#margarita the pizza boy

[merwynpersonalhub]

Have a margarita version!

[fluffygiraffe]

THE GANG IS HERE!

PTL MADNESS LET'S GOOOOO!!!!!!

@margarita-the-pizzeria-worker made their OWN PTL Design and their name is Macarena. AY!

@radiopixelctive YOU NEED TO SEE THISSSSSSS HRHFGASHDAHD

[radiopixelctive]

@margarita-the-pizzeria-worker

heheheee... the spicy gang's here >¦]

[merwynpersonalhub]

STIMMINGGGG FHRHDHR STIMMMINGGGGGGBTHFHDGD OH MY GOD THATS SO FUCKING ADORABLE I LOVE IT SO MUCHHH!!/POS GOODNESS YOUR ART I LOVE IT EVERYONE WILL DEAL WITH ME GUSHING ABOUT ITTTT/POS

ALSO im glad you took your time! you take a break if you need to ik your dealing with stuff!! Im very thankful and happy for this jdjd

Hehehe yesss, my half of a trade for @merwynsartblog is done and BOY am I actually pretty satisfied with how this came out X3 I had something wayyy simpler in mind when I started this but I kind of kept adding to it and... was it worth it? HECK YEAH!!!

I hope you enjoy this, and thanks again for the beautiful artwork you made <3 I had a lot of fun with this and working on it helped me through a little bit of a rough time I was having irl. Thanks again, have a good one! :D

Non-animated version under the cut:

[merverelli]

👼🗡️ toddiel, the golden sword of the inconquerable dawn. 👼🗡️

[roseseafoam]

Your favorite herb is basil… ok pesto boy :)

Funnily enough, I can count on my hands the number of times I’ve had pesto :o)

[princessbrunette]

basketball!rafe knew he needed you the moment he set eyes on you once more in that hotel bar.

personally, you thought he might’ve been a nobody on first glance. a really handsome nobody, so he couldn’t have actually been a nobody — but it was the intrigue that drew you in regardless. to set the scene, you didn’t have to go far to find him, no — this was the fanciest hotel in your hometown and you were there alone. something about getting all dressed up and then your friends cancelling last minute, it didn’t matter — it felt like so long ago that you’d forgotten all about it. all you remember was seeing the handsome nobody in a t-shirt and a cap strolling up to the bar.

it was only after doing a double take, you realised the nobody was rafe cameron.

now you’d already known rafe from the obx. distantly, of course — a couple of parties here and there, some lingering glances when you were convinced he was a fuck boy. he was apparently a little unhinged back in the day, but after his dad died he fixed his shit and went pro with basketball, making it big. like mentioned, you weren’t friends, merely acquaintances with the boy a couple of years your senior— but he’d always been someone you saw get their shit together and think, you know what? good for him i guess.

now rafe remembers his history with you differently. apparently, he used to shoot hoops with your older brother in your backyard with a few other friends back when they were younger. still a casual hobby for rafe, and playing it anywhere else but a kook’s backyard might’ve looked too poguey for him to be caught partaking in. at the end of the day, golf was meant to be his sport. it was fitting and low maintenance. basketball took the cake everytime however— helping him mentally in more ways than anyone could imagine.

anyway, he remembers you — a lot younger than you are now, flip flops slapping along the patio as you arrive on destination — mouthing off to your big brother about bouncing the ball too loudly off your wall or spending all the money your mother had left for pizza on the counter. you were this tiny mouthy weapon, even having the infamous rafe cameron snickering down at his shoes as your brother whined back at you, trying to shoo you back inside. he recalls even catching a couple of strays, your shrill youthful voice referring to the eldest cameron as a ‘lanky meathead’.

