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tk-duveraun · 3 months ago

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LBH is SO NORMAL About Shen Yuan

Part 1/?

1 (here), 2

Based explicitly on @sunderwight 's idea here

System dialogue modified from the 7seas translation of svsss

Everything hurt. Considering the last thing Luo Binghe remembered was metal and glass flying everywhere thanks to a truck t-boning his car, pain everywhere was only to be expected. Less expected was the mobile phone ringing so loud it felt like it was inside his own head. No one should have their mobile in his hospital room. Not since he was taken in by his biological father, who was the very definition of more money than sense.

He opened his eyes a crack to see if he could glare at the phone's owner until they silenced it. The ringing stopped, but his eyes were assaulted by an electric-blue floating window out of some badly CGI-d scifi movie.

He had to blink a few times before his vision was clear enough to read the words.

[Activation Code: "Who wrote this? Knock-off Chat GPT fed only a twelve year old's wet dreams?" System automatically triggered.]

The fu— Luo Binghe's eyes snapped fully open to stare at the screen. Yes, he had been reading the latest update to "Intricate Rituals with my Shixiongdi" while his driver took him to his father's house, but—

[Welcome to the System. This System operates in lie with the design concept "YOU CAN YOU UP, NO CAN NO BB"; we hope to provide you with the best possible experiene. It is our sincere wish that during your time, you can fulfill your desires and, in accordance with your wish, transform a stupid work into a magnifcent, high-quality, first-rate classic. We hope you enjoy.]

My wish? Luo Binghe went cold, then hot, adrenaline flushing through his body. I can finally wife Shen Yuan? He wanted to cry, to scream, but he was still saddled with enough pain that even the adrenaline didn't give him much energy to get up and run off his excitement.

"Ah, Shixiong is awake. Good," a voice came from his right.

Luo Binghe agonizingly turned his head away from the blue screen and saw an older teenager in neat hanfu and a starched apron standing next to him. The teen had a handbound book folded open and was holding a stick of charcoal.

"How is Shixiong feeling?"

"Hurts." Luo Binghe said. His voice was rough and his throat felt like he'd swallowed every shard of glass from his windshield. He tried wiggling his hands and feet and found the movement easy, if excruitiating.

"Mmm, to be expected given the severity of Shixiong's qi deviation." He reached out and took Luo Binghe's wrist. Having his arm moved hurt as much as moving it himself. It felt like being injected with saline to have his meridians checked or whatever the trainee healer was doing. "But Shixiong's system has stablized nicely. One of this shidi's seniors will be by to release you to Qing Jing Peak with the next…" The teen glanced at something outside of the room and finished, "half shichen."

"Thanking Shidi," Luo Binghe croaked. So it was confirmed: he had transmigrated into IRS. Had transmigrated into Shen Yuan's own peak. And as a disciple, if he was the same generation as this kid. Was he part of Shen Yuan's cohort? His heart thumped at the thought.

IRS was an excrutiating mess of will-they, won't-they between the protagonist, Shen Yuan, and his ever-increasing bevy of admirers. It was a mess with character growth and subplots dropped in favor of introducing another man in love with Shen Yuan's poise and genuine goodness. If Luo Binghe was part of Shen Yuan's cohort of disciples, he could cut through ninety percent of the garbage and save his beloved the indignities of countless 'wardrobe malfunctions' and plants with extremely dubious tentacles.

The teen — a Qian Ciao disciple — nodded politely. "Luo-Shixiong would be wise to consult with Shen-shibo before resuming normal cultivation."

A klaxon went off between Luo Binghe's ears even before the blue screen returned to his sight with a merry jingle.

[This system was sucessfully actuvated! Bound Role: Shen Yuna's demonic student, Luo Baixiao. Weapons: Amature Spiritual Cultivation, Demonic Cultivation (locked), Demonic Abilities (locked). Starting S-points: 100.]

Luo Binghe's mind raced with swear words in a rainbow of languages. He finished with an emphatic kurwa.

[You have triggered the System's execution command and have been bound to the Luo Baixiao account. As the plot progresses, various point types will gradually become available. Please ensure that no score falls below zero, or the System will automatically mete out punishment.]

What kind of shit luck. Luo Baixiao was boogie man of the entire second half of IRS, used as a punching bag by Shen Yuan's various suitors to show off. It was stupid, senseless! How was Luo Baixiao so powerful that he never died, yet so weak he was constantly defeated by the man of the week? Why did he start as Shen Yuan's student only to disappear after a few chapters only to return as a villain?

It made no sense!

Luo Binghe — Baixiao now, he supposed — bared his teeth at the empty room. Actually, that was weird. Who did that? Was that a demonic instinct from his new body? He'd have to do some intense examination and introspection when he could move his limbs without wanting to curl on the floor and whimper.

He was supposed to be Shen Yuan's worst nightmare? Well that whole plot could kindly fuck itself. Luo Binghe knew exactly how Shen Yuan's squirrely mind worked and he was going to slot himself irremovably from his shizun's life while the suitors of the week failed in attempt after courting attempt.

[Warning,] the System warned, flashing again before his eyes. [This proposed plan is incredibly dangerous and qualifies as a violation. Please do not attempt or the system will automatically mete out punishment.]

"What do you mean dangerous? Shen Yuan would never hurt one of his disciples, let alone one that made his life easier," Luo Binghe asked inside his mind.

[Currently, you are at the beginner level, and the OOC feature is frozen. You must complete a beginner-level quest to unfreeze it. Before unfreezing, any act in violation of the original Luo Baixiao character settings will result in a deduction of a fixed number of S-Points.]

"You must be joking," Luo Binghe deadpanned. "Disciple Luo appeared in three chapters. I managed the wiki. He didn't have a characterization at this point."

[This System utilizes all resources in defining characters.] Okay, that meant nothing. So it was going to pull characterization out of its ass and hold him to it? [To aid user, multiple reply options will be given during critical dialogue. User may complete side-quests to unlock Luo Baixiao character motivations. For now, review the complementary character sheet.]

Luo Binghe wasn't really much of a gamer, but the character sheet displayed by the System was pretty basic. Strength, endurance, charisma… It also listed the same 'weapons' the System initially told him about. Near the bottom right it said simply: Internally cold and resentful, externally polite and aloof. Thanks, System.

[User is welcome (✿◡‿◡)]

He was going to have another qi deviation.

#svsss #so normal au #hello and welcome to the clown show

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spookwriter-xo · 1 month ago

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Coppélia

Chapter 5 - The Deep Dive

Chapter Summary - Y/N discusses the terms of the contract with the owners of ATZ Corp, where Hongjoong surprises her.

warnings: slight hints at sex work - poor descriptions of a house and room

Series Masterlist

The upper-class part of town was full of colorful people. You have the rich side, where the fashionistas and businessmen collide to indulge in brunches and auctions. And then there was the side involved in more illegal activities to keep their power and status.

It didn't seem far-fetched that ATZ Corp was involved in such activities. My own father was too, as it was common in old-money families.

The car ride was silent, not even the radio was on. I felt a sense of unease settle in my belly as we neared the restaurant, I knew this area, my dad's company building was close by maybe 2 blocks away. I stared out the window at the people walking up and down the street in their expensive suits and designer clothes.

A part of me missed that life. Being able to have everything I could ever want in the palm of my hand. I remembered my parents' house, my room was bigger than my apartment now, with the plush mattress and walk-in wardrobe. If I agreed to the contract, would I get that back?

The other half was happy with the life I had created, and the independence I'd gained. Though the progress was slow, I was making a name for myself.

"Miss?" The driver called out, I hadn't even realized he was holding the back seat door open for me.

"Sorry... Thank you." I say quickly collecting myself before stepping onto the pavement in front of the restaurant. I was met by another man, dressed in all black with sunglasses and a mask covering his face. He gestured for me to follow him, and surprisingly I did.

The man led me through the restaurant, a few heads turning as we walked. I tried to keep my breath steady, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise on my cheeks. He led me down a hallway and towards a sliding door that was firmly shut. He bowed to me before knocking twice.

A muffled voice answers and the man slides the door open. I stand there in the doorway for a moment. The only people in there were 8 men. I recognized Seonghwa close to the head of the table, and Mingi who sat closest to the door. Mingi gave me a saddened look, did I disappoint him by showing up?

"You're here." The man at the head of the table said. That must be Hongjoong.

I nod before stepping inside, thanking my escort before going to sit at the empty seat next to Mingi and in front of another, rather broad-shouldered, man.

"Are you hungry?" Seonghwa asks, his eyes staring into mine. I shift slightly under his gaze.

"Not really," I answered dismissively. Seonghwa grins, amused, before nodding to the man by the door, who then leaves.

I glance around at all of them, taking in their appearances. They were handsome, I'd give them that. Maybe I was lucky to have caught Seonghwa's attention.

"Y/N." Hongjoong says. "Let's discuss the terms of the contract, yes?" He says the smirk on his face made my blood still for just a moment.

"Well," I start "I don't like the implication that I'm to be used as an outlet for your sexual frustrations." I send a glare his way for good measure.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow and sips his drink. "Do you now?" Hongjoong chuckles, and I glare at him again. Was he seriously laughing right now? Maybe coming here was a bad idea, the only one who I might have a chance at taking me seriously is Mingi, and honestly, I wasn't so sure of his defensive abilities aside from physical.

"If you're going to laugh, then maybe I shouldn't have come," I say, moving to stand up, biting back a grin as Hongjoong's expression falters for a moment. If they're going to play games, I'll play too.

"There's no need for that." Another man says quickly. I glance at him for a moment, his eyes cat-like as he watched, no, studied me. I slowly sit back down, glancing up at Mingi who was giving me that same boba-eyed expression from last night. I guess it was kinda cute.

"If you didn't want something from us, you wouldn't have come," Seonghwa states. "So what is it that you want, Doll?"

I think for a moment. What did I want? I wasn't in this for money, I couldn't care less about that no matter how much I missed luxury. I'd never been eager to be involved in a polyamorous relationship before either. Why was I even here?

Maybe it was the security aspect? Knowing that I'd have people to fall back on if my career went sideways? A place to live where I'd actually be able to lock the door at night. 8 men to protect me didn't sound so bad either, I suppose.

Knowing that there was someone aside from Mia who supported and loved my art enough to come to every show. Knowing that someone liked me enough to warn me despite probably being told not to about the dangerous side of their lives.

My mind drifted back to the girl Mingi briefly mentioned. I had so many questions about her, what was her name? What happened to her?

"Y/N?" The man with the broad shoulders calls out from across the table. "Are you alright?"

I nod. "I want to be involved in the making of this contract. It doesn't seem fair that I'm expected to blindly sign it without having my own input." I say, looking at Hongjoong. His smile had fallen, his eyes watching me carefully.

"I want this to be more than what you wrote on that paper. I'm happy you're letting me continue my time at the society, but I can't control how long I'm practicing for. So you'll just have to suck it up." I state. The man with the cat eyes lets out a snort of amusement, covering it up with a cough.

"Go on." Hongjoong urges, leaning forward on his elbows.

"I want to take this slow. This whole thing is new to me and I don't want to overwhelm myself, especially when I'm in the middle of shows."

Hongjoong tilts his head and nods in understanding.

"How about we forget about the contract," Hongjjong says, leaning back in his seat. "It seems pointless and outdated if you ask me."

I blink in surprise, even the others look at him with bewildered looks.

"I'm sure you already know of what we do, thanks to big mouth over there," Hongjoong says, sending a look to Mingi who lowers his head. "So there's no point in keeping you out of the loop, and the contract does state that you don't ask questions."

"So, no contract?" I question.

"No contract, sweetheart." Hongjoong chuckles. "However I will need you to make a decision tonight. If word gets out that you're involved with one of us, and it will, we'll need to have you somewhere safer than your apartment." He says, right as the door opens again. Waiters enter with various trays of food, setting them down gracefully in the center of the table before leaving without a word.

