#wooden serving bowls

[sakshikaribykriti]

You've made the switch to eco-friendly living, and your kitchen boasts beautiful new eco-friendly bowls. These wooden bowls or wooden serving bowls add a touch of nature to your meals and reduce your reliance on plastic.

[naxyblog]

LK WOOD DESIGN is the best company. We manufacture wooden serving accessories. We manufacture high-quality products, Our collection combines the natural beauty of wood with the vibrant colors and textures of fresh fruits, A beautiful decorative element for your home.

[orchid02]

Dinex | Dining Experience with Our Exquisite Serving Platters Crafted

Each platter is a masterpiece, showcasing the purity and translucency of premium porcelain material. The smooth, lustrous surface not only enhances the visual appeal but also ensures easy cleaning for your convenience. Perfect for presenting culinary masterpieces, these platters seamlessly blend sophistication with durability. Whether hosting a grand soirée or an intimate gathering, our fine porcelain serving platters are the epitome of refined taste, adding a touch of luxury to every dining occasion.

[artisansdesigned]

White Tudor Blooms Salad Bowl With Servers Set, Wooden Bowl, Wood Bowls Handmade, Natural Wood Fruit Bowl, Bowl for Living Room Kitchen

Add a beautiful floral touch to your kitchen with this elegantly crafted wooden salad bowl. It comes with server set, which makes it perfect to serve salad, fruits, or even popcorn to your guests.

wood bowl

wood serving bowl

salad bowl

handmade wooden bowl

wooden bowl

housewarming gift

wood bowl handmade

olive wood bowls

wood bowls

wooden bowls set

olive wood

kitchen utensil set

serving set

[kateschi]

chef's kiss is not enough

synopsis: a simple night out for good food changes when you meet the chef behind a dish that leaves you speechless.

pairing: chef!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the restaurant is cozy, the kind of place that doesn’t draw much attention from the outside but feels like a hidden treasure once you step inside.

soft lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden tables, and the low murmur of conversation mixes with the occasional clinking of plates.

you’re here with friends, seated at a corner table, menus spread out in front of you.

it’s the kind of night where you’re just looking forward to good food and laughter.

the waiter approaches, balancing several plates on his tray, and sets a bowl down in front of you. you thank him absentmindedly, but the moment your eyes land on your dish, you can’t help but pause.

it’s beautiful in its simplicity—steaming ramen served in a deep bowl, the broth shimmering under the restaurant’s soft light.

thin slices of pork rest delicately on the surface, alongside a soft-boiled egg, its yolk a vibrant golden color. green onions and a sheet of nori top it off, each detail deliberate and precise.

when you take the first bite, your eyes widen. the broth is rich and savory, the kind of flavor that seems to envelop your entire mouth.

the noodles are perfectly cooked, springy but not too firm, soaking up just enough of the broth.

each topping complements the next—the pork is tender, the egg creamy, the green onions adding a fresh, sharp contrast.

it’s the kind of dish that doesn’t just taste good; it feels like someone put their heart into it.

“oh my god,” you mutter, setting your chopsticks down for a moment. “this is incredible.”

your friends laugh at your reaction, one of them nudging you with their elbow. “you always get like this when the food’s good.”

“no, but this—this is different,” you insist, leaning closer to the bowl as if it holds some sort of secret. “this isn’t just good; this is like…life-changing.”

the comment earns a round of laughter, but you’re already distracted, glancing around the room for the waiter.

when you catch his eye, you raise a hand. “excuse me, who’s the chef here?”

the waiter looks surprised by the question. “our head chef is bakugou katsuki. would you like me to—”

“yes, please,” you interrupt, a little too quickly. realizing how eager you sound, you backtrack. “I mean, if he’s not too busy.”

the waiter nods and disappears toward the kitchen, leaving your friends to give you a variety of amused and curious looks.

“what?” you say defensively. “it’s not every day you eat something this good.”

a few minutes later, the kitchen door swings open, and the man who walks out is…not what you expected.

you were picturing someone older, maybe with a few gray hairs and a soft smile.

instead, this man—bakugou katsuki, apparently—is tall and broad-shouldered, his chef’s coat fitting snugly over a strong frame.

his spiky blond hair looks slightly damp, like he’s been working hard, and his expression is one of mild irritation.

he looks more like a professional athlete than a chef.

“what?” he says, his voice low and rough, as he strides up to your table. his crimson eyes sweep over the group before landing on you.

and for a moment, bakugou freezes. he didn’t know what to expect when the waiter said someone wanted to meet him—probably some pompous critic or a customer with a laundry list of complaints.

but you’re not what he expected. at all. there’s something about the way you’re looking at him, your eyes wide with a mix of nervousness and awe, that throws him completely off balance.

you’re…really pretty. too pretty, actually.

it’s annoying, how much it catches him off guard. his chest tightens, and he suddenly feels hyperaware of himself—his hands, his posture, the faint dampness of his forehead from the heat of the kitchen.

damn it.

“I, uh,” you start, faltering under his intense gaze. you weren’t expecting him to be so—well, intimidating. “I just wanted to say that the food is amazing. like, really amazing.”

for a moment, he just stares at you, his jaw tightening slightly. then he rubs the back of his neck, glancing away as if trying to compose himself. “thanks,” he mutters, his tone less gruff than before.

the way he looks away almost makes you smile.

he doesn’t seem like the type to take compliments well, and you can’t help but find it endearing. but at the same time, his presence is overwhelming, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“well,” he says abruptly, his eyes snapping back to yours. “if that’s it, I’ve got stuff to do.”

“right, of course,” you say quickly, nodding. “thank you again.”

he nods once, almost curtly, before turning and heading back toward the kitchen. you watch him go, your mind racing with thoughts you can’t quite organize.

the rest of the evening goes by in a blur.

you and your friends continue to chat and laugh, but your thoughts keep drifting back to bakugou. his sharp eyes, the way he looked almost flustered when you complimented him.

it’s distracting, and you can’t quite shake it.

as you’re leaving, stepping out into the cool night air, a voice calls out behind you.

“hey.”

you turn to see him standing in the doorway, still in his chef’s coat. he looks like he’s debating whether this is a good idea or not, his expression tight with something between determination and reluctance.

in his hand is a paper bag with the restaurant’s logo. “here,” he says, holding it out to you.

you blink, confused. “I didn’t order takeout.”

“it’s on me,” he says, shoving the bag toward you. his crimson eyes flick to the side, avoiding your gaze.

“oh, but—”

“just take it,” he interrupts, his voice firm but not unkind.

you hesitate for a moment before taking the bag. your fingers brush against his, and the brief contact sends a strange warmth through your chest. “thank you,” you murmur.

he nods, and for a moment, it looks like he might say something else. but then he just steps back inside, the door closing behind him.

when you get home, you open the bag to find a perfectly packaged serving of the ramen you raved about earlier. sitting on top is a small note, written in slightly messy handwriting:

xxx-xxx-xxxx the name’s katsuki. text me.

a smile creeps onto your face, and you find yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, you will.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[oukabarsburgblr]

Tongue Twisting [Dare AU]

FEATURING : AITO SOUSUKE (OC) x male reader

An annoying setter dares you to suck someone's face. Good thing your hot teammate walked in at the right time.

Short but too detailed for a drabble? has haikyuu characters as fillers because I'm too lazy to make up other ocs, voyeurism, making out, profile

Find out more under the cut!

"Still don't understand your point, Oikawa..."

(m/n) spoke with a lazy but confused grin, his eyebrows furrowing as he leaned forward from his chair he was sitting in. The brunette, standing tall in front of him had his hands on his hips.

"I'll give you the keys if you do it. It's not that hard for you, (m/n)." Oikawa smirked, his fingers spinning the bundle of keys he stole from the (h/c)'s bag earlier. Matsukawa who had dragged a chair to sit beside his standing captain quirked an eyebrow.

"If 'Zumi gets word of this, he's gonna get so pissed at you." "But he won't if (m/n) does it quick!"

A training camp had been set between Keio Shiki and Aoba Johsai for the Volleyball Men's Club. (m/n) and Oikawa both positioned as their captains of their respective teams and ever since (m/n) step foot onto the training camp's venue, Oikawa had a grudge on him seemingly for petty reasons.

(m/n) (l/n) had also been a third year setter, and a captain whose team had gone to nationals regularly representing the Saitama prefecture so Seijoh's coach had stated that the Shiki VBC team was the 'better' version of them and that got Oikawa pissed. It didn't help that Ushijima acknowledged (m/n) as a fantastic setter so he felt threatened with his position.

