#trying bratwurst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

petermorwood · 8 months ago

Text

Food on St Patrick's Day (in the USA)...

...is usually Corned Beef & Cabbage, which is the Irish-American version of the original Irish boiled bacon & cabbage, but while the celebratory Irishness is still going strong, try something a bit more authentic.

A nice warm coddle. Not cuddle, coddle, though just as comforting in its own way. (Some sources suggest it's a hangover cure, not that such a thing would ever be necessary at this time of year, oh dear me no.)

Coddle is a stew using potatoes, onions, bacon, sausages, stout-if-desired / stock-if-not, pepper, sage, thyme and Time.

You'll often see it called "Dublin Coddle", but my Mum made Lisburn Coddle lots of times, I've made West Wicklow Coddle more than once, and on one occasion in a Belgian holiday apartment I made Brugsekoddel, which is an OK spelling for something that doesn't exist in any cookbook.

*****

I do remember one amendment I made to Mum's recipe, which met with slight resistance at the time and great appreciation thereafter.

Her coddle was originally cooked on the stove-top, not in the oven, and nothing was pre-cooked. Potatoes were quartered, onions were sliced, bacon was cut into chunks and then everything went into the big iron casserole, then onto the slow back ring, and there it simmered Until Done.

However, the bacon was thick-cut back rashers, and the sausages were pork chipolatas.

Raw, they looked like this:

...and the bacon looked like this:

Cooked in the way Mum initially did, they looked pretty much the same afterwards. The sausages didn't change colour. Nor did the bacon.

While everything tasted fine, the meat parts always looked - to me, anyway - somewhat ... less than appealing. "Surgical appliance pink" is the kindest way to put it, and that's all I'm saying. This is apparently "white coddle" and Dubs can get quite defensive about This Is The Way It SHOULD Look.

I'm not a Dub, so I persuaded Mum to fry both the bacon and sausages first, just enough to get a bit of brown on, and wow! Improvement! I remember my Dad nodding in approval but - because he was Wise - not saying anything aloud until Mum gave it the green light as well.

Doing the coddle in the oven, first with lid on then with lid off, came later and met with equal approval. So did using only half of the onion raw and frying the other half lightly golden in the bacon fat.

Nobody quoted from a movie that wouldn't be made for another decade, but there was a definite feeling of...

*****

There are coddle recipes all over the Net: I've made sure that these are from Ireland to avoid the corned-beef-not-boiled-bacon "adjustment" versions which are definitely out there. I've already seen one with Bratwurst. Just wait, it'll be chorizo next.

Oh, hell's teeth, I was right. And from RTE...

Returning to relative normality, here's Donal Skehan's white coddle and his browned coddle with barley (I'm going to try that one).

Here's Dairina Allen's Frenchified with US measurements version. (I feel considerably less heretical now.)

And finally (OK, not Irish, but it references a couple of the previous ones and is a VERY comprehensive write-up, so gets a pass) Felicity Cloake's Perfect Dublin Coddle (perfect according to who, exactly...?) in The Guardian.

*****

Returning to the beginning, and how boiled bacon became corned beef (a question which prompted @dduane to start an entire website...!)

The traditional Irish meat animal for those who could afford it was the pig, but when Irish immigrants (even before the Great Famine) arrived in the USA, they often lived in the same urban districts as Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe.

For fairly obvious reasons pork, bacon and other piggy products were unavailable in those districts, but salt beef was right there and far cheaper than any meat Irish immigrants had ever seen before.

Insist on tradition or eat what was easy to find? There'd have been contest - and do I sometimes wonder a bit if sauerkraut ever came close to replacing cabbage for the same reason.

The pre-Famine Irish palate liked sour tastes: a German (?) visitor to Ireland in the mid-1600s wrote about about what were called "the best-favoured peasantry in Europe", and mentioned that they had "seventy-several sour milks and creams*, and the sourer they be, the better they like them."

* Yogurt? Kefir? Skyr? Gosh...

Corned beef and Kraut as the immigrants' celebratory "Irish" meal for St Patrick's Day? Maybe, maybe not.

Time for "Immigrant Song" (with kittens).

youtube

*****

Corned beef got its name from the size of the salt grains with which the beef was prepared. They were usually bigger than kosher salt, like pinhead oats or even as large as grains of wheat, and their name derived originally from "corned (gun)powder", the large coarse grains used in cannon.

BTW, "corn" has been a generic English term for "grain" for centuries, and "but Europe didn't have corn" is an American mistake assuming the word refers to sweetcorn / maize, which it doesn't.

Lindsey Davis, author of the "Falco" series, had a couple of rants about it and other US-requested "corrections". As she points out, mistakes need corrected but "corn" is not a mistake, just a difference in vocabulary.

*****

In Ancient and Medieval Ireland pig would have included wild boar, the hunting of which was a suitable pastime for warriors and heroes, because Mr Boar took a very dim view of the whole proceeding and wasn't shy about showing it (see "wild boar" in my tags and learn more).

Cattle were for milk, butter, cream and little cattle; also wealth, status, and heroic displays in their theft, defence or recovery. It's no accident that THE great Irish epic is "The Cattle-Raid of Cooley" / Táin Bó Cúailnge (tawn / toyn boh cool-nyah).

Killing a cow for meat was ostentation on a level of lighting cigars with 100-, or even 500-, currency-unit notes. Once it had been cooked and eaten there'd be no more milk, butter, cream or little cattle from that source, so eating beef was showing off And Then Some.

Also, loaning a prize bull to run with someone else's heifers was a sign of great friendship or alliance, while refusing it might be an excuse for enmity or even war. IMO that's what Maeve of Connaught intended all along, picking undiplomatic envoys who would get drunk and shoot their mouths off so the loan was refused and she, insulted, would have an excuse to...

But I digress, as usual. Or again. Or still... :->

*****

For the most part, "pig" mean "domestic porker", and in later periods right up to the Famine, these animals were seldom eaten.

Instead, known as "the gentleman who pays the rent", the family pig ate kitchen scraps and rooted about for other foods, none of which the tenant had to grow or buy for them. These fattened pigs would go to market twice a year, and the money from their sale would literally pay that half-year's rent.

For wealthier (less poor?) farmers, pigs had another advantage. Calves arrived singly, lambs might be a pair, but piglets popped out by the dozen. A sow with (some of) her farrow was even commemorated on the old ha'penny coin...

What with bulls, chickens, hares, horses, hounds, pigs, salmon and stags, the pre-decimal Irish coinage is a good inspiration for some sort of fantasy currency.

But that's another post, for another day.

#food and drink #St Patrick's Day #Irish cuisine #Dublin coddle #corned beef or boiled bacon #pigs and cattle in Ireland #The Cattle Raid of Cooley #Youtube

561 notes · View notes

doodle-list · 2 years ago

Photo

Bratwurst in Sanctuary!! I finally managed to catch up to Sausages episodes thank god 😭

Also please appreciate the fact that I pulled up Tinkercad to try and make the background make sense

#also the details I put into el Caldero de Colores #pls I crave validation #empires screenshot reimagines #my art #empires smp #empires smp fanart #empires season 2 #empires s2 #empires sausage #empires shubble #empires shelby #shubble #mythicalsausage #screenshot redraw

1K notes · View notes

delfiore · 1 year ago

Text

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (2/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: you and ona become much closer, but in the wrong way; an offer on the horizon threatens to tear you apart.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: description of collision in football

PART I, PART III, PART IV, PART V

Sports Illustrated: USWNT International Y/N Y/L/N Scores in First Game Back From Injury “Y/N Y/L/N will not stop scoring. The Man City star returns to action with a stunning header in a home game against Everton since picking up an injury this summer in the CONCACAF final against Canada. Though the U.S. emerged victorious thanks to Alex Morgan’s penalty kick, Y/L/N was forced off in the 68th minute with a torn hamstring. She was expected to be sidelined for 3 months. […]”

You skimmed through the article, waiting for your coffee to brew. It has been an arduous few months as you focused on rehabilitation. You were supposed to be match-fit at the start of the season, but the physios determined you needed at least a few more weeks before you could play. Your thigh still felt a bit tight every time you stretched them. Nonetheless, you were back to playing, that was all that mattered.

It was early November, and the winds were picking up in Manchester, and yet you were warm.

“Morning,” you said, smiling at the figure waddling into the living room.

Bratwurst was wagging his tail by her side, no doubt looking for more food as if you hadn’t fed him half an hour ago.

“Good morning,” Ona said, rubbing her eyes.

“Coffee?” You nodded towards the machine.

“No, I have to get to training. Thanks, though.”

“In my shirt?” You smirked at looked down at her top. Sure enough, it was the old T-shirt you lent her after you were done last night.

“Hah hah.” She mocked you, but then took off the shirt, leaving her top half completely bare, and threw it at your face. “Obviously not.”

You let your eyes travel freely, as she went back into your room and returned wearing the clothes she came in last night.

“Looks like you’re back to being your insufferable self.” She walked to where you sat, putting on her necklace. “Can’t even go on social media without seeing people praising your goal.”

“All in a day’s work,” you said, grinning.

Ona rolled her eyes and put on her shoes. “I’m glad you’re back, but I won’t go easy on you.”

You stood up and pecked her lips.

“I never asked you to,” you leaned closer, ducking your face into her neck. “Maybe when we’re alone.”

She snickered quietly and patted your cheek. “Try not to miss me too much. Bye-bye, Bratwurst.”

The pup sat by the door as he watched her close it behind her. Ever since she started spending time at your apartment, it felt like he liked her more, always following her around and snuggling with her as she gave him pets.

Ona had been coming over since the kiss at the end of last season with the premise of meaningless sex. You both had an arrangement, and you were committed to keeping to it. You were surprised when she suggested it, thinking her not to be the type, but Ona continues to surprise you.

You had only meant to meet up over dinner to talk about what happened, but the night ended with her hands tangled in your hair and your legs tangled in her sheets. The ups and downs these past few months never deterred you from seeing each other. In fact, Spain losing out in the Euros prompted her to come over and forget about it for a night. In a way, you both had each other.

Your teammates at Man City were especially amused whenever you’d forget to cover up and come to practice with marks on your neck.

“Who’s the unlucky gal this time, Y/N?”

“Have you been busy while you were injured?”

Every time, you would just shake your head with a grin because you’d never kiss and tell. Also, because Leila and Laia would flip out if they knew you’d been screwing their teammate on the national team.

Your arrangement worked for a while, both of you still too young and too committed to football to think about anything else. While a lot of your colleagues would disagree, it was the excuse you told yourself to fully admit that what you felt for Ona was beyond just carnal desires.

You were treading on dangerous waters, your feelings bubbling to the surface every time you saw the girl. It was much more challenging to keep them under wraps, especially when you had to play against her every couple of months. From what people knew about you two, you were rivals, and that was your relationship. Rumors of a romance surfaced too, amongst younger fans, but it was the result of baseless shipping. If only they knew.

Ona wasn’t an incredibly affectionate person, not by a mile. The only times you would catch her lowering her guard by the tiniest of margins were when she was tired, maybe then she’d let you cuddle her after sex. But you remembered when Spain was knocked out of the Euros way too soon, and she was crying on the phone to you. You had just won the CONCACAF with the US across the Atlantic, and yet all you wanted was to hold her.

And so that was what you did. Two days later, after you were dismissed from your international duties, you flew back to Manchester and waited for her. Ona liked to be the little spoon whenever she was sad, and you were very happy to oblige. If she was feeling generous, she would even thank you for it. As much as you wanted to, you never teased her about it, because you knew what you had was fragile, and a slight mention of it could topple everything to the ground.

That was how it was with your Spanish beauty.

“Wooooooow . . . You’ve got a handful,” said your teammate, Chloe, as she stood in your kitchen, eating your chips.

“Yup,” you pressed your lips thinly, grabbing some seasoning from the cupboard. “That’s my life right now.”

You proceeded to tell Chloe everything one day, omitting a few saucy details, of course.

“Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“That’s the thing, though. There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t just walk up to her and demand something that wasn’t part of the arrangement to begin with.”

“I know, but it’s clearly affecting you. You like her, don’t you?”

“No.” A few seconds of silence followed, and Chloe was looking at you with a glare. “Okay, I think she’s cute, like, really cute.”

“I think you should talk to her, Y/N,” Chloe said. “Worst case scenario, you lot stop whatever you’re doing with each other behind all of our backs. Best case scenario, you date her.”

You smirked, but nothing no usual quippy or smug remark came out. “I should try,” you spoke quietly.

