s rambling, Grian felt his talons release from the ceiling. He tumbled gracelessly to the floor, taking out Scar in the process and landing them both in a tangled heap on the ground.

“You deserved that,” said Grian fondly, making no move to get off of Scar.

Scar looked up at him with a smile, “Another satisfied customer! Can I interest you in a bulk deal?”

[faded-euphoria]

if you would be so willing to give me some Graves headcanons? PLEASE🫴

HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA plz i live him and yes he will be a good boy in this

sfw/ lots of food hcs also i have more so lemme know if you want more

Phillip Graves Casual Headcanons

He like having his chin scratched

IM NOT SORRY FOR THAT BUT HE DOES

i'm pretty sure this guy is late 30's but stressed as shit so he looks a little older

hes a god on the grill but if you ask him to boil pasta you're house will be on fire

he gets mad when his favorite football team doesn't win and yes it would be alabama

he sounds like he's from South Virgina/Northern Tennessee

he never lived on a farm but he had so many friends that did back in high school

definitely has mommy issues

would be supportive of lgbtqia+ but would 100% not get it

he'd try so hard to remember to use preferred pronouns but he'd fuck up and apologize profusely

knows every single shadow company member

blames himself for every single person that dies on all the missions he's been on

loves those Payday peanut bars

he drinks Diet Coke and Coke Zero

his favorite food is a big ass greasy hamburger with pickles, lettuce, tomato, mayo, mustard, cheese, ketchup, and onion rings on it with fries on the side

He's lowkey republican with a seasoning of democrat

he hates chicken nuggets but loves alligator nuggets even though they're literally exactly the same thing

will eat deep fried pickles

his favorite color is tan

he wears flesh colored shirts and khaki shorts or button ups and blue jeans depending on the weather

knows how to ride a horse better than george washington

he washes his ass but not his legs

will go weeks not shaving his beard and then he'll feel gross and shave

sneezes like theres a megaphone attached to his nose

if he's sick he acts like he's on his deathbed

listens to old taylor swift music and know all the lyrics to White Horse.

[y3ager]

RODEO NIGHT

— a weekend visit back home leads you to the annual blueforest rodeo, where a certain man in red is competing.

jean k. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, cowboy au, fluff.

YOUR LEMONADE JOSTLES in the translucent plastic cup, crushed ice knocking against itself and fresh lemons releasing more of their sour juice as you roll your wrist in a lazy circle. your glossed lips wrap around the bright red tip of the straw, sucking absentmindedly as your dark eyes scan the rodeo arena.

rodeo-goers like yourself file into the stands, boots and tennis shoes clanking against the metal as they seat themselves after purchasing their concessions of cheesy nachos and sour green pickles, excited chatter filling the air around you.

itching to get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city, you decided to escape to your hometown of blueforest, a quaint and quiet town tucked off in the corner of the state. you left soon after graduating high school, a full ride paying you to attend the big university of your dreams. you didn’t really appreciate blueforest’s peacefulness then, but wiser and older you love its predictability, its peacefulness.

the mounted speakers crackle as the host begins to speak, his drawl thick and country as ever. “ladies and gentlemen that was our bull ridin’ event. please give those boys a hand! they put on quite a show and gave our judges a tough time!”

the crowd erupted in cheers and hoots, shoes stomping against the stands. it really was a good show, with the win being determined by mere fractions of seconds.

“with that let’s move on to the next category, yeah?” the announcer’s voice called over the sound system, his voice reverberating all around the ring. “up next we got seven talented boys competing in our tie ropin’ game. a little calf is gonna run out into this ring, and these boys gotta catch ‘im and tie ‘im up. his horse gotta be well trained too, because he better come to a stop once that calf is caught and he better not drag the poor thing along when he’s all tied up! now, let’s give it up for ‘em!”

the crowd cheered in excitement again, the audience giddy for arguably the most popular event in the blueforest rodeo. from your seat in the stands, you could see the men lining up on their horses. their shiny, healthy coats gleamed and glistened in the slowly setting sun. anyone with sense could tell that these were prized beasts, they were huge with healthy fat. they snuffed and nickered quietly as they rode in, their tails swishing as them and their rides waited patiently for their turn.

one particularly gorgeous mare stood close to wear you sat. fitted with some expensive looking tackle, her coat was a black so stunning you could almost see your reflection in it. your eyes roved over her appreciatively, recalling the horses your grandfather used to care for when you were a little girl living in this town. on her behind, J. K. was imprinted into her otherwise blemish free flesh. your eyes finally trailed over to the horse’s tall rider, where his golden eyes stared back into your own.

“oh, i’m so sorry for staring.” you gently raise your hands in surrender, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish as you took in the rider. he was tall, probably a bit over six foot. his light brown was long, a mullet that tickled the back of his neck. “your girl was just so pretty.” the light of the sun catching your glossed up lips as they break into a polite smile. “she’ll do you right.”

the rider smiled back at you, his light eyes flicking to your lips before quickly snapping back up to your brown eyes. “means a lot, hun,” his deep voice rumbled out, his position on his mare shifting a little to get comfortable. “she not quite pretty as you are, though.”

you laugh, your head tilting to side slightly as you study the man before you. “aw, you tell all the girls in the stand that, huh?”

