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helslastangel · 3 months ago

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Mars in 1H & 7H Synastry: From My Experiences 🔞

Minors, do not interact. This one's not for you.

I know this is widely known with 1H Mars synastry, but it bears repeating: this is such an electric and sexy aspect to have!

...IF you like each other. But if you don't?

Especially if the attraction is one-sided? It is SO cringe. One of you could end up hating the other easily.

In fact, let me tell you two stories that show just how differently things can go with this aspect.

Positive 1H Mars Synastry

Guy A: Leo Sun, Virgo Moon, Cancer Rising & Venus

I have my Mars in his 1H and his Venus is in my 1H.

This a VERY physical aspect, so if you're the type who loves long hugs, hugs from behind, poking, nibbling, cuddling, kissing and a LOT of sex, even after YEARS together, then keep an eye out for this aspect.

Guy A was my boyfriend of 4 years and we broke up right around the time we would have been talking engagement and such. He was also my best friend for 8 years (which would be 15 years now if we hadn't stopped talking a year after the break up).

I was wildly attracted to this guy from day one. And vice versa! And when we finally got together? Literally could not stop touching each other. It was so funny at times. You know those annoying couples trying to hold hands, steer the cart, and pick stuff up all at once in the grocery store? Yeah, we were that couple. Typically, if I wasn't literally on his lap, I'd be under his arm or pretty much pressed up beside him somehow-and vice versa. Watching TV? Someone's head would be in the other's lap, someone's hands would be in the other's hair, or rubbing their arm or belly.

I remember the first time Guy A and I went on a cute lunch date, before we officially got together. Everyone was pointing and giggling at us because it was sooooo obvious we both couldn't keep our hands off each other at all. 😂

To this day, neither his parents nor mine can believe we didn't get married. We probably should have, tbh. Lol.

Negative 1H Mars Synastry:

Guy B: Gemini Sun, Cancer Moon & Rising, Aries Venus.

I also have my Mars in his 1H. (His moon is in my 1H).

Mars in 1st synastry in one-sided connections is the absolute worst because one of you is madly (VERY madly) in lust confused for love, and the other is perpetually annoyed but attached to the adrenaline rush from all the static, especially if life isn't otherwise exciting at the time.

Guy B was long-term frenemy who I did NOT like romantically and barely liked platonically. We met on a dating site and the conversation was great but from the 1st date in person, I was instantly turned off. All his mannerisms annoyed me, I wasn't attracted to him, and I didn't want him to touch me at all. My reflex was to pull away when he tried. He was extremely attracted to me for some reason despite this, and never let it go. Not even years later. He begged to stay friends when I declined a 2nd date and I was too nice back then so I reluctantly agreed.

Every time he touched me, I wanted to backflip into a volcano. A simple hug made me irrationally angry if he tried to linger half a second too long. It didn't help that he'd always complain about me giving "church hugs."

And before the men start carrying on about how he must have been short, yada yada yada... no, lol he's 6' 5" and fairly good-looking. Just didn't like him then and still don't now.

Our dynamic was always very aggressive, especially from my end. Even our mutual friends noticed that I seemed like a different person specifically around him and not in a good way. I was verbally combative and physically tense around him, even my voice sounded less soft and I was extremely sarcastic. I don't know if he's into girls who are normally like that or if his Aries Venus just liked the challenge, but that annoyed me even more. My dad met him once and immediately acted like he wasn't even there and my mom was like "Yeah, no, don't ever date each other because one of you won't make it out of that alive, it's very obvious."

She's definitely not wrong, our entire "friendship" was a strange anomaly defined around me being perpetually annoyed that he existed but also finding entertainment in all the toxicity and him pretending not to notice that Id happily sell him to the devil for a bag of chips and continuously convincing himself that I secretly liked him.

I told him multiple times he was free to react like a normal human being and not talk to me and his response was, "Eh, I know but somehow even though I hate arguing, I don't really mind arguing with you. Like I hate it but at the same time, it's you. I'm used to it now."

Idk to say about that but yeah, there you have it folks. The moral of the story is: there are always two sides to a coin 😂

Synastry is something that can go two (if not more) ways. No placement or aspect is ever guaranteed to be positive or negative, though some skew one way or the other. If they were, we could all find our perfect matches just by picking birth charts out of a jar and studying them. Be mindful and listen to what your heart and gut tell you and then use your head.

All that being said though, can I talk about 7H Mars synastry for a sec? GOSH I LOVE when someone's Mars is in my 7H.

Mars in 7H Synastry (Positive)

Guy C: Aries Sun, Scorpio Moon, Scorpio Rising, Aries Venus

He has Capricorn Mars in my 7H and my gawd. So intentional. This was eons ago. Technically my second boyfriend, but this was the first serious boyfriend who I had all my first times with. The moment my very own McSteamy decided he wanted to date me, there was no long drawn out "should I, shouldn't I, she loves me, she loves me not" - none of that wishy-washy shit. He strolled right up to me and said, "Look, you're allowed to say yes, no, or "get lost, fool" -whatever you want. And I know this may seem a bit soon, and to be honest when I first met you, I didn't know what to think, you kinda seemed like a miss-goody-two-shoes type. But getting to know you for a couple months? I realize you're actually quite a rebel and adventurous like me, but also smart and know how to lay low and play a character when you need to. Anyway, I'd really like to kiss you, but I'm gonna ask you to be my girlfriend first, so let me know."

Well, hell I said yes before he was even done talking and he picked me right up and kissed me against the wall. That was my first kiss too, and a great memory. I love direct people who know what they want, aren't scared to take a risk and are comfortable taking the lead, especially when it's a relationship. That's a Capricorn Mars right there. With Capricorn moon in my 7H that was literally like hitting the jackpot- except I was so young. He was 8 years older than me and ready to settle down. I was just about to fly the nest and see the world and he was kind enough to realize this and not hold me back when I decided to leave.

I will say this placement is excellent if you're sure about wanting a family, kids, and the whole white picket fence thing. I made the right choice as I'm still childfree by choice now and would rather live a semi-nomadic life, working and traveling the world with someone who is the same kind of crazy as me.

I'm not sure if I've experienced any negative Mars 7H house synastry. There are so people I've connected with whose birthdays I've either forgotten or didn't ask for, so I don't have their charts. Of the charts I do have, Guy C is the only one I have this aspect with. I haven't quite felt the same 100% confident, 'all-in' relationship energy from anyone else.

I am curious about how the negative side of this would go, so if any of you have had bad experiences with Mars 7H synastry and want to share, let's meet in the comments 😹

#astrology observations #relationship astrology #synastry observations #astro notes #astrology #astrology signs #astrology blog #astro observations #astrology tumblr #astro posts

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monimccoythings · 4 months ago

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Mending each other's hearts II

Jesus, this took forever. I'm having so much fun writing this, for real. However I think I'll have to do a third part because GOSH do I love angstiness and suffering. One thing I also love is Jean being a wingman and such a cool friend I want to work more with that.

tw: logan is a caveman and a brute, and possibly emotionally constipated, really; a bit angsty.

I have no idea about clubs, I just googled New York clubs and picked the coolest looking.

tags: @kathieycarrerarosshley (I'm not sure if there's anybody else, sorry, I don't usually check the notes :()

Part I │ Part II (You're here!!)

He basically jumped down the stairs, nearly crashing into several innocent students. Like Hell he was going to allow you to do that to yourself. You were not some cheap whore who did one-night-stands. You were so sweet, so innocent, that the thought of having anyone touch you inappropriately, rubbing themselves against your body, tainting you with their dirty hands made his stomach churn and his claws start to come out.

Despite running as if the literal Devil was chasing him, all his efforts were for nothing, because when he barged through the front doors of the mansion he could already hear the gears of your car speeding up, miles away. Fuck, he was too late; but maybe, if he traced your scent, if he went now to his motorbike he may be able to catch you and stop this madness. As he turned around, he narrowly avoided his keys being psychically thrown towards him. Jean looked at him with a determined look on her face.

“Lavo, go. NOW.” Her voice commanded no objection, and for once, he would happily obey orders.

He usually was very careful with his motorbike, an old lady deserved to be treated with respect, but not tonight, there was not a second to lose. Muttering a quiet apology to his dear ride, he sped off towards the city, silently praying to a god he didn’t believe in that you hadn’t done anything you would regret later.

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You felt a sense of excitement settle in your lower belly. Look at you, a grown adult, dressing up all cute and going on your own adventures in the Big Apple, you felt like you were going to squeal like a little girl, either that or you needed to stop the car and puke.

You knew exactly where to go, where the good stuff would be; under normal conditions you wouldn’t be allowed in, so that’s why you were planning to use your powers to sneak in. Maybe you were just some plain teacher at a private school for mutants but that didn’t mean you didn’t have tricks up your sleeve.

A sudden memory of the real reason this was all about, made your heart twist with ache and longing. The memory of Logan and Jean in that empty classroom would be forever engraved inside your mind, a confirmation that no matter what you did, you would never be enough. No. You mentally slapped yourself. You couldn’t keep torturing yourself like that. The only thing invisible about you were your powers. Tonight, you were going to feel beautiful, appreciated, and most importantly, desired. A pang of anxiety hitted you, what if nobody notices? The real possibility of being made into a fool once again was scary and nearly made you turn away and return home with your tail between your legs. They will. Maybe it was that part of you that had been kicked long enough talking, you would never know, but it gave you enough confidence to keep going.

You made sure to park your car as far as you could, you didn’t want anything to associate you with that little stunt you were about to pull. You casually walked into a nearby alleyway to turn yourself invisible, the last thing this night needed was a public scandal.

There was truly something magical about walking down the street while you were invisible, it made you feel confident and powerful. Nobody could harm you if they didn’t know you were there. You watched couples pass by pampering each other, a group of drunk college freshmans trying their best to walk in a straight line, you could observe every single detail on them without feeling like a creep. Sometimes you wondered why you didn't have your mutation on at all times. It certainly would make your life easier.

Before you knew it, you had already arrived at your destination. Taking advantage of some rich boy skipping line, you glued yourself to his back and entered, making a little squeal that startled the poor security guard.

The place took your breath away.

Lavo was one of the most exclusive clubs in all of Manhattan. One night there (paying the entrance and restaurant, of course) would probably cost you half your salary. You knew Charles could afford it, but you weren’t going to ask him to bill the start of your party girl era.

A sudden realization left you filled with embarrassment; you had entered, now what. In a desperate way to fit in, you decided that the most suitable course of action would be to look for a place to turn visible again and go for a drink.

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Logan lost count of how many traffic laws he broke that night, he didn’t really care. All he wanted was to reach you. Each time he imagined a worse scenario that somehow always ended with you in the arms of another man, enjoying his caresses and kisses. He panicked, making his grip on the handlebar painfully tighten. He didn’t know why he was feeling like that, and he also didn’t know what he would do if he found you with a suitor.

He wasn’t impressed at all by the imposing building, and he was less impressed by the regulars. Bunch of spoiled rich brats, if someone asks him.

The security guard wasn’t in the mood to let him in and less while looking like that, but since he didn’t have time nor the patience to deal with any form of bullshit, he opted to launch him across the street with a single punch instead of pulling out his claws, leaving the crowd completely silent.

The inside was as bad as the outside, or even worse. He didn’t like that place at all, too many people, too much noise and too many smells. It overwhelmed him. How the fuck was he supposed to find you there. He showed his way among the crowd, ignoring the grunts and complaints from the people surrounding him, fuck them all. His heightened senses were practically screaming at him to go wild and ravage the place until he got you.

His hunting instincts told him to look for some dark corner where he could keep a close watch on the entire club, it’d be easier, and quieter for him. He could do without all that modern music drilling his ears. Some goddamned peace and tranquility would help him focus.

He didn’t need to wait for long until his eyes settled on you. On the dancefloor, with a glass in your hand, and a man glued to your back with his lips dangerously close to your neck.

Logan saw red.

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As you took a sip of your grasshopper, you wondered why you had been worried in the first place. Just one look at how that dress hugged your ass and you had several men eating from your palm. You had to confess that even if it flattered you, it was a bit suffocating having that much attention all of a sudden.

The man you had picked for the night, Kelsey? Kevin?, you hadn't heard it well with the lous music, was actually kinda nice. Out of all of the men that surrounded you he had been the only one to actually try to start some friendly conversation before hitting on you. That sweet attempt just earned him some brownie points. That and that body which seemed to have been sculpted by the gods. Damn, what did they feed him?. His hands moved closely to your hips, and you couldn’t help but wish those arms that held you were bigger, and hairier. You shook your head. Focus on the Adonis right behind you. The one who was going to make you feel so good tonight. You could already imagine it.

But fantasies were just that. Fantasies.

An altercation snapped you out of your daydream. Someone was pushing his way quite violently towards the dancefloor, and by the sound of those screams of protest he wasn’t being very gentle.

The blood froze in your veins when you saw who was approaching. No. How. Why. Millions of questions ran through your mind, your body screaming at you to run, but you were paralyzed with fear.

You had never seen that look on Logan.

Feral.

Wild.

Monster.

You had heard people describe him with those words since the very first day you had met him. Coming from both humans and mutants. You had never paid them any attention, being so confident in knowing that despite his gruff exterior, inside there was hidden a golden heart just as big as his muscles. But now you were considering that despite knowing that, maybe the others had some point in their arguments.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on a little.