Chloe nodded expectantly and continued eating her chips, now. “I can’t believe it. You tricked all of us! It was Batlle all this time!”

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight,” you whispered quietly into the room, sitting by the edge of your bed.

Ona was under the covers, on her phone. “Why? ‘Cause we played against each other?”

You nodded bashfully.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she set her phone down. “Or did you not want me to come?”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” You said, gesturing at the clothes strewn on the floor.

You let her study you for a moment, finding the ruffled sheets much more interesting instead.

“What’s wrong?” She said.

“Nothing.”

“You’re too quiet.” Her voice was low and calming. She reached out and caressed your hand. You wanted to bury your face in her neck and be done with the conversation instead.

“I was just wondering . . . would you like to come over a bit earlier from now on?”

Your question made her look at you with a puzzled expression. “Have I been staying too late?”

“No, no. I mean—you can stay as late as you want, but come a bit earlier. I can cook for us, and then we can just sit and . . . talk.”

You fumbled with your fingers, your eyes drifting up to her, seeing the realization dawn on her. She exhaled. “Okay, that sounds nice . . . but as friends, right?”

“Um . . . no?”

“Y/N,” Ona breathed. Her silence was killing you. Finally, she looked up. “That wasn’t our arrangement, and I’d like for it to stay as we’ve agreed. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Yeah,” you lied, caressing her arm and flashing a smile. “It’s for the best.”

She nodded but watched you closely. “Come here,” she whispered.

You obliged, letting her pull you into her embrace. A searing kiss followed, leaving you to straddle her bare waist.

A short gasp left your lips. “Fuck me, Ona.” You pleaded quietly, hoping she’d fuck you until you forget the conversation ever happened. But you also hoped she’d go slow and make love to you, proving that she’d finally reciprocated your feelings.

You’ve decided that you wanted both. Maybe then, you’d finally get what you wanted.

You didn’t know that Ona was scared to let you in too, so she settled for sleeping with you.

You had been an obsession of hers for three years, a game she played besides having to focus on the actual game she was paid to play. But now, here she was—sleeping with someone who could possibly be her mortal enemy. She didn’t know when, but suddenly, she couldn’t bring herself to see you harmed.

She wanted you, but that was the selfish part of her speaking.

In the morning, you had expected her to be there, but your bedside was empty.

Ona moved through her days like a ghost. She didn’t expect it to be this hard three years ago when she first set foot in Manchester. She didn’t expect a forward to make her life this hard, or that she would fall in love with you. Every minute she spent tangled up in bed with you were minutes where nothing else outside that bedroom mattered, and it scared her.

It scared her that only you could make her feel that way, that something she had spent so hard working towards for herself, you did so easily for her.

She thinks of the nights after the Euros when she practically stayed over all day, and how you took care of her. She thinks of the cheeky winks you would send her way whenever she played against you, and the not-so-innocent brushes that you sneak in whenever she defended you. She think of your face when she shut you down, and how quickly your walls came back up.

She thinks of you the entire time she was on the Zoom call with her agent.

“You need to decide soon, Ona,” her agent had told her. “Barcelona doesn’t wait for anyone.”

It was a no-brainer, but she thinks of you all the time.

The referee blew the whistle and the 90 minutes were over. You collapsed on your knees as the Etihad erupted into cheers. Man City had reached the semifinals of the Women’s Champions League for the first time ever in the history of the women’s club. You would be playing Wolfsburg next, but you couldn’t care less about that right then. You just wanted to celebrate with your teammates.

You wished that you could celebrate with Ona too.

You sent her a text much later in the night, but she didn’t respond. Thinking it to be too late for her to come over, you went to bed, soaking in your victory.

But then, she didn’t respond the next day, then the day after that. A week later, she still hadn’t responded. Then the first leg of the semifinal came, and City drew 2-2 to Wolfsburg. You had given her space to deal with whatever she didn’t want you to know and knew double-texting made you look desperate, but you have had enough of the silence.

A vote of confidence would have been nice Sent 4:29pm

Nothing.

You weren’t going to put your life on hold for her. You wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

The week of the return leg, you had almost forgotten all about Ona from the amount of training you were doing.

“Okay, ladies. Gather around,” said Chris, the assistant coach. “This will be our last practice session before the Champions League game. We’re gonna do some passing to start with, then a set-piece practice, and we’ll close off with a 5v5 scrimmage. That sound good?”

You were starting to feel more confident than jittery. Your movements were sure and steady, so were your finishes. Big games never deterred you, but it was the added fact of Ona not responding to your text that caused you to check your phone every time you were able to.

“No phones, Y/N,” Chris said, and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, Coach. Just checking news from family,” you lied. He extended his hand anyway, and you begrudgingly handed your phone over.

“I can’t have you distracted, Y/N. The match is tomorrow.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been good, though, haven’t I?” You grinned, taking a swig of water.

Practice ended later than scheduled, but you didn’t mind. You needed the extra preparation, and you were glad to have done that with your teammates. Chris finally gave you your phone back, like a naughty student, and you quickly checked your messages. Still nothing. It wasn’t like this was the biggest game of your life or anything.

Going to the news, flipping through articles upon articles on politics, your eyes landed on one about sports.

The Busby Babe: Ona Batlle Set For Barcelona Return “Manchester United and Spain star right back Ona Batlle is reportedly on the verge of completing a move back to Catalonia, rejoining Barcelona Femeni at the end of her contract with the Red Devils. […]”

The match of your life started. You were on the left wing as you always were, playing inverted so Laia would be running the flank. You scored one, but Wolfsburg got one back towards the end of the first half.

“Make those runs, ladies. If you see them coming at you, call out to your teammates. Use the third man to break free of the defense.” Gareth pointed at the board, showing hypothetical scenarios that the team could exploit for an opening.

“Hey,” Chloe sat next to you, her forehead glistening. “You alright?”

You uttered a small ‘yeah’ and closed your hand over her sweat-clad one over your knee. You couldn’t be distracted. You owed it to Chloe and everyone else on this team.

You were slamming your fist on the door, but you didn’t care. Your jaw clenched as you swayed on your feet waiting for her to open up.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You stepped into her apartment.

Her face went pale. “How did you know?”

You let out a laugh. “You’re pathetic. You’re a coward for not even saying a single word.”

The ball was sent over long from deep aiming towards you. You called for Filippa for a one-two, but once you dribbled, you were tackled inside the box. You put your hand up at the referee but huffed in disbelief when she only shook her head and granted a corner.

Slapping your hand on the grass, you sprung up with a grunt. It must have looked like you were throwing a tantrum, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to win.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you were just not gonna say anything at all?! You owe me that much to—”

“I don’t owe you anything, Y/N.” She snapped. She had never snapped at you before, not while off the pitch. “You know what we have is just sex. That’s all we ever had and that’s all we will ever have.”

Tears formed in your eyes. You felt like a kid again, being scolded and taken for granted. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but this isn’t some fantasyland,” Ona said firmly. “I told you what I wanted, and I thought you agreed.”

There was a period of struggle over the ball soon after, mostly in midfield. You were growing increasingly frustrated as passes continued being cut off just before they reached the attacking third.

“Come on, guys! Let’s finish this!” You called out to your teammates in an attempt to hype them up before a throw-in.

Your irritation mounted, but you told yourself to quickly snap out of it. I need to stay calm, my team needs me. It proved quite difficult when Lena Oberdorf slithered up from behind to mark you. She dug an elbow into your back to keep you at bay, and when you moved, she moved. So you pushed back, much harder than you anticipated. It set her off. Good, stay off me.

Soon, you heard the ref’s hurried whistle, as Lena shoved you back. “The fuck are you pushing for?!” Your opponent seethed, getting all up in your face to challenge you.

You were feeling bold, so you smirked at her. “Come closer, see what I’ll do. Or do you just want a piece of this, huh?”

It wasn’t your best quality, you admitted it, but you liked it when you set off an opponent. You didn’t care when Lena was hurling insults at you in German as she was being led away. What mattered was that you had gotten in her head, and it would be much easier to break her defense from now on. The referee blew her whistle again, and a few teammates of yours attempted to separate you from Lena.

“Sei ruhig, Mann. Bleib’ da drüben.” Be quiet, man. Stay over there. Waving at her dismissively, you saw the way her eyes looked like they would pop out of her sockets in fury, knowing she didn’t expect you to know German. You couldn’t help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

“Last warning, Y/L/N.” The referee warned before continuing the match.

There would always be one player that completely drove the opposition crazy, and you would gladly be that asshole, so your teammates wouldn’t have to. You wanted to win.

“You kissed me first. I thought . . .”

“Please, don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Ona said quietly.

“I thought we had something, Ona,” you tried to steady your voice. You knew you sounded pathetic, but you never believed Ona could betray you in such a way.

She only pressed her lips thin. “We don’t. The only thing we have is our arrangement and however you feel about me on the pitch.”

Bunny scored in the 75th minute, and that would be the last goal for City in this match. The game went to extra time, and you could feel your teammates getting tired and sloppy in possession. You were tired too, but you wanted to keep fighting, anything to keep the thought of Ona out of your head.

You were so focused on the ball that you didn’t see a defender coming up beside you, her body colliding with yours in an attempt to redirect the ball. You fell to the ground with a thud, the stinging impact beginning to spread across your back. You felt the wind getting knocked out of you, your vision beginning to fade until all you could see were the lights atop the stadium, until those faded too.

The next thing you knew, you were on your side. Then the uncomfortable pain in your gut started to become more apparent, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore. You gasped for air, just as a couple of your teammates knelt beside you.

“Y/N, can you hear me? Medic!” You heard a voice almost like Demi’s call out.

You didn’t know who knocked into you, you didn’t care anymore, because you had the overwhelming urge to throw up whilst still struggling to breathe.

“Can’t . . . breathe,” you wheezed out, tears starting to fill your eyes. You wanted to go home.

One of the medics shone a flashlight in your eyes. “Pupils are PEARL,” she said. “Okay, I need you to try and take deep breaths for me, alright, darling?”

You drew a shaky breath. There was a wheezing noise, in and out. In and out. The more you did, the easier it got. Your head was dizzy when you stood up, just as you heard applause ringing throughout the stadium.

Chloe appeared in front of you and offered her arm while a medic took your other as you walked toward the sideline.

“You’re alright, love,” she flashed you a warm smile and wiped away the stray tear that lingered on your cheek.

It was much too unfortunate, because you still had a lot more to give, but you were done for the night. Gareth knew it too, so he sent Hempo in to take your place.

You finally let the tears fall freely when the final whistle came.

“When do you leave?”

“In two weeks.”

A scornful laugh escaped you that you didn’t even bother to hide. “You didn’t even have the decency to tell me, not as your booty call, but as your friend.”

But you were kidding yourself. You knew Ona and you were never friends, never quite lovers either. Only two people floating around in a sexual limbo who were too scared to admit to themselves what was right in front of them. Now she was leaving, and you would never get the chance.

It didn’t matter anymore, any of it. You had a Champions League semifinal to play.

ESPN: Wolfsburg Grabs Victory in Extra Time to Reach Women’s Champions League Final “[…]”

a/n: it was so heartwarming to see the support for jenni and the players :’) it’s abt fuckin time man let’s hope this continues until rubiales and vilda’s resignation

#ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle imagines #ona batlle angst #ona batlle #woso

785 notes · View notes

chiriwritesstuff · 10 months ago

Text

The Girl in IT - 7. The All Hands Meeting

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: A look into a typical day at Miller Construction Group. Chaos ensues (naturally).

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger woman, So much dirty talk, Office sex, Desk sex, Inappropriate usage of PowerPoint, Tommy fucks around and finds out, No Beta we die like men!

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: And the hijinks are back! I wanted to try something new this week, and it was the perfect opportunity to showcase all of our fun supporting characters in 'The Girl in IT'! I thought what better way to introduce everyone was to include their commentary, like an episode of 'The Office'! This one is a doozy, and I hope you all enjoy!

