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chososdiscordkitten · 6 months

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Boyfriend!Choso♡

Pairing: Choso x Gn!reader

Content: Fluff, sfw, no use of y/n or pronouns, readers appearance isnt mentioned, talk of marriage, sooo many cuddles, Choso's love language is acts of service, mentions of skin picking from anxiety, John wick movies mentioned lol

Word count: 3.5k

(a.n) I wrote this bcs I miss him sm, I shed a few tears while writing this btw. He's my pookie bear. finally putting my endless amount of books of love poems to work! I wrote this while listening to 'We'll Never Have Sex- Leith Ross' if u were curious:3

When I think about Choso as your boyfriend, I picture him being so gentle and delicate whenever it comes to you. Always a small sweet smile on his lips whenever he did something for you. As small as it was- all he needed was a simple “Awe, thank you Cho.” from you and a kiss on his cheek and he was set for the day. If you were studying for your college final, he’s the kind of person to bring you a warm cup of fresh coffee, “Careful-” he’d urge, seeing your hand reach for it. “It's hot.” Warning you, even if he was holding it from the bottom before he came to give it to you. I see Choso adoring kisses from you. Small pecks on his cheek or his forehead. In his mind it was your way to say thank you, even if it wasn't needed. But he loved how his chest swelled when you'd say, “Oh, Choso. You're so sweet.” your hand going to your chest and your eyebrows pinched together. Early in your relationship Choso noticed how much he liked hearing you praise him. Even if it was a quiet “Thank You.” followed by a warm smile. He liked knowing that you enjoyed his acts of service. It was his form of showing affection, thinking that he wasn't good with his words. And feeling like hugs and kisses weren't enough to make you feel his love. The best way Choso could describe it is wanting you to keep him in your pocket, when you commented that to him he liked the idea so much that it got stuck in his head. The idea of him living in your pocket so he was always with you, always there in case you needed a warm hug. He liked seeing your face light up when you came home from work after having a bad day. Only needing to see him in order to feel better. It also helped that he always greeted you by the door with a warm smile on his lips. Always taking your coat off for you, and asking how your day was.

Choso feels things so deeply, even mentioning the day you might break up made him nervous. Making his hands clammy and his eyebrows furrow. “If I tell you this, you have to promise me that you will never tell anyone.” You tell him, the two of you sitting faces inches apart, legs criss crossed like two children sharing secrets. He opened his mouth to talk, his hand going to his chest and laying flat against his oversized white t-shirt. “I promise, I will never tell anyone.” serious look on his face as he vowed to you. “Cho, I'm serious, even if one day you hate me- you cannot tell a soul.” you smiled, seeing Choso’s eyebrows furrow. “I would never hate you. Never in my life will I ever hate you-” he promised, his hand reaching down to hold yours as his eyes went wide with worry. “And if one day I tell you that I do- that is not me.” he smiled. Making you laugh as you clutched his hand. Smiling before leaning in to kiss his forehead, Choso’s eyes blinking shut as his cheeks turned warm. Pulling away and looking at his now calm eyes, “Okay-” you smiled, before pulling his head to your lips and whispering in his ear.

I think the way Choso loves is pure and unconditionally. The kind of love that was shown by his actions rather than his words. Like when you cut your finger while mincing some vegetables for lunch. Choso would wipe it gently with hydrogen peroxide. Wincing with you as though he felt the sting on your finger. Mumbles of “You have to be careful.” as he wrapped it delicately. Placing a gentle kiss on the bandage before cleaning up. Any time he saw a bruise on your calf, he hissed as his fingers pressed it. “Where'd that come from?” he asked, his voice pained as he rubbed it gently. “No idea. Didn't even know it was there.” you smiled, feeling him press a soft kiss to it. To Choso, all wounds and bruises are healed with kisses. He knew that if you treated something with love and care, it would heal quicker. His theory made you smile as he swore that it was true. Remembering his theory when you'd hold his hands, your soft fingers examining his calloused ones as he watched a show you had put on. Almost feeling the pain in your own hands when you saw the sides of his fingertips bright pink. Small scabs forming at the sides of his fingernails, sharp pain in your heart as your eyes scanned them. Knowing he picked at the skin anytime he got anxious. Choso turned his head to look at you to see what was wrong. Seeing your saddened eyes on his fingers. Lifting them up and placing kisses to the tips of them one by one. Your eyes closed as he felt his heart swell.

The way Choso loves is an adoration only seen in movies. The kind of love that teenage girls write about in their diaries. The kind of love that no matter what you've gone through, he will stay by your side. Feet planted to the ground and arm wrapped around you. The kind of man who would defend your actions- no matter if they're wrong, with an iron fist. The kind of love where if you were lost at sea, he'd sail through the endless salt water till he found you. Love so pure, you were unsure of it at first. Only ever seeing this kind of love in movies and tv shows. But he assured you quickly, this wasn't any movie or tv show. His warm hands on your face always reminded you of that. You'd close your eyes and feel him kiss your cheeks, placing one onto your brow bone, onto the bridge of your nose. However many kisses it took to make sure you knew that this wasn't some fairytale. Choso would get tears in his eyes when he heard you speak about the trials you were put through growing up. Crumbling completely at your words, hearing your voice started to shake and your eyes turned red with tears. Not being able to understand how anyone could hurt you. To him you were precious. Even thinking about the tears you’ve shed over your pain, made him sad. He never understood how people could be so cruel, especially to you. He hated seeing you sad. He hated seeing you in bed all day, he hated seeing you pick at your food. Choso hated seeing your lips chapped and cracking while you tried to assure him that you were okay with a smile. He is such an empath when it comes to you, always trying his hardest to cheer you up.

Choso’s favorite moments with you were the ones where he would hold you close. Slow dancing in the living room by candle light when the lights went out. Violent rain and thunder outside as he hummed the tune of a song. Stumbling feet as you both tried to figure out the movements. And every night before bed when you held onto him as though he would disappear in your hands if you let go. Feeling your fingertips press into his clothed skin, face nuzzled to his chest. His chin on the top of your head, his hand rubbing your back as he lulled you to sleep. Even in deep slumber, he never lets you go. Most nights going to sleep in each others arms and waking up still clinging to each other, somehow feeling like two puzzle pieces coming together. Most of the moments you shared together were spent in silence. Only in eachothers arms. Eyes closed as you felt the feelings of stress and the worries of life fade away in his arms. His hand caressing the side of your face as you drifted to sleep. Choso loved hearing your heartbeat, feeling your warmth against the side of his face as he tried counting how many times you breathed per minute. To him it was like counting sheep before going to bed. I don't think Choso would be the type to use pet names, preferring the intimacy of calling you by your name. But he loved hearing you say his name, the way your voice always said it so sweetly. He loved your voice. Just hearing you whisper, "Good morning-" before kissing his cheek made him giddy in the morning. That's why he would insist on you reading out loud to him, caressing your knee while listening to your voice.