“no, never, ma’am,” he affirms earnestly, his eyes widened slightly as he placed a hand over his heart. you chuckle again at his antics, and his smile widens. “i only say a girl’s pretty if she really is. and you’re downright stunning.”

“mmhmm, i bet.” you feel like some lovesick teenager, giggling and making goo-goo eyes at this man, and right before he’s up to compete, no less! out of the corner of your eye, you see the horses in front of jean marching forward, their thick tails flicking and twitching. “ah, you’re up soon. i won’t distract you any more.”

“ah, no, you’re doin nothin of the sort, ma’am.” the rider shakes his head, his horse pawing lightly at the ground as if she’s eager to start too. his smile shifts into more of a self assured grin, as he straightens up in his saddle. “matter fact i just might do a little better now that i know you got your eyes on me. can’t come off as a fool now, can i?”

the speakers overhead crackle again as you watched as the rider you were flirting unabashedly stepped up the box. “and now for our final contestant for the tie-down, a mr. jean kirschtein! don’t let his pretty-boy looks fool you, this is a born and bred cowboy right here! time to beat, ladies and gentlemen, is 9.3 seconds. can he do it?”

the crowd erupted again cheers and applause, and you find yourself sitting up straighter in your seat to get a really good look at jean and his performance. 9.3 seconds was a pretty tough time to beat.

down in the box, jean shifted anxiously in his leather brown saddle. pre-performance jitters. he was confident enough in his abilities, but knowing that that pretty girl in the stands had her eyes on him made his heart throb in his chest under his dark red shirt. bijou, the black beauty underneath him, pawed at the dirt again, her head bobbing up and down in excitement and making her mane tickle the bright white diamond adorning the front of her head.

“easy there, bijou,” jean hummed, adjusting his grasp on his loop, the rope scratching his calloused hands. “we’re almost up. gon’ give that doll up there a good show, eh?” reaching down, he procured his pigging string and clenched it tight between his teeth. he had to focus. any minute now, that calf would burst from that chute.

once the calf reached had his head start and the barrier was dropped, jean flicked his heel against bijou’s side, the mare shooting out like a hot bullet, kicking up dirt and dust alike in her wake. jean’s rope was like an extension of his arm, easily encircling the calf’s neck. as trained, bijou skidded to a stop immediately, her hooves digging in the brown earth.

jean moved on instinct, his body moving before his brain. his hands were on that calf almost instantly, picking up the small beast and dropping him back first to the ground. holding his legs still, jean yanked the pigging strip out of his mouth. “easy, kid, easy,” he muttered, tying the string around three of the calf’s legs. the second the knot was tightened around his ankles, he flung his hands high into the sky.

his heart thrummed in his ears as he made his way back to bijou, who waited patiently for her master. she huffed, her breath a cloud that cut through the humid arena air, as jean remounted her with a slight grunt. the next 6 seconds were like agony, ticking along slowly as a bead a sweat ran down his hot neck. the calf shifted slightly on the ground, but didn’t break the rope that held his legs together.

“and that’s time!” the announcer cheered. “the time to beat was 9.3 and that there jean kirschtein did an astonishin’ 8.8! 8.8, why, that’s a blueforest record! ladies and gentlemen, give that man a round of applause!”

the crowd broke out in raucous cheers and applause to congratulate jean’s stellar performance. atop bijou, jean waved, his slightly sweaty face broken in half with a wide grin. “y’hear that, bijou? we did amazin’, little lady.” his hand came down to pat her shoulder affectionately as she began to exit the arena. jean’s eyes scanned the stands for any sight of you, that beautiful brown face in a sea of people. when his eyes met yours, his heart thrummed in his chest again and his breath caught in his throat. he smiled sheepishly, raising his hand in greeting before turning forward, guiding bijou along. ‘god,’ he thought to himself. ‘what a woman.’

the rodeo went on as planned. you enjoyed the rest of the categories, but you couldn’t help but crane your neck for another glimpse of jean kirschtein. the name didn’t sound too familiar, he had to have been someone visiting just for the rodeo. if that was the case, your chances of seeing him again were pretty slim. you were anxious, picking at your nails, and you were embarrassed about it. you and that man exchanged about five sentences, and here you were breaking your neck trying to find him! you groaned quietly to yourself. ‘girl, get it together…’

the summer sun is setting by the time the rodeo finishes, the sky painted in a myriad of dark oranges, reds, and purples. you shuffle behind the rest of the audience as they make their way down the stands and out of the arena, trying to accept the fact that you won’t see that jean kirschtein again, at least not anytime soon.

you’re following the rest of the crowd towards the parking lot, narrowly avoiding horse droppings from messing up your boots or the hems of your flared jeans. people are buying last minute treats from the stands as they excitedly reminisce on their favorite scenes from the rodeo.

unbeknownst to you, jean weaves in and out the thicket of the crowd. his light brown eyes are trained hard on the back of your head as he tries to get close to you. as soon as the rodeo was over and he received his award money, he practically threw bijou’s reins into his buddy marco’s hands and ran off, promising that he’d be right back, he had something really important to do.

as he’s sliding past guests, he wishes that you just turn around, look over your shoulder something. he groans internally. he was so busy ogling you he didn’t think to catch your name before he rode up to the box. he clears his throat, his hand held out slightly ahead of him. “ma’am,” he calls softly. ‘cuse me, ma’am!”

you’re not sure what, but the sound of someone calling out behind you makes you turn your head to peek over your shoulder. your eyes widen slightly as you watch jean pace up towards you. “oh, it’s you!” you stop your determined stride, allowing jean to finally catch up. his red shirt has the first three buttons undone, and your eyes can’t help but rove downwards towards his tanned, exposed chest before snapping back up to his face. “you were amazing out there.”

jean laughs breathlessly, giddy to be in your presence again. the crowd mingling around her fades into the background. right now, with the sun setting and the summer breeze gently stirring the around him, it’s only you two in this moment. his grin is slightly crooked as he sticks out his hand towards you. “only because i had my good luck charm out there cheerin’ me on. i’m jean.”