#MCG ADMIN 50 members Sarah (HR) Good morning, Team! I hope you're all doing well. I'd like to announce a mandatory All-Hands HR Meeting today at 11 am in Conference Room A, co-facilitated by Tess and me. We'll have a brief presentation, and for those working remotely, please log into Zoom to join the meeting. Following the session, thanks to Bill, we'll have lunch and refreshments provided. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions. Looking forward to seeing all of you soon! Tommy Sarah, are you gonna bust your Papi's balls in front of everyone for posting that naughty photo? 💀☠️🪦 Frank (Interior Design) Will there be an opportunity for discussion following the presentation? I'm eager to delve into the minds of SlackGate and understand the motivations behind their actions the other day. Connie (Reception) It's clearly because they're fucking, Frank. 🍆🍑🦪 Frank (Interior Design) Who is? Our fearless leader and our shy girl in IT? Until one of them makes it official, it's just hearsay! Is this meeting a hard launch for a new power couple? 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 Sarah (HR) Yes, there will be an open-forum discussion after my presentation but NO, we will not be talking about the events of the other day in detail. Connie, this is a professional space and we will conduct ourselves as such. Connie (Reception) Why am I always being singled out?? Frank started it! Frank (Interior Design) Did I not professionally conduct myself? Geez Connie, I'm not the one sending nudes to our Boss when clearly, he has a girlfriend. Wait. Oops? (Sorry Connie 🤡) Bill (Civil) Frank! What do I have to do to get you to behave for once? Frank (Interior Design) Oh, I could think of a few ways... Why don't you come and find out once you're done handling your bratwurst out there? Sarah (HR) I don't get paid enough for this shit.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming together at such short notice. While I'm aware this all-hands meeting was abrupt, recent events in the past few days have made it essential. Tess and I genuinely appreciate your presence as we address these important matters," Sarah says with a bright smile, handing out materials. "Here's an updated Employee Handbook with a few edits. I thought it would be beneficial for us to go through it together. Are there any questions before we begin?"

"Yeah!" Tommy exclaims from the back of the room, his feet casually resting against the edge of the table. "How long until we get to the part of this meeting where we discuss just how much of a bad boy your Daddy was the other day?"

Tommy Look, I love my brother, I do. He's always so serious, so noble, providing for everyone and all that, making sure we have a roof over our heads. Shit, he's gotten me out of a lot of binds in my life- [He looks a bit uncomfortable and clears his throat, nodding.] ... anyway, it's a rare thing to see my brother slip up like that, you know? Didn't think he had it in him, honestly. It's been a few decades since I've seen his twig and berries, but shit, I know he's packing! He's a Miller, for fucks sake! [he puffs his chest out a little at that, chuckling to himself] But Sugar? She's been a fucking godsend! Never in my life have I seen my big ol brother act a fool, especially over a woman! What can I say? It's great to not be the fuck-up brother for once! I'm gonna milk out SlackGate til the end of time!

"Tommy," Joel warns through his teeth, glaring at his brother. "Cut it out."

Sarah rolls her eyes in response as she fiddles with her laptop, the projector behind her illuminating with her PowerPoint presentation. "Like I was saying, this presentation is just going to go over the changes we have implemented in the last few days, including proper Slack etiquette and conduct. You would think that as grown adults, we would know better than sending inappropriate images and messages through company property and time," she clears her throat, glancing over at Joel, then to Tommy, who winks in her direction knowingly. "...including those who decide to engage and participate in unsanctioned secret channels-"

Frank's hand suddenly shoots up, his face awash in mock outrage. "I'll have you know, the watercooler channel serves a purpose, folks! When I caught wind of this 'secret channel' gossip circulating among the Nosy Nancies in the breakroom, I was appalled! Who would dare to stoop so low—"

"Frank, you invited me to the chat just this morning," Jesse remarks, casually holding up his phone as evidence. "It's titled 'Frank's-secret-slack-chat.' I thought it was some kind of exclusive club or something."

Frank Hi, [waves to you] is this on? Yeah? Hi. I'm Frank. Listen, Sarah was getting a little too vigilant about monitoring Slack ever since Tommy sent us a little treat last year [he laughs] so I had to do something about it, you know? [It pans out to Frank leaning against his desk chair, typing away on his secret Slack Chat.] The chat started as an open forum for discussion on the everyday going-ons of Miller Construction Group. Do we just so happen to discuss the private lives of our peers? Maybe. Do we mean any harm by it? [He gives you a wicked smile] Maybe.

"You guys, you know, the longer I keep getting interrupted, the longer we're all going to stay here in this conference room, and the longer we have to wait to eat Bill's food. You know how he is," She looks outside of the window, the smoke from Bill's grill swirls like a plume as he flips over a juicy steak. "He hates it when he has to serve his food cold. As I was saying, it should be obvious that we shouldn't be sending inappropriate images or photos to one another through Slack or e-mail."

"Hey! It was just one time, and it was an accident!" Tommy retorts, "Besides, it was hardly inappropriate, I was just only trying to show Maria this weird rash I got-"

"What does that mean, anyway?" Connie cuts in, casting a glance your way. "Inappropriate photos? And is there a difference between accidentally sending them or doing it on purpose?"

"Yeah," you shoot her a pointed look. "Sending nude photos to someone who doesn't want them is actually considered sexual harassment," you say, raising your voice a bit and turning in your seat. "I mean, you could get arrested for that, Connie," you add with a sing-song tone, a smirk playing on your lips as you glance at her. "You have nothing to worry about though, right?" you challenge, rolling your chair towards Joel, and taking his hand in his. "Not unless you did send naked photos to my boyfriend?"

Connie Look, I didn't know that Mr. Miller and Sugar were boning. I know how this looks- like I don't believe in girl code or something. I am a girls girl! If Sugar was just forthcoming about who gave her those damn hickeys before SlackGate happened, I wouldn't have sent her boyfriend nude photos of myself! A girl's gotta try, you know? I was only trying to shoot my shot! [She looks a bit uncomfortable, picking at a hangnail.] ... but you have to admit, Mr. Miller is H-O-T hot. God. I love me a graying man in flannel. I always thought to myself, there must be a story here. How does a millionaire who looks like that be single all this time? does he have anyone? is it a sugar baby? does he have a secret love child? I mean- [she looks over her shoulder where Joel is, arms around his chest as he winks at Sugar. There's a hint of jealousy in Connie's eyes.] Is it true, though? Is it really sexual harassment if I send unsolicited photos of myself? Do you think he's gonna press charges?

"It's true. Sending unsolicited photos of yourself to unsuspecting parties is sexual harassment, Connie. Not to mention creepy," Sarah winces, shooting you an apologetic smile. "So please don't be sending any photos of that nature to anyone that you work with, especially not in the admin group Slack."

"Yeah, Joel!" Tommy chides. "Keep that shlong in your pants, brother!"

Sarah You would think that working for my family is a cakewalk? Please. I've been diagnosed with IBS and GAD since I started working here five years ago. I sometimes take half an edible just to make it to lunchtime. [Her head rests on her desk, and as the events of SlackGate unfold, an endless barrage of messages from the admin Slack channel floods her monitor. She can't help but groan in response.] Listen. I love my Dad. I've never really had to worry about his behavior at work before, not like how I have to with Uncle Tommy... but what the hell was he thinking? I can't unsee that! What if Ellie was on that chat? Could you imagine the trauma? My trauma?

"Okay, let's turn to page 12, where we'll go over all the recent updates," Sarah announces, clicking through her PowerPoint. A collective gasp echoes in the room as the slide projects onto the screen, revealing an image – the image of Joel. However, where his exposed package would be, an eggplant emoji tastefully takes its place. It resembles one of those generic memes easily made with a phone app, complete with the semi-imposed words 'Keep Calm and Shlong On!' in big bold letters.

"Shit!" she exclaims, hurriedly pressing the ESC button as she tries to close out her PowerPoint. She slams her laptop shut, the tell-tell sound of a crack echoing throughout the conference room. You hear Tess silently scoff in the distance, and Sarah closes her eyes in embarrassment as the room falls silent.

... and then, all hell breaks loose.

Tommy is beside himself, his face red, and his eyes filled with tears as he doubles over in laughter, clutching at his middle. "Shit, Henry! When I asked you to do this, I honestly didn't think you had the balls to go through with it, but I so owe you, my man!" he exclaims, enthusiastically high-fiving his nephew-in-law. "This is the best fucking day of my life!"

"Henry?!" Sarah exclaims, her face flushed with rage. "This is what you needed to do in the office at 6 am this morning?!"

Henry's expression crumbles as he witnesses his wife's ire, suddenly realizing that he's just dug himself into a deep hole. "Sarah," he stammers, attempting to regain composure. "This isn't what it looks like—"

Henry Yeah, Tommy asked me to put that meme into Sarah's PowerPoint last night. I would have done it at home, but Sarah doesn't like to bring her laptop home, you know, work-life balance? So I had to make an excuse to come to the office this morning. Was it a dumb ass idea? Yeah, probably. Did I kind of want to get back at Sarah's dad for making my life a living hell? [He looks at you awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.] Honestly, when you're like five beers in, drinking with Tommy- everything seems like a good idea. He dared me, you know? Said that I'm such a simp, trying to always please Joel. Called me a fucking pussy and everything! What else was I supposed to do? Sarah's going to kill me, huh? Do you think that she's gonna ask for a divorce?

"It's a meme. A meme of my Dad's dick pic with AN EGGPLANT EMOJI?!?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??! WHAT DID YOU MEAN FOR IT TO LOOK LIKE?!" she screams, pulling at her hair. "AND YOU, TOMMY MILLER!" she points at her uncle furiously, "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??!"

"Baby," Henry replies, his hands raised in an attempt to calm her down. "It's just a harmless prank, look—"

"No, you look, Henry! Does it seem like it's just a harmless prank?" she gestures to the room, her eyes wide. "Don't even think about coming to bed tonight. I can't even look at you! How dare you collaborate with Tommy, do you really want to go this way? Because I see you fucking around, and you're about to find out-"

"Oh come on, Sarah! you know these all-hands meetings are dull as fuck, I don't even know why you even bother, no one ever listens anyway!" Tommy exclaims, looking around the room. "Isn't this fun you guys? Come on, lighten up! It's not like y'all haven't seen my dick before! Your Papi's gonna live another day, I think we should all feel as comfortable as we want, fuck the rules!"

"...but Joel's is much bigger than yours!" someone yells amid the chaos, laughter, and banter echoing through the room. Sarah looks around helplessly in a panic, trying to grasp the situation unfolding.

"Hey! I'll have you know that I ain't small!" Tommy yells in retaliation.

"Do you think that this is helping, Uncle Tommy? I'm beginning to believe that the only reason why people don't take me seriously is because of all of the shit that you pull!" Sarah groans, looking like she's at the end of her rope. "I could mention that Tess is helping me facilitate this meeting to scare everyone but she's just off to the side, pretending to not be drinking under the table!"

Tess [She is sitting off to the side, smiling to herself as the chaos ensues, shaking her head.] I am drinking, because who else thinks it's appropriate to call an all-hands meeting first thing in the morning? I don't even want to be here. It's so fucking pointless, trying to get these shitheads to conform to a set of rules. [She witnesses Joel storming up to Tommy, his face full of rage and irritation, finger pointed right at him.] This is the consequence of hiring friends and family, isn't it? I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but who's listening to me? I get it, everyone thinks I'm a bit of a bitch, and well... yeah, I am. Alright, time to rein this in— [She suddenly stands from her seat and walks over to Sarah, who appears to be disassociating into madness.]

"HEY!" Tess bellows, clapping her hands together. The room abruptly falls silent, Joel's hands frozen mid-grab on Tommy's flannel. Forty-eight pairs of eyes pivot towards Tess, a blend of shock and embarrassment spreading across their faces, reminiscent of children caught sneaking cookies from the jar by their mother. "Okay, that's enough!"

Her eyes are narrowed, hands on her hips. "This is what's going to happen. You're going to stop sending each other dick and tit pics through Slack, because as much as it is amusing," she smirks, winking at you, "I would really rather not have to deal with the fallout that comes with it," she shoots a pointed look at Connie, whose eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

"The next time someone tries to fuck around and find out? I'm going to take that dirty photo, print a thousand fucking copies of it and stick that shit all over the office. Every fucking inch, every fucking nook and cranny is just gonna be dick and tit central," she paces around the room, placing a warning hand on Frank's shoulder. "As for this secret Slack chat, I'm going to give you all one chance to come clean. If you don't, and Sugar's report doesn't match who outs themselves right now," She scans the room, a smirk on the corner of her mouth appearing in satisfaction. "Yeah, you didn't think that we were monitoring that shit, huh? Well, I'll throw you all a bone: raise your hands if you are in this secret group chat, and I'll consider not docking your pay for insubordination. Your choice."

Frank [Looking at Tess as she slightly stumbles from where she's standing.] Yeah, she's toast.

The majority of the room begins to raise their hands, except you, Tess, Joel, and surprisingly, Frank.

Tess scoffs. "Really Frank? Really?"

