#Long Gone Like a Turkey Through the Corn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonesplash · 4 years ago

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its thanksgiving get nasty (18+)

pairing: edward cullen x reader

summary: you get bored at thanksgiving dinner. unfortunately for edward you wore sandals

warnings: smut,brief footjob, thanksgiving dinner, edward kind of chokes on corn, reader doesn’t like their family, mild injury, fingering, innappropriate use of vampire speed, technically exhibitionism and public sex?? bad dirty talk, and cousin-shaming, reader is afab and might be described as female im not sure

a/n: i wrote this in 24 hours so any sloppiness is not my fault

masterlist

(c/n)= cousins name

When you told him thanksgiving with your family would be boring, you’d meant it’d be for him, looking forward to his reaction to being on the receiving end of your bloodlines ridiculousness while you’d get dinner and a show. But, as it turns out, your family just so happens to get along with Edward much better than they do with you.

The seating situation is a little unconventional, since because your boyfriend-snatching cousin stole the open seat next to Edward before you even made it back from the bathroom, leaving your only viable option directly opposite of him. On the bright side, you had the option of kicking his leg when he’d said something to embarrass you.

Bless his soul, he’d done his best to bring you into the conversation but apparently, anything you had to say about your relationship had been relayed verbatim to the family group chat you weren't even in by your mother. So, after the third time you’re talked over by the aforementioned horny cousin or some other nosy relative on you’re bored out of your mind.

Everyone had gotten over your piss poor table manners years ago, or were just completely ignoring you at this point because there were no protests when they’d brought the turkey out and you’d stayed slumped low in your seat like a child in church.

Twitter had stopped refreshing ten minutes ago, and when you finally resigned yourself to tuning back into the conversation, your mother was showing Edward your baby pictures again. Idly swinging one bare foot under the table, your bare toe grazes the drape of his dress slacks under the table when you get an idea.

You’d lost a sandal earlier after Edward had pinned it under his shoe in a vain attempt to stop your pinching and dirtying of his slacks with your filthy soles. You scoot a little further forward in your seat to reach out and press your arch flat against his shin.

Edward doesn’t visibly react, just shifts his leg away, leaving yours to slip to the floor until you reach up again to plant your heel on the seat of the chair. The conversation lulls for a moment as everyone says grace, and he uses the opportunity to grab your ankle and send you a warning glare over the top of your phone.

You meet his gaze and boorishly eat a spoon of mashed potatoes, shrugging as if he couldn’t read in your mind exactly what you were about to do.

Your cousin asks about his mom car again and when you roll your eyes Edward flicks the outside of your fibula, sure to bruise, and you crinkle your nose, pinching his marble thigh between your toes as best you can through the material.

“Well my father thought it was necessary for my siblings and I to-”

While he talks, he's soothing the spot he flicked, playing in the stubble leftover from your shoddy shave job this morning, and the absent affection gives you the final motivation to further push your luck. You tease the seam of his left leg with the very tips of your toes, coaxing the unnatural heat of the venom to build in the crotch of his pants, the coolness of the rest of him making it seem even hotter in comparison.

He inhales on a forkful of corn, almost taking it down the wrong pipe, and you fight a smile around the bowl of the spoon as he flawlessly recovers and finishes the thought. You idly wonder if you could be that smooth someday. For now, you press further, pressing a toe against the seam over his cock, stroking up and down as slowly and consistently as you can while stretched under a table because who would’ve thought that footjobs are kind of an athletic feat.

Edward taps insistently at your leg, harder than he normally would, and you have to hold back a laugh at the idea of him splitting the table because he can’t take a little footsie action. You press forward again, arch encompassing his hardness through the fabric, toes curling against his pubic bone when-

“Ho-oly shit!” Searing pain shoots up from your ankle, and you double over, using everything in you not to shout, Edwards dawning mortification going unnoticed as everyone at the table turns to you at your unexpected outburst.

“(Y/n)?” Your mother doesn’t seem that happy to have dinner interrupted, and you clutch your stomach as a quick cover.

“Uh, my bad.” You snicker nervously at the sudden attention, bravado gone. Your face feels red-hot. “I actually need to use the bathroom, I think,” you lick your lips and slide out of your chair. “Lady problems.”

The table erupts in a cacophony of gags and groans as the notion of a menstrual cycle is brought up in casual conversation, and it gives you the perfect cover to retreat to the upstairs bathroom. It takes you a minute to make it up the stairs without causing a scene, and just as soon as you close and lock the door behind you and settle down to weep in peace, he’s there, jiggling the doorknob like it’s a drug bust.

“Let me in.”

You’re apparently taking too long because as soon as your injured foot touches the floor, he forces the lock and slips in, shutting the door a little too fast to pass as human.

“Jesus! Edward, are you trying to lose our deposit?” You lean around him to check for a handprint but he doesn’t respond, wordlessly setting you up on the counter, kneeling to examine your injured ankle, cool fingers soothing to the sore skin. You sit in silence, idly swinging your other leg to distract yourself.

“How'd you make it out?” You can't imagine they’d let the guest of honor go so easily.

“You forgot your bag, I told them I’d just bringing it up to you.” He places your bag next to you as evidence. “Maybe you should start carrying menstrual products for when you actually need them.”

Of course, he breaks your foot and wants to lecture you on responsible uterus care. Edward sighs, taking your foot with the gentlest touch and whispering a kiss into the skin. “It’s only a sprain, but I’m still sorry.”

“S’Okay.” Your face burns, not expecting his guilt. “Serves me right, huh?” You titter, poking his side with your uninjured foot. He swipes it up before you can start again, halfheartedly laughing with you.

“Let me wrap it before you get any more ideas.” You hand him the compression wrap from the medicine cabinet, and he gets to work. The wince you give at the pressure is more reflex than anything, but the anxious expression on his face tells you he wasn't going to let this go easily.

“Y’know…” You poke at him again. The playful contempt in his golden eyes gives you the go-ahead to make your case. “If you’re really feeling torn up about it, seeing you wow my family like that got me a little riled up.”

“Really.” Edward kisses the secured wrapping and releases you, standing to frame you against the counter.

“I’m serious, impressing them isn’t easy, (C/n) is probably shaving in the guest room to steal you from me right now, just thinking about it has got me a little hot under the collar.” You run your hands over his back and through his hair, nuzzling into the crook of his throat.

“You’re laying it on pretty thick, don’t you think?” His hands smooth over your exposed thighs sending a shiver up your spine. You think you've got him, but he's such a tease sometimes you can never really be sure.

“Depends. Is it working?” You still, bracing for some line about ‘responsibility’ and ‘your family waiting for you.’

But then his hands are under your skirt, hooking into the sides of your underwear and pulling them down your thighs, leaving them to free-fall to your feet. You clutch his auburn hair in your fingers at the shock of open-air against your cunt.

“Do you think I could let you go back to that table smelling like this?” His sweet breath washes against your ear as he huffs a soft laugh. “I’d rather not go downstairs and pretend to care about football when I know you’re here, hot and ready for me.”

You can’t resist him any longer, pulling him close and kissing him with the desperation of a woman who needs to be back downstairs before dessert. His thumb teases over your cunt at first, swirling over your swelling clit and teasing your hole before he finds a focus, using the thumb of his free hand to hold your hood back as his slicked fingers grind the bud into a frenzy while he sucks your tongue into his mouth.

It’s all you can do to hold your breath while he touches you, cool fingers building a knot in your belly, smooth and steady as they batter you up into a frenzy. He adjusts his hand, his ring finger pressing into you and bringing a low ache from rushed preparation, but you welcome it, thighs shaking with the effort to stay open for him as your mouth falls open in a shaky gasp. Edward breaks the kiss to let you breathe , seemingly unbothered until-

“(C/n) is coming.”

“Wha-” A particularly deep stroke has you biting your lip as you struggle to concentrate. “What the fuck does she want?”

“She’s going to ask you where I am.” His expression doesn’t match his words, still completely concentrated on ruining you despite the obvious issue.

“And what am I supposed to tell her?!” You hiss back right as she reaches the door. His mouth closes over your pulse point and you don't think you've clenched that hard before in your life.

“Hey (Y/n)? Have you seen Edward?” Her voice is enough of a mood killer that you have to shove your face into his throat to ground yourself in the moment. He adds a second finger, gaining speed, and you pray and hope to any god listening to this that she can't hear the squelches through the door.

“N-no.” You rack your mind for an excuse. His scent is making it harder to concentrate. “I think he went out for a smoke?” Nice one.

“Really? I didn't smell anything on him...” If all your blood flow hadn't been centralized below the waist at this point you'd’ve asked how the hell she knows what he smells like. He's fully abandoned your clit now, leaving it to pulse in the open air while three of his fingers push and pull at your pelvic floor.

“That's cause he unh-” You slap a hand over your mouth to stop the moan before it can be recognized for what it is.“-he vapes!” Edward pulls back from your throat to look at you incredulously, but it's a little hard to be ashamed when he's nearly wrist deep inside you.

“Oh… Well, let him know if you see him that they’re playing charades and I need a partner. You know how it is.”

You forget to reply, too enthralled watching him spit onto his unoccupied fingers and mash the coolness against your clit, causing you to nearly spasm off the counter, losing the sensation as he silently laughs at having to hold you steady. She seemed to have taken your silence as an admission, as you can hear the door at the stoop of the stairs swinging shut after her. Thank God.

“Rub your spot, Sweet, come on, we have to be quick.” He kisses your temple and laughs a bit maniacally at the little whimper that escapes when you bring a hand down to your clit. “Surprisingly, she’s having trouble picturing me in a vape shop.”

You whine around a bitten lip, too far gone to listen to his ribbing. You’re building up to overstimulation with the sloppy way you’re rubbing yourself, and he must feel it too, because in the next second, his fingers are vibrating.

“Come on, (Y/n), don't you want to finish up here and mop the floor with them?” You hadn’t even realized how hazy your vision had gotten until he grabs your chin and levels your lidded eyes with his and says your name again. You nod sluggishly for him, not hearing a word. He laughs again, smiles wide. His teeth are pretty.

“If you cum right now;” The buzzing grows stronger, your free arm spasming under you as you support yourself. “I’ll rub you raw after on the ride home. You just need to come right now and win charades with me.”

The buzzing inside grows too strong, and your vision goes white, pulsing in long pulls around his fingers as hot waves of sensation spread from your head to your toes.

Edward kisses you, soft and slow, swallowing any whimpers tempted to escape as you come down, abandoning the counter to clutch his sleeve as the twitching reduces to a tremor.

“Oh my god.“ You laugh, planting your face into his collar as you catch your breath. “I can't believe you used charades to make me come, I'm never gonna forgive you.”

“I heard the top prize is a ten dollar gift card to…” He squints and checks again. “The Google Play Store.”

“Ew, what could you even do with tha-”

“(Y/N) come help with plates!” Your mother shouts up the stairwell, totally fucking up any release you just had.

“I guess I should run down to the corner store;” Edward smiles, helping you to stand on wobbly legs and smoothing your skirt down. “Don't want to blow your cover.”

“(Y/N)! Plates!”

“Oh my god;” Your eyes may never return from the back of your skull. “Meet you downstairs?”

He kisses you sweetly one last time, pulling you close and wiping the sheen of sweat off of your face.

“Downstairs.”

With that, he heaves himself out of the narrow sill, and you busy yourself cleaning up as fast as you can.

You just catch him hopping off the roof, and coming around to the front yard. He'll hear you no matter the volume, but you still shout the warning;

“Stay away from my cousin!”

#edward cullen x reader #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen #Twilight FanFic #twilight smut #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #twilight x you #the twilight saga #reader insert smut #reader insert fluff #reader #thanksgiving #dinner with parents

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snuh · 2 years ago

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Lightnin’ Hopkins: Long Gone Like A Turkey Through The Corn

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sunflowergirl522 · 3 years ago

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Pumpkin Patch

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Request for @poppunkdork

Warnings: Language maybe

Word count: 1519

Masterlist

You’re nearly bursting with joy as Bucky pulls into the gravel parking lot of the pumpkin patch. You’re dressed in an extra large sweater you found at a goodwill and black leggings while Bucky has on jeans and a dark blue Henley, perfect fall weather clothes. You’ve been looking forward to this day for so long Bucky had promised you before his most recent mission that when he got back he’d take you out to do whatever you wanted. You’ve had the pumpkin patch picked out since he left.

