#hot belgian waffles

[ed0gaw-a]

Anyone else very suddenly go back to Gravity Falls weeks after the Dead Boy Detectives cancellation? I'm obsessed.

[zoethehead]

Having some writers/scenemakers block rn, so here's a gravity falls reference as a humorous icebreaker.

[gravity-falls-fanatic89]

Sees ads for pheromone scents to attract your man:

"Wow, those are so dumb! Like men even care how you smell!"

Also me:

"Stan would absolutely love this scent on me, and be head over heels in love!"

[megamindsupremacy]

LET STAN SAY “SON OF A BITCH”

Gravity falls season 2 liveblog block the tag now or forever hold your peace

[dandysworldhcs]

The toons physically can't swear. It isn't painful or anything to try, they just immediately say something like "Hot Belgian waffle!" or "Barnacles!" Essentially, their subconscious is programmed to mask every swear they hear for a cartoon, child friendly "swear"

trying not to laugh in math class at "Hot Belgian Waffle!"

[thecluelessdoctor]

guys do you ever just... Think about women

Sammy because hot Belgian waffles, chat- women

She's a icon. I love her. She slays.

And obligatory ruined suit.

[pitch-black-angel-of-death]

Ghosted again, you throw your phone across the room where it lands in a pile of discarded crisp packets and cake wrappers. But you don't notice as you throw yourself face first onto your bed which creaks in complaint. You're fed up with fake feeders just buttering you up for pictures and then not following through on their promises of daily fast food and hourly snacks and milkshakes. You want to grow but no one actually wants to help when they hear that you've truly got no limits. Death is just one step too far for so many.

You feel the twinge of tears coming and you scoot up to your pillow to console yourself with the tub of chocolate next to the bed. Still a few tears escape, making the caramel centred chocolates now salted caramel and you let out a bitter laugh before saying "Why can't I just have what I want? I'd do anything!" up into the ceiling of your bedroom.

Chocolates and the weight of the rest of your day's work finally catch up with you and pull you into a dream filled sleep. Food is a reoccurring theme, burgers, pies, cakes, pizzas and more, and you eat it all, not one bit gets lost in the usual strange morphing nature of a dream. But strangest of all, you swear you can taste it. The salt covered fries tingle on your tongue, the melted cheese slips down your throat and the sweet creaminess of ice cream coats your mouth. It's beautiful, a true dream. You don't ever want to wake up, but...

You wake. The sudden heavy weight forces your lungs to exhale with a deep raspy wheeze that you never had before. You try to breathe in but you're struggling. As you peer into the gloom of the early morning, you can just about make out the fuzzy outline of me at the end of your bed, with my wings unfolded a little. Your eyes try to adjust to the dim light as your muscles in your neck feel far away and sluggish and you look around your room. The ceiling looks much further away now. Then your eyes drift onto yourself. Humped layers of flab that was your chest flows beyond itself to your tummy. Your belly is something else, it looks like an endless expanse and as you remember how to turn your neck you realise why the ceiling is so far away. One edge of your belly has tumbled from the mattress and is now resting on the carpet, the adipose well dimpled and soft. You're on the floor practically, your bedframe crushed beneath your weight. You turn your head the other way and realise not only the side of your tummy is on the floor but so is rolls and rolls of what made up your leg. It's just pure fat. It is simply a lard tank, not a leg now. Panic washes over you, this is a dream, right? But the quick beating pelt of your heart feels too real, as does the wheezing as you begin hyperventilating in shock.

"You're awake," I murmur warmly from the foot of the mattress. My voice reminds you of hot syrup over fluffy pancakes. Even now, so worried, your mind wanders to food. "Did you not sleep well, my pet? Nightmares? Don't worry you've got a full day of food ahead of you to make you forget all about them."

You try to reply but all that escapes from your lips is a loud and long burp. Relief washes over you as quickly as the panic had came. Food, all day? Your mind shows you snapshots of a life not unlike the dream but now they feel like memories. Piles of different favourite foods all lovingly, if insistingly, fed to you. Soft hands and soft wings brushing over a stretched out body ballooning with cellulite. Kisses in the crook of your neck where the chins meet the neck folds. Leg rolls tenderly sponged off and caressed.

Your stomach gurgles, the blanket of flab that is your body swaying as I make my way down to your face and I trail one dark wing over the metres of belly.

"Your angel is here, beautiful," I smile. My teeth remind you of fresh cream, pearly white. "You didn't wake at your normal time for your pre-breakfast so I know how hungry you're going to feel. I better get started with your favourite, Belgian waffles with clotted cream and chocolate."

Again you try to speak but you can only moan. You want it so badly, even though you have it every day, your brain reminds you. Everyday? No, you were just crying in your bed last night because... what was it? But the life you had before seems so distant now, your brain struggles to hold onto that memory. Was it your life?

You can't think for long as before you, resting on your pillowy body, was four helpings of waffles and a fifth in my hands. My eyes pierce through any worried thoughts and your stomach growls again as I bring a loaded spoon towards your mouth and on reflex you open it. You feel the flab of your chins squish against the rings of fat around your neck and layers of blubber on your chest as you do... just like it did yesterday. As you chew I touch your cheeks, which were beginning to get miniature rolls of their own, and you feel how worn and strong my hands are but here they are being so gentle to you.

"Eat up, my darling, I don't want you having that nightmare again about being alone and so so thin, just 270 pounds, so unwell," I whisper but there is an edge to my voice, a consequence threatened if you don't.

But there it was, an answer. That was the nightmare? You try to think of a time before you threw your phone across the room and sobbed into a tub of chocolates and there was nothing. All other memories were of eating under my watchful eye, growing, stretching out and feeling blissfully full.

You chew faster, finally satisfied to have gotten it straight in your mind and greedily open your mouth for more which you quickly receive from me.

"There we are, back to normal," I hum, keeping up to speed with your chewing and swallowing. My wings flap, cooling you as you work up a sweat from the exercise you are giving your fat laden jaw. Soon you're finishing your final helping, your arms uselessly twitch as I shove it between your cream coated lips, as if you could still feed yourself. Instead your bloated hands are just lost in rolls on the side of your chest, so swollen with grease and fat you can't bend a single finger.

You swallow and gasp for air as you feel the cream squeeze it's way down your gullet. Your chest has a dull ache which seems to be slowly spreading out, down through your arm and to your fingers where they start to tingle somewhere between the rolls of flab. You groan and open your mouth again, trying to remember how speaking works.

'Hhhh-" you wheeze. "Hhhhe, hhhnmt."

I grin, my wings surrounding you. The feathers are cool and soft against your clammy skin. "You haven't spoken in a long time, my pet. Is it that heart again? Maybe this time we've done it. Seven heart attacks in such a short time. You must be so tired, my darling."