Since then, Oikawa would bother the (h/c) with small things, such as asking him to help clean his side of the gym, criticising his sets and serves or just straight up taking and using his stuff. Iwaizumi would knock some sense into his captain but it just so happened that both vice captains of both teams had to go run errands. Perfect.

(m/n) would have his meals in a more private area rather than the mess hall mostly due to him having to finish other duties on his laptop but Oikawa decided to infiltrate his booth and Matsukawa saw and just followed him in. His request was outrageous to say the least.

"Make out with someone."

(m/n) who was about to slurp his bowl of noodles visibly paused in his tracks and glanced at the annoying setter. He couldn't believe this was the man he was constantly compared to.

"Make out?" Oikawa grinned, seemingly proud of himself as he dangled the ring of keys he had snatched from the (h/c)'s duffle bag. "Or I'll throw this away." "...You do realise in the end, you'll get in trouble right?"

Matsukawa who had just stepped inside the lounge, froze and deadpanned at his captain. "Oikawa, what the fuck?" "Shut up, Mattsun! If you won't back me up, then leave." He whined as he tried to push the middle blocker away but the ravenette only decided to pull up a chair as (m/n) finished his meal.

The keys were access to all of the gyms and several other sections that were to be used by the volleyball teams on the property and (m/n) was in charge of keeping them safe and locked when they weren't using it and Oikawa was annoyed on how he wasn't picked.

How come he's athletic, smart, has good looks and has a nice personality?? FRAUD-

Oikawa couldn't accept someone with such a caliber existing and he was determined to find a foible somewhere in the (h/c). He continued to pester (m/n) and was about to dump the keys in a paper shredder until the (h/c) agreed. Although he doesn't exactly look mad?

"So do I have to get someone or you're picking?" (m/n) smoothened his pants, still sitting in the wooden chair as Matsukawa gaped at his relaxed expression. Even Oikawa was shocked he had agreed. "A-Anyone. Except your boyfriend!" "I don't have a boyfriend." The (h/c) deadpanned.

The setter suspected (m/n) was dating at least someone on his team, with the way they idolised and admired him. Especially his ace and his vice captain.

"How about you then?" (m/n) winked at the brunette, his finger made a 'come over here' taunt and Oikawa screeched. "You're shameless!" "You asked for it."

Matsukawa and the (h/c) was laughing at the flabbergasted brunette until the door behind them slid open and revealed an intimidating redhead. Keio Shiki's ace.

"What?" Sousuke deadpanned, confused as to why was there Seijoh's captain and annoying middle blocker in (m/n)'s private lounge, usually he would sneak away to spend time with his favourite person/crush but instead he found a grinning (h/c) and two other players from their rival team, his stomach tightened with jealousy.

Oikawa gestured to him and (m/n) laughed. "He wouldn't." "Wouldn't what?" Sousuke questioned, moving behind the suddenly cautious brunette to grab a chair, dragging it to sit between Matsukawa and (m/n).

"Would you have sex with your captain?"

Sousuke felt his heart dropped as he froze, his eyes on the ground and he heard (m/n)'s voice in the background. "He said smooching not fucking." What? Smooching not what?

The ace was confused as he peered to see the one who had asked him, Matsukawa smirking at him. "...huh?" Sleeping with his captain would be a dream come true. Hell he tried to woo the (h/c) for years if it wasn't for a certain cockblock VICE CAPTAIN-

"Like I said he wouldn't do that." (m/n) waved Matsukawa's teasing off, his eyes glancing at the redhead as he chuckled lightly. Sousuke frowned.

"I beg to differ." Oikawa was staring at the redhead, his eyes glinting as he crossed his arms, the bundle of keys nowhere to be seen. Sousuke reminded the brunette of Kyoutani, their playstyles and brash behaviour was similar, only Sousuke's style was more refined and he had been tamed by the (h/c). "If not, then I'll get someone else-"

"No." Sousuke grunted out, his fists clenching as he glanced at his captain, who was staring at him with a neutral expression. "I'll kill anyone who touches you."

"Calm down, hermano." Matsukawa whistled. "It's just kissing." The ravenette noticed the protective behaviour Sousuke had for his captain, pulling his shirt down if his skin was exposed, urging him to wash up quickly in the communal bathroom. He almost punched Oikawa in the face one time if it wasn't for Iwaizumi holding him back.

(m/n) gazed at the redhead, his eyes scanning his tense figure before he reached out and pulled his hand. "Then do you mind?" He smiled at the redhead whose cheeks flared. "What?" "Make out with me for a bit."

Oikawa's body was trembling, holding in his laugh as he slapped Matsukawa on the back repeatedly, the middle blocker cupping his mouth with his hand in excited shock. Sousuke's hand that was in (m/n)'s hold shuddered for a bit before he took a hold of himself.

"Are you going to do it with someone else?" (m/n) hummed, tapping his chin in mock thought. "Well I'm doing it for something..." He peered at Oikawa who was grinning. "Either way, if I have to then I'll have to." He nonchalantly stated, observing the agitated redhead.

"I might break their hands, (m/n)." Sousuke whispered to his captain, his hand now laying on his shoulder. "Then just swap spit with me." The (h/c) winked.

Sousuke stared at his captain for a moment, the gears in his brain moving and locking in as he grabbed his chair to sit and scoot directly in front of the (h/c) whose smile reached his eyes. Oikawa was hollering in the background and Matsukawa was holding in his cackle.

Bet he's a bottom. Oikawa didn't have a clear cut objective in his plan. He just wanted to see (m/n) melt one way or another. Sousuke was an added bonus, he was so annoyed with how good chemistry they had on the court.

Hazel scanned the (h/c)'s body, his eyes moving upwards to catch (e/c) staring at his bottom lip before they locked together. (m/n) smiled and tilted his head. "Don't regret this." "..."

Sousuke placed his hand on (m/n)'s bicep as he slowly moved forward, his breath held in. (m/n) chuckled as he closed his eyes, leaning in and he gripped the redhead's thigh, rubbing his thumb into his ace's pants.

The redhead's heart was racing, he stiffened his trembling hand as he gripped the armchair and he felt his world turned into bliss when his lips pressed against his captain's.

Sousuke was rigid as he nervously opened his mouth, panicking internally when he felt no response. "Let's go slow..." (m/n) cooed as his other hand moved to cup the redhead's jaw, his nail teasingly scratching his neck.

He flinched before humming awkwardly, closing his lips and letting his captain have his way. (m/n) gently lapping up the redhead's rough picked lips, his tongue softly swiping against the redhead's clenched mouth. His grip on Sousuke's thigh tightened.

Oikawa was laughing and taking a picture secretly, Matsukawa was hiding his smile with his hand, amused at the current scenario in front of him. A certain middle blocker is gonna be so pissed when he finds out.

The redhead cautiously opened his mouth, poking out his tongue and (m/n) seemed to stammer when it met with his. Sousuke could taste a lingering salt on (m/n)'s tongue. "Noodles for dinner?" "You know me." (m/n) chuckled before holding Sousuke's face with both of his hands and clashed their teeth.

Sousuke grunted as his breath stuttered when the (h/c) entered his mouth. He moaned when (m/n)'s tongue pressed againts his hard palate and he heard his captain's quiet laugh.

The butterflies in his stomach was raging as he forced himself to stop acting so nervous, his hands finally moved to hold (m/n) by the waist, rubbing his sides up and down. He had to swallow more than normal with how generous the (h/c) was licking his tongue, the taste of soup placating his buds and their saliva mixed.

Moving forward, Sousuke's chair scratched against the floor as he forced it closer to the (h/c)'s, desperate to have more. He couldn't believe that he was doing this. What kind of miracle did he walked upon? If any other man had sat in his position, he would have had his neck wrung.

"Nggh- hah!" He pulled his face back, panting with spit drooping down his chin. His penis was undeniably hard, the outline stretching against his jeans. Sousuke's face was hot, his cheeks red and he felt even weaker seeing the (h/c)'s expression.

(m/n) was smiling shamelessly and licked his lips, his heart fluttered and light. His own cock was also erect but he couldn't show that. The (h/c) wiped both his and Sousuke's face. "You had enough?" "..."

The redhead stayed quiet, swallowing his saliva. Sousuke wanted more, (m/n)'s tongue and drool in his mouth, or even his in the (h/c). Either way, it could never be enough. He had gotten a taste and Sousuke was Adephagia.

His hand gripped (m/n)'s lower waist, dangerously close to the plump of his ass and the (h/c) let out a quiet groan while biting his bottom lip. Half-lidded (e/c) eyes glared at burning hazel. (m/n) smiled as he felt Sousuke pulling him into his lap.