“C’mon Bucky baby, hurry up.” You’re looking out the window and bouncing in your seat with excitement.

“Babydoll, I’m going as fast as I’m able to, there is a speed limit y’know.” Bucky doesn’t even really crack a smile but you can tell that the annoyance in his voice is just to tease you. You’re jumping out of the car while he’s still trying to park and he’s calling after you to try to get you to stop. Bucky slams his door shut before making his way over to where you stand at the entrance. “You can’t go jumping out of moving vehicles Y/n.”

“Please, you were barely moving.” You let out a small laugh and beam at him as you take his metal hand in both of your own. The smell of apple cider draws your attention to your grumbling stomach. You had been too excited this morning to eat breakfast, it had slipped your mind. You just look for the cause of the smell as the two of you enter. “Now c’mon, I wanna do the corn maze after getting our cider and donuts. And then after we can do the pumpkin catapult and the axe throwing where you get to show off. ” You pull him towards the food stand while you talk and continue to ramble as the two of you wait in line. “And then we could shift through rocks or we could do the hayride, I’m fine with either one. And we have to get pumpkins before we leave so we can carve them when we get home. I have the best idea for what I’m gonna carve this year!” A small smile finds its way onto Bucky’s face at how adorable he finds your excitement but it quickly disappears when it’s your turn to order. The girl at the counter asks Bucky what he wants and he nudges you to get your attention instead of answering himself.

“Babydoll, what do you want?”

“Huh? Oh! Can we get two cinnamon sugar donuts and two apple ciders?” Your smile is contagious and the girl smiles back at you before reaching into the case and pulling out the donuts and handing them to you. Bucky pays before you have the chance to even argue with him and then the two of you step to the side while she gets your apple ciders. You hand Bucky his donut so you’ll have a free hand for your drink and once you have it you start marching away. “To the corn maze!”

“I think we might be lost y/n.” The two of you have been making your way through the maze for almost an hour. You’re lucky Bucky thought to grab a map because you had just gone in full force without anything to help you find your way through.

“That’s part of the fun baby! You gotta get lost before finding a landmark and finding your way out. Y'know, one time when I came with my family I got lost and somehow was separated from them and didn’t have a map so I ended up just going through the corn. They found me sitting on a hay bale eating a turkey leg with stray corn leaves in my hair.” You laugh at the memory before continuing on. “They were so worried and were looking at me all over and telling me not to walk away from them like that again and I just looked at them and said that they were too slow and I was hungry. I think I was like ten.”

“Yeah that sounds like you.” While he speaks Bucky spots a bridge that’s a landmark on the map. “C’mon we gotta go this way.”

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” You giggle at your own joke as you point to the arched bridge he’s leading you to. Bucky chuckles himself causing you to smile at him, you don’t often get to hear him do any form of laughter because he’s a grumpy old man so you relish in whenever you can cause some.

The bridge is designed to go over some of the corn so you can see the design of the maze from the top of the arch. Looking out you can see that it’s designed to be a jackolantern. The entrance is on the left side and the exit, which is closer to you two, is on the right, they’re both designed to be vines that surround the pumpkin.

“Oh, this is the perfect place for a picture!” you get your phone out and pull Bucky to your side to get him in the shot. The first picture he’s not even looking at the camera, just at you. You make a comment about how he needs to look at the phone and position yourself in front of him to prevent it from happening again. “Can’t you smile just once in a picture? Please, for me.” You ask him after seeing his regular stoic face in the second picture.

“Fine, just for you babydoll.” He then wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back into his chest and smiles at the phone after kissing the top of your head, which you’re glad you caught a picture of. His smile stuns you for a quick second before you beam into the camera.

“You should smile more often, yours is pretty.” You’re smiling at the picture of the two of you while you speak. “Now let’s get out of here so you can show me if you’re as good at throwing axes as you are with knives.”

You walk away from a stunned Bucky still looking at the pictures on your phone. It takes Bucky a minute to shake out of his thoughts. His smile was pretty? He can’t think of a time that someone had complimented his smile, and after being The Winter Soldier for so long and having to be stoic he admittedly hasn’t smiled anywhere close to as much as he did before he fell from the train. You seemed to enjoy it though so he’ll have to remember to let you see it more often.

Bucky hit every target on the mark at the axe throwing area. It didn’t really shock you but you still cheered everytime he hit the target, the boys working were shocked and it was kinda funny to see them with their mouths hanging open each time there was a thunk of the axe lodging itself into the wood. When it was your turn to throw the axes you missed the first one and Bucky came up behind you to correct your form before you threw the second. You watch as it flies through the air before landing on the target. You squeal and jump up and down excited about hitting it before launching yourself into Bucky's arms and thanking him for helping.

“You’re welcome, now go ahead and do it again, you’ve got another axe. Let’s see if you can do it by yourself this time.” You just nod at him in response, a big smile on your face, and get back into the position Bucky had put you in before. The third axe bounces off of the target but your fourth one landed just outside of the middle of the target.

“I did it! And all by myself too!”

“That’s my girl!” Bucky spreads his arms open and you jump right into them. “What do you wanna do now, love, the hayride or the shifting through rocks thing you mentioned?” He starts to steer you away from the area with his arm still draped around your shoulder.

“Do we have time to do both before looking for our pumpkins and leaving. Don’t forget we told Sam we’d get dinner with him and his girlfriend.” At this Bucky groans and stops walking before turning you towards him.

“Do we have to go to that? Let’s just stay here all day and tell Sam we lost track of time, or go home and order in Chinese.” He places his forehead on yours and offers you a small smile.

“Hm, as good as that sounds, we’re going to dinner. Now let’s go do the hayride,which I know you’ll enjoy, and find our pumpkins so we can go home and watch a movie before we leave again.” You lean your head up to peck his lips and smile at him before pulling away and leading him towards the line for the hayride. “C’mon we get to shoot zombies on the ride.”

Bucky Taglist: @puddinsqueen @koressecretidentity @stevieintheimpala @unmagically @peachytea01 @the-chocoholic-writer @perksofbeingatrex @99-cats @rachmmb @quokkatrash @vanillamaa @strawb3rrydr3ss @that-sarcastic-writer @spideyycents @mackycat11 @crystalsoul2 @rosiemotion @dissectiontime @lmf @jacelynenursalim @aiyanalevina @mooncaffeine @fanofallthefics @jewelsrocks99 @lharrietg @yoongisdumplingcheeks @clubcesspool @sailormajinmoon @girl-obsessed-with-things @corvusmorte @sophielovesbarnes @collywobbl @majo240820 @alina02 @toothhurtyam @gaya-is-weird-af

Marvel Taglist: @its-the-autism-innit-luv @pogueslandia @obsessedwithbuckybarnes @rorysreallyrandom @sxtansqueen @myalupinblack @aya-fay @lieswithoutfairytales @kakakatey @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @amelia-song-pond @leyannrae @ficsnrec @slut-for-bucky-barnes @neenieweenie @officiallyunofficialperson

Everything Taglist: @florenceyelena @ninuffi @i-love-superhero @kolakube9 @lexy9716 @hehehehannahthings

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #request

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scoutdoesstuff · 2 years ago

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and we're back in august again! this little ficlet was supposed to go out with the band on august 30th but uhhh september 23rd is roughly the same, i guess?

this one is the final installment of the new hampshire case fic, but not the last we'll see of this one. i plan on smooshing it all together and making it into a proper fic one day (with an actual ending, i swear, consider this the commerical break before the finale).

today's flavor is nyx and i leaned into the version of her we saw in the hades game.

The outside of John Tracy’s mother in law’s home might’ve been a pure white bread colonia, but the inside does very little to hide the fact that a powerful witch lives here. Books old enough to be called tomes with a straight face dot the several shelves scattered through the living space. Spell components, including dried plants, oracle bones, animal pelts, colorful powders and opaque tinctures, were crammed onto available tables and spare areas of shelving. The runic warding on the inside of the house was so intense even Sam, Dean, and Shi could feel it like static electricity across their skin.

John seemed nonplussed by the sheer amount of magical crap crammed into his mother in law’s house. It made sense, given that he was a seer and a powerful one at that, but it still didn’t feel any of the hunters with warm fuzzies. Soarise seemed equally unhappy to be stepping into a witch’s hut with this much juice. Castiel didn’t seem to have much of an opinion in either direction, though once he made up his mind he was definitely going to make it known.

Once inside, the kids dropped their backpacks and kicked off their shoes with long practiced familiarity as they sprinted towards what appeared to be the kitchen. The witch was scary as hell sure, but it was nice to see that she was still a good grandma.

John waited until the kids were out of sight, and hopefully too distracted by food to eavesdrop, before rounding on his mother in law once more.

“Nyx, what the actual fuck is going on?”

Nyx gives a rattling sigh. “It’s complicated, John.”

“You sent my children —“

“I did not send your children on a quest to find an angel,” Nyx interrupted, settling herself on a setee with great affair. She gestured for the rest of them to sit. Castiel lingered by a window. Soarise leaned agains the wall closest to the front door. Corned, Sam, Dean, and Shi sat across from Nyx. John loomed over like it was going to do a damn bit to indicate a woman with that much raw power.

He was pissed, though, so you could kind of understand the impulse.

“I was convening with Demeter and the children overhead yesterday. I attempted to talk them down but —“ Nyx broke off, fiddling with one of the many draped fabrics around her body.

“They’re their mother’s children,” John finished, sighing as he finally sat down on an ottoman to the right of Nyx.

“Thank you for not killing them,” John says to Castiel. Castiel blinks.

“I’m not in the habit of murdering children,” Castiel says, defensive.

“The Bible says differently,” John says, eyeing Castiel with something like confusion. Castiel winces and says nothing more.

“This is riveting, don’t get me wrong, but does someone want to clue us in about why we were trussed up like turkeys and shoved into a basement?” Dean asks, eyes going back and forth between Nyx and John.

John looks at Nyx. Nyx sighs again. Her voice is a bit like music, Sam thinks, it rises and falls and has a bit of a shimmer to it as she talks. It something she was born with or is it something that happens to your voice after you use it for as much magic as she clearly has?

“Some of our coven has gone a bit … archaic in their practices as of late,” Nyx says, after a prolonged pause.

“Meaning?” Dean prompts, eyebrows raised and making a go on gesture with his hands.

“Meaning three dullahans have gone missing in the past month or so from this town specifically,” Shi finishes for her. “Well, we thought it was three and then the third missing one rolled into our hotel room,” Shi corrects himself, nodding towards Soarise.

“Where you going to tell us this at any point in the near future?” Sam asks, craning his neck to look at Shi from where he’s smushed against the squashy arm rest of Nyx’s main couch.

“I was getting there and then —“ Shi breaks off gesturing at Soarise.

“The dullahan showed up without a head,” Sam and Dean finish for him at the same time.

Christ, what a week.

“So you’re read up then,” Nyx says, watching Shi with a sudden ferocity.

“Chancellor Avasaralla sends her regards,” Shi says, with weight. Sam and Dean glance at each other. Are they seriously trapped between fighting covens again.

“Fuck,” Nyx says, bitten off between her teeth. She moves towards one of the many apothecary cabinets shoved into the corners of her living area. She opens one of the drawers to reveal a hole that is much, much deeper than the drawer looks and appears to contain a small nebula, blues and purples melding together in a kaleidoscope. She buries her hand inside of it for a moment and pulls out a thick journal before snapping the drawer shut again.

She tosses the journal to Shi. “See if you can make heads or tails of it. I won’t betray one of my own to an outsider but I won’t stop you from cleaning up the mess.”