“…,” you greet back, sliding your soft hand into his. his large, calloused fingers easily envelope yours, shaking it firmly but politely. his grip lingers for a bit, sending sparks through your body before he finally pulls away. your lips break away into another grin, one that sends butterflies careening in jean’s stomach. “a pleasure to meet you, sir.” the lilt of your voice, the accent decorating each of your words, its music to jean’s ears.

“pleasure’s all mine, ….” jean slides his slightly sweaty hands in his jean pockets, his thumbs sticking out and rubbing against the stitching. “i hope i’m not bein’ too forward when i say i’d love to take you out while i’m still here in blueforest.” he pulls one hand out and dusts away a dirt spot on his jeans, smiling nervously. “i clean up rather nice, i assure you.”

you laugh again, clear and melodic as a bell. “well,” you muse, tilting your head to the side as if you’re giving it some serious thought. “i am in town for a while. i think i’d enjoy getting to know you more, mr. kirschtein.” you slide your handbag off your shoulder, rooting around for your phone. you quickly procure it, opening it up to your contacts for jean to add himself in. “i think we’d have a grand time.”

jean bristles with excitement, his fingers a blur as he types in his number. “oh, i’ll make sure of it, .... don’t you worry.”

when he’s done you slide your phone back into your bag. “i don’t wanna keep you.” turning on the heel of your brown boots, you wave back at jean, the gold rings adorning your manicured fingers twinkling against each other teasingly. “til then, jean.” you don’t want to come across as too giddy just yet, but deep inside you’re practically bouncing with excitement. a date with him? you might not even be able to sleep later that night.

jean tips his head at you, his own hand raising in farewell. “til then, ….” aw man, just wait til marco heard about this!

*quick lil ting inspired by my visit to the rodeo. if i got anything wrong i apologize. 😖 hope y’all enjoy!

[fizzyginfizz]

Not Flirting At All

Happy Birthday @ginnyw-potter !!!!! Here's some fluff for your Fluff O'Clock Challenge!

He’d tell himself later it wasn’t flirting.

She had a boyfriend.

His mate Dean.

Wanker.

He’d tell himself he was just distracting his overworked, exhausted teammate during her OWL year.

She had circles under her eyes.

His best friend’s sister.

“Alright,” Harry said, reaching over and taking Ginny’s spare quill out from behind her ear. He didn’t mean to, but his finger brushed against the strand of hair that had escaped the twist in the back.

His hand flexed. He would think about how silky it had felt later. Trying to salvage the moment, he lifted a piece of her parchment from in front of her and dipped his quill into her ink. “Fair warning, I’m not as good at this as you.”

“Good at what? What are you talking about?”

“Poetry,” he scoffed. “What did you think I meant?”

“Uh, well, so many things to choose from,” Ginny mused, happily putting aside her work in favor of her preferred activity, verbal one-upmanship with a side of snark. “Quidditch, baking, pranking, hexing.”

“I’m good at hexing.”

“You’re good at dueling,” Ginny grinned. “There’s a difference.”

“Alright, game on.” He returned her grin, before snapping back to his game face. “I am going to prove I’m a better poet than you.”

A burst of a laugh escaped Ginny’s throat, husky and strong. “Not too difficult. I don’t think anyone would have called any nonsense I pen ‘good.’”

Her laugh made him want to grin again, but OWL-distracting banter was on the menu, so he shrugged instead. “Please. Stop fishing for compliments.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Oh, yes you were. As if anyone could deny the brilliance of getting their eyes compared to fresh pickled toads.”

Ginny sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remember,” he replied, eyes still on paper. Then, he frowned, stared at her a moment, and began to write. “Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s bum-“

Ginny giggled and Harry’s gaze shot up from his parchment at the rare sound. Ginny Weasley laughed, Ginny Weasley chuckled, Ginny Weasley threw back her head in unabashed joy. He didn’t know whether he had ever heard her giggle.

He wanted to hear it again. “Or, should it be arse, instead of bum? ‘Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s arse’?”

“Are you asking me the connotative differences between arse and bum?”

“Well,” Harry shrugged. “It’s my first poem. Bum sounds like something you sit on, but arse somehow sounds flamier.”

“Also bigger, though.” She giggled again, and Harry felt like he’d won the Quidditch cup.

“Hmmm… hadn’t thought about that. You’re right. Her hair flames as bright as a fire crab’s bum.”

She leaned over to watch the words on his parchment. Her freckled nose all crinkled up in the most adorable way, her brown eyes were… the words came out of his mouth while his quill hovered over the page. “Her eyes are like melted milk chocolate.”

“Oh no,” Ginny shook her head in mock sadness. “I think you may have rhymed yourself into a corner there.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “If you insist. I do appreciate you not picking something like mud or poo.”