"Hnggh," you splutter, cream filled drool dribbling from your worn out mouth. There's a ringing in your ears and its getting louder.

I swiftly leap and land on your endless chest. My fingers sink deep into the lard, irregularly laid down and raw stretch marks covered it. I shake your blubber and my eyes bare down your slack jaw, getting lost in the mound of chins beneath it. My shaking produces a long drawn out burp, but rather than satisfying and relieving your eyes squeeze shut in pain as a burning sensation rips through your chest.

There is nothing. Nothing but the distant hum of blood in your ears. You can't see, you can't feel. And then it comes crashing in like it never left.

"Hhh- hhhu- unn-nng-" you try. But I place a slender finger on your lips and you have no choice but to stop. I have a slight, but mischievous, smile on my lips.

I know, I mouth, while standing and stretching. The morning sun shines around me, highlighting my missing halo. You're hungry, I mouth again but this time with an eye roll, before leaving like the mist in the morning, fading out as the sun burned through me.

And in your blurry vision, over the mounds of flesh that make up your body, down at the foot of the broken bed, underneath mountains of wrappers, your phone lights up with a message from the person who had ghosted you.

Hey, you up?

Interpret this story however you like, I wanted to do something surreal-ish

[dimonds456-art]

Chapter 2 of the Runaway Ford AU is up! Also below the cut for you guys who don't have an Ao3

Seagulls screeched nearby, and voices could be heard muttering to each other from every direction. It was a beautiful day to get out and enjoy some sunlight, but Ford had other priorities. 

Taking in a breath of fresh air, Ford paused. He'd only just made it outside the pawn shop, stopping to take in the bright midday sun and the clear blue sky. 

First up, he had to find Stan. Then, they were gonna run off together. After that? They'd go live on the Stan'O'War, probably. It couldn't float yet, but they could fix that easy-peasy.

The issue was trying to find Stan, though. Ford's first thought was the Stan'O'War, which was down by the beach, but there was a chance that Stan was waiting somewhere closer, and if Ford left now, he'd miss him. Then, he'd double back, and Stan would go to the boat, and they'd just keep passing each other while never actually finding each other, and that sounded like a mess waiting to happen. Best to be methodical about it.

He knelt down, unzipping his backpack to pull out his notebook and a pen; his sharpie- old reliable once again. Unfortunately, he knew first-hand that it would bleed through the pages, so he set it aside for now. Instead, he pulled out a smaller ballpoint pen. 

Quickly zipping his bag back up and slinging it over his shoulder, he sprinted off a little down the road. If his parents found his note too fast, they'd be able to catch him before he made any progress on finding Stan, and if that happened, he probably wouldn't be allowed out for the rest of the summer- a summer which just started. There was so much sun ahead of them, he couldn't get cooped up too fast this time. 

Once he was a couple buildings away, he ducked into a small alley and opened his notebook again. He started writing down as many places as he could think of, before going back and starring the ones he thought were most likely.

List of places Stanley could be: - Somewhere around Pines Pawns *! - Hot Belgian Waffles - The Stan'O'War *! - The park - The boardwalk - That once ice cream store I can never remember the name of *!

Ford read it over again, trying to think of more. There was also a chance he was in places Ford liked to go, like the library, but he'd check those later. 

Now, where to start? Ford was willing to bet his allowance that Stanley was on the Stan'O'War, but in case he wasn't, Ford didn't want to keep running around in circles. So, starting at the closest place and going from there made the most sense. 

Back to Pines Pawns it was. Hopefully they hadn't found the note yet. 

Ford stood in front of his previous residence of not even a half an hour ago, tapping his pen against his chin. 

Nope. Still looked the same as it ever did. 

The building was shorter than the other ones around it, which was bound to draw eyes, so his father had basically taken advantage of it. He'd put up all kinds of eye-catching paraphernalia around the place, like pointing hands and bright colors, to advertise the shop. The dirtied window showcased watches, a chandelier, a trophy, and stuff of a similar caliber. Up above was a giant chess piece as suggested by Ma, since it was weird- making it stand out. No one had giant pawns on top of their roofs.

The sidewalk was covered in tiny flecks of sand and dirt and trash, the streetlight was just off-center enough to drive Stanford nuts, and the silver bin they kept in the alley looked full. Same as it ever was. 

After taking a moment to just drink it in, Ford darted off to the left-side alley. There wasn't much down there, just brick walls and trash. And no Stanley. 

Same with the right side. Ford crossed his arms, scrutinizing the alley as best as he could. Candy wrappers crunched under his shoe as he tapped his foot. See, he wasn't an expert by any means, so trying to figure out what was a clue and what wasn't was hard. Like, he didn't know what to look for. Did that mean there were no clues, or they were just going over Ford's head? 

A small gust of wind blew by, rustling the half-crumpled cardboard sticking out of the trashcan. It didn't blow out, but it was enough to make Ford realize that this was probably a dead end. 

He crossed off Pines Pawns. 

The bell rang as Ford stepped into the restaurant. The next-door business, Hot Belgian Waffles, was always a favorite of Stanley's when they could afford to eat there. Their pancakes were fluffy as a cloud, butter smooth and melt-y, and their syrup was sweet. Of course, the best meal was the waffles, which were just cooked enough to be crunchy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. Add some strawberries on top with some butter and syrup and you were golden. 

Ford took a couple steps inside, trying not to get too swept up by the smells. This was probably a bad time to realize he hadn't eaten anything before leaving the house. The aroma was positively divine. 

While he loitered by the front door, most of the patrons continued eating and chatting. However, he did see a few glance his way, who were quick to squint at him disapprovingly. He looked down at the floor. More wooden flooring. Cozy.

A waitress spotted him. She was a taller woman, with dark curls circling her round face. She took care of the couple she was serving, jotting something down, before walking up to Ford. She smiled widely, just enough to look friendly but not enough to look genuine.

"Well now, if it isn't one of the Pines Pawns boys!" she greeted, voice syrupy sweet. "Just you today, sugar?"

"Oh, um, I'm not gonna order," Ford told her somewhat sheepishly, pretending he didn't see her smile falter. "I'm looking for my brother." 

"The other one? Can't say I've seen him today." She placed her hands on her hips. "Say, what's with the outfit? You playing handyman or somethin'?"

"Oh," Ford looked down at himself, realizing how out-of-place he looked now with his belt, backpack, and bindle. "No, I'm… treasure hunting." He shrugged, making eye contact and smiling and remaining calm and not sweating. "You never know what you'll need for that." 

The waitress looked like the impossible cross between disappointed and overjoyed to hear that. "I see. Well, if he comes around, I'll put in a good word for you."

Ford visibly relaxed. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Don't mention it. Though, per company policy, I am going to hafta ask you to stop loitering in the doorway." 

"Right. Goodbye, miss!"