I see Choso as the kind of guy who would try to convince you he knew how to tell someone's future, “Oh really?” You asked, sarcasm in your tone as his hand held yours. “I swear I do-” he started, a smile already on his face as he looked up to the sky. It was late, two, maybe three am. Both of you had lost the want to sleep that night, Choso had asked you if you had noticed how bright the stars shined at night. Seeing as you were on the outskirts of Tokyo and high in the mountains, the stars shone so brightly. So close you felt like you could touch them if you reached your hand out to them. Laying on the grass as you looked over at him, the full moon gave you a clear look at his face. “Then tell me my future.” You said, turning to your side and holding your head up with your hand. He closed his eyes, And let out a ‘hmmm’ he let go of your hand, mirroring the way you laid, opening one eye to look at you. “You have to close your eyes too or it wont work.” He smiled, looking at you. Sighing as you closed your eyes, knowing he was just trying to be funny. “Alright now I can see.” He laughed, you exhaled sharply hearing his tone. His hand reached for yours again, guiding you to hold your hand flat against his, “Ohh i see. This makes sense.” He exaggerated. “Tell me.” you smiled, keeping your eyes closed. Choso opened his eyes to look at you. Admiring your features, taking in the image of you. He thought you looked so beautiful. The way you smiled, waiting for him to tell you the future. Practically melting at how your yes shut tight in anticipation, he smiled. Leaning over to kiss you, pulling away as he watched you open your eyes. You looked at him, eyes squinted, “I knew it.” you said, dropping your hand from his as he smiled at you. He turned to lay on his back, laying your head on his chest hearing his heartbeat quicken. His hand went to you back, holding you close as you closed your eyes. “The only thing I see when I think about my future is knowing it will be with you.” Choso whispered, his free hand behind his head as you rubbed your hand on his chest.

I see Choso not liking horror movies, always dreading when you brought home a dvd from the 5 dollar section at the gas station. It wasn't because he was scared or anything (his words not mine) he just didn't like seeing the violent things people thought about to make a movie. Not understanding what cruel childhood the director must've had to think of such disgusting gore. Choso's hands clothing your arm, closing his eyes anytime he sensed a scary scene was coming. His body involuntarily jumped as a loud bang flashed on the screen. And everytime you laughed he'd say, “I was falling asleep- the noise surprised me.” Defending himself to you like he had to let you think he was strong. And after the movie was over and you'd be getting ready for bed, in the kitchen getting a glass of water. You'd say, “Did you hear that?” voice quiet and feigning fear. Seeing him flinch, shoulders stiff and turning around to stand in front of you, protecting you from any ghosts that dared step into the light. You couldn't hold in your laugh when you saw him get into his ‘fighting stance’ as he liked to call it, seeing him look back at you with a deadpan face. Taking a step forwards toward your bedroom. “Wait, don't leave the ghosts might get me!” you'd laugh, seeing his hand fwip up and down. “They can have you.” he mumbled, waiting for you at the doorway, secretly afraid of a ghost actually being there. Choso loves you always, even when you feel like complete garbage as the flu ate away at you. “Don't come near me- you'll get sick.” You'd say stuffy nose as he tried to hug you. “I don't care.” he’d reply, his hands wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Spending the few days doting on you, holding you close while you shivered in his arms. Whispering to you "Gimme a kiss." before bed. Knowing he won’t go to sleep if you didn't grant him his wish. It didn't take long for Choso to catch it. But like he told you, he didn't care. As a matter of fact- he preferred being sick. It only gave you more reasons to stay at home with him, loving how you’d make him hot soup. How you'd scold him when he didn't take the flu medicine you had bought him. Choso didn't care, he liked knowing that the next morning you'd have to call into work to take care of him. Even long after it had passed, early in the mornings asking you to feel his forehead. That he doesn't feel too good. And you'd always check, pressing your hand to his forehead, “Cho, you feel fine.” you'd say, “Well my stomach hurts too-” he'd say, watching your hands grab your coat with pained eyes, seeing his eyes full of desperation. You placed a kiss on his lips, “I will be home soon.” you'd say through your teeth, seeing him pout in response. Always looking for a way to keep you home with him.

I see Choso being jealous and possessive. Not in the way you’d think, more in a “I'm jealous of the wind that blows through your clothes.” kind of way. Possessive in the “I want you here with me till the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.” manner. I could never picture Choso willingly being toxic, a few pinkish flags but nothing that could ever really bother you. He was thrown into the new feelings of a different kind of love, so it was understandable when he would say something that was a thought straight from his head. Not bothering to think about it before telling you. But you always knew he meant his words, no matter how jumbled they were. When Choso had brought up how he could never forgive himself if he ever made you cry, you felt your heart strings pull at your chest. How he was so blessed to be with you. Loving him even when he was a mess. The kind of lover that draws you by candle light, telling you- “You look so beautiful- I have to show you.” his hands picking up a napkin and a stray pen from the living room coffee table. Drawing you slowly as you looked at him, thinking about how you were the blessed one to have such a perfect partner. Choso feared very few things, always making sure that you're safe in any situation. Didn't matter how small the danger risk was, you always came first. But what he feared most was your death, he had seen the movies about a perfect love that was shattered by the death of the other. While watching movies Choso liked picturing the two of you as the characters in his mind. Movies that were stupid romcoms, but he still watched them while daydreaming the couples were you and him. When you had brought up if he'd like to watch the John Wick movies, “They're just action movies about a guy who never dies.” You'd say as he nodded his head yes. After watching the first one he thought heavily of what he'd do if you were taken from him. What would become of him if you weren't here anymore. Choso’s heart clenched as he started breathing heavily. Turning over to see your back as you slept, fearing you had died in your sleep he pulled your arm so you'd flip to your back. Placing his ear to your chest, focusing on trying to hear your heartbeat as you slept. A relieved sigh leaving his lips at hearing your heart. Feeling the sudden weight on your chest, stirring awake as you squinted down at him. His eyes look up at you, whispering a small “Sorry.” Before pulling the shared blanket back on top of you. Laying on his side as you turned back around. His hands find their designated place around you, spooning you while you go back to sleep.

Before you came into his life, Choso didn't have a home. He didn't have something to call home, even if he had a place to lay his head at night. Reading about how people consider their partners home. He didn't know what the feeling felt like till he was in your arms. The tingling feeling in his cheeks as you held onto him, thinking back to a poem he had read a while ago. He'd look up at you, “I get it now-” he'd say propping himself up on his forearms. Looking at his face that was lit up as though he had solved a puzzle he was putting together for years. Your eyes scanned his face in confusion as he jumped off of the bed and walked to the office of your apartment. Sitting up as you heard him rummaging through the drawers. Walking back to the bedroom with a smile on his face and a small book in hand. Fingers flipping through the pages in search of something. “It's the middle of the night-” you said, feeling him plop onto the bed, his eyes widening when he found what he was looking for. He cleared his throat, eyes on the text. “If I were to build a house, I'd have your arms as the walls,-” Choso read, eyes looking back up to you to make sure you were listening. “Your eyes as the windows, your smile as the front door, your heart as the fireplace.” Toothy smile on his lips as he read the words to you. “And your soul as my light.” his voice shaking, watching your eyes tear up. “And in this house, I'd place my faith, knowing I'd finally found a home.” He finished, closing the pages and setting it down. Your eyes struggled to keep the tears at bay, eyebrows pinched together as his eyes looked to yours, small smile on his lips. “I read this before I met you-” he said, eyes sparkling even in the dim lighting. “And I finally understand it.” He confessed, placing his head back to your chest, his eyes shutting in content, feeling you held his face. “I finally know what a home feels like.” He mumbled to your skin, hand flat on your rib. Smile on your lips while a single tear fell down your cheek. Choso didn't think he was the greatest at explaining his feelings, relying on his actions instead. But when he would say small things like that, it would always make your heart warm. Knowing that there was someone in this world who truly loved you. Unconditionally and without restraint. Never feeling shame in telling you loved you, even if he had told you 10 times that day.