Sousuke kicked the (h/c)'s chair away as he held the captain on his lap, his left hand fondling down his back and his other rubbing (m/n)'s thigh. Their mouths were connected again and Sousuke immediately took the chance to thrust his tongue past (m/n)'s lips.

The taste of udon was more apparent now as he intruded his captain's mouth, pushing his wet muscle against the (h/c)'s. (m/n) moaned as his teeth scraped and he tried to push back. His hands are now in Sousuke's red locks, pulling and roughing them up.

(m/n) (l/n) couldn't say he never meant to end up in this position, sitting perchly in his ace's lap while sloppily making out with the redhead. Oikawa annoyed him and if the only thing that got him to shut up was for him to swallow someone's spit, then so be it. It was a plus for him too, how long had it been since he let loose anyways.

Sucking Sousuke's tongue was a different story however. He knew the redhead's obsession- passion for him. His intent gaze lingering over his figure, his rough fingertips brushing against his face and it didn't help he was handsome and so compliant under his will too. (m/n) could no longer hear the two Seijoh players laughing when Sousuke pulled him onto his lap.

His heart undeniably was pounding against his chest and now he was fiercely face fucking with his ace, Sousuke's hand dangerously hovering over his ass. (m/n) could feel the hard dick under his bosom, teasingly grinding on top of the rough jeans the redhead wore- fuck he shouldn't be doing this.

"Mmng ahh-" He pushed Sousuke away, the redhead frowning and panting with his tongue slack against his bottom lip. "We should hah- finish-" He was cut off when the redhead lapped up his jaw, making the (h/c) mewl and squirm in his hold. "Don't wanna." Sousuke mumbled, letting his tongue drag across (m/n)'s jaw.

The (h/c) huffed as his hands trembled, he leaned back, unintentionally exposing more of his neck. Sousuke brushed his fangs over (s/c) before he bit down, making (m/n) gasp and whimper as he rolled his hips.

"Y-You..." (m/n) frustratingly whined, his arousal was painful as he pressed himself down onto Sousuke's. "Hah...hah..." The redhead pulled away from the (h/c)'s neck, lust and want evident in his desperate eyes. (e/c) melted with equal need staring back.

"...my room." Sousuke immediately picked him up and walked out of the lounge, (m/n) locked his ankles around the redhead's torso. They both were still making out by the time they were out of the Seijoh's sight.

Oikawa was silent, not knowing what to say. Matsukawa was palming his face. "You should've expected that. That red hair guy was basically eye-fucking him everytime they're on the court." "I just....wanted to see him submit...not hooking up with someone."

Matsukawa raised an eyebrow. "Was this supposed to be a kink? That's gross, idiot-kawa." "I JUST WANTED TO SEE HIM LOSE FOR ONCE??" "Whatever it is, he definitely won tonight." The middle blocker secretly adjusted his pants, Oikawa's face was red and blushing.

"Why the hell are you guys in here?" Iwaizumi questioned, stepping into the lounge. Hanamaki poked his head in as well.

"...nothing." "Oikawa made a horny dare." "I DID NOT!!"

Iwaizumi cringed at the setter, disappointment etched onto his face. "DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT-" He wailed and Hanamaki looked to Matsukawa for an explanation.

The middle blocker only raised his hands in mock surrender, his mind wandering to the Shiki pair. Sousuke might show up but (m/n) will definitely not be attending practice tomorrow.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

Wow me posting🤩 the last part is a bit hanging, was supposed to be more slurping but i got sleepy. I wanna ask u guys to like a post that will help my team advance in an engineering innovation competition but that will be most likely indirectly doxxing myself hm😔

I have so many long drafts...like i legit have an almost finished jinx au but goddamn i lost the spirit. Ive been neglecting daisuke ik🥰 ill come back to my big tiddy man soon.

Just finished watching the haikyuu movie yesterday and kenma is terrifying wtf. I see why ppl like him now. The first year fic boutta go crazy

Taglist :

@tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer @a-short-ass-disappointment @chikai-k @mello-life25

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [2]

series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> orpiment

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken w.c: 3.9k tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)

You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.

Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.

When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.

Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.

It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-

"Did she just-"

"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.

He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.

You scream.

It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.

Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.

Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.

"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."

Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.

"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."

A wink.

"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."

There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.

"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"

Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.

You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.

You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.

"Eat slowly," is all he says.

It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.

Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.

Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.

"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."

"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."

You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!

He's too strong.

The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.

Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.

You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.

"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"

You shake your head.

"That's what I thought."

Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.

You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.

"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.

You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.

"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.

His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.

"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"

Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."

He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.

"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.

Simon doesn't let you panic for long.

"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."

There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.

"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.

"No," he says simply.

For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.

Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.

"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."

Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.

"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.

"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."

Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.

"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."

You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.

Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.

Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.

Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.

You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.

He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.

"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.

"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.

Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.

"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.

"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."

The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.

"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.

The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.

"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."

"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.

You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.

Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.

"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"

After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.

Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.

"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."

His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.

"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."

Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.

The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.

"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.

"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.

They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.

Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.

You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?

The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.

It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.

"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.

They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."

You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.

Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.

"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.

"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.

Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.

People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.

The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.

It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.

"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"

Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.

"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.

By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.

The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.

It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.

Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.

The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.

These are the fledglings?

You're in a wild, barbaric place.

When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.

No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.

Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.

"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.

"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.

Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.

"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."

Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.

Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.

Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.

Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.

Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.

"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"

Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.

"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."

A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.

Wife?

"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."

"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?

"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."

"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.

"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"

"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."

"When's that, then?" Price asks.

"Before next summer."

The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.

The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.

"Too tired?" Johnny asks.

You run.

Or try to, as fast as you can.

It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.

Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.

It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.

"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.

"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.

"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.

"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."

The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.

"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.

The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.

"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."

"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."

"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."

Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.

"Get in bed."

Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.

"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"

"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."

God help you, you're so tired you do.

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (3)

Summary: Terry get's a lesson in love and shares it with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 5,049

Part: 3 of ??

Warnings: Smut (18+)

One. Two.

"Well, James, how you been?" 

"Honestly, Pop. I don't know where to start." 

Wooden spoons banged and scraped across pots on the stove while Marvin scooped red beans and rice into a small ceramic bowl. He'd long shed his work coveralls for an open flannel shirt and khakis to spend some quality time with his only son. 

James was their shared middle name in a long line of Richmond men dating back to their family migration from New Orleans to Fayetteville in the 50s. Marvin was a proud, honorable man. He never said a bad word about anybody, and no one had a bad word to say about him. He taught Terry how to play football, make a pot of dirty rice to perfection, and the importance of ensuring a lady never touched a doorhandle in his presence. He was the reason Terry joined the Marine Corps after a career in the NFL looked unlikely. He was the reason his boy spoke softly and carried a big stick. And he was one of only two people Terry trusted with his heart. 

With two bowls and spoons on a serving tray, Marvin made his way to the kitchen table. He stopped short to get a good look at his son with blue green eyes even more captivating than Terry's. He noted the new frown lines developing on his brow and the lone grey hair sprouting in his goatee. His boy was stressed and confused. He didn't need a conversation to tell him that but welcomed it anyway. 

After sliding one bowl across the table, he took a seat with his signature grunt. "Start at the top. Plenty of time still left in the day." 

Terry quietly thanked his father for his generosity and avoided the question by eating the first bite of his meal. They ate in silence for several seconds until Terry took a deep breath. 

"I think I've been okay. More ups than downs lately, but the downs are pretty damn low. I'm having a tough time sleeping. I'm barely working. I feel like a burden for Treece more than I feel like a man who can actually do something for her." 

"Being a man is about more than what you can do." 

"Yeah, but…" Terry trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just - things weren't supposed to be this hard. I gave this country a lot of my time, and I guess I expected to say my goodbyes and roll into my next chapter. Now, my plan b needs a plan b, and I'm out of options." 

"You're not out of options. You don't like askin' for help. Proud like your grandaddy." 

"And you too." 

Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he took another spoonful of food.  "This ain't about me."

The two men shared a laugh, their voices sounding nearly identical as they bounced off the walls. He was the spitting image of his father, both in stature and moral compass. 

"What do you need, James?" Marvin had grown serious again, making Terry avert his eyes to focus on his food. "I'll save you the stress of asking, but you gotta tell me what I need to offer. Is it money?"

"Not much. Enough to pay some bills until the end of the month, and I can have it back to you. I think I have a shot at this job on base if I can get through the second interview."

"How you getting back and forth? I know y'all do the Lyft and Ubom thing these days. Ridin' around with strangers like we didn't spend a whole decade tell y'all not to." 