“Well, I think toilet humor is overrated and there’s already something about an arse in here.”

“Bum.”

“Whatever.” He grinned at her. “You going to keep distracting me, or do you want me to finish?”

“Oh,” Ginny sat back with a relaxed smile, crossing her arms. “Sorry to interrupt your art. Do continue.”

Harry had a sudden vision, Ginny Weasley, pajamas. Mugs of steaming morning tea. Slow, “glad you’re awake” kisses.

What did she taste…

Realizing he was staring at her lips, he ripped his gaze away from her mouth. Do not write about her lips.

How soft they looked. How they had a peachy-pink rightness to them that other girls didn’t have.

Focus on something else. Something not sexy.

Except everything about her was sexy.

Except her boyfriend, he reminded himself.

She had a boyfriend.

His mate Dean.

Wanker.

His pen started scratching on the parchment furiously. “She can hurl gnomes, and write silly poems- “

“Silly?” Ginny sat up, offended.

“Did I say ‘silly’?” Harry dipped his quill back in the ink. “I meant ‘brilliant’. She can hurl gnomes, and write brilliant poems-“

“That’s much better,” she grinned. “But now you’re face-to-face with your chocolate rhyme.”

“I can do it,” he narrowed his eyes at her, competitive spirit rising.

“Sure you can,” she said, with a sarcastic eyeroll.

“Chocolate, chocolate,” he muttered, tapping his quill on the parchment. “Chocolate, gnomes, poems-“

“You’re cracking under the pressure.”

“Am not.”

“You’re crumbling.”

“From her friend, who she likes to mock a lot.”

Ginny blinked. “You’re rhyming chocolate with mock a lot?”

“It sort of rhymes.”

“No it doesn’t!” She laughed. “It doesn’t at all.”

“It does if you sort of, y’know, mush your mouth on chocolate, like you’re French, or something.” He made a funny pinching move towards his mouth and was rewarded with another ring of her laughter. “Make that oh really an ‘ooooohhhhhh.’ Choc-o-loooooot.”

“That’s reaching, Harry.”

“Well,” he shrugged, folding up the parchment. “If you don’t want it…”

“No!!!” She sprang up, reached across the table, and snatched the parchment out of his hand. “I want it! I definitely want it.”

She unfolded the parchment and stared at it a moment, her smile softening to something Harry thought was achingly beautiful. Then, she held the parchment to her chest, and grinned at him over the top of it. “Thank you. All my childhood wounds are now healed,” she said with mock self-deprecation.

“My pleasure,” Harry said softly, wishing she had more dragons for him to slay.

OWL-shaped, or otherwise.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Filthy Mouth (NSFW)

Pairing: John x Reader

Words: 1,068

Summary: A joke turns into something more.

Warnings: Dom!John, Sub!Reader, spanking, gags, orgasm denial

Written for an Angel Patron prompt

---

“Shit,” Y/N mumbles under her breath when her elbow, swinging around from putting her drink down, knocks her fry container off the table. It’s only a few fries, thankfully. Mostly crumbs and loose salt.

“Watch your fucking language,” John says with a smirk.

He’s teasing, a normal occurrence between them. He’s almost old enough to be her father. A little teasing comes with the territory.

All sense of playfulness leaves him, though, when she meets his eyes across the table and says with complete seriousness, “Make me.”

John is on his feet before he even really thinks about what he’s doing. He rounds the small table in one step and his hand presses flat against her collarbone, sliding up to curl around her neck and force her to look up at him. Her expression is defiant but he feels the way her breath catches, the quickening of her pulse under his fingertips.

“Baby girl,” he says, pitching his voice lower and chuckling at the resulting shiver. “Would you like to repeat that for me?”

“Make. Me.”

His fingers press up against the underside of her jaw, guiding her to her feet. Once she’s upright, he gives her a gentle push toward the bed.

“Strip,” John orders.

There’s no room in his tone for her to sass back. She quickly sheds her clothes. She almost leaves them in a pile but John’s stern expression prompts her to fold them carefully.

“Good,” he says once she stands in front of him, naked as the day she was born. “You can follow instructions.”

Y/N pouts and keeps her chin held high. John steps close, close enough to feel her breath on his lips, but doesn’t touch. He can feel her shivers of anticipation regardless.

“Bend over the bed.”

“Fuck you.”

John’s eyebrows shoot up. Oh. So that’s how she wants to play this.

Her eyes widen minutely when John’s hand finds the back of her neck and she’s dragged toward the bed. He bends her over, her hands flying up to stop herself from face planting into the mattress and he allows that for now.

“What is your safeword?” he asks.

“Pickles,” she answers with a glance over her shoulder.

John pets one hand down the curve of her spine to settle in the small of her back. “Again.”

“Pickles.”

“Good. And if you’re gagged?”

“The buzzer.”

John nods, pleased. “Stay.”

He steps away and Y/N, by some miracle, does stay. Her eyes are locked on him, though, as he makes his way to her duffle bag and digs out the items he needs. A ball gag, the buzzer in question, and a bottle of lube.

“What are you going to do?” Y/N asks, surprisingly snarky for someone in her position, when John returns to her side.

“Make you.”