I see Choso as the kind of person who says things without thinking of them first, but only with you. Often preferring silence with strangers. But when hes with you, he would blurt out the thoughts that had popped into his head while he listened to your ranting about your coworkers. Staring into your eyes, listening to the colorful string of words leave your lips. Heard in his pupils, chin in his hand, low eyes when you noticed his staring. He let a hum fall from his closed lips. “Marry me.” He hummed, eyes going wide hearing his own words leave his mouth before he could stop them. You smiled, relaxing your shoulders. Letting a small laugh fall from your lips seeing him start to stutter trying to save the conversation. Silence falling between you as you watched him realize he couldn't make you unhear his words. “I messed it up again, didn't I?” he asked, his hand on his forehead while he looked down. “Like when I messed it up when you told me you loved me-” He asked, looking up to see you smiling. Sighing, feeling embarrassment flush his cheeks. “It's okay.” You smiled, holding his hand and placing a kiss on his forehead. Feeling his stiff shoulders soften. "It's okay." You repeated, lacing your fingers with his as you soothed him.

a lil shorter than usual but I wanted to post this for anyone who was looking for Choso fluff, knowing that there isnt a whole lot of it on here🫠

#jjk #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso x you #jjk x reader #choso my beloved #jjk fluff #choso fluff #jujutsu kaisen choso #jujutsu kaisen #choso jjk #jjk x gender neutral reader

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chocodile · 7 months

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Thought it would be fun to illustrate some Amaranthine cuisine from various regions (and time periods). Long writeups under the cut!

Western Kingdom Cuisine: Northern Upper Class

The cultural cuisine of the northern part of the Western Kingdom is shaped by the region's harsh, snowy climate. The cold meant that it was easier to keep food from spoiling, but hard to find it in the first place. During the warmer spring and summer months, food would be collected and then salted, dried, pickled, or otherwise preserved in order to last through the winter. Red meat is their primary dietary staple, and is served in a wide variety of ways, including raw and engastrated. Dairy is also common in all forms -- cheese, butter, milk, and as a component of common sauces and chowders (another cultural favorite, and great way to use up leftovers). Alcohol is also common, with a favorite cultural drink being a spiced, warmed fermented milk with a flavor similar to eggnog.

Northern dishes prioritize making use of all parts of the animal, especially nutrient-rich organ meats and fat. As a landlocked region with few rivers, fish is somewhat uncommon, but not unheard of, especially salted or pickled fish shipped in from the south. Also, as mentioned before, eating animals, including "one's own kind", is not taboo at all in this region. In such harsh climates, turning one's nose up at a filling meal is seen as ridiculous.

When good meat is available, though, presentation can get a little… creative. Or, as some might describe it, obscene. Feasts for nobles often involve whole roast hogs stuffed with turkeys stuffed with game birds stuffed with exotic, imported pickled fish, ground meat sculpted into strange and creative shapes, and other ostentatious displays. If a nobleman's chefs can do something artistic with the meat that his guests have never seen before, it's considered very impressive. Of course, to foreigners, a western kingdom noble's banquet can look rather nightmarish and grotesque. Such displays of excess are generally the realm of the wealthy, but most families will still celebrate with a "turducken" or similar engastrated roast once a year during winter feast.

Fresh fruits and vegetables make up only a small component of northern dishes. Berry preserves and pickled vegetables are prepared during the summer months, but the only "fresh" vegetables accessible during colder months are hardy root vegetables and tubers harvested from geothermal caves. Mushrooms, also harvested from the caves, are eaten in many forms.

Bread made in this region is typically very hard and dense. This "thickbread" is intended to be soaked in gravy, milk, or soup to soften it and make it more palatable. Attempting to eat the bread without softening it is a clear indicator that someone is a foreigner, or perhaps so poor that they can't afford a proper meal. Some "thinbread" is baked slightly softer and intended to be eaten in slices, but culturally, it's still expected that you put some sort of gravy or spread on it so that you don't look like a confused foreigner or destitute peasant.

For dessert, northerners often eat dessert breads soaked in sweetened, spiced cream and topped with berry preserves and candied mushrooms. Berry tarts are also made with preserves during colder months and fresh fruit during summer months, and are associated with spring, celebration, and hardship ending. These berry tarts are often eaten at celebratory dinners at the end of winter and given to students after finishing exams.

Many residents of other territories find traditional northerner food a little overwhelming due to how rich and dense it is. It can certainly take some getting used to. Eastern Kingdom residents tend to find northern cuisine especially nightmarishly grotesque and barbaric due to their cultural views around meat. However, with increased trade and travel over the last few decades, northerner food is beginning to look more like the food from the rest of the Western Kingdom, and some of the more offputting cultural practices like the ostentatious engastrated meatcraft and inedible-unless-softened bread are becoming somewhat less popular.

Eastern Kingdom Cuisine: Coastal Citydweller

The Eastern Kingdom's cuisine is similarly influenced by their climate. The desert that spans much of the region meant that, aside from its sparkling oasis cities and rim of fishing towns along the coast and major river, many residents traditionally lived a nomadic lifestyle. Additionally, unlike the Western Kingdom, they absolutely do view "eating your own kind" as tantamount to cannibalism, which meant that most red meat was only consumed during times of desperation or occasionally during holidays/rituals, though the latter is mostly seen as a weird unsavory rural thing.

The Eastern Kingdom's meat taboo generally does not extend to fish, shellfish, and insects. Fresh fish and shellfish are routinely consumed near the coast, often seared in olive oil and spices and served over a couscous-like grain base, and a salty paste made of fermented fish is smeared on bread in interior regions. Beetles coated in chopped nuts and chili powder and dried, and honeyed crickets are also popular snacks.

Eastern Kingdom cuisine also involves a lot of nuts, beans, and seeds as major dietary staples. These foods are long-lasting, spoilage-resistant, nutrient-rich, and grew easily along the banks of the kingdom's major waterway and oases even before cities settled there. These three food groups are found in nearly all of their cooking. Nuts and seeds are baked into bread and desserts but also mixed into stir fry-type dishes to add protein. A common dessert and trail snack consists of dried dates mixed with walnuts. Dates and figs are also made into jams and eaten spread over bread or as a component in sauces.

Vegetables and fruits, as well as olives, were grown in grand, sprawling, aqueduct-fed gardens in oasis cities and on riverbanks. Cacti, once cultivated extensively by ancient nomads, are served chopped and glazed with honey, another dietary staple.

Dairy, derived from pack animals used by nomads, is also somewhat common, though difficult to transport without spoilage. It is paradoxically seen as a practical, basic food by nomads and farmers, who can milk it directly from its source, something of a luxury by city-dwellers.