“Because you can’t? Or won’t?” Shi asks, thumbing through the journal. Sam and Dean glance over his shoulder as he skims it.

“Is that written in Gothic?” Dean asks Sam over Shi’s head, baffled.

“Yeah,” Sam says, equally confused. “How old of a coven is this?”

“It’s a cipher,” Nyx says, terse now that she knows her territory has been encroached upon. “We haven’t been able to break it yet, but I believe that book belongs to whoever is doing … whatever the hell is going on in this town currently.”

“Thank you, Chancellor Herod,” Shi says, voice genuinely grateful. He snaps the book shut and stands into a bow. “We appreciate your time and won’t bother you any further.”

Sam and Dean awkwardly stand with him. The group shuffles towards the door. John follows them and shoves a business card into Dean’s hand.

“Call me at this number when you get a chance. There’s more you need to know.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, glancing at the card. It has a phone number and an emblem of an eagle wreathed in a storm. Flashy, but cryptic.

Emma and Dorian wave to the adults as they trail out of the house with varying levels of enthusiasm. Then, they’re left blinking in the afternoon sun.

“I need a cup of coffee,” Dean says. “And we need to figure out what the fuck is up with this town.”

#spn #my fic #tea prompts #apologies to new hampshire i've decided to make your inhabitants a little on the wild side #though i think that may fit reality actually

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misslilli · 3 years ago

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Thank you to the lovelies who are still here ❤️

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 22 - B Is For Basketball

[ DS ]

October has faded into November, pumpkin-spiced latte has been replaced by peppermint mocha and plans for Thanksgiving break have been secured, my mom beside herself with joy that Bill Jr. will be returning from his assignment overseas just in time for the holidays.

At school, we’ve made paper turkeys for our window decorations in school, and slowly, I’m beginning to get into the holiday spirit myself. I stay late on this Friday afternoon to put the finishing touches on the turkeys, cutting out paper candy corn and taping everything to the insides of the windows that line our classroom. ‘Looks pretty good, the kids finally got the hang of cutting paper along the lines neatly.’

I exchange my heels for my gym sneakers after a long day, grab my book bag and head out, locking the door behind me. The eery calm of an empty school building soothes me and I turn out the lights of our hallway. When I look out into the school yard, I notice that someone has left on the lights in our gym and I roll my eyes. That someone might have been me forgetting after my lesson today, so I cross the yard quickly to turn them off before I head home.

When I enter the gym, though, I freeze at the top of the bleachers. The floor is empty safe for one Fox Mulder, dribbling a basketball and shooting hoops. I know I should just turn around and leave him to it, but I just can’t help watching, slack-jawed, as the muscles of his back ripple under that tight t-shirt. It’s not often that I get to watch him without getting caught, so I allow myself to stare for just a little bit longer, heart hammering in my chest.

I only realize that my hands have gone limp when my keys hit the floor with a deafening crash and I almost jump out of my skin. ‘Run! Move! Now!’ My legs are not cooperating, damn them, and I see to my horror that he whips around and spots me standing on top of the bleacher’s stairs.

“Jesus, Scully! You trying to kill me?” ‘Those damn forearms of yours are what’s killing me…’

His surprised expression morphs into a smile. “Skinner said it’s okay if I used the gym for practice in the winter. What are you still doing here?”

“Uh... I was hanging turkeys … and I noticed the light on … and I thought that I had left them on after my lesson … and yeah…” ‘Stop rambling, you idiot!’

Now he’s grinning even wider and I can tell he’s going to tease me mercilessly. In my head, I start a list of ‘10 things I hate about you.’

“Didn’t know you hang your own turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, Scully, that’s pretty badass of you!” ‘I want to smack that smirk off your pretty face right now, how’s that for badass?’

I roll my eyes at him and he has the audacity to look incredibly pleased with himself. “Have you ever shot a three-pointer, Scully?” ‘What now?’ I take a moment to contemplate what to say next.

“No. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m only a few inches taller than a yardstick, so I guess I have found more necessary things to do with my time than fail at basketball.”

He jerks his head holding up the basketball. “Get over here, Scully.” The tone in his voice makes my skin tingle.

I’m almost 100 percent sure he thinks I won’t do it, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of backing out now, so instead of shooting him down, I walk down the stairs slowly until I’m standing in front of him. I have to tip my head pretty far back to give him a blank look and the eyebrow and smack the basketball out of his hand, sending it bouncing on the floor a few times. Now it’s my turn to smirk at his surprised expression.

Laughing, he goes to pick up the ball and I think of other things I’d like to smack as I get a good look at his backside when he bends down. “Alright sassy lady, you stand here and I’ll try to get around you to the hoop. You need to block me and take the ball from me, okay?”

We move into position and he dribbles the ball a few times. “Okay. Just don’t body-check me!” ‘Oh yes please, body-check me. Tackle me. Wrestle me down to the ground.’

“Body-checking’s for hockey, Scully, so don’t worry!” He moves suddenly, to pass on my right side and I follow, trying to get the ball out from under his hand but he turns and twirls around me and in three long strides, he’s jumping up to the hoop, sinking the ball into it with a satisfying swoosh. Color me impressed.

“You want to try?”

“There was some talk about shooting three-pointers, I think I’ll stick to that for now. Where do I start, here?”

“No, that’s the free throw line. Back there’s the three-point line. Now don’t be nervous, I know for a fact that you can take a shot. Or three…” He looks so pleased with himself at the hint, but it only makes me flash back to Halloween night. Steve. Easy lay.

Shaking the thought from my head, I take the ball he offers to me and bounce it a few times.

‘Oy that’s pretty far away from the hoop, crap. Too late to back out now, Dana.’

I move to stand at the indicated line, holding the ball between my hands and concentrating hard on the hoop, I throw it. The ball sails forward in a pathetically low arc, missing the hoop for miles. If he laughs now, I swear to God, I’ll hang his ass from the backboard.

Thankfully for him, though, he bites back the teasing and instead, moves around me to stand against my back. The hairs at the back of my neck stand up at his proximity. “Come on, I’ll show you.” Reaching his arms around me, his front pressed against my back, he holds the ball in front of my face. ‘He’s too close, damn it! Houston, I have a problem!’

He nudges my foot outward and forward a little with his and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. “Legs shoulder width apart.” Next, he takes my wrist, raising my arm to 90 degrees and places my hand underneath the ball. “Spread your fingers and rest the ball on your palm. Only touch it with your fingertips.” I swallow hard around a lump in my throat, nodding. ‘Mayday, mayday!’

My left hand is placed on the side of the ball. “Don’t grip the ball with your left hand. Now you need to bend your knees and jump.” I start to hyperventilate when it dawns on me where exactly my ass will be pressed against when I bend my knees. But his hands leave mine as he steps back and the loss of warmth on my back makes me shiver.

I jump and make my shot and while it’s infinitesimally better than my first shot, I still miss. I groan in frustration, I hate being bad at something.

“I’m just too short, damn it!” ‘If I start to cry now, I’ll hang myself from that backboard.’ Now I’m not only agitated and nervous, now I’m frustrated on top of it all.

He gets the ball back and hands it to me, a thoughtful look on his face and I wonder what he’s up to now. “Hmm… okay, let’s try something else.”

I almost jump out of my skin when his hands grab my waist just below my ribs. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax, Scully, I’m giving you height.” I’m feel lightheaded. “Okay, on three you jump and make your shot. 1, 2, 3!” I follow his orders and he lifts me over his head as I shoot for the hoop, my heart going a mile a minute, a faint ringing in my ears.

This is all so perfect and romantic and sexy all at the same time.

No, wait.

It’s too perfect, too romantic, too sexy, too close, too much. too soon. too many unknowns. too scary.

When he lowers me down his front slowly, I stumble forward as I regain some footing under my feet, whipping around and breathing hard. I don’t even hear the swoosh of my money shot.

Only managing to choke out a strangled “I gotta go!” before ripping up the stairs, through the doorway, into the chilly November night.

Leaning my head back against the teacher’s bathroom door, my mind flashes back to the night on Halloween, bits of conversation reverberating in my head. “Not relationship material. Hot teacher. Catholic girl. Golden Retriever. Easy lay.”

I go back in history to all the times I’ve found myself curled into a ball on the floor of my bathroom, my living room, my kitchen, in my bed. Crying so hard that no sounds left my mouth, all the pain in my chest making it hard to breathe.

I knock my head backwards into the door once, frustrated.

I’m just too broken. Damaged goods.

I wait for what feels like hours but is probably just a few minutes before turning off the lights and heading home.

----------

[ FM ]

‘Shit. You overstepped. You made her feel uncomfortable. Unsafe.’ I want to slap my stupid-ass self as I watch the doors close after her. ‘It seemed like she was having fun, what happened? Should I go after her? Does she want me to?’ After a long while I put the basketball where it belongs, turn off the lights and leave the gym in search for her. I have no idea where to look and if she even wants to be found, but the thought of me causing her pain sends me running through the dark school anyway. I stop to listen for sounds several times, but everything’s deadly quiet. I can’t find her.

Shit.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis

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twistedtummies2 · 4 years ago

Text

November Eel (Floyd Leech X Reader; Stuffing)

A story I whipped together for Floyd Leech’s canonical birthday...meaning today. I didn’t want to just do the same old birthday plot, so to speak, so I decided to add a tiny twist to the mix by giving it sort of a Thanksgiving flair. Whether I write a proper Thanksgiving story in the future, and what it might be, has yet to be determined. I do have plans for a Christmas story I might shift to Thanksgiving instead, but we’ll see. In the meantime, please enjoy our favorite eel-boy being a greedy guts. :P

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You sighed with some relief, wiping your brow with the apron you had just removed. It was a cool autumn day outside of your home at the Ramshackle Dorm, yet the old mansion was filled with an uncommon warmth. One could almost forget it was haunted. You smiled as you inspected the fruits of your labors with some small amount of pride. “I hope he likes all of this,” you muttered to yourself as you glanced up and down the long table in the dining room of the lonesome manor. You had really gone all out with this meal, but your boyfriend deserved no less. To many, he was one of the most intimidating people at Night Raven – perhaps a poster child for how a School of Villains could attract unhinged personalities. You had been scared of him once yourself – in fact, you still were, and he knew it – but you had learned to see past the violent mood swings and bizarre, aggressive behavior to find something softer underneath. Eels were much more friendly than people realized, and if ever anybody could show how affectionate they were, it would be your beau. Of course, another part of your significant other’s reputation was his beastly appetite; one of the most prodigious at the entire academy (and that was really saying something). As a result, for this special day – one you had been waiting for with keen anticipation for MONTHS now – you were determined to give him a dinner like nothing you’d given before. True, the three triple-liter bottles of Dr. Copper (his favorite soda) somewhat clashed with the rest of the table setting, but the overall results far outweighed the. All day, you had fought to get this meal cooked up and ready; you’d woken up early and made sure to prepare as quickly and as diligently as possible. The results were sentimental to smell and wonderful to behold, even if you did say so yourself: a huge, juicy roasted turkey sat directly in the center of the table, directly in front of the three soda bottles. To one side of it was a pumpkin pie, and to the other one of chocolate crème, both covered in whipped cream you had mixed yourself. A huge bowl of mashed potatoes sat beside a slightly smaller serving dish of sweet potato casserole; between them was a bowl of garlic-laden breaded stuffing. A plate of ham slices – carved from the bone and covered in pineapple pieces – sat beside a steaming bowl of corn and cheese chowder. Completing the sumptuous setting was a decidedly smaller plate than all the rest, with a half dozen buttered rolls upon it. There had been seven, but you had taken one for yourself, along with a couple pieces of ham with pineapple, and a serving-spoon-full of mashed potatoes. You needed to have SOME food to yourself. You placed your own plate at one end of the table, along with some utensils, then smiled somewhat more wearily as the exhaustion of your mad rush began to catch up with you. You shook your head with another sigh you didn’t realize you were holding in, then checked your watch. “Any minute now,” you murmured and straightened out your clothes, wondering if you should change before your boyfriend arrived. You didn’t want to- CRRREEEAAAK… You froze at the familiar sound of the front door of the old mansion opening. You paused, listening to hear if it would close…it never did. You sighed; either the wind or the ghosts, you guessed. You grumbled unintelligibly as you made your way out of the dining room and through the other rooms beyond on your way to the foyer. Sure enough, your front door was wide open, giving you a view of the mildly overcast, frosty-breezed day outside, and the distant view of the graveyard on your property. As you shut the door and moved to lock it, you were blissfully unaware of a tall figure looming in the shadows nearby. It silently stepped out from behind a curtain, a single glowing yellow eye focusing on you with a dangerous gleam as a fang-filled smile stretched from ear to ear across its pale face. As you clapped your hands together with a slight huff, the figure crept behind you quietly. You scarcely had time to notice the ominious shadow looming over you from behind… …Before the figure pounced. “ACK!” you half-squealed, half-gasped, and half-choked (how there could be three halves of anything was beyond you), as a pair of long, powerful arms swept over you and wrapped about your torso. A second later, you were lifted clean off your feet as the arms squeezed you tight, their grip like that of an anaconda. The arms were lean and somewhat gangly, but they were all pure muscle, holding you so firmly that it actually hurt a little. You instinctively tried to wiggle against the crushing embrace from behind… …Then heard a familiar giggle. “Hiiiiiii, Shrimpy,” sing-songed a high-pitched, teasing voice, and you froze up as the owner of said voice nuzzled the top of your head like you were his teddy bear. “Mmmmm…I’ve missed yoooouuuu…I’ve missed you aaallllll day…” You gulped thinly (mostly out of impulse), then looked up slowly… …Into the lean, pale face and mismatched eyes of Floyd Leech, who smiled a lazy, fang-filled sort of smile at you, his diamoned piercings jingling like a tiny windchime as he tilted his head. You smiled timidly and wiggled a bit…then hissed through your teeth as Floyd squeezed you a bit tighter. “Ah…h-hi, Floyd,” you said to your boyfriend, then paused before adding with a slightly wider smile: “Happy Birthday.”