"Good luck!" She waved him out as he reached up to the door handle and pulled. It was heavier than the Pines Pawns door- must be made of better materials. Either that or the gold handle really was gold. 

As Ford stepped back out, he crossed Hot Belgian Waffles off the list.

If his intuition was right, his next stop should be his last. 

Ford lifted up the tarp, stepping inside the rickety old boat with a smile. "Stanley! I…" he trailed off, face falling as he took in the empty expanse. "...found you." 

Nothing. The box of nails they forgot to bring home were still there, their footprints were untouched aside from the inarguable influence of gravity, and nothing looked more broken than it had yesterday. 

Ford pushed the tarp back all the way, slowly stepping inside through the broken side of the ship. Each noise he made didn't echo so much as it was immediately thrown back at him, amplifying it. It made the silence even thicker. 

"Stanley…?" Ford called out tentatively. "You in here?"

The crashing of the waves nearby served as his only answer.

Stepping back out, his eyes took a second to adjust to the light. Maybe he fell asleep on the deck? The stairs weren't usable inside yet, making it hard to get up there, but the boys had noticed that some of the planks on the side stuck out at just the right angles to form a makeshift ladder. Ford set his bindle down, taking each step carefully as he scaled the side of the craft. 

Up on top now, he had a much better view of the beach. No one was here, which wasn't surprising for this time of year, but it was still eerie. Ford found himself tensing his shoulders as he glanced around. 

Okay, logic. If Stanley wasn't at the boat, then he could feasibly be anywhere. Or, maybe he had been staying at the boat, got bored, and wandered off? That sounded like a Stanley thing to do. Or maybe he went to play in the ocean and got dragged out by the undercurrent again? Or maybe the Jersey Devil found him? 

The more he stood there and thought about where his brother might be, the more Ford found himself getting lost in worry. He gripped the straps of his backpack tighter, scanning again, slower this time, to see if he could see any trace of his brother along the shore. 

Waves lapped at the sand lazily, seagulls screeched. Cars drove by not too far away. The long, thin grasses further up the beach rustled against each other in the wind. But no loud whooping or sounds of destruction. 

"Okay, okay, this is okay," Stanford said to himself. "He's probably around here somewhere. He probably… went to go get ice cream. Yeah." That was reassuring! And delicious. 

His body didn't stop shaking. 

He groaned, throwing his head back. "When I find Stanley, I'm throwing him into the ocean myself," he grumbled.

Taking a deep breath, Ford walked over to the side of the boat where he'd left his bindle and jumped back down. He landed softly in the sand, having done this a couple of times now. It did send a shock up his joints, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. 

"Okay, Stanford, just think." He slung the little stick-bag over his shoulder again and began to pace around the boat. "If he wanted to meet you here, he would NOT be here." He threw his free hand out for emphasis. "He's too restless for that. So the best choice would be to stay and wait for him. But…" he trailed off, glancing down the beach. "...if he's not here, then you're wasting more time." 

He hummed, trying to calm the storm brewing in his mind. "Maybe…" 

Ford gasped, then smacked himself in the head. Duh!

There was one other place on the beach Stanley might be. Stanford quickly took off, heading north.

Let it be known that Stanford Pines did not give up easily. Heck, he still had a bunch of other places to be searching! But his earlier hypothesis of the two of them walking circles around each other was starting to become more clear. Which meant, one of them had to stand still and wait for the other to catch up. And since Stanley could not, for the life of him, stand still, it looked like Ford was going to be the one to do that.

He sat forlornly on his seat, gazing off into the waves. It was going on five hours since he started searching, and while adults would tell him that that wasn't very long at all, to Ford, it felt like he'd been going all day. Paired with the worry building in his guts that was slowly rising towards his chest, he was feeling exhausted. 

He'd already checked the park, and the boardwalk (he'd walked up and down it three times), and he'd made sure to find that ice cream place and ask about Stanley there. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. No one had seen him, no one had heard him, no one had anything to tell! 

There were too many variables and not enough information. He could spend the entire day running around in circles and that would solve nothing. He just had to trust that Stanley had come looking for Ford now, too, and they were doing circles. They were both just being silly and overreacting. It was fine. He was fine. They'd see each other by nightfall, since Stanley would go back to the Stan'O'War to camp out for the night, right? Yeah, yeah that was it. 

But right now, Ford couldn't find it in him to move. Everything was becoming too much. 

His feet dug into the sand under him, and he lightly pushed himself back and forth in a slow swaying motion. His swing made low creaking sounds as he did. 

Stanley's swing was silent. 

Sunset was still about two hours away this time of year, so he had time to just… breathe. Calm down, refocus. Stanley was on his way.

"Oh, and now what do we see here?" 

Ford tensed at the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't turn to face them yet; he didn't know what to expect. Last time he'd heard those voices, it didn't end well, but it also had been a while, so…? 

"Galloping gumshoes, I do believe that's one of the Pines twins! All on his lonesome, apparently." The second voice dripped with fake surprise. 

"About time, wouldn't you say, Dickie?"

There were suddenly hands grabbing at the ropes of Ford's swing. Jumping, he turned to look, and found himself sandwiched between the Sibling Brothers. The boys' golden, slicked-back hair shone brightly in the late evening sunlight, and their eyes gleamed with a fire just barely concealed under fake bravado.

The one on his left, who was wearing a blue sweater vest and a white, long-sleeved shirt, nodded. "That I would, Ascot!"

The one on Stanford's right, Ascot, looked nearly identical to his twin in everything but clothing. He was wearing a red sweater with a yellow ascot poking out from beneath the collar of a white shirt. He smirked. "Say now, where is that brother of yours, freak? Not still grounded after the whole golden sticky-fingers incident, is he?" He turned up his brows in mock concern.

Ford shook his head. "N-no, he's- Stanley and I, we were just, uh…" he dug around for something to say. He did not have the time nor the patience for these two right now. He needed to march back to the Stan'O'War as quickly as possible and wait for his twin there. Hopefully he wouldn't be much longer, and if they did pass each other, they'd see it this time since it was getting late and there's no way Stanley wouldn't also be thinking that Ford was either at the swingset or the boat, right? "Just leave me alone!"

As Stanford moved to stand up, Ascot grabbed his jacket sleeve and yanked him back, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to knock him back into the seat. 

"Oh no you don't, Pines," he glowered. "We still have some unfinished business." 

Dickie leaned into Stanford's view, arms crossed. "Yeah. You owe us for the Jersey Devil debacle." 

Stanford frowned. "I don't owe you two anything! You tried to get my brother in trouble, and you keep calling me a freak!" He stood up sharply, trying to run again, only to hit the sand as Dickie tripped him. It got under his glasses and in his clothes, but he hardly noticed. He spun around, eyes flicking back and forth between the two boys. 

"Outstanding work, Dickie." 

"Many thanks, Ascot." 