Additionally, the Eastern Kingdom's sprawling coastlines mean an extensive seafaring presence. As a result, they have brought back many novel plants from far afield to be cultivated in the Eastern Sultan's personal palace garden. Among these: cocoa beans, which are refined into a spicy energizing herbal drink similar to coffee. "Chocolate houses" serving this drink can be found throughout larger cites, sometimes mixing the cocoa drink with more familiar sweetened cactus juice to stretch the expensive cocoa powder further.

Post-Fall Cuisine: Ironfrost Middle Class

The society that eventually emerged after the fall of the Old Kingdoms was quite different from what came before. Though discovery of ironworking led to the rise of industrialization--processed food and automated canning, among other innovations-- the harsh, permanent winter that eventually consumed most of the continent meant that cuisine never reached the levels of decadence it had in the Old Kingdoms. This is especially true of the working class in Ironfrost, whose rather dreary cuisine is shown here.

Limited accessibility of fresh fruits and vegetables--grown in engineered greenhouses or shipped in from the far south over increasingly long distances as the cold spread southward--meant that nearly all vegetables are eaten canned. Many, especially those in rural northern towns that lacked greenhouses, may have never even seen a fresh tomato or head of lettuce before. (The City of the Sun produces fresh fruit and vegetables for the far north--including exotic apples in nigh-extinct Old Kingdom varieties--but cutting a trade deal with the reclusive city-state can be difficult due to the whims of its elusive cultish leader.)

The one exception? Mushrooms. Like the Western Kingdom northerners that lived there before them, Post-Fall societies came to rely heavily on harvesting edible mushrooms from the geothermal caves below the tundra. Mushrooms are a crucial dietary staple and can be roasted, pickled, fried, pureed, or even candied. Many of the more specialized cooking styles such as candying were passed down by survivors of the fallen Western Kingdom, thought the passage of time and changing availability of spices and other ingredients have rendered many recipes quite different from their ancestors.

Fresh meat is easier to access and easier to preserve with minimal loss of taste or texture thanks to the frigid weather providing easy "refrigeration" by way of outdoor iceboxes. However, a whole, freshly-cooked roast is still considered a rare treat for most, especially for the mine and factory workers living within the dense industrial labyrinths of Ironfrost. Canned and dried meats are popular due to being less sensitive to spoilage when kept indoors or transported across different climates.

Overall, the heavy reliance on dried and canned food means that most available ingredients are ugly, mushy, and lacking in natural taste due to the extensive preservation process. As a result, stews, loafs, and casseroles are common, as well as jellied aspic dishes. Any manner of preparation that can hide the appearance of limp, shriveled vegetables or disguise the taste of eating the same salted meat every day is useful. Creative meat presentation, such as sculpting ground meat into fun shapes, decorated meatloaf, and ornate aspic molds is another cultural holdover passed on by Western Kingdom survivors, though in the current day it's associated more with the middle or lower middle class rather than nobility. It is now more of a way to make the most out of poor circumstances than to impress fellow nobles at parties.

(Side note, not pictured: Modern day Ironfrost elite tend to favor very plain dishes made out of fresh food, garnished with sliced fruit--the mere fact that they can access such exotic fare makes their wealth self-evident! An aspiring elite with limited funds can choose to rent a bowl of Sun City apples or even an elusive pineapple to impress party guests instead.)

One of the few pieces of Eastern Kingdom food culture that survived to the present day is chocolate, though like Western Kingdom dishes, it is now quite different from its original form. These days, cocoa is blended with fat and sugar and eaten as a dessert: chocolate. This has caused its popularity to explode. Chocolate bars are incredibly popular for their delicious taste and portability, and cakes and cookies made with chocolate are coveted by the poor and wealthy alike. Of course, the cold climate means that cocoa beans can only be grown in specialized greenhouses, and the owners of these greenhouses are keen to charge a premium for access. Ironfrost and The City of the Sun are the two major cocoa producers and it's not unheard of for Ironfrost soldiers to bully smaller cocoa growers out of business to maintain their near-monopoly. Still, hidden cocoa grows scattered around the tundra ensure that a large supply of "bootleg" chocolate remains on the menu--just don't get caught with it in Ironfrost territory.

#worldbuilding #food #fantasy food #verse: amaranthine #food //

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shisui-shrine · 1 month

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can i request some hcs of itachi and reader with arranged marriage for the clan interests? maybe they are secretly in love with the other, but they feel guilty because they believe they are taking away the other opportunity to be with someone they love

Itachi X Gn!Reader in an arranged marriage (but they are in love with each other)

A/n: Thank you so much for the request, keep them coming <3 <3

Warnings: arranged marriage, non-massacre au, both Itachi and Y/N are awkward as hell, some thigh exposure from Itachi, small mention of a cut (nothing graphic), the tiniest bit of angst (if you squint)

The day your clan elders told you, you'd get married to Itachi Uchiha, your whole world turned upside down

The wedding would take place in only a few months, during that time you had to prepare yourself mentally, but thankfully didn't have to plan anything except letting your measurements get taken by a seamstress

You and Itachi had been friends for some time, so the next time you met the ambience was... awkward, suffocatingly embarrassing for you

Sure, you had a crush on him for a while now, but marriage?

A first date would have been nice, a first date that you both wanted, not your clan elders or politicians

Your wedding was only roughly three weeks ago, but you slowly but surely eased into your daily life

It had been decided that you should be a housewife in order to take better care of, the admittedly rather big, house and future children

You sigh as you grip the knife tighter and finish cutting the vegetables, as you throw them in a pot

Itachi would come home from his mission today and although you were excited to see him again the subtle uncomfortableness you felt around him never faded

Was it awkwardness? Guilt? Sadness? A mix?

Shaking your head you decide to simply focus on dinner, not wanting to sort your emotions out right now

Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder

Quickly turning around and looking up you saw him: Your husband

It was still weird to call him that, but at the very least he wasn't a stranger and actually cared about you, even if it wasn't in a romantic way

You smile gently up at him as he looks into the pot on the stove

"It looks delicious Y/N, I thank you from the bottom of my heart", he expresses his gratitude

"I brought you a little something", he says and pulls out a bouquet of flowers

"Those are my favourite", you mutter amazed, "Thank you, Itachi"

You carefully the flowers out of his hand and shoot a soft smile up at him

"Why don't you take a shower while I finish dinner and then we'll eat together"

You remember the pure bliss of finally taking a relaxing shower after a mission, washing all the sweat, dirt and blood away and your heart fills with nostalgia

Itachi nods and awkwardly continues to stand there, debating in his head if he should give you some type of physical affection

A hug? No, he's all dirty

A kiss? Hmm, no. He doesn't want to risk making you uncomfortable

Finally he gives you a small shoulder rub before disappearing into the bathroom after grabbing fresh clothing out the bedroom

As soon as he's out of sight your expression changes, your lips pressing into a thin line, your eyes looking down

Had he been in love with someone else he would have given them flowers and joined them for dinner

You sigh as the guilt continues tucking on your heart

Whenever you see him the guilt just continues washing over you like a wave - no, more like a tsunami

You sigh and take a sip of water, trying to swallow your feelings

Letting the food brood on the stove you set the table and out the flowers into a vase, it was simple yet elegant, made out of porcelain and having dark details over the pure white

Meanwhile Itachi stares down at the shower floor while letting the water flow down his back

You seemed happy while receiving flowers, but while he touched you he could feel your tense muscles

Were you truly happy?