I furrow my eyebrows as the boys begin to start eating immediately, chatting like I wasn't there. Mingi places a plate in front of me with a slight smile before continuing on with his conversation. I listened to their conversations, learning their names bit by bit. The man across from me, San, offered countless times to retrieve food for me so I didn't have to reach for anything.

I felt a pang in my stomach. Seonghwas love letters, Mingi holding doors open for me, and now San offering to retrieve food. Were they all such gentlemen?

"I accept." I blurt out before I can even stop myself. They all paused their conversations, and the sound of cutlery screeching to a halt caused my lips to quirk up slightly in amusement. Their heads slowly turn to me, genuinely surprised by my answer.

"You're serious?" Wooyoung, the man with the cat eyes, says with a mouth full of food. These were supposed to be ruthless businessmen/gang leaders, yet at that moment I saw the opposite. I saw young men who were so open to showing me, a stranger, so much vulnerability I almost couldn't handle it.

"I'm serious," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. At that, the boys all snap their heads at Hongjoong, who is smiling once again.

"Excellent." He says, before taking a bite of his food. I glance at Mingi, noticing the conflicting emotions on his face. I had to stop myself from reaching out, a part of me wanted to apologize to him for my answer, knowing how much he hadn't wanted me to accept.

I stopped myself, however, turning back to my food. I'd gambled with my life with my answer. Was it really going to be hard if I wanted to leave? What if I ended up not liking these boys as much as I'd assumed I would?

I started to regret my decision, however my pride stopped me from retracting it. I sat in silence as the boys continued to talk amongst themselves, about work and other things.

When the time came to go, I was the last to stand. My legs felt shaky and my throat dry. Mingi stood behind my chair and waited for me to stand, pulling it back as I did so I had space to move away from the table.

"No need to return to your apartment tonight. We have a room for you already." Hongjoong tells me, resting a hand on my back which made my body jolt in surprise.

"Already?" I ask as he starts to lead me out of the room. Instead of heading towards the main restaurant, he leads us through to a back door.

"We had it set up in case you said yes." He explains, nodding to the men waiting outside. I blinked in surprise at the number of them. Were they standing out here the whole time? Hongjoong leads me to a car that Yunho had climbed into just a moment prior.

I climb in also, followed by Hongjoong before the door is shut. I'm sandwiched between them, looking up at Yunho who is staring straight ahead with a cold expression. I purse my lips and look away, clearly he wasn't interested in small talk.

The car began to move, the vehicle weaving into traffic and speeding off. I kept my knees tucked close together to stop myself from nudging against the two men on either side. Hongjoong was on his phone, a serious expression on his brows as he aggressively typed a message out. Yunho had a blank expression as he stared out the window. His left hand resting on his thigh, the fingers spread and slightly gripping the fabric of his pants.

I noticed the scars on his knuckles, light pink against his pale skin. I glance up at his face and flinch as my eyes meet his. I quickly turn to the front, hearing him let out a huff of amusement before returning to the window.

Hongjoong had sat his phone down now, relaxing in the car seat.

"Seonghwa tells me you're a talented ballerina," Hongjoong says, finally breaking the silence. "I should come watch a show of yours."

I give him a small smile. "I'm not that good, I've been dancing for years so it's all experience."

"Humble are we?" He chuckles, turning his head to face me.

"It's better than being cocky," I say. "Though you wouldn't know about that would you?"

He lets out a cackle, Yunho doesn't even flinch beside me.

"I see why Seonghwa was so eager to have you." He says, his voice laced with amusement.

"Is he always like that?" I ask, finding a strange comfort now that Hongjoong and I were actually talking one-on-one, despite the looming presence on my right. "Like romantic, heaps of gifts."

"Yes. You'll get used to it after a while, might even come to appreciate it." Hongjoong says. "He's always been a giver, I may be the leader but he runs the house as far as I'm concerned." He smiles fondly while talking about his friends.

"How long have you known each other?" I ask.

"Since we were teens, some longer than others. I met Yunho first." He gestures to the other man. "Met the others not long after." He states.

I turn to the front and realize we are no longer in the city, but instead on a long road, the only light coming from the headlights and the full moon overhead.

"I hope you like blue, I had our housekeeper decorate your room for you," Hongjoong says, sitting up a little straighter as we turn into a driveway. "And don't be intimidated by the size of the house, I'll have someone give you a tour tomorrow."

"How big-?" I cut myself off as the house came into view. I feel my jaw drop slightly at the size of it. I saw the fountain first, the statue in the center carved carefully from stone. The house itself was magnificent, maybe twice the size of the one I grew up in.

"24 bedrooms," Hongjoong says, his smile wide as he looks at me. The car slowly comes to a stop at the front of the house, the tires crunching on the basalt.

Hongjoong got out first, holding the door open as I followed behind him. I strained my neck to look at the house, noticing all the artistic details littered through the brick.

"Impressed is she?" I hear Wooyoung shout from down the driveway.

"Seems like it," Hongjoong says, offering his arm. I hesitate for a moment before taking it.

A man by the door opens the door for us, my heels clicking on the marble. The foyer was brighter than I expected, a chandelier hung low from the ceiling with a grand staircase curving up the wall. My eyes scanned the room, the marble floor a pristine white with black and gold patterns throughout, two plush armchairs positioned neatly underneath one of the stair railings.

Hongjoong started walking towards the staircase on the right, helping me so that my heels didn't catch on my dress. I glance down at the others as the stairs curve to the side. Some had dispersed into the house, others lingered by the door to maintain conversation. loosening their ties to provide some comfort.

Upstairs was a little darker, instead of a marble floor it was a dark polished wood. Hongjoong led me down the hall until he stopped at the fourth door towards the back of the house. He opened the door for me and stepped back, allowing me to enter without being followed.

A luxurious bedroom unfolds, centered around a grand canopy bed. The bed features carved posts of polished wood, supporting a cascading canopy of sheer, light blue fabric with subtle golden embroidery. The bedding mirrors the room’s opulence, with plush pillows and a comforter in light blue satin trimmed with gold.

A cozy seating area in one corner features a pair of tufted armchairs upholstered in blue velvet, accompanied by a small, round marble table with gold legs. The floors are polished wood, softened by a plush, cream-colored rug that complements the room's serene yet regal palette. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room. Tall windows line the back of the room, and light blue curtains are drawn to give some privacy.

"Do you like it?" Hongjoong says from the doorway.

"I love it," I say softly, turning to look at him. He had a soft expression on his face before he spoke.

"There's clothes in the wardrobe for you. I'll have someone go to your apartment sometime this week and collect some of your things." He says, going to shut the door and leave me be.

"Can I ask you something?" I say quickly, making him stop. "Why did you all agree to this? I mean, you don't even know me."

He examines me for a moment before answering, "Same reason as you, sweetheart." Before shutting the door. I hear his footsteps retreat back towards the staircase as I stand there, scared to touch anything and ruin the warm feeling of the room.

I slowly find my feet walking towards the walk-in wardrobe, a wide smile on my face as I notice that it's full. Someone really went out of their way to buy clothes from expensive clothing lines that somehow were exactly my size. I notice folded-up pajamas on the vanity towards the back of the room, my fingers touching the silky fabric before bundling them up in my arms. I walk out of the wardrobe, opening the next door to find a fully decked-out bathroom, equipped with everything I could need.

I got changed and wiped off my makeup before trudging back out into the main room. My eyes felt heavy, and I realized my social battery had gone down to almost empty since the day began. So much had happened, in just 3 hours and I couldn't help but feel completely exhausted.

I flopped onto the bed, the plush mattress beneath me a welcome feeling as I settled beneath the covers. I closed my eyes, somehow feeling at ease despite being in a strange environment. Something about the effort they put in, even if it was just a nice room, made me feel welcomed despite the silence I'd received from a few of them.

Jongho, Yeosang, and Yunho seemed to be a bit more standoffish than the rest. Maybe they weren't as eager as the others about a new person being invited into their home, no questions asked, and for that, I couldn't blame them.

taglist:

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@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingiglasses

@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland

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delirious-donna · 8 months ago

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The Surprise [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: it’s 2am and here I am posting this smut-filled fic because I can’t sleep and I can’t stop thinking about this man. p.s. requests are open for Higuruma specifically so drop me an ask if you wanna give me some ideas for everyone’s favourite lawyer!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: lingerie, pussy drunk Hiromi (it’s canon don’t fight me), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap it folks) and other goodies

Masterlist

“Will that be everything for you today?” The cheery assistant asked offering a genuine smile whilst they rang through your purchases and packed them carefully into a neat little box.

Your stomach fluttered with the thought of what might transpire this coming weekend, a long-planned weekend that couldn’t arrive quick enough. The delicate tissue paper wrapped around the items inside the box before the assistant closed it over, tied a ribbon securely and placed it in a paper bag.

“Yes, that’s it. Thank you for your help earlier, I appreciate it!”

With a bounce in your step and a sizeable dent in your bank balance, you exited the boutique store to daydream about your husband’s reaction to your little splurge. Neither of you were accustomed to dropping large sums of money so randomly, both believing that an air of caution and frugality would see you through any potential storms on the horizon, but you had walked past this store so many times and finally been tempted into their den of sinful delights.

Inclusive-sized mannequins displayed a range of differently styled lingerie, from demure bridal wear to raunchy strips of leather and wide mesh that would leave very little to the imagination. At first, you were convinced it would only be window shopping, however, when you spied an elegant-looking black bodysuit that seemed like it would hold all your bits in without compromising the sex appeal element, it was game over.

Once you were interested, the friendly young assistant swooped in and soon you were trying it on in the fancy dressing room. The lighting was complimenting rather than garishly fluorescent, and the lull of soft, sensual music added to the overall experience, one you were rather enjoying. The strapless bodysuit hugged your curves and accentuated your décolletage nicely. Clearly, it was designed by scientists to support your breasts without cumbersome straps, and you silently praised their ingenuity. Paired with crotchless fishnet tights that you could secure beneath the suit—a suggestion from your enthusiastic little helper—you knew that Hiromi would likely lose his mind and you couldn’t wait.

Your poor, overworked and perpetually exhausted husband had been burning the candle at both ends for the past nearly four months, neck deep in a case that if he were to win would be a monumental victory in his career. In support, you packed him off every morning with a full lunch consisting of his favourite foods, mostly to encourage him to actually eat instead of consuming mug after mug of rancid instant coffee. In your evenings, you helped him go over witness testimonies, read over his arguments for clarity, and did everything you could to lighten his load around the house. It wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement, you both knew that, and to say he appreciated your support was an understatement.

That’s why when he told you that it was all drawing to a conclusion and that he was cautiously optimistic it would end in his favour, you revelled in that knowledge. Whether it did come to fruition or not, his weekend would be free, and he promised to spend some real quality time with you without the cloud of looming work. There was nothing more he could do, no more past cases he could study and the thought of basking in his undivided attention warmed your heart and soul.

With two days remaining before your scheduled weekend plans to do absolutely nothing but relax and unwind in each other’s presence, you again peeked at the box you’d tucked into your side of the wardrobe, away from prying eyes. Maybe it was a bout of nerves, a moment of body consciousness, that made you pull your surprise out to examine the contents. Whatever it was, you worried your bottom lip once the intimate outfit was laid out on the bedspread.

“What was I thinking… this is too much,” you quietly scolded yourself.

Flopping beside the expensive scraps of fabric, you brushed a palm down your face and reminded yourself that you looked fucking divine in the changing room of the boutique, so why would it be any different now? More so, you knew deep in your heart that Hiromi adored you and thought you were a goddess, one he claimed he didn’t deserve.