The ball gag goes in with a little fight but soon Y/N is glaring at him over it, that perfect mouth stretched open around the red silicone. John kisses her forehead and feels her soften under the touch. The buzzer is pressed into her hand but Y/N doesn’t move her thumb anywhere near the button, very clearly okay with the direction tonight is going.

“Pretty,” John purrs as he walks around to stand behind Y/N. “How does someone so pretty have such a dirty mouth?”

Y/N makes some sounds that are probably curse words but cut off with a yelp when John’s palm makes contact with her ass. A second smack results in a low moan, though, and John smirks.

“Yeah, I know my girl.”

He takes his time, spreading the blows evenly across all that lovely skin. Left, right, left, right. Thigh, sit spot, the sweet curve he loves to grab when she’s all dressed up in or Fed skirt or that one particular pair of jeans. She makes the sweetest noises the whole time, dancing the line between pain and pleasure, and John soaks it up.

John doesn’t stop until her skin is warm to the touch and Y/N is arching back into his hand with desperate, muffled sounds. Her feet have been kicked wider apart and her hips are tilted up in offering. John’s cock would be hard anyways but that sight, with the clear display of her hungry pussy as the cherry on top, has him throbbing in the prison of his jeans.

“Not much of a punishment if you enjoy it.” He pairs the teasing words with a thumb pulling at one side of her pussy, spreading her folds for his gaze as he ponders what to do next. She whines and he sees her clench around nothing. “I’m not sure you’ve learned your lesson.”

Y/N just pants into the gag and waits for his decision.

John presses the tip of his thumb just inside the perfect slick heat of her body and listens to her choked-off little whimpers. He can feel her body fighting to hold still. She wants more but she knows that if she tries to take it before John is ready to give it to her, she’ll get nothing at all.

“If I fuck you,” John says slowly, “you don’t get to cum.”

Y/N protests before he can continue and he silences her his palm on her left thigh.

“Let me finish,” he scolds. “Either you cum like this, while I play with you, or I fuck you and you don’t cum. Not unless I’m persuaded to change my mind. What do you think?”

She’s silent for a moment and then she lowers her shoulders to the mattress, arms folded to brace herself, and tilts her hips up in clear invitation. Presents for him. John laughs darkly. He had a feeling she would choose that option.

“Found myself a hungry little pussy. Don’t worry. I know exactly what you need.”

He considers removing the gag but decides to leave it for now. Maybe later, when he gives her a chance to beg for her orgasm. For now, he frees his cock at last and teases the head between her folds. Listens to the needy little sound she makes in the back of her throat.

“Gonna have to gag you more often,” he decides out loud. “Get that filthy mouth under control.”

He thumbs at the head of his cock, popping it inside with a press, and smiles to himself at her moan.

—

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @emoryhemsworth @imsuperawkward

[jellyaibo]

breaking my silence...i fuckng hate this "genre" of object show gijinka and im tired of acting like it isnt . bland

(using ii gijinkas as my guinea pigs for this, considering i really ONLY see these kinds of gijinkas in the ii side of the osc)

they are just. all the same build, usually same hairstyles and fashion theres NOTHINGGG that differentiates one persons gijinka from another because thats how similar they look to me, also if i were to color these do u think it would make it more obvious who is who? (if u cant already tell who is who obvs. its tt, fan & pickle but ohhhh my god THERESS NO SAUCE)

this might just sound fucking insane on my part but also even though these gijinkas dont have natural skintones (obvs trying to match the objects) they completely lack any features that say they ARENT white (i mean like very eurocentric) finding one with afro hair is like looking for a needle in a haystack (im being so serious ive barely seen any . kind of diversity like that)

and not even just diversity in races too, because 99% of them are all tall and skinny they just completely lack any body diversity (once again, very eurocentric yk yk) and because of that they have. awful silhouettes (unless they have VERY defining features which is fucking rare, so unless you have a really unique design a lot of people probably can't tell who is who unless you either squint really hard or have them be colored in)

my point is . these gijinkas just dont look good like at all. (im not gonna kill anyone for making gijinkas like this btw but ill def squint at you rlly hard but thats just me) and i think people should try to go and experiment with more expressive and fun designs that can make these blokes rlly stand out more!!! (something as simple as just, giving them acne, making them shorter/taller than they actually are, wacky hair n cool disability aids etc. just fucking go nuts!!! diversity just. makes better designs imho)

i designed these kinda on the spot (im sorry pickle) and like. even if they might look a little bland imo they have way more personality than the designs above!!!!!!!!!!! its not hard lichurally all u need to do is get an idea n try it

also i didnt know where to put this but like. another example of why i think these gijinkas just fucking suck: i uhhhh made my loser gijinka into one

her joy? her happiness? her personality and transsexual swag? GONE. SUCKED AWAY FROM HER BEING. she is a HUSK

my final note(s) on this is like. just go experiment brah im sooo tired of seeing these ohh please im so exhausted...EVEN IF U ARENT CONFIDENT IN UR DESIGNING SKILLS . GOING AND TAKING THAT FIRST STEP IS GOOD please just go nuts ohhh u wanna go nuts so fucking bad . theres many many references for different bodies n details n shit AND U DONT EVEN HAVE TO LIKE. STUDY EVERYTHING TO BECOME "GOOD" at this . just . freaking go for it

and my final (final) note is uhmm very petty but idc but the artist that popularized this kind of object show gijinka isnt the best person so like. yeah that is one of my top reasons on why i dont like em LMAO

uhhh and yeah thats it thats pretty much all sorry for rambling im just a tired little biracial boy oohh im so tired heres a lollipop 🍭

[hunieday]

Yuki - Daily Life Rabbit chat part 5 - Holiday Market

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Takanashi Tsumugi: Yuki-san, thank you for your hard work.