Floyd’s smile widened, too, and he let out a happy little squeaky sound. “Heeee! Thank you, Little Shrimp!” he sang out, then cocked his head to one side, still holding you against him. You tried not to mind; Floyd’s love for squeezing people was more than well-known. You were just grateful he liked you, otherwise that squeezing could become…hazardous. Of course, Floyd’s birthday was also the birthday of his brother, Jade. However, Jade had opted to spend his birthday going to the movies and visiting an aquarium; Azul was joining him. Floyd didn’t feel like going to either that day (not that he disliked either, he just simply didn’t feel like it; he was always so changeable), which was just fine by you. It meant, that evening, you could have your favorite eel twin all to yourself. “So, what did Little Shrimp want me over for?” Floyd asked, blinking with innocent curiosity. “Is it dinner? I’m really hungry!” As if to emphasize this, a deep, bubbling GRRRLLLOOOLLLRRRB noise echoed from the belly of the eel-man. You shivered slightly as you could actually feel it against your back. Floyd smiled a tad bit wider still, showing off a hint of his pink gums as his jagged fangs glittered in the light of the old mansion… …Then, he leaned down and licked your forehead. “Mmmwwwwwaaaahhhhh,” he breathed over you, and your nose crinkled; his breath had a distinctly fishy odor, no doubt the result of whatever he’d had for breakfast that morning. “Maybe I should just eat my Little Shrimpy up right now…tuck you in nice and cozy…SQUEEZE you inside my tummy…” He hissed out the last few words and you shuddered as you saw his eyes becoming pinpricks. Sensing impending constriction, you pointed out: “If, uh…if you eat me, you won’t get your present, though.” Floyd’s eyes brightened, his pupils widening again. His yellow eye flashed, while the dull olive-toned iris seemed to gain a strange new glitter. “Present?” Floyd repeated. “Shrimpy got me a present?” “Of course, you big silly!” you chuckled, then added: “It’s a present AND a meal. Something really special.” Floyd paused and sniffed the air, then looked down at you. “Is that what smells so yummy?” he whispered, as if this was some incredible secret. You rolled your eyes. “Yep, in a nutshell.” “Yaaay!” cheered Floyd. There was an awkward silence. “…Um…c-can you put me down now?” Floyd smirked. “What if I don’t wanna?” “Then you’ll have to carry me,” you answered, bluntly. “I can’t walk to the dining room if your holding onto me like this.” Floyd shrugged. “I can live with that!” he chirruped, and hummed happily as he began to march off towards the dining hall…still holding you in his arms like he was snuggling a plush toy. “I have a Little Shrimpy, lighter than a feather!” he sang merrily to a tune only he could hear. “An’ I’m gonna squeeze ‘em, no matter the weather!” You sighed and just allowed this to happen. It wasn’t like you could do much else. Squirming would just prompt Floyd to squeeze harder, and you wanted your ribs and spine to remain intact, thank you very much. It wasn’t long until you finally reached the dining room again, and Floyd, at long last, let you back down. You gasped and sighed, as oxygen flowed into your lungs more easily, freed from the tight restraints of those strong-as-steel arms. You brushed yourself off and looked up to your boyfriend. Floyd was still dressed in the pristine white coat and purple “Birthday Boy” sash that those celebrating their birthdays at Night Raven would be allowed to wear. Beneath these he wore a black dress shirt, with the top button undone, and his usual dark trousers and dress shoes with spats. You chuckled as you saw the eel-boy’s eyes widen and his jaw drop as he looked over the holiday spread before him on the table. “Like what you see?” you inquired. Floyd nodded slowly and licked his lips with a long, pink tongue. “It all looks so yummy,” he breathed…then shuddered as his stomach let out a longing growl. “I think my tummy agrees with me…” “I’m glad to hear it,” you smiled. Floyd smiled back, then looked to the table again…and tilted his head. “Eh? Where’s the cake and ice cream?” he asked, not sounding disappointed so much as curious. “Don’t most birthday dinners have cake and ice cream?” “Well, this is a bit different. You know that holiday I was telling you about? Thanksgiving?” Floyd nodded slowly. “The one where some of you humans, in your world, basically spend a whole day talking to annoying relatives and pigging out?” he responded blandly. “Yeah, that’s the one!” you said, as if it were the most wonderful thing in the world, then went on: “Well, I thought – since your birthday happens the same month that holiday would – why not give you a big dinner that has all the stuff my family used to make for Thanksgiving back home?” Floyd’s eyes widened. “Ohhhhhh,” he said slowly, and smiled. “That sounds like a fun idea, Little Shrimp! I can’t wait to try it all out!” “Then don’t,” you winked, and waved to the table. “Go ahead and be my guest!” Floyd grinned wider…then suddenly picked you up again. You yelped as you were hoisted up so easily…then yelped again, a bit more shrilly, as he kissed your nose playfully. “Thank you, Shrimpy!” the Leech brother cheered. “I love it already!” You blushed bright red as he set you down. “Y-You’re welcome,” you meeped out. Floyd giggled and playfully patted your head; you growled and half-heartedly swatted at his hand, which only made him giggle louder. The two of you smirked at each other as you took your seats at the table. Floyd removed his sash before settling his tall, lean frame into the chair, slinging the sash over the back of his seat. “So, um…is there anything special you do before eating on this…Giving Thanks Day?” Floyd asked, curiously, removing the loosely-fastened bolo tie around his neck and slinging it over the back of his chair, too. “Thanksgiving Day,” you corrected. “And…well…usually, we bow our heads and say Grace.” Floyd nodded solemnly in understanding, and promptly bowed his head. Following his example, you did the same, and began to mumble out a prayer… “Bless this-” “GRACE!” You jumped as Floyd yelled out the word, then grinned and licked his teeth as he reached out and pulled the plate of buttered biscuits towards him. “Itadakimasu!” cheered Floyd, and promptly began shoveling the rolls into his mouth. OMPH-NOMPH-GROMPH-CHOMPH…! You blinked, watching as Floyd’s cheeks bulged before – GULP, GULP, GULP…! – each separate warm, buttery piece of bread dropped down his gullet, making a round lump in his neck before vanishing behind his collarbone. You heard his stomach let out a deep “blorble” sound as the food began to fill it at last. You couldn’t even tell if Floyd was chewing, he was chowing down on the rolls so rapidly. Before you even realized it, Floyd had stuffed all six of the rolls down into his gullet, and sighed as he sucked the buttery residue from his fingers and wiped them on a cloth napkin you had provided. You gulped thinly. “Okay,” you muttered, and pulled your own plate closer to yourself. “I guess that works…” “Mmmm…those were good!” Floyd happily declared, and pulled the dish of ham slices with pineapple chunks towards him. “But I need something a little meatier, heh heh…” So saying, Floyd grabbed a knife and fork and made a show of scraping them together…before stabbing the fork down into a piece of ham, and his knife into another. He lifted the pieces carefully and glanced between them…then shrugged, before cramming the piece impaled on his fork into his mouth first. GROMPH! Floyd’s cheeks swelled as he licked away crumbs noisily from his lips before chewing the pink, juicy porcine meat. You were eating your own ham in a much more reserved way, carefully cutting pieces out of it and chewing politey before swallowing…but your eyes hardly ever seemed focused on your own meal. You were much more interested in the way Floyd chewed and swallowed his own hunk of ham before chomping down and swallowing up the second piece on his knife. GRRRUUULLLP! There were eight large, thick ham slices on the plate. Your two made ten. Floyd ate them just as greedily as he had the rolls, slurping up the pieces of pineapple and crooning softly at the flavor before moving on to the next bit of meat each time. He ate so fast that you had barely finished your own ham – only two pieces, again – before he gobbled down the last couple slabs of pink meat. “Ahhhhh…feeling a little heavy after those,” he mumbled, and you blushed involuntarily. Floyd noticed and giggled. “D’awww…does little shrimpy want a closer look?” You bit your lip and paused before answering: “Soon. But…n-not now…” Floyd grinned toothily. “What if I make you?” he hissed. You froze up. Floyd laughed. “I’m just playing with ya, Little Shrimp!” he giggled…then his smile faded and his pupils became pinpricks. “If I wanted to make you, I wouldn’t ask.” You gulped nervously. “R-Right…ah…heh heh…um…so is the food good?” you peeped, trying to desperately change the subject. Floyd’s dark expression vanished and he grinned brightly again. “Super duper good!” he confirmed, then tilted his head as he pulled one of the bowls towards himself. “Eh? What’s this?” “Stuffing,” you said as you began to eat your mashed potatoes. Floyd frowned, looking confused. “I’m not a pillow!” he protested. You nearly choked on your mashed potatoes (you weren’t even aware that could be a thing), and managed to stifle your laughter as you swallowed, coughed twice, and then explained: “N-Not…not that kind of stuffing. See, it’s stuff you usually put inside turkey or chicken, but a lot of people like to just eat it on its own.” “Oh,” Floyd responded, blinking and looking down at the bowl…before grinning. “I’ll try it!” By “try it,” of course, Floyd meant “demolish it.” He grabbed the serving fork inside the bowl and, instead of grabbing an empty plate and serving himself a solid portion, simply began to consume the food directly from its serving dish. The first bite, he paused, and you saw his jaw move behind his cheeks as he chewed. GRUM, GRUM, GRUM… “Hmmmmrrrrrrrrmmmm,” murmured Floyd, tilting his head and making the black stripe on his teal-toned bangs fall across his cheek as he did so. He mulled the flavor of the stuffing in his mouth for a bit…before finally swallowing his first helping. GLULPH! After that, Floyd didn’t bother savoring the stuffing, instead beginning to shovel into his mouth as if a famine was on the way. As you finished your potatoes and began to nibble your roll, you watched him feast. His sharp, pointed teeth – with edges that would put standard razors to shame – made very quick work of the soft, doughy stuffing, the garlic-and-onion flavored breading descending his gullet in rolling lumps. He soon polished off half the bowl, and then two thirds, and then three quarters… With a grunt, Floyd finished off the stuffing, and pushed the huge bowl that had contained it aside. He grimaced slightly and massaged his throat. “Did you eat too fast?” you asked with concern, as you were nearing the end of your roll. Floyd shook his head. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “Just a little dry.” “Sorry, guess I overcooked it,” you apologized. “It’s okay, Little Shrimp! I can always eat you instead!” You must have looked mortified, because Floyd giggled. “I’m teasing, silly!” he chuckled, and winked. “Though you ARE my favorite kind of ‘stuffing.’” You grumbled something about “big dumb eel-guys,” but Floyd paid it no mind…except to giggle again. His giggle was cut off by a light cough, and he scowled. “Mph…need to wash this stuff down,” he mumbled, then reached across the table and grabbed one of the three liters. You watched intently, already knowing what was coming as Floyd cracked open the bottle. You had not provided him with any sort of cups or drinking utensils. This had been by design. You had served yourself some water earlier; you almost instinctively took a sip…as, at the same time, Floyd pressed the open bottle to his lips…and began to chug down the soda inside noisily. GLUG-GLUG-GLUG…! You watched, almost mesmerized, as Floyd downed the Dr. Copper with gusto, the multi-flavored blend of sugary sweetness flowing down his gullet at rapid speed. You could see the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed as the fluid rolled down his throat and poured into the stomach below. He showed no sign of slowing at any point, even as his face showed mild discomfort from the amount of carbonation bubbling in his stomach; you could hear his guts groaning and burbling as the fizzy fluid filled his belly… Sure enough, the instant Floyd popped the empty bottle free from his lips – tossing it into a corner of the room (you’d pick it up later) – he smacked his chest and released a hearty, rumbling burp which rattled some of the dishes on the table between you both. “UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” Floyd belched, then sighed deeply. “Ahhhh…muuuuuch better!” He giggled as you heard him pat his stomach…then the giggle became a low, seductive sort of laugh as he noticed the way you were staring at him. “Mmmmm…that was a good one, wasn’t it, Little Shrimp?” he practically purred. You gulped nervously and nodded, honestly afraid of speaking aloud out of fear of sputtering like a broken record. Floyd smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. One hand rested on his belly, hidden from your sight under the table. The other calmly rose up…and he silently beckoned you to him with a crook of his finger. Even if you had wanted to refuse (and you didn’t), you had a feeling you couldn’t. Besides, you’d finished your food. You picked up your chair and somewhat shyly moved to sit beside your boyfriend. As you did so, your eyes were immediately drawn to his belly. His usually lithe, lean abdomen had become noticeably swollen, and as he patted it gently, you saw it wobble in a decidedly liquid manner, not unlike slapping a water balloon. His black dress shirt fit it tightly as its round surface resembled a small melon rather than his usual concave midsection. “Like whatcha see, Shrimpy-Shrimpy?” teased Floyd, playfully tapping your nose on the last two words and making you blink in response to each. “You know I do,” you grumbled. Floyd smiled and responded by flicking his finger, as if to tap your nose again. You promptly covered it to prevent it from further attacks. The eel-man pouted…but then grinned again as a lightbulb seemed to go off over his head. He thumped his chest two times fast… “Buuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrllllllllllllllllpk…!” …And let out a low, breezy, bubbly sort of belch right in your face. You turned a lovely shade of pink as you could smell the hot gas; the garlic and onions were mild, but still noticeable, and the way they blended with the sickly-sweet odor of fermeting soda pop would have made most stomachs turn. Not yours though, as you found your hands unsconsciosly slipping downwards, away from your face… “Boop!” Floyd giggled as you squeaked like a mouse, caught off guard, and glared at him with your face red as a beet while covering your nose again. “Cuuuuuute,” he crooned, and slung one arm over your shoulder, tugging you closer to him as the other drummed its fingertips over his bloated, cloth-covered gut. “Well, keeping watching, my Little Shrimp…” He licked his lips and reached for his next dish of choice. “…Because the dinner is just getting started.” Floyd started his second round of feasting with the mashed potatoes. He never once let his arm fall away from you as he began to shovel heaping mounds of the yellow-white mash into his mouth, rumbling as the heavily-buttered stuff rolled between his teeth. He ate a little more slowly than he had so far…but only a little, as he would at least take time to savor each bite for a moment before swilling the mushy yumminess towards the back of his throat and down his gullet. NOMPH-GLUPP. NOMPH-GLUPP. NOMPH-GLUPP. You watched as Floyd fed spoonful after spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. The eel smiled cheerily, relishing the warmth of the lightly-peppered dish as it filled his gut, which let out a high pitched gurgle of delight as each heaping helping of potatoes plopped down into the gastric chamber. As close as you were, you could actually faintly hear the muscles churning and working to stir up the thick slop inside of Floyd’s guts…your fingers fidgeted and you bit your lip hard. As the empty bowl that had contained the mashed potatoes was pushed to the side, Floyd smacked his lips and lapped at his teeth, making sure no stray morsel of the stuff had escaped his stomach. The corn and cheese chowder was the next thing to go. You watched as Floyd – still holding you close in a half-hug – extended his one free hand, very cautiously cupping and lifting the none-too-tiny bowl upwards. The eel-man moved slowly and carefully as he brought the edge of the bowl to his lips, and then – GLULPH, GLULPH, GLULPH – began to drink the soup straight from its container. Floyd drank slowly at first, but after a couple of sips-and-gulps, he was swallowing much larger portions. You blushed bright and shifted closer to him as you could actually hear the chowder splash down into his stomach with a sloppy sort of noise. The Leech Twin gave you a sideways sort of smirk, and teasingly tickled your ear with one finger. He paused to snicker as you squeaked and squirmed in response, then continued to guzzle down the sweet, creamy soup. As Floyd finished the soup and placed the bowl back down on the table with a faint “clink,” he grunted and lifted a fist to his mouth, stifling a thick belch that ballooned his cheeks. “HHHHRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLMMMMPH…phoosh.” The eel boy blew the residual gases out…right into your face. Your eyes watered as the hot, smelly gas wafted into your nostrils and nearly made you tear up…but it did nothing to keep the redness from your cheeks. Floyd smiled. “Awwww,” he cooed, and ruffled your hair. You swatted at him half-heartedly again, but it was a futile maneuver, and you knew it. Floyd just rolled his eyes…then, still smiling, he reached for another dish. This time, he grabbed the sweet potato casserole… …But instead of eating it himself right away, as you expected, Floyd turned to you, and pointed to the dish with his free hand as his other hand gently squeezed your shoulder. You tensed and then relaxed; you had learned to always be hyper aware when Floyd applied pressure to any great degree. Floyd grinned devilishly. “I just thought of something my Little Shrimp could do,” he said softly, “To make this birthday even better.” “Oh?” you gulped. “What’s that?” Floyd raised an eyebrow…pointed to the dish…then to you…and finally, pointed into his open mouth. You quivered and felt like your cheeks might be on fire. You could take the hint. The casserole – sweeter than sweet with the pecans, marshmallows, and other assorted ingredients mixed into the mashed yams – was still warm to the touch, but thankfully no longer piping hot. You could hold it fairly easily. You scooped up a spoonful of the stuff with the serving utensil you had chosen… …Then let out a sound best described as a “Meep!” of surprise as Floyd lifted you up almost like a child, and then sat you down on the table itself. You were about to scold him about how this was going to ruin the tablecloth and you were fine where you were… …But it was hard to get mad at him when those fang-filled jaws – oozing with saliva and deep red in color – spread wide before you. As his humid breath billowed over you again, Floyd wiggled like an eager little boy in his seat, expectantly flicking his tongue in a beckoning manner. “Is teasing your next big thing after squeezing?” you grumbled. Floyd just winked. You rolled your eyes, but you played along happily enough, as you brought the spoon to his lips. Floyd clamped his mouth shut around the bowl of the spoon, and – SCHLUGULP! – ingested the helping you had given him. “Pah!” he puffed out as he opened his mouth up again, and leaned closer, opening his jaws a little wider. You froze up as his mouth was soon inches away from your face. You watched as his tongue slowly traced across his lips, the darkness of his gullet echoing with the distant rumble of his- SNAP! “YIPE!” Floyd’s teeth clicked scant centimeters from your nose. He smiled in a cheery, boyish manner. “Aaallllll gone!” he sang, then smacked his lips and opened his mouth again with one word: “More.” …Gods damn this big, teasing boa constrictor of a half-human… You hurriedly began feeding Floyd more and more of the sweet potato casserole. He rumbled happily – a sound almost like a cat’s purr, but a little higher in pitch – as he slurped and gobbled the food. Your smile began to grow, and your blush began to dissipate, as you watched Floyd happily accept all you were feeding him; his feet wiggled as he waited for you to give him more and more, like a small boy being fed by its parents, or a puppy being fed by its owner. “Awww, enjoying yourself?” you cooed, teasingly. Floyd nodded happily. “Mm-hmmmm,” he hummed out and gobbled some more of the casserole as you spoonfed it to him. “SCHLUGULP…mmmmm…yummy in my tummy…” “I should hope so, took me a while to make it just right,” you chuckled. Floyd beamed and accepted another spoonful. “SCHLUGULP…hee hee…Little Shrimp is so sweet!” he sing-songed. You rolled your eyes as you carefully scooped up the last of the sweet potato casserole and held it out to him… SCHLOMPH! “AH!” You cried out and went stiff as Floyd slammed his jaws closed around not just the spoon, but your whole hand. You blinked, rather stunned that this wasn’t hurting him, but he just smirked around a closed mouth, looking deep into your eyes as he slurped and swallowed up the sweet potato dish… …Then, you bit your lip and gripped the table under you tightly as he felt his slimy, slippery, snakish tongue slobber and slurp over your fingers…before – “Pah!” he finally released your hand. You withdrew the spit-smeared spoon and your dampened fingers quickly, and Floyd gave you a not-so-innocent smile as he licked his lips and almost seemed to growl somewhere low in his chest. “Little Shrimp,” he breathed, shakily, “Is so…SO sweet…” You squirmed and wiped your hand on a napkin with a grumble. Floyd