Terry laughed. "It's Uber, Pop. But, no. Treece is out for the summer, so I'm…using her car when I need it. I don't wanna take advantage of her." 

"Those some of the bills you need help paying?" Marvin's question was answered with a silent head nod and eyes filled with shame. He softened his voice as he reached into his wallet for the cash he had on hand. "It's what you're supposed to do. Ain't no shame. That money is for yourself. Give me til tomorrow afternoon to have more. Five grand enough?" 

"Ah, Pop, I don-" 

"We didn't work as hard as we did for nothing. Plus, it's your college fund money we never withdrew. You're lucky your mother hasn't used it for renovations. She's been eyeing your sister's old room for an indoor she-shed or whatever the hell it's called." 

Marvin sounded exasperated by the concept of his wife's latest project, which amused Terry. They hadn't changed since the day he left. They were just two people who had been in love since the day they met and remained committed to supporting each other through the ebbs and flows of life. 

Standing from the kitchen table, Marvin shuffled around the corner to the garage entrance and returned with a ring of keys and a pile of mail. He tossed them at Terry and returned to his seat. 

"What's this?" 

"Keys to GMC outside. Take it. You might need to run it for a little bit and change the oil, but it works fine. The rest is your mail." Terry opened his mouth to protest and received a glare from his father in return. "I gave you my best speech about askin' for help, and here you go ruining things. Take the truck before I tell your mama."

"Alright, alright," Terry laughed as he raised his hands. "I love you, Pop." 

"Love you, man. I'm proud of you." Not ones for the warm fuzzies of hugs, the two extended their arms across the table for a quick fist bump before returning to their meals. Marvin let his son eat in peace for a few moments before the corner of his lips curled in a knowing smile. "So…Patrice Ellis, huh? That little love letter you wrote in 10th grade finally coming true?" 

"Pop." 

"Ah, come on. It's alright to be in love, son. She's a good girl. Got good folks, too. What's the holdup?" 

In love? The more Terry attempted to negotiate the gravity of the phrase within himself, the more he had to reckon with the idea that his father may not be that far off base.

Terry slowed his eating and looked at his father for help. "You think I'm in love?" 

"Oh, I know you are. You didn't come back to Fayetteville for me, did you?" 

"How would I know, though? How did you know?" 

Marvin stopped eating to sit back in his chair. A fond smile crossed his face as he thought of his younger years. 

"I knew I was in love when I wanted to show up every day and do the work to be with her. It didn't matter if she pissed me off or if we disagreed about decisions. At the end of every day, I can look at her and know I'm where I want to be forever. Plus, I still get a little fired up when she walks through the door all these years later. I ain't much to look at, but your mother is…" 

Marvin let his sentence drop to whistle at the mention of his wife. Terry pretended to take exception but eventually laughed at his father's antics. He quickly relaxed into a contemplative state. 

"I wanna be the best I can for her," he spoke softly. "I get…sad when she's gone for too long. Sometimes, I find myself forcing conversation just to make her look at me because the light in her eyes is the only thing keeping me grounded most days. What does that mean?" 

"You don't need me to answer that, son. Go with what you know." 

Before Terry could seek more advice, the mechanical roar of the garage door made Marvin nearly spring out of his seat to greet his one true love. 

Outside, Patrice was nearly doubled over from laughter in the front seat. 

Diedra "DeeDee" Richmond was the quintessential Southern black woman. Like a prim and proper belle, she wore her color-treated blonde hair big to match an even bigger personality.  She wore heels with every outfit and never left the house without earrings, but she could also drink and cuss like a sailor. 

When she offered Patrice the chance to tag along for her monthly Sister Circle meeting, there was no chance she'd miss the opportunity to ditch Terry and kick it with the upper crust of Black women. 

"And, girl, Rita thinks we can't tell that she took every one of those appetizers out of the damn freezer section. At least go to the Publix bakery. Finger sandwiches ain't that expensive." 

Amid their gossip session, the garage door's chime caught Dee Dee's attention, effectively ending her one-woman show in favor of giving her husband the eye. Behind him, Terry stood with a nervous smile and puppy dog eyes that he directed at Patrice. 

"Marry a Richmond, child. You'll never lift a finger for the rest of your life. Lord knows I love me some him. Hey, baby!" DeeDee advised as she watched Marvin nearly float to the driver's side to open her door. 

Patrice watched Marvin and DeeDee fawn over each other like teenage lovers until the faint pop of her door opening brought her back to life. 

Terry stood in the gap with his hand out to offer assistance. She accepted without protest, letting him gently pull her from the passenger side with her bags in tow and close the door behind her.

"I missed you." 

Terry's admission came in a sweet voice as he dipped his head to place two chaste kisses on Patrice's lips. Only the knowledge of his parents 10 feet away kept her from turning an innocent display of affection into something vulgar. 

Patrice chased his lips once he pulled away, earning a deep chuckle that vibrated her chest. 

"We kissing in front of the parents now?" 

"Too much," he asked, suddenly embarrassed. 

She used her thumb to wipe lip gloss from his bottom lip before rising to her tip toes to kiss his nose. "No. You're perfect." 

Dee Dee and Marvin watched the young couple giggle at nothing in particular with broad smiles and full hearts. 

"Treece, when's the last time you had some of my red beans and rice?" 

Marvin's question made both of them jump like children caught in the act with the realization that they weren't alone. 

"Way too long," Patrice answered, her stomach almost growling at the mention. 

"Then have dinner with us. We'd love to have you." 

Patrice looked toward Terry for confirmation, making Dee Dee cackle as she started up the stairs into her home. "Child, forget him. Terrence don't run nothing 'round here! Come get this food."

Terry's eyes grew wide at his mother's dismissal while Patrice dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at his expense on her way into the house. 

"Oh, that's funny," he asked, following her lead. "That's the last time I let y'all hang out unsupervised." 

Three extra hours at Terry's parents' house wasn't enough for the tandem to abandon their new night routine. 

Patrice stood at her bathroom sink, scrubbing the day from her face while Terry made himself comfortable on her closed toilet lid. Sometimes, he read something from Patrice's bookshelf, both preferring to simply exist in the same room. Other times, he watched baseball on his phone and attempted to provide color commentary despite Patrice not showing interest. This time, though, he sat with relaxed shoulders and low eyes while she moved through her beauty routine. 

Something about the sleepytime body wash had him laser-focused on how her legs looked a mile long beneath her nightshirt, oiled to perfection and glistening under the warm vanity lights. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe pull her closer by her thighs and whisper every single nasty thought on his mind below her navel until she promised never to leave his side. 

But, he shook his inner man loose and leaned forward to re-engage with her as she called his name. 

"You know you should use a gentle exfoliant every once in a while. It'll help your breakouts. Use some of my sunscreen, too. It's dangerous for you to let the sun hit your face with no protection."

Blah, blah, blah. Everything she said sounded like a chorus of 1000 angels to him. She could've revealed the cure to cancer, and he would be too lovestruck to notice. 

Knowing his restraint was dwindling, he stood abruptly and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn as she added moisturizer to her face.

Patrice watched him take up space behind her through the mirror, shifting so he could leave something to remember him by on her shoulder and neck. 

"Good night," he spoke between kisses, the words muffled against her skin. 

"Already? It's not that late, is it?" 

"I promised Corey I'd help him with football practice at Francis tomorrow morning."

"He'll run you ragged if you don't speak up." 

"I'll speak up. I promise." 

Using what little space she had, Patrice turned to rest her backside on the counter and face Terry. She used her index finger to hook his gold herringbone chain and bring him down for a kiss. Or kisses. It'd been so long since they could have each other in this way. Time and experience, both together and separately, had them maneuvering like professionals. Each kiss was teasing and sensual in equal measure. A tangible mastery of retreating and aggression made the pursuit of one another worth the wait. 

They'd lost track of their exhibition until Terry's phone buzzing against the toilet seat jolted them back into reality.

Patrice flattened her palms against his chest to create some separation and end what would surely turn into blurred lines if they weren't careful. "Good night, TJ.  Grab that exfoliant out of my shower before you leave. It's in the caddie." 

Terry took the gentle redirection in stride, smiling at her through the mirror before turning to do as she had asked. Patrice used what little focus she could muster to secure her headscarf to her head, desperate to extend her box braids for one more week. 

"What's this?" 

"What's what?" She didn't bother to look away from her task until the low hum of her vibrator caught her attention. She whipped her body around, too stunned to reach for the bright pink toy that had Terry smirking as he examined its buttons. "That is my personal property for personal and private use." 