The two of them started towards Stanford. He scrambled backwards, but couldn't seem to get his feet under him. 

"You know," Ascot began, "I'm starting to think your brother isn't here, Stanford." 

"What, did you finally get tired of him?"

"No…" Stanford looked away, still scooching backwards along the sand. Hopefully they were far enough away from where the broken glass was, he didn't want to get his hands cut up. They only had so many bandaids. "No, he just… he… went to go get ice cream?"

"Ho ho ho!" Dickie placed a hand on his guts in mock laughter. "So he really is gone!"

"No, he isn't!" Stanford stopped, purposefully focusing on his feet as he shakily stood back up. "I'm going to find him!" 

"Find him?" Ascot raised a brow. "And he has been missing for…?"

Crap. "Nothing! I mean, never! I know where he is!" Stanford pointed at them both accusingly. "And you better get outta here before he gets back! You don't wanna mess with him, trust me!"

The two gave each other a long look before bursting out laughing. If Ford had to describe it in a word, it'd be "snooty." 

"And just what makes you think you can solve any mysteries?" Dickie put his hands on his hips. "If it weren't for you two following us, you would have NEVER discovered the Jersey Devil in the first place!"

"And," Ascot added, stepping closer, attempting to loom over a boy his same height, "you were working as a team. You're alone now, aren't you, freak?"

"Stop calling me that!" Stanford burst out. He jammed his hands into his pockets, hating the feeling of his face heating up. "He's my brother, of course I'll find him! We always find each other!"

Dickie tapped his chin with a finger, rolling his eyes in thought. "You know, Ascot, I've been struck with an idea," he mused, dragging out his words.

"Do tell," Ascot waved a hand at his brother in a grandiose fashion. 

"That troublemaker means a lot to six fingers, doesn't he? Perhaps, if we find him first, he'll thank us instead. We could get our reign as Glass Shard Beach's best mystery solvers back!"

"Hey, Stanley would never-" 

"I like the sound of that, Dickie!" Ascot turned to smirk at Ford again. "If we found him first, then we would be considered great detectives, cracking a case that not even the so-called Kings of New Jersey could solve on their own!"

"We could restore our reputation" Dickie seemed genuinely excited now. "And get payback at the same time!" 

"Righto!"  

"Shut up!" Stanford threw his hands up in the air before stomping towards them. "My brother and I can take care of ourselves! You stay out of this!"

"Hah!" Ascot scoffed. "What's the matter, Pines? Afraid you'll lose?"

Ford straightened indignantly. "That's my twin you're talking about! You go stick your noses somewhere else, this is none of your business!"

"Sounds like the game is on," Dickie grinned. He turned on his heel, walking back towards the nearby boardwalk. "Tah tah, Pines, we'll see you on the other side of the proverbial finish line!"

Ascot followed right behind him. "May the best detective win!" He whipped his head around and blew out a raspberry at Ford, leaving the both of them giggling their snooty giggles as they walked their snooty walks back towards civilization.

Ford huffed, hands clenched. He had sand in his hair and in his jacket and shoes and pants and speckled on his glasses and he didn't care. This wasn't some random competition, this was his brother.

Despite himself, Ford crossed his arms. "Oh you'll see," he growled. He marched back over to the swings, grabbing his bindle, and began storming off. He had a boat to catch. "You'll see."

[getting-spooky-on-a-friday-night]

Lila, dropping something on her foot: Hot belgian waffles-!! Lila: Wait. I'm alone. I can swear for real...! Lila: (deep inhale) SON OF A-

[flowerscentedartist]

Dream: HOT BELGIAN WAFFLES! Wait... Blue isn't here! I can swear for real!

Dream: *deep breath* SON OF A-

[bunny-jpeg]

Hello Bunny!! I'm not too sure if you do works based on pro wrestling. But if you did, I'd love love love if you did something for Maxwell Jacob Friedman (AEW). Feel free to totally delete if you don't want to do it or know nothing about it!

If you do accept it, I'd love s'mores, belgian waffles with a side of dark hot chocolate and bubble tea! (I hope you can see my vision!)

Tysm <333 - 🤼

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? hit up the menu! c'mon, it doesn't bite! i accept prompts from across many fandoms and i'll do whatever at this point. as for this lovely anon, thank you for submitting a prompt! i know sometimes it can be a bit confusing about sending outside of the traditional fandoms. but honestly, i'm willing to dig my hands into figuring out how to put this together! so thank you! enjoy!!

and feel free to check out the master-list!

s'mores ("The accent gets to you, doesn't it?") + belgian waffles ("i cum in that every night.") + dark hot chocolate (sub!reader) + bubble tea (daddy kink) served by maxwell jacob friedman (aew/wrestling)!!

cw: smut/pwp, mean & cocky!mjf (duh), rough sex, daddy kink, sub/dom dynamics, dirty talk, voice kink, face-fucking/oral sex

you'd never consider maxwell a bully. even when he got in your face, you always tried to stand toe-to-toe with him. there was something about him, something that drove you to want to push him to the limit.

but if you bit, then maxwell returned the favour til it broke bone.

"The accent gets to you, doesn't it?" he said with all smiles, pointed and venomous. his face close to yours, if things were more softer, then the scene might have been intimate.

instead you pushed him away by the forehead and replied, "honestly. your voice is the reason why the rest of the world thinks americans are stupid." you'd grow to regret your words.

"you are so cute when you squirm." he shook his head, a smile on his lips as he leaned a little forward to get a better look at you, "sometimes a girl's gotta know her place, huh? making a sick joke out of me in front of everyone else."

he loomed over you like a storm cloud as you knelt between his legs. your mouth stuffed full of his cock as you tried to keep it together. his hand was in your hair, forcing you to go down further.

"i should really start going around and saying '"i cum in that every night.' because i don't want people to get the wrong idea about you. oh poor you, dealing with me every day." he gave you a look of faux sympathy, "they probably think you're the one who pulls my leash. no, no. you have it all wrong." he pushed up into your throat a little more, "i have you on a short leash, don't i, baby girl? you like when daddy yanks on it a little too hard. you like getting choked, and don't you deny it." your gaze met with his and drool coated your chin. you couldn't even speak back.

perfectly at maxwell's mercy.

he continued to rub his cock up against the back of your throat. it felt good, he had spent many months trying to face fuck the gag reflex out of you. and it seemed to be working.