“jesus, you gotta keep your sisters mouth in check dude. gonna grow up n’get her in trouble n’shit.” he’d shake his head as you’d waddle back inside, bouncing the ball and shooting. after that it was just parties as you grew up, seeing a familiar pretty face through a coked out haze and thinking ‘who’s that again?’ in passing or overhearing you talking to your friends, still carrying that same slick mouth that you only got away with because you were so hot.

only now, he’s staring across this dimly lit hotel bar, the first time in a while that he’d been back in his hometown and there you are — staring back at him, a face he’d never forget except you’re all grown up now— practically spilling out that slinky little dress and acting as a magnet, his feet dragging him over to you before his drink had even arrived from the bartender.

not even five minutes into conversation and it’s abundantly clear that you’re still that spoiled little cheerleader he knew once upon a time, only this time you’re tilting your head to the side with your brows furrowed in confusion that bordered on disinterest when he tried to explain what happened in his most recent game. you weren’t here to talk about that and it showed, leaning over your margarita to adjust his expensive looking chain, pulling it to sit above his tshirt instead of tucked beneath, cutting him off to question “so you knew my brother, right?” he liked that directness about you. the fact you kinda seemed like a bitch. it was a challenge, the urge to tame and rough someone up still very much sat at the surface of his wants and desires.

once a spoiled brat — always a spoiled brat, only now you’re his spoiled brat six months later, clinging to his arm and digging your manicure into his bicep with a whine as a silent command for him to magically vanish any of the surrounding paparazzi outside the airport.

“get rid of them.” you eventually mewl, in a demanding way that represented the physical embodiment of you stomping your pedicured foot.

“you think i fuckin’ want them here?” he sighs, no stranger to your ridiculous requests. that’s what was so intoxicating about your relationship — yes you were a little bitch sometimes, but he learnt how was best to put you in your place. most of the time you were happy, fucked and fed with racks upon racks sat in your expensive handbag, clinging to him and tottering along at his side in heels that cost an arm and a leg— but the times you were snarking up at him, telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ he was more than happy to grab your throat and ask “the fuck are you talking to like that, huh?” which oddly would cause a smile to emerge on your face and the attitude to melt off you for an hour or so.

that being said, you kept him in check too. now rafe wasn’t like he always was — unhinged, explosive and overall angry at the world. no, he had an access to therapy now and basketball worked for a good outlet of his frustrations, all whilst opening up a new world for him to get his fresh start away from all that family bullshit he had to put up with a while back (cut them all off, minus wheezie who he sends money to every month and facetimes to talk shit.) that being said — he would be the one to catch an attitude out of the blue sometimes, which was often remedied by a sharp eyebrow raise from you, a dramatic head swivel and a “you better fucking talk to me nice, rafe cameron. not one of your fucking fan girls.”

with a tongue in his cheek, he’ll shake his head and drop the whole thing — but not without saying “y’know you run your mouth like you’re six foot four with two pistols tucked sometimes. shit.”

life outside of your relationship with rafe became a dream all because of him. quickly, as rafe skyrockets to success in the basketball world, you’re skyrocketing to being the top pinterest muse— starring in every girls ‘future manifestation’ moodboard with snaps of you courtside in your pretty little outfits cheering on your boyfriend. you were glammed to the nines at every game, because you knew you’d end up on that big screen one way or another.

when travelling with rafe for his tournaments, you’d get the princess treatment you deserved and that was a promise. designer shoes, designer bags, steak meals that cost the same as your house back home and you were not poor by any stretch of the word. he liked to flaunt you, flaunt his success. he was the man now, like he’d always wanted to be — and effortlessly so, not the charade he was putting on back at tanny hill throwing those parties whilst suffering on the sly. no, he had everything now— and was happy to share that with you. you didn’t have to do much to gain this treatment, no. holding him down was enough, but he’d be happy to accept your payment of gratitude in having his cock wedged down your throat in the limo back to the hotel, ending the night on your back with your ankles on his shoulders and that same chain you fiddled with when you first reunited swinging in your face.

it was no secret that the two of you fucked. it made up a good 60% of your free time together, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. rafe could still get very frustrated — with his manager, with his teammates, with people from his past cropping up, even with the general public who had opinions on his playing — and with that, what better way to pound out some frustrations then by bending you over a balcony in a foreign country? rafe had a good team behind him, and luckily so — because it wouldn’t be the first time a hotel had attempted to get the two of you blacklisted for causing too much of a noise disturbance, notes pinned to your door found in the morning reading ‘Dear guests, whilst we are thrilled that you are enjoying our hotel, we please ask that you keep it down for the sake of the other guests. To remind you, other guests do not need to hear your lovemaking through the night! If this continues throughout your stay you will be asked to leave.’