A few moments later, you stood in front of the mirrored wardrobe to scrutinise your reflection. Your eyes narrowed as you tugged the sweetheart cups into place and felt the soft squish of your breast jiggle inside. Turning to the side, a hand ran the length of your torso with a grin unfurling at the tight hug of the sheer-panelled fabric. Damn, your backside looked real good from this angle. But maybe the fishnets were too much, you mused, turning this way and that.

You ran your fingers through your hair, wondering if you should try to style it, maybe give it some more volume and texture. It was at that moment, whilst making kissy faces at your reflection with your hands scrunching handfuls of your hair and up on your tippy toes to extend the length of your legs, that the bedroom door opened, and you froze like a deer in headlights.

Higuruma Hiromi was on cloud nine. Not only had he won a career-defining case against all the odds, but the judge had also taken less time to deliberate than anyone expected they would. After a hearty swig of celebratory champagne drank from crappy paper cups with his partner and their secretaries, he was on the first train home to truly celebrate with the only person that mattered—you.

What he didn’t expect to find when he entered the house as stealthily as he could manage was the vision of you standing in the middle of the bedroom looking like one of the pin-up models from the magazines he would hide under his mattress as a young man.

Like a slightly tipsy house cat, he tiptoed his way through the rooms, listening for signs of you and driving straight towards the bedroom to surprise you with his unannounced return. The door bounced open on its hinges and he stood, shell-shocked for a moment before it turned to white-hot appreciation.

You looked beautiful, stunning, breathtaking even. There weren’t enough colourful adjectives for how he felt about you at any given time, but right now, modelling a black bodysuit that hugged both your butt and your breasts, he was entirely dumbstruck. Hiromi didn’t know where to look, or whether you’d rather he look away given your strangled yelp of surprise at his sudden appearance. You made no effort to cover yourself or shove him out the door, no, you both faced one another as if neither of you knew what to do or say.

His eyes continued to betray him, slowly caressing the length of your figure and finding new things to appreciate; the sweetheart cups, the gauzy panels that allowed him glimpses of your skin beneath, and not to mention the fishnet tights. He hadn’t seen you wear anything like those since your dating years, and he had forgotten how much he missed them, or how many he had ruined by ripping through the gusset in his haste.

“What are you doing home?” You glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and back to your husband, heat filling your face but something else followed on the tails of your embarrassment, something more pleasant.

Hiromi ran this thumb over his mouth, gaze pointedly fixed on your chest, and you cleared your throat with emphasis until he finally met your eye and the arch of your eyebrow. Already his neck looked red, like a rash had spread from below the collar of his shirt and travelled towards his jaw. If you could describe a person as having hearts for eyes, it would be one Higuruma Hiromi and you adored him for his open adoration.

“We… I won,” he managed weakly, smiling as if coming out of a daze and you blinked for a moment while processing the words.

“You won?”

He chuckled. “I won.”

A wealth of emotions passed over your face until you ended with ecstatic pride, tears near pricking your eyes as you launched yourself into his arms and peppered his cheeks and nose with enough kisses to make him blush more furiously. His hands settled on your hips, his touch more hesitant than you would expect given the circumstances and you pulled back to give him a questioning look.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be more excited than this.”

“Darling…” he started, skimming his fingertips up and down your sides before rounding to your full backside and squeezing as he spoke. “What’s this?”

In your joy, you had forgotten that Hiromi had walked in on you wearing the lingerie that was meant to be for this weekend and meant to be a surprise. You guessed it still had been, although not the one you planned. “Oh, just a little something to show my hardworking man that I love and adore him. Nothing much.”

“Nothing much…” he repeated in a disbelieving whisper. A finger ran the length of your spine, from the top of your backside to near the base of your skull, dragging it slowly and watching you shudder beneath his deliberate touch. Your shoulder blades shifted, pushing your chest out further and into his, which earned you a groan of appreciation.

“I wouldn’t call this nothing much. You look like a wet dream come to life.”

He walked you backwards, the scent of champagne hot on his breath and your stomach curled into a mass of twisted anticipation—heavy in the depths of your belly. Your thighs crashed into the edge of the bed and Hiromi used your moment of imbalance to shove you atop, quickly shucking out of his jacket and crawling over you.

“Hiromi,” you squeaked between peals of laughter. The man in question only hummed in response, his hooded eyes heavy with nothing that spoke of fatigue. The whisky colour of his eyes appeared blown almost completely black by the dilation of his pupils, and he licked over his lips in what looked like anticipation of a hearty meal.

That meal was you…

Any protest you might have offered died in your throat when he claimed your mouth like a man possessed. His tongue curled over your teeth, pushing the memory of champagne into the space he dominated and greedily swallowing your answering moan. His forearms bracketed your head, keeping you caged and unable to run from him, not that you had any desire to, not when you could feel the press of his cock thickening against your lower half.

Loosening the knot of his tie with one finger, you took the moment to grab fistfuls of the shirt at his back, tugging the tails out of his trousers and sliding your palms beneath the starched surface to scratch along his spine. Hiromi shuddered, the disconnect of your lips an audible pop that left a web of saliva between you, only breaking with a quick swipe of your pink tongue.

“I don’t even have my make-up or hair done, you beast!” The half-hearted protest fell on deaf ears, or so you thought when his mouth moved to your neck and down to your collarbone, sucking little blooming lovebites on his journey. When he reached the abundant swell of your breasts, he glanced up whilst his tongue pathed across the top of your left breast, dipping into the valley between and then resuming the path over the right.

“You think I need face paint or styled hair to love you more? Fuck, sweetheart… I nearly came in my briefs the minute I opened the door.” The length of his aquiline nose nudged between your breasts, nuzzling the soft mounds like a cat warming by the fire. Carding your fingers through his hair, you wriggled beneath him and let out a breathy sigh, the weight and conviction of his love settling over you in perfect comfort. There would be no more argument from you, and Hiromi won for the second time that day.

With methodical slowness he kissed his way down your body, stopping to lave the sheer panels at either side of your abdomen and forcing you to arch from the warm sensation of his eager tongue. You’d barely managed to get his shirt off his shoulders before he was exploring you like this was his first time with your body. The white button-up hung down his back, sleeves caught by his elbows, and he made no move to strip it off much to your annoyance.

He stopped abruptly when he reached your pelvic mound, chin resting there whilst his fingers trailed the arch of your foot, up the inside of your calf and tickled behind your knee. “Stop that, mister!” You scolded with laughter threatening to bubble out.

“Spread ‘em and I will,” he challenged with a smirk.

The space between your freshly parted thighs became his home, an arm wound around your hip pawing at the fat of your thigh and the line where it met your arse, eliciting shivers that rippled over your skin like a calm lake disturbed by a skimming stone. He fingered the two snaps that kept the bodysuit in place, stroking firmly over your clothed cunt and pushing the barrier deeper until it started to feel sticky from your arousal. Looking all too smug, he freed the snaps with a grunt of satisfaction, sure that his next step would be to rip through the gusset of your raunchy fishnets so he could taste you. That moment never came.

You felt the vibration shudder through your husband, his head falling forward to obscure what you could see of his face, and you rocked your hips back and forth in invitation. The cool air of the room contrasted by the hot fan of his breath on your slit made you clench around a disappointing nothing, frowning at his sudden pause.

For a long moment, there was only silence. When he looked up, his expression nearly stole your breath. Thick black eyebrows pinched together, visible strain around his drooped eyes and a throaty whine made your pussy flutter with need. This was the Hiromi that only came out to play every now and again. The one who would wring you like a wet dish towel for just one more orgasm, one more mouthful of your hot nectar.

“Crotchless, really?” he murmured, dragging a finger across your puffy folds where the thin membrane of the tights should have resided and you nearly jolted upwards to the ceiling, having forgotten that little fact in the heat of the moment.

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you gave a cheeky wink. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about all the pairs of tights you’ve ruined over the years. These were just a… precaution.” Hiromi groaned, thrusting his face into your pussy without warning. The flat of his tongue ran the length of you, making you perfectly slippery in mere seconds, only for the tip of the wet muscle to fuck into your entrance immediately.

“Oh, fuck… Hiro!”

You yanked great tufts of his hair to no avail; he was lost to eating you out like a man starved. The prominent slope of his nose slid back and forth across your bundle of nerves, and it lit up your insides like the continuous explosion of miniature firecrackers.

Whining from his sudden onslaught, you tried to run by easing up the bed, but your attempts were shot down in flames by sharp insistent tugs of your hips. Hiromi was enthusiastic at the best of times when it came to going down on you, but it was nothing compared to right now. The wet squelching sucks of his lips and tongue flooded the bedroom, only being accompanied by your decadent moans and panting breaths as you tried not to lose your sanity entirely.

Hiromi was lost in you; the scent of your favourite body wash, the taste of your arousal when it trickled from your core mixed with the slight salt of your skin, the plush silk of your thighs beneath his prodding fingertips and the unrestrained noises that caressed his ears.

He almost missed your orgasm so clouded was his mind in the quest to turn you into a puddle of liquid goo for only his consumption. The wave of it crested through the length of your body, vibrating every limb and twitching each nerve ending. Your spine arched from the unmade sheets, the hand coiled tight in Hiromi’s hair spasming and tugging without even meaning to and that’s when he noticed. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his lips around your pulsing clit and sucked it deeper into his mouth.

Stars winked into your vision at being thrust from one orgasm directly into another so violently. Your pussy fluttered ceaselessly, a craving deep in your gut to be filled at all costs, yet right now all you could do was hold on for dear life whilst you bucked and rutted against your husband’s face, wetting it thoroughly. He nosed at your quaking thigh, sharp incisors nipping your yielding flesh until you yelped and tried to close your legs without success.

You became aware of movement, the absence of shoulders beneath your thighs and you blinked to find a desperate predator stripping off his clothes whilst prowling back and forth at the foot of the bed. Hiromi grasped his cock, tugging it down to the base to spread the leaked precum that continued to dribble from his cockhead. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he had already cum, but he was always the excitable type who would leak and leak until you did something about it, usually opting to take him down your throat until he convulsed and spilt everything he had to offer.

Your hand trailed lower down your body, fingers playing in the spit-soaked mess he’d left behind in his hurry to stand and strip. Hiromi whined; head cocked to the side as he watched you play idly with your puffy lips flooded with the surge of blood and circling your pert little pearl. He fucked his fist harder, the other hand rolling his heavy balls until his stomach sucked in and your nostrils flared in warning.

“C’mere mister lawyer, I don’t want you wasting your orgasm when it could be filling me nicely.”

How quickly the tables could turn. One minute he was the predator, pawing and demanding, taking what he wanted without question, and the next he was the prey. Trapped on his back with cheeks a ruddy hue and eyes that begged for clemency. Your much small hand encased his dick, twisting your palm on each upward stroke while you straddled him and rocked yourself against the balls he’d just been palming.

His hands shook with restraint as they reached for your breasts, filling his broad palms and massaging them until you dipped low to claim his lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue, in his mouth and the sensation empowered you, fucking his throbbing cock through your folds until he twitched and whimpered some more.

“Please… fuck. Need to be inside. Might not last. God, you’re so fucking sexy. Don’t deserve you.” Hiromi babbled every syllable, sounding drunk when there was little to no alcohol left in his system.

His fingertips dipped inside the cups of your bodysuit, tweaking at your nipples and you indulged his silent request by allowing him to fold the cups down and let the spill of your tits fill his face. With renewed vigour and enthusiasm, he mouthed at you and ran his tongue in circles around your nipples one at a time.

You keened at the familiar sensation, swept away by a current of pure indulgence when he moved to suckle you. It was the perfect moment to strike, with Hiromi distracted in flicking his tongue over and over, round and round your swollen bud, you guided him to notch at your entrance and slowly sank onto his needy dick. He grunted; his grip tightening on your waist, but he refused to come up for air, continuing to nudge his nose into your breast, lips pulling the nipple taut until he finally released with a gasp.