He was getting closer. Unconsciously, you put yourself in front of your dancing partner, despite knowing that whatever little mutant trick you had was useless against The Wolverine’s blind fury. Yet, you weren’t going to let some innocent civilian get hurt because your friend was pissed at you for whatever stupid reason.

His eyes were unfocused, darting from one person to the other like a wild animal. You weren’t sure if he was able to see you at all.

“Logan. What are you doing here?” You tried to keep your voice steady, knowing that when he got like this, anything could really set him off and then all Hell would break loose. He grunted and finally looked at you. Pupils dilating when he got a better look of you in that dress.

“Home. Now.” Among all the noise it was hard to understand him, but whatever he’d said you were sure it wouldn’t benefit you in the slightest. It didn't help that those words resembled more growls than actual speech.

Your new friend, supposedly Kevin, tried to step forward, foolishly thinking he had a chance against one of the most vicious mutants to ever exist. Logan looked at him with barely restrained rage, breathing heavily. His stance, along with the strength the air came out of his nostrils reminded you of a bull ready to attack. You started fearing the worst.

Within a blink, Logan had grabbed your arm and was forcefully dragging you towards the emergency exit. You slammed your heels against the floor, trying to keep you grounded in your spot, but that only seemed to make him angrier. Quickly reaching down, he scooped you up and carried you over his broad shoulder, making you drop your drink and leaving you mortified to the point of nearly accidentally outing yourself as a mutant in a room full of people.

After what felt like the longest time of your lfe, you two made it outside that place and after several kicks and threats, he finally put you down in an alleyway where all the shame that filled you, all the embarrassment, turned into rage.

Why.

Why couldn't he let you have this?

Why wouldn’t he allow you to move on?

Why did he have to keep breaking your heart over and over again? Hadn’t you suffered enough?

You screamed at him, you pushed him and insulted him until your voice became hoarse. The force of your screams were drowned by the sound of an incoming storm. And he just stood there, taking it all in stride, just looking at you, like a marble statue. A less wise person would have thought he was bored, just waiting for you to scream your heart out and finish your tantrum. But his eyes, oh his gorgeous eyes that always made you melt, were filled with emotion. Could be guilt, could be pain, could be grief, they were passing far too quickly for you to notice.

Yet he still didn’t say anything which only fueled your anger. The nerve of him, the fucking audacity. You felt mocked, humiliated, the laughingstock of Xavier’s School; a silly woman in her early thirties with a pathetic little girl crush on a man who wouldn’t give her the time of the day.

You slapped him as hard as you could.

Probably not the smartest thing given his bones were made of the toughest metal to ever exist which you instantly felt when your hand made contact with his cheek. You bit your lip, trying to swallow down the agonizing scream of pain that was crawling up your throat to get out.

That made him react, his expression changing into one of concern. He tried to say something, move closer to you and check your hand, but you stepped back, your back pressed against the brick wall.

Holding your injured hand with your other, you lowered your head. Rain started pouring on you both, drenching your carefully groomed hair and wiping all that expensive makeup away. But at least it would hide the tears that fell freely though your cheeks.

What a mess you were, drenched like a wet cat, with your makeup ruined and sobbing while the man of your dreams just watched you with pity. You should leave and lock yourself in your room. Turning invisible again, you tried to make your exit towards your car, knowing it would be a long walk full of cries and sobs, but his arm blocked you, damn that sharp sense of smell. you turned around and his other arm blocked you again, effectively trapping you between himself and the wall.

Suddenly you found yourself very tired, of his games, of being screwed over and over again, of your emotional burst. You just wanted to go home, take a bath, and sleep. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Please. I want to go home.” There must have been something in your voice so broken that caused him to immediately take action. Logan suddenly had the decency to look a bit ashamed of himself, after that stunt he pulled off at the club, however you couldn’t care less right now. Muttering a quick ‘yeah’ he slowly pulled away from you, and awkwardly stepped back.

Not being used to walking on heels, you would have fell face first against the ground, putting the icing on the cake of that terrible night, had not a pair of strong arms caught you and lifted you into a bridal carry.

Not so long ago, you would have been all over the moon at this gesture. Logan Howlett, the hunk of the X-Mansion, carrying you like a princess. Yeah, the old you would have loved that.

Right now you were feeling too emotionally numb to care. Even when his arms pulled you closer to his chest, even when he softly pressed his lips against the crown of your head.

You just couldn’t feel anything.

#wolverine x reader #logan x reader #james logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #x men x reader #x men

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trippinsorrows · 3 months ago

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without you + three

authors note: welp. the ball is, gradually, rolling.

do not read this story if you haven’t read ’with me’. it won’t work as a standalone.

warnings: none

song inspo: be without you by mary j. blige

one + two

words: 4k

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good thing.” Removing your eyes from the book in hand, you glare and flip your soon to be ex-fiance off if he keeps playing with you like this.

Of course, he simply laughs as you shove on Joe’s shoulder.. “I’m serious.”

His hand moves to your stomach, rubbing a circle as he beckons, “tell me.”

Using the bookmark on the comforter, you stick it in the page you’re on and lay it against the side of you. “I think we should take Callie back so she can have her graduation.”

Joe looks over at you, brows furrowed. “I thought we were just going to do something here?”

“I know, and I think we still can, but I don’t want to take that from her. She was really excited about graduating.” It’s something you’ve been thinking about a lot, both as a teacher and a mom. It’s so important for children to feel and be able to celebrate their accomplishments. Sure, it’s only preschool, but it’s still a big deal for her.

You want her to be able to celebrate with her ‘classmates.’

And you express as such.

“She should be able to celebrate with the other kids. Plus, and I know right now, she’s still excited about them, but I don’t know, something tells me she’s going to struggle with some form of jealousy when the babies get here.”

Joe nods, not necessarily disagreeing with you. “But, that’s not entirely abnormal, right?”

“No, doesn’t mean it’ll be any easier to deal with though.” Frowning, it’s only now you also think about how that might be for you as well. For almost five years, you’ve been able to devote all of your time and attention onto one child.

Now, it’s about to be four.

“Hey.” Joe, forever adept at reading you, brings his hand to your chin, forcing your gaze to land on him. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

His words, as per usual, comfort you greatly. “You’re right.” His thumb flicks your chin, as you chuckle. “It’s probably good her little spoiled self is spending all this time with you now. Before she has to share you.”

His scowl makes you snort as he drops his hand back to your ever growing belly. “She’s not spoiled.”

“Joe, as the kids say, be so fucking for real.”

“What?”

Ignoring the fact that this man literally probably still has an AOL email with out of touch he is, you continue with your very valid point. “That little girl is spoiled rotten. You give her whatever she wants.”

“She doesn’t ask for much.”

“Not you being in straight up denial.” He’s so down bad for Callie Bear. It’s not even funny. “Need I remind you of her little tantrum two weeks ago? Baby, the way you folded so quickly should have been recorded. Tribal Chief, my ass. Got taken down by a four year old.”

Joe shoves you gently. “Shut up.”

Laughing, you continue, “just admit it, she has you wrapped around her lil’ finger, and she knows it. That’s why she tried you the way she did, but I mean it, next time it happens, and it will, set her little butt straight. She can take it.”

Joe’s frown doesn’t make it any easier for you to hold in your laughter. “I don’t like being mean to her.”

“It’s not being mean, baby. It’s being a parent. As much as she loves to play with you like you’re one of her little friends, you’re not. You’re her dad. She needs to respect you as such.”

“She does,” he defends, and you sigh, knowing this is probably just a battle you won’t win. Quieting down, you decide to switch topics to something you’ve been thinking more about as you prepare for the arrival of your children.

“I’m gonna tell her, you know. When she gets older, that I’m the reason you weren’t there the first few years of her life.”

Joe sits up in the bed, removing his hand from your stomach, concern evident all over his handsome face. “Y/N—”

You lift your hand to silence him. “No, she’s going to eventually ask, and I’m not going to lie to her. Whatever anger she feels would be justified, and I’ll handle it.”

You’ve thought about this more and more as you progress with your pregnancy. The fact that these babies will get to experience Joe from day one when Callie didn’t. There’s undeniable unfairness, and should she ever want to know just why Joe was MIA at the beginning, you will be honest with her.

You’ll make sure she knows that it was you who decided to keep her a secret from her father. How specific you’ll get will depend on her age, but you’re not a fan of lying to and holding secrets from kids when it directly impacts them.

You know firsthand how thinking your dad didn’t want to be around can fuck with someone’s mental.

You won’t let that be the case with Callie.

Joe looks just as bothered, like he doesn’t want you doing anything that could impact how Callie sees you. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I do and will, baby.” You place your hand to his cheek, his beard a little more outgrown and slightly unkempt as he truly relaxes in the embrace of vacation. “Because that’s one thing I never did and would never do. I never let anyone say any disrespectful shit about you not being in Callie’s life. Amir would try it a lot, and I shot him down every time.”

The mention of Amir brings a scowl to Joe’s handsome face. It’s a bit of a distraction technique you’re grateful worked. This will also be a revisited topic over the years, clearly. “I don’t know what the fuck you saw in him.”

Small smile on your face, you shrug, “he’s not ugly, and his dick was decent.” And before he can say anything smug and smart, “yours is better, duh. Why you think I’m giving you all these kids, huh?” He smiles and shakes his head. “You gotta have God tier dick for me to push out not one but gonna be four of your big headed ass children. Boy, I wish you would try to leave me. You gon be wrestling into your eighties with how much I’ll come for you in child support.”

He rolls his eyes and kisses your temple, “you know I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

“Of course not, who the hell is gonna want me with all these damn kids?” The topic at hand reminds you of the book on the side of your bed, the previous reason you two were taking a break from figuring out your approach for letting friends and family know about the courthouse wedding. “Now, we really need to start deciding on names. I’m almost five months.” Pretty soon you’ll be finding out the sexes of the babies. It’s crazy to you how quickly this pregnancy is passing by, most likely due to the happiness you feel.

Time flies when life is good.

“Did you get Callie’s list?”

He curses. “Shit, I forgot.”

You wave him off. “No worries.” Sitting further up in bed, you shout out, “Callie Bear! Bring us your list for baby names!”

She doesn’t say anything, and you start to try again when she comes running into the room, Disney notebook in one hand and her American Doll in the other. She doesn’t hesitate to climb onto the bed and sit on her knees at the end, “here you go, mommy!”

You accept her notebook that’s already opened to her list of potential baby names that she came up with. “Thank you, baby.” Callie switches to sitting with her legs crossed, her doll that looks just like her, courtesy of her rich ass daddy, smack dab in the middle. “Let’s see.”

A smile falls on your face as you share the notebook with Joe, pointing out the first name that he also smiles at.

“Moana.” Predictable. So predictable. “Maui. Hei Hei. Tamatoa.” Joe coughs beside you to clearly hold in his laugh. “Baby….are these all names from Moana?”

Callie nods happily. “And Toy Story and Encanto and The Little Mermaid,” she essentially continues to sing-song list off damn near every Disney movie ever created. “The babies have to like Disney too, mommy! Like me, you, and Grandma.”

“You’re so right.” To be fair, you really shouldn’t have expected too much more. She is one Disney loving kid, through and through. “Well, thank you so much for the list, Callie Bear.”

“Daddy, did you make a list?” She asks, head tilted as she gently caresses the top of her doll’s head.

“Not yet, baby. Mommy and I are gonna make one together.”

“I like baby Moana.”

He chuckles. “But you’re our little Moana.”

She pouts and corrects, “no, I’m Callie.” Her sass makes you laugh. Joe wasn’t entirely wrong. She really is a lot like you sometimes. “I want a baby sister named Moana.”

“What if they’re all boys?”

You and Callie have similar reactions. It’s just that yours is one of horror and hers is more of shock.

“Noooo, I want a little sister.”

Adding onto Callie’s vehement protest, you make your own strong thoughts and feelings known. “And I am not pushing out three boys at once, Joe. You done lost your god—”

“What do you want for your birthday, Callie Bear?” You’re partially thankful for the save but also irritated he’s asking this question he already knows is gonna generate a wild ass answer.

“A puppy!”

See.

You do your best to use the perfect combination of understanding yet assertiveness. “Baby, we done had this conversation before, we are not getting a puppy until you’re at least ten.”

“But, I’ll be old!”

“Exactly, old enough to take care of a puppy.” One look at Joe, and you can see he’s about to open his mouth and probably find some reason to ‘agree’ with or at least defend Callie’s request. “Absolutely not. No dog until she’s older, and that’s final.”

Callie, understandably, does not agree nor like this rule, and it’s evident in her deep pout and the way she crosses her arms over her little body. “Not fair.”

“Life ain’t fair, buttercup.” You retort, quickly reminding her as you take in her appearance. “Speaking of, it’s almost time for your wash day….”

The infamous, dreaded day of nonstop hair washing and styling is enough to wipe her smile away and award her a brand new reason to start whining, “I don’t want to.”

The feeling is mutual. “Neither does mommy, but we gotta do it eventually, Callie Bear.” Looking over at Joe, you inform him, “and you will be present for this ordeal, sir, so you can learn how to do her hair for me.”

He looks confused, nose turned up. A chuckle is withheld at how much he and his daughter mimic each other in this situation. “Baby, I don’t know how to do hair.”