giggled…then suddenly let out a loud, sharp hiccup. “HIC! Ooh…oh, excuse – HIC! HIC! – m-me, I…uh-oh – HIC! HIC! HIC!” Floyd’s eyes were wide as he tried to hold back the tide of hiccups that were literally growing so loud and shrill they were causing him to bounce in his seat. The pale-faced eel man was starting to look faintly green in the gills as his gut seized up. He tried to breathe deeply to quell the hiccups, but – HIC! – that didn’t do any good. Floyd let out a little whimpery noise of distress and looked to you pleadingly as he covered his mouth, trying hard to hold back his hiccups. You took pity on him and quickly reached for one of the two remaining soda bottles; perhaps a long drink would help. Floyd started to reach for the bottle…but then – HIC! – jumped back and let out a puppyish whine. You shook your head, unable to stop smiling with amusement, even though you DID feel a little sorry for the helpless merman. You cracked open the bottle and unscrewed the cap, then carefully handed it to him. Floyd took it and hurriedly began to slug down the bubbling Dr. Copper inside: GLUG, GLUG, GLUG. You could hear the drink as it poured down his throat, and watched as his Adam’s Apple bounced like a tennis ball in his throat. Given how close you were this time, you could actually hear the way the fluid popped and frothed as it swirled down his esophagus, cascading down into the stomach below. As Floyd finished off the second bottle, he gasped deeply…then as he hurled the bottle away, he let out a final hiccup, which tapered off into a watery, loud belch that echoed for a few good seconds after it ended, and filled the air with the nauseating stink of his innards. “BLLLLLUUUUUUUOOOOORRRRRLLLLLLLLUUUUUG-YYYYUUUUULLLLLLLLHHHHUUUURRRRRRLLLLLLP!” The eruption made Floyd groan…then he winced and snarled with frustration. You soon figured out the reason why as the eel-man began to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, which was clinging so tightly to his body, you could actually see his skin in the gaps between the buttons. Almost without thinking, you hopped off the table and batted his fumbling hands away. “Let me,” you said, simply, and quickly undid the buttons… BLLLOOORRRLLLSH… “HHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYUUUUUURRRRRRPH!” Floyd belched again; the eruption didn’t last as long as the previous one, but it WAS a fair bit louder. You flinched slightly at the volume…then turned bright red in the face as – having knelt beside the half-eel – you found yourself face-to-tummy with Floyd’s swollen belly. The soft, supple-looking bag of flesh had become round as a pumpkin, jutting out roughly two feet in diameter as it lay heavily in his lap. “Ahhhhhh,” sighed Floyd, eyes half lidded as he reclined slightly in his chair. “That feels – URP – so much better…” Floyd Leech slowly turned his head down to look at you. The dark mage in training grinned a fang-filled grin as he saw you twiddling your fingers unable to stop glancing at his belly where you knelt. With a few grunts, he turned the chair a ninety degree angle, and you turned redder yet as you were now getting a full view of his gut. “Does Little Shrimp wanna give it a squeeze?” he cooed, patting the side of his stomach; it jiggled and made a thick thumping sound, like patting the side of a ripe gourd. You nearly squeaked like a mouse…then timidly nodded. “Okaaaay!” sang Floyd and then reached down and took one of your arms by the wrist. You hardly needed the manual guide as your fingers soon touched the surface of his belly. “You can give me a tummy rub while I finish the rest of my dinner! Sound good, cute little shrimpy-shrimp?” You wondered if steam was coming from your ears as you scooted slightly closer and put your other hand against the warm, soft, silky surface of his distended belly. “It…um…it doesn’t sound bad,” you eeked out. Floyd grinned wider…then leaned down and licked you between the eyes. You squeaked again, and he giggled. “Silly,” he muttered in a twittering way, then gave you a “go ahead” gesture. Taking the cue, you began to move your hands across the surface of his rounded midsection. You pressed your fingers deep into the layers of flesh, kneading and folding his belly almost like a bowl of cookie dough. You stroked and caressed it gently, smiling as you began to “get into the rhythm” of your own massage to your boyfriend’s bare tummy. Floyd paused for a few moments, and bit his lip with a growl as you rubbed over a sensitive portion on the underside of his belly…but then his gut let out a deep rumble, actually vibrating under your fingertips. “Still room for more,” chuckled Floyd, and tutted. “I’m such a greedy guts…my tummy’s like a little sea piggy!” You rolled your eyes and poked his belly near the navel. “You sure it’s just your tummy to blame?” you teased. “Not the person it’s attached to.” Floyd seemed to seriously ponder this question for a few seconds…then shrugged cheerfully. “Yep! Totally my greedy little tummy’s fault!” he chirped. You smiled wider and shook our head before focusing more on your attention to his gut. Floyd now pulled the main course of the whole meal close to him: the roasted chicken. You had to admit, you were a little sorry you hadn’t taken at least a wing for yourself…but you had never been a big eater (the direct opposite of Floyd and…well...at least half the student body, it seemed, you’d discovered), and actually were decently satisfied by your pickings. Besides, it would be much more interesting to see how much of the turkey Floyd would pack away, and how much of the pie he could handle afterward. You would soon get your answer. With a slight snarl, Floyd snapped off one of the turkey wings. He held it between his hands, almost the way one holds corn on the cob, and began to rip into it with his dagger-like teeth. The roasted skin, burnt a rich reddish-brown and seasoned by your own expert (you flattered yourself) hands, crackled and crunched as he shredded the tender white meat underneath. You shuddered as, in between swallows, you actually heard Floyd’s teeth crunch through solid bone, and he didn’t so much as flinch as he swallowed thick, mushy lumps of masticated poultry, bite by bite. The first wing – which was thoroughly mangled by the time Floyd was done with it – was tossed onto an empty plate. Floyd treated the second wing in the same manner – CRUNCH-MUNCH-CRACKLE-GRUMCH-GUUULLLP! – and then growled like a wild beast as he tore away the drumsticks. He lifted each one in one hand and hummed thoughtfully as he held them up to his face and looked between them, biting his lip. “Hmmmm…eeney-meaney-miney-MO.” CHOMPH! You actually paused in your ministrations as Floyd’s golden eye flashed and he ripped such a massive hunk of meat off the turkey leg in his left hand that it nearly pulled away half of the drumstick. His teeth chomped and champed through the thick, juicy bird-flesh easily, and – GRULP! – he soon swallowed… …Then he looked down at you, and you felt yourself shrinking back as his expression had become his hollow-eyed look. The sort of look that said you had exactly ten seconds before he squeezed you quite possibly to death…and THAT was if he was in a GENEROUS mood. “Why did you stop?” he asked, somewhat darkly. You gulped and trembled a bit as he stared at you unblinkingly… …Then, Floyd giggled madly. “I’m just kidding, silly!” he sniggered, and smiled widely again, the darkness leaving in an instant. “But please keep up the tummy rubs; they feel soooooooo good…” You sighed with relief and nodded before resuming your massage of Floyd’s middle. The hybrid grinned brightly and wiggled his feet happily as those lovely tummy rubs came back. His stomach itself seemed to let out a happy “brumble” of appreciation. “Thaaaank yoooouuu,” he sing-songed, as if nothing had happened. You smiled nervously. Floyd giggled, and then turned his attention back to his food. He tore an equally huge hunk of flesh out of the right hand leg, then began alternating between the two. You could actually feel his stomach vibrate slightly as it continued to grow and grow, build and build, bulge and bulge… Floyd hummed thoughtfully as he eyed the rest of the turkey. You tilted your head, a little curious about how he’d manage to consume it. It was going to be awkward, at the angle he was currently sitting, for him to cut it… A devious sort of smile came over the eel enforcer’s face, which only heightened your curiosity. “Hey…Little Shrimp?” “Yes?” “Wanna see something suuuuper cool?” Floyd crooned, fidgeting a bit excitedly in his seat. You nodded slowly, not entirely sure what to expect. Floyd grinned wider…and then, your interest rose even further as he grabbed the turkey in his bare hands and lifted it up. “I call this,” he winked to you, “The Deep Squeeze. I usually reserve it for…hee hee…work…” Before you could ask what THAT meant…your jaw dropped. Mostly because your boyfriend’s jaw dropped…and Dropped…and DROPPED. Like a snake unhinging its jaw, the eel-man’s mouth opened IMPOSSIBLY wide, far too monstrously wide to be remotely natural. Then…he began to shove the “core” of the turkey into his jaws all in one go! OMPH…HOMPH…NOMPH…GROMPH…! Floyd strained as he worked his overstretched jaws around the turkey. You had to pinch yourself and shake your head, even smacking your own cheek lightly to make sure what you were seeing was real. It was. Time seemed to slow down as you watched the whole bird bulge through Leech’s esophagus, swelling his throat most gruesomely… …Then – GLLLUUURRRUUULLLP! – with a thick, heavy swallow, Floyd swallowed the entire turkey at once. You shuffled back, startled as his gut surged outwards more, straining against the waistband of his trousers. “Grrrrnnngh,” Floyd let out a garbled sort of groan, and began to reach downward. You were a little faster, and helpfully undid the button of his slacks… ZZZRRRIIIP! GULORLSH! “BAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUURRRRRRRP!” As Floyd’s belly spilled even further across his lap, spreading over his thighs like dough pouring from a mold, the pressure and air that had come as a result of his swallowing the turkey roared back up from his depths in the form of an explosive belch. Floyd gasped, winded, and let out a couple of shorter, more strained-sounding after-burps as he slumped a bit in his chair. “Ahhhh…HURP! Ooh…oh, my…my TUUUUMMMMYYYY-YYYUUURRRP…mph…so…so heavy…so much…f-food…BRACK…!” You instinctively wiped your nose and felt glad no blood was leaking from it. “You…I…I can’t…b-believe you just did that,” you breathed out. Floyd smiled in a slightly loopy, almost drunken way. His head was lolling above his shoulders as he was trying to stay focused and recover. “I guess I’m just full of surprises, huh, Shrimpy?” he slithered…then hiccuped and belched again: “HIC-UUURRRP! Oof…so much…meat…not sure if I…if I should eat anymore…” “Not even sure you have room for dessert?” Floyd smirked. “Does my Little Shrimp want to help me test that?” he hissed. You were pretty sure your face wouldn’t be able to get redder if it could. “Hush,” you mumbled. Floyd giggled…then grunted again as he leaned forward and grabbed you by the back of your head. Before you could stop him, he pulled you forward, wrapping both his arms around your upper body as he pressed the side of your head against his burgeoning gut. You froze as the soft, warm, velvety skin touched your cheek, and the sounds of his stomach churning mechanically around the cargo in his tanker, stirring it up and breaking it down, sang in your ears: a symphony of organic de-and-reconstruction. “Do you like my tummy’s lullaby?” crooned Floyd, and squeezed you a little closer pressing your face into his paunch a bit more. “Mmmmm… ‘Shrimpy! Shrimpy! There’s still room for yooouuu…”’ “I don’t think that’s what it’s saying at all,” you quipped, without skipping a beat, your voice slightly muffled by his skin. Floyd laughed; his gut scraped against you and jiggled as he chortled. “Maybe you’re right,” he said softly…then grinned as he looked towards the pies on the table. “I think it needs something a little LESS sweet…” You rolled your eyes at the insinuation the pies were somehow less sweet than you…then paused as you wondered whether that was an insult or not…then blushed when you realized you were considering your own flavor a compliment. Floyd took no notice, keeping one hand on you and holding your ear to his bare, soft belly as he crooked a finger on one of the pie tins and pulled the pumpkin pie to him first. He chose that one simply because it was ever so slightly larger than the chocolate pie. You had pre-sliced both desserts, and Floyd was quick to take advantage, as he began lifting the pumpkin pie pieces one at a time and eating them up in three fast bites. The childish eel even made silly little “OM-NOM-NOM” noises as he scarfed them down, licking his lips and fingertips to clean them of any crust crumbs or flecks of stray whipped cream. Both pies had been cut into eight pieces. For the first four of the pumpkin pie, Floyd was doing well…but by slice five, you realized he was breathing more heavily. The hand against you wasn’t gripping quite as firmly, as if he was becoming more distracted, putting more effort into other things…like eating. His bites remained just as ravenous, but the pace slowed down considerably. As the cinnamon-spiced custard filling broke apart on his tongue, Floyd seemed to be moaning…and not with pleasure. You lifted a hand and rubbed the side of his engorged gut, which only continued to grow inch by inch. The growth itself was slowing, actually, as you noticed the flesh seemed to get tighter and tauter, stretching nearly to its absolute limits. You could actually hear the whole turkey’s bones snapping and popping inside him – an unnerving sort of sound, to say the least – as the acidic enzymes sloshed and foamed more than any soda could. His guts were feeling the strain, and so was he. The last slice of pumpkin pie took five bites, rather than three, to finish. Floyd panted and paused, slumping slightly as his tongue flopped from his jaws. His glowing yellow eye was now so dull and lifeless, it almost matched the olive one. “Ooooorrrrrrrrrgh…my…my tummy…doesn’t f-feel so good,” he admitted, and grunted as a small, sickly belch popped its way up and out. “URLP…blugh…I…I dunno if I wanna…wanna eat anymore.” “I thought you could eat people whole,” you pointed out. “Yeah, but I think I’ve eaten basically that weight in food,” Floyd said, and let out a weak, slightly hysterical giggle as he smiled in a sickly way at you. “Little Shrimp…s-spoils me…” You bit your lip. Something about Floyd’s eyes seemed…disappointed. And you didn’t like that. You didn’t want your beau to feel disappointed on his special day, especially with what you had made for him, and why. You weren’t sure what prompted you do so – your own selfish thirst, or perhaps trying to fix that problem – but you brushed away his arm (it fell away in a limp, easy manner) and stood up before pulling the chocolate pie off the table. “Try to finish it?” you said, softly, then added: “For me?” Floyd looked between you and the chocolate pie…then that weak smile seemed to grow softer. “I can try,” he said, almost like a little boy, hoping to please his parents. You smiled gently, and pulled a single piece of pie from the tin. Just as you had when feeding him the casserole, Floyd ate straight from your hand…but this time, he didn’t bother to tease you by licking your fingers, and he seemed decidedly less happy to be fed. A look of supreme concentration was on his face as he swallowed each pie slice – GLUCK…GLURK…GOLLOP…GRULP…! – as if he was determined to win the fight with his own heaving stomach. He gripped the armrests of his chair tightly. “Easy,” you whispered soothingly, feeding him the fourth slice of chocolate crème pie, not wanting those famous Leech muscles to break the chair. Floyd let out a gurgly sound in response and just gobbled up the slice in your hand. You fed him the fifth…the sixth…the seventh… The moment the eighth and final slice passed down his esophagus, the Leech Twin grabbed a napkin and dabbed the chocolate and whipped cream from his mouth. You, meanwhile, dropped the empty pie tin onto the table…and picked up the last bottle of Dr. Copper. “Too fuuuuulllllllllllll,” moaned out Floyd as you unscrewed it, then winced and clutched his stomach with one hand. “Nghmph…f-feel like I might…b-burst…” “It’ll help,” you said, though you honestly weren’t sure if it would. But just to make it sound like you knew what you were talking about, you quickly added: “It’ll relieve the pressure.” Floyd looked at you suspiciously. “…I don’t think I’m the one…mph…who’s th-thirsty here,” he grumbled, pouting and giving a mock sniffle. You smirked wryly and simply held the open three-liter out insistently. Floyd glanced between you and the bottle, then sighed. “Fiiiiiiiine…I’m too nice to you, Little Shrimp, I hope you realize that,” he said, and waved for you to give him the bottle. You just rolled your eyes and handed him the triple-liter. Then, as he held it up to his lips, you knelt back down and placed your ear to his belly willingly… GLUG…GLUG…GLUG…! Floyd drank the final bottle much more slowly. You shivered, as you could hear the soda plunge down in heavy waves, almost sounding like a waterfall, the rapids pounding down and mixing with the thickening sludge inside. You briefly had the image of yourself sliding down his dark, slimy esophagus…forced to curl up inside his rolling, rocking gut sac, swimming in the muck formed from everything he’d gobbled up for dinner… Your toes curled. Floyd finished off the soda and flung the empty bottled away. He gasped twice and groaned, thumping his chest. “Uhf…fah…uuuuuuUUUUUURRRRRRrrrrrrph! Guh…UUUUUURRRRRRrrrrrruuuuuuck…!” You realized Floyd was trying to get the pressure out of his system. His stomach let out a gaseous groan, confirming your suspicions; it ROARED like a factory processing vat, and actually jostled with the force of it. Your fingers gently stroked over his weighty, over-taut stomach, till you found a tender spot, and lightly pressed down- “BRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIPLK!” That did the trick. A rocketing, roaring, rollicking belch – bigger and louder and far more smelly than anything you’d heard your gluttonous beau unleash before (and that was saying plenty and a half) – came blasting up from the belly of the bloated hybrid like a hurricane. The whole mansion seemed to shake to its foundation (perhaps that was just the spirits, reacting in revulsion), and you found yourself subtly inhaling more deeply, as if trying to take in as much of the awful, noxious STINK as you could. The moment you realized that, of course, you stopped yourself. As for Floyd he sighed and leaned back in his chair, those strong-as-steel-band arms flopping limply to either side of him as he went crosseyed and sighed, his tongue flopping from his jaws once more. “Hhhaaaaaahhh…that DOES feel better,” he murmured, then hiccuped and belched before groaning softly: “HIC-OOORRRLLLPH! Ugh…a little, anyway…” You chuckled and stood up, moving to help your ravenous boyfriend out of his chair. “Here��let’s get you somewhere comfortable where you can rest and let your big tummy do all the work, okay, fishy?” Floyd mumbled something about squeezing you till your ribs were bruised at that last word, but you ignored it. This time you were fairly certain he didn’t mean it. It wasn’t easy helping the tall, overstuffed eel man to bedroom, but you managed, and a short time later, one could find you snuggled up to Floyd’s side. You lay your head against his plumpened middle, rubbing it gently with your palm and fingertips. Floyd sighed as he held you close, lightly squeezing you with one arm as the other lay limp at his side, his dichromatic eyes shut in an expression of contentment. “Mmmm…so, what was that about not being a pillow?” you teased, and poked his belly just above his belly button. Floyd squirmed and giggled; he was ticklish around his belly button. “Hee hee…okaaaaay, good point,” he said in a drunken, loopy voice, head buzzing with how full he was. You smiled and kissed his belly softly, nuzzling and caressing the underside, making Floyd moan. “Feeling better now?” “Much,” Floyd nodded. “Little Shrimp knows aaaaaaallllllll of the best places to rub…no wonder I haven’t eaten them yet…” “Well, you’re certainly not eating Little Shrimp now,” you snorted and gave his belly a thump. You liked the sound and texture of it when you did. “I think if you tried you might explode.” “Mmmmm…I’d wanna wait till it can be just my hungry tummy and my tasty Little Shrimp, alone, anyway,” Floyd shrugged. You rolled your eyes and inserted your finger into that sensitive navel of his; you ran it around in a stiff circle, as if stirring it up. Floyd inhaled sharply…then sighed deeply, his toes curling and uncurling as he did so. You smiled more and gently began to scratch the sides of his bloated bag of a belly; it “slugorshed” in a wet, sloshy way as you did, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the warmth of it under your hand. You giggled as Floyd’s right leg twitched slightly, almost like a big dog reacting to a belly rub. “Am I allowed to say you’re adorable?” you asked, point blank. “YOU are,” Floyd confirmed, then added, “Don’t say it too often though.” “I’ll try not to,” you chuckled. There was a pause. “…Shrimp?” “Yeah?” “I…you said that Thanksgiving was about…well…saying thanks, right? To…people you cared about, and stuff?” “Yep.” Floyd paused, then pulled you closer to his side. “Thank you for…the food. And…for being with me,” he said, a bit awkwardly. You sensed he felt he had to say something, but wasn’t sure what to say. “I…I really am thankful to have you as my…my Shrimp.” He gave you a squeeze, possessively, and repeated: “MY Shrimp.” You smiled, looked up to his face, and leaned up to kiss his nose. “You’re welcome,” you said softly. “I’m just glad I could make you happy on your birthday and give you something special.” “Yeah, but…I’ve got nothing for you.” “Psh. You don’t have to get ME anything,” you scoffed. “It was YOUR birthday and meal, not mine.” “But I wanna,” Floyd said, giving you what you could only call the “Sea Puppy Eyes.”