You're an incredibly sweet person who would have no trouble finding dates or a partner

Am I keeping them from finding true love?

He sighs and splashes some water in face, stepping out the shower to eat dinner with you

But suddenly he felt a slight sting on his thigh, he grits his teeth and checks

Just as he expected, the cut he received on his mission had burst open again and was bleeding rather heavily

Thankfully none of the arteries were hit, but still, he didn't want to bleed through his pants

He quickly dries off and puts on his clothes

Should he ask you? After all, you're first aid knowledge is greater than his

But would you truly be comfortable with this much exposed skin?

The cut was closer to his pelvis than his knee, he'd have to take off his pants for that, he can't just roll them up

No, the thought of distressing you was too much for him to bear

So Itachi unlocks the bathroom and, to his relief, notices you're still in the kitchen

He sneaks into the bedroom and quietly gets out the first aid kit

Just as he opens it, a pair of hand grabs the bandages and holds them up

"Where are you injured?" you ask with a worried expression, your brows furrowed

"My thigh, rather high up. So if you're uncomfortable with that...", Itachi doesn't finish his sentence as you shake your head

"It's fine. Unless you are uncomfortable"

You could practically see the awkwardness in the air

The atmosphere so heavy you could cut it with a knife

Itachi slowly slides down his pants to his knees, exposing the wound on his thigh

You quickly get to work, disinfecting the wound

"I apologise if this burns", you mumble, taking Itachi's hand into your hand, "you can just squeeze my hand if it hurts"

"It's fine, your hands are very gentle" he stammers, eyes basically glued to your hands and actions

Just as he said those words he already wants to slap himself

Why? He doesn't know, it just feels like he made it only worse

And then your hand in his...

God, he should just man up and tell you how he feels

Maybe then this terrible, constant awkwardness would fade

"There, all done", breaking the silence you look up at him, your face a little red from seeing him in his boxers

You quickly get back up and half turn around, giving him privacy to get dressed, but also being able to turn your head for eye contact in case he says something

Itachi gets up and dressed himself quickly, clearing his throat to get your attention

"Y/N... I- Thank you for helping me bandage this up", he chickens out last second, but manages a smile

Not a forced one, not an awkward one, not a pity one, but an honest, warm smile

One that was exceptionally rare for him

Flabbergasted you inhale sharply, but regain control over your emotions and grin back

"I'm glad I could help you", you simply reply, patting his back

Delighted to notice he wasn't tense at all, speaking for the fact he might not have been as uncomfortable as you first thought

As you two sit down for dinner Itachi takes a deep breath and finally speaks about what's been bugging him for so long

"Did I rob you of your chance to find true love?"

At first you stay silent, sinking down your chopsticks back onto the plate, looking at your water glass in hope of the perfect answer manifesting in your mind

When it doesn't come you just verbalise your thought, wild and chaotic as they are

"No. Not at all. I know you have a lot of girls crushing on you, and I am one of them"

You murmur, your voice shaky, shy, nervous, scared he'll be uncomfortable around you know

"You were always kind to me, always listened to my opinion and always saw my strengths. You never underestimated me, yet also offered me help, without ever being condescending"

By now, you have given up on trying to make your thoughts clear and simply speak your mind, no matter what's on it at the moment

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Your kind and sweet and loyal and intelligent and understanding and a family man and-"

Itachi interrupts you with grabbing your hand tightly, taking you out of your mumbling state

"Y/N, I feel the same. All these adjectives you just used for me I could also use for you. I don't know when it happened, all I know is that I love you with my whole heart", he confesses, leaning slightly forward to be closer to you until only a few centimetres are between your faces

You let out a sigh of relief, all the worries and fears of the past weeks escaping your body at once

You lean forward the last couple centimetres, closing the gap between your lips and finally kissing each other

"I love you, my dear wife", he chuckles, placing his hand on your cheek, cradling it gently

"I love you too, my lovely husband"

#naruto x reader #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader #itachi uchiha #arranged marriage #uchiha clan #headcanons #hc #naruto shippuden x reader #naruto headcanons #naruto #naruto shippuden #i love itachi when he's awkward #i know he's an anbu captain that can kill me in 100 different ways #but he's also a sweetheart #non massacre au

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todaysbug · 4 months

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February 21st, 2024

Lovebug (Plecia nearctica)

Distribution: Native to Central America and the Southeastern USA (Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina and Texas). Most common in Texas and Louisiana.

Habitat: Can be found in almost all habitats, but most common in grassy areas; most common around fresh-cut lawns, animal pastures and areas with decaying vegetation. Found at altitudes of over 450 metres.

Diet: Larvae feed on decaying vegetation; adults feed on the nectar of plants such as sweet clover, goldenrod and Brazilian pepper.

Description: This insect is called the lovebug because mated pairs often stay together for days at a time during and after mating, with flights of mating lovebugs sometimes numbering into the millions. These flights can be quite a nuisance to drivers, as they easily splatter onto windshields and hoods at highway speeds. The acidic body chemistry of dead bugs, left for even just a handful of hours, makes them incredibly difficult to scrape off car parts; what's more, they also have a tendency to cause pits in automotive paint when left untouched for too long, or can cause radiators to overheat. Because they're attracted to fresh paint, lovebug corpses are also a common sight in the dried paint on buildings.

There is many myths surrounding lovebugs, perhaps due to how common they are. One myth claims that these insects were genetically engineered by the University of Florida in order to control mosquito populations (disregarding the fact that they're herbivorous, and thus would make poor pest control!). Another myth claims that lovebugs escaped from the University of Florida after being transported there by scientists; while their original range includes only Louisiana and Mississippi, populations naturally spread north- and southward. For some reason, this insect has many University of Florida-related conspiracies!

Images by Judy Gallagher and Chris Rorabaugh.

#today's bug #biology #bugs #ecology #entomology #nature #wildlife #flies #diptera

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dancingtotuyo · 9 months

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Ivy (Joel Miller X Reader One shot)

Preface: @morning-star-joy made this mood board for me (on main) from a fun pintrest game and I just had to write something (Not sure I got the Cowboy- August & Getaway Car theme or not lol). I wrote this very quickly, not proofread lol.

Summary: Joel helps you escape

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Illusions to abuse (physical & sexual) & grooming, over all references to trauma and cannon typical violence & themes.

words: 1558

Author Master List

Songs I listened to while writing

The first time Joel Miller comes across your farm, he has to talk your husband out of shooting him on sight. You know about the Jackson settlement about 10 miles south of you. You’ve begged him to move you there within the safe confines of the towering walls. You’ve seen the lights on one of the more extended hunting expeditions. Elliot refuses to leave you at the cabin alone for more than a couple of hours. You’ve tried to run before. You weren’t able to move for days after he caught you. He’d been on horseback, catching you quickly.

Joel trades his rifle and ammo for his life, eyes never leaving yours. Can he read the sadness in them? The horrors this world has inflicted on you over and over?

You wear a dress. It’s tattered around the hem. Not something very practical. You look more like a captive than a wife. Joel thinks you must be in your late 40’s, but you’re actually 39. Elliot looks to be about 20 years your senior. Joel tells himself he’ll get you out because it’s the right thing to do. He ignores the tug of desire he feels when he looks into your eyes.

He invites the two of you to Jackson.

Elliot refuses. He doesn’t trust the Jackson settlement.