“Fuck, I love you. I love you more than I can express.”

Hiromi worshipped you with his gaze, eyes full of devotion and unbridled passion whilst you rode him steadily. The sticky pap pap pap of your pelvis meeting his was the soundtrack to your lovemaking, because beneath the sexy lingerie and the ideas you had planned for the weekend, that’s what this was and always would be. You knew he didn’t need the extra faff to love you with his whole heart. You knew that he was aroused by you simply walking through the kitchen in a pair of his boxers.

You knew he loved you for you.

His dappled cheeks darkened further, the furrow of his brow telling of how he was trying to stave off his release, but you wanted him as undone as you had been, and you would not be denied. Leaning forward, your palms found purchase on his shoulders, breasts bouncing freely in time with your hips, and you squeezed around his shaft until the vein in his temple popped and he let out a guttural groan.

Hiromi grabbed around your middle, flipping you up and over so that he could thrust himself into overstimulation without hindrance. Pressing your thighs to your chest, you heard the telltale rip and knew that another pair of tights had fallen victim to Higuruma Hiromi despite your best efforts to keep them safe. His swollen cock pumped thick spurts of his milky cum against your cervix, filling you to the brim yet continuing to sloppily thrust in and out.

“-cum again… gotta—fuckkk. You’re so tight,” he bit through the words, fighting the steady burn of overstimulation to see you orgasm for the third time and you were close. A glob of spit landed against your clit, thick fingers shaking from exertion rubbing the frothy mess into you with insistent motions. He was a man possessed, falling apart for him was as easy as drawing breath and he caught you on your free fall.

You chanted his name in some semblance of a prayer, thrashing and clawing at anything you could reach until you milked him again and he lost the ability to hold himself up. Hiromi fell atop you, his face pressed into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, hot shuddering moans stifled by his mouth on your neck while he weakly tried to bear some of his weight onto an arm.

“Stop squirming, you’re not that heavy, Hiro,” you teased with a light slap against his back.

Once you could both speak without sounding winded, you combed your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, moving the strands that stuck to his forehead away until you could trace his eyebrows, his jaw, and the bridge of his nose. “Y’know… you ripped my tights—again.”

Hiromi chuckled, rubbing his cheek against your chest. “I did, and I’d do it again. Maybe give them a miss if we do this again, hm?”

“You liked the surprise then?”

“I already told you that I did, not that I needed it. All I ever need is you.”

It was your turn to chuckle, booping the tip of his nose. “Maybe when I show you the receipt, you’ll change your tune.”

“… sweetheart. How much did it cost? Don’t roll away, missy! Answer my question. Hey. Hey! You have to answer the lawyer when they ask a question.”

#delirious writes #higuruma hiromi #higuruma x reader #higuruma smut #jjk higuruma #hiromi x reader #hiromi smut #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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violet-butterflies · 1 year ago

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❥︎ yandere! CEO headcanons

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ stalking, obsessiveness, lovesickness, overprotectiveness ( female yandere! oc x gn reader )

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who is at the peak of her career! She's got money, the looks, and a thriving fashion brand but no lover :(

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who hires you as her new secretary! Amazed at your amazing work ethics that never fails to disappoint her.

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who realizes that you work too hard. Jeez, she just gave you that report assignment last night and you've already finished it?! And you even managed to perfectly schedule the next two months' worth of meetings and appointments? Do you even sleep?!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who slowly falls in love with you. You were simply so simple and cute that she can read you like a book! Not only that, it's always so cute to see you get flustered when she gets a tad bit too close to you!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who begins to ask you to personally model for the clothes she designs. Oh, that dress? Yea, It's made to your size because I want you to try it! That suit? No matter if you wear it and I'll see if it needs anything. Oh, that lingerie? PLEASE do wear it! For research purposes of course... takes a quick picture

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who wants to keep you as her personal little model! She just simply doesn't get how everything she makes just fits you so well! You might as well keep all the clothes she makes and make sure you wear them all the time! Why wear any other brand when you practically have a personal fashion designer!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who can't help but feel mortified at how boring your life is. Do you really just go to work and home? She has never seen you go out to do any errands! Even your wardrobe only consists of old t-shirts for inside the house and work clothes! She feels bad taking some of your clothes since you don't have many to begin with...

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who dedicates her whole life to making your life so much easier. Every month she'll make sure to always give you a hefty bonus. Any coworkers that made you sigh or are a minor inconvenience in your life? They all can say goodbye to their careers!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who just can't get enough of you even after she clocks out of work. When you two were off on a business trip, she hires a few people to put some hidden cameras everywhere around your tiny apartment. No, it's not stalking silly! She's only making sure that she can provide you with everything you'd need! If you need anything, she'll happen to give you that exact thing the next day!

☞︎︎︎ "y/n I just so happen to have a spare laptop that I don't need! Oh, your laptop broke yesterday? Wow, what a coincidence! You can use this one!"

#yandere blurb #yandere x y/n #yandere x oc #yandere x reader #yandere #tw: yandere #tw: stalking #female yandere #female yandere x reader #female yandere oc #lovesick #obsession #yandere ceo #yandere ceo x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere hcs

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enigmatech1 · 2 years ago

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Best Custom Wardrobe Designs for Small Spaces: Maximizing Functionality and Style in Limited Spaces

If you live in a small apartment or a compact home, you know that storage space can be a precious commodity. While you may dream of having a walk-in closet, the reality is that you may only have a small nook or corner to work with. However, that doesn't mean you have to sacrifice style or function when it comes to your wardrobe. With the right design and customization, you can create a custom wardrobe that maximizes the limited space you have.

The Importance of Customization in Small Space Wardrobe Design

Customization is important when creating a wardrobe for a tiny area. Every square inch of space counts, and a tailored solution can help you maximize what you have. You can select the precise measurements, features, and materials for your custom wardrobe that will best meet your needs and fit your room.

There are various wardrobe manufacturers in Gurgaon that specialize in creating unique solutions for limited areas. Whether you need a wardrobe with more shelves, drawers, or hanging space, these manufacturers may work with you to make one that meets your needs.

Tips for Designing a Custom Wardrobe for a Small Space

Here are some tips to keep in mind when designing a custom wardrobe for a small space:

Measure your space: Before you start designing your wardrobe, measure the space where you plan to install it. Make note of any obstacles such as doors or windows that may impact the design. This will help you ensure that your custom wardrobe fits perfectly in the available space.

Think vertically: When space is limited, it's important to make the most of every inch. A custom wardrobe that goes all the way up to the ceiling can provide extra storage space without taking up too much floor space. You can also add shelving or hanging rods at different heights to maximize storage.

Use sliding doors: In a small space, swinging doors can take up valuable floor space. Sliding doors are a great alternative as they don't require any additional space to open and close. Plus, they can add a modern, streamlined look to your wardrobe.

Choose the right materials: When choosing materials for your custom wardrobe, consider durability, weight, and style. For example, if you want a sleek and modern look, you may want to consider using glass or metal. On the other hand, if you want a more traditional look, you may want to use wood.

Prioritize function: When designing a wardrobe for a small space, it's important to prioritize function over form. Make sure you have enough storage space for all of your clothing and accessories, and consider features like adjustable shelves and hanging rods to maximize storage.

Add lighting: Adding lighting to your custom wardrobe can make it easier to find what you're looking for and add an extra touch of luxury. Consider adding LED lights or under-cabinet lighting to brighten up your wardrobe.

Choosing the Right Wardrobe Manufacturer in Gurgaon

There are a number of things to take into account when looking for the best wardrobe manufacturer in Gurgaon. Choose a manufacturer that specializes in unique creations for compact areas and has practical knowledge of a range of materials and designs. Verify their reputation for excellent work and customer service by reading their evaluations and contacting their references.

Best Wardrobe Inside Design is a fantastic choice for bespoke wardrobe designs in Gurgaon. From materials and finishes to accessories and lighting, they provide a wide range of customizing options. They can assist you in maximizing the space you have because they have experience constructing wardrobes for compact places.

Conclusion

In conclusion, just because you have a small space doesn't mean you have to compromise on style and functionality when it comes to your wardrobe. By designing a custom wardrobe that fits your specific needs, you can maximize storage space and create a stylish and functional addition to your home. With the right materials, design, and customization, you can create a wardrobe that not only fits your space but also fits your personal style. With the right wardrobe manufacturer, you can build any kind of wardrobe inside design as per your expectation. So, if you are in the search for a manufacturer then choosing Wudley Modulars will be the right choice for you.

#Wardrobe Inside Design #Wardrobe Manufacturers In Gurgaon #Modular Wardrobe Manufacturers #Wardrobe Manufacturers In Noida

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gracie-bird · 1 year ago

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Edith Head's costume design for Grace Kelly as Frances Stevens in "To Catch a Thief" (1955).

#grace kelly #1955 #to catch a thief #edith head #1954 #costume #costume design #yellow dress #inside grace's wardrobe

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alpha-mag-media · 1 year ago

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Inside the lavish life of Molly-Mae’s Bambi Fury with 7 holidays in a year, first class flights & a designer wardrobe | 03Y5G06 | 2024-01-04 04:08:01 | January 04, 2024 at 05:08AM

Inside the lavish life of Molly-Mae’s Bambi Fury with 7 holidays in a year, first class flights & a designer wardrobe | 03Y5G06 | 2024-01-04 04:08:01 Read More … Check full articles at Source: ALPHA MAG

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#first class flights & a designer wardrobe | 03Y5G06 | 2024-01-04 04:08:01 #Inside the lavish life of Molly-Mae’s Bambi Fury with 7 holidays in a year #Politics #ShowBiz #Sport #Tech #UK #US #World

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buckets-and-trees · 15 days ago

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Red, White & True: Brooklyn - Pre-Interview [7/12]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 5.8k Summary: After a week apart on the campaign trail, you're reunited with Steve to get ready for the biggest interview of your life.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: People have been asking about the wedding since chapter one, and you won't get EVERYTHING here, but you will learn a little about how those days went. This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[OCTOBER 5 - EARLY AFTERNOON - BROOKLYN, NEW YORK]

As the car pulls up to the brownstone, your heart begins to race. The familiar facade of red brick and ornate cornices looms before you, a blend of historic charm and modern restoration. The wrought-iron fence that lines the front garden is exactly as you remember it, its intricate patterns casting delicate shadows on the sidewalk in the early afternoon sun. The trees that line the street are ablaze with color - brilliant golds, fiery oranges, and deep crimsons - a stark contrast to the evergreen palms you left behind in California just hours ago.

As you step out of the vehicle, the cool air nips at your cheeks. You gaze up at the four-story building, and the sight of it all brings a flood of memories from those two nights in June - the nervous energy of the night before your wedding, the surreal feeling of returning here as newlyweds though you were still virtually strangers. The first night Steve had been detained in New Hampshire, so you’d stayed in the house alone. The second night you had politely slept in separate bedrooms.

There had been no honeymoon. Instead the two of you had traveled to the Stark corporate retreat facilities two miles up the road from the rustic mansion Tony and Pepper had designed and built together for their family life in upstate New York, and the preparation for the presidential run had moved into the final phases of coaching, strategy, styling consultations, wardrobe outfitting, public address exercises and the like now that you had officially joined the team.

Thinking back on it now, you wonder how either of you managed to make it through the blend of politeness and awkwardness, the concerted efforts to be warm even though both of you were keeping your distance and taking turns testing the waters.

It would be laughable if it wasn’t your life.

One day you will probably laugh about it. Whether or not it will be with Steve by your side… that’s still not clear.

Though it does feel like that longterm reality becomes more of a possibility every day.

As you climb the steps to the front door, you hear a bevy of movement inside. Your pulse quickens, knowing Steve is already here. You've spoken every day this past week, but phone calls and video chats can't compare to being in the same room.