"I have no clue what you're trying to imply, and seriously Tess? Are you really going to play that card? Are you going to dock your pay too?" Frank retorts. "I mean, just last night, you were drunkenly telling me that you heard Joel and Sugar-"

"If you utter another word, I'll fire you on the spot, Frank!" Joel shouts from across the room. "I mean it this time!"

Joel and Sugar [Joel wraps his arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss your forehead while gently pushing a strand of hair behind your ears.] There, that's better. Don't hide your face, Mami; you're too beautiful to be hiding all of that, okay? Right, [he clears his throat.] You would think that people would be a little more professional around here, show me a bit of respect— [His gaze shifts to Tommy, who's engaged in laughter and banter with the team, his chest puffed out in triumph. Joel glares at him, shaking his head.] I'd like to think I try really hard to be a good boss. I pay fairly, I allow remote work, and damn it, I take pride in offering the best employee benefits in all of Austin. We even take a company trip to Hawaii every year, for fucks sake! [You squeeze his hand, pressing a kiss to his temple as he takes a frustrated breath.] Papi, if it means anything, I think you're the best boss any of these folks could ever ask for. They don't deserve you. [Joel nods.] Look, I don't know what to tell you. I got the ride of my life that morning, my sweet Mami riding my cock just right, you know? I would have been okay, going into my meeting with blue balls, just as long as Sugar got hers. Your pleasure is my pleasure... but I was just so fucking horny! I started to work out, yeah? Wanted to keep shit tight for my baby, and fuck, I was... what do they young kids say? Feeling yourself? [Joel nods again, smiling at you.] Yeah, 'feeling myself' or whatever. Anyway, I was in the meeting, and you messaged me, right? saying that you weren't going to be in for lunch? and I don't know if was the disappointment, or if I was just too horny, but fuck. I quickly excused myself and took a quick dick pic in my bathroom. I thought I was in the right Slack channel... so I sent it, and then the guys at The H Group asked me a whole bunch of questions, and then an hour later- Chaos. The messages kept flooding in! Frank was asking about how long I was, and Connie was sending me nude photos of herself- in my fucking office! Wait, what? [Your gaze meets Connie's, nervously seated as Frank goes on and on beside her. Her hands twitch like a possum that just got run over by an 18-wheeler. Yeah. Squirm for me, you think to yourself.] Yeah! And I just sat there, in shock, you know? Like this is the kind of shit that Tommy pulls, and I couldn't believe that I was so fucking stupid! Can you imagine the kind of therapy Sarah's gonna need? What if Ellie saw this?

"Who's up for some snacks?" Tommy calls out to the team, holding a basket filled with rather sizable cucumbers, bananas, and eggplants. "Help yourselves, compliments of Joel!"

Ellie [at the job site across town, hard hat fixed crookedly on top of her head.] Yeah, I saw it. There is not enough bleach in this world that could ever erase that image from my existence. [she glares at Sam, who just shrugs.] Thanks a lot, asshole!

"Alright, you degenerates!" Bill booms, bursting through the conference doors wearing a 'Kiss the Cook' apron, tongs in one hand, and a tray piled high with thickly cut steaks in the other. "This steak isn't going to eat itself!"

The team swarms Bill like seagulls spotting a tasty piece of bread on the boardwalk. Tommy grabs a t-bone with his bare hands, biting into it with the enthusiasm of a caveman.

"Hey," Joel whispers to you, his shoulder gently bumping yours. "Want to help me with something?" You nod eagerly as Joel swiftly guides you out of the conference room, heading towards the executive offices. You giggle as Joel ushers you into the room, pulling you into a kiss, his foot playfully kicking the door shut.

He moves the both of you over to where Tommy's desk is, pushing aside its contents off the tabletop in one fell swoop, the items clattering onto the floor. "Papi, what are you doing?" you ask cheekily as he bends you over the desk, lifting your skirt.

Joel growls and shoves you down onto the desk, his hands harshly grabbing onto your hips. Your arms scramble to find purchase as you knock over a framed photo of Tommy and Maria, watching helplessly as the image of their smiling faces falls onto the floor. His palm travels across your back, pinning you in place as he fiddles with his zipper with his other hand. "Line item 6," Joel murmurs as his hands begin to travel across the globes of your ass, squeezing and spreading and slapping them until you're so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs.

Joel hums in appreciation. "Thats right Mami, get nice and wet for me, okay?" You can feel him pump his cock against you, notching his head at your entrance. "You gonna make a nice mess for me, baby?" he asks through gritted teeth as he strokes through your folds with his dick.

"Yesss," you moan, pushing your ass back toward him.

Joel pushes into you to the hilt in one brutal thrust as you cry out, grabbing onto the edge of the desk as he begins to pound into you in earnest, his thrusts so hard and punishing that the desk begins to rattle. You squeeze your eyes shut as Joel gathers your hair in his hand, pulling you back towards him. "Fuck baby, I'm gonna come so fucking hard, fill this pussy up and watch as it drips out of you, maybe fuck you again if we still have time-"

You gasp, taking a deep breath as his thrusts become so erratic it pushes you up the desk, lifting one leg onto the surface as Joel angles himself higher, hitting a spot so deep within you that you bite your lip from crying out, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. You squeeze around his cock as you chase your high, hoping that Joel can maintain his composure long enough so you both can finish together. "No Mami, stay with me, come with me-"

He leans over you, pressing you onto the desk as he grabs onto your shoulders, pounding into you, his breath hot against your neck as he buries his face into it, huffing from exertion. "I'm so close Mami, I'm gonna... Fuck!" He bites your shoulder as he cums in one last brutal stroke, his hands harshly grasping your thighs as you feel his hot spend flow deep into your belly. You rock your hips onto him as his hand goes to your clit, rubbing until you are weak in the knees, your body trembling beneath his. "Fuck Joel," you say a little breathless as you slump onto the table as Joel pulls out of you, his finger probing into you as he pushes his leaking cum back where it belongs. "Come on, lets clean this up and head back before they notice-"

Joel just snorts as he zips up his jeans. "No," he replies nonchalantly as he catches his breath.

"No?" you ask as you straighten yourself up, frowning at him.

"Line item six says I bend you over his desk and leave a little souvenir," he motions to the mess on the floor, pens and papers scattered about.

"He's going to fucking murder you, Joel," you chuckle, pulling him into a kiss.

"Yeah? Well, he shouldn't have fucked around, because he's about to find out." He simply replies, taking your hand in his. "Come on, little Mami, quickly now, before he realizes we're gone..."

You share a laugh as he guides you back into the conference room. Bill raises an eyebrow at both of you, handing over a plate with steaming steak, as if he just finished cooking it. "I thought I'd save your lunches for last, figured you guys needed some extra time," he says, clearing his throat and nodding towards Tommy, who seems entirely oblivious to your brief disappearance. "You know Tommy, can't resist a good piece of steak," Bill continues, gesturing at Joel. "It's like everything around him disappears for a moment; you could rob him blind, and he wouldn't even notice," he adds with a small smile, placing a hand on Joel's shoulder and giving him a knowing look. "Enjoy your lunch, you two."

Bill Look, I wouldn't call myself a nosy person, but I am perceptive. [He glances at Frank whispering and giggling to Connie off to the side, rolling his eyes.] Look at them. They think that they're the eyes and ears of this operation, but what they don't know, is that I. Know. Everything. I am a survivalist. I gather intel on all of my surroundings, even if I am surrounded by absolute morons. [Bill takes another sip of coffee, subtly glancing around him before making eye contact with you, the reader, once more] So if you want to know the real scoop, the real ins-and-outs of this company, and not have to deal with the lunatics in Frank's not-so-secret shit talk club, come to me, I'll set you on the right path. At least I have snacks. [He looks off to you and Joel, giving a curt nod as he starts to cut into his own steak.] As much as I respect Tommy, he's not the one signing my checks at the end of the day. If there's anything that I value more than anything, it's loyalty. I don't like to play around, hate it when people bite the hands that feed them. People like that need to be taught a lesson. Joel's a good man, and sometimes, we fuck up... but it's how we handle ourselves after the fact that matters. If that means I help out an old friend, well- [he smiles as Tommy walks towards the conference room doors, heading back to his office. Bill smiles out into the distance.]

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @gwendibleywrites @brittmb115 @joeldjarin @drewharrisonwriter

@littlebunnybigheartfics @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @quicax3 @casa-boiardi

@amyispxnk @untamedheart81 @paleidiot @laurrrra @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@bbiophiliaa @thewiigers (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

260 notes · View notes

engeorged · 24 days ago

Text

The Sugarman’s House

A Halloween sequel to Obi’s Place, Santa’s Otto and prequel to Aster’s Maze

As it’s Halloween, I thought I’d tell you the story of one of my near misses in my search for Obi. You’d think by now I’d have learnt my lesson. I mean, if chasing down fae-related clues across multiple countries isn’t a red flag that my life has taken a bizarre turn, I don’t know what is. But there I was, chasing another clue like some kind of enchanted scavenger hunt. This time, it was a tip I’d received in a seedy little café in Strasbourg, where a man with a thick German accent and a glint in his eye mentioned that if I were truly looking for the fae, I should check out a market in Munich. He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, like I’d find the secret to magic between a bratwurst stand and a booth selling antiques.

So, off to Munich I went, because at this point, I was following even the faintest whispers that might lead me to Obi. It wasn’t that I’d given up on finding more practical clues; it was just that nothing else had panned out, and desperation can make even the most ridiculous leads seem plausible. Besides, the idea of magic hiding in plain sight among lederhosen and steins of beer was almost charming.

The market itself was sprawling, a maze of colorful stalls and wares that seemed to stretch on forever. It was the kind of place where you could find anything from hand-carved wooden toys to dusty antiques, and probably a cursed amulet or two if you knew where to look. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I wandered through the stalls, trying to seem casual while discreetly searching for…well, anything that felt off. As I walked past a bakery the smell of the pastries made my stomach rumble but I didn’t come to have a snack, I had to find something. I didn’t have to look for long.

Amid the piles of yellowing postcards and forgotten family photos, one card stood out seemingly calling to me. I mean literally calling, I’m pretty sure I heard to shout my name! Its edges were crisp, and the colours were strangely vivid for something allegedly old. It depicted a charming little house, tucked away in a forest, with icing-like snow on the roof and a glowing warmth emanating from its windows. The scene looked more like a holiday card than a genuine photograph, which should have been my first clue that it was a little too perfect. It had the title ‘Der Zuckermann’s Haus’ on the bottom in a neat rectangle. But what caught my attention was the writing on the back, penned in elegant, old-fashioned script: Für den, der wirklich sucht—“For the one who truly seeks.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity. “For the one who truly seeks,” huh? If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear someone was mocking me. But I knew better than to dismiss a clue when it practically fell into my lap. Sure, it sounded ridiculous, but I’d chased stranger leads. What’s one more mad quest in a forest when you’re already balls-deep in fairy tales?

The back of the postcard had a smudged postmark and what looked like a set of coordinates scribbled in the corner. I pulled out my phone, plugged in the numbers, and found that they pointed to the edge of the Black Forest. “Great,” I muttered, “just where I wanted to go—deep into a dark, possibly cursed wood.” Still, there was a tugging in my chest, a feeling that this was the kind of crazy I needed to embrace if I ever hoped to find Obi.

I found myself at the edge of the Black Forest, a strange calm settled over me. There was a stillness in the air, as though the world had paused just beyond the tree line, waiting for me to take the next step. It wasn’t just the chill that ran through the air; it was something deeper, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I couldn’t help but think that if magic existed anywhere, it would be in a place like this—a place that seemed to hold its breath, as if it were keeping secrets.

I took one last glance at the postcard, then tucked it into my pocket. “Here goes nothing,” I whispered to myself, and stepped into the forest.

The deeper I ventured into the forest, the more the air seemed to shift around me. There was a damp chill that crept through the trees, but I could also feel a warmth radiating from somewhere up ahead, like the promise of a fireplace at the end of a long walk. I’d been wandering for what felt like hours, and I could feel every step. My legs ached from navigating the uneven ground, and the extra weight I’d picked up from the last year wasn’t helping. My growing belly had rounded out somewhat and I had noticed that my shirts were starting to feel a bit tighter around the middle. The irony wasn’t lost on me—here I was, searching for the fae that made me fat with a lot of extra fat they had put on me.