You bit your lip…then smiled timidly. “Well, um…there’s…” You drew a careful circle around his belly button, as his gut gave a gassy gurgle. “…There’s one thing you can give me.” Floyd blinked…then smiled. “Okaaay,” he said softly…then paused before adding: “But only if I get to squeeze you.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you said honestly. Floyd let out a tiny “squee” sound, and in a moment, you were lying on top of him, his bloated belly against your own stomach. The arms of the eel-man wrapped around you…and you felt Floyd tighten his grip on you slowly. You braced yourself, not sure how tight this was going to get…you hissed through your teeth as something creaked inside you, and you were pressed harder and harder against Floyd’s body. Floyd’s expression showed an absence of any effort or focus, just a look of placid, affectionate happiness… …Then, something lurched inside his stomach. Floyd opened his jaws wide before your face, as if he WAS about to swallow you…but, instead, he belched up three words. “LOOOOOOOOOOOVE…YYYYOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUU…SHRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMP-PYYYYY-YYYYUUUURRRRRRRP!” As the belch came to an end, Floyd flashed his fangs in a grin. Your own smile was a half-lidded, lovesick look of barely-conscious satisfaction. “…Check please,” you mumbled drunkenly. Floyd giggled, then happily nuzzled into your neck as he rolled onto his side, his overengorged gut “gulunking” noisily as he did. “My Shrimp,” he said again, very softly and sweetly, almost in a dove-like coo. You could sense that somehow it was his way of saying he loved you in a decidedly less…well…LOUD way. You smiled and hugged him back; your squeeze was no match for any of his. “Always,” you promised. Floyd let out a happy little hum and nuzzled your neck again. “Hmmm…URP…nighty-night, Little Shrimp…I’m sleeeeeeepy…” “Goodnight, you big, fishy greedy guts,” you smiled back, patting his stomach. Floyd smiled wider, closed his eyes, and cuddled you close like his own pillow as he soon drifted off to sleep. You rested your head against him, smiling as you heard and felt the digestive process going on inside him. The gurgles made for a surprisingly nice lullaby.