Sucking your teeth, you smartly point out, “you do your own!”

“I barely do anything with my hair. You know this.”

Damn. He’s right. Lucky ass. “Regardless, when I get too big to be bending over the sink like that, someone’s gonna have to do it.”

Of course, Joe’s smartass just decides to throw out something that should probably be discussed before saying around Callie, “I’ll take her to your mom.”

Callie’s eyes light up a bit. “Grandma!”

“Joe.” Lord, this man got too much money or something. “You seriously are going to fly our daughter out to my hometown so my mama can do her hair?”

He shrugs, clearly not seeing an issue with what’s being proposed. “Yeah.”

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you lean further back in the pillows of the bed. “You are too—” However, you’re cut short mid-sentence, face and chest dropping simultaneously, the change in your disposition enough to catch Joe’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” He’s sitting up even more, expertly masking the concern that’s growing by the second. Recognizing this, you will that small smile to start forming on your face, shaking your head as you motion for him and Callie to move closer.

“Mommy?” Callie is just as confused as you reach for both her and Joe’s hands, placing them on your belly, trying to find the spot of origin. “What—”

This time, she’s the one to stop mid-sentence as she feels it, the sensation you last felt when you were pregnant with her. Callie’s face is still set with understandable confusion, but your gaze on Joe reveals minimal concern and an abundance of amazement.

“What is that, mommy?” Callie finally asks. The emotion in your throat takes you back a bit. You’re not typically a super emotional person, but there’s something about this moment, about feeling your babies kick for the first time and being able to share it with your fiance and child that does something to you. Knocks at those pillars that hold up your resolve.

“That’s the babies. They’re kicking.” You explain, smiling a bit as Callie looks at you in horror.

“Why are they hurting you?”

“They’re not, sweetie. That’s what babies do. As they get bigger and grow, they need to move around and sometimes kick. You did the same thing to me.” Adding some playfulness into your voice, there’s a level of relief to see she appears less concerned.

Your attention, however, is brought back to Joe as he kisses your temple, hand still planted on your stomach, clearly soaking up every bit of this precious, cherished moment.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your temple. It’s such a simple statement, a little three letter sentence that means more than anyone could ever understand. Moving your hand to the side of his face, you both laugh as Callie moves her face to your stomach.

“Don’t kick mommy too much, okay, little babies?” The determination on her face should be captured and locked away for safekeeping for the rest of time. “She’s the bestest mommy ever and pretty and smart and—”

“—and still not getting you a puppy.” While your daughter is undoubtedly one of the sweetest kids you’ve ever come across, she’s also intelligent as hell. And you know her like the back of your hand. Enough to know where she’s headed with this.

And, you’re proven correct when she rolls her eyes again, making a ‘hmmph’ sound that has Joe chuckling next to you. She then sets her little plotting sights on Joe as she takes her hand from your stomach and moves to crawl into his lap.

You have to keep yourself from rolling your own eyes as she pulls out that sickeningly sweet voice and holds onto his shirt. “Daddy?”

Joe doesn’t hesitate to answer right away. “Yes, baby?” One look at him, and you already know what the answer is going to be. This man is so weak for this little girl. It’s not even funny.

“Hallie wants a friend…..” Joe’s eyebrows cave in confusion as he looks over at you.

Gesturing to her American Girl doll on the edge of the bed, you fill him in, “that’s what she named the doll.”

He chuckles, clearly amused by the name that rhymes with hers. “She does?”

Callie nods, that excitement building back up. “Two friends!”

Mouth dropping, you prepare to put this child in her place when Daddy Warbucks beats you to it, living up to his reputation.

“Well, then we need to get her two friends.”

“Yay!” Callie celebrates, hugging Joe who ignores your look of disapproval. “Can I make her friends too?”

And once again, the first living, breathing bank to ever exist is quick to fold. “Of course, Callie Bear.”

“Yay!” She cheers yet again for another way too easy battle. It’s not even a battle at this point. Battle would mean that both parties have somewhat of a chance, and Joe is clearly putty for his little girl. “Thank you, daddy.” She seals the deal with a hug and kiss on his cheek before climbing off the bed, grabbing Hallie as she shares, “I’m gonna make them now!”

With her tablet, clearly. The tablet you’d bet any money Joe once again disabled the time limits on.

Lord, you’re about to have five damn children to take care of at this point.

It’s only when Callie is out of the room and on her way to celebrate yet another successful day of finessing her daddy that you punch this man in his big ass arm.

“What?” It’s him having the audacity to sound and look confused that has you ready to kick him out of the room.

“What do you mean what?” Angling your body more toward him, you explain, “Joe, why are you buying her more dolls? American Girl dolls, at that. I know you must have paid at least $300 for the first one you got her. I saw all them accessories.” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it, because he can’t. Callie had always asked you for one, and while you could have scraped some money together to make it happen, you couldn’t come to grips with just how many other more useful things one could do with that money. “She doesn’t need them dolls, babe.”

“You gon’ let her get a puppy now?”

An easy ass answer. “Hell no.”

He has the nerve to catch a slight attitude with you as he affirms, “then she’s getting the dolls.”

Rubbing your temples, you realize this isn’t a ‘fight’ you’re not going to win. “You know what, whatever. You do what you want, but I’m telling you right now, these—” You bring his hand back to your belly. “—babies are not going to be spoiled like their big sister. They gon be like Oliver Twist and grateful for a bowl of soup.”

He moves his hand around, probably trying to see if he can feel any more movement. “Callie is grateful.”

“For now.” Not really wanting to have this circular dialogue with him, you grab your phone to see a couple missed texts but open the one from your mom first, instantly rolling your eyes. “Not this again.”

The shift in your voice catches Joe’s attention. “What?”

Shaking your head, you show him the thread, thumb right next to the link for an article on ‘melanin maternal mental health’.

Talk about fucking alliteration.

“I don’t know what’s been up with her lately, but she’s been sending me all these links for articles and like motivational photos about mental health and motherhood.” You explain to him, going to heart the message and send a quick response to at least show some appreciation. Because there is a little there. That your mom cares about you so much. But the concern isn’t necessarily valid or needed..

This is the happiest you’ve been in some time. A long time. If ever.

Nothing is going to change that.

Especially being a mother to three more children.

Placing your phone back on the nightstand, a glance at Joe reveals he’s debating something. “What?”

He moves closer to you, hand pushing back some of your coils. “Been thinking about that movie thing…..”

The smile on your face grows as you move closer, eyes twinkling with all the curiosity in the world. “What did you decide?”

—------

Megan is having a wonderful day.

One of the best she’s had in a while.

Not only did she manage to wake up on time, but the coffee she ordered from this cute little cafe she found while on a business trip in Denver a couple months ago awaited her on the outside of her apartment door when she got back from her pilates class the night before.

And there’s few things she loves more than a delicious cup of morning Joe.

A smirk falls on her face as she hums “Here Comes the Bride” while engaging in her extensive shower routine, admiring the expert work of her wax lady. Body hair has always been an absolute no. But, it’s when she moves the loofah across the weight of her heavy breast that Megan imagines hands and not her loofah. Big hands that would cup her boobs roughly as he forces her to turn around, slams her up against the shower wall and fucks her hard from behind, her moans and shouts of pleasure dancing across the tile, alerting everyone of just who owns this pussy.

Hand gliding down her wet, nude body, she keeps the vision going, slender thighs clenching together at the thought of him forcing her on her knees, his dick down the back of her throat, eyes watering as he mouth fucks her.

“Joe….” Thin fingers slip past wet folds as she realizes she’s going to be a couple minutes late for work.

So worth it though.

Because Megan hasn’t come like that in years. Her legs are practically wobbly as she finally exits the shower, bathroom mirror completely fogged to where she has to grab a towel to clear up a section so she can see herself.

The pink tinge of her cheek brings a sly smile to her face.

“I can’t wait until we can be together, my love…” A sweep of sadness comes over her as she grabs her phone, admiring his handsome face on her lock screen and opens Apple Music to play his entrance music, selecting the repeat button before she continues with her routine.

It takes her about the usual time.

And soon enough, Megan is out the door, having finished her delicious coffee and opted to just have a banana for breakfast. There’s no time for unnecessary caloric intake.

She has to start preparing for the wedding.

Walking into the office, right away, she can detect the almost sullen atmosphere and does her best to match the vibe.

To play along.

And before she can go to her office bestie, Paige, to “find out” why everything feels so off, the team is pulled in for a mandatory meeting.

Luke’s quiet demeanor does take her a bit back. He’s never quiet. She’s not complaining though. Not at all.

As soon as everyone is seated, he starts off with the general pleasantries that are weighed by the sadness in his voice. And then he gets into it. “I know some of you have heard, but for those who haven’t, I—uh—I got some bad news.” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “There’s uh—no way to say this, but Susan Jackson was found dead this morning.”

As an array of gasps and shocked countenances fill the room, Megan does her best to blend in, to play along with the genuine surprise of all of her coworkers.

Paige leans over to whisper to Megan, eyes also watery, “they say she killed herself. That she was found her on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building. Window was open and everything.”

Megan expertly fakes a horrified expression. “Oh my god, how heartbreaking.” She even manages to crank out some tears that don’t shed but get the job done. “I can’t believe she’s gone….”

“Megan.” She lifts her head, eyebrows also raising. “I know you worked close with Susan on a couple of clients, and you also know she was set to assist Roman Reigns on his debut film, but with Susan gone….”

Megan shakes her head, pulling out a few sniffles. “It’s okay. I’ll….I’ll do it. I’ll take Reigns as my client.”

And my husband.

Luke gives her a nod of appreciation, wiping at his eyes as he clears his throat and continues to address the room.

It takes almost everything in her not to roll her eyes. The woman was fucking fifty for crying out loud.

She lived long enough.

He says something about grief counseling, the suicide hotline, blah blah blah.

Megan does her best to listen but mostly tunes out the rest of the meeting. It’s irrelevant. She has what she wants. Now, it’s time to go after who she wants, the thought alone creating such an intense, euphoric feeling inside of her stomach as she casually traces the brand new tiny letter ‘J’ she now has tattooed on her ring finger.

#roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #arisnotebook

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thewritetofreespeech · 7 months ago

Text

Gale x Tav

words: 1992

rating: E

pairing: Gale x Tav (post game pairing)

summary: since you all are so thirsty for an extended verison of the NSFW headcanons post, I guess I had to make one. I am nothing if not a servant to my people.

tags: magic sex (literally. but also metaphorically), exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation (kind of), Gale using magic for naughty reasons, projection!Gale

part ii part iii

“Alright class! Please turn your alchemy text to Chapter 8, page 394.”

There was a loud, unanimous sound of rustling paper as all the students in the lecture hall flipped through their books to the requested text. You don’t know what Gale was always complaining about. This teaching thing wasn’t that hard.

Gale had to leave for a community conference of the Blackwater staff and some of the other schools of magical arts in Faerûn. Given that they were all wizards, you had asked why they all couldn’t just project their consciousness into one place and avoid the travel, but Gale didn’t have an answer for that and left earlier that week. In his absence, he had asked you to take over his Introductory to Magics class while he was gone. Given that it was an introductory course, which mostly meant learning the basics and text anyway, and you’d had ‘private tutoring’ from Mystra’s former Chosen himself, he insisted you were more than qualified to act in his stead.

It had actually been pretty fun. The young weave masters were all eager to learn. Honestly the hardest thing was keeping them on task with the subjects instead of running off with a lot of questions about your victory over the Elder Brain and recuse of the realm. It was flattering, but not apart of the testing materials.

The students all wait patiently with their books open for you to begin, and you turn around to the blackboard. All of a sudden you felt a twinge between your legs. Not a painful one but more….

“Professor [Y/N], are you alright?”

You turn to look over your shoulder at the class, clearly spaced out for a moment, before you smile and tell them, “oh yes. Sorry. Let’s talk about alchemy then.”

You begin to write and talk to the class when you feel the sensation again. It was faint, but distinct. At first you thought it was just the seam of your trousers rubbing against your apex. But it was too consistent for that. The sensation would come. Then the sensation would go. You tried to keep your mind on the lesson but the more it came & went you had to wonder what was going on.

It couldn’t be Haarlep. Despite your adventure being over, your contract with the sex demon wasn’t. He still used your form from time to time, though your popularity in Avernous seemed to be waning as he hadn’t called on it in some time. If it were him the sensation would be constant, before fading away like a breathless sigh off your lips. So it was something else.

By the time you get through explaining the 4 key groups of alchemy, and made it to page 396, the sensation had crawled up from your core and just to the pit of your belly. You were having a harder time focusing on the lesson. Your attention now spilt between 50% focused on what was happening to your body, a mere 10% on the lecture, and the rest on the stimulating sensation between your legs that was just too pleasurable to resist.

To save face, and avoid any embarrassment like moaning out loud in front of a class full of minors, you quickly pivot the class schedule into independent study. Telling the students to go out around campus and find 5, no 15 herbs, floral, whatever to craft with for tomorrow morning’s follow up lecture on application.

Some of the students seem confused. While other just look excited to have the afternoon off for ‘foraging’. Still, the all leave rate orderly while you wave them off, and just as the door closed behind the last one you let out a deep breath you didn’t really you were holding and brace your hands against the desk.