Joel warns of a colony of infected trickling in. He watches the fear flash in your eyes, survival instincts kicking in as you look at your husband.

Elliot says he can handle them.

Joel speaks of electricity, heat in the winter, fans in the summer, and running water. A hot shower sounds delicious. You were 19 when the world ended. You can’t remember the last time you felt the hot water trail down your back.

Only after Elliot chases Joel off does he realize you never uttered a word.

The second time Joel comes bearing fresh vegetables and more ammo. Your mouth waters at the sight of red tomatoes. He ignores Elliot’s threats and hands the produce straight to you with a glowing smile.

You thank him. You take a bite from one of the tomatoes like it’s an apple. It’s warm in your mouth. The acidic tang is like a summer’s night on your taste buds. The insides dribble down your chin, making you laugh.

It takes Joel’s breath away. There’s a childlike joy to it, a spring bubbling up from the depths of the mountain in the springtime. He catches a flash of life return to your eyes if only for a moment. He knows it’s been a long time since any semblance of happiness graced your features.

Joel fights the urge to wipe the juice from your chin.

“You’ll stay for dinner.” It’s an order, not a request, and the first words he’s heard you utter.

Elliot protests, but you cut him off. “He’s staying for dinner.”

You know you’ll probably pay for it later, but you don’t care. You haven’t seen another face in years. It’ll be worth the conversation at the very least.

Elliot is out hunting a week later. You’re hanging the laundry on the line when Joel emerges from the woods. He’s on foot this time, different from his previous visits on horseback. It must’ve taken him hours to get here on foot.

“Howdy,” He smiles.

You raise an eyebrow. “My husband isn’t here.”

“Didn’t come to see him.”

You stop. He rests a hand on his hip looking across the small clearing that houses the barn and small farmhouse. “You’re too exposed out here.”

“Joel-.”

“I like the way you say my name.”

Your heart stops. Your palms sweat. You’re not blind. You’ve seen the way he looks at you, smiles at you. You remember the soft brush of his hand on your back in the kitchen during his last visit. You remember it too often for a single moment in time with a man you hardly know.

You square your shoulders. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you.”

He cups your cheek. You flinch away out of habit. Anger flares in his eyes. You’re used to seeing it in Elliots, but somehow you know that for once, it’s not directed at you.

Somehow you know what he’s going to say before he says it. “I’m going to kill him.”

“You can’t.” The words leave your mouth before he’s finished.

He looks surprised. “He hurts you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

You can’t. You both know that, but how do you explain to Joel that he can’t kill your abuser- your captor- your one last connection to life before Cordyceps?

“You’re not wrong.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “But you can’t kill him.”

Joel knows better than to ask, but if he did, you would tell him. You would tell him that Elliot had been around your entire life. He’s your father’s best friend from college. He saved you on outbreak night. He wasn’t always like this. You loved him once, or at least you thought you did. You wonder how much of it was manipulation now. He was nice and kind in the beginning. He didn’t touch you until well after your 22nd birthday. The two of you settled on this farm years ago with a horse, a few cows, and a couple of chickens. Elliot loved the seclusion. He wanted a family. The longer you went without one, the meaner he got, but you think regardless, he’d have turned into the person he is now. You could see the signs in hindsight.

One day, you would tell Joel about it all, but not today.

“I’m taking you to Jackson. This place isn’t safe. He isn’t safe.”

You want to go. You wanted to go long before his demand. “Not on foot. He’ll catch up. He’s got the horse.”

When Joel grabs your hand, you hold onto it tighter. He pulls you down the soft slope of the hill to the old barn. His hand is rough and calloused, but you can’t help but feel like it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. The breeze plays in your long hair. Joel’s free hand glides along the warped barn until he finds a deep notch.

“Check here every night after dark. I’ll leave a note for you when I come for you with directions on where to meet me.”

He cups both of your cheeks. “Every night, you understand?”

You nod.

For a minute you think he might kiss you. You’ve thought about that too as you lay in bed awake and listless for hours on end.

He drops his hands. “Show me where.”

You quickly find the notch. It’s deeper than you thought. Your fingers brush up against a piece of paper. You furrow your brow looking up at Joel as you fish it out between two fingers.

“Good girl.” He smiles.

It’s only four words, but it’s all you need. Every night. I promise.

“I promise.” He repeats to you. You don’t doubt him for a minute.

You wish you could let him kill Elliot. It would make things easier. You could go with him now and not worry about anything else. Would he kiss you now? Or wait until you’re safely within the confines of the Jackson walls.

“Every night.” You tell him.

He kisses your forehead before he leaves. It gets you through the next two weeks.

You make sure Elliot is asleep just as you have every night since Joel’s last visit, but something feels different tonight. You can feel it in your bones. You take a small bag with you, lantern lighting your way to the back of the barn. An owl hoots in the woods, and the crickets sing with the dying heat of summer. The nip of autumn is already in the air.

You ease your hand into the notch. You panic when you don’t feel the note immediately. You got it wrong. You’ll have to live through this another night- and then you feel it. Your heart leaps. You can hardly comprehend the note. It takes you three times through before you finally do. You know exactly where he is.

You abandon all caution and run for it. You can be there in under 10 minutes. Your hair flies behind you. The underbrush of the woods crunches under your boots. You catch your dress on a couple of brambles, one scratches your cheek, but you don’t feel it. You don’t feel anything but freedom surging through you.

You catch sight of Joel in the small clearing. The full moon illuminates his figure. You recognize it, already committing to your memory. Joel spins around, rifle ready until realizes it’s you running toward him. He barely sets it down before you’re in his arms.

You’re strong around you. They feel like safety and promise. He chuckles. “Glad you made it, Sweetheart.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. It’s not funny, and you should be more cautious, but you simply do not care. You’re free. You’re so close to a hot shower and fresh tomatoes and you’re in Joel Miller’s strong arms.

Before he can say anything more, you press your lips to his. They’re warm, slightly chapped, and eager against yours. You never want to stop, but Joel eventually pulls back, panting. He tucks your hair behind your ear.

“Let’s go home, Sweetheart.”

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #Ivy (Joel’s Version)

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sweetcherryslim · 5 months

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Mason Jar Instant Noodle Soup - 229 kcal/8g protein

Servings: 1 serving. 229 kcal / 8g protein

Ingredients

1 1/2 tsp. vegetable bouillon base (we used Better Than Bouillon)

1/4 tsp. grated fresh ginger

1 tbsp. warm water

1 bundle (about 11/2 ounces) instant rice vermicelli

1/4 c. kimchi, roughly chopped

1/4 c. shelled edamame, thawed if frozen

1 c. baby spinach

2 cremini mushrooms, very thinly sliced

1 scallion, thinly sliced

2 1/2 c. boiling water

Instructions

In 32-ounce wide-mouth mason jar or other heatproof jar, combine bouillon base and ginger. Stir in warm water. Add noodles and carefully cut in half with kitchen shears. Add to jar in following order: kimchi, edamame, spinach, mushrooms, and scallion; screw on lid. Refrigerate overnight if desired.

If refrigerated, let jar sit 20 minutes at room temperature. When ready to serve, pour boiling water over ingredients and cover with lid. Let sit until noodles are tender, 3 to 4 minutes, then stir to combine.