"When's the last time you used it?" 

"It's been a while. A month or so." Mostly true. She couldn't say she hadn't thought about it more recently.

"Since I've been here?" 

She shrugged. "Kinda hard to get comfortable when there's a person on the other side of the wall." 

The mere sound of the only thing to touch her in two years made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her eyes darted between the toy and Terry, who made himself familiar with each speed and pattern, cycling through dirty thoughts and intrigue as he held the device against his arm to get a feel for the intensity, 

Setting one? Bearable. A softball. Setting three? Maybe she'd call out his name from the pleasure? Setting seven? Surely, she'd hang on to him like a wet t-shirt on a Playboy model while she rode the crest of her orgasm. 

The possibilities excited him to no end. He needed to test each and every theory.

In two clicks, he returned the toy to its original setting and then off completely, holding it in one hand while taking slow steps to close the gap between him and the only person on his mind. 

She shifted her weight nervously as he approached, unsure how to respond until he towered over her with a look she knew all too well. 

Desire. 

Their senses were heightened. Everything felt surreal, almost as if one misstep could send them flying through a portal back to a more disappointing reality. 

Terry could smell the faint hint of mint on Patrice's breath before dipping his head to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth. She responded like he knew she would by making him work for his prize. Patrice never let him intimidate her. Not for their first time together all those years ago, certainly not now. 

He chuckled before leaning in again, this time leaving a trail of short kisses from her jaw to her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, breathing in vanilla and the subtle spice of his cologne from moments earlier.

Suddenly, Patrice felt weightless. Her feet dangled briefly and without warning as Terry took her from standing to sitting on the cold, hard counter before she could protest. 

Patrice fought for stability, using the peaks and valleys across the expanse of his muscled arms as her anchor in the dizzying experience that was his affection. Her lips parted to draw in sharp breaths and release airy sighs of approval in a feeble attempt to remain present. At the same time, he kissed his appreciation wherever his lips saw fit. Her legs acted under their own power to spread wider and make room for whatever came next. 

Her hands left a trail of tingles as she dragged them from his arms to the back of his head, down the sides of his face, over his tank top, between his pecs, and, finally, into the waistband of his shorts. 

Surprised by her touch, he lurched forward to grab her wrist. "Not this time," he whispered, unsure he meant what he was saying. 

Patrice nodded in understanding, earning a sloppy kiss for her obedience. 

There was no discerning where his mouth ended, and hers began. They were on one accord, hungrily tasting, exploring, and consuming each other without holding back. 

Then, the low hum returned. This time, it was closer than Patrice remembered. 

Cold silicone soon caressed her inner thigh. A low whimper escaped past her lips as she made eye contact with Terry. He leaned close enough to speak against her mouth. 

"You trust me?" 

"Mhmm," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open as he moved further up her leg. 

"Let me take care of you, then. Take these off for me." 

Trembling fingers latched onto her boyshorts, pushing them to mid-thigh for Terry to take care of the rest. As quickly as he was gone, he'd returned for another taste of her tongue. Languid and unhurried, he used the time to relax her while slowly inching the vibrator to her center. 

Initial contact made her hips buck forward, and her head softly hit the mirror behind her. Terry chased her with sloppy kisses at the base of her neck. 

The slow and steady setting was enough to get her wet and sticky. Terry'd be lying if he said the thought alone didn't have him wanting to renege on his early statement and dive in with reckless abandon. But, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her pleasure. 

Once the initial shock had worn off, Patrice ground her hips slowly, making small circles while the vibration worked to settle her nerves. Terry took a break from leaving praises in the form of kisses on her throat to smile at his girl. 

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

She gripped his chin and pulled him closer for a fiery kiss that he let her lead. "Yeah. But, I love to hear you say it." 

"Good," he answered, grinning at her confidence as he upped the intensity on her vibrator. Her eyes clamped shut as her entire body tensed. "Stay with me." 

A deep, steadying breath turned into a silent scream as Patrice gave in to the natural urge to hold her breath. Terry used his free hand to sneak up her tank top and grope one breast while pressing his lips to her ear. 

"Breathe, baby. In and out." He modeled the behavior until she found the strength to match his tempo. "There you go. You feel good?" 

"Yes, yes," she whisper-chanted to the ceiling, her head thrown back in unimaginable euphoria. 

"I want you to feel this good every day. You deserve it, right?" 

A twisting, turning feeling at the pit of her stomach forced her to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. Her answer came in a soft moan. "Right." 

"Damn right." Pressing his forehead to hers, he zeroed in on each of her features twisted in unthinkable pleasure. 

She kept her mouth open to sigh and moan as she saw fit. Her nostrils flared in a rhythm as she tried to force herself to breathe through every peak and valley of the moment. Her brows were knitted, and her eyes closed as if she were too afraid to look at him. He wondered what she was thinking. 

Did she want him inside of her as much as he wanted the same for himself? Was she yearning for more pressure? Could she feel how much he loved her?

"Don't get quiet on me. I want everything. Let 'em hear you. You need more?" 

A quick glance down helped him reposition the vibrator on her already sensitive bud, earning a guttural curse as appreciation for his good deed. 

"Fuck! Don't move. Please don't move." 

Terry obliged for the moment, too entranced by his view of her flower on full display for his viewing pleasure. Glistening. Wet. Beautiful. Appetizing like nothing he'd ever seen before. He pulled the toy away and replaced its presence with his thumb. Slow circles and firm pressure made her want to close her legs to escape the overwhelming stimulation, but her attempt was futile. She was at his mercy. 

"Damn," he whispered to himself, enamored by the way her body reacted to his touch. 

Every revolution around her clit brought with it more wetness at her entrance and indentations in his arms from her nails gripping for dear life. 

It wasn't enough to touch her. He needed to taste. 

Using his middle and ring fingers, he teased his introduction with gentle brushes against her inner lips. She keened for more against his mouth as she held his face close. He granted her wish and pushed into her slowly, immediately feeling her warmth envelop his long digits. 

Their mouths hung open, breaths being traded between the two as he set a slow pace. Not enough to bring forth a release. Just enough for Terry to get what he came for. 

Removing his fingers left him with a coating of clear arousal nearly dripping to his knuckles. Patrice watched him as he smirked at the sight, examining it like a jeweler appraising precious diamonds. 

When he'd seen enough, he put both fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Patrice's mouth hung open as if waiting for her turn to experience the wonders of her juices. 

Had she closed her eyes for even a second, she would have missed Terry extending his tongue from his mouth to allow a mixture of his saliva and her essence the chance to slide from his tongue in anticipation of a new host. 

Something profound and hungry within her made her lean her head back and hold her tongue out to receive all that he had to give. It excited her, delighted her, and aroused her like never before.

Like a lewd work of art, spit connected their tongues in what would otherwise be seen as an infraction among more proper circles. But fuckin' wasn't proper, and all forms of affection were welcomed in their home. 

Almost immediately, Terry rushed to reward her with a wild and frenzied kiss that nearly surprised him. 

Primal. Carnal. Intense. Fucking disgusting. He loved every minute of it.

The race was on. Terry kept their lips connected as he returned the vibrator to her clit, dialing up the settings to a level below their max. 

Patrice's moans and his couldn't be distinguished from one another. Her hips bucked wildly. Her fingernails left marks in their wake as they scratched at his arms and back. Her body twitched and seized in anticipation of the inevitable. 

"Oh my - fuck!" Satisfied tears slid from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks to her man's awaiting lips. "Terrence!" 

Terry remained locked in. A man possessed. A one-track mind focused on nothing other than completing the mission. 

The first stage of her orgasm came without a warning. Heat washed over her as if she'd stepped outside at high noon, making her skin almost unbearable to live in. Her toes curled, her voice caught in her throat despite the intense desire to release a scream from the depths of her soul into the atmosphere. 

She thanked Terry and God in Heaven for blessing her with the opportunity to touch the moon and the stars without ever leaving her home. Terry used his free hand to grip and massage her thighs, knowing that the best was yet to come. 

Patrice's voice began to climb as the main event approached. Shallow breaths gave way to loud gasps for air, which came rapidly while she did the same. She was suspended in a beautiful bliss and already sad about the prospect of coming down. 

Her lover reveled in the opportunity to see her unraveling at the seams. 

"I'll always come back to you, beautiful. No matter what, okay? Look at me." His request earned intense focus from Patrice under hooded eyes. "You're so pretty. Say it back to me. Tell me you're pretty."

"I'm so pretty!" Impending release sent all her words out in one breathless sentence. 

He smiled at her compliance. "I know you're close. Hold my hand."