The week apart had been good for you. Instead of closeness by virtue of proximity, the two of you had had to connect purely through conversation; and without sun-up-to-sundown schedules that orbited around each other, the thirty guaranteed minutes became treasured, guarded, and looked forward to.

Sophia is rushing in ahead of you, and you pause for just a moment before stepping over the threshold, taking a deep breath to calm the skittering of your heart.

The entryway is warm and inviting, filled with the soft glow of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. There’s a thriving buzz of energy and discussion going on as campaign staff fill the living room and are filtering in and out. The scent of fresh coffee wafts through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of old books and polished wood that seems to permeate the brownstone.

There are many hello’s and greetings for you and Sophia, and you ask, “Where’s Steve?

"In here!" Steve's voice calls out from the direction of the kitchen.

You make your way through the bustling living room, nodding more greetings to staff members as you pass. The kitchen doorway comes into view, and your breath catches as you see Steve for the first time in a week.

You round the corner into the spacious kitchen and there he is, leaning against the counter in conversation with Bucky and Jake, a mug of coffee in his hand. The late afternoon sun streaming through the window casts a warm glow on his profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the golden hues in his hair. He looks relaxed, at ease in a way you rarely see him on the campaign trail.

His eyes light up when he sees you, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Hey," he says softly, setting down his coffee and taking a step towards you.

"Hey yourself," you reply, your own smile matching his. The kitchen suddenly feels very crowded - most of your life with Steve was surrounded by other people.

Diplomatically, Jake and Bucky begin conversing with each other, giving you a bit of privacy, and Steve closes the distance between you in a few strides. There's a moment of hesitation, both of you unsure how to greet each other after a week apart. But before you can say anything else, he wraps you in a tight embrace. The hug is warm and comforting, Steve's strong arms wrapping around you securely. You breathe in his familiar scent, a mix of soap and something uniquely him. Briefly the bustle of the campaign fades away, and it's just the two of you. A tension you didn't even realize you were carrying in your shoulders begins to dissipate.

"Welcome home," he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking into his familiar face. "Home," you repeat softly, testing the word. It feels right, somehow, in a way it didn't before.

Steve's eyes search your face, as if trying to memorize every detail. "How was your flight?"

"Long," you admit with a small laugh. "But productive. Sophia and I went over the schedule for the next few days."

"I'm glad you made it back safely," Steve says, his hand warm on your lower back as he guides you further into the kitchen. "I know the West Coast tour was grueling."

You nod, feeling the exhaustion of the past week in your bones, not that either of you are strangers to exhaustion these past months. "It was intense, but I think we made some real progress out there. The response at the events with Helen Santos was incredible."

Now that you’re at the counter, Jake and Bucky tune into the conversation with you. "I saw some of the coverage,” Bucky said, his eyes lighting up with interest. “You two seemed to really connect with the crowds."

"She's amazing," you say, a note of admiration in your voice. "The way she can command a room, inspire people... I learned so much just watching her."

"I'm sure you held your own," Steve says with a soft smile. "I heard great things about your speeches."

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words.

“Of course she held her own,” Jake interjects, looking like a proud dad, and you can’t help but glow at his proclamation - he’s the political aficionado and has no reason to give false praise. “We’ve got great polling and social media engagement surges we can tie right back to your work with Zoey over the last week.

“Now, we've got a lot to cover," Jake continues, his tone businesslike but with a hint of eagerness. "The interview is in three days, and we need to make sure we're all on the same page."

You nod, grateful for the shift to campaign matters. It gives you a moment to collect yourself, to process the warmth of Steve's greeting and the conflicting emotions it stirs within you.

"Right," you say, slipping into professional mode. "What's our game plan?"

Jake launches into a detailed rundown of the schedule leading up to the interview, outlining prep sessions and strategy meetings. As he speaks, you're acutely aware of Steve's presence beside you, his hand still resting lightly on your lower back. It's a casual touch, one that would look natural to anyone observing, but it sends a small thrill through you.

"We've got a mock interview scheduled for tonight after dinner, and we’ll try to wrap up between nine and ten-”

You and Steve exchange a surprised glance, both of your eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, did you say we'd be wrapping up at nine or ten?" Steve asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Jake nods, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's right. You two marvel and joke all you want, but tomorrow isn’t just another game day, it’s the Super Bowl of interviews. You’ll need proper rest."

You can't help but chuckle, the sound bubbling up from your chest. After months of grueling 18-hour days that often stretched well past midnight, the idea of having an evening to yourselves seems almost decadent, a luxury you'd forgotten existed.

"I'm not sure I even remember what to do with free time," you joke, looking up at Steve.

“Alright, alright,” Jake says. “You get some lunch, Mrs. Rogers, and we’ll get going in about forty-five minutes.”

[OCTOBER 5 - EVENING - BROOKLYN BROWNSTONE]

The mock interview had gone well, all things considered. Lisa, always poised and professional in her role as campaign spokesperson, has taken on the role of faux-Oprah for the mock interview. She had been practicing for days, studying her posture, mannerisms, and way of speaking in order to mimic Oprah's signature warmth and openness.

Because Oprah was the one who had scooped in and taken the chance to interview Captain America and Mrs. Rogers.

Oprah.

Oprah would be in your home.

Talking to you.

Lisa had thrown many curveballs at you and Steve, probing for weak spots in your narrative and testing your ability to present a united front. For as many public addresses and press appearances as you had done, none of them had been jointly even if you and Steve had been at them together. This was the first time focusing on you and Steve as a married couple, side by side. By the end, you were mentally exhausted but reasonably confident. The real interview would be challenging, but you and Steve had a firm grasp on your rhythm and you felt prepared.

Now, as promised, you find yourself with an unexpected evening of freedom stretching out before you. The house is quiet, the campaign staff having departed for their hotels or to work on other projects. It's just you and Steve, alone in the brownstone for the first time since the awkward night after your wedding.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The quiet is almost deafening after the constant buzz of activity that's surrounded you both for so long. You can hear the tick of the antique clock in the foyer, the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant sound of traffic outside. It's strange, almost unsettling, to be surrounded by such stillness.

You glance at Steve, catching his eye. He looks as uncertain as you feel, standing there in the living room, hands in his pockets. The conversations over the phone while you had been apart had grown so natural, but now that you are physically together, alone as you so rarely had ever been, the question of what now? hangs in the air.

Just as you open your mouth to speak, both of your phones buzz simultaneously. You exchange a curious glance before reaching for your devices.

It's a text from Sophie.

Check the kitchen. Enjoy your evening off!

Intrigued, you and Steve make your way to the kitchen, your footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. The warm glow of the pendant lights above the island casts a cozy ambiance as you enter the room.

On the granite countertop, you find an array of options laid out before you. There's a mixing bowl, surrounded by ingredients; a package of cookie dough; a box from a bakery; and a card propped up in front.

You reach for the card, your fingers brushing against the thick cardstock. As you open it, you can't help but smile at the message inside.

Choose Your Own Cookie Adventure!

Option 1: Mix it up! All the ingredients are here for chocolate chip cookies from scratch. Recipe card included.

Option 2: Easy Bake! Pre-made dough ready to pop in the oven.

Option 3: Instant Gratification! Gourmet cookies from Levain Bakery.

Enjoy your evening off and indulge in something sweet together.

You look up at Steve, a mix of amusement and warmth spreading through your chest. "Well," you say, gesturing to the spread before you and handing him the card, "what'll it be, Captain?"

Steve's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, skimming the message and taking in the options. "I'm tempted by the instant gratification," he admits with a chuckle, "but there's something to be said for the satisfaction of making something from scratch."

You nod, excited at the prospect of doing something so normal. "I agree. So option one together?"

"Sounds perfect," Steve says, already rolling up his sleeves. "I have to warn you, though, I'm not exactly known for my baking skills."

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. "Mine are rusty, so this should be interesting."

As you set to work, there's a comfortable ease between you that wasn't there before. The week apart seems to have reset something, allowing you to just be yourselves without the constant pressure of the campaign surrounding you.

Steve measures out the flour while you cream the butter and sugar together in the mixing bowl. The familiar motions of baking bring back memories of childhood, of lazy weekend afternoons spent in the kitchen with your mother.

"You know," you say, glancing over at Steve as he carefully levels off a cup of flour, "I used to bake cookies with my mom all the time when I was little. It was our Sunday afternoon ritual."

Steve looks up, a soft smile playing at his lips. "That sounds nice. What kind did you make?"

"Oh, all kinds," you reply, whisking the eggs into the butter mixture. "Chocolate chip was a staple, of course. But we baked through most of Martha Stewart’s cookie cookbook.”

“Sweets of any kind were a luxury when I was growing up,” Steve explains,

carefully adding the flour to your mixture.

As he says it, you remember that his formative years took place against the landscape of the Great Depression.

His voice takes on a wistful tone as he continues. "My mom would save up sometimes to make oatmeal cookies for special occasions. I remember the smell filling our tiny apartment."

You pause in your mixing, touched by the image of a young Steve eagerly anticipating his mother's rare treat. "That sounds lovely," you say softly. "I bet those were the best cookies in the world to you."

Steve nods, a faraway look in his eyes. "They really were. I've never tasted anything quite like them since."

There's a moment of comfortable silence as you both work, lost in your own thoughts and memories.

"You know," you say after a while, "I think there's something special about baking. It's not just about the end result, but the process itself. The measuring, the mixing, the way the kitchen fills with warmth and sweet aromas. It's methodical and therapeutic, in a way."

Steve nods thoughtfully as he folds chocolate chips into the dough. "I can see that. Following the steps, creating something with your hands."

You smile, watching him work. There's something endearing about seeing Captain America, the legendary super-soldier, carefully folding chocolate chips into cookie dough. "Exactly. It's a nice change of pace from the constant strategizing and speechwriting we've been doing."

As you work together to scoop the dough onto baking sheets, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter as you trade stories about kitchen mishaps and childhood memories.

Steve carefully slides the first tray of cookies into the oven, and your inner child buzzes with excellent knowing soon the kitchen will be filled with the warm, sweet aroma of chocolate and vanilla.

You lean against the counter, watching Steve as he sets the timer. There's a domesticity to this moment that catches you off guard, a glimpse of what a normal life with him might look like. It's both thrilling and terrifying. Nothing you’ve done together yet has been conventional in any way, but this is.

You grab a spoon and carve out a scoop of dough to enjoy while you wait. With this kitchen having multiple ovens, all your trays will be done at the same time.

"So, tell me more about your week," you say. "I know we talked every day, but it's not the same as being there."

Steve leans against the counter opposite you, his eyes warm as he considers your question while you savor the sweet, buttery flavor of the raw cookie dough.

"It was...different," he says thoughtfully. "Good in some ways, challenging in others. After everything that happened around Athens and Miami, I felt off-balance for the first couple of days. But the work helped ground me."

You nod, understanding exactly what he means. The campaign trail has a way of demanding your full attention, leaving little room for personal introspection.

"The rallies were energizing," Steve says, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "There's something incredible about connecting with people face-to-face, hearing their stories, their hopes for the future." He pauses, his brow furrowing slightly. "But I missed having you there beside me. It felt incomplete."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you try to keep your voice steady as you respond. "I know what you mean. The events with Helen and Zoey were amazing, but I kept turning to share something with you, only to remember you weren't there.”

Steve's eyes soften as he meets your gaze. "I'm glad we're back together now," he says quietly. "It feels right, having you here."

A comfortable silence falls between you, filled with the warm scent of baking cookies. You're acutely aware of Steve's presence across from you, the way his eyes linger on your face. There's an intensity to his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine.

The timer dings, breaking the moment. Steve moves to check the cookies, and you can't help but admire the way he moves, graceful despite his size. He pulls out the trays, the smell of freshly baked cookies filling the kitchen.

"They look perfect," you say, peering over his shoulder. The cookies are golden brown, with melted chocolate chips peeking through.