Your body felt like it was on fire. Teased, tormented, toyed with. Your hands still splayed on the desk, you spread your legs and let out a moan. Conventionally thinking would lead on to believe that rubbing your thighs together would make the sensation stronger, yet somehow spreading them apart made more room for…whatever this was to work. Your clit throbbed at the feeling of something rubbing against it. If they weren’t in front of you, you would have sworn it was your own hand touching you. The sensation was so similar. Your fingertips twitch at the thought. Prepared to slide down the front of your pants to finish you off.

“Hello there!”

You jump with a start. Eyes wide in alarm at the sound of a voice. The immediate thought coming to mind that another professor has come to ask why the entire Introductory to Magics class is out picking herbs & flowers instead of being in a classroom and caught you on the cusp of a very public private moment. Thankfully, it wasn’t. Only Gale’s Mirror Image projection standing there looking cheerfully at you. “Gale? What are you doing here?”

“I assume you mean what is Gale doing sending me here.” The clever non-corporeal remarked. “Gale has sent me here to see how his new technique is working out. And, judging by your flushed cheeks and wanton appearance, I would say it’s going splendidly!”

Your brain struggled to gather all the bits of information the projection was dealing out through your fog. But you gather enough to finally understand what’s going on. “Gale did this to me!”

“Doing. He is doing this to you ma’m.” As if to prove a point of the explanation, there was another, firmer press of rubbing against your clit. One that made you moan again and knees nearly buckle. “Gale has informed me, to tell you, that he enchanted one of the stones on his ring to be linked with your…well…your own stone. He also wants me to tell you it’s the ruby one. On the silver band.”

The one you bought him. “Can I ask…mmm…why he did this?”

“You can ask! He says it was to give you pleasure while he was away. Long distance relationship can be tricky.” It had been less than a week. “He thought this would be a good resolution in the intermedium. And, perhaps other times in the future.”

You’re not sure if you should feel violated by Gale’s magical molestations or marvel at his creativity. It didn’t really matter in the end because all you could think about was the nagging need to cum. And one other nagging thing – “and you couldn’t possibly wait until I was home to try out this new technique? I’m in the middle of teaching your class. I’m still at the academy! What if someone comes in here right now??”

“Oh. Not to worry. Gale has informed me that the door is magically locked until 2:30 this afternoon. Something about office hours? No one can enter until after that time. Does that help answer your question?”

You let out another long, heavy sigh. One of abject relief and feeling your legs give way as you fall back into Gale’s chair. All the energy sapped from your body as you gave way to the pleasure that had been bubbly up. No longer holding it back, but instead letting it wash over you.

“Gale says he’s happy you like your present.”

You open your eyes. Seeing the projection staring at you with a blank, but soothing expression. Those unending eyes seeming to look right through you. Or perhaps, more to the point, stare past itself and straight to Gale. It was kind of hot. The coolness of its gaze. “My present, eh?”

The projection nodded. “Yes. He says he did this for you.”

“Just for me?” You unbutton your blouse. It had been feeling terrible constricting for quite some time now anyway. The projection doesn’t say anything. Nor does its expression change more than the slight tilt of it’s head, as the fabric gave way to relieve more skin and the outline of your breast in their bra.

“He says yes. But the pockets of his mind I can access independently lead me to believe it’s not purely altruistic.”

You giggle at the projection’s honesty, before your laughter turned into moans. The feeling on your clit more intense. As if Gale was trying to change the conversation.

“Fuck…Gale….” Your back arched off the back of the chair for a moment before it came back down again. “I can’t take it anymore. Are you as anatomically correct as before?”

“Hmm…I believe so.” The projection looked down at itself. Seeming to ponder the concept, as well as all its parts. “But Gale has instructed me that he’s not interested in me using that ability with you. The time in Shar’s Caress was due to the other guests in attendance. With you, Gale wants you all to himself.”

There was an odd feeling of arousal at Gale’s possessiveness, even against himself in a way, but also disappointment. You were close. But the sensation from Gale’s ring to your core wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Just as you were again about to shove your own hand down your pants, you feel a new sensation of hands on you. Not just one hand, or two, but multiple hands. Mage hands. They play with your breasts, your nipples, your ears, your hair. You lean back in Gale’s chair with your eyes closed. Moaning and panting with a white-knuckle grip on the arm rests as the invisible hands play with your body. One finally gives you what you want. Phantom appendage digits thrusting into your inner core, wet and hot.

Your hips jerk up as you let out a wordless scream before the fall back down and you let it fuck you. Legs wide. Blouse open. Mouth agape as Gale abuses his power to abuse your body in the most pleasurable way possible. You’re about to cum probably harder than you’ve ever cum in your life and your pants were still on. How insane was that?

You open your eyes, half lidded and only for a moment, to see the projection still staring at you as you fall apart. Then, you finally do. You cum hard. Bowing back off the chair so hard you hear it creak, before you fall back limp against the soft leather.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

You look up at the projection again. Trying to catch your breath and right your world again. “Yes.”

“Good. Gale is glad you did. He also says that it’s made up for a rather dull afternoon of meetings.” A shiver ran up your spine at the thought that Gale had done all of this during a meeting. “The time is now 2:00. If you would like to freshen up, I suggest you make haste before 2:30 when the doors reopen. Gale says that enjoys how you look right now, but it is probably not appropriate for academia.”

“Then maybe don’t do this at ‘academia’ locations.” You quip back as you smooth out your hair.

“Fair.” The projection agrees. “Gale would like to know if you would like to do this again then when you are not in academia. Perhaps tonight? At home?”

You bite your lip at the thought of it. Doing this all over again, only this time naked in your bed. Perhaps even able to participate more now that you knew what was going on. “Absolutely.”

“Splendid!” The projection offers you a smile before it fades. Disappearing with a last, “see you tonight” as it reabsorbed back into the weave.

Alone again, you stand on shaky legs and try to right yourself for the next class. You still had two more classes to teach before you could go home that evening and become Gale’s play thing again.

The thought made it completely impossible to be totally focused on your lesson plan. You may have told some impressionable young wizards that Fly and Feather Fall were absolutely the same spell. Oh well. Mistakes happen.

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daddyslilchickenfingers2 · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober (reuploaded)

Breeding (Chris)

Request: Baby fever with Chris I BEG YOU/omg when you write breeding Chris can you add Y/N saying she wants to have a baby with such pretty blue eyes like Chris

Warnings: Talk of pregnancy, breeding obviously, soft/slow sex

Y/n’s pov

Chris and I have been dating since we were 17 but I’ve known him and his brothers since we were 4 years old. From the moment we started dating, our families always joked saying we’d get married one day. Well, that was a future reality, since Chris had proposed to me in May of this year. Even though we’ve only been engaged for a few months and we’re only 20, I would love to start a family with him. We had this conversation the other day with Nick and Matt, for some reason the topic was babies and Chris was ecstatic.

“I want like four or five babies! I can’t wait until Y/n gets pregnant, she’s gonna be so cute with our baby in her belly” he smiled, poking me in the stomach. “Ow Chris don’t do that. We do have baby fever though” I laughed as Nick grimaced. “I hate babies and I hate children” he said, Matt smacked him, “Oh shut up Nick you know when they have a baby you’re gonna be the cool gay uncle” he laughed. “I’m not changing diapers” Nick grimaced again, “I wanna make Y/n fat and pregnant” Chris beamed happily.

That was like five days ago, today we were having a lazy day, we lived in the guest house behind Matt and Nick’s. They got it built after hearing me and Chris fuck too many times, but still, it was a nice gesture and we get to still live with them basically. “Would you really have babies with me?” I asked Chris as I cuddled up to his side. “I’d love nothing more than to get you fat and pregnant. Our babies would look so cute” I could literally hear the smile in his voice. I pulled away and sat up against the headboard, Chris doing the same right after, looking at me with a big smile.

“Our kids can’t call me daddy though, that would be fucking weird” he laughed, causing me to smack his chest. “They could call my parents Mimi and Papa, and yours Grammy and Pop-Pop. Those sound so cute!” I gushed. “My dad would love Pop-Pop” Chris laughed again. “You know what I would love?” I asked, earning a small hum for me to continue, “I’d love for the baby to have your pretty blue eyes and gorgeous pink lips” I told him as my eyes shifted between the two, Chris doing the same to me. “Yeah?” he asked breathlessly against my lips, “Yeah” I said back in the same way.

Chris leaned in and softly pressed his lips against mine, moving us to lay back. “Let’s make that blue-eyed baby right now! You’re off birth control right?” he asked softly, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Yes, now let’s make that baby” I smiled, placing a passionate kiss to his lips, after a few minutes, Chris pulled away. He took off his shirt and sweats before pushing my shirt up to see my stomach. “You’re gonna look so good pregnant. Can’t wait to put a baby in your belly” he said while kissing all over my stomach.

“Chris— babe please hurry!” “Sorry, I’m just so excited to have a kid with you” he blushed hard. Chris pulled my shirt over my head before taking off both our underwear, running two fingers through my folds. “So wet already- can we just go straight into softly fucking?” he asked breathlessly, “God, yes” I whined back. Chris slowly slid in and started thrusting fairly fast right away, not too fast though. I pulled him down for another kiss and we let breathless moans out into it, having both a passionate kiss and sex. I was running my fingers through his hair softly while the other held onto the side of his jaw.

One of Chris’ hands moved down to my clit, rubbing it quickly. Pulling away from the kiss, he started talking, “This is like the slowest sex we’ve ever had but— shit! This is gonna be the fastest I’ve ever cum, want you to cum for me princess” he said lowly. I let out a few loud moans before I started cumming, “Oh fuck Chris, so good babe. Want you to cum in me” I moaned. Chris hid his head in my neck, whining as he came in me, pumping into me a few more times before pulling out. He immediately moved down to finger his cum into me, not wanting any to spill out.

“Can’t believe we’re going to have a baby” he said excitedly, kissing all over my stomach. “They’re going to have the prettiest blue eyes, just like their dad” I smiled while playing with his hair. “God, I love you so much Y/n!” he said, looking at the pretty engagement ring on my finger. “I love you so much more” I replied as we both cuddled up with each other and drifted off to sleep, hoping we’d have a happy little family soon.

<<< 12 months later>>>

A few months ago I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, Chris was ecstatic to find out he was going to have a son. He does, in fact, have Chris’ pretty blue eyes, he’s so tiny but you can already tell he has his dads nose as well. We named him Nolan Cole Sturniolo, Chris is literally the best dad ever, he helps me with everything. Matt and Nick are so excited that they’re uncles now, Matt always offers to babysit him so me and Chris can go on date nights. I wonder if he’ll be confused when he grows up, having a dad and two uncles who look exactly the same and all. Anyways I’m very happy with our little family.

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dollyonm0lly · 1 month ago

Note

babe that is H.O.T, please give us more???

i literally can‘t decide if i like shared slave!reader or poly wife!reader more with these two ginger freaks

but just imagining being trapped between them on the imperial bed, literally bodies pressed so tithtly together because they both want to be as close as possible to you,

one underneath you, deep inside you, arms wrapped around your waist and pulling you down, the other above you, chest pressed to your back, also deeep inside you, his hands pinning yours to the bed below, his face buried in the crook of your neck and they just thrust in and out 🥵

and this is a nightly occurrence because you are married to them both and this is how they try to make an heir for the throne

"Stop... Fucking moving..." You can hear Geta hissing in a whisper between panting breaths, one of his hands pinning both of yours to the fluffy cushions of the huge bed, fit for three to occupy. His other hand rests on your hip, near one of your buttocks and a little below one of his brother's hands, Caracalla keeping both of his firmly on your waist. There's a minute of silence, Geta trying to get used to the suffocatingly, pleasurable sensation of being inside your ass today, you can't see it, but you feel that he has his eyes closed, trying to hold himself back from cumming right on the spot, giving this the reason for his insistence that everyone stop their movements for a minute. It's hot, being between them, sweaty, you can feel Geta's chest against your back, his head resting in the area between your shoulder and neck, the soft texture of his belly, his happy trail that runs down to his pubic mound tickling against your skin. His chest rises and falls against you with each breath, not that you're in a different predicament, given the friction of your breasts against Caracalla's chest, your nipples rubbing deliciously against his sweaty skin, making you have to bite your lower lip tightly to contain your excitement, the nipples of your breasts harden more and more with each small touch against Caracalla's chest hair, and just as much as he can see your expression of pure anticipation, he can feel it, the way you throb and tighten your vaginal walls even more on his cock, your slick running down his balls and falling to the mattress, making him let out a faint moan in reaction. His tongue licks over his golden tooth, letting out an impatient click.

"I said... FUCK!" Geta proclaims in complaint when, lacking patience, Caracalla uses his firm hold on your waist to push you up and then brutally down his length, making Geta's cock also slightly move inside of your ass. The action results in Caracalla laughing in disdain at his brother's irritation, and Geta's nails digging impulsively into the soft skin of your butt, earning them both a moan of a great mix of pleasure and pain coming from you, who is always the ragdoll in all of their stupid little fight, you wouldn't say you are complaining though.