"see, you look better like this, angel. on your knees, my cock in your throat. quiet. you always look better when you're not being a snappy little bitch." he groaned as he continued to fuck your throat. he hissed through his teeth as he kept his gaze on your head.

your eyes were closed, but he knew that they were a bit dewy. someone can only choke on cock for so long before they start to cry. as was the nature of things.

you gagged a little bit, but maxwell just pushed a little farther. you gripped onto his knees. your nose buried in his pubic hair, when you inhaled, you took in the scent of his sweat. which both disgusted you, but also made you slick between your legs.

maxwell was the kind of domineering that left you with aches and pains. he liked when his smacks across your ass made the flesh shake or when his hands made a pretty necklace around your delicate throat. the bulkiness of him pressed down on you to keep you pinned under him.

he moved you to his liking, twisting up his baby girl in a way that got him off. but don't worry angel, daddy would make it all better in the end.

he took your mouth off his cock for a moment and gazed at your blissed out expression. even your tongue hung out of your mouth a little. the sight made him chuckle, "see, you can be a good girl for daddy. i'm so proud... now why don't you prove yourself to me and finish me off." then leaned back into the couch. he patted his thigh, "c'mon. if you're gonna act like a brat and talk back to me. then i gotta bruise that little throat of yours so you keep quiet." he smiled at you and you felt pleasure lick at your gut.

if anyone saw and heard what you two were doing. the sickening words that maxwell was filling with your head. then it would definitely raise some eyebrows. but you swallowed and rubbed your bare thighs together.

for you, it was hot.

you got your mouth back on his cock and didn't even flinch when the blunt tip of his cock hit against the back of your throat. you made a small whimpering nose and maxwell hissed through his teeth.

"pretty fucking thing. yeah, you like this don't you? you like when guys who could crush you fuck your throat until they get their sick kicks. i bet i could throw you to the rest of them and you'd be happy to let them fuck you into next week." he clutched onto your hair, "but too bad for you, slut. because you're not going anywhere."

not that you wanted to. you were perfectly content with this bared fang sexual experience. you let him throat fuck you and you held onto his legs. you tried to keep up, but it was hard.

maxwell's pace was erratic and it made flashes appear in the back of your head. he knew he was close. he could feel the tightness in his gut as he continued to bully his cock into your mouth.

"dirty girl. fucking dirty girl. just take me nice and good, okay? take care of your daddy and he'll make everything else better. okay? can you do that for me." he groaned as his pace became more erratic.

he knew he'd have the rest of the night with you. by the end of it, it would be more than your throat that was bruised. he gave it a few heavy thrusts before he came down your throat.

you made a small noise as you tried to swallow it all down and maxwell stilled to a stop. he kept his cock in your mouth for a moment, letting it rest on your tongue. he wished his phone was near by, he'd love to make his lockscreen a picture of you like that.

he rubbed your cheek with more affection than anything else the entire night. he took his cock out of your mouth and watched you rest your cheek against his thick thigh.

his dewy eyed little princess. it was almost cute. he patted your cheek and said, "alright, let's got you up. come here, come to daddy." he said as he helped you into his lap. so naked and vulnerable.

you rested up against his chest and gasped for hair. having a limited supply for so long made it all a bit too much. but yet you were soaked against his strong thigh.

maxwell promised he'd make it all better. he wasn't a monster, he'd always make sure that his baby girl was alright. <3

[horoscope1078]

:)

Lando had been grinning all morning, and that was never a good sign. You squinted at him as you both strolled through the charming streets of Spa, your hand tucked into the pocket of your hoodie to shield it from the crisp Belgian breeze. It was the weekend of the Belgian Grand Prix, but for now, Lando seemed more focused on mischief than on racing.

“What’s with the face?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“This” he said, pulling a small blue and white package out of his hoodie pocket. “This is going to change your life.”

You stared at the package, recognising the name printed on it, stroopwafels.

“Oh, I’ve heard of these” you said, intrigued. “They’re like caramel waffles, right?”

Lando gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “Like caramel waffles? That’s like calling a formula 1 car just ‘a fast vehicle.’”

You snorted as he tore the package open, handing you one of the thin, circular treats. “Alright alright. What’s the proper way to eat them, Mr. Dutch Heritage?”

He beamed proudly. “I’m so glad you asked.”

Lando grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward a nearby café. The place was small but cosy, with warm lights glowing behind the counter and the scent of fresh coffee filling the air. He ordered two hot drinks and then pointed at your stroopwafel. “Now, this is the trick. You don’t just eat it straight away like some amateur. You place it on top of your cup and let the steam soften the caramel inside. It’s an art, really.”

You raised an eyebrow. “An art?”

“Yes, an art” he said smugly. “Passed down through generations. My mum grew up in the Netherlands, remember? She taught me all the important things in life, like how to properly consume a stroopwafel.”

You chuckled but did as he instructed, setting the waffle on top of your steaming drink. Lando did the same and then leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm as he watched you expectantly.

“So, what’s it like?” you asked, trying to distract him from his obvious amusement at your inexperience.

“What’s what like?”

“Having a mum who grew up in the Netherlands.”

Lando’s expression softened, his grin turning into something fonder. “It’s cool. We used to visit all the time when I was a kid. The food is obviously great, stroopwafels, poffertjes, all that stuff. But also, my mum’s side of the family is really chill. And the country is just… nice. The people are friendly, the cities are beautiful, and I got to ride bikes everywhere, which was fun. Maybe that’s why I like racing so much.”

You smiled, picturing a tiny Lando zooming around on a bicycle, probably crashing into things. “That actually makes sense.”

“Of course it does. I’m full of wisdom.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could tease him, he suddenly gasped. “It’s time!”

“Time for what?”

“The stroopwafel. It should be perfectly softened now.” he lifted his off his drink and took a dramatic bite, closing his eyes in exaggerated bliss. “Mmm... perfection.”

You snorted but picked up your own, taking a cautious bite. The moment the warm caramel melted onto your tongue, your eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

Lando grinned. “Told you.”

“This is amazing.” you quickly took another bite, savouring the way the caramel oozed between the layers of waffle. “Why have I never had one of these before?”

“Because you had a sad, stroopwafel-less existence until I saved you.” he leaned back smugly, sipping his drink. “You’re welcome.”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t argue. “Fine. I’ll admit it. You were right.”

“Oh, say that again?”

You rolled your eyes, finishing off your stroopwafel. “Don’t get used to it.”

Lando chuckled and nudged your foot under the table. “See? Now Belgium isn’t just about racing for you. Now it’s also about experiencing life-changing snacks.”

You sighed dramatically. “I feel so enlightened.”

“As you should.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping your drinks as the world buzzed around you. The café was warm, the stroopwafels were sweet, and Lando, well, Lando was being his usual goofy self, but with that undeniable charm that made your heart squeeze a little.

After a moment, he tapped his fingers on the table. “Alright, next up, frites with mayo.”

You groaned. “Lando, how much food are you planning to make me eat today?”