Steve grins, looking pleased. "Not bad for a couple of amateurs.”

You gather a plate and some glasses from one of the cupboards. Steve fills the plate with cookies while you pour some (your preference) milk, and then the two of you gravitate to the living room and land on the couch, diving into the cookies and more conversation.

As you settle in, the warmth of the freshly baked cookies and the comfort of Steve's presence beside you create a cozy atmosphere. The living room, usually a hub of campaign activity, feels different now - intimate and personal. Like it could really be a home you and Steve could live in.

"These are actually pretty good," Steve says, taking a bite of a cookie. "Maybe we missed our calling as bakers."

You laugh, reaching for your own cookie. "I don't know about that. I think the country might have something to say if we suddenly abandoned the campaign to open a bakery."

"True," Steve chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Guess we have a back up plan.”

You laugh, and reach for another cookie.

“I have to admit, some days the idea of pulling the chute and bailing for a simpler life is too tempting."

You nod, understanding exactly what he means. "It's funny, isn't it? How something as simple as baking cookies can feel so... normal. So far removed from the craziness of our lives right now."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "It's moments like these that remind me why we're doing all of this. For a future where people can just live. Bake cookies. Spend time with their families without worrying about the next crisis."

You feel a surge of warmth at his words, at the reminder of the man you married - the one who sees beyond himself, who wants to make the world better for everyone. It’s key to why you were willing to leap blindly into the partnership. "You're right," you say softly. "It's easy to get caught up in the day-to-day chaos of the campaign and forget the bigger picture."

There's a comfortable silence as you both munch on cookies, lost in thought. The ticking of the clock and the distant hum of traffic outside continuing their soothing background noise.

"You know," Steve says after a while, turning to face you more fully on the couch, "If we win, if we don't, either way, things will never be quite 'normal', but..."

He trails off, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to continue. It's the first time either of you has really broached the subject of your future together beyond the campaign.

"But?" you prompt gently, your heart racing.

Steve meets your eyes, his gaze intense and sincere. "But I'd like to think we could have more moments like this. Quiet evenings, doing ordinary things together. Building a life that's ours, not just the one the public sees."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. It's a beautiful picture he's painting, one that you've wondered over yourself.

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest at Steve's words. The idea of building a life together, of having more quiet moments like this, is both thrilling and terrifying. You've spent so much time focusing on the campaign, on presenting the perfect image to the public, that you've barely allowed yourself to imagine what comes after. You’re married, but how married are you? How married will you be?

"I'd like that too," you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's strange, isn't it? We jumped into this marriage, into this campaign, without really knowing each other. And now..."

"And now?" Steve prompts, his eyes searching yours.

Now I can't imagine my life without you in it you think, but you don’t know if you are ready to say it.

You take a deep breath, mustering up at least some of your courage. "Now whether we're in the White House or not, I want us to keep building this."

Steve's hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. His touch is warm and comforting, grounding you in the moment.

"I want that too," he says softly, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. "When I first agreed to this arrangement, I never imagined..." He trails off, shaking his head slightly.

"What?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve's eyes meet yours, filled with an intensity that takes your breath away. "I never imagined I'd feel this way. That we'd fit together so well, not just as partners in the campaign, but as..." He pauses, searching for the right words. "As us."

Your heart races at his admission. It mirrors your own feelings so closely - the surprise at how naturally you've fallen into step with each other, the growing depth of your connection. You've both danced around this topic for months, especially the last weeks as neither of you can help but acknowledge the growing connection between you, but never quite putting it into words until now.

"I know what you mean," you say softly, squeezing his hand. "It's been unexpected, but in the best way possible."

Steve's eyes soften, a mix of relief and joy flickering across his face. His hand tightens around yours. "I'm glad I'm not alone in feeling that way," he says, his voice low and intimate.

The air between you feels charged, thick with unspoken emotions and possibilities. You're acutely aware of how close Steve is sitting, of the warmth of his hand in yours, of the way his eyes keep flickering to your lips.

"Steve," you whisper, your heart pounding.

He leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. But you don't. Instead, you find yourself meeting him halfway.

The kiss is soft and tentative at first, a

gentle press of lips that sends a shiver down your spine. It's nothing like the chaste, public kisses you've shared for the cameras or at your wedding. It’s not even like the rushed spontaneous kiss when you got news of the Santos endorsement.

This is real, intimate, just for the two of you.

Steve's free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. You lean into his touch, your own hand moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

The kiss deepens, slow and exploratory. There's no rush, no urgency - just the two of you, finally allowing yourselves this moment of connection. It feels both thrilling and familiar, like coming home to a place you've never been before.

When you finally pull apart, you're both slightly breathless. Steve rests his forehead against yours. His eyes are closed, a look of contentment on his face that makes your heart swell. You take a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of your feelings and the moment you just experienced.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since we left Miami. Or longer.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

You and Steve shift back slightly, creating a small space between you, but your hands remain intertwined. The tension that had been building for weeks has eased, replaced by a warm, comfortable closeness. You both reach for another cookie, exchanging shy smiles.

"These really are good," you say, savoring the rich chocolate flavor. "We make a pretty good team in the kitchen."

Steve chuckles, his thumb absently stroking the back of your hand. "We make a good team everywhere, I think."

You nod, feeling a surge of affection for this man who has become such an integral part of your life. The living room, bathed in the soft glow of the lamps, feels like a cocoon of warmth and safety.

"I think we might need more milk," you say with a soft laugh, reaching for another cookie. The plate between you is already half empty, a testament to your shared sweet tooth and the quality of your baking.

Steve chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I'll get it," he says, but makes no move to get up, instead pulling you closer.

You sigh contentedly, resting your head on his shoulder.

As the night goes on, the conversation continues to become more intimate, more easy, more comfortable on the couch. Steve eats far too many cookies. You fight the exhaustion that’s been creeping up more insistently, especially as you feel more and more cozy on the couch and nestled against him. But at some point you lose the fight and drift off to sleep and your next moment of awareness is waking up the next morning in a plush king-sized bed, surrounded by luxurious sheets and pillows.

Steve must have carried you upstairs while you were sleeping, and you shift around to see if he’s there, only to find the other side of the bed empty and clearly untouched.

[OCTOBER 6 - MORNING - BROOKLYN BROWNSTONE]

You sigh, more than a little disappointed. But the sweetness of the time you did spend awake together eases the pain, and you have to admit that you would prefer to be alert and aware to appreciate going to bed with your husband for the first time.

You stretch, feeling the soft sheets against your skin. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine waking up next to Steve, his strong arm draped over your waist, his breath warm on your neck.

Shaking off the reverie, you swing your legs over the side of the bed to begin your day. You quickly shower in the en suite bathroom and get ready for the day. This isn’t a familiar space yet, but it is your new home, outfitted with a mix of new and familiar things for you from hair and skincare products to clothes in the closet. As you dress, you catch the faint aroma of coffee wafting up from downstairs along with the bustling noises of other people. The campaign work is already underway for the day, and you give yourself one more quick look before heading down.

Following the scent, you make your way to the kitchen. Steve is there, his back to you as he stands at the counter, pouring coffee into a mug and talking with Jake and Elsa. They immediately clock you coming in and look your way. Steve notices the shift in their attention and looks over his shoulder.

"Good morning," he says, turning to greet you with a warm smile. He looks sharp in a crisp button-down and slacks. "I hope you slept well."

"I did, thank you," you reply, padding over to the coffee maker.

Steve reaches into the cupboard to retrieve a mug and passes it to you.

"Thanks," you say, accepting the mug from Steve with a smile. As you pour your coffee, you can't help but notice how seamlessly he anticipated your needs. It's a small gesture, but it speaks to how in tune you're becoming with each other.

"Just in time to hear the final anticipated schedule for today," Jake says, his tablet in hand.

You nod, taking a sip of your coffee. "Of course. What's first on the agenda?"

As Jake begins to outline the day's activities, you and Steve stand closer to each other, your arm pressed lightly against his - or his arm pressed against yours. Either way, it’s another subtle but normal moment of intimacy.

Oprah and her team will show up around eight for breakfast and introductions. After breakfast, you’ll speak with her people while the do some initial exploration of topics and background stories to give Oprah notes and options to work from. Elsa reiterates - as she explained during the afternoon prep the day before - that this is the approach because Oprah wants her own context but to be able to have conversation within the interview for the first time, not recreating an exchange.

Lunch will be just you and Steve, Bucky and Sam, Oprah, her partner Stedman, and Oprah’s best friend Gayle. While the breakfast is for introductions, lunch is to relax and build rapport before the cameras are set up and you go into the interview.

As Jake finishes outlining the schedule, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness about the day ahead. Though you’ve developed relationships with Steve, Bucky, Sam, and many of the campaign staff, including Jake and Sophia, you can’t help wishing someone from your past was here today to be part of it all. The prospect of spending time with Oprah, one of the most influential figures in media, is both thrilling and daunting.

The house starts to buzz with even more activity. Stylists arrive to help you and Steve prepare for the day, and a catering team begins setting up for the breakfast.

You and Steve move to the living room, where Bucky and Sam are already seated, deep in conversation. As you approach, Sam looks up with a grin.

"Morning, lovebirds," he teases, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ready for the big day?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly as you settle onto the couch next to Steve. "As ready as we'll ever be, I suppose."

"You've got this," Bucky reassures you, his eyes warm and supportive.

"Remember," Sam adds, leaning forward with a grin, "if all else fails, just flash that million-dollar smile and charm Oprah like you charmed us."

You nod, grateful for his encouragement, and Steve takes your hand - which fels as much for him as for you.

Sam launches into a story about a particularly disastrous interview he once had, his animated gestures and spot-on impressions soon having all of you in stitches. Over the past few months, you've grown close to both Bucky and Sam. They've become more than just Steve's friends; they're your friends too. Bucky's quiet strength and dry humor have become a source of comfort, while Sam's infectious optimism and quick wit never fail to lift your spirits during the most stressful moments of the campaign.

There’s a stir of commotion, and you assume Oprah and her camp have arrived, but the face that comes around the corner and into the living room isn’t Oprah.

It’s Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, architect of this presidential plan, and your friend-sister-mentor, impeccably put together as always, in a crisp white blouse and tailored pants, her strawberry blonde hair falling softly over her shoulders.

Your heart leaps at the sight of her, a wave of relief and joy washing over you. Without hesitation, you jump up from the couch and rush to embrace her.

"Pepper!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms around her. "What are you doing here? I had no idea you were coming!"

"Did you really think I'd miss this? This is a huge day for both of you."

As you pull back from the hug, you can feel the sting of tears in your eyes. You had felt it, but hadn't realized how much you had craved an old familiar face, someone who knew you before all of this began.

Pepper smiles warmly, her eyes sparkling with affection. "I couldn't let you face Oprah without some moral support. Plus, I have a bit of experience with high-profile interviews myself."

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

Steve approaches, greeting Pepper with a hug as well. "It's great to have you here, Pepper. Thank you for coming."

"Of course," Pepper says, looking between the two of you with a knowing smile. "How are you both holding up?"

"Nervous," you admit. "But more secure now that you're here."

Pepper nods understandingly. "That's perfectly normal. Just remember, Oprah is incredibly skilled at making people feel comfortable. She doesn’t look to trap people or back them into a corner, she’s looking for the heart of the things that are important. Be yourselves, and you'll do great."

As if on cue, there's another commotion at the front door. This time, it's unmistakably Oprah's arrival. The energy in the house shifts instantly, a palpable excitement filling the air.

You take a deep breath, reaching for Steve's hand once more. Pepper gives you both an encouraging nod as you move towards the entryway to greet your guest.

And there she is - Oprah Winfrey, larger than life and yet somehow exactly as warm and approachable as she appears on screen. Her presence fills the room, commanding attention without even trying.