"Stop being a wimp, she's basically begging for it already" Caracalla says with a little smile that could have been an attempt to comfort you, one of his hands leaving its place on your waist and going to your hair, pulling it hard to remove your head that until then was resting on one of your outstretched arms, the act allows him to finally look you in the eyes, your eyes drooping, your chin now soaked in your own saliva, you didn't even realize you had drooled, Caracalla makes sure to clean it, his tongue running from your chin to your lips, capturing them in a hungry kiss. You're not sure how Geta took Caracalla's comment, but certainly not so well, since the only thing you can remember is the merciless rhythm of both of them and your moans muffled each time by one of the brothers' lips, your legs that trembled in ecstasy, how your body was moved the way they wanted, too fucked out of your own mind to know what even was happening anymore.

#emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader

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spdrvyn · 1 year ago

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hii i love your fics! may i request miguel being jealous because reader gives meows morales too much attention? (cmon man the lil guy is so cute)

the right to be jealous — MIGUEL O'HARA

☆ miguel loathes the fact that he's jealous of a cat, therefore he tries to do something about it.

fluff. jealous miguel. this ask is literally so cute... i wish whoever sent me this a very good day because wow it's so?!!!?! anyway, hi! i'm alive, school has been kicking me in the ass so this is a bit overdue, enjoy anyway ^_^

Your relationship with Miguel started off strong, everything went perfectly. Date nights, missions, and all. He felt so elated, that for once, something in his life went in the right direction, and he didn't feel like it was an error or glitch in the matrix.

He thought that you were absolutely flawless too, you had good looks, a personality that aligns with his so well, not to mention that you were endlessly patient with him. It was a quality that he'd forever be grateful, this relationship was something that he'd forever be grateful for.

... So why was he getting jealous over a cat?

"Look at you, aren't you the cutest, most handsome thing ever?" you cooed at the feline, grazing your fingers over the cat's belly, and it purrs in your grasp which causes you to squeal. "I can't believe that grumpy over there hasn't told me about you!"

I had a good reason, he wanted to say, but whatever. It was fine, everything was fine, and he could handle it. However, the scowl that permanently rested on his features deepened, you pick up on it and chuckle. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he grumbles, turning so that his back faces you. It's not that he had an issue with the cat, it's just that all of those kisses, those compliments, and more could be going to him instead. Did he feel selfish for it? Absolutely. Would he stop feeling this way? Absolutely not.

"Miguel..." Oh no. He knew what that tone meant, bringing the palm of his hand to his face, he groans lowly before you're slinging Meows over his shoulder. "Come on, what did Meows Morales do to you, huh?"

He doesn't respond, doesn't even bother to look at you. His fingers pad along his screens and bringing files that haven't been opened up in years, he just wants to look like he's doing something but in truth, he's trying to escape your ruthless teasing.

"You're very cute when you pout, you know?" It sends a shudder up his spine, normally Miguel was very resistant with praise and let's not forget the tiny animal that's rubbing up his cheek and purring.

But when it came to you, the way that the words rolled off of your tongue, the way you looked at him, he could feel it to his very core and his heart was just so full. You could kill him with praise alone and he would die a happy man.

"And your hair," He's about to question the loss of Meows on his shoulder until you suddenly tangle your fingers at the top of his head and fix any fallen strands, pushing back his hair a little. "I think it suits you very well, you always look handsome. Even when you don't try."

Miguel's heart isn't beating as loud as a drum anymore, at this point it's the whole band. Melodious tunes that sing from the deep parts of his soul and they sing for you, his breath hitches when you slide your hand down to cup his cheek and make him properly face you.

"Hey," is all you say, yet it drives him mad.

He grabs your wrist, pushing your body up against his desk as he pins you down. Your faces are merely inches away from each other, but he leans in even closer, and you can feel his breath against your ear. "You have no idea what you do to me."

He pulls back from the crevice of your neck but still keeps that closeness, his eyes dart to your lips then back up to, and he's just about to absolutely devour you until you push your palms flat up against his chest and he stops.

"Wait," You exhale with shaky breaths, "The cat's still here."

From the corner of his eyes, he catches sight of Meows on his desk in some sort of tucked in position. He sighs before scooping him up in his arms, muttering some Spanish phrases under his breath but you can't even tell if they're meant in offense or not.

He carefully tosses him off of the platform with a huff, standing back up to full height and finally being able to direct his full attention to you. "Now,"

"Where were we?"

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x gn!reader #miguel o'hara fluff #fluff #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #gave reader some rizz

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fillthattank · 2 months ago

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Sweet but assertive short-king endurance athlete cooks massive cheat meal for huge, less-assertive would-be strongman competitor, then encourages him and gives him belly rubs until he's completely maxed out.

Tom and Kyle were roommates and best friends. Both bonded over their love of sports, though their athletic profiles could not be more different. Kyle was an endurance athlete, the kind of man who ran marathons as a hobby and who went on epic cross country trails across mountains, finishing at record speed. Standing at 5'5 and weighing in at only 120 lbs, but somehow filling every room he stepped in.

Tom was, well, the opposite. Not very agile, not very good with teammates (or other people in general actually), but very good at lifting heavy things. Built like a bull, 6'4, 300 lbs, with a belly as impressive as his arms. Not the esthetics of a bodybuilder, but a very effective strongman.

Tom stepped back into their appartement, after a hard day training. He'd taken off his shirt - the two were almost always shirtless at home-, sweat glistening over his padded muscles and big belly. Immediately, Tom noticed the smell of food. Their dining table had been laid like for a feast, completely covered with all sorts of meals. Kyle was in the kitchen on the other side of the stand, shirtless too, looking dwarfed by the huge amount of food he'd cooked. All three of their large stew pots were bubbling on the stove,

"Are we having people over?" Tom asked.

"No, just us," Kyle said.

"I thought you'd be hungry after your workout."

Tom looked at the mountain of food Kyle had cooked. Then down at his belly, which stuck out by about two inches from under his pecs and over the elastic of his shorts. He was indeed hungry...

...so hungry he dove right in. Kyle smiled as he watched Tom shovel food into his mouth. As if a switch had been turned on inside the strongman.

"I don't think I need to ask about today's workout," Kyle joked.

Tom let out a huffled sound, his mouth filled with food. He swallowed, and said, "Yeah, today I..."

"No need to tell me, I can tell," Kyle said, walking up to him and shoving a forkfull in his mouth. "Keep eating, you need lots of fuel after training lie that."

Kyle put a hand on one of Tom's pecs, feeling the huge muscle under a thin layer of blubber.

"Dude you're so pumped," Kyle said. Tom nodded, already back to gorging himself.

Before going back to the cooker, Kyle gave his bulky friend a small belly rub. Tom was gorging himself so fast he could literally feel all the food fill his giant belly like a sac.

Kyle barely had to do anything while he prepared the next round of food. Tom could sometimes be insecure about his size, but his belly was there for a reason. Tom needed huge amounts of food to fuel his body and remain competitive in his sport, just like his big belly needed large quantities to feel full. And Kyle knew that deep down, his friend loved those binges.

Kyle had topped up Tom's plate five times when the strongman's pace slowed down.

"You don't like it?" Kyle said.

"No! No, not at all! It's really good."

Kyle smiled, as Tom's pace picked up.

"Good. I wanted to make the best cheat meal possible for you, it would be a shame if you didn't like it!"

Kyle topped up Tom's plate two more times before his bigger friend stalled once again. The strongman sat back, his huge heavy stomach taking up much of the space between him and the table.

"Are you alright?"

"It's heavy, man," he said, slowly rubbing his big belly.

"That's your speciality, isn't it? Heavy things."

Tom chuckled. "Yeah, you're right."

He awkwardly leaned forward, to grab another spoonful. It was a struggle to swallow, Kyle could tell.

"Ooooh that's a lot," Tom said.

Kyle grabbed a chair, and sat down next to him. He put a hand on top of his belly, on the big flat shelf that had formed under his pecs. Feeling the enormous stomach under the layer of fat and unflexed muscle. Tom was very bloated, yes, but he wasn't maxed out yet.

Keeping a hand on Tom's belly, Kyle grabbed the spoon, and started feeding him.

"Just how much did I eat?" Tom asked.

Kyle thought for a moment. He hadn't really been focused on numbers so far, just on making as much as possible.

"I'd say... maybe about 3 and a half gallons of stew?

"Holy shit," Tom said. With surprisingly little intonation, most of his energy having gone to his overloaded belly.

Kyle nodded. He'd made an insane amount, even for a big guy with a big belly like Tom. Maybe too much.

"And there's still one pot left," Kyle said, turning to the stove.

There was a brief silence.

"Dude I've had too much. There's no way I can manage more."

Kyle got up. Carried the last stew pot over to them. There had to be a good gallon of stew in there. A gallon and a half maybe. Too much for your average guy to eat in one sitting, even on an empty belly.

"Your belly's bigger than the pot," Kyle said, putting the pot next to Kyle's huge musclegut.

"Bro. It is," Tom said.

The big stew pot looked small, compared to the giant belly.

"That means there's room," Kyle said.

Tom knew the logic was wonky, but was too dazed to argue. When Kyle started feeding him, he ate.

Making even the tiniest mouthful fit in that overloaded belly took a herculean effort, brute force and strength. But that's what Tom was all about. He was on autopilot now, doing what he was best at.

Kyle kept a hand on Tom's belly all along, both impressed, scared at what he was doing, and too engrossed to stop. Tom's belly felt like a sack of cement. The layer of fat, the muscles, they had all been stretched out and made rock hard by the tremendous pressure from all that food. A sack of cement, but one that was somehow swelling.

Tom's belly was so big the individual gulps didn't make any difference, but Kyle could feel it. The gigantic mass of food inside him having to shift as more was forced in, his enormous stomach taking up ever so much more space. The pressure inside him was absurdly high. There was a very real risk of seriously hurting his friend, but it felt right to Kyle, for some reason. And he could tell it felt right to Tom as well.

When there was only a bit of the stew left, Kyle hoisted up the pot. He didn't have to ask, Tom opened his mouth, and let him pour what was left down.

Kyle put the empty pot down. He had literally never seen a belly so big as Tom's was right now. Tom's belly looked too big for his body, which was insane since Tom had the biggest body Kyle knew. Hell, he wasn't that much bigger than Tom's belly at this point!

Tom couldn't get up. He'd have to spend the night on the couch, and probably most of the next day too. His belly felt like a boulder. He was used to lifting heavy things, including big rocks, but this one was inside him. It was him. He could feel his whole body trying to process this absurd volume of food. Often after large meals he would feel his abs, which hidden as they were still had mighty strength, work to help support his pressurised stomach. This time, they were completely stretched out. His belly would probably have burst, he thought to himself, had they been less solid. As for his actual stomach, it was so overloaded the pain from it being so stretched out and the pain from it taking up so much space it was crushing every other organ inside his body had blended together. Like the pain after a big workout.

"You did it," Kyle said. "You managed it all."

"I did. With your help."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm going to need help digesting all this..." Tom said. Soundind absolutely exhausted.

Kyle suddenly felt a bit nervous. He knew Tom's belly very well, but not when it was this big. And he'd have to be good with his belly rubs, with Tom in this state.

"I trust you," Tom said, with a tired smile.

#male stuffing #belly story #male belly story #stuffing story #musclegut #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #ex jock #fat jock #musclegut story

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mylevisdontfitanymore · 2 months ago

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Goooodddddd fat spoiled Bucky is my Roman Empire need more of him and masseuse Steve omg. Imagining him on his hands and knees for Steve lying on his big belly or Steve massaging his belly till he reaches his fat pad skdjdjsj I need more of them

Totally, utterly spoiled fat Bucky and masseuse Steve

You have me thinking of all different kinds of scenarios with them 🤤🤤

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink ahead, LOTS of fat-shaming, immobility/mobility issues, this is a BIG BUCKY, stuckage, button pops, etc.

There's one summer night, literally in the middle of the night, an hour, maybe two past midnight, when Bucky has the air conditioning fucking blasting in his room because it's hot outside but mostly because he's way too fucking hot underneath all his fat. He's about as insulated with blubber as a whale is for the cold ocean depths but he isn't in the ocean (unless the ocean of sweat he's dripping with counts), he's beached on land. And all that jiggling, thick fat leaves Bucky flicking a finger toward the help, wheezing through airy burps and hissing hiccups that they must place an "emergency call" to Steve. He needs more help than just his live-in servants who tirelessly have fetched him lidded platters of "midnight snacks" that are anything but snacks.

Bucky woke up craving more before midnight. He wasn't hungry, he just wanted more. And he's been stuffing himself for hours now. Hours to midnight and hours past midnight, chasing a craving that he just can't satisfy, his taste grown too greedy in his years of spoiling. He's been ruined.

Now, he's packed full of so much food that he's in pain. It hurts. He's so full it hurts. He wolfed down too much too fast after a hedonistic dinner that was (like his snacks not being snack-sized) not a dinner but an endless parade of dishes mirroring a grand feast in his grand dining room. A room designed with lavish parties in mind; parties and celebrations that Bucky has never thrown because he rarely has others not a part of his staff on his acreage, his kingdom and castle are devoted to him and him alone. He has enough hunger to fill the dining room with its lengthy table and, underneath anyone else's much more reasonable weight, sturdy chairs.

With enough of a feast fit for a royal court destroyed entirely by one greedy, fat king and another sprawling meal of its own piled on top of that feast, Bucky desperately, desperately needs Steve. He's tired - sleepy and ready to fall into a food coma unlike any he's had before. There is no way he can lift his flabby, bingo-wing arms to rub his angrily gurgling tummy himself. He can hardly see straight! His eyes are watery from the exquisite, aching strain of his overexpanded stomach. A few tears have fallen from his eyes, too, trailing slowly down his plump cheeks as the pressure inside his body becomes too much and something has to give - his tears are squeezed out. He's overflowing.