He gave you an innocent look. “It’s called cultural appreciation.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine. But if I can’t fit into my jeans tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll buy you new ones” he said, smirking. “Consider it an investment in our adventure.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. Somehow, even a simple afternoon of snacks and stories with Lando turned into an adventure. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[oceaniclampshade]

the thing about a crossover between gravity falls and cloudy with a chance of meatballs is that i must make a ‘hot belgian waffles!’ joke at least once. it’s the law

[violetrose-art]

Grunkle Stan: Hot Belgian waffles! What happened to my parlor?! Mabel: Your wax figures turned out to be evil, so we fought them to the death. Dipper: I decapitated Larry King.

[readyforthegarden]

Season of the Witch - Part Six

Masterlist

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x F!Reader, Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Danny always told you, you shouldn't play with things you don't fully understand. When trying your hand at magic, you accidentally summon something more than you bargained for. Now stuck, you try to find a way to rid yourself of him, but what if the only way of ridding yourself of him is dying?

Warnings: mentions of witchcraft, angst, spilled hot drink, smut (oral (f! receiving) 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!

WC: 3896

It was late when you woke up the next day. Sam had made breakfast, and helped himself to the shower, which was running as you passed by the bathroom door. There was a plate of Belgian waffles on the counter, steam still rising from them, the coffee fresh in the old coffee pot. By the waffles, there was a bowl of sliced strawberries and a can of non-dairy whipped cream. 

You helped yourself to the breakfast, piling your waffle with strawberries and a mountain of whipped cream, suddenly ravenous. Whether it was skill or magic, you couldn’t say, but Sam had made the most perfect waffle, fluffy and soft, moist and rich, with a hint of vanilla singing through the batter. The strawberries were the perfect sweetness, and the whipped cream fluffy and light. 

You were on your third waffle when Sam waltzed out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him. His hair was damp, already drying partially in waves that cascaded over his bare shoulders. He wore a pair of linen pants, and nothing else. 

“This is amazing,” you mumbled as you swallowed the bite you had just placed in your mouth, using your fork to point to the half-demolished waffle on the plate. Sam smiled, coming closer to the table and leaning over. 

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, batting his eyes, reaching out and using his index finger to dip into the melting whipped cream that was on your breakfast, crooking it to scoop some up. You watched as he lifted a small mound to his lips. “I would have preferred to make it from scratch, however the last time I conjured dairy it curdled on me.” The digit slid between his plush lips, and your cheeks grew hot as he looked down at you, smiling around his finger. Your mind flashed to your dream, how he had cleaned your own juices off his fingers this same way, eyes closed and humming. “Something the matter, fawn?”

“N-no!” You shook your head, appetite suddenly gone. Your eyes had stared at his lips for too long, yours tingling from the memory of his kiss in your dream. You could still feel it, the firmness of them as they parted your own and tasted you. “I need to go get dressed.” As you passed by, you swore you smelled cinnamon wafting from him. 

Once you were dressed in your work clothes, you made a beeline for the door, muttering to the supernatural man on your couch to ‘just…behave while I’m gone.’, earning a snicker as the door shut and locked behind you. 

Afternoon shifts were not your favorite. They tended to drag on, leaving you shuffling the same things around behind the counter to try and look busy between the few customers. You had rearranged the gift cards by the register for the fourth time when the bell above the door chimed. 

“Welcome, what can I get started for you?” you stopped for a second when you saw the man in front of you. He was tall, almost tall enough you had to crane your neck to see his face. He was studying the menu, and you took the time to take in his short black hair, and bright green eyes. He had a small amount of scruff along his chin, but a full mustache above his lip. When he smiled down at you, you felt your cheeks burn. 

“Can I get a large vanilla latte with a shot of espresso? And uh, an extra pump of vanilla, please?” 

“Sure thing, anything else?” You asked, glad to look away from him and to the computer screen to punch in the order. 

“Yeah, sometimes you guys have these cinnamon rolls, do you have any left?” He scanned the case to your left. You know you were out, but you could definitely whip one up for him. 

“Not out, but I can get you one.” You cleared your throat, giving him a smile. He grinned back. “Big breakfast for dinner guy?”

“You could say that,” he answered, swiping his card on the pin pad while you started his coffee. “I’m a firefighter, and I’m working nights this week. So this is technically my breakfast considering I woke up maybe half an hour ago.”

“I thought that,” you nodded at him, twisting the device for the espresso shot into the machine. “Your mustache gives you away.”

“That bad, huh?” 

“No, I like it!” you dipped your face down a bit, cheeks flaming at your admittance. You prepared his coffee and went to the back to put his cinnamon roll in the oven. When you came back, he was still standing at the register, smiling and ready to keep talking. 

“I don’t normally see you here,” he began, leaning against the counter with his hip. 

“I’m usually a morning person.” You shrugged. “I switched shifts with someone for today. Something about a kid’s soccer game.”

“Well, just my luck,” he winked. “I was hoping for something good to happen to me today before work.”

“Oh and you got stuck with me, bummer.” You chuckled. 

“The opposite, actually.” The man extended his hand towards you. “I’m Tyler, by the way.” you gave him your name as you shook his large, firm hand and he grinned at you. “I actually stopped by early, if the old guys at the firehouse see me drinking a vanilla latte instead of black coffee, they’ll never stop making fun of me. Mind if I hang around?” 

“Not at all,” you smiled, and the timer went off for the cinnamon roll. “I’ll be right back.” you heard the bell above the door chime a few times as you plated Tyler’s confection, drizzling it with icing. Grabbing a fork and napkins, you brought it to the front, to be greeted with a small line of patrons. Tyler took his treat from you, another wink as he went and sat down by the window. 

After a burst of frappuccinos and smoothies, the small rush ended and Tyler was back at the register, half the cinnamon roll still on his plate, coffee in hand. The other patrons that stayed were quietly talking to one another at tables or reading, paying you no mind. 

“You really haven’t been to the cider festival? How long have you lived here?” Tyler was astounded by your lack of community involvement, something that made you giggle. 

“Well no one has ever offered to take me.” You shrugged. “But it sounds fun.” 

“Well, what if I offered to take you?” Tyler raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. 

“I don’t know,” you pursed your lips. “I might be washing my hair that night.” He rolled his eyes, taking his fork and getting a piece of the cinnamon roll on it. 

“What if I give you a bite of this cinnamon roll? Hmm???” He waved the fork in front of your face. 

“What if I went in the back and just made my own?” you challenged. 

“You like playing hard to get, don’t you?” Tyler’s eyes twinkled. You leaned forward, giving him a smile. 

“How about I give you my number and we talk before you try and take me on a date?” Tyler grinned, holding out his arm while you grabbed a marker from your apron pocket. As you wrote out your phone number, you heard what you thought was one of the old coffee pots bubbling and making a new batch.

Suddenly the smell of coffee and vanilla was all over, splashing over your hand and onto the marker on Tyler’s arm. He hissed, pulling his arm away as you jumped in shock, grabbing rags and wiping up the mess from the counter. 