The End

#disney #twisted wonderland #fanfic #kink fic #stuffing #belching #burping #belly #implied vore #floyd leech #floyd #birthday story #thanksgiving story #sort of

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americangodstalk · 4 years ago

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As I am digging around to try to later write more about how the Native Indian figures and mythological entities are treated in American Gods, I just want to share these important extracts:

Shadow said, “Are you a god as well?”

Whiskey Jack shook his head. “I’m a culture hero,” he said. “We do the same shit gods do, we just screw up more and nobody worships us. They tell stories about us, but they tell the ones that make us look bad along with the ones where we came out fairly okay.”

“I see,” said Shadow. And he did see, more or less.

“Look,” said Whiskey Jack. “This is not a good country for gods. My people figured that out early on. There are creator spirits who found the earth or made it or shit it out, but you think about it: who’s going to worship Coyote? He made love to Porcupine Woman and got his dick shot through with more needles than a pincushion. He’d argue with rocks and the rocks would win.

“So, yeah, my people figured that maybe there’s something at the back of it all, a creator, a great spirit, and so we say thank you to it, because it’s always good to say thank you. But we never built churches. We didn’t need to. The land was the church. The land was the religion. The land was older and wiser than the people who walked on it. It gave us salmon and corn and buffalo and passenger pigeons. It gave us wild rice and walleye. It gave us melon and squash and turkey. And we were the children of the land, just like the porcupine and the skunk and the blue jay.”

He finished his second beer and gestured toward the river at the bottom of the waterfall. “You follow that river for a way, you’ll get to the lakes where the wild rice grows. In wild rice time, you go out in your canoe with a friend, and you knock the wild rice into your canoe, and cook it, and store it, and it will keep you for a long time. Different places grow different foods. Go far enough south there are orange trees, lemon trees, and those squashy green guys, look like pears—”

“Avocados.”

“Avocados,” agreed Whiskey Jack. “That’s them. They don’t grow up this way. This is wild rice cftuntry. Moose country. What I’m trying to say is that America is like that. It’s not good growing country for gods. They don’t grow well here. They’re like avocados trying to grow in wild rice country.”

[...]

They walked back to Whiskey Jack’s shack. He opened the door. Shadow hesitated. “I wish I could stay here with you,” he said. “This seems like a good place.”

“There are a lot of good places,” said Whiskey Jack. “That’s kind of the point. Listen, gods die when they are forgotten. People too. But the land’s still here. The good places, and the bad. The land isn’t going anywhere. And neither am I.”

[...]

He did not believe that he had fallen asleep, but he was standing on a vast plain, and there was a man there with the head and shoulders of a buffalo, and a woman with the head of an enormous condor, and there was Whiskey Jack standing between them, looking at him sadly, shaking his head.

Whiskey Jack turned and walked slowly away from Shadow. The buffalo man walked away beside him. The thunderbird woman also walked, and then she ducked and kicked and she was gliding out into the skies.

Shadow felt a sense of loss. He wanted to call to them, to plead with them to come back, not to give up on him, but everything was becoming formless and without shape: they were gone, and the plains were fading, and everything became void.