He keeps hiccuping and that makes everything hurt worse, his eyes unfocusing and blurring that much more. He's throbbing. He can feel the muscles, buried under layers and pounds of thick flesh, stretching and straining in an effort to keep his blimp-sized gut attached to him. He can feel every bite of food inside him, jostled with each painful hic! hic! hic! and he doesn't regret one mouthful. Bucky doesn't know - doesn't understand regret. His life has no consequences. He has it all and can always have more.

More.

That's what he's missing. More. He needs more. He needs Steve to help him struggle through the gas and bloat and gurgles and moans and worst of his stomach fighting to accommodate the pounds of food he shoveled into it. The closest he's ever come to regret is thinking about how he wishes he demanded that Steve live on-site like all the rest of his staff so he wouldn't have to wait in suspense, nearly bursting at the seams for him to come and rub him down.

And...

When Steve finally arrives, the first thing he does is laugh in the face of Bucky's excruciating gluttony. He laughs, his voice sleep-rough, at Bucky's sweaty, red, moon-round face and sagging rolls of flesh, beached in his cloud-like, California-king bed. The entire, expensive frame shudders and creaks each time Bucky's flabby body jiggles under another painful hiccup or vaguely relieving burp. An expulsion of gas he's just too food-drunk and snooty to care about. He has no manners, that much is obvious, just look at him. Then, look at Steve. They are opposites. Even in his pajamas, Steve is fit and put together. He looks sleepy but good in his muscle-strained sweatpants and sweatshirt, his golden hair a mess, his chiseled face extra handsome in the moonlight.

Once he's had the last laugh, Bucky's masseuse gets to work, rubbing and grabbing and squeezing and working his magic that makes all the tension bleed from Bucky's oversized, tense body. His taut gut relaxes as much as it can when it's packed full of food still digesting, his muscles turning to mush, submitting underneath Steve's stern touch.

Steve's words are stern, too, teasing him as he works, digging his hands in harder and harder until Bucky is whining and moaning with pain, he's so tender, he's just been stuffed to his breaking point but Steve doesn't care. Steve doesn't care because he does this to himself. He asks for this.

"You're such a brat, Mr. Barnes. Only you, princess, would think this-" Steve gestures vaguely to, uh, all of Bucky's fat gut "-is an emergency worth waking someone up in the middle of the night over. Couldn't go eight hours without stuffing your greedy face, could you? Where is your self-restraint? Oh yeah, you don't fucking have any, you spoiled brat." Steve smacks his gut several times in a row as if reprimanding him. All it does is make Bucky squirm weakly, his body jiggling thickly. He couldn't get away if he put all his pathetic strength into it. It hurts. It feels good. "This isn't an emergency, Mr. Barnes, this is a cry for help. Look at yourself! I have literally never seen anyone this fat. This isn't letting yourself go, this is pushing yourself. If you could get yourself together and push yourself to get healthy, just think what you could've done! Mommy and Daddy might've raised a little Olympian if you went the other direction, but no, you put your back into becoming a shapeless blob instead. Tsk. Tsk," Steve clicks his tongue, but the sound is drowned out by Bucky's needy whimpers. If what Steve's saying is so offensive why does it feel better than sex? "

"I can't believe you. An emergency," Steve scoffs, mocking him more, "if you keep going this way, you'll see a real emergency. You'll be calling the fire department to cut through the doorways of your precious custom-built mansion 'cause you're gotten stuck in one, wedged in place on the rare occasion you get your lazy, fat ass out of bed to do something yourself." Steve shakes his head, digging his nails in, making Bucky want to wail. All he does is belch loudly, the edges of the sound high and desperate. "But that real, actual emergency won't stop you either, will it, princess?" Steve grips a handful of his flesh, wobbling it to make Bucky squeak, "you won't stop because you don't understand the problem, do you? No. You have too much money for your own good, you throw money at the problem and the problem goes away, simple as that. You've gotten so fucking huge that you can't fit through your doors? Oh, well, you'll just reframe every one of the countless fucking doors in this stupidly big house. Who cares if reframing involves special-ordered wood and lacquer and the time and brainpower of some poor architect to figure out what dimensions will actually fit your fat ass? Who cares? You don't. You're too busy thinking with this gut."

Bucky's sagging, fat chest heaves. He feels as though he can hardly see Steve over his unending roundness of a stomach, but what he can see him will haunt him for the rest of the night... that smirk. Steve could cut him with that smirk, it's so sharp. Bucky feels it like a blade, his smile and dark eyes cutting into him. Jesus Christ. He wants exactly that. He wants more.

Hic!

Steve laughs again.

Bucky knows that Steve is in front of him, on his knees, but he can't actually see him anymore other than through the many reflections that surround them. They're in the wing of Bucky's abode where his tailor has set up his private business just for Bucky. It's a lucrative shop despite having only one customer. Bucky has lost track of just how much money he throws at his tailor by now, but he knows it's a lot. He outgrows clothes often. Sometimes, he forgets why he bothers with clothes. He doesn't leave the house hardly ever and he pays his staff handsomely enough, nevermind that they all sign NDAs. Besides, they probably wouldn't see much, judging by how Bucky's wide reflection stares back at him, covering and overflowing from every angle. His dick has been buried for a very, very long time. He could do that. He should do that.

However...

If he stops wearing clothes, then he loses the pleasure of moments like this, right now, barely propped upright on a reinforced stage in the middle of a room of mirrors, unable to see Steve himself, unless he uses one of the many mirrors, because Steve is sweating and grunting, on his knees, struggling to stuff Bucky's oozing fat body into clothes that he had custom fit to his ever-expanding frame just last week. And it looks like he's already outgrown them. A new record.

Bucky sighs.

Steve growls at him, pinching some roll of fat - one of the many, many, many - and, oh, would you look at that, even in the mirror, Bucky can't see where his hand is. Steve's big, calloused hand has disappeared under the excessive overflow of Bucky's sagging gut. His rolls are hiding his other rolls. Fuck, he's fat. "You could at least try to help," Steve roughly says, muffled, pressed up against his big, big body in quite the undignified position. "I know the concept is, ugh," he pants, out of breath beneath the weight, despite his fantastic stamina and athleticism, "unfamiliar to you, but a little bit of effort w-would be appreciated right now. Suck in, fatty."

Bucky tries. Nothing really happens, though. His muscles are pushed too far out and are far too atrophied from a lifetime of no work whatsoever. Bucky's been feasting since he woke up this morning, same as always, and he just finished his second lunch before his tailor rushed in to notify him that he just finished with his latest work, so... yeah, it's not his fault his gut won't budge.

Steve extracts his hand from Bucky's rolls to smack his gut harshly, staining his soft, lotioned, un-stretch-marked, un-cellulite-ridden skin red with a perfect handprint and Bucky's knees tremble. Oh, he's going to need to sit down soon. He can't hold up all this weight for much longer. He feels feverish. He may faint. He's so full.

He feels every inch of his divine fullness, Steve is trying very hard to massage and smooth and sculpt him into his clothes. He's tucking his fat back into his clothes, testing the limits of seams that have been reinforced intentionally and held together with extra-thick thread, struggling to breathe evenly as he heaves the sides of his button-up shirt together. Fitting his thighs and ass and hips into his slacks took an unprecedented about of time. Bucky doesn't keep track exactly, his life revolves around him, but he knows it was a long time. And he now knows, too, that no matter how much Steve squishes himself into his fat belly, turning his face to the side and still being nearly totally enveloped in soft blubber, he can't get his arms all the way around him.

Bucky's knees tremble harder. His face has gone very, very red with strands of hair around his face sticking to his skin. God, Steve might think he doesn't understand effort but he does, it's plenty of effort to just stand here and not fall face forward onto the floor, his body pulled by the weight of his bloated gut. Bucky sweats more.

With a victorious grunt, Steve slides one and then two buttons into their appropriate catch. They stay for all of half a second before Bucky breathes out and -

Pop!

Ping!

There they go, flying at high velocity across the room, colliding with the mirrors at the far side and making a sharp sound covered over by Steve's groan of defeat. Hastily, he gets up, standing toe to toe with Bucky but not - he can't get that close to him, their bodies are separated by Bucky's thick fat, rounding out from him from every angle but especially in front of him. His tummy is its own entity. It's that big. Bucky somehow always forgets just how big it is even though it's attached to him. Jesus. It feels like there are miles between Steve's disciplined, hard muscular body and Bucky's excessive, soft body.

Steve takes half a step away to grab the silk robe Bucky had been wearing before, hardly enough fabric to cover him, and throws it at him, "just fucking put the robe back on, fatty, I give up."

Bucky is slow to react, he doesn't catch it. The silk hits him lightly in the chest, dragging over his huge moobs and sliding down his round gut like water. It lands on the floor soundlessly. Bucky doesn't even twitch to move like he's going to grab it, he's not sure if it's physically possible for him to bend over anymore with his belly in the way, he just pouts at Steve, half-dressed and barely holding his own fat up.

"Jesus Christ," Steve grits out, bending neatly at the waist, snapping up, and ripping Bucky's clothes off of him before replacing it with the silk robe. "You are a helpless, fat baby," he tells him, breathing hot and angry and... something else... on the back of his neck.

Quickly and effortlessly light on his feet Steve flits around him, smacking his ass, making his whole body wobble arousingly, then spinning to his front to twitch the robe mostly closed over his front, tightening the belt of the robe too tight on purpose, so tight Bucky feels the food inside him slosh and churn, heavy and digesting into more, more, more fat. Bucky can barely groan, oof, before Steve's fingers grab his chin, not his double (or forming triple) chin that's just chub, but his actual divot-ed chin so he can speak right to him, telling him -

"You wouldn't survive without me, princess."

Bucky whimpers, his eyes tearing up with humiliation. He's right. And he loves it. He needs Steve. He needs him so badly. He needs Steve almost as much as he needs to gorge himself until it hurts. He likes it when it hurts, he likes it when Steve's mean to him, slapping him around and getting rough with all his plush, soft fat.

Hours have passed, dripping away in viscous ribbons of the thickest, sweetest clover honey that money can buy, tipped off the edge of a silver spoon onto thick, freshly cut bread to be eaten, consumed ravenously when it should be savored. And the day has dripped past in such a sweet, lazy way because Bucky has been fed by hand all this time, taken care of by his army of servants for these hours. The symphony of flavors fed to him swelling him up into a heavy, heavy ocean of fat. All that fat wobbling and jiggling in front of him means that his own body presses him into the over fluffed day-bed crowded with pillows and blankets and crumbs that he was helped into, waddling impressively slowly, after outgrowing his oversized settee, his body too large to fit the other piece of fine furniture. Soon, he may be large enough that he will only fit on the floor, spilling out in all directions. He is more voluptuous and pillowy than a pillow itself. His body could be a mattress, it's so thick and wide.

To go along with the luxury of being filled with treats and riches, Bucky is being hand-massaged. Always. Steve is here more than not. Each day, no, each hour, Bucky grows more and more dependent on his masseuse. He can't help it. All his fat needs tending to. He can't fathom doing it alone. Who would do it alone? Only a pleb. Bucky is rich-fat, not poor-fat.

Rich-fat.

Fatly rich.

God, he's engorged.

Between every bite of food, he's gasping and moaning, food is more important than breathing, though, so he doesn't stop to breathe. If anything, he inhales food, not air. He sucks it in almost too fast to taste it. Fuuuck. It's good. He's stretching. Expanding. He's gasping and moaning because food is pleasure, but also because Steve is hard at work, slaving and sweating over his blubbery belly.

In order to get close enough to his big, big tummy - needing to reach it over the valleys and hills of blankets and pillows and fat rolls that make up the daybed in Bucky's elegant glass sunroom - Steve is straddling his body. Yet, Steve is straddling just one of his two hugely fat thighs because Steve no matter how athletic and flexible he is, it is just not possible these days for Steve to spread his legs wide enough to span both of Bucky's thick, thick thighs. It's much more comfortable for Steve to split his legs over one of Bucky's resting on his thigh like a delicate bird resting on top of the lumbering, clumsy, out of control beast that is Bucky. Steve is an oxpecker picking bugs off of a hippo.

Bucky's a hippo.

He's so thick and fat and he keeps grooooaning. There's so much inside him. He feels the food crammed into his stomach, he feels the fat crushing his overfull stomach, all that weight, he feels his skin stretched to contain it, he feels everything. He's so fat and his body weighs so much itself, that Bucky doesn't care about Steve straddling his thigh. Anything to make his belly feel better.

It huuuurts.

He won't stop eating. He can't. He can't fucking do it, it's impossible, he swears, nothing has ever been harder than not stuffing his fucking face until he's making sounds that illustrate just how much he feels like he might burst. He. is. voracious. Unfathomably greedy, always filling himself.