As I trudged further into the woods, the scent of something sweet floated on the breeze. It started out faint, just a hint of something spicy, but as I followed the trail, the smell grew stronger, richer—almost decadent. I could practically taste the caramel in the air, the warmth of cinnamon and cloves wrapping around me like a soft blanket. It felt like the woods were trying to lure me in deeper, coaxing me forward with promises of warmth and sweetness.

Then, I saw it.

The house came into view as I rounded a bend in the trail, and for a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. It was beautiful—picturesque, even—like something you’d see on the front of a biscuit tin at Grandma’s. It had steep gabled roofs, tall windows with little wooden shutters, and ivy crawling up the sides in a way that seemed almost too perfect. As I drew closer, however, I noticed the details that weren’t quite right. The walls didn’t look like wood at all, but a dark, rich brown that seemed almost edible. I squinted and stepped closer, peering at the surface. It wasn’t wood—it was fucking gingerbread. The entire house was covered in thick layers of icing, with candy canes lining the corners and massive gumdrops studded along the roof’s edges. I even spotted what looked like strips of marzipan wrapped around the window frames.

This couldn’t be real, could it? Who would build an entire house out of sweets in the middle of the Black Forest? It was absurd, and yet there I was, standing in front of it, breathing in the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked gingerbread and sugar.

I circled the house, looking for a way inside. The front door was made to look like a giant chocolate bar, with squares that seemed ready to snap off. I tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge, and the windows, though invitingly decorated with thick icing, didn’t give me any way to see inside. If there was any sign of magic or fae, it was well hidden. But then again, in stories like this, magic often required a little… participation.

I glanced at the wall next to me and reached out, breaking off a small piece of gingerbread. It crumbled in my hand, still warm to the touch, and as I brought it to my mouth, the flavors hit me in waves. The sweetness of the icing blended with the deep, spiced richness of the gingerbread. It wasn’t just the taste that overwhelmed me; it was the sensation of warmth spreading through my whole body, as if the bite had ignited some kind of inner glow. I hadn’t tasted anything so comforting, so perfect, in a long time.

Encouraged, I broke off another piece, this time from one of the candy canes lining the doorway. It was surprisingly soft, and when I bit into it, the peppermint flavor burst across my tongue, refreshing and invigorating. I couldn’t help but take another bite, and then another, sampling different parts of the house as though I were at a dessert buffet.

But as I continued to eat, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I paused, a piece of chocolate-coated marzipan halfway to my mouth, and glanced around. The clearing was empty, and the only sounds were the wind rustling through the trees and my own heavy breathing. Still, the sense of being observed lingered, like the hairs on the back of my neck were trying to warn me of something I couldn’t see.

I hesitated, then shrugged it off and took another bite. If this was some sort of enchanted test, I figured I’d already thrown myself into it by eating half the front porch.

I was just reaching for another piece of candied fruit embedded in the windowsill when I noticed him—a figure standing at the edge of the clearing, half-shrouded in shadow. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a surprisingly muscular frame that looked almost out of place in the delicate light of the forest. His dark hair fell in thick strands, just long enough to brush against his collarbones, framing a face that was both rugged and striking. His eyes, a vivid shade of purple, gave his nature away and they seemed to glow faintly in the fading light. There was an intensity in his gaze, something that made my breath hitch and my pulse quicken, though I couldn’t quite say why.

“Hey,” I said, swallowing the bite I’d just taken. “Do you, uh, live here?”

The man’s expression didn’t change, except for a small, closed-mouth smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. There was a mystery to that smile, as if he knew something I didn’t—a secret that he had no intention of sharing.

“Right,” I continued, trying to fill the silence. “I’m, uh, looking for something. Someone, actually. Maybe you could help?”

Still, he said nothing, just stood there watching me with those strange, captivating eyes. It was unnerving, but I found it hard to look away. There was a power in his gaze, like a magnet drawing me closer, making it difficult to think clearly. I felt a strange flutter in my chest, a mixture of curiosity and… something else.

“Okay, well, if you’re not going to say anything,” I muttered, glancing down at the piece of gingerbread in my hand. “I guess I’ll just—”

“Eat.”

The command hit me like a physical force, reverberating through my whole body. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was a deep, urgent compulsion that I couldn’t resist even if I’d wanted to. The word echoed in my mind, sinking into my bones, filling every crevice of my thoughts. Without thinking, I brought the gingerbread to my mouth and took a bite, then another, and another. I couldn’t stop. It was as though my hands and mouth were no longer mine to control.

The flavors seemed to grow richer with each bite—caramelized sugar, dark chocolate, buttery cake—melding together in a symphony of sweetness that was as intoxicating as it was overwhelming. I felt a warmth spreading through my chest, trickling down into my belly, which had already begun to swell slightly from all I had eaten. The sensation was… familiar. Comforting, even. But as the moments passed, I could feel my stomach pushing against the waistband of my jeans, the fabric beginning to strain.

I tore off a piece of peppermint railing, biting into it eagerly. The coolness of the mint mixed with the lingering spice of the gingerbread, and I could feel my body responding, a heaviness settling in my limbs, my movements becoming slower, almost languid. As I continued to eat, my belly pushed out further, pressing against the front of my shirt. I could feel the buttons straining, the fabric pulling tighter and tighter, until finally, one of them popped loose, flying off into the underbrush with a soft ping.

I paused, just for a moment, my hand hovering in front of my mouth with another chunk of gingerbread. “Is this… some kind of test?” I managed to ask, my voice thick and heavy. But the man—whoever or whatever he was—only watched, that same enigmatic smile curving across his lips.

I took another bite, then another, unable to stop myself. The swelling in my stomach grew more pronounced, a deep, full feeling that seemed to fill every inch of my being. My shirt strained and stretched over my expanding middle, and I could feel the seams digging into my skin, cutting across the surface as my belly rounded out further. It wasn’t painful, exactly—more like a slow, relentless pressure that was both unnerving and oddly pleasurable.

The man’s smile deepened, and his eyes gleamed as if lit from within. He took a step closer, his presence somehow filling the clearing, making it feel smaller, more intimate. “Eat,” he repeated, his voice soft and smooth, like velvet sliding over my skin. The word wrapped itself around my thoughts, dissolving any hesitation I had left. I ate for what felt like minutes but must have been hours judging by the size of my gut. This man had to be one of them, and there was only one way I would find out. I took a deep breath and leaned in, tearing off a chunk of chocolate-coated marzipan from the doorframe. As I chewed, I could feel the weight of my belly pressing outward, stretching the skin taut and forcing my waistband to dig deeper into my sides. Another button popped, then another, until the front of my shirt hung open, exposing the round curve of my stomach.

I reached out again, this time for a piece of glazed fruit decorating the roof’s edge. I didn’t even bother to question the absurdity of it anymore. I was lost in the rhythm of eating, the compulsion to keep going, as my belly continued to swell, heavy and distended.

The figure’s voice seemed to deepen as he spoke again, a low murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. “Come inside.” There was no room for resistance in his tone. I obeyed, my legs moving on their own as I followed him through the front door, which swung open as if by magic.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of freshly baked pastries, chocolate, and cream. It was as though I had walked straight into a bakery’s dream. In the center of the room stood a long, wooden table, and it was covered end to end with cakes, tarts, pies, and other treats. Rich chocolate éclairs, fluffy cream puffs, golden-brown strudels glistening with sugar—every imaginable dessert was laid out before me, and the sight of it made my mouth water, even though my stomach was already straining from all the gingerbread I had eaten outside.

“Sit,” the figure commanded, and I found myself dropping into the chair at the head of the table. Without hesitation, my hands reached for the nearest dish—a slice of dark chocolate cake that oozed rich ganache with each bite. I ate greedily, as though I hadn’t eaten in days, and the compulsion that gripped me grew stronger with every mouthful. My belly pressed outward, swelling more with each decadent morsel I consumed, and I could feel my shirt tightening again, though there was hardly anything left of it to hold me in.

As I continued to eat, I felt an odd mix of sensations stirring within me. There was a familiar enjoyment—something about the way my stomach filled and stretched reminded me of those strange, thrilling moments back at Obi’s place, when I’d let myself indulge in ways I never had before. But there was also a creeping dread in the back of my mind, a small voice whispering that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

I swallowed the last bite of a sugar-dusted pastry and reached for another slice of cake, but then I noticed something in the corner of the room—a large, brick oven, its iron door glowing faintly red as if there were a fire raging just behind it. The sight of it pulled me back from the fog of pleasure, and for the first time, I started to question what was happening. Why was this here? Why was I here?

I glanced back at the figure, my hands trembling as I set the plate down. His expression hadn’t changed, but there was something darker in his eyes now, a glint that hadn’t been there before. His smile widened, revealing a set of teeth that were far too sharp, too large to be human.

“What… what is this?” I managed to gasp, my voice weak and unsteady.

The figure took a step closer, and when he spoke, his voice was smooth as velvet. “You are the feast,” he said simply, his words curling around me like smoke. “You are the source of power I need—the nourishment that fuels me.”

I tried to push back from the table, but my body felt heavy, sluggish. My belly was huge now, pushing out over the waistband of my pants, which had long since torn open under the strain. The exposed skin was taut and round, flushed red from the pressure of being so full. I struggled to stand, but the weight of my gut made it difficult, almost impossible to move.

“More,” the figure commanded once more, his tone sharper this time, edged with irritation. The word cut through me, sinking in deep, and I felt the compulsion return, stronger than ever. My hands reached for the nearest pastry, and I stuffed it into my mouth even as my mind screamed at me to stop. Each bite seemed to add more to my already swollen middle, my skin stretching to accommodate the relentless expansion. I could feel my belly pushing against the table’s edge, the wood digging into the taut flesh, and still, I kept eating.

I tried to form a coherent thought, but it was hard with the sensation of fullness drowning out everything else. “Why… why me?” I mumbled through a mouthful of cake.

The figure’s smile was all teeth now. “Because you were willing,” he said. “You sought indulgence, and now you will give me what I need.”

Panic surged through me, and I pushed harder against the chair, the table, anything to get away. My gut was enormous now, ballooned out in front of me, hindering every attempt I made to rise. I felt the sweat prickling on my skin, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I stumbled to my feet, finally managing to break free from the spell enough to back away from the table. The figure’s eyes followed me, his expression calm and almost amused, as though he found my struggle entertaining.

I glanced around wildly, and that’s when I noticed that the walls of the house seemed to shimmer, as if they were not entirely solid. The bricks that I had thought were gingerbread now appeared more like plaster, the sugary decorations fading into ordinary paint. It was then that I realized the true nature of my surroundings. The whole place began to dissolve, fading away into the familiar sights of a bakery. The table of cakes and pastries became rows of bread loaves and buns, and I was standing behind the counter, surrounded by shocked customers who stared at me in disbelief.

I blinked, the haze in my mind clearing just enough for me to take in my surroundings. The gingerbread house was gone. I was standing in the middle of a bakery, surrounded by rows of bread, pastries, and wide-eyed customers who looked at me as if I’d just sprouted a second head. My head was still spinning, but I recognised the place almost instantly—it was the same shop I had walked past earlier, back at the market in Munich. Somehow, I had never left.

I glanced down at myself, trying to make sense of what had just happened. My shirt was, hanging open to reveal a round, bloated belly pushing against the waistband of my jeans. It wasn’t as grotesquely swollen as it had been in the enchanted cottage, but it was still painfully full, bulging outward in a way that made each breath feel tight and shallow. The skin of my stomach was flushed red, covered with a light dusting of hair that trailed down from my chest. I could feel the cool air of the bakery against the exposed curve of my belly, the bottom of my shirt riding up to reveal just how far I’d expanded. I must have looked ridiculous.

My hand instinctively reached for my back pocket, where I found the postcard—the very one that had led me to the Black Forest in the first place—crumpled but still intact. I pulled it out, staring at the faded image of the gingerbread house and the cryptic words on the back. It was as if the whole experience had been a waking dream, conjured by nothing more than an old piece of paper and my own curiosity. But the tightness in my gut told me otherwise. I hadn’t imagined any of it.

I scanned the bakery for any sign of the figure—the man with the purple eyes who had commanded me to eat. For a moment, I thought he might be gone, but then I saw him outside the shop, standing just beyond the glass door. He was exactly as I remembered—tall and handsome, with that same closed-mouth smile that seemed to hide far more than it revealed. His eyes glinted with a faint purple hue, and there was a hint of amusement in the way he watched me, as if he found my confusion rather entertaining.

I stumbled toward the door, my belly jostling uncomfortably with each step, but just as I reached the entrance, the figure’s image wavered like a heat mirage and then disappeared altogether, leaving only the reflection of the empty street beyond. I stared out into the marketplace, the postcard clutched in my hand, and felt a strange mixture of relief and dread.