"Good morning!" Oprah greets you both with a dazzling smile, extending her hand. "It's wonderful to finally meet you in person."

Steve steps forward first, extending his hand. "Ms. Winfrey, it's an honor. Thank you for coming."

"Please, call me Oprah," she says, shaking Steve's hand warmly before turning to you. "And you must be Mrs. Rogers. I've been looking forward to getting to know you."

next part: BROOKLYN - THE INTERVIEW

I am sure we didn't find out everything you wanted to about your wedding, but... I had to leave something for Oprah! 🤭

THE UNSUNG HERO OF THIS CHAPTER IS @stargazingfangirl18!!! I was feeling very strung up with some of the ideas that I had intended for this story's plot coming up against some of the ideas that have developed as the chapters have been written, and she helped me get things sorted and to a place where I'm incredibly excited again!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x yn #red white & true #aspen wrote something

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realisticpregerotica · 4 months ago

Text

Miss Labor Day

Summary: Offered a dubious, though life changing opportunity, Jane participates in a competition to see which mother to be can hold back the birth of their children the longest.

MDNI 18+

Content: 4.7k words, First person POV, drug induced labor, orgasmic birthing.

I was DM’ed by an old friend one night leading up to the event. They were looking for pregnant women for their event. I heard that these pre-labor day events were slowly growing, hell, some of them even made it to local radio stations.

The amount of money was life changing, not just for a newly single mother down on her luck, but this would fund every financial woe facing me and my unborn child! Sure, the events felt a little fetish-y, but anything could be. All of the events I saw were attended with parents and their young kids! What was the harm if it was PG and if I was kept anonymous?

An email and a phone interview later said I was registered to be a contestant on Labor Day Monday. It was a strain to travel in my state, but a break was what maternity leave was for, right?

The caller had me record the time and location. Slowed by my waddle, fatigue, and frequent bathroom breaks I finally found backdoor C. I had arrived less than an hour before the event.

Before I knocked, coordinators flooded out of the door and anxiously ushered me inside. They opened every door and took my bags. and pulled out all of the chairs in front of a line of mirrors all covered with ring lights that illuminated all of our attires. Above all of the wardrobes and the passing of makeup people and costume designers were the banners that symbolized the 23rd anniversary of ‘Miss Labor Day. Around were banners and a crude insignia of a company,‘The Maternity Ward’.

A pink paper bag was on the table as they left.

It made sense! these events were usually cutesy swimsuits, I expected the judges to be adorable old ladies commenting on the mothers to be. The thoughts soothed my nerves of the anxious rush inside and I thought of how the outfit would look as I took off my loose maternity wear. In private I covered myself from head to toe, trying to hide away the harsh realities of my changing body.

Immediately, my eyes dropped when I found the orange two piece. There wasn’t enough skin covered to modestly shelter my swelling curves and the outfit wasn’t fashionable enough to make the excessive amount of skin worth it. The top was clearly designed for a woman less busty than one about to breastfeed, my boobs were spilling from the sides! And the worst of the outfit came when I looked down

My stomach was large enough to hide the bottoms out of sight entirely, giving the impression that I was completely bottomless. My only reassurance that I was being covered at all was feeling the cloth hug my hips and embarrassingly growing ass. Yet, the space between my legs was cold. With my legs slightly parted from the sheer mass of my midsection, I stared at my behind in the mirror and immediately shut my legs in horror.

These bottoms left my pussy completely exposed!

My cheeks flushed from the exposure. This had to have been a mistake… A problem with the wardrobe people, yeah! I had to get it figured out, the event was ready to start at any moment.

I needed to find somebody. Quick!

The ceiling lights eclipsed over my head. I turned to see the blockage of the light and came face to face with a mountainous sphere inches away from my lips. I darted away, finding myself standing against the counter and face to face with a beautiful woman. She was large, no shorter than 200cm with a presence to match. Her dark skin and large, full hair made my heart skip a beat with a warm smile on her full lips.

“You have to be the last contestant. Nice to meetcha-” Her eyes focused on my nametag.

“-Average Jane!”

“Y-you too!” I stuttered, my face quickly flushing.

God, she was totally my type. The definition of her abs remained even after the heaviness of her belly hung between her hips, though she had the strength to hold the weight of her unborn child with stability. I swallowed “It’s a little vanilla, isn’t it?”

“Is anything about us vanilla, hun?” she smiled, letting one arm rest comfortably against her tight, heavy stomach. The paper slip around her neck read ‘Muscle Mommy’. The name definitely fit, however outdated it was. She sported a workout bra and between her exercise tights. Her dark skin was exposed with a large slit between her legs, no different from being naked, I averted my eyes and blushed at her calm disposition.

“Mufu~ Is this who we were waiting on?” Another woman spoke from the edge of the hallway. Her blonde hair was covered by a black shawl with a black gown and a white blouse. Across her collarbone above her own huge round that pushed out explicitly from her gown was a catholic cross. My eyebrow furled at the blatant contradiction, causing me to evaluate her whole appearance.

Whether it was the tightness of the blouse and the slit opening to expose her thighs, any depiction of a nun would have made this appearance sacrilege. She cocked her head, looking down at me.

“An example will certainly be made of her, shortly. That baby looks seconds away from flying out of her. The only woman larger than her-”

“Would be me!” Said a high voice with a distinct accent. A smaller girl with a comically large belly came between us carrying her stomach as she approached us. Her sun kissed skin shined with her long, jet black hair. Her neck and wrists were dawned with turquoise beads and a humble ponytail, she looked… pure. Holy even! Especially compared to the last contestant! An open midriff and a white bikini top that fit her smaller chest, her white skirt wasn’t bordered with underwear.

“My goddess has bestowed the privilege of bearing life.” Her hands hovered over her own tag with disappointment. “I am to be called Pele, but this name is a disservice to her, but I will wear her name as her devout supporter.”

From behind the rest of the cast was a woman with a quiet presence with incredibly sharp features with an incredibly round stomach that jutted from her clothing as she stretched. A Central Asian woman with indigo and gold of her loose clothing displayed her incredible flexibility in front of a full body mirror. She had beautiful, high cheekbones and almond eyes of my platonic idea of a vixen. She seemed to have been caught off guard by the sudden eyes on her. Meekly, she waved, saying something in a foreign language and pointed to her tag.

‘Acro-bab’

Muscle Mommy threw her arm around my shoulder, making me sit straight up. Maternity looked downright stunning on each of these women “Any lady who has gotten this far has a real chance of winning. This isn’t anything compared to motherhood!

Before we could interact any longer a woman wearing a headset poked her head into the fitting room. “Ladies, it’s go time!”

We were ushered behind a closed curtain and told to stand behind taped ‘x’s on the floor. The curtain lifted, letting in spotlights and exposing the dozens of people in masks. Ladies in scrubs hid out on the corners away from the sight of the audience

Though facial features couldn’t be made out articles of clothing were missing, bare legs, chests, bras. A roar of cheers erupted as the audience turned in their seats, visibly aroused at the sight of our round exposed bodies.

I wanted to cover my body. This… This was not the PG event that I had expected it to be.

A man in a tophat and a monocle stood before the crowd. He appeared far younger than his by his attire as he introduced each of us. His mid Atlantic accent was the perfect voice for radio. “Now, to our main event. With special thanks to ‘The Maternity Ward’ for sponsoring our 23rd annual ‘Miss Labor Day’ event!”

What have I got myself into?

“In celebration of your endeavor, we present you with women willing to present their endeavor as they bring new lives into the world.” I looked around me. Everybody embraced the announcement with a smile, even Acro-bab flaunted her stomach proudly towards the crowd.

“Let us celebrate you in attendance and these mothers to be when we find out who will be the 23rd annual ‘Miss Labor Day!’”

There’s no way…

Men dawned in black and white stripes blocked either side of the stage and approached each of the women with a gigantic needle into various parts of their bodies. The needles disappeared into Mommy's forearm, the contortionist’s collar, and even into Pele’s belly with no regard for the unborn residents inside.

I felt queasy remembering all of the blood I had drawn throughout my pregnancy. I leaned away from the rest of the ladies and felt the cold prick of a needle enter the side of my neck. Icy fluid poured into my bloodstream.

The proximity from my head made me feel like the drug was injected straight into my brain. It lit up my entire body. I was hot, and I needed to spread this heat to somebody else. I looked to my stomach, “Mnnn-haaaa!” I whined as I felt my body keel over to address the sudden ache in my midsection.

My heart started to pound as all of the ladies around me had similar reactors. Fluttering eyelids, a biting of the lip, and blushes being worn on our cheeks. I could keep my eyes off the muscular woman, watching her body flush and tighten with all of the orgastic sensations claiming our bodies.

It took effort for me to still my legs. I had no idea how long had passed since the injection. My whole body started to light up as I struggled to stay upright. The room was spinning around me. I was so hot, all of these eyes on me. My pussy began to ache. Even with all of the eyes on me I craved feeling my fingers inside of me to relieve the growing pressure deep within.

“A-Ah!” I gasped. My baby jabbed a foot sharply through their shrinking home, harder than every fetal kick they had ever delivered before. My uterus fought back, clamping down against my unborn child in retaliation that doubled me over.

“Jane, you doin’ alright?” Muscle Mommy asked. I went to reply, but a string of consonants flowed from my mouth instead. Unpreventable sensations that resembled the same loss of control like the middle of an orgasm.

Before I knew it a squeal escaped my tight throat I felt fluids spill from me. I clasped my thighs as much as I could like I could catch my waters as it ruptured. Amniotic fluid pooled against the wooden floor below me. Everybody's eyes fell to me

I started this race in last place…

Before there was too much dead air Miracle Baby let out a gasp as well. Her knees trembled as a steady but modest stream of water began to drip between her legs as well. The sound of chains were muffled between her legs. I wasn’t the only person who noticed. The women in pink scrubs whispered something to the announcer.

“Mnnn-haaaa!” I couldn’t silence the noises coming from my mouth. All I could imagine were my inconsolable moans in the crowd of strangers. The contractions started from my back and worked their way to consume my entire midsection. Every second with the drug forcefully rammed my baby’s head into my ridgid cervix.

As the minutes passed the other ladies' water broke as well. Muscle Mommy’s dampened her tights as they spilled as she controlled her breathing. Pele’s exploded dramatically from between her legs, making everybody flinch; followed by the petite mother. And last was Acrobab, who slowly began to leak as she rolled her hips restlessly.

“O-o-oh fuUUCK!!” I cried as I clenched my stomach. Weeks of Braxton Hicks couldn't have prepared me for the hormone induced contractions that forcibly seized my muscles. Despite the pain, the unnatural urge to please this sensation between my hips overtook me.

There was no way I could feel like this, I was giving birth!

“Ah-ah-ah. Language.” The host commented, before I could retaliate I was slammed again.

“OHHH GODDD!!” I screamed as I felt my abused birth canal spread with the rigid body of my baby. I wanted relief, something, ANYTHING to take away the pain. Through squinted eyes I saw the line of women swaying gently. All but one woman, whose struggle relieved some of the pressure pounding it’s way into my birth canal.

“D-don't use the lord's name in vain.” Miracle Babe scolded. She wasn’t doing any better than I was. Her face was pale white as it dripped with sweat.

A painful contraction overtook her. The blond woman dropped to her knees and made her headdress fall. A throaty growl sounded from her throat as she held her thigh up and bore down with all of her might. The nurses whispered amongst each other and then to the officials while her teeth gnashed with the struggle of childbirth.

Audience members whispered as their strokes between their legs slowed. In front of the audience wasn’t her bare sex, but a strip of black leather that tightly wrapped around her.

The officials circled around her and threw her cheap dress over her sore, red stomach.

A leather belt bulged horrifically between her legs. There was tension as she was overwhelmed by another contraction. “UHHHHNNNNGGGHH!!!!” She screamed between clenched teeth. The belt trembled, fighting against her body's desire to expel the child inside of her stomach.