His belly aches and his jaw throbs, too, but it doesn't matter. The pain adds to the excessive pleasure that he's piling up. More. Being stuffed and massaged at the same time is the most heavenly of pleasures - Bucky would know, he's done so much, felt so much, spoiled as he is, and this is it. This is the best. It's good for him and he prides himself in being so gluttonous and pleased that it spreads to everyone else. You could not come within the walls of his mansion and not feel some of the pleasure radiating out of Bucky. Bucky is too spoiled to care if others feel good or not, he's far beyond that, but he wallows in the showmanship of it all. Yes, that's him, yes, that's his life, yes, he's so enveloped in his ecstasy that everyone else is aware of it. They have to be. He's that excessively excessive.

It's heaven as Steve kneads his thick fat, literally crawling all over him, straddling his thigh and kneeling up to reach out and try to span all of his fat (his wingspan isn't broad enough to do it) sinking his hands into his inches thick blubber that makes Bucky desperately, feverishly hot at all times. He rubs and squeezes, kneads and gropes, pinches and wobbles. The way Bucky's fat shifts like waves when he grasps him, taking overflowing handfuls, makes Bucky feel dizzy. He is an ocean of fat, he rocks with waves of fat, his knees weak, trying to walk on the deck of a ship being thrown about by the currents. Except, he's not walking. He's just lying back and he's rocking and jiggling. He can't feel anything but his own fat body. He can't see anything but his own fat. He can't taste anything but his ruinment, all those calories piled up, rich on his tongue. He knows he is a spectacle, he is unbelievable, Steve is lucky to get to touch him, oiling him up and playing with his taut fat, working it until it's soft and malleable.

Bucky moans so loud it vibrates his entire massive chest.

Steve, for all his effort, grunting and making his plush fat move, bites back a smile, pinching a thick, thick chunk of flesh somewhere between his massive tummy and round moobs, sounding dangerously affectionate as he teases, "you fat fuck."

Steve is part of Bucky's staff, Bucky employs him, Bucky is thus allowed, encouraged even, to bring up things to Steve that are bothering him about his work and how he goes about it. That's how performance reviews work, right? Bucky has no real idea about how those work in the real world but he's pretty sure those are a thing. He wouldn't exactly know, though, he's never had to work and whenever he has real problems with the help, he simply fires them and hires someone else. No skin off his back. Worry isn't good for his skin. He doesn't need wrinkles. Just rolls. But. Bucky has completely lost his mind and he likes Steve and all his pushy-shovey-roughness with him. So, he attempts to put in the effort to review him.

Does it matter if the review is nothing but a whiney complaint that sounds like it has nothing to do with Steve and everything to do with Bucky? Bucky thinks so. Again, though, he doesn't know better.

So, what he does is just complain, pouting and huffing, crossing his fat arms over his fat chest to make his pecs look girlish and cleavage-like, as he whines about his hips. They've been feeling all throbby and stretched out lately. He needs more massaging attention to them and if he gets stretch marks from the lack of lotion and rubbing to smooth them out and keep his skin perfect then... then... then! He doesn't actually know what he'll do to Steve but he'll figure something out!

"And what's that, princess?" Steve snarks back, "what are you gonna do, honey? You can't move on your own last time I checked and I know for a fact you haven't lost weight since then so... I think I'll be alright."

Steve does end up putting his attention to his fat, door-spanning hips, though, obliging his sulky, spoiled demands. Eventually. He makes Bucky whine for it for a while is all. He has to do some work.

Although, when he gives in, it turns out, that it doesn't really work the usual way they go about things with Bucky on his front, sweating and panting underneath his barrel gut, while Steve towers over him and teases him as he dissolves all that tension he holds in a big, round knot right at his middle. Steve, as strong as he is, gets tired too fast to rub his hip like that, lifting his flabby love handles up to get the front, side, and back of them is strenuous manual labor. After another short break, Steve and his muscles pushed tightly up against Bucky and his plushness, Steve vaults off of Bucky with suspicious ease for someone apparently so tuckered out by working around his body -

"Turn over for me, Mr. Barnes," he says, making it a demand not to be argued with, no matter how much of a spoiled brat Bucky is.

Bucky attempts to do as he's told with a lot, lot of effort. He could be melting with how much sweat is pouring out of him, straining himself to roll over on all fours, jostling and wobbling, his fat shifting as he groans and grunts and pathetically complains, "ow!" or"ohh!" or huffs, huffs, and pants, or "I'm too heavy!" or finally, his pink chubby cheeks wobbling, near tears, as he begs or help, "I can't do it, Steeeve, Steve, please, help me. I can't. I can't."

Steve steps in to help with a single, hard, well-placed shove, rolling him onto all fours. Bucky goes totally ungracefully. He's like a walrus, blubbery, ungainly, and flopping on land.

Steve can get at the rolls around his sides, his hips, and his back rolls easily this way. Gravity is helping him, shaping Bucky's blimp-fat, blobby body into something easier to work with.

However, when Steve tries to transition back into massaging Bucky's tummy (because the overgrown, over-spoiled, overfed boy is stuffing cookies into his mouth as Steve works, getting crumbs all over his bed and not caring because he knows it will be the help's problem to deal with), Steve finds out that he can't fucking do it. He can't reach as much of Bucky's tummy as he needs to this way because he's so fat that the front of it touches the creaking, dented surface of the mattress beneath his massive body.

His gut literally reaches the floor, touching and spilling out.

Jesus Christ.

He's overflowing and sweating like a true pig, just from holding himself up. It won't be long before he's more than trembling under his own weight and is vibrating, then collapsing face-first into the bed. When Steve's prediction comes from, he can't keep the smugness out of his voice, pinching and slapping him gleefully, telling him, "get back up, fatty." Already knowing what's going to happen next. He's so predictable.

Bucky bellows in arousal and can't.

He can't move.

He's too hungry and too exhausted.

And, God, they both love to see him like this.

#ask #mylevisdontfitanymore #belly kink #text #stuffing #weight gain #bucky barnes #steve rogers #chubby bucky #fat bucky

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messiahzzz · 9 months ago

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Hello! I love your meta-analysis of BG3 and share many of the same opinions concerning our boy, Gale. I have an interesting question for you concerning the orbs "volatility" in relation to intimacy (both physical and non-physical). I used to believe it was cannon that Gale couldn't engage in physical intimacy because the Orb may detonate, but when I played as Gale I was able to sleep with Astarion. This is in contrast to when I played as Karlach and couldn't touch anyone.

So, all of this is to ask whether Gale's dialogue at the tiefling party was him protecting himself emotionally or if he truly thought that any excitement would trigger the Orb (ironic given they are fighting for their lives daily)? Additionally is this why the Weave scene only features an imagined kiss rather than a physical one?

thank you so much for the questions!! i’m very glad you enjoy reading my posts 💕

gale: with my condition being as volatile as it is, i fear any undue, er, excitement, may tip it over the edge. so to speak.

i do believe that gale was being honest in regards to avoiding physical/emotional excitement concerning the orb. his first and foremost priority is to make sure to avoid as many potential triggers as possible, being fully aware of the catastrophe that will occur if he doesn’t keep an eye on his condition at all times. fighting is inevitable given the situation the group found themselves in. on top of that, every single day for the past year alone has quite literally been a life or death situation for him, wondering how much longer he can hold on until the orb inevitably takes over. i also think that he has experienced his fair share of horrors and tough fights in his past, considering his status as an archmage, as well as him being mystra’s chosen. even with his now diminished powers & the tadpole in his head he still remains in his element. magic is his life, it comes as easy to him as breathing.

gale: i'm what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the weave, but compose it, much like a musician or a poet.

more importantly, the devnotes also proof that the orb is indeed the reason for his deflection during the tiefling party:

gale: i see. then perhaps we see each other in the same light after all. a resplendent one, flush with warmth and anticipation, but one which i must shy away from, for now. node context: still flustered, but pleased to learn you like him romantically. then getting to the point - he can't do anything until the orb is dealt with.

if tav directly tells him to cease the perceived flirting, he will reveal that he considered their relationship to be a "budding romance" at this stage.

player: if this is an attempt at flirting, you should stop. i'm not interested. gale: right. understood. you shall hear no more on the subject from me. gale: consider this budding romance thoroughly nipped. though i hope our friendship need not come to such an abrupt end.

yet at the same time, he is also completely flustered if tav is the one who initiates the flirting:

player: do you like having your belly rubbed? gale: the pleasures i experienced in mystra's embrace go far beyond the pleasures of having one's tummy tickled. i remember once, she took the smallest piece of the weave and made it into- gale: wait. are you saying... nodecontext: taking the question seriously, missing the flirtatious side of it. nodecontext: realizing that the player was flirting, getting flustered

regardless of which flirt option tav chooses to pick, the outcome remains the same:

gale: you know what, i think i've clearly had far too much wine. and you've had nowhere near enough. i think this is a conversation best held back on - for now. nodecontext: flustered, hesitating to explicitly say what he thinks you were offering, then backtracking altogether

while battle naturally is always accompanied by the unpredictable, (as well as the dread of facing a yet unknown enemy) i don’t think he experiences quite the same amount of trepidation as where matters of the heart are concerned. or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it’s an altogether different kind.

the budding relationship with tav is once again unfamiliar territory for him after all those years he went without mortal intimacy, years that have been spent with mystra instead. it’s understandable that he exercises caution at all times, knowing what’s at stake if he lets go for but merely a moment. i also believe gale to be a character who generally goes “all out” once he chooses to be intimate with someone. we know that he doesn’t do casual trysts, friends-with-benefits arrangements, or anything of the sort. instead he wants to build a deep connection first. gale is a romantic through and through, he only feels comfortable being intimate once it has been explicitly established that the emotions he feels for tav are indeed wholly reciprocated. gale puts his whole heart into everything he does, he would’ve felt that it was a disservice to tav if he was only able to give them (according to him) even less than the remaining fragments of a broken man he has to offer — once he decides to give himself, he gives himself fully.

another added factor, however, is that the tiefling party simply wasn’t the right time for him yet, even if he already felt some attraction to them. part of him perhaps would’ve liked to go a bit further, be more direct about his growing fondness for them. spending a night together, just enjoying each other's company, talking until the sun rises, perhaps even sharing their first kiss if he felt that the timing was right — but i don’t think he would’ve considered this to be the appropriate stage in their relationship to sleep with tav either way. orb or no.

gale also tells us this much during the Last Night Alive scene, as well as during the conversation after you just met tara. in an ideal situation he would’ve taken his time, courted tav properly, said it all better.

gale: if things were different, if we were home, i'd have taken the time to do things properly. to say it all better. but time is short.

gale: i always imagined what it would be like when you finally got to meet her. this wasn't quite what i had pictured. gale: i thought we'd be in waterdeep. you, curled up before a crackling hearth while i prepared us a ridiculously extravagant meal, served with a batch of my homemade hundur sauce.

time is short.

i always headcanoned gale to be on the demi spectrum. that he needs to build a close bond before sexual intimacy is something that even remotely occurs to him. tav is an anomaly in this regard — he knows he deeply cares for them, emotions that developed even in the short, few months they've known each other, and that he doesn’t have the luxury of time to let their relationship unfold in all the many ways he dreamed of. all he knows is that he loves tav, wholly and truly. and that, by the gods, he has to make the most out of the few extra heartbeats he’s been given. even if his death is inevitable, he will at least be able to show them the depths of his affection. leave them with shared memories of pure tenderness, a knowledge of a love so profound that it might perhaps even prevail way beyond his passing.

player: what about all we shared together? are you just going to give up? gale: this isn't giving up it's securing victory, at a price i am willing to pay. and everything we shared can live on - with you.

i wouldn’t necessarily say that gale was trying to “protect himself emotionally” during the tiefling party, but rather acted accordingly to the horrifying circumstances the tadpole gang (and especially he himself) find themselves in. i don’t think gale ever really considers a romanced!tav as someone he needs to be guarded around. evident in the way he immediately throws all doors open without any sign of hesitation once he has their assurance that their love is indeed mutual. gale pours his heart out to them regardless, not knowing whether his feelings are truly returned. he is not a character who shies away from being vulnerable by any means. he is an open book, that tav is free to peruse in as they see fit. a slither of trust is all he needs.

during the weave scene the connection abruptly fades once tav either imagines passionately kissing him or holding his hand during a romantic walk. a scene that again shows that he is genuinely stunned by what he’s being shown. after all, it doesn't happen often that gale of waterdeep is at a loss for words.

gale: i... i didn't think... narrator: *you perceive quick-fire gusts of embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.* gale: sorry, i wasn't expecting... but it is a pleasant image to be sure! gale: most pleasant, in fact. most welcome. nodecontext: warm, with real affection

i do believe the weave scene in particular to be a turning point for him. sort of an epiphany. the first moment in which he realizes that he actually might like the idea of eventually being with tav as perhaps more than a friend. that he is filled with fondness whenever they’re near and that he is excited to see where their joined travels lead them next.

player: when i said we could be more than friends, you answered 'perhaps'. what does that really mean? gale: if i recall correctly, the waterdhavian dictionary of the common tongue of faerun defines it as an adverb that conveys the meaning of 'it may be that', or 'possibly'. gale: you see, i'm not a big believer in fate, but i do believe in serendipity. gale: life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace. gale: you're one such event that, one day soon perhaps, i'd like to embrace.

given my personal hc of gale being demisexual, i genuinely don’t believe that he entertained the thought before that. he was way too preoccupied with other more pressing concerns. his overall condition, the tadpole, mourning the loss of his powers, still dealing with a lingering sense of loneliness and melancholy. a yearning for better times, as well as disillusionment of being cast out and left behind, even if he has already worked through his romantic feelings for mystra and their unilaterally ended relationship by then.