Her fingers scrambled against the counter, filling the spaces between his fingers and gripping with enough force to turn her knuckles a lighter shade of brown. 

"That's my girl. I love you," was all he could manage before Patrice let out something akin to a squeal, turning his declaration into background fodder. 

Sensitive, overstimulated, and completely spent, the after-effects of her release had her panting to recover. Her ears rang with a heady feeling that could only be compared to a few puffs of homegrown bud. 

Terry held her through it all, propping her up while her body sagged against him for stability. He put aside the vibrator to run his palms up and down her legs while he showered her temple with whispered praises and sweet kisses. 

He waited until her breathing was even before gingerly pressing his forehead to hers. "You good?" 

His smirk was incredibly smug. He was proud of himself, and for good reason. She was open to giving credit where credit was due. 

"You can never leave this house without me again. I hope you're happy." 

"That's the whole point. My granny taught me some things during them summers down in New Orleans, you know?" 

"Oh, so this is some magic shit?" 

"Family business, baby. Gotta have the last name to find out." A playful glint in his eyes and a squeeze to her waist made Patrice's stomach feel butterflies that she thought would never return. Terry tapped her nose with his index finger and stepped back. "Stay put. I'll clean you up." 

Patrice scoffed. Stay put. As if she could go anywhere. As if she wanted to go anywhere.

Like the perfect gentleman, Terry was tender with his care. A warm towel to soothe sore muscles and ensure a thorough cleanup was mandatory. The extra loving was complimentary for only his favorite lady. 

"Stay with me tonight," Patrice requested as he slid her panties back up her legs. 

He shook his head and smiled while prompting her to lift her hips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Treecey." 

"I just wanna be next to you. Nothing more." 

Terry regarded her doe-eyed plea with a small smile as he helped her off the counter. He pulled her into an embrace, fiending for one more kiss. She obliged happily until he'd had his fill. 

His hands slid from her sides to her ass for a generous squeeze before answering. 

"Okay. Whatever you want. Let me handle something real quick, and then I'll meet you there." 

Patrice accepted her victory with a silly happy dance before turning to make enough room in her bed for an extra person. Terry sent her on her way with a light tap to her ass, amused by how something as simple as sleeping next to each other was exciting for her. 

Once she was safely out of the bathroom with the door shut behind her, he finally found time to take a deep breath and compose himself. The actual test of his strength was in the next room, and he couldn't risk the trust he'd worked so hard to build. 

After adjusting his shorts, he picked up his phone and sat on the toilet lid, hoping that watching dog videos or Nationals highlights would clear his mind.

He had every intention of opening the web browser on his phone until he noticed a series of messages from an old friend.

From: McBride 

You check your mail? 

Trial against chief starts in two weeks. Gonna need you to testify to take him down

Know you said you weren’t coming back

Do it for Mike

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @deja-r

[babyleostuff]

── HOME

✩ THEME: fluff, attempt at humour + a bit of angst mainly due to jungkook being away in the military ✩ PAIRING: idol!jungkook x fem!reader ✩ WORD COUNT: 871

“bam!” you yelled out, “stop scratching the door and come for dinner, baby!” 

it was weird to say the least. usually, all you had to do was to pass by the food bowls for bam to be on high alert and ready to be served lunch, tail wagging and ears pointy, but now… he was nowhere near as interested in the 99% meat protein boosters mixed with the whole grain chicken clusters (jungkook loved buying bam all of the funky and fancy food) as he was in the entrance door. 

you sighed, as you heard another scratch. “bam,” you said for the twentieth time in the last five minutes, “dinner is ready,” you crouched down, and placed his bowls on the feeder stand. “if you don’t eat it, i will,” you muttered under your nose, and lowered your head to rest it on your lap. 

these were the moments when you missed jungkook the most. 

as if bam could sense the sudden shift in your mood, he slowly padded over to where you were crouching, his nails tapping against the wooden floors, and nudged you with his snout. “finally changed your mind, hm?” you giggled, scratching your big baby behind his ears. almost as if he could understand your words, he nodded his head excitedly, nearly knocking one of the bowls over. 

“okay big boy, let’s calm down and eat.” 

but before bam could even get a sniff of his food, a quiet, yet very familiar sound drew your attention back to the entrance door. the doberman didn’t waste a second and started barking like crazy, which did not help your paranoia that something was off. jungkook made sure that bam underwent all the necessary training to avoid situations like this one, and never since you’ve met bam had he acted so chaotic and unlike himself. besides, you couldn’t open the door to your apartment with the code anymore since the touchpad was broken, and the only people with keys were you and your boyfriend. 

and jungkook was far away from here, so… 

technically bam could protect you and jungkook in case of a break-in, but you didn’t want to be left without a weapon, so you grabbed the nearest candlestick so you could stab the intruder with a half burned candle. 

“bam, come here,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. 

you managed to grab him by his collar just as the intruder slowly opened the door, so much so that you could take a peek at one of the black military boots that was… oddly familiar. then the person threw a large backpack inside. that’s probably where he’d pack all the things he planned on stealing from your home. mhm, over my dead body. the only thing you were ready to give away were jungkook’s underwear - they took way too much space in the closet. 

you held onto bam a bit tighter as the intruder grunted, and threw inside another duffel bag. wow, so this was a big heist. 

“don’t move!” you shouted out, and raised your hand with the candlestick. “i’m armed and i have a doberman, so if i were you i’d find another place to rob.” 

but before you could unleash the beast in the form of a scaredy-cat doberman though, you heard a giggle. and not any giggle. 

it was the giggle you fell in love with after hearing it for the first time. it belonged to you best friend, to your one and only love, to your comfort person that you’d look out for in any crowd. 

but it was impossible because he wasn't supposed to be home for the next month.

the intruder pushed the door so you could finally take a proper look at the person who was about to rob you. expect for- “hi, baby,” jungkook smiled, and crooked his head in amusement taking in your form. 

with a candlestick in your hand, and crouched over the dog holding onto him for dear life, jungkook couldn’t think of a better welcome back home. “it’s good to know the apartment is safe in your arms,” he laughed, as the realisation hit you. 

he was there. jungkook was standing right in front of you. 

you dropped your makeshift weapon and squealed, quickly making your way over to your boyfriend. “what? why?” you breathed, and threw your hands around his shoulders, that seemed even wider now. as much as you hated being away from him, god - he looked hot as fuck in the uniform. “what are you doing here?” you finally managed to ask. 

jungkook circled one of his strong arms around your waist, keeping your feet off the ground, and cupped your cheek with his other hand, stroking it gently. “you’re really here, aren’t you?” you slowly pulled the cap off his head to get a better look at him, and ran your hair through the short, black strands that were sticking in all different directions. the scar on his cheek, the mole under his lips, the doe eyes.

“i am,” he smiled. jungkook didn’t have to say how much he had missed you - you could see it all in his eyes, and that meant more than a thousand words.

[sakshikaribykriti]

Serve your snacks and salads in style with our enamel printed mango wood bowls and servers. Our Lemons bowl features lemons and stripes reimagined in a quirky, fun print. The edges of the servers are also enameled. These enamel print pieces are a terrific accent to any kitchen. These bowls are fantastic for serving salads and snacks. 

[naxyblog]

Fruit Bowls and Wooden Serving

LK WOOD DESIGN is the best company. We manufacture wooden serving accessories. We manufacture high-quality products, Our collection combines the natural beauty of wood with the vibrant colors and textures of fresh fruits, A beautiful decorative element for your home.

[naffeclipse]

Taste Test

Reader x Mermaid!Eclipse

Commission Info

I'm back once more for a lovely little request from @counterbalance who wanted Y/N and Mer Eclipse to play a little game involving food, taste buds, and guessing! This was a sweet little treat to write, ah! Eclipse loves his yummy fish and deep sea delicaties but Y/N has a few tasty morsels from on land to try and stump Eclipse with.

———

The sea is gentle with its waves. Softly lapping against the side of the Rustbucket II, the water holds still and calm. The late evening light burns golden over your boat. Looking out the small window of the cabin, you watch the glittering shards of light dance over the smallest stirrings of the ocean. 

A small shiver comes over you. Tucking your thick wool coat tighter around your sweater and overalls, you sit at the humble wooden table slotted into the narrow space. Your fishing boat is far from glamorous, but it has always served you well. 

A familiar, kind pulse fills the space of your ribcage, and you smile.

“Hey, big guy.”

The resounding swell within you answers, and you nearly close your eyes to soak in the vivid desire he holds to scoop you up in his palm and gently nuzzle your face.