Takanashi Tsumugi: We'll be appearing together on a music program next week! Everyone is already looking forward to working with Re:vale-san!

Yuki: Good work, I got a call from Okarin a while ago. Looking forward to it as well

Takanashi Tsumugi: 

Yuki: I was actually thinking of rabbichatting with Maneko-chan

Takanashi Tsumugi: With me?

Yuki: Yeah, we’re at the roadside station you recommended the other day.

Yuki: Thanks to you we’re having a great time

Takanashi Tsumugi: Wah! So it’s your day off today! I'm glad you're enjoying yourselves.

Takanashi Tsumugi: I'm sorry for bothering you on your day off...!

Yuki: Don't worry about it

Yuki: I actually have some free time right now, so keep me company for a bit

Takanashi Tsumugi: Aren't you with Momo-san?

Yuki: He's trying his hand at the vegetable-packing activity, so he’s waiting in line to give it a try

Yuki: I think he's more into veggies than I am

Takanashi Tsumugi: 

CHOICE:

1) Don't you want to try the challenge?

Yuki: I'm just watching. Tried it once, couldn't pack much at all, and ended up losing money. So I've been appointed as Momo's cheerleading squad ever since

2) Is Momo-san good at the packing challenge?

Yuki: Like a pro. Even when we were struggling, he used to join housewives at the supermarket and work his hardest. Momo brought back the loot with a perfectly packed bag, looking absolutely cool

3) What are you planning to do after this?

Yuki: I'll watch Momo eat a parfait. We were talking about coming back later for dessert after lunch, but my stomach's still full.

Yuki: Momo’s working his hardest to stuff the bags alongside the housewives

Yuki: Though I'm a bit worried about the carrots

Takanashi Tsumugi: I know what you mean… I tend to pack the same vegetables instead of going with a variety since it’s easier…!

Yuki: Maneko-chan, do you have experience with this?

Takanashi Tsumugi: Yes I do! There are packing challenges at the local supermarket sometimes, so I give it my best whenever they happen!

Takanashi Tsumugi: 

Yuki: Impressive

Takanashi Tsumugi: Sometimes I end up with nothing but carrots or sweet potatoes though, so I stick to the same vegetable menu for a while after that...

Yuki: What kind of menu do you go for?

Yuki: I might pickle some carrots tomorrow so I'm looking for some inspiration

Takanashi Tsumugi: I finely chop and add a lot of them to soup, or grate them and arrange them in different ways like a salad! 

Yuki: A salad sounds nice. You can sandwich it in bread so you won’t get tired of it

Yuki: Back when Momo brought back a ton of carrots from a packing challenge, we used to make curry or stew for days

Takanashi Tsumugi: Momo-san was in charge of packing them and you were in charge of the cooking!

Yuki: That’s right

Yuki: We were broke, so we only had curry roux, and I remember having curry with nothing but carrots for three days straight.

Takanashi Tsumugi:

Yuki: I thought my body might turn into curry on the third day

Yuki: Momo said everything tasted delicious, though

Takanashi Tsumugi: I'm sure it’s thanks to the love you put into it...!

Yuki: That's true

Yuki: That’s always been my secret ingredient

Takanashi Tsumugi: 

Yuki: I think I'll stop Momo soon.

Yuki: He's working hard to pack those carrots, but his bag looks like it's about to rip and burst.

Takanashi Tsumugi: Yes! I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.

Yuki: Mhm. Thanks for keeping my company

Yuki: I'll do my best to make those flower crowns and send you pictures of my cute Momo

Takanashi Tsumugi: Looking forward to it...!

Takanashi Tsumugi: 

[that-angry-noldo]

Finrod does not like Eönwë.

It - it isn't something against the Maia. No, not at all. (Though maybe - maybe his presence is just otherworldy enough to bring Finrod in that paralyzed state, where the kind dark eyes of the Herald are replaced with malicious gold of Gorthaur.) It isn't something against his manners, either; something against his slow careful movements and the polite tilt of his head. It isn't even something against the - what does he even have going on with his parents? His father did not introduce the Maia as his lover, and yet they share touches and glances and bed, even; his mother, however, does not seem opposed to it, and, if anything, gladly takes her deal of Eönwë's head kisses and wing embraces.

It is confusing. Very confusing.

Finrod drops his head to his shoulder, knees drawn to his chest. Rodent - his golden, precious Rodent, how did he miss her! - licks his hand. Finrod smiles and pats her head, delighted by the immediate wiggle of her tail.

"At least you stay true to me," he mumbles, and Rodent woofs, scooting closer. Finrod tenses at the sound, but he makes himself relax: breath in, breath out; he smiles and bends down to Roden't snout, and she licks his nose happily. Finrod chuckles, picks her up and lies down on the couch, placing her on his chest.

She stares at him with big adoring eyes as he brings his hand to her back, fingers threading through her golden fur. "See, Rodent, that's the problem. I disappear for what - six hundred years? - and they already find themselves a third wheel, and not just any third wheel, but a Maia third wheel. And I am supposed to agree to it! Sure, sir, you can have my parents. You are taking a great care of them. I am sure your intentions are good and noble and in every way, shape and form."