your basketball player boyfriend would pluck the note off the door the next morning when you’re leaving together for the day, your sleepy self tucked under the arm of his hoodie covering his jersey as he scoffs, handing it your way carelessly. “pussies. they can’t do shit about it.”

unstoppably so, despite your hate for gossip past being in high school the notes would turn to blind items as rafe truly came into the public eye. you couldn’t scroll three videos on tiktok without hearing ‘this north carolina basketball player and hometown it girl may have come into hot water again at this famous vegas hotel after making sure their wall neighbours heard the ins and outs of their passion — april 27th, crazy days and nights.’ that, or the blogosphere getting ahold of the blurry and ambiguous paparazzi shots taken of you supposedly ‘getting it on’ on the beach.

unfortunately, this public knowledge that the two of you were real fuckers was not enough for twitter, which resulted in your first leaked video.

rafe should have known to be careful when the two of you in a lustful haze filmed an amateur tape the day before you had to fly home for a little while, the basketball player knowing he’d miss being in it and needed some material to work off whilst you were gone.

the video was 1 minute and 49 seconds of pure glory. filmed on landscape with an outstretched arm rafe captures you, whining and mewling as you roll your hips on his lap, bouncing on his cock as he watches the two of you through the screen, swollen lips parting and tongue flattening to catch your nipple as you do so. he grips your ass hungrily, aiding you on fucking down on him before delivering a firm smack to your ass that makes you jolt, only unlatching his mouth from your tit to grumble out “s’what i’m fuckin’ talking about baby. who’s your daddy, huh?” looking up at you from your needy spread out position.

you still recall the way your heart dropped into your ass seeing your name along side rafes in the trending tab, following by the words ‘leaked video’.

your legal teams were all over it instantly, working hard to get it shut down off every site it had been reuploaded and desperately attempting to track down whoever had managed to get into your boyfriends cloud to expose it— a couple weeks of watching paparazzi shots of rafe taking calls outside buildings, yelling down the phone and flipping off the cameras in moments of frustration and stress — for him to then be on the phone to you from a hotel room later that night, talking you down as you cry like a baby and complain.

“i know, i know alright i’m workin’ on it. gonna get that shit wiped from the net i can promise you that now, i got the guy who can make it happen for me. but for now, look y’know there’s — there’s nothin’ i can do alright, i can’t make people fuckin’… unsee that shit unfortunately just be glad you look so sexy in the video cause — okay, shit, the hell are you yelling for? m’just tryna help—”

after a while it does infact die down, and the video can no longer be found — yes, even on the shitty pop up porn sites that had reposted it with twelve watermarks in the worst quality. however, it didn’t stop jaded basketball fans from bringing it up any chance they got — getting in heated debates online and using it as an insult to the cameron boys playing skills. god forbid a rafe fan would speak up for him after a particularly poor game, his mentions getting filled with nothing but a screenshot of your boyfriend with your titty in his mouth.

though it had faded, the two of you learned that there was no way around it than to humour it — your boyfriend barely addressing the tape by quoting it in his instagram caption after one of his big wins, the post of him grinning on the court with his trophy tilted ‘who’s your daddy, huh?’ which of course, sent twitter into a spiral.

[heywardsdoll]

you're in your rebel phase, sneaking out with a skittish expression on your face, nails painted bright pink instead of the nude color your parents tell you to settle on.

you have pink gems stuck on your cheeks, and rosy glossy lipgloss slathered on your lips. you're ready to party. or at least what you call partying.

as a kook, there are some things you are entitled to, but your parents always tried to hide you from that. no, there was no partying in your house hold. there was studying, staying out of trouble, sucking up to people and being a good girl.

you took it from the pogues. you loved the way they lived, and you saw it all when you had a small cross over project with a boy called pope. he lived on the other side of the island, and as the two of you worked on the project you met the freest boys you had ever seen.