The reality of what had just happened—or what I thought had happened—was slipping away from me, fading like a half-remembered nightmare. But the ache in my belly and the taste of sugar lingering on my tongue were all too real. Whatever magic had been at play, it had left its mark on me. And as I turned away from the door, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. There were still answers I needed to find, and this time, I would be more careful about what I chose to taste.

For more of my stories click here

#gainer fiction #belly expansion #gay gainer #male gaining #stuffing #belly fiction #gainer stories #gainer story #stuffing art

60 notes · View notes

freakymcnastys · 4 months ago

Text

“cruel to be kind” - katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

━━ . ˚₊ ꒱ "means that i love you baby. "

content: quirkless au, american au, ochaco rich girl au, its 1999 so flip-phones yall…, um idk if ppl are ooc here i’m sorry😭

"KATSUKI BAKUGOU! I SEE MAKING our visits a weekly ritual." Ms. Midnight says taking a seat at her desk. "Only so we can have these moments together--should I hit the lights?" Katsuki said with a sarcastic smile on his face. "Oh, very clever, blasty boy." She replied, eyebrows raised looking down at her papers. "Says here you exposed yourself in the cafeteria?" Katsuki just sighs. "I was joking with Lunchrush, it was a bratwurst-" This made Midnight pull her glasses down and look through her brows at the boy. "Aren't we the optimist?" She remarked as Katsuki gave a disgusted look at the counselor.

"Well next time, keep it in your pouch, okay?" Midnight smiled before flicking her hand. "Scoot!" And with that, Katsuki left. "Weird ass lady-"

As Iida and Kirishima made their way through the courtyard the blue-haired boy stopped in his tracks when he saw the brunette wearing a dress. "Oh my god.."

"What group is she in?" He asked, adjusting his glasses. "The 'don't even think about it' group." Kirishima rolled his eyes at the new student. "That's Ochaco Stratford. She's a sophomore." He shrugged. Iida sighed, not taking his eyes off the girl while walking. Kirishima just laughed lightly. "Mhm, ya know she's beautiful and deep. I'm sure.."

"Yeah but there's a difference between like and love. Because I like my Skechers, but I love my Prada backpack." The girl related to her friend, walking next to her. "But I love my Skechers?" Momo asked, a confused look on her face. "That's because you don't have a Prada backpack!" Ochaco smiled as Momo let out an 'ohhh' look.

"Anyways forget that their incredibly uptight father and it's a well-known fact that the Stratford sisters aren't allowed to date." Kirishima explained, the two now stopped and looked in the direction of the girls, walking off as the bell rang.

━━

Taking a seat near the front, you settle down in 5th period, English. "So what did we think about 'The Sun Also Rises'?" Mr Aizawa asked the class from the podium. Hagakure raised her hand. "It was so romantic~" This ticked you off as you whipped your head around to the girl. "Romantic? Hemingway?" You let out a sigh before turning back to the front of the class. "He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who squandered half of his life trying to nail Picasso's leftovers." You finished as Aizawa sighed in irritation but before he could continue his lesson a blonde boy spoke up.

"As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag?" He laughed along with some others in the class, even daping one up. "Shut it blondie." Aizawa sassed the boy whose smile fell from his face. "Maybe in this society being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time." You turned back to Monoma with a tight smirk. This made the class erupt in 'oohs'.

As you were speaking about other amazing female writers, a boy with blonde spikey hair and a bag on his shoulder walked into the classroom. "What'd I miss?" He asked, panting. Taking a quick look at the boy before looking back with a heavy sigh. "The oppressive patriarchal values in our education."

"Good." Katsuki nodded before leaving the classroom as Mr Aizawa called after him. Monoma spoke up once again with the same shit-eating smirk on his face as before. "Mr. Aizawa, is there any chance we could get y/n to take her midol before class?" This makes the class chuckle as you throw a glare towards the boy.

"One day you're gonna get bitch-slapped and I'm not gonna do a thing to stop it." The teacher shook his head and continued his lesson, shutting up the boy.

━━

"You heard about the whole nirvana thing?" Mina asked you with a slight frown. "Oh yeah, poor Frances.." You grimace. "Ugh, I wish I got to see them--" Before Mina could continue the thought, Monoma pulled up in his bright red sports car.

"Hey, your little mad max look is out, y/n." He smirked, hand still on the wheel. "Didn't ya read last months Cosmo?" Cosmo? Is this guy serious? No way he's into women..."Run along." You flick your hand in a 'keep moving 'motion before walking off with Mina.

While getting into your car and turning it on you see your sister Ochaco and Momo riding in the back of Monomas car. "Well, that's a charming view." Mina scoffs from the passenger seat. "Ugh, that's disgusting." You groan before pulling out of the space. That's until a boy with red hair on a bike almost runs into you. Clearly annoyed from the entire school day, you yell at him, saying something along the lines of getting his head out of his ass before driving away to leave Mina at her house.

"You okay?" Iida asked, shocked at your antics. "Yeah, just a minor encounter with the witch. That's your girlfriend's sister." Kirishima gestured to the car that was driving away. "That's Ochaco sister?" Iida stuttered in disbelief. "Stay cool bro." The boy on the bike waved goodbye to his new friend.

━━

Sitting comfortably by the window, you read the words of 'The Secret History' as your dad came up to you with the mail in his hands. "Hello y/n. Make anyone cry today?" He asked, not looking up from the mail. "Sadly no, but it's only 4:30." You half-joked, looking up at your dad with a smile as he returned it. "Hi, Daddy!" Ochaco practically skipped to your dad, leaving a quick peck on his cheek. "Hello, precious."

Closing your book to look at your sister. "And where have you been?" You asked knowingly. You knew that you sounded like a complete bitch but you just didn't like the thought of her hanging out with that prick Monoma. "Nowhere." She practically sneered at you. Your dad pulled out an envelope from the bottom with a confused look on his face. "What's this? It says, Sarah Lawrence?"

This made your face light up, snatching up from him before throwing yourself onto the couch and opening it. Holy shit, it says you got accepted! "I got in!" You yelled, giddy from the news. "That's great sweetheart but isn't Sarah Lawrence on the other side of the country?" Tsunagu sputted, walking over to the couch, Ochaco following suit. You kept reading the lines of the paper with a smile. "I thought you were gonna stay here for college--be a hero like me!" He then made the university mascot pose which was a regular hero pose. "No, you decided! I think I'm gonna go--" Before your dad could say anything Ochaco chimed in with a smile.

"Let's hope so!" You sometimes can't believe how she's even related to you. Getting up to go upstairs, hearing your sister and dad argue about dating until you heard your name being said. "Ugh, y/n why can't you just be normal! Where did you come from planet loser?" The brunette huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "As opposed to the planet 'look at me! look at me!'" You mocked her, standing at the staircase, now pulled back into the conversation.

"Okay old rule out, new rule" Tsunagu began. "Ochaco can date...when y/n does...oh yes I like this.." He proposed a sly smile on his face. Ochaco protests, making meaner remarks than before, you decide that it is high time for you to finally go upstairs.

Closing the door to your room you let out a long sigh. Running a hand through your hair, you throw your school bag on the bed to work on some homework, hopefully, it would take your mind off of the dumpster fire that today was.

━━

Iida and Kirishima are now in Biology and cooking up a plan to get y/n to date someone so Iida can take Ochaco out. That was the easy part. Finding someone willing to date 'the heinous bitch' was the difficult part.

"What if we can't find anyone.." Iida groaned lightly to his friend. "Wait hey what about him-" The boy pointed at a blonde guy who was playing with the bunsin burner before his friend with black hair stopped him. "Hey no don't--don't look at him.." Kirishima told Iida. "Not him, I heard he sold his kidney for a set of speakers." He whispered. Iida didn't immediately respond, looking at the guy before saying with a smile. "That's our guy."

Kirishima didn't completely agree but shrugged. "Well, we need a backer because I don't have any money bro." They looked around but the bell rang for lunch so they continued their conversation in the halls to the cafeteria.

"Oh wait how about Monoma--I mean he'll do it super senior and stupid?" He joked as they saw said senior sitting with his friends. Iida nodded along, taking a seat at the table and waiting for Kirishima to finish talking to Monoma. To be frank, Iida was nervous, he wasn't too sure if this plan would work and he wasn't sure what he'd do if it didn't. Seeing Kirishima come back with something drawn on his face.

"He'll do it."

━━

Finally last period arrived and it was gym, more specifically soccer. I mean you did choose it but there weren't many good options to be fair. Finishing up the game, Coach Nezu told you that you were being 'too rough' which you scoffed at before heading back to grab your gym bag when a boy with spiked blonde hair came up to you.

"Hey there girlie." He smirked down at you. You rolled your eyes, not stopping for this wannabe. "How are ya?" He pressed further. "Sweating like a pig actually! and yourself?" You smiled, sarcastically at him as he gave you a faultered look. He cleared his throat before picking up his smile again. Those 50 bucks aren’t looking like the right price anymore.

“Lemme me take you out.” You scoffed at his offer. The guys at this school keep getting more and more annoying. “Psh mhm—do you even know my name screw boy?” You rolled your eyes, now stopping to face him. “That’s what the dates for idiot-“

“Yeah real nice—“ And with that you leave the field, leaving the boy in his tracks. “Shit…”

Iida and Kirishima watched the entire scene unfold, their hopefulness slowly disappearing. “We’re screwed..” Iida sighed into his hands. Kirishima whipped his head to his friend. “Nope I don’t wanna hear that defeatist attitude dude!”

“We’re screwed!” Iida said with more enthusiasm (and sarcasm.) “Yup that’s it..” The red haired boy replied in a whisper.

━━

(PART ONENEN i swear part two is better! this is gonna be a three parter because it’s based off the movie and well there are to many fire scenes I have to include 😈😈 HOPE YALL LIKED IT!!)

- love always, kat

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha #10 things i hate about you

86 notes · View notes

pixeechix21 · 1 year ago

Text

Simon!Ghost!Riley x reader

Summary: can’t feel your hands? Good thing Simon Ghost Riley is there to take them and put them in his pockets. Keep you warm and entertained

Tw: just some handjob in public but in a pocket

(OKAY OKAY ik this technically the second one abt Simon Ghost Riley getting teased with in public but hear me out it’s so goddamn sexy to see them try and keep it cool. And feeling them just get gradually harder in your hand?! Don’t mind if I do lmao) for the other one it’s called vroom vroom or sum it’s on my page xox ☺️💕

It’s freezing outside and you’re slowly losing feeling in fingers. Bundled up in a scarf and wearing countless layers. Simon looks over to you, taking your hand and holding it in between is large hot hand. You can see your between his showing just how big he is. He pulls you in to the side of his, by your hand an. You can feel the heat radiate off of him comforting your aching limbs.

Shivering still he takes your hands into his pockets. You try to hide your smile, since you guys are walking around base with the group. He’s hot. Your curiosity takes the better of you, and you slowly explore what’s inside his pocket. Then you feel him through his pants, he holds back a groan as you hand feels him up and down. You look up at him smiling, as he looks at you he gives you a warning look. You deepen, and hold him in a firmer grip, teasing the tip and rubbing him up and down. His hand wraps around yours and presses your hand down, urging you on.

Soap asks him a question he snaps out of his trance only able to respond with a brief, “yeah uhu sure Jonny.” You quicken the pace as he tries to make up a response.

Evil that’s what he thinks you are. He’s trying his best not to come. But the innocence that you exude, smiling and joking with Gaz and Soap. Gaz comes in to your other side hooking you free hand, joking about how you and Simon would look like when you’re old. “…Lucky to have you, isn’t that right Simon?” He jokes.

“Mmhm,” Simone groans out. He’s close you can feel him get harder, and start to twitch in your hand. You squeeze lightly, raising your eyebrows smirking, he rolls his eyes holding you closer. “Yes lucky to have me aren’t you, I just know at you need without asking,” you laugh sweetly. He unravels as he starts to shudder, not from the cold. His cum seeps slightly through, as he tries to control himself.

“Yes luv, I am. if only you weren’t such a little brat sometimes,” his voice is tough angry almost but you can’t help feel satisfaction he holds your hand in a firm grip, squeezing it three times, meaning “I love you.”

Soap spots a bratwurst stand and asks the group, “bratwurst anyone?”

“Yes I think y/n here would love to have one,” Simon quips, teasingly.