Pump Up the Protein: Add 1/2 cup shredded rotisserie chicken and replace the vegetable bouillon base with chicken bouillon base, or pop in 6 to 8 frozen cooked small shrimp (they’ll thaw overnight in the refrigerator).

#low cal food #low calorie food #low cal recipe #low calorie #low calorie recipe #soup #cold weather recipe #soup receipe #low cal soup #low calorie soup #noodles #low cal vegan #low calorie vegan #low calorie vegetarian #low cal vegetarian #vegetable soup #vegetarian #veggie soup

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

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VI ║ Mustang

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 5: Appaloosa | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: On the fifth day, you leave the Halfway House behind, and the conversation turns homeward.

Warnings: Angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, sexual innuendoes, oral sex (m and f receiving), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: I toyed with the idea of shortening the series by one part, but then - why would I? I want to give these two as much time as they deserve on this trip, so we have three more chapters after this. Enjoy my darlin's!

Mustang: An American feral horse which is typically small and lightly built.

It hits you a bit belatedly the next morning over breakfast - wholewheat toast with Poppy’s own churned butter and homemade jam - that it’s your fifth day on the trail.

You dread to wrap your head around what that means. Today is the penultimate full day on the road. On the seventh, you head back to the ranch for your final night, and the next day, you fly home.

The realisation steals your breath for a second, and you sip pensively on the fresh orange juice that Jack squeezed by hand.

You know he senses there’s something on your mind. You feel his eyes on you as you wash up the dishes while he does a final sweep of the house to make sure everything is in order, pausing every time he passes through the kitchen to press sweet kisses to the side of your neck.

Running out of excuses to linger, you make your way to the front door, the sound of your boots echoing hollowly in the living room, as empty as it was when you stepped into it two days ago.

Except - it’s not really empty, is it? When so much has happened since?

You trace a finger on the kitchen counter where Jack made you dinner, drag your feet past the fireplace where you shared cake and confessions, and now you stand on the porch where he made you cry out his name into the dark of night.

The door shuts behind you with a heavy finality that physically weighs down your feet as you trudge towards the horses.

Does any of this mean as much to him as it does to you?

Can it mean anything? You have three days left before you’re thousands of miles away, back to a crowded downtown studio apartment that barely has space for just you, let alone a cowboy, and a life that has no time for horses.

And here? There will be another rider in Scotch’s saddle next week, someone else taking your place by the evening fire and the bed you slept in - you bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from extrapolating any further than that.

Jack looks up at you. ‘Got everythin’, darlin’?’

You put on a brave smile. ‘Got everything, cowboy.’

Scotch nuzzles you affectionately on the shoulder as you watch Jack finish up securing the last of the bags on Bourbon. Frowning at your forlorn expression, Jack He chucks you under the chin and reassures you, ‘The house will be here when you come back, darlin’.’

When.

Not if, but when.

It makes you smile.

While the shortcut is a less spectacular route as Jack forewarned, it’s still beautiful. Alternately cutting through swathes of flat land and dense forest, it’s certainly a less travelled path. There are parts of the track where Jack has to dismount to clear the overgrown vegetation, hacking away at wayward branches, so that you can go through.

After a whole day in the house - albeit a very good day - you’re happy to be in the open country again. You revel in the sun, your body loose and relaxed in the warmth, filling your lungs with the fresh scent of grass, trees and wildflowers.

Jack watches you from under the brim of his hat with a smile as you reach up while passing by a low-hanging tree, picking a bunch of flowers to tuck behind Scotch’s ears under the browband.

As much as he wants to push it out of his mind, his body is precisely finetuned to the schedule on the trail. Day five is when guests start to look back and reminisce, and he usually leads the charge with questions such as, do you remember what we saw on day three? Wasn’t that a treat?

Except this time, he doesn’t.

Instead, he holds his tongue, and the two of you ride quietly, side by side, letting the gentle rippling of grass in the wind and chipper birdsong do the talking.

And he watches you. No more furtive glances and stolen moments. He watches you openly and freely, catching your eye with a grin.

He wants to remember you in the sun. Your back straight, but hips swaying to the rhythm of the horse. How gently your hands hold the reins, softly attuned to the horse’s mouth. The way you chatter to Scotch, and the punch he feels in his gut when you turn over your shoulder to smile at him.

He’ll make damn sure he remembers all that.

Over a simple lunch - a much needed respite after the relentless feasting at the Halfway House - Jack mentions that the two of you will have to keep up the pace in the afternoon to get to the next camp by sundown.

A bit fresh from the unexpected lieu day, Whiskey and Scotch keep trying to one up each other, nipping competitively for the lead. Bourbon, laid back as ever, is content to trail behind.

On a particularly flat stretch of land, you turn to Jack and ask, ‘Since we’re on the clock, how about a little race?’

He arches an eyebrow at your suggestion. ‘A race? So I get something if I win?’

You put on a coy smile and drag out the syllables teasingly. ‘Maybe.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

With a lopsided grin, you lean towards him and answer, ‘If you win, I’ll suck your cock, cowboy.’

His mouth parts at your unexpected proposal, his grip on the reins tightening, but he otherwise keeps his composure. Running the pink tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, he rasps, ‘And what do you want if you win, darlin’?’

‘What’s your best offer?’

Nudging Whiskey straight into Scotch’s side so that he can hook an arm around your waist, he purrs in your ear. ‘If you beat me, I’ll eat your sweet pussy.’

Turning to press your lips to his in a messy kiss, you grin. ‘You’re on, cowboy.’

There’s something magical - almost sacred - about galloping at full speed on the open prairie.

Born and bred in the city, you’ve only done this maybe once or twice when you were younger, on family holidays in the rural backwaters. But damn, it never gets old.

The wind whistles in your ears as Scotch zooms across the plain. Despite the adrenaline of the competition, you are mindful to keep your contact on the bit soft, following the movement of his head so that he can move comfortably at full stretch. As it turns out, it’s surprisingly easy to sit in the Western saddle in the gallop, and you let your hips sway to the smooth gait.

Ever the gentleman, Jack does give you a headstart, but not by much. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him level with you already. Catching your gaze, he gives you a cheeky wink before yelling yeehaw - at the command, Whiskey switches gear and starts to effortlessly overtake you.

Jack ends up beating you by a few comfortable horse lengths. Miffed as you are, you appreciate the fact that he doesn’t condescend you by letting you win.

He’s jumped off by the time you arrive at the designated finish line, the beginnings of the forest that you’ll be crossing through to get to tonight’s campsite. Both man and horse are panting from the effort, and Jack doesn’t bother hiding his smugness when he flashes you a grin.

‘Good try, darlin’,’ he winks, passing you a water bottle when you dismount.

You snatch it from him and take a big gulp, before tossing it onto the grass and grabbing him by the deep, open V of his plaid shirt.

‘Shut up, cowboy,’ you gripe and yank him in for a frantic kiss.

He groans, clearly taken aback when you reach decisively for his flask-shaped belt buckle, opening it with a clink, no hesitation in the way you unzip the front of his jeans and snake your fingers beneath his boxers. Pulling back, he hesitates, ‘Wait, darlin’ - now?’

‘Yeah, now,’ you insist breathlessly, feeling him harden in your grasp.