you liked the way john b would laugh, cascading brown curls wet from the salty water, that clear look on his face. you liked the way that jj would tease—a clear jeering expression on his face. you especially liked seeing sweet suprise on pope's face when you joined onto their little pranks. it was a sweet way to spend the summer but before you knew it, it was gone and you were stuck in your parents house staring at the walls.

it was strange seeing them live like that. laughter pure, bouncing around the room, beers cooling in the fridge, and loud thumps coming from the rooms. god knew what was going on, but the frozen pizza in the fridge was good, and more importantly the sweet look on pope's face made you flush.

pope had given you a sorry shrug before you leading to the table. and before the project ended; jj, a labrador friendly boy had told you to lighten up. afterwards he had shotgunned a beer, and then tried to do a flip—and failed leading to pope rolling his eyes but that was besides the point.

that's what you were here to do, as the lights shone down on you. drinks were being served, as you floated over to the bar. you fluttered your eyelashes to the bartender, watching them jeer at you.

"can i have a spicy watermelon bomb margarita," you giggled out, the name sounding so foreign on your lips. the bartender gave you a bored look before nodding. so the night is young, and you feel your lips curve as you tilt your head up to look at the disco ball. this is the best place to party apparently, but it feels to stuffy for your own good.

you feel gum on your shoe, and your drink is too cold to handle. the music is too loud, and the dress you have on is cutting your circulation. everything is booming, so loud you can barely handle yourself.

but you have to get used to it, and like a small favor to yourself you pop in noise canceling headphones, and take a long sip from your fruity cocktail.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

three drinks in and you've danced more than you have your whole life. more embarrassingly, someone had asked you for a dancing move and you had proceeded to awkwardly bop to the music. the guy had laughed and then went ahead and ignored you. you were completely out of your element, as guys jeered over your head.

"you're really hot," a boy slurred, crawling closer to you, "i like your outfit, you look like a hot librarian"

you knew it was a bad idea to layer an old cargidan over your tight dress, but somehow it made you feel more at home than anything else. but you've learned to take a compliment, so you forced yourself to try and not step away from his sour breath.

you ball your fists, touching the ends of your beige cardigan, wincing before giving a forced smile, "thank you?"

he laughs, a booming sound that makes you flinch, "sure thing." and then he looks at you again, almost appreciatively, "how about you and i go upstairs?"

you blink at him, slowly, your doe eyes wide. you don't know what this means, but it makes you shiver. something about going upstairs scares you, so you shake your head and then run away only to be stopped by another guy.

"hey?"

it's pope heyward. you had never been so happy to see a familiar face, and yet this boy's face makes you light up. it was almost as if the whole summer flashed before your eyes, and you grab pope's hand with a sweet smile.

"hi pope," you whisper out, and he gave you a confused look before nodding at the scene. you tried not to giggle at his expression as he's trying to decipher why you were here.

he coughs, "i thought you were working at the library right now?" he winces when he watches you practically wilt at the comment. you had tired so hard to try something new, to be someone new, but it's clear you don't belong here.

"am i crazy doing this?" you mewl softly, rubbing the glitter under your eyes. you watch his soft eyes follow your furious movement, before he gently stops you. his fingers stop you from your rubbing, and he only blow away the remandits of the glitter.

you're dumstruck watching him. he's so...pope.

pope sighs, "well, i never thought i'd see you here—" then he quickly stops himself, "shit, i don't mean it's bad, it's just that—" then he stops speaking to look away. you laugh now, and you realise this isn't his place either. finally you find yourself being the brave person, the one that goes for challenges.

"c'mon dance with me," you whisper out, and you swear pope smiles brighter than you've ever seen him.

[the-duchess-of-domination]

Pizza Delivery Boy

i’ve always loved classic porn tropes with a feedism twist.

imagine ordering five pizzas for delivery—a margarita, a Hawaiian, a pepperoni, a sausage and bacon, and a cheese. its late into the evening and your trap has been set. you wait patiently to strike.

within 30 minutes you hear a knock at your door. you open it, and standing before you on the welcome mat is a pudgy twenty-something wearing a backwards hat and a tight t-shirt donning the logo of your local pizza joint. he’s balancing all five pizzas in his arms, and he seems hasty to dump them onto you and get his tip.