Rodent woofs. Finrod sighs.

"I don't even know what he's doing here," he rants. "He just shows up, in the middle of the night, like. Hi, Finrod. I am making myself a midnight snack, Finrod. I will be out as soon as I'm done, Finrod. Alright, bye, Finrod. And I am supposed to just take it!" he sits up fast, and looks at his dog. "Why doesn't he make a midnight snack in his own house, Rodent? Rodent, he puts pickles on peanut butter. My parents are dating a monster."

Finrod stares at the ceiling for some time. Then, he scowls.

"He never even offers to share," he grudges. "That failure of a man makes himself a midnight snack and does not even leave some for me. If he's having an affair with my parents, he can at least try to get me, their only living son, on his side. Oooh, Rodent, I will get to him. I will make his every moment in this house unnecessary hard. I shall not be overlooked!"

He's startled by the sound of steps in the hall, and Rodent rises and perks her ears at the intruder. A few moments later, Eönwë appears at the door; he has to duck down not to hit his head at the doorframe, and Finrod surpresses a glee. Eönwë's eyes focus on him, and Finrod schools his face into his most gloomy expression; even Rodent manages to produce something like an irritated growl, though her tail wiggles at the sight of Hueleni, who runs circles around Eönwë's feet. Finrod glares.

"Did you want something?" he finally asks, and Eönwë cocks his head. His wings shift, and Finrod catches himself staring; he scoffs and focuses on the Maia.

Eönwë consideres him for a minute. Then, he shrugs. "I was making a dinner," he informs. "Your parents will be back soon. I thought I should ask if you wished to join me."

"In making a dinner?" Finrod asks, sceptical. Eönwë does not blink. Finrod lets out an irritated sigh. "Fine. I don't trust you with dinners anyways."

"How come?"

"A man who puts pickles on peanut butter cannot be trusted with dinners, Herald of Manwë."

"I do not get it. It is a good combination."

"See? Exactly what I'm talking about. Father should dump you, honestly. You are an embarassment to the whole Noldorin kin."

"I am not- we are not- there are so many factually incorrect things with the sentence you just utterred, son of Arafinwë."

"This comes from a man who puts pickles on peanut butter."

"Manwë, have mercy."

"Hey now, man. You brought this upon yourself. Anyways, about the dinner..."

[drpeppertummy]

wendy doesnt have the same chemistry with marianne on account of she isnt desperately & hopelessly attracted to big milfs like sunny is but Oh Well

[brief hunger, stuffing, tummyache, hiccups, tummy rub]

"What can I get you tonight, honeybunch?"

Wendy looked up, startled. She hadn't noticed the waitress approaching. She was a tall, broad woman--Marianne, her name tag said--and Wendy suddenly felt very small under her looming figure. Truthfully, Wendy had no idea what Marianne could get her. It had been a long, exhausting day, and her brain was absolutely fried.

"You look like you're about to fall asleep, sweetheart," Marianne giggled. "Can I recommend something?" Wendy hesitated for a moment, then nodded uncertainly. Everything on the menu looked good, after all; she supposed she wouldn't mind letting somebody pick for her. Smiling, Marianne leaned over her shoulder, thought for a moment, and then tapped on one of the pictures.

"I think this would do you good," she said, almost murmuring into Wendy's ear. "Warm up a skinny little thing like you on a chilly night like this, hm?" Wendy nodded, slightly flustered. Marianne gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and stood up straight again, and, inexplicably, Wendy found herself wishing the waitress would have lingered just a moment longer.

"Smart girl," Marianne said approvingly, and Wendy blushed. "That'll fill you up nicely. Now, that comes with two sides…"

By the time Marianne finally left, Wendy had a big bowl of ziti accompanied by broccoli and pickled beets, a cup of chicken noodle soup, a salad, and an appetizer of fried mushrooms on the way. How she'd let Marianne talk her into the mushrooms, she had no idea. Wendy was a very light eater--the soup and salad alone would be more than enough to fill her up--and she rarely went for fried food, which she was sure would give her a bellyache. There was something persuasive about Marianne, though. Maybe it was the way she buttered her up, maybe it was the confidence in her voice. Maybe it was the fact that Wendy was ever-so-slightly attracted to her. Whatever it was, she was sure she'd regret the decision by the end of the night. Right now, though, she was hungry, and the mushrooms didn't sound half bad.

Marianne returned quickly with the soup and salad, and a hunk of bread to go with it. As she set the dishes down, the warm, cozy smell of the chicken noodle soup rose up around Wendy like a hug, and her stomach growled loudly. She blushed, embarrassed, but Marianne laughed and gave her a friendly pat on the back.

"Eat up, cutie pie," she grinned, and Wendy's blush deepened. "The mushrooms'll be just a couple more minutes." Her hand lingered just long enough to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and then she was off again. Wendy watched her go, feeling almost dazed. Ordinarily, she might have felt uncomfortable with the casual intimacy of the overly affectionate waitress, but somehow, with Marianne, it was alright. Her belly rumbled again, pulling her from her trance, and she started on her soup.