#fem!reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #x reader #cod smut #smut #cod mw2 #cod ghosts #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon fluff #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #konig mw2 #cod konig #call of dooty #call of duty modern warfare

210 notes · View notes

leilani-lily · 7 months ago

Text

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 8)

Ohhh, it felt so good to write again. My hands were itching to get back to the keyboard, especially knowing in advance which chapter was next ¬‿¬ As I've mentioned before, this little snippet is a two parter; too big to fit in just one chapter. I hope to work on the next part next week and get it out asap ໒(⊙ᴗ⊙)७✎▤ Thanks guys! I hope you enjoy ꨄ

Synopsis: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. You want to get more exotic ingredients for the hotel but it's too dangerous to go along. Alastor offers his assistance and you both go out to the market. Word count: 5.2 k Chapter under the cut! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Something on your mind my dear~?”

You were swirling the whisky in your glass, staring at the bronze liquid sloshing side to side but eyes not exactly focused. Alastor watched you from his seat, quirking an eyebrow as his head tilted. You were both sitting in the radio tower, sharing a glass of liquor and conversing like you always did after a show. Usually you were very attentive to the deer demon’s thoughts, and would give some solid advice for the next segment. But Alastor noticed something was off today; he didn’t seem to have your full attention. And he wanted to know why. You look up to the deer demon in question, blinking back your stupor before giving him a sheepish grin.

“Ah… Sorry Al. Just thinking. But it’s really not important. What were you saying?” You lean forward in your chair and smile warmly towards your friend. But that didn’t trick the Overlord; he knew something was bothering you. And if it pulled your attention away from him, then he didn’t like it one bit. His ego wouldn’t allow it.

“Come now dearest,” he prodded, leaning forward so he was eye level with you, “I know something is wrong. Tell me.” He still had his signature grin, but his eyes were sharp and serious. That wasn’t a suggestion. You knew he wasn’t going to let this go until you confessed. You sighed.

“It’s nothing, really,” you disclosed, “I’m just trying to figure out how I can get my hands on certain ingredients is all…” You trailed off, hoping that was enough to satiate the demon in front of you. To your disappointment, it had the opposite effect. His grin widened as he leaned forward, his eyes shining in delight.

“Well goodness me, it’s about time.” he sang, “I was wondering when you’d finally cave and go back to your sinster ways!” He chuckled darkly, looking at you with a sense of pride. He was practically on the edge of his seat; all smiles and sharp teeth. You tilted your head in confusion.

“If you're looking for special ingredients, I can hook you up with my dear friend Rosie. She can get you the best cuts of meat in Hell.”

... Oh. You understood the disconnect. Your eyelids fell flat, giving him a jaded look. But he didn’t notice, mind flooding with ideas and different options.

“Or, if you wish to go hunting yourself, I’d be more than happy to-!”

“Not that type of ingredient, Alastor.”

The Radio Demon’s crimson eyes popped open as a record sound came to a screeching halt. You couldn’t help the upward curl of your lips after watching his expression slowly sour in realization. Alastor eventually slid back into his seat, crossing his legs and ears falling flat on his skull. A bored expression crossed his features as he looked to the side.

“Hmm. Pity. I was craving some Enchiladies. Or maybe some Bratwurst…”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his disappointment (and terrible puns). Alastor’s pupils slid back to you as his lips eventually curled up mischievously at the sound of your laughter. It was hard to stay upset in your company, he was always happy to get a smile or a laugh from you. His chest puffed out like a proud bird for a moment before turning his head back to you.

“Well then my dear,” he began, quirking up an eyebrow at you, “If you’re not in the market for that type of ingredient…” he tilted his head, “Then what is it that you seek~?” Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and now he had to know everything. Realizing you really weren’t getting out of this, you shake your head in defeat.

“Well… I’ve heard of this wild mushroom that only grows in the Gluttony ring. Apparently it can enhance the taste of any dish you cook it in.” you began. Alastor’s gaze never wavered from you, his face furrowing in fascination.

“It’s a really hard plant to harvest, and I heard a rumor that there’s a shipment coming to the Pride ring on Saturday.” Your eyes were shimmering with excitement just at the thought of it, making the Radio Demon’s pressed smile curl up ever so slightly.

“Certainly sounds intriguing,” he mused, pausing to take a sip of his whisky. He couldn’t help being entertained by your passions, and for something so simple in his eyes. After feeling the liquor burn down his throat, he spoke again.

“So tell me then, what seems to be the problem?”

Whatever sparkle in your eye seemed to cloud over, your shoulders visibly sagging. “I heard it’s only being sold in the Black Market.”

Not that piqued Alastor’s interest.

Everyone knew of the famed Black Market. The term was quite popular in the human realm, and was quickly brought down to the depths of Hell. It was a large bazaar deep in the city of the Pride Realm, where booths and trade stalls were set up and demons and imps alike could scrounge through to find rare and unique items. And although it was quite popular, it was also in one of the shadiest parts of town. Although Hell was known for all of its illegal activity, the Black Market was acclaimed for it. Looking for weapons to kill an Overlord? Or drugs so strong the effects would last for a week? It would be found there.

“... I still don’t understand what the problem is, my dear.” Alastor’s eyebrows furrowed in visible confusion. You eventually regarded him with a similar face, not understanding how someone so brilliant didn’t seem to understand the stakes at hand. You took a deep breath, palms pressed together as if praying for patience before giving him a serious look.

“Al.” You spoke tartly, your pressed hands now pointing to him, “I know something like the Black Market would be, like, a walk in the park for you.” His eyebrows raised in amusement before you continued, “But if I went? A lone female with no means to defend herself?? I would become a blood smear on the wall.” You lifted your arms to the wall beside you before flopping your arms down in defeat. You sighed and gave him a weak smile. “Trust me, as much as I want to get that ingredient, it’s not worth risking my life for it.”

Alastor stared at you intently for a full minute.

Then burst into laughter.

You had to blink back your surprise at his sudden reaction, albeit a strange one. You honestly didn’t expect him to find joy in your death. Then again, he always found pleasure when it came to killing. Maybe you were just too naive to think he wouldn’t enjoy yours as well? You weren’t really too sure how to respond, but thankfully Alastor spoke up before you had the chance.

“Ohhh my dear,” he sighed happily, “Is that all? Now really, there’s no need to fret over something that has such a simple solution!” Alastor set his glass down on the table, then clasped his hands together in his lap as he sat up straight.

“If you don’t wish to go alone, then allow me to accompany you.”

You immediately perked up at his words, almost unable to believe it. You had to admit, the thought had crossed your mind. But you knew how busy Alastor’s weekends were, and you didn’t want to waste his time on something so silly. Besides, you knew the dangers of the Market; the horror stories you had heard over the years. You knew Alastor could defend himself, but still… You didn’t want to take any risks. Not when it came to him.

“No, Al,” you started, “I couldn’t ask that of you. I don’t want to put you in any danger-!”

You were immediately cut off by one of the demon’s long fingers pressing up against your lips. The Overlord leaned in close to you, grin snarled and eyes closed tightly.

“Trust me, mon passereau,” he chuckled darkly, “If anyone were to ever try anything…” his scarlet eyes immediately flashed open, his pupils now black and shaped like dials as the static in his voice distorted, “ł₮ ł₴₦'₮ ₥Ɏ ₴₳₣Ɇ₮ⱠɎ ɎØɄ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ ฿Ɇ ₩ØⱤⱤłɆĐ ₳฿ØɄ₮.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as the lights flickered, radio waves screeched and the controls behind him clicked and flipped. And in a snap, the room flipped back to normal as Radio Demon sat up straight again, eyes once again crimson and smiling as if nothing had happened.

“Besides~!” he continued, his voice now unsettlingly chipper, “It’s been at least a decade or so since I’ve last been to the famed Black Market. It would be intriguing to see how much has changed!”

You watched him carefully and felt your heart-rate begin to increase. Ever since you had heard of the toadstool, you had been dreaming of using it in your cooking. And now for this dream to be so close; you could almost taste it… But you didn’t want to get your hopes up. Not yet. You felt like such a broken record, but you had to be certain. You looked up at him shyly, feeling your fingers fidget nervously.

“Alastor… Are you sure about this?”

Said demon looked down at you, eyes flicking from your face to your hands, then back. Finally, he began to shake his head mirthfully, reaching over and giving your head a gentle pat.

“My dear,” he tutted, “I wouldn't even be offering if it was something I truly did not want to do. I insist.” He then rose from his chair and towered over you before extending a hand.

“I promise I can guarantee your safety. That is, if you’ll have me.”

You looked at his hand in awe before lifting your head up to him. There you were, already crestfallen with defeat and ready to give up. But then Alastor came along, and he wanted to help make your silly little dream a reality. Your heart bloomed in warmth for the man standing before you. Seriously, you were so freaking happy he was in your life. With a tender smile, you extend your hand and place it in his outstretched one.

“Of course Alastor. Always.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Most of the clothes you wore around the hotel weren’t that flattering.

For starters, you didn’t want anything with excessive frills or cloth that could potentially snag in a cupboard or catch fire over a stove. Also, you didn’t ever want to wear anything nice in case it gets torn or stained in the kitchen. Most of the time, you were in either jeans/stretchy pants, and a t-shirt/tank top. Because if it got ruined at work, it was no biggie.

But now, as you were getting ready for your outing with Alastor, you were quickly realizing just how much of a biggie it was.

You tore through your drawers frantically, trying to find something that didn’t have holes in it, or a previous stain, or heaven forbid, a cringe worthy graphic printed on it. Fuck, you really wish you had taken up Angel’s offer earlier that month to go on a shopping spree. You made a quick mental note to ask him about it next weekend. If he saw your wardrobe now he’d disown you as his bestie.

As you raked through your closet, you felt like a complete dumbass. For God’s sake, you were just going to the market with your friend. It shouldn’t matter what the Hell you wore; it’s not like this was a formal outing. Nevertheless, you decided you still wanted to look nice for once. This was the first time the two of you would be together outside of the hotel. And that felt like a special enough reason to dress up and not look like a fast food worker after a 12 hour shift.**

Eventually, you managed to find a simple, short black dress tucked in the very back of your closet. You could work with this. After scrounging through your bathroom drawers, you manage to find an old metal hair stick and use that to wrap your locks into a cute messy bun. And with some modest jewelry to help accent, you were finally satisfied enough with your appearance. Given what you were working with, this was the most presentable you were going to get. With a final nod in the mirror, you grab your purse and lock the door behind you.

You make your way down to the lobby where you had both agreed to meet up. As you exited the elevator, you could see Alastor’s proud profile already standing by the front doors, microphone in hand and back straight. He seemed to be looking towards the side, but as you approached him, his scarlet eyes slid over to your form. You come to a stop and look up at him, your hands clasped in front of you and waiting.

His eyes flicked over your body, his face unchanging as he took in your appearance. For a moment you felt your face getting hot, and had to look away from embarrassment; was this too much? Maybe you should’ve just stuck to your regular pants and t-shirt…

“From chef to charmante, you truly are a sight for sore eyes my dear.”

You looked up to him again and blinked in surprise. His expression was pleasant as he stared at you; his smile soft and genuine. You felt your heart leap into your throat at the compliment, and couldn’t help the warm smile creep up your face. And it was peaceful between you both for a moment…

Before the Asshole decided to ruin the moment.

“And here I was beginning to think you didn’t know how to dress yourself. How relieved I am to be wrong for once…” he teased, his soft smile twisting into a mischievous grin and eyes crinkling with impish delight.

Your hand moved quicker than light as you lightly backhanded his bicep, your face scrunched and glaring daggers at him. The Radio Demon snickered as his static buzzed happily, not at all flinching at the assault and most likely already prepared for the blow. After having a good chuckle to your dismay, Alastor stood up straight again and dusted off his arms, his smile still wide and wicked.

“You’re lucky I enjoy your company y/n,” he stated, straightening his jacket, “If any other demon were to strike an Overlord, they would never see the light of day again.” He looked down and quirked an eyebrow at you, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe that grin off his face.

“Honestly, between getting ridiculed daily or being slaughtered, I’m not sure which is the worse fate…” you huff, straightening up and crossing your arms. Alastor chuckled at your quip, and eventually, you felt your shoulders relax and smile betray you. As his sniggers died down, he took a step towards you, his expression once again calm as he looked down at you.

“Well my dear,” he mused, “Now I can understand why you would want my protection for our little outing...” His pupils fell to your body, scanning slowly all the way to your legs. You swallowed a lump in your throat. Eventually, his scarlet eyes flicked back up to your face, and you couldn’t dismiss the hunger behind them.