“thank you,” you say, taking the pizzas. “i can’t believe nobody showed. what am i going to do with all this pizza?”

though apathetic and moody, he asks what you mean.

“i was supposed to be having a party tonight so i ordered all this pizza. nobody showed, so now i’m stuck with it. i hardly have any room in my fridge!”

he doesn’t take this bait, and instead tells you the total. you pull out your wallet and give him two twenties. while he’s calculating the change, you have a suggestion.

“hey, tell you what. do you want some of this pizza? i’d hate to see it go to waste.”

he shakes his head. “thanks but no thanks. im sick of pizza.”

“how could anyone be sick of pizza?”

“i eat it on my breaks. i go home smelling like pizza. i get dough under my fingernails. it’s lost its appeal.”

“oh…i see. well, if you change your mind…”

he drops the change into your open palm, pondering. it’s a slow night after all, and admittedly he’s feeling a little peckish. someone called off, forcing him to work twice as hard. maybe eating something isn’t such a bad idea.

reluctantly, he takes you up on your offer. once he’s entered the threshold you invite him to make himself comfortable and have as much pizza as he likes. he rolls his eyes a little at your incessant kindness. some people are just too nice. he peeks into the boxes on the counter to see what he wants. he decides that pepperoni sounds the most appealing.

the cheese pull is sublime. the pepperoni is curled and crispy. there’s just enough sauce. for whatever reason, it’s hitting the spot. he decides another slice couldn’t hurt.

as he’s grubbing, you drag a chair to the center of the kitchen.

“sit down if you like. im sure you’re exhausted.”

he nods. doing deliveries and making the pizzas has given him weak Bambi legs and quite the appetite. he takes a load off and opens the box of Hawaiian.

“a lot of people don’t like Hawaiian.” you say. “what are your thoughts? do you think fruit belongs on pizza?”

he shrugs. “i dunno. it’s my favorite, but i guess it’s weird when you think of it that way.”

he gobbles the slice and wipes his greasy fingers down his pant leg. he looks like he’s about to get up, but you stop him.

“well, i for one don’t like Hawaiian at all. you should have some more, since it’s your favorite. here—“ you round the counter and give him the entire box. “go ahead. it’s all yours.”

score, he thinks. he is warming up to your hospitality. he downs three more slices before deciding he is on the verge of uncomfortably full.

“what’s the matter? not hungry?” you ask.

“uhm. starting to get full. y’know i should head out, my boss is going to wonder where i am—“

“nonsense, you just need a little help—here, why don’t i feed it to you?”

you pick up a piece of Hawaiian. you hover it in front of his mouth. he looks stunned.

“what?”

“go on then. i can’t eat all this by myself.”

looking unsure of himself, he bites into the slice you’re offering. you gently coax the entire slice into his mouth.

“there you go. you don’t even need to use your hands. tell you what, why don’t i tie those up for you?”

you ambush him and bind his arms behind his back. his feet come next.

“comfortable?” you muse.

he squirms in the chair. “hey! what’s going on?”

“don’t worry. just relax.” you open the box of Hawaiian. “you’ve still got four slices here. open wide!”

you stuff his cheeks full of pineapple and ham. his cheeks are so full his groans are muffled

“good, isn’t it?” he thrashes and turns his head away when you hover another slice in front of him. “now, that’s no way to treat your host. keep still.”

you force him to finish the Hawaiian pizza. by the end he’s left panting, his already tight shirt riding up his pale belly.

“ohh, no more!” he begs. “i can’t take anymore. my belly hurts.”

you smile and laugh. “well, what next? margarita or sausage and bacon?”

looks like he’s going to have to call into work tomorrow.

[dancingtotuyo]

Sage (Marcus Pike Drabble)

Rating: PG

Summary: You and Marcus can't agree on anything.