#american gods #book #novel #whiskey jack #wisakedjak

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naturalbornworldshakers · 4 years ago

Photo

“I’m long gone like the turkey through the corn...” Lightnin’ Hopkins by Robert Crumb, NYC, 1974 (at New York, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFK9haKltPy/?igshid=10e54slwskfz3

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snuh · 3 years ago

Audio

Lightnin’ Hopkins: Long Gone Like A Turkey Through The Corn

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capricornus-rex · 4 years ago

Text

Someone Left to Save (5)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: I’m so sorry it took way longer than it should :((( Work got me close to a burnout and my laptop’s sometimes a lil bitch ;-; I should pick up the pick soon, but thank you for still reading this fic! I really appreciate it ❤

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions | Trigger warning: Graphic bodily descriptions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 | Previous: Part 4 | Next: Part 6 | Masterlist

5 of ?

Cal reluctantly left the structure with his companions. Throughout the entire exit, the Jedi never spoke a word, Larki and Morzen could do nothing but glance at him every once in a while until they mounted their speeders again.

Not even BD-1 himself could get a response from his owner.

Throughout their exit from the structure, Cal spoke nothing. Larki and Morzen could only catch a glimpse of the Jedi, neither of them can say something of value to him—perhaps nothing at all. The three of them mounted their speeders and without even waiting for the two, Cal revs up the engine of his bike and sped out. Fortunately, Larki was able to catch up as soon as his own speeder sputtered to life.

The small search party returned to the temple ruins, as they were told by Cere via comlink in the middle of their drive. Cal’s entrance rattled some of the rebels loitering within the ruins’ vicinity, Cere included; when she saw that the headcount remained the same as they left, her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

“Cal, where is [Y/N]?”

Silence. Cal’s eyes drooped, avoiding eye contact with Cere.

“Cal, where is [Y/N]?” Cere spoke through her clenched teeth while her fists shook with a confusion of anger, worry, and fear.

“T-This…” Cal stammered, unfolding his fingers to show the bracelet to Cere, which she instantly recognizes to be yours.

“That’s all they found?” the woman’s voice cracked.

Cere covered her gaping mouth with trembling hands, in full shock of the discovery, and her breathing became shaky. Her hands fell to her chest, as if her heart’s about to burst through her ribcage. Eventually, Merrin and Greez were drawn to the scene, quickly, the Nightsister spotted the trinket in Cal’s hand; she held her gasp and her eyebrows furrowed, she brought her hands to her mouth but they stopped at her chest.

Greez worriedly uttered your name.

Cal was given time to be alone. He stayed in one of the chambers of the temple that served as a sleeping quarters. For the rest of the day, Cal was exempted from strategy conferences by the grace of the empathetic Jax. The grief-stricken Jedi never let go of your bracelet, however, he was unresponsive even to the little boy staring at him as he sits on the floor in the far corner of the room.

BD-1 chirps and beeps from time to time, trying to fish a word out of Cal, but he would speak very little.

“She’s not gone, BD… I know it. So, why don’t they believe me? They look like they don’t,” Cal’s eyes trailed, aligning it with BD who’s nestled on the space between his crossed legs. “I’m not crazy, aren’t I?”

The little droid shook its head in reply, BD-1 nudged your bracelet with his head’s visor, followed by a sad, long beep that faded out. The hours felt like only minutes to the boy, he leaned his head against the cold, cobblestone wall and eventually dozed off.

That night, Cere personally went to the Cal’s room with a tray of food. Cal has lost track of the time that he didn’t wake in time for dinner. It was BD-1 who sensed Cere coming into the room, a quiet chirp emitted from the droid, and the woman carefully walked into his bedroom to set the tray down on a podium. Even upon her presence, Cal didn’t wake up; Cere’s eyes wandered to his open hand, one cord of the bracelet dangles out of his palm. She took a deep sigh and didn’t bother waking up to remind him to eat.

“Keep an eye out for him, BD, please…” she softly pleaded and then left. “And tell him to eat when he wakes.”

A good chunk of minutes passed after she left the room and Cal finally wakes. He blinks several times until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room in the moonless night; the first thing he notices is the power lamp sitting next to his futon built from straw, animal hide, and mismatched pieces of cloth sewn together.

“Hey, BD… dozed for a long time, haven’t I?”

“Boo!” BD nodded and then gestured to the tray that Cere had left.

Cal’s stomach ferociously growled when his nostrils flared upon picking up the scent of the food—albeit having gone cold for a time. The rations weren’t exactly a culinary art, neither was it a cuisine, but it was enough to sate an empty stomach—the adrenaline from earlier had dulled Cal of his senses and awareness of the goings-on in his body, only then was he starting to realize just how hungry he is.

Cere had sneakily doubled the servings for each food type she’s prepared for Cal: three scoops of Lemus corn, a bowl of bone broth nearly filled to the brim, and two turkey drumsticks—instead of one as imposed by Jax to conserve rations per headcount.

“Looks like the fighters must’ve looted the Imps’ storehouse, huh?”

“Woo!”

The Jedi scrambled towards the food and helped himself, however, he didn’t exactly scarf down whatever’s on the platter. He only ate what he wanted and had some leftovers. He dismissed it and returned the tray on the podium.

—–

The Inquisitors, Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, charted a course to one of the Imperial medical outposts and also their satellite fortress—a smaller likeness of their stronghold like that of the one in Nur—in Mons Golotha, a moon situated in the Outer Rim.

“We are bound to Mons Golotha in T-Minus 35 minutes, Seventh Sister,” reported the command ship’s admiral.

“Good, have them prepare a medical capsule for the bodies we’ve recovered—for immediate transfer.”

The admiral bowed in compliance and returned to overseeing the cadets on their computers.

The pair strode in exit of the bridge and to the command ship’s cramped medical bay. The Fifth Brother sensed the Mirialan’s thoughts dwelling on you.

“What’s on your mind, Sister?”

“The girl’s an intriguing subject. She’s going to be very busy in her interrogation when she wakes,”

“If she wakes,” reiterated the Fifth Brother.

There was silence between them as they marched through the corridors. Crew members avoid eye contact as much as possible from the Inquisitors in any way doable—tipping the rims of their uniform caps downwards so their eyes are obscured, others would maintain eye contact while speaking even though they caught the Seventh Sister giving them a passing glance when she entered their periphery.

The pair didn’t mind their fear of them, it was insignificant of them to pick up every single thought and feeling flooding this corridor.

Upon their arrival to the moon, Mons Golotha, they were instantly given confirmation to land and instructed whoever’s capable to transfer the patients from the medical bay to the shuttle for their descent to the surface. A couple of medical specialists assigned in the medbay helped in settling both you and the Second Brother in your own medical capsules, the 2-1B medical droid meticulously configured the control panels of both pods to the optimum setting for each one’s survival from the descent until the complete transfer.

From one medical specialist to another, you and the Second Brother were handed over. While being escorted to your rooms, the doctors and nurses were performing their SOPs in bringing in emergency patients.

“Both of them are in a vegetative state, but he’s in a more critical state. I want an operating table prepped for him and a Bacta tank filled to the brim—infused with antibiotics for his second to third degree burns. This surgery is strongly required pre-Bacta treatment.” Barked one of the doctors who led the way while the Inquisitor pair flanked them.

“The girl’s vitals are stable. I have a heartbeat! Blood pressure is low though, she’s suffering from minor concussions and burns,” diagnosed a second doctor who stood close to your own gurney. “Prepare a Bacta tank for her as well, infuse it with a mild painkiller and antibiotics for her burns so they won’t infect and blister.”

The nurses rushed to comply with the doctors’ orders. Your doctor was astounded with your body’s physical resilience, he wagered it was your fight-or-flight response or your self-preservation instincts despite lying down on the brink of unconsciousness—seconds before the Fifth Brother picked you up and spotted you. He may have not seen what happened to you, but he was sure that you were a fighter—perhaps even more of a fighter than the Second Brother, dare he thinks!

“Alright now, you little darling, let’s get you patched up.”

The female nurses strip you off of your soiled and scorched clothes, washed off the grime and soot that stuck to your skin and face, and attached the apparatus necessary for your body before submerging you to the vat of Bacta.

“How long will they be submerged?” asked the Fifth Brother to the Second Brother’s attending physician.

“That depends on their case, really. In his case, since he’s the most severely injured, it may take him weeks to recover fully—better if he regains consciousness in the middle of his treatment,”

“And…” the gray humanoids jerks his head to you in the tank. “What of her?”

“Well, evidently, her wounds are less fatal compared to the other patient. However, we are detecting some signs of internal bleeding. Recovery may take weeks as well, but perhaps it’ll be shorter for her.”

“Will she have regained her strength when she wakes up?” the Mirialan interjected.

“All of that will be determined on the amount of time she’ll use for rest and recovery,”

The Mirialan hummed and dismissed herself to the doctors. She contacted the Grand Inquisitors in private, reporting the diagnoses of the doctors for both you and the Second Brother, and your involvement with the rebel cell that they’ve encountered in Pevera.

“We found one of the Jedi helping the rebels, m’lord,” reported the Seventh Sister. “But she’s still being taken care of here.”

“Good, let her body relish the remainder of her days where she will not yet feel any pain and anguish,” the Grand Inquisitor snarled through the small hologram projection on the Seventh Sister’s holodisk. “She will answer to us the moment she opens her eyes.”

“The girl is a survivor—a better one than the Second Brother, he didn’t have it easy. I sense something in her, something familiar,”

“Oh? How intriguing,” the Grand Inquisitor took the bait. “I should like to hear what you have to say about this girl, Seventh Sister.”

“Yes, m’lord,”

“See to it that she recovers in her treatment, she has a lot to answer for us,” the Grand Inquisitor added before his hologram fizzled out.

The doctors and their companion medical droids worked on the Second Brother’s surgery meticulously and tirelessly. They picked up a pulse from him and then began their procedure. It was a gruesome image, even for the droids.

For one, a large patch of burnt flesh stands out from the Second Brother’s scarred, olive skin. It covered his left shoulder down to the left half of his torso. Shards and portions of his clothing—both the undershirt and the armor plates—have melted and stuck to his skin, tools were required to separate debris from the flesh. A string of viscous pus connected the removed shrapnel and his blistering, black and red skin. Bodily fluids oozed out from every orifice conceivable on his wounds—throughout the operation, he’s partially conscious, flinching on particular moments where the droids would prod their syringes and quite-delicate mandibles on his skin.

“I sense his hate, even in his dormant state,” the Fifth Brother commented as they watch the operation.

“Likewise. Last I heard, these two were fighting. I’m certain he’ll be most hostile towards her,”

“I checked the database,” the Fifth Brother huffed, and a curious Seventh Sister craned her head to face him. “I found her in the records: [Y/N] [L/N]. Another Jedi survivor, in hiding until she apparently joined the rebels with the other Jedi—Cere Junda and Cal Kestis—and then the Second Brother engaged her while trying to infiltrate the stronghold with the rebels.”

“They’re all the same,” the Mirialan scoffed.

The Inquisitors watched the doctors do their work until the surgeons have finished their job on the Second Brothers and then he was dropped into the tank. The two of you were being observed by the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, she watched the two of you bobbing in the liquid substance like apples in a bucket.

“Doctor, do whatever it takes to speed up the girl’s recovery period. We want her conscious as soon as possible,”

“B-But… Seventh Sister, we haven’t even carefully observed her wounds and their fatalities on her body!”

“Unless you want to be the one strapped to the Imperial torture chair, I suggest you do your job faster,”

“Y-Yes… m-madam.”

The Fifth Brother has gotten the hint of the Seventh Sister’s other plans for you. He’s been sensing it running in her mind ever since.

“Do you think she’ll get the Grand Inquisitor’s attention—even Lord Vader?”

The Mirialan girl turned to the gray humanoid, having to tilt her head back to emphasize their height difference, she smirked.

“I don’t doubt it,”

“And if she refuses?”

The smirked retained. Seventh Sister seemed to be amused to answer his question.

“Well, I think we can persuade her,” she pans her head to your tank: sections of hair floating about like soft tendrils, closed eyes yet bursting with life the open they shoot open, and a weakened spirit that she perceives as a blank slate. “One way or another.”

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