But not right now. You two are playing a game. The leviathan has tucked himself away in his cavern so there is no chance of cheating—not that he would. It’s just that his big eyes tend to stray over to whatever you’ve prepared for the game when he’s lingering along the surface, and you can’t help but turn your head towards whatever catch he has thrashing in the water.

Now that you’ve learned just how acutely you can share things over the magical bond of your soul connection, you’ve developed a guessing game.

Four bowls spread over the tabletop before you. One holds small bites of beef jerky, another salty nuts, the next some dry fruits, and lastly, a bowl of ice cream that’s beginning to melt. 

“Are you ready?” you whisper to the air, concentrating on the great warmth in your middle. 

A resounding heat rolls through you. You feel the splashing excitement beginning to surge through him, and then a wayward thought of what meals he’s chosen before he cuts those off from your presence.

“Nothing is spicy, I promise,” you say quickly.

A pouty swell moves through you. Of course, you don’t eat spice often simply do not torment Eclipse with the wicked heat on your tongue. But you will warn him whenever you’re about to enjoy a meal with a kick to it. 

The first time you had unknowingly subjected him to such an experience, he had been confounded by your willingness to subject yourself to such painful torment as cayenne pepper. 

You first.

Eclipse nudges you gently, and you sit up straighter in your seat. You pluck a bit of beef jerky. It’s a bit more expensive than you’ll usually splurge on, but you want to feel his reaction to a lump of meat that is not fish. 

Popping it in your mouth, you begin chewing. You throw all your concentration into the flavor filling your mouth, savory and rich. You chew and chew, your molars working on the tough and dried meat. 

You feel Eclipse in the distance. His jaw unconsciously works with yours. You keep your thoughts close to him as if you drew a curtain around your mind, but he feels the sensation in your mouth all the same. 

He knows that you don’t have it a lot. It is saved for only rare occasions.

Something once alive.

“Correct,” you say around your morsel.

You feel his mind working, jumping from textures of fish he’s caught from a large, elderly whale to an armor-crusted deep sea creature you have no name for. 

His guess jumps into you. The latter fish he thought of. 

“Sorry, that’s not it.” You swallow the bite with a grin. “It’s beef jerky. It comes from a cow.”

He pouts, a lighthearted tide touching against you. It’s not meant to be easy, but the point is to feel each other’s thought process while taking from their own experiences and trying to decipher something the other has never tried.

My turn.

“Go ahead, big guy.” You sit back in your chair. Closing your eyes, you focus on the inner tugs of your soul. 

Eclipse lifts something to his mouth. He takes one big bite, and you frown at the texture. You feel it slipping over his tongue as if it were your own. You’ve sensed such a sensation before. 

Oh, this is easy.

“Squid,” you point your finger upwards in an ‘ah ha’ moment. 

A pleasurable flow moves through you. It would have been sad had you gotten that wrong, considering that it’s one of his favorites. Not that you can imagine eating squid in such a fashion.

In-kind, you move on to the salty nut. Tossing a handful into your mouth, you hardly have a second to chew before Eclipse correctly guesses the food. It’s a favored snack of yours. 

Too easy.

You huff out a breath at him before he dines on something else. Something new. You frown at the unique texture. It’s supple but rich in flavor. Lean and strong. Eclipse chews it with delight before swallowing it down.

“I… I don’t know,” you manage, stumped. “What is it?”

You are impressed upon with visions deep in the blue sea. Then there are silverfish. Large compared to you, but bite size for Eclipse. The long, flattened bills give away what they are.

“Swordfish.” You never would have guessed.

Eclipse rumbles in delight though admits he doesn’t usually eat them. They’re too much of a pain to catch, but he wanted to win you on something. 

You laugh.

“Cheater.”

He rebuffs you with a promise that he would never, and you reassure him that you’re well aware. You just wanted to pull his leg—or tail.

You taste the dry fruits next. The natural sweetness bursts over your tongue though kept contained without the juices. Eclipse makes a face, finding it leathery and strange.

He has no answer until you reveal it to him. 

The last food from Eclipse has him buzzing. You stir with his energy as he sets something in his mouth, and it crunches. You almost flinch from the great sound. It’s meaty as well. 

“Clams?” you ask, though you’re grasping at straws. “Mussels?”

Eclipse trills inwardly. Wrong. Wrong.

Then he gives you an impression of a crab, a great deep sea one that almost looks too alien to walk this earth. 

He got you again.

You straighten and grab a spoon. “I have a surprise for you.”

Eclipse immediately stills, his curiosity piqued while you spoon up a small bite of chocolate ice cream. It begins to pool the bowl, but it retains its cool richness. 

You take the bite and slowly swirl the ice cream around with your tongue. The sweet treat immediately sends a shiver down your back.

You feel Eclipse shudder with the sensation, but his frills pick up and his presence burns within you in delight.

He loves it, though not any brain freezes that might come with it

Ice cream.

“It sure is, big guy,” you grin. “Do you want to share some more?”

His resounding answer makes you laugh softly.

[toxycodone]

Monster Fucker's Journal : Introduction

ship. laios touden x reader, reader x various monsters

chapter content: nsfw, masturbation + desc of monster sexual organs. reader is gender neutral but there is references to a clit and getting wet.

read on ao3 | click here for masterlist | next chapter (coming soon!)

Holding the wooden bowl up to your lips, you take the last sip of the broth, savoring the taste on your tongue.

Goddamn. Monster food is tasty. Never in your life did you think you'd be trying Giant Scorpion hot pot, but you're thanking every deity watching from above you're now able to say you tried it.

This is much better than Laios's odd first attempt at cooking these creatures. Despite his amassment of knowledge, cooking does not seem to be one of them.

Despite Marcille's claims of food poisoning and incessant whining, you still decided to give the meal Senshi prepared a taste, and you're glad you did. The flavor was rich, yet earthy...reminding you of the nice soup served at that tavern on the surface.

But this one was better. Much better. It's actually made from monsters! How fascinating!

Laios Touden thought he was the only monster lover around, often regarding himself as an outcast. That is, until he met you. You started out as a usual recruit--someone experienced enough to hold their own but green enough to not punish his wallet. The longer you spent alongside the blonde, the more his interests started to grow on you. The most prominent being monsters.

He seemed to grow quite fond of you as well, sharing his thoughts and theories with you in the little amount of spare time you shared during rest hours and between missions. Listening to him speak about the creatures always lifted the burden of the day off your shoulders. Laios is always so passionate when you get him going. His eyes glimmer with interest, tone so full of ardent affection--you can't help but watch with a lovesick grin.

You wonder if he could feel the same type of way for a person. That person hopefully being you.

Nearby, Laios sits on his bedroll. His large hands slap against the broad midriff of his armor, cauisng the sound of hollow metal to resonate in your ears. It snaps you out of your thoughts.

"That was good!"

His face is curled into a smile, a light flush on his face. You take a moment to appreciate the view. From the corner of your eye, you spot Chilchuck peering at you with a raised brow. Your eyes dart away, focusing elsewhere.

There's a nudge at your shoulder.

"Hey." Laios regards you with wide, curious smile. "How'd you like it? Good, right?"

You nod your head, then explain how different--yet delicious, the food was. In the back of your mind, you always wondered how monsters tasted, or hell, if they were even edible. Today, you can mark that off your bucket list.

His smile spreads from ear to ear now. If anything could radiate pure sunshine, it would be this man.

"Glad to hear it! You know..." He pulls a notebook from below the collar of his armor. It's comical enough to make you snort lightly. "I should take some notes."

Laios begins to scribble down what he's learned so far about the anatomy of walking mushrooms, giant scorpions, and of course--how to prepare them for consumption.

That journal...

Its cover is frayed, edges worn from overuse. There's a plethora of dog eared pages that sport tears and colorful tabs alike. Each page is covered top to bottom in notes you've been dying to read.

Laios promised a while ago let you take a look at it. However, he always seems to be too busy writing to ever give you the chance. Just looking at it makes you sigh. Oh, how you'd kill to get a peek into his mind. You're sure there's quite a bit of knowledge to be found perusing those pages.

The scribbling stops. The man shuts his book, before setting it back into its resting place inside its armor.

"Well, we should check out the path ahead. The first floor might not be too dangerous, but one should always take dungeon crawling seriously." Laios stands up, stretching a bit. The other party members move with him, but he holds out a hand.

"You guys stay here. Let your food disgest. It shouldn't take too long for me to check the path ahead."

The smile on his face is gentle, genuine. You don't understand how others have grown to ostracize the man. He's the most caring person you've met since arriving on the island.