Tags/Warnings: fluff, mentions of alcohol

Notes: The challenge: write a drabble in 30ish minutes with the assigned Pedro boy for the prompt "finally, something we can agree on." Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the lovely dividers! No beta we die like my soul working 40+ hours a week.

Words: 452

Author Master List | Marcus Pike Master List | Daily Clicks for Palestine

“We should go out sometime,” Marcus says, a charming smile painted on his face as he leans against your desk.

You move your eyes up toward him and then pull them back to the case file in front of you. “No.”

“It’ll be fun. I know this great Mexican place just around the corner-”

“I don’t date coworkers, Marcus.” You look through the case file like it’s the most riveting piece of literature you’ve ever read. 

“Oh, Bob was gonna come too.” He points to the desk right behind you. 

You spin around and Bob waves at you with a smile. Marcus returns the gesture to your coworker. “See you at 7? I’ll text you the address.”

He’s gone before you can protest.

You laugh at something Marcus says as you finish off your margarita. Bob left an hour ago, but you and Marcus haven’t moved. They kick you out at closing. 

“Wanna come to mine? It’s just around the corner.”

“I told you I don’t-”

“Who said anything about a date?” 

“You told your mom about me?” 

“No.” Marcus scratches the back of his neck. 

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Not intentionally,” He says weakly. “She really wants to meet you.”

“No,” You say as Marcus’s doorbell rings. 

“You want Pizza or Chicken for dinner?”

“Pasta.” You bite back a smile.

Marcus looks at you with a half-annoyed look. 

“I love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just think you do. I have that effect on people.”

“You’re just being difficult. 

Marcus burrows his head into the crook of your neck, leaving soft kisses on your skin. Your legs stretch out under the covers as you blink away the sleep haze. 

“Good morning.” His voice is soft and husky. 

“Good morning.” You smile.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Never a good thing.”

“Why don’t you move in with me?”

“I like having my own space.”

“You can have the spare bedroom.”

“Beige or charcoal?” Marcus asks.

“Sage.”

“That wasn’t an option.”

“It’s a better one.”

“Silver or gold?’

“You should know the answer to that.”

“Humor me.”

“Figure it out, Mr. FBI.”

“Marry me?” He’s on his knee in front of you, a diamond ring set in the correct metal in a velvet box. 

You’re wide-eyed, not expecting it tonight. He’s looking at you with nothing but big heart eyes and a hopeful smile. It makes your heart melt. This is your man. He’s all yours. Your Marcus.

“Yes,” It falls from your lips as you meet him on the ground, pressing your lips to his. He laughs, arms wrapping around your waist 

“Had me worried you were gonna fight me on this too,” he teases. 

“Shut up.” 

[h0ney-dames]

ASHER PRESENTS THE PIZZA BOYS

Special thanks to the discord svr for help!

lasko : cannot order pizza did you SEE that date?!

damien : jalapeño and half a bottle of spice

huxley : meat lover pizza (cus he's 🏳️‍🌈)

caelum : pizza bagel enjoyer

gavin : sasuage pizza

hudson : supreme with no olives

david : cheese. (refuses to let angel get toppings so they have to buy two pizzas)

milo : margarita

asher : spicy pepperoni with jalapeños

guy : pepperoni (but he get domino max's rustic pizza cookies) ((+ discounts))

geordi : just get cheese and garlic bread to cry with

vincent : golden pizza with truffles

sam : meat lovers (cus darlin 😎😍🥰😘)

echo : thinks hes better then pizza

hush : cheese & anchovies with no sauce

alexis : goes to italy just to get pizza (then eats it with a knife and fork and gets her neck snapped like spaghetti)

porter : pineapple

quinn : his own di- glow stick

kody : burnt pizza

adam : pizza with sauce before the cheese

(special add)

Barchium : doesn't know what Pizza is

[merwynpersonalhub]

margarita i love her here ya go chat finally some food

[fluffygiraffe]

He was just making an observation, calm down, Marker...

@margarita-the-pizzeria-worker's PT oc babysits spends the day with LS!Peppino!