“Oh my god, I-I don’t know what happened!” Once you had most of the mess cleaned you grabbed a clean rag and shoved a scoop of ice in it, twisting it around and placing it on Tyler’s arm. “I’m so sorry Tyler.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tyler gave you a grimace, though his eyes still sparkled a bit. “If a little latte burn is gonna take me out, I’m in the wrong profession.” you giggled, holding the ice to his arm and taking the chance to feel the muscles of his bicep where your other hand rested. “I must’ve bumped the cup too hard when I was flexing and trying to show off.” You heard a scoff from behind you and twisted your head around. A chill of anger ran down your spine, cooling your warm, blushing cheeks as Sam sat in one of the plush chairs, pretending he wasn’t watching the display between you and Tyler from the corner of his eye. 

“Do you want me to make you a new latte?” you asked. Tyler glanced at the watch on his wrist before shaking his head. 

“I should start heading out, but do you work tomorrow morning?”

“You’ll just have to stop by after your shift and see.” you smiled at him as he grinned back, handing you the makeshift ice pack and digging into his pocket to fish out his wallet again, taking out a few bills and putting them in your tip jar. He winked as he left, and once you couldn’t see him anymore, you whipped around, shooting a glare at Sam as you went and finished cleaning up the spilled coffee at the register. 

You could sense Sam as soon as he stood near the counter, but you refused to look up at him. 

“You had no right to do that, you could’ve really hurt him and me.” 

“I would never hurt you,” Sam replied shortly. “Even though I personally think you deserve a swift punishment for how you were acting.” 

“How I was-“ you finally glared up at him. He was glaring right back. 

“You were flirting like a harlot and for what?” Sam reached into the tip jar, pulling out the bills Tyler had placed there. “Six dollars? Hardly worth the effort you were putting in.” 

“And that gave you the right to scald him?!” 

“That’s not the worst burn he’s had. Or will ever have.” you shot him another look as you dumped the half drank latte into the trash. “When someone is coveting what’s mine, I have a right to do what I need.”

“Yours?” You hissed. You held up your left hand, showing off the bare fingers there. “I don’t see a ring on my finger. And I don’t plan on keeping you for very long. As soon as Danny is back, you’re going to whatever underworld you came from.” 

Sam kept your gaze, leaning over and taking your hand, bringing it to his mouth. His lips grazed your left ring finger, and when he pulled back, a brilliant, sparking ring sat upon it. A delicate gold band was home to a pear shaped marquis diamond, its facets glittering as he moved your hand back towards you. 

“There,” he looked at you. “Now you have a ring on your finger. For as long as I am on this earth, you are mine.”

“I am no one’s until I say so,” you tried to remove the ring from your finger, but it was like it was sealed to your skin. 

“Does it help to know that I am yours until that time as well?” Sam leaned over the counter, much the way Tyler did earlier, his eyes staring up at you. You stopped tugging on the jewelry, your heart flipping a bit in your chest at his murmur. 

“No,” you lied, taking your hand and hiding it behind your back. Sam simply stared at you, his face unwavering. “We are not each others, Sam. We are two ships passing in the night. A long, dragging, terrible night.” 

“Terrible huh?” Sam smirked. Impossibly so, he leaned even closer to you, his breath cascading over your face. “Didn’t sound so terrible when I passed by your bedroom door last night. Sounded like you were having some pretty sweet dreams, actually.”

“Sam,” your face reddened. 

“Imagine what I can do to you outside of your dreams,” he whispered. “I meant what I said, fawn. I can’t wait to taste more of you.” without another word, Sam leaned away, and walked to the door. “I’ll see you at home.” He tossed you a wink, much like Tyler did, and sauntered out the door. 

The hot water cascaded over your head, trickling through your hair and down your back as you stood in the shower, washing the smell of coffee away. You had been mad with Sam during the rest of your shift, closing alone and using the solitary to slam doors and toss things down harder than you normally would. 

The ring on your finger still wouldn’t budge, either. Dish soap, hand soap, some grease you found in the maintenance closet, nothing would make it budge. You could twist it around your finger, but it wouldn’t leave the spot where Sam’s lips touched.

What stupid, ridiculous man. An asinine greedy chauvinistic man. Rude and assuming. You ran through every word your brain could think of to describe the man sitting out on your couch, flicking through one of your books like nothing was wrong. You were able to dig under his skin, turning your nose up at the dinner he had cooked and crinkling the fast food bag in your hand, the burrito and tacos leaving grease stains on it. His eyes narrowed and you saw his jaw tense when they landed on the bag. He kept his distaste silent as you set the bag on the counter and headed toward the shower. 

Your stomach rumbled, and you knew it was time to get out. Taking your time to dry and lotion your body, you prolonged leaving the bathroom as long as you could, until another rumble made you feel as if you were about to pass out. Dressing in your oversized t-shirt, you finally went back out to the main room, glancing at your counter and seeing your bag still there.  

“You really are so upset with me that you’d rather stuff your face with that ridiculous cheap food than what I’ve made you?” Sam huffed from the couch as you unwrapped one of your tacos. You stared him down as you opened your mouth and crunched down on the crunchy tortilla, and kept eye contact while chewing. He rolled his eyes dramatically as you went in for a second bite. 

“Oh I’m sorry, am I supposed to be happy you tried to maim a guy who was flirting with me, staked your weird claim on me and then told me you were in my dreams last night?!”

“You should be happy that I didn’t flay his skin from his bones as he stood in front of you.” Sam stood, gritting his teeth. A spilled latte is the least of his problems.” You set down your food, hastily grabbing a napkin and wiping your fingers off. 

“You don’t get to decide who flirts with me or who I flirt with, or what accidents happen to them!” Moving towards him, you prodded a chest with your finger. 

“And I didn’t control your dream, fawn. I just happened to string together the clues when I heard you moan my name.”

“Oh bullshit” you rolled your eyes with a scoff. “Then how did you know what you said?”

“Did you ever consider you sent the dream to me?” Sam’s face was blank, causing you to pause. “You pulled me into it, little fawn. Or should I say little witch?”

“H-how?” Sam shrugged, reaching over you and picking up your fast food, dropping it back in the stained bag it came in. 

“I don’t know. I’m not versed in that magic.” he moved around the counter, making a show of tossing your food in the garbage. “My brothers may know, though I have no clue of how to communicate with them at the moment.” 

“You have brothers?” your curiosity was piqued, ignoring him tossing your food as he filled a plate with baked salmon covered in a dark sticky glaze, rice and sliced sauteed squash. It looked infinitely better than the taco you’d barely eaten, and you tried to hold back the grumble in your stomach as he handed you a fork. 

“Perhaps.” Sam watched you, glancing tellingly between you and the plate he set down in front of you. 