“Goodness, that must be a chastity belt. A ‘Miss Labor Day’ first!” The announcer sounded.

“That’s a blatant violation of the rules. With less excuses than, well, a pregnant nun!”

Nurses piled between her legs with scissors in their hands. Miracle Babe tried to crawl away, kicking her legs while overwhelmed by her contractions.

“P-please, not here, not now! It’s gonna come out!!'' she begged as they got between her legs. The trauma shears completed their cut The belt was snipped as Miracle Babe’s vagina was exposed. She was tattooed with tally marks above her upper thigh. Lord could only imagine what the count was. The ink took a backseat to the glistening crown embedded between her legs, and it was only getting bigger.

I watched her eyes grow wide.

“AAAAANNNNH!!! NOOOOO-!” she screamed as her hole unnaturally exploded into a full crown. She no longer had any control over her body. The drug demanded her baby would be born. Her back arched as she surrendered to the birthing drugs.

“HNNNNNNNNGGGGGHHHH!!!” The shoulder of the fake nun’s baby slipped free from their mother’s opening as the rest of the body hit the hard wood with a wet thud where she stood. The umbilical cord hung from her pussy to the floor where her baby wailed. Miracle Babe fell flat on her back with her legs opened towards the audience. Her eyes shot into the back of her head and her tongue shot out. Her poor baby squirmed between the legs of their incapacitated mother as the midwives pressed stethoscopes into the blonde woman’s stomach and took care of the child.

For the first time since the drug was injected into me I felt my body go limp with shock. There was a real baby, a real child from a long pregnancy that was carried by a woman whose name I didn’t even know. They really let her baby be born on stage!

“What an embarrassment to her faith.” Pele uttered with closed eyes. She sat cross legged, allowing the audience to gaze between her legs. Through the tightest slit in her vulva there was the shape of a head between her legs. Suddenly, she went quiet, entering a trance-like state of controlled inhales and exhales. It was as if she wasn’t resisting the drugs at all!

“Hoo… Hoo…” Acro-bab's chest began to heave. Before her beautiful face allowed her body to progress another moment for her labor her forearms fell to the floor and she arched her back.

My heart started to race seeing her shape in that downward facing position. Her lean body wore her appealingly disproportionate curves beautifully. Her breathy moans were eye-catching as her belly formed a polygon with every contraction. Through the power of gravity her baby was held in.

The other women were slowly affected as I writhed with agony on the floor. I tried my hardest to keep my knees clenched together. My thighs sandwiched themselves together

“Tight… Competition” Muscle Mommy said. I saw the corner of her lip twitch as her attention was pulled from her. I watched her muscular midsection seize with tremendous force. The uncontrollable contraction of all of her muscles bearing down to birth her child. “U-ung…” She groaned, as finally she was forced to a knee on the ground She spaced off into the distance to fight the urges of her body.

The competitor who was worse for wear had the head of an infant comfortably embedded between her legs. Pele kept her legs splayed open as she arched her back, with high pitched pants as she listened to her body’s desire to birth her child. An infant much smaller than the indication of her stomach peeked under her skirt.

She looked so peaceful, like she had prepared her entire life for this. The urgency of competition seemed completely lost on her.

Her chest arched towards the sky “Mnnnhhhhaaaa~!” She moaned with one final push, welcoming her child. The baby entered the world gently against the wooden surface.

“Pele has been eliminated!” The host announced. The young woman blinked away lusty cloudiness while she panted softly. Unbothered, she crawled over to her child and cradled them in their arms. She kissed her child’s head and let them latch to her breast whispering foggily with a satisfied smile.

Doulas surrounded her. The eyes of the woman carrying the stethoscope went wide, immediately rushing towards the announcer.

Though her womb had been emptied her stomach still laid especially round. The tiny woman drew a long breath, and with an exhale another pop of fluids gushed from between her thighs

“My-my folks! Pele has another child making their arrival today! She’s still in the competition.”. No wonder she was so smug! There was a backup baby inside of her!

With the other three ladies standing strong I felt so pathetic as I kicked against the floor. Every breath was agony. With every oxytocin induced contraction I could feel the head pound my cervix into painful dilation. I wasn’t sure if it was thousands of years of evolution that forced me to open my legs or the gigantic fucking head that just began to spread my lips apart.

As I looked to my side I saw the lean, powerful legs of the Acro-bab splayed open from her upside down position. Her face was red and sweaty, her grit teeth and tears made it clear she couldn’t hold her unbreakable position for long. The head of her baby emerged from the split between her legs.

I could see desperation in her eyes for a moment before she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

In an amazing display of control she sprawled her legs straight into a handstand, maintaining a perfect arch to hold her child upside down into her stomach. I imagined all of that weight and pressure fighting against gravity. I could imagine the rigid walls of her uterus tied in a compact knot as the crowning head receded back into her lips

“OWWWW, FUCK!” I screamed. I clutched my stomach as I felt something round press against my opening into the dry air. My shaky hands reached between my legs to feel the wet orb forcing my hips apart. My baby was being born. I couldn’t hold back much longer!

Then, I heard a moan from my left.

“Unnnngggghhhh!” She groaned with the loss of control. All the energy of her body was sapped by the drug. Her chest heaved up and down as hair fought to get into her lungs. The crown emerged from her skyward facing gash.

In her moment of complacency, Acro-bab slipped. Her legs dipped behind her head as her infant slid out cartoonishly to the side of her head. Her muscles relaxed, and her face relaxed into the same feeling of euphoria that Miracle Babe wore. She looked so ecstatic to finally be done with such a situation and the act of pregnancy. I envied her…

But now there were only two other competitors.

My breasts grew sore at the sound of Pele's baby coo softly. In an instant, Muscle Mommy and I knew what needed to be done.

Pele flinched as she leaned into the Muscle Mommy. “Oh, Goddess!” She pleaded as she arched into her competitor. Her foggy eyes were adorable as she continued to labor.

My hands found her lower belly. Fuck, she was beautiful. Not just for a woman in labor. But divine, like her body was made to deliver children as the second head began to peak towards me.

The area that had already been stimulated by the drugs and her first child. The uncontrollable shift in her muscles as another contraction was induced. “Pushhhh.” Just then, I felt my own contraction begin to bind my abdomen again. My hand dipped between her legs as I supported my weight around the beautiful tan skin of her belly.

“Goddess… Thank you…” she moaned quietly under her breath. Her eyes were barely cracked open. Her mind was outside of this plane; she allowed herself to enjoy every side effect of the drug. “I am humbled to give life in this bliss, Goddess…” I saw Muscle Mommy’s eye twinge from the feeling of the smaller woman’s body lay into her for support.

“Nnnhhhhgggggggg!!!” I moaned, feeling my baby’s head open into the world. I could feel my ether region split towards the crowd even through the resistance of my fingers as the skin of my entrance burned for the widest portion of my baby’s head.

But Pele was closer. She pushed all of her tiny body’s weight into her. Her little moans were adorable, the little sliver of a second hairy head spread her lips open. I could feel the muscles of her petite waist tighten as her tummy squeezed its round from out between her legs.

The sound of all three of our moans overlapped as we tried to hold back our labor. All except for Pele. Her voice peaked and gave one final push. The head in my hands popped with a gush around the ears. Her pussy clung onto the child, feeling every surface with a loud groan. Her modestly sized infant slid into my hands. Pele’s stomach finally deflated with a kiss of adorable postpartum pudge.

With Pele’s unconscious body between us. Muscle Mommy stared at me holding Pele’s baby. Her gaze was kind, but she knew she was firmly in the lead.

“May the best mommy win.” She winked as the young mother and her babies were assisted off stage.

Her body distracted me, her perfectly sculpted figure and all of her tight, muscular curves. I could only imagine how powerful the baby inside of her was. Her belly sat comfortably between her legs, allowing her baby’s head to be comfortably held into her pelvis.

I couldn’t move, my legs were forced open by my baby’s head. With every breath it felt like my child’s body would stretch me to capacity and I would finally give birth. She had amazing control over her pelvic floor. Her abs rolled in a display of strength that I only wished I could hold.

One more contraction overtook my body from my spine to my belly button. The muscles of my tired uterus guided my baby to my opening. “It’s coming!” I screamed. My pussy burned as I crowned. My baby’s head stretched me horrifically, I could feel my tight opening burn to accommodate the head.

“UNNNGGHHHH!!” I snarled through teary eyes and grit teeth. Muscle Mommy was before me, controlling her breathing while the head of her child had just started to peek through while I could feel my baby’s head dangle from the back.

My cheek hit the floor in defeat.

I submitted. I drew air into my chest and forced all of my strength into my belly. My baby’s body didn’t budge. I moved my heavy legs further apart, feeling the head of my partially birthed child dampen my thighs and arched my back to give into my body’s violent urge to deliver my child.

“URRRRRRNNNNGGGGHHH!!!” I cried with grit teeth, enough to make my swollen body tremble with the effort. All of the pressure transferred directly to my baby's shoulder, caught uncomfortably into my pelvis. My baby didn’t budge…

“A-aha!” I heard my voice fill the room. I didn’t even recognize my own voice.

“AHAAHAHAHAHA!!” My powerful laughs shook my body, and even as my heavily pregnant body rumbled my baby’s shoulders didn’t budge.

“It’s stuck!” I laughed maniacally. No matter what I did my baby was stuck! The drama of the moment took hold of me. The prize, the competition, all social convection and inhibitions crumbled in the time it took for me to deliver the rest of my child. For a moment, nothing else mattered! I wasn’t guaranteed a damn thing, and I was going to enjoy these final moments before I became a mother.

I closed the distance between myself and the muscular woman. I was close enough to see. I pulled her into my body and into a kiss with all of the pent up feelings for the beautiful mother before me.

“J-Jane?” She asked as I crawled towards her with a blush and heavy breaths. I was within arms length before I reached out, holding her face and running my fingers through her hair. “You’re so pretty.”

The drug had been taking a toll on her too as she accepted my kiss. Her plush lips made me want to sink my hands into her laboring body as I made out with her. Muscle Mommy’s belly was so gigantic and as hard as steel, but under my fingertips I could feel those muscles surrender. “Mmmfff!” She cried under my lips. She drew deep breaths that were stifled by a deep kiss against her neck.

I could feel her powerful abs bear down with the pressure. All of her weight pressed into my stomach. I could feel the fruits of her pregnancy squeeze me. Her hungry hips thrusted into my hands while I played with her opening pussy

Our tongues wrapped around each other and I could feel her face tighten with effort. “MMMMNNNNFFFFGHHHH!!”

I stroked her face as the strong woman melted into a maternal puddle in my arms. I held her baby’s head, feeling the power behind her final push from on top of my body. From against my womb I felt her baby exit as she, too, fell limp against my body.

Her baby laid between our legs.

“Ladies and gentleman, with a massive upset, your winner of the 23rd official Miss Labor Day- Average Jane! ” More midwives rolled in with a gurney and towels to assist Muscle Mommy off of the floor. The announcer approached me with a trophy and a gigantic check. But I was preoccupied .

The shutter of cameras caught me with my back on the floor with a trophy hoisted in my arms. I toyed with my clit with a midwife on either side of me, aware to keep myself open for the money shot.

With the final pulse of the drug my child’s shoulder was freed by the assisting hands around me. “OUUUUGGHHHHHH!!” My legs flew into the air, the drug peaked induced my climax and the birth of my child as an orgasm tore through my entire body. The primal sensation of labor peaked as my baby’s shoulder exploded from between my legs.

I heard my child cry right beside me as nurses assisted me off the stage. I knew my life had changed forever when I began to wonder how many times I would be Miss Labor Day.

#preg kink #maiesiophilia #pregnant #birth kink #birth #birth fic #preg #pregblr

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