[radiopixelctive]

im back home and i saw a silly thing you posted so here have a silly doodle i just made

this meme been stuck in my dang head since i saw your "spicygal probs has a crush on pierrot" post

COUGH-

actually SpiceGal definitely would call him like that haha

btw thank u for this doodle it makes me very happy to see people like drawing PTS stuff

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Oh I’m about to go feral over handyman Jason. I can feel it coming

Jason heard the soda can on the counter and grunted his thanks as he worked on the bolt he was trying to loosen.

"Maggie Mae," he heard you call softly, "You want some lunch-"

"A margarita on the rocks."

"Mags, that's not-"

"Honey. I am 74. I'm gonna drop dead way before my liver can fail."

You snort, "Want a Porterhouse and a pack of menthols to go with that?"

"Menthols are for pussies."

Jason barked a laugh and then promptly had to muffle a swear when his tool slipped and bashed his thumb.

"Why didn't you tell me Jason was here?" she asked.

"Hey miss Maggie," he called.

"Did my girl take care of you or did she just put you to work?" she asked, nudging his booted foot, prompting him to get out of her way she she could make her drink.

"She got me a soda, Mags I'm good-"

"Do you want a sandwich-"

"No I'm-"

"Y/N will you order a pizza or something?"

"Mags," he cut in laughing. "Really I'm good. I got a sandwich and some chips out in the truck."

"That's not enough for a hard working boy like you," she scolded.

"You've done it now," you tell him, rolling your eyes as you pull out your phone. Now that Maggie's on a roll there's no stopping her. And trying will just get you scolded... she took a nap and woke up feisty.

"It's fine-"

"It is not, Young man. You will eat a good lunch and-"

"Mags, why doesn't he just come back for dinner- if he doesn't have other plans. You know I'm making you some fajitas and-" You break off, wincing when Jason pulls hiis head out from under the sink and mouth 'sorry' when Maggie rounds on him as he started to protest.

"No actually dinner would be better- Lane and Dallas need help with some pool stuff and I gotta go do that after-"

"Dinner it is," Maggie said huffing, rimming her rocks glass with salt. "Be here at 7pm sharp."

'Thanks' Jason mouthed over her shoulder, ducking back under the sink. You couldn't be too mad at him, right? And would it be inappropriate to ask if you were dating anyone... Just. You know. So he knew.

[gl1tchy-4rt]

A 🍕 Woman!! :D

Me: oh boy, I Think I'm finally done with the Canon x OC couples for the Spag. Family AU....

Me: OOOOHHH CRAP IM FORGETTING ABOUT HIM:

That's right everyone... Surprise Pizza GF upon ye!

"Pizzarina" Secretary at PizzaBoy's Inc.

Full/True name: Cynthia Margarita Berryl

Cynthia is a Pizza folk but she is specifically a Dessert pizza, like this one!

• Her lore and how she meet Totino:

(warning: Lots of text)

As I mentioned above, Cynthia is one of PizzaMan's Secretaries, one day he seeded her to "keep PizzaBoy entertained" she only accepted cause she didn't wanted to lose her job.

She expected a frat boy with no concept of Personal space or respect throwards woman, but instead she found Totino trying to escape through the vents in his room.

After "being caught", Totino merely offered her something to drink and a board game to play on the meantime, they quickly connected over their hatred for PizzaBoy's Inc. They quickly became friends.

But at some point, Totino just didn't wanted to see her, she felt bad believing she did something wrong... Until Totino called her, desperate and telling her that they didn't have much time and needed to evacuate as many people as she could from The Tower.

As it turns out, he knew PizzaMan's plan of fighting Peppino and (if it didn't work) exploiting The Tower with everyone in it, So Totino holding on to the last of his will before succumbing to PizzaMan's mind control: he told everything to Cynthia.

She evacuated everyone she could using the power of "having access to all of The Tower's intercoms"

After the whole Tower scandal, she settled into the town and quickly tried to find Totino, eventually contacting with him and meeting up at a cafe, eventually they realized they had feelings for each other and started dating...

Ahhhhh love, such a wonderful lil' thing :3

So yeah that's Le Pizza GF! Hope you like her

And hope you have a nice day!!

See y'all later!!!