“Oh, I’m not touching your food until I get an apology.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You could’ve really hurt me and Tyler and anyone else that could’ve been at the register.” Sam’s chest heaved as he took in a deep breath and slowly let it out through his nose. 

“My kind is…territorial, for lack of a better term.” he cleared his throat. “We are bonded, and for me, that comes with certain…challenges…”

“Like what?”  You let your fork tap against the salmon on your plate, but refused to dig in. 

“Jealousy, for one.” Sam huffed, as if revealing a secret you’d been prying from him for ages. “It’s not something I have control over. I would prefer not to feel it at all.”

“That would make two of us.” 

“And,” Sam began, clearing his throat multiple times, as if it pained him to speak. “If I hurt you because of this, I am sorry.” 

“Not good enough.” you sighed, setting your fork down. Sam gripped the edge of the counter, glaring at you. “No, I think if you’re that jealous, you should get on your knees and say it.” Sam stiffened, and you refused to back down from his glare. After a handful of stoic seconds, Sam pushed away from the counter and moved back around it, until he was standing in front of the stool you sat on. 

His dark eyes never wavered from yours as he lowered himself to his knees. His posture was rigid, shoulders back, chin tipped up, refusing to let the position get in the way of his pride.

“My fawn, I am truly sorry if I have hurt you with my actions.” Sam’s voice was low and smooth, his plush lips barely moving. “Please, could you find it in your heart to forgive me for my missteps?”

“Tell me Sam,” you leaned forward a bit. “What exactly made you jealous?” Sam’s lips pressed into a thin line, and your stomach bubbled with giddy excitement. It was a rare thing to be able to get under his skin, and you were going to run with it. “Was it because he was bigger than you? More muscular? The fact he could’ve lifted me over that counter and taken me to his truck? Or was it when I flirted back, and considered what we would do after he took me on a date? I bet he’s got stamina to last a long while.”

“Perhaps it’s the fact he thought your time was only worth six dollars.” Sam replied coolly. He leaned closer as you moved back. “I can tell you this much, he would never satisfy you.”

“Oh? What makes you so sure about that?” Sam’s hands lifted from his thighs to your knees, gently rubbing over the soft, smooth skin there. Your thighs tensed at the touch, and smirked up at you. 

“In my time in this realm, the men that are built like that are usually making up for something else.” Sam’s fingertips grazed the hem of your shirt, resting high on your thigh. You couldn’t help the response of your body, your legs relaxing and parting slightly, but you tried to maintain the upper hand as you felt it slowly slipping away.

“And you think you can satisfy me?”

“You seem to think so,” Sam grinned lecherously as your advantage left you. “That dream had me moaning into my pillow too, fawn, make no mistake. I’d be happy to show you what I’m capable of.”  

“I’m not sure sleeping with a demon is a very good idea.” you murmured as Sam’s hands pushed back your shirt. His eyes watched yours carefully, and seeing no protest, he slid a finger up and down the soft cotton of your panties, making you gasp quietly. 

“Who said anything about sleeping?” he smirked up at you. The next thing you knew, you were raising your hips and letting him scoot you to the edge of the stool, your legs open farther and his head dipping between them. 

His tongue wasted no time in keeping his promise. With a long, flat lick, he tasted you, and the wetness that was gathering there during your conversation. A moan left your lips, breathy and light as Sam wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding your legs in position as he suckled on your clit. Your hips bucked up into his face as Sam savored you, a low hum coming from his throat. His eyes raised to yours when your hand threaded into his hair, holding it back and watching his every move. 

“Oh!” you gasped when his teeth grazed your clit, fisting his hair tighter. “Do that again,” Sam happily obliged, and your thighs twitched by his ears in response. He began alternating between gentle nips with his teeth and soothing licks, the tension building in your stomach as your muscles tensed over and over. Your moans coaxed him on, small ‘yes yes yes’s’ falling from your mouth as he pushed his face farther into your core. 

You were on the brink of ecstasy, fully ready to give in fully to Sam and tell him he was right, but in an instant, you had the sensation you were falling, and suddenly you were in Sam’s arms, staring up at him. Your breath was still heavy, and tears pricked your eyes at the loss of your orgasm. Sam’s chin was glistening as he smirked down at you. 

“Sorry to cut this short, darling.” his eyes were hooded and you wanted nothing more than to bring his lips to yours, taste the way you tasted on his tongue. “Though it would have been a compliment, you’d take a concussion for an orgasm from me.” he watched your eyes dance from his mouth to his eyes, and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips, his tongue parting yours gently and allowing you to taste yourself. Reaching up, you grabbed his shirt collars, holding him to you. For support as you tried to right yourself, is what you repeated in your mind. 

Once you were sitting up again, Sam reached around you, grabbing a napkin from the counter by your plate and cleaning up his face a bit more. You tried not to look as pathetic as you felt, your lust and body screaming at you to beg him to finish the job, to take you to your bedroom, the couch, on the floor right there and make you limp for a week. 

“Thank you for the taste,” he cleared his throat, taking your hand and placing the now crumpled napkin in it. “But I think after your performance today, I’ll leave you to take care of the rest.” annoyance flared as he walked away. It wasn’t until you felt something slipping through your fingers that you realized your strong emotion caused a flame in your palm, turning the cheap paper into ash in seconds, the small granules flitting to the floor.

Taglist: (feel free to add yourself!)

@joshsindigostreak @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @sunfl0wer-power @indigo-starcatcher @sammyscherub @earthlysorrows @lvnterninthenight @losfacedevil @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvff @gretavanfleetposts @josiee-gvf @joshkiszkatoothgap @madneedshelp @gardensgatedaisy @myownparadise96 @demonrat444 @dannyandthekiszkas @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @happy-harpy-stuff @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @jankandjonch @gvfpal

@allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge @highladyofasgard @sammysvanfeet@gold-mines-melting @earthgrlsreasy @mountain-in-springtime @forcebond301 @stardust-and-shadows @llightmyllovee @gretavangroupie @comesofarsomehow @infinisonicosm @indigofallingsky @hellowgoodbye @hearts-hunger @fwzco @dharma-divine33 @lightsofthe-living-gvf @ascendingtothestarsasone @klarxtr

@musicspeaks @mindastreamofcolours @imleavingyoufornewyork @dammm1256 @jordie-gvf @demonrat444 @misshunnybee @valleydollgvf @brookes-so-done @age0fwagner @starcatcherxstevie @amethystars @jakesguitarsolo @lolidontknowwhat @lyndz2names @godly-sinsx @dannythedog @anthemheatwave @samomf @spark-my-nature @scorpiosunsammy @theindigostre4k @jjwasneverhere @couldbefalling @peaceloveunitygvf @wrldabomination @gretavfreaky @eraofstardustchords @maddie-rae @laurynnnn125 @musicislove3389

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

HOT BELGIAN WAFFLES?!?!?!?!?!?!