gale: i'm hardly pining. it's been a year or more since mystra cast me aside.

tav’s advances genuinely catch him off guard, which is, according to my interpretation, also the reason why their shared connection abruptly faded. a general loss of focus. gale immediately bidding tav goodnight to reflect on the situation and sort through his thoughts again shows that this wasn’t how he expected this moment of teaching to unfold. it seems rather uncharacteristic of him to initiate a kiss in this specific scenario. tav was testing the waters, whether it happened intentionally or not, and gale found himself pleasantly surprised by the turn of events.

i also believe that we generally shouldn’t use origin playthroughs as a cross-reference for the actual canon. larian approached each story with more or less detail and there are already so many inconsistencies present that have been pointed out by other players. instead we should see origin pts as an oc kind of scenario — larian handing us the reigns of each origin character, a way for us to have fun and figure out all the atrocities we could possibly come up with. sort of like playing with our own set of barbies. (“go nuts, show nuts” as tunglr staff put it back in the day) for example, playing as w*ll doesn’t lock you out of raiding the grove and spending a steamy night with m*nth*ra right after either. which is something that contradicts everything he stands for/something he wouldn't naturally do. even if you try to play an origin character as close to their canon portrayal as possible, you will still encounter several contradictions and discrepancies during the duration of your game. larian sadly also has a chronic pattern of overlooking gale in terms of content, fixes, and overall responsiveness. so it’s easy to conclude that his origin story simply hasn’t been fleshed out to the same extent & treated with the same amount of care and consideration that certain other characters received. (which is awfully ironic considering he’s been proven to be the most popular origin character, but i digress)

basically, this has been my very long-winded way of saying: the reason why gale refuses to be intimate with tav pre-orb stabilization is indeed because he is afraid of the orb accidentally detonating during a moment of carelessness and/or indulgence, as well as because of gale’s own preferences when sex & romance are concerned.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 meta #long post #asks #gale's romance is the most delicious kind of slow-burn #or well. it would be if larian had actually bothered to put the same care and resources into his story #instead of merely cutting content and deciding to do a 180 #it speaks #please don't check for grammar i wrote this in a rush

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variousxreader · 1 year ago

Text

Puggy Buggy

Domestic Head canons and general comparing Buggy to a Pug

Like a Pug his bark is worse than his bite. His screams could be compared to this.

Man SNORES like a pug and bull dog mix from hell

Loud dad bed shaking snores.

You swear the bitch has sleep apnea.

You literally have to smack him awake or manhandle his ass into a better position for him to breathe in.

Jerks awake with loud ass snorts when you kick or smack him awake. You only do it when you're worried he's gonna suffocate so he's never mad about it; he'll pull you to his chest and snuggle you and mummer a "sorry" before falling asleep again

If his snores just wont let you sleep, you'll wake him up in more pleasant ways. Lay on his chest, he has an automatic cuddle response that he'll wrap his arms around you, and drag you into Him, changing his position to do so.

But at this point his snores are white noise to you.

You actually can't sleep well without hearing him, its too quiet without him snorting and snoring away next to you.

Buggy is also a dog in the way that he has been asleep and Farted so loud he scared himself awake and nearly fell out of bed

You nearly pissed yourself laughing at him for that.

He was so fucking embarrassed but eventually your infectious laugh sent him into his own fit of giggles till you both had tears in your eyes, and you personally got to the point of laughing like a strangled seal.

Mohji and Cabaji ran to check to make sure you both weren't dying because you were both cackling so loud.

You and Buggy had residual giggles for a day after

Man Has Dad™️ Sneezes

Also Burps so goddamn loud and long and is Proud of it.

You egg each other on. Complimenting each others burps and challenging eachother. You are pirates after all.

Richie has you both beat though.

Def gets a distended Stomach after a feast and bingeing. You pat and smack it gently. He swats at you for it. But if he gets a tummy ache he'll BEG and plead for you to rub his belly till he feels better while his head is in your lap or on your chest.

DRUNK BUGGY is something

The man can handle his booze but there is a LINE and he can and will cross it on rare occasions. He regrets it every time.

Shit Faced, plastered, Sloshed Buggy, is a whole other LEVEL

He cannot stand and walk on his own,

You also better be keeping track of potentially detached body parts. Though they're very slow when he's this trashed.

He has to be touching you, HAS TO BE

You literally have to hold his dick so he can piss straight.

Will throw up before the night is over. Hold him so he doesn't go over board.

He lives in the latrine after that point.

You're holding his hair and rubbing his back. The whole nine yards.

If you manage to carry his ass to bed when he cannot puke anymore, you better prepare for the next day.

Water water water.

Hes so fucking dehydrated.

Who left him in Alabasta overnight?

His head is pounding. Is it attached to his body for is it in a barrel in a hurricane? He does not know.

You're gonna be babying him all day.

You thought he was pathetic before?

Oh Honey.

He gives new meaning to the word when he is this hungover.

You gotta wait on him hand and foot.

He'll cry out all the water you put into him.

Hes a fun drunk, but majorly depressed when it comes to BAD hangovers

With your TLC though he'll be cured the next day and beg you to never ever let him get that fucked again.

He worships the ground you walk on 100000x more after that.

The man will literally do anything for you. Not even within reason.

Want him to get you a pet sea king? He'll find a way.

Want him to send a buggy ball at the Marine hQ? He'll find a way.

Literally anything.

---

This has gotten massive so imma end it here!

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #one piece x reader

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alaskan-wallflower · 3 months ago

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Hey friend, it’s been a minute! School has been so busy so I haven’t been on here as much as I’d like but I’ve been slowly starting to write a Sodapop sickfic and since I know you also like hurt/comfort, I was wondering if you had any hcs about Soda with a stomach bug. My fic is gonna include him being taken care of by Steve, Darry, and Pony if you feel like including them :) have a great day ❤️🎞️

hi hi hi!! it’s nice to hear from you again!! 💜 of course i got some!! sorry i didn’t answer till now, i usually save some asks for my queue haha

for one he either 1. got it from doing some stupid shit with steve or 2. he ate bad food

regardless bro is NOT happy

he probably tries to hide it because he doesn’t want to miss work because he knows how hard he needs to be working but uh

his stomach has never heard of “subtlety” and 100% rats out his attempts at going to work

Darry and Pony both had to go to school/work but I feel like Pony would pass the message to Steve at school and Steve would literally just,,,skip school and work to be able to take care of him

Hes a very physical person and at first I feel like Steve was NOT having it because he didn’t want to get sick but he can’t say no to Soda and his puppy eyes

So Soda is curled up in Steve’s lap while Steve just pets his hair and runs his tummy a bit

He gets freaked out by how vocal poor Soda’s stomach is-like Pony and Darry are used to it but Steve is oblivious as hell lol

He feels SO terrible if Pony has a track meet that day too and tries to go but Steve is like “if you get out of that bed I won’t cuddle you” and Soda just relents

Poor boy has VICIOUS bouts of nausea. Like he can’t even keep his eyes open.

You always know when he’s gonna vomit because he kinda does that thing dogs do where they make that sound and their chests heave-he also gets real hiccupy

He hates vomiting and always ends up crying because he’s just straight up miserable

By the time Pony and Darry get home, Darry tells Pony to go shower and he gets in bed on Soda’s other side

He gets a lot more outwardly nurturing post book I think? Like he’s just down to eye level with Soda and is like “Hey, buddy…you okay..?” and Soda just whines and puts his head in Darry’s lap

Its bad enough that Pony and Darry can’t cook food because the scent of it makes Soda vomit

I think Soda also has very heightened senses when he’s sick for whatever reason so they can’t even go out to get food because he’ll just vomit when he smells it

So they just opt to not have dinner and Soda feels even WORSE because he knows Darry came from a long day at work and Pony came from a track meet but they both just tell him it’s okay and that they’ll be sure to eat a big breakfast the next day (let’s say the next day is Saturday lol)

While both of them usually get hangry as hell they just don’t in Soda’s presence because they know how tough it is on him and they don’t wanna make him feel worse

They try to make him some soup, or at least some broth and it sits pretty okay. He can’t hold down more than broth but Steve tells them it’s progress because he “couldn’t hold down the chocolate cake earlier” and they’re both like “bro what”

(Steve does not know how to care for people and it takes him a bit but he’ll try as hard as he can for Soda)

Steve stays at their house that night because he knows if he goes home he’s probably just gonna get kicked out again but he’s more than happy to stay

Darry gives the best belly rubs I think because his hands are big and warm

Pony tries rubbing his back too which actually works fairly well

Pony insists on sleeping on Darry’s other side tho because god forbid he starts kicking in his sleep and he kicks Soda he’s never forgive himself

Pony isn’t as openly affectionate with Steve around but he’s still trying

They all end up falling asleep together and Soda’s smiling for the first time that day because he’s with his best friend and his two brothers who have been getting along a lot better than normal and he’s just so happy

Hope these are good!! might make some for Darry, Pony and Johnny later cause they’re my other favs haha

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #steve randall #🎞️ anon #friends!!#queue

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carlsdarling · 1 year ago

Text

Carl Grimes ℳαșțůȓƄα†ίȯņ headcanons

What Carl does when he is all alone… Everyone is 18 and over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw

A - Aftercare

He cleans himself up afterwards with either toilet paper or Kleenex, if he's not jerking off in the shower. Sometimes he also wipes his cum away with one of his worn shirts before throwing them in the dirty laundry. Imagine Michonne's face xD

B - Body

Carl is generally comfortable with his body, only having problems accepting his missing eye. He knows what he likes and it's quite normal for him to caress himself.

C - Cum

Depending on where and in what position he does it, his cum lands either on his belly (if he does it lying on his bed) or on his hand (if he is sitting or standing). He often pleasures himself in the shower. Running water and all.

D - Dirty Secret

Carl sometimes fantasizes about an older girl seducing him while jacking off. In prison he had fantasies about Beth and secretly watched her while she was changing clothes, now he has a thing for Rosita - not that he would ever dare to approach her; he'd be afraid she'd laugh at him.

E - Experience

He's pretty experienced with it, he had started doing it out of curiosity because he and Patrick were talking about it in prison when they found some porn magazines, and then they tried pleasuring themselves, sheepishly and laughing, and Carl liked the feeling. Since then he's been doing it almost every day.

F - Favourite position

Carl prefers to lie on his bed, but he finds it more practical in the shower because there are no stains left and he doesn't have to clean anything.

G - Gentle

At the beginning Carl moistens his right hand with saliva; he usually strokes himself gently and slowly, then his hand movements become faster until he rubs his cock vigorously and finally cums.

H - Hair

Carl doesn't shave his pubic hair, he lives in a fucking apocalypse and has more important things to do. He trims them though, so they are not too long.

I - Intimacy

Carl likes to be intimate with himself and enjoys it, but of course he would rather fuck you. He thinks about it literally all the time.

J - Jack off

Yes, he does it and he loves it ;)

K - Kink

Carl has a little cum kink. He likes to ejaculate a large amount of jizz and imagines filling your pussy or pretty mouth to the brim with it. Sometimes he waits to jerk off so he can shoot a larger load. He also likes the sight of the cum squirting from his cock.

L - Location

His bed, the shower, if he can't wait, it also happens that he does it quickly in the car on a tour (of course, only when he is alone).

M - Motivation

Pretty much everything turns him on, you especially. And Carl has a very vivid imagination...

N - No Go

He would never be caught doing it on purpose, except maybe by you - hoping that the sight would excite you enough to get into it with him.

O - Oral

He often fantasizes about getting sucked off.

P - Pace

Sometimes Carl is very aroused (for whatever reason), then he does it quickly and cums within a few seconds. On other occasions he takes his time, uses lube and celebrates it, pauses in his movements and then continues.

Q - Quickies

Carl has learned to do it quickly and silently. While the group was out in the wilderness before they reached Alexandria, he had to be quiet and discreet when he jerked off at night. He would have been embarrassed to death if the person on watch - Daryl or his father Rick, for example - caught him.

R - Risk

He doesn't take risks and only does it when his privacy is guaranteed.

S - Stamina

He may well do it two or three times in a row when he's horny, with short breaks in between.

T - Time

Mostly Carl pleasures himself once a day; often only in the evening before going to sleep. He can't go two days without.

U - Unfair

Carl thinks it's unfair when you walk around in front of him in tight revealing clothes, because then his cock gets rock hard and he has to find an undisturbed place to jerk off.

V - Volume

He's usually quiet when he does it; he suppresses his moans or bites his pillow. Unless no one is around, in which case he lets himself go and moans (often your name...)

W - Wildcard

Remember when you went swimming in the lake with the others, and you were wearing that sexy bikini you'd looted just before? And how Carl said he had to pee and disappeared into the bushes? Yeah, wonder what he was really doing there ;)

X - X-Ray

Carl is a bit over average, but not much. His cock is beautiful, with a nicely shaped tip that turns red when he gets excited and hard.

Y - Yes

Masturbation is very important for Carl to relax; if he can't do it for several days, for example because the situation is too precarious and unsafe, he gets snippy, argumentative and tense.

Z - Zzzzz

Carl often does it right before he falls asleep. This should also make it clear where those strange stains on his bedding come from ;)

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