“The wolves would be more than happy to ravish such a delicacy.”

??!??!?!!

You had to remind yourself to breathe. Suddenly breathing was something you had to think about. Your mouth felt so dry, and you knew for a fact your face was probably beet red. What the actual fuck was that. Alastor had given you compliments before, but that… That was at a level you had never experienced before. Did he actually find you attractive?? Jesus Christ, was this friendly outing actually a date??

... Fuck, did you want this to be a date???

You could feel your brain short circuiting.

Alastor’s smile curved upward at the sight of your reddened cheeks. He bent down at his waist in a bow and extended a hand, making your eyes focus back to him.

“Shall we be on our way dearest?”

You looked at his clawed hand, then back to him. He had to be teasing you. There was no way he had actually meant what he had said earlier. This is what he always did; this was what your friendship was basically built on. You mentally scolded yourself for actually falling for his goading.

Please. As if.

You sighed and shook your head, feeling a smile creep up your lips at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t going to fall for it. Not this time. Finally, you look up at him and extend your hand, gently placing it in Alastors. You give him a calm, yet cocky look.

“Lead the way.”

Alastor’s eyebrows shot upward amusingly as he raised his other hand. And with a snap of his fingers, you both vanished from the lobby.

~~~~~~~

You couldn’t contain your gasp of amazement when you laid eyes on the Black Market.

It was everything you could’ve imagined. There were dozens of rows crammed full with booths and vendors stretching as far as the eye could see. Tall skyscrapers framed the entire bazaar, yet were covered from sight by the tarps, blankets and open umbrellas hanging overhead to provide shade. The market was bustling with all creatures of life; demons, imps, and hellhounds alike. Either trying to sell their wares and cheat someone of their life savings, or excited buyers chittering away and browsing all that was offered.

“How exhilarating~!” the Overlord grinned, looking out at the spectacle with bright eyes, “I had forgotten how appealing this place was. This is going to be quite the escapade.” Alastor happily turned his head to you, extending his elbow to you and giving a cocky grin. You looked between him and his arm, unsure of his intentions. His smile widened.

“I guaranteed your safety during this outing did I not? We don’t want to risk separation in this maze. Now then,” he leaned in closer, stretching his arm out further, “Shall we~?”

You couldn’t help the smile spread across your face; always ever the gentleman. You looked to him pleasantly, looping your arm in his and giving a determined nod. And with that, Alastor took the lead as you ventured deep into the market.

The variety of items for sale was incomprehensible. Antiques, produce, jewelry, weapons, and of course, second hand items. And boy, did you desperately want to peruse it all. But of course, you came here for one reason and one reason alone. And as thrilling as this all was, you knew you couldn’t be too charmed by the wonders of the market. This was how the ne'er do wells prayed on their victims. It would be easy for a demon to go missing amongst all the busyness and exhilaration. In this place, dark deals were struck and souls were either sealed or stolen. And you couldn’t be distracted by frivolous things.

Get in, get the mushrooms, and get out.

At least. That was your initial plan.

Alastor seemed to have other ideas.

This mother fucker strolled through the booths as if it was a Sunday afternoon, guiding you along and stopping on occasion to peruse. He would converse with the various sellers and happily turn to you, either showing off what he found or telling stories when something reminded him of a memory. He kept a firm grip on your arm, meaning you had no choice but to follow along with his meandering.

At first your nerves were on edge, eyes darting around anxiously, body tense, and flinching at every obnoxious sound. Alastor seemed to notice, and at some point, gave your hand on his arm a gentle pat. It was a simple gesture, and when he did it, he wasn’t even focused on you, instead speaking with another vendor. But you appreciated him acknowledging your nerves and attempting to calm you without drawing attention. The action and thought behind it was more than enough to comfort and assure you that you had nothing to worry about.

Eventually, you could feel your muscles relax once you realized no one would lay a finger on you with the Radio Demon by your side. As time trickled on, you became more confident, and even began to enjoy yourself and forget about any potential dangers. This was probably the only chance you’d ever get to come to the Black Market with as much protection as you did, so you might as well milk it for what it was worth.

At one point, you let go of his arm to toss on a pair of crazy glasses and throw a feather boa over your shoulders, striking a pose and cracking a joke. The Overlord seemed impressed with your new found confidence, and was more than happy to join in on the banter. And immediately tease your new look.

“If this is what you consider a correction for your fashion sense, perhaps my little songbird is more of a dodo~”

You tried to place an old fedora on his head and force him in on the fun, but the party pooper wouldn’t allow it. Snarling at the wretched thing and not even wanting to know how many disgusting sinners it had been on. And honestly, you couldn’t blame him for that, but you knew despite the venom in his smile, his eyes were dancing.

It wasn’t long until you were the one leading the way, zipping from booth to booth like a child on Christmas as Alastor followed closely behind. He had noticed you had dropped your guard, which was honestly what he had wanted all along. You had been working so hard, you deserved a fun day out on the town. He was glad to see that by demonstrating how safe it was, it would allow you to relax and fully enjoy the experience.

But now it was his turn to keep watch, his back straight and eyes carefully scanning. Of course, the Black Market was nothing but child's play for him. But for a simple sinner like yourself? He could understand why you were hesitant to come. Especially given your radiant personality; one that could attract sinners and imps alike like a moth to a flame.

And of course, as you practically beamed through the lanes, it didn’t take long for you to capture the attention of others. Eventually, you became so carefree, you didn’t even notice the times when certain demons would eye you up and down hungrily. Or the one hellhound who even attempted to snatch your purse.

But they were dealt with swiftly; black tentacles impaling, slashing, and ensuring that no one would ever dare lay a finger on you.

At one point you turned to him and noticed his smile was sharper than before and his scarlet pupils shining with glee. You had asked what he found so entertaining, but he simply patted your head and assured you it was nothing, quickly changing the subject by distracting you with the wares of the next booth over.

About an hour or so into your adventure, you were a couple of steps ahead of Alastor when one booth in particular caught your eye. Filled with mugs, kettles, spoons, and coffee machines, you were instantly reminded of your deer friend and your wonderful morning chats. Especially the one you had that very first morning, it was honestly the very beginning of what would become your close relationship. You vaguely remembered him mentioning not being able to brew that perfect cup…

An idea popped in your head.

You whipped your head around to quickly look behind and caught Alastor making his way towards you. You didn’t have enough time to peruse and find something, and you didn’t want to ruin the surprise. You’d have to find an opportunity later to come back in secret. But for now, you had to distract him.

You jog back to the Radio Demon and casually mention wanting to focus on the search for the mushroom stall, using the guise to pull him along further and away from the particular vendor. Alastor cocked an eyebrow at you, but eventually agreed that it was time to start looking for the rumored toadstool. He linked his arm with you once more and continued walking forward, unaware of you taking mental notes and memorizing landmarks.

Finally, after about twenty minutes of serious searching, you were able to locate the booth with the mushrooms. You recognized them by their iridescent blue shimmer, similar to what you had seen online, and your heart leapt with delight. You were practically bouncing on your feet, pointing excitedly and rambling like a dork while Alastor smiled in amusement. A line had started to form; clearly you weren’t the only ones aware of their magical properties, and you immediately zipped to the back, Alastor casually strolling behind.

“Well my dear,” he mused, leaning to the side to look ahead, “Given the amount of demons ahead of us, I’m afraid we’ll have to wait a little while.” He looked back at you expecting you to be crestfallen or pout, but you happily shook your head.

“Trust me,” you smiled up at him, “I’ve waited years already to get my hands on one of these things. Another fifteen minutes is nothing.” You glanced at the line ahead of you and did some quick calculations. You would likely be waiting for fifteen, twenty minutes? Would that be enough time to perhaps…?

As much as you were excited to be so close to achieving your goal, your mind was focused on something else. This could be your chance. This might be the only one you get today, and it could be the perfect opportunity… You had to take it.

“Actually…” you drawled, “I saw some really nice clothes in one of the booths we passed… could you wait here for me while I check it out real quick??” Alastors eyes immediately narrowed and brows furrowed.

“I wouldn’t recommend that dearest,” he stated, eyes flicking around his surroundings before focusing back on you, “I know we’ve had a lovely afternoon, but I must remind you of the shadows that lurk in the darkness. It wouldn’t be wise to leave my line of sight.”

Shit. You were afraid this would happen. And you knew deep down he wasn’t wrong. But you felt so strongly about this, and it would only be for a few minutes. What was the worst that could happen? You hide your inner turmoil with a cheeky grin.

“Al, you straight up said I need new clothes,” you razz, raising a brow at him. To this, the Overlord huffed.

“I would hardly call second-hand filth an improvement…” he muttered, nose wrinkling at the sheer thought. You couldn’t help the snort escape your nose, but you pressed on.

“C’mon Alastor, please??” you were practically begging at this point, “I don’t want to lose our spot in line, and the booth was just around the corner. I promise I’ll be super quick.” You gave him a pleading look in hopes to help convince him.

Alastor’s face scrunched up in disgust at your soppy expression, but soon softened to contemplation as he looked at you. His eyebrows were tight in thought, clearly thinking hard about his answer and how to proceed. A good minute passed before the deer demon finally sighed and his head fell. You felt your breath catch in anticipation. His head rose to meet your gaze, his eyes sharp and serious.

“Take this with you.” He stated, lifting his left arm and offering you his microphone. You felt your eyes widen in surprise, eyes flicking between the staff and him. You knew how important his mike was; it was always on his person or a conjuring away. You had never known him to be without it.

“Al… Are you sure?” you breathed, completely thrown off guard by this gesture. But he lifted the staff closer to you, emphasizing his words with this action.

“I would feel better knowing I have direct contact with you should anything happen.” he spoke, “If for whatever reason you need me, simply say my name into it. And I’ll know where to find you.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. Now you felt completely awful about lying to your friend, especially if he was entrusting you with this. But you really wanted to do this. It was for him. And now, with this added protection, you knew you would have nothing to worry about.

You slowly raised your hands and gently grasped the staff, feeling the power practically buzzing through it. You were just about to pull it away when Alastor suddenly yanked it towards him, making you gasp in shock as you were pulled closer to him, now only mere inches from his face. Your heart was beating like a drum as his piercing eyes bore into you.

“Don’t make me regret this decision y/n.”

Whether this was about him entrusting you with his staff, or about letting you venture off on your own, you weren’t sure. But his tone was firm, commanding. Either way, you knew he was dead serious. You would’ve been scared if it weren’t for his grim eyes softening for a fraction of a second. Your heart bled for a moment before giving him a determined nod, acknowledging his statement. With a blink, he rose back up to his full height, his expression now calm, but his smile weak. You pulled the microphone tight to your chest, your smile cheek to cheek with enthusiasm.

You took a second to dig through your purse and place some money in his clawed hand, in case he reached the front of the booth before you returned. He protested for a moment, claiming he could very well afford to buy produce, thank-you-very-much. But you ignored his grumbling, insisting that they were your mushrooms, therefore you would pay for them. After making sure he had enough, you turned to run back to the previous stalls. But before you could make it far, you turned back and cast one final glance at the Radio Demon. Alastor was still watching you, his brows furrowed and grin tight. You smiled and called out to him, giving a reassuring wave.

“Thank you Alastor! I’ll be back before you know it!!”

The deer demon said nothing in return, simply giving you a single nod. His expression made you worry for a moment, inner fears pricking your mind. Was this really a good idea? But you thought back to everything Alastor had ever done for you. The laughter and thrill he brought into your previously dull afterlife. Your grip on his staff tightened; you knew you would be safe. Just holding the microphone was enough to make you feel more confident. You wouldn’t be alone; a piece of him was here with you.

Everything would be ok.

Before you could think about it any further, you turned on your heel and ran, disappearing into the crowd and venturing off on your own.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**For all my fast foods working peeps, this is not at all a dig on you. Y'all are the real ones, we stan' the fast foodies out there! ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ I used to be one myself, and trust me, anyone who's worked in that kitchen knows how gross it feels to be sweaty, stinky, and feeling all the oil sticking to your clothes and skin. It's not fun nor pretty (*￣∇￣)

........ ¬‿¬ ((Thanks for reading folks! Please feel free to comment and interact!)) FIRST PREVIOUS NEXT

My beautiful does and bucks: @saccharine-nectarine ((Only one for now LMFAO but lemme know if you wanna join the tag list for updates!! ꨄ ))

#leilani-lily #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor #oh deer

63 notes · View notes