Chilchuck and Marcille seem more relieved than anything. The two gorged themselves on monster food, so the rest is likely well needed. That speaks especially for the elf. Her stamina isn't the best, so traversing the dungeon right away on a full stomach seems like a recipe for disaster. Senshi gives a gentle nod and moves instead to pack his cooking supplies.

Laios picks up his sword and moves to the exit. You stand up too now, grabbing your things and following after him.

"Hm?" Laios, unsuspecting of your presence, is surprised. "Don't you want to stay with the others? I can handle this alone."

You shake your head. Despite his claims, you're not letting Laios venture out by himself. Plus, what if he spots a cool monster? If you can't peek at his journal, then you're gonna gather just as much firsthand experience as he has.

And the blonde doesn't fight you on the topic. Unbeknownst to you, your presence is always a welcome one to him. You both venture into the corridor leading to the second floor.

No matter how much time passes, it's always difficult to get used to the dim lighting within the dungeon. Gentle torchlight illuminates your path, which you're thankful for, but also a bit miffed about. Couldn't they have picked something larger? Brighter? If you were the Dungeon Lord, you would've replaced them with something different by now.

Wait...who the hell is lighting all those things in the first place?

Wait. Not important.

Instead, you focus on following in Laios's heavy footsteps. His leather boots tread lightly on the stone floor, barely echoing along the similarly crafted walls. There's a little tinkering noise from his breastplate, which you can only assume is the journal moving around in his armor. Thank goodness you're on a higher floor. That noise would be a dead giveaway for a monster.

This is probably the least dangerous hallway in the dungeon, no traps or other dangers to be found beside the occasional slime or walking mushroom. However, your party leader always feels the need to tread safely.

The familiar stale air surrounds your senses. To others, it's sickening. To you, it's homey. You're in your element now.

Laios halts, almost causing you to bump into him. Before you can ask a question, he turns to face you.

"I'm gonna head down the staircase real quick, then our little expedition should be over."

You nod. It's a cramped space. There's no need for you to both go down. If he needs any backup, you'll only be a shout away.

Before descending, he reaches in his armor, then pulls out the journal. Laios rests it in your hands.

"Can you take care of this?" He asks, almost bashfully. "I don't wanna make too much noise going down to the second floor. Or risk getting it damaged if a monster is waiting by the entrance..."

God, his expression is cute. He cases so much about this personal journal...why is he so adorable? Of course you'll protect it.

With an expression of gratitude, Laios takes off down the staircase, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Its a bit of a bummer. You've been down this corridor without any sight of a monster. Hell, the entire first floor had more action. What's the deal with this place...?

Then, you're reminded of the book in your hand.

Now, you know you should be keeping a watchful eye for monsters and listening out for a distress call from Laios...but things have been so boring. There's no harm in a little light reading, right? Just while you're on your lonesome…

You thumb through the pages, starting off at his first real notes on monsters. First is walking mushrooms. You can tell these don’t interest him too much, the notes are lacking. Which is unsurprising. Laios tends to enjoy more complicated monsters. These bumbling creatures have never seemed to truly catch his interest like others. There appears to be a few notes about him theorizing their anatomy–wondering if they reproduce via spores and if said spores are dangerous. It’s interesting to think about in itself. Maybe these monsters could actually be scary if given those attributes. Laios might be onto something here.

The next page is about slimes. Some of the ink is smudged and weathered due to age. However, there’s new notes on the page in fresh ink. They document Senshi’s explanation of slime anatomy and how to cook them. There’s simple fun facts that Laios has shared with you thrice before, and the reminder makes you smile. Most of your reading is spent reminiscing on these factoids, before you hit the section titled “Reproduction”. 

It’s childish, but heat rises to your face as you press on.

The things about slimes seem to be lacking in solid truth. It’s mainly just Laios’s personal theories of their breeding habits. Asexual reproducing is one. Then there’s something about an exchange of genetic material between slimes. Apparently, Laios once found what appeared to be slime eggs in the remains of a heated bathhouse. It appears they search for a place warm and damp to lay their eggs. They likely have some sort of appendage used to lay their eggs in a safe place like this, similar to a snail.

Another note follows, something you wonder if Laios wanted to keep private?

‘What if they lay their eggs in live hosts?’

The thought makes you rub your thighs together. This is wrong. Weird. You should not feel wet at the thought of this. But you persist, letting a hand climb under your waistband. What Laios doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

‘It would explain their behavior. Slimes would grow docile as they look for a host to incubate their eggs. Ideal places to lay are rare in the dungeon, but other creatures (including adventurers), are plenty…”

Your fingers circle over your clit. You knew you liked monsters, but not to this extent…the idea of this being odd steadily starts to fade as you stroke yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve had a proper orgasm. Your body is desperate for anything at this point.

‘They likely function similar to other monsters that accommodate their prey (i.e.: “man eating” plants). Slime secretions have been used as various forms of lubrication. Perhaps during their breeding season, they contain elements that heighten arousal. That would inspire potential vessels to be more willing to their intrusion.’

It’s enthralling. The idea of a creature helping you reach a peak of ecstasy you never considered before. Your movements pick up the pace as you read on, driving you closer and closer to orgasm. As much as you wish you could make noise, you’d rather be caught dead than let Laios witness you getting off to his journal.

Would the creature treat you gently? Teasing you before eventually coaxing an intense orgasm out of you? Or would it relentlessly pound away, trying to stretch you out to accommodate its eggs and leave you a sloppy mess? 

You haven't felt this hot in a long time. It’s embarrassing how quickly you’re about to cum in your pants over something so vile.

Maybe it would cover your whole body in secretions, making your body feel fuzzy with delight, before toying with your clit. Sucking, teasing, running over the flesh until–

A wet, sticky drop lands on your head.

You’d be terribly grossed out if the dungeon hadn’t jaded you already. If anything, you’re more shocked to be snapped out of your lust induced haze. Your peer up at the ceiling to be greeted by an all too familiar monster.

This slime isn't like the one that attacked Marcille earlier at all. It's larger. And an odd color. Why is it pink....?

Your thoughts linger to Laios's journal. Didn't he make a note about this? 

‘During certain times become more docile and take on a pinkish hues. It’s theorized this may be due to a breeding season. It is unclear how slimes reproduce.’

You have an idea. 

A gross, unorthodox one. But it’s an idea nonetheless.

You have to coax the slime down here. You jump up, then wave at it, but the creature doesn’t seem to notice, causing you sigh out in frustration.

Another droplet lands on your head. You grit your teeth. This is your one chance to accomplish your newfound dream. And you’re not gonna let it go to waste. But how the hell are you gonna get this thing down without startling it into attacking you?

Wait...what exactly did that dwarf say? Slimes are attracted to noise, right? They can see your exhale, and attack when you exhale....

So you shout.

"LAIOS!"

And the slime drops from the ceiling, landing on your foot.

Just as planned, your knight in scathed, dull armor comes rushing down the hall, calling your name.

"Are you alri--?" Laios's golden eyes widen when he spots the slime. His weapon is unsheathed in a quick movement, ready to defend you against the monster with Senshi's prior slaying instructions fresh on his mind.

"Wait!"

Before Laios can bring his blade down on the creature, you hold out your hand. He ceases, confusion settling on his features.

"It's not harming me. I-if it wanted to kill me, it would've gone for my head to suffocate me, right?"

Rationalizing this seems impossible. But if anyone were to listen to your desire to fuck monsters, it had to be Laios Touden. So you're putting all your faith in him now. You've yet to judge him, so you hope he holds the same regard for you.

"I...guess." The sword in his hands lowers ever so slightly. It scrapes a shallow mark in the ground as the man steps closer. His head tilts to the side, brows furrowing as he studies the situation at hand. "So you don't want me to kill it?"

You're certain Laios will just take this as you having a healthy respect for monsters, then shoo it away to forgo violence. It takes a lot of mental fortitude, but you swallow the lump in your throat and continue.

"It's interesting behavior....you know, it is breeding season. Which is why they're more active as of late."

The slime starts to creep up your pant leg. Something appendage-like sticks out from its front, prodding at your calves and inner thighs as it makes it's way further.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is really happening.

Laios seems to notice what's going on. A hint of pink tints his pale cheeks, hands making their way to raise his sword once more.

"Laios."

He ceases his movements once more. And you seize your chance.

"Why don't we just let this happen?"

a/n. hey!! if you made it to the end thanks for reading <3 I'm really excited for this series and I hope you enjoyed it!

please consider liking/reblogging/leaving a comment *prayer hands emojis* engagement feeds me (along with other writers! so pls show some love <3)