Wendy had a small appetite and a stomach capacity to match, and by the time Marianne returned with the appetizer, she was already beginning to feel full. The mushrooms were wonderfully fragrant, though, and the breading didn't look too heavy, which she was relieved to see. She'd finished the soup and part of the salad, and if she were to quit there, she would have left perfectly satisfied. She had a big meal ahead of her, though, and she supposed she'd have to eat at least a little of it before asking for a box.

"I always say we've got the best fried mushrooms in the area," said Marianne as she set the plate down. "I'll have your dinner out in a few minutes. Make sure you clean your plate so we can make some room, alright, pretty baby?" Wendy nodded meekly. Marianne smiled sweetly at her, and for a moment Wendy thought she was eyeing her tummy as she left. She glanced down at herself once Marianne was out of sight. Her stomach poked out slightly, just barely enough to be noticeable. Feeling self-conscious, she adjusted her shirt.

She started on the mushrooms, which were light and crispy and hot, and finished up the salad in between them. She was definitely full now, and trying to pace herself. She had a feeling Marianne wouldn't be happy if she asked for a box before even starting on the ziti, although she wasn't sure why she cared. At any rate, she supposed she should at least finish the mushrooms; they wouldn't make good leftovers like the pasta would.

Her belly felt tight and heavy as she finished off the mushrooms. Despite being lightly fried, they were still more than she was used to, and they sat uncomfortably in her stomach like a boulder. On top of the bulk of the soup and salad, Wendy was beginning to feel a little overstuffed. She rested a hand on her belly and was startled to feel it bulging out tightly against her shirt.

"Hope you brought your appetite," teased Marianne, and Wendy jumped. Her stomach let out an uneasy groan at the sudden jolt. Marianne laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Aw, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to scare you," she said, smiling. "Anyway, I hope you're not as full as you look, because I've got a big ol' bowl of pasta here for you. Oh, and you cleaned your plates for me, good girl!" Wendy watched, flushed, as Marianne cleared the empty dishes and set out the pasta and vegetables. She was, in fact, exactly as full as she looked, which, with her normally flat belly bulging comically over the waist of her skirt, was extremely full. Marianne, seeming to notice this, took Wendy's chin in her hand, and she froze at the gentle touch.

"You're not too full to eat your dinner, are you, honey?" Marianne's voice was sweet, and her expression almost pouty. Wendy, unable to speak, slowly shook her head. Marianne smiled. Slowly, she pulled her hand away from Wendy's jaw and gave her belly a gentle pat, drawing a nearly-inaudible groan of discomfort out of her.

"Good," she purred, giving one final pat. This one dislodged a small burp, and Wendy covered her mouth, embarrassed. Marianne gave her an approving smile and left her alone with her pasta.

Wendy didn't think her belly could take much more--or any more, really--but for a reason she couldn't quite explain, she dug into the pasta. It was hot, saucy, and cheesy, and she found herself wishing she wasn't so stuffed, because she'd have liked to eat the whole bowl. It was easy to keep eating, but she felt her stomach stretch tighter with each swallow. It wasn't long before she was stuffed nearly to bursting, her skinny tummy so full and taut that she couldn't eat another bite.

"Oh, sweetie pie, you look just about ready to pop," Marianne teased, approaching the table once more. Wendy responded involuntarily with a hiccup, and Marianne giggled. Wendy looked shyly up at her. She hiccuped again and winced as her overstuffed belly jolted.

"Aw, honey," Marianne said sympathetically. She leaned down beside Wendy, placing a hand on her back as she hiccuped again, and brought a glass of water to her mouth.

"Drink it slow," she instructed. "It'll help." Unsure what else to do, Wendy obeyed, taking long, slow sips as Marianne tilted the glass, her stomach growing tighter and tighter with each gulp. Her belly couldn't expand any further, and a tiny moan escaped her as her stomach tightened around the growing pressure inside it. The waist of her skirt creaked as it stretched to its limit, hugging her distended belly uncomfortably. Finally, Marianne set the glass down, leaving Wendy panting, her stomach sloshing softly with each shallow breath.

"That better?" Marianne gave her drum-tight tummy a gentle pat. Her stomach ached, but the hiccups were gone. She wondered if this was how Sunny felt whenever he stuffed himself silly, and if it was, she wondered how he could stand it. She felt like her stomach was pushing out as hard as it could, bloated and bubbling inside her, stretched so tightly that it almost ached to breathe. When Marianne let her hand linger for a moment atop her taut belly, however, Wendy momentarily saw the appeal.

"I'll go ahead and get you a box," Marianne said softly, standing upright again. "I don't think your poor tummy can take another bite, can it?" Timidly, Wendy shook her head. Marianne gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then left to retrieve the box, and Wendy sat there sleepily, fighting to keep her tired eyes open and wondering what in the world had just happened. She brought her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. It was past midnight, and she was looking forward to going home and sleeping off the enormous meal, although she wouldn't be able to sleep on her belly like she preferred to. As she thought about it, she found herself wishing that Marianne would be there alongside her, holding her in those big arms and tenderly rubbing her distended tummy until she fell asleep. She blinked and quickly pushed the absurd thought out of her mind, but it crept back in as Marianne returned with the box. Smiling slyly, Marianne leaned down to whisper in Wendy's ear.

"It's the end of my shift, honeybunch," she said, gently placing a hand on Wendy's bloated tummy. "How'd you like to come home with me?"