‘I should probably clean up first,’ he protests weakly, but lets you back him up against a tree a safe distance away from the horses.

‘Uh-uh,’ you tut with a shake of your head and sink to your knees, the leather of your boots creaking as you settle onto your haunches. ‘Want you like this, cowboy.’

He hisses at the drag of your nails against his skin as you pull his jeans down, his cock bobbing heavily when released from the confines of his boxers. You breathe him in - leather and sweat - and his eyes smoulder at the sight of your fingers wrapping around his length, something feral in the snarl on his lips.

‘Fuck, darlin’, so desperate for my cock, aren’t you?’

You nod and a shiver chases down your spine. ‘Want you in my mouth so badly.’

Sliding his grip into your hair, he instructs, ‘Open those pretty lips for me. Wide.’

You do as you’re told, your pussy clenching at the tone of his voice that veers on dominant. Gripping the base of his cock, Jack guides the swollen, leaking tip between your lips, letting out an unsteady exhale. The sound swerves into a whine when he meets resistance halfway in.

‘That’s it, darlin’, feels so good,’ he praises you, a deep furrow on his brow as he draws back slowly. ‘Will you let me fuck your mouth? Hmm?’

You hum in acqueise, digging your nails into his naked thighs and hoping he gets the message.

‘So good for me,’ he growls as he pushes back in, inch by torturous inch. He fills you so completely that tears begin to sting the seam of your lashes, and with each smooth roll of his hips, one deeper than the last, you choke as you try to breathe around his girth.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ croons Jack above you, stroking the hinge of your jaw with a tender thumb, groaning when it unlocks and he slips in unexpectedly deeply. ‘Oh fuck, that’s it, beautiful. So gorgeous with my cock in your mouth. Look at me, darlin’.’

Peering up at him through your lashes, you decide that you like this view - a lot.

He’s still wearing his cowboy hat, which casts half of his face in shadow, but there’s no missing the flush on his cheeks, his jaw hanging open in panting breaths. Sweat has soaked through the front of his shirt, gaping open down to the middle of his sternum. Dappled shadows filtered through the treetops dance across his tanned skin, his chest rising and falling quickly.

His narrow hips buck as he slips in deeper, almost too deep, and you start to really feel the burn on your jaw as his cock stretches your mouth again and again, hitting the back of your throat. Drool begins to leak from the corner of your lips as you try to take all of him, struggling for air when it gets too much.

Tears blur your vision and you gag, retreating with a wet pop, whining at the loss of his weight on your tongue.

Seemingly jolted back to himself, Jack thumbs your cheek apologetically, shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry, darlin’. I got carried away -’

‘Don’t, I liked it,’ you smile up at him almost drunkenly, pumping his length in languid strokes, so soaked in your spit that your grip nearly skids off him. ‘But now, I want to suck your cock.’

Basking in the sight of him biting his bottom lip and nodding frantically, the dynamics swing right around the very moment you slot your mouth over his length, and you swallow him whole.

Jack’s body language changes immediately, slumping against the tree behind him, choking out a low groan as you simply hold him there for a long beat. ‘Fuck, darlin’. Yes. Please.’

If you’re not already wet, you definitely are now from the muttered words of desperation that fall from his lips as you bob your head up and down his cock. You pace yourself, keeping a steady rhythm while Jack stammers incoherently above you, knowing that it will keep him on edge but not enough for him to finish. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re enjoying the way he’s begging you to take him harder, deeper, far too much.

‘Darlin’, need to cum. Fuck, need it,’ pants Jack, shoulders almost hunched over, as if in pain. ‘Just a bit harder, please, suck me harder, oh god -’

When his knees start to shake under your fingertips, and when his begging tapers off to disjointed whimpers, you finally look up at him.

Oh, but he is wrecked. Your cunt leaks as you take in his flared nostrils, lips pulled back into a pained snarl, pupils blown beyond recognition. Cupping your jaw in one big hand, he slurs, ‘Please darlin’, can I cum? Let me fill your mouth?’

A shudder runs through you and, holding his gaze, you hollow out your cheeks and suck, drawing a shout from Jack as he scrabbles for purchase, his fingers twisting into your hair almost painfully. Tightening your grip around the base of his cock, you fist him firmly while swallowing as much of him as you can, up and down, until you feel him swell on your tongue, just as he starts to tremble above you.

‘Oh god, oh fuck that’s it, I’m gonna cum, darlin’,’ he rambles brokenly, head falling backwards and opening up his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he babbles. ‘I’m gonna cum for you, I’m gonna - fuck, fuck, fuuuck -’

The first spurt almost takes you by surprise, hitting the back of your throat thick and salty. You moan around him at the taste, chasing him when his hips jerk and writhe as he empties himself on your tongue, until he has nothing left - your name on his lips as he catches his breath.

Jack stares down at you with dazed eyes, a groan deep in his chest when he spots the cum that pools white and sticky between your swollen lips.

His voice is surprisingly steady when he orders, ‘Swallow, darlin’.’

You do, before he hauls you up onto your feet to kiss you.

The stars look different from where you sit nestled between his legs, head tucked under his chin, leaning back against the steady beat of his heart.

Jack’s zipped the two sleeping bags together to make a double, a log behind him to prop himself up. One blanket he wraps around his shoulders with the ends draped over you, and the other you’re tucked under cosily.

Having done this job for nine years, he knows there’s a natural rhythm to the pack trips. On the fifth night, inevitable as gravity, the fireside conversation turns to home. But with you ensconced snugly where you are, like the space was made for you, Jack can’t bring himself to ask you that.

Turns out you’d ask him first.

‘So, do you get time off after working a whole week?’

‘Yeah, I get three days off after each pack trip.’

‘What do you do?’

He rattles off his usual to-do list. ‘Catch up on sleep, go into town for a haircut, fix my bike -’

With a bark of laughter, you sit up and toss him a look of incredulity over your shoulder. ‘Your what?’

‘My bike. My motorcycle - Silver Pony.’

‘You have a motorcycle? And you named it Silver Pony?’

With a playful growl, he tightens his grip around your waist, making you squeal. ‘Why are you laughin’?’

‘It’s just such a cutesy name.’

‘It’s a very sexy bike, I’ll have you know.’

‘Do all the ladies swoon when you roar into town on it?’ you quip dryly.

He chuckles. ‘You bet they do.’

Shifting in your seat, you probe, ‘So - what’s in town?

‘Not much. Even less for a city girl like you.’

‘Where would you take me? Give me the whistle-stop tour.’

‘Well,’ he pauses and considers. ‘I’ll take you to the diner for dinner. Then we can go catch a movie at the cinema. We can make out in the back row, ‘cause no one is ever there.’

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘Done it before, cowboy?’

He grins. ‘Jealous?’

To his surprise, you answer evenly, ‘Not particularly - I don’t think anyone’s ever had you to themselves like I have these few days.’

His chest swells at the easy surety of your tone. Where has that confidence come from? Sure, there’s always been flashes of that boldness under the tentative surface, even from day one. But this is something else. Now that the shyness has lifted, a knowing assurance has taken its place - one that’s making his jeans uncomfortably tight.

He nuzzles the column of your neck, making you squirm as his moustache tickles your sensitive skin. ‘That’s right, darlin’, ain’t you a lucky girl.’

You pause. ‘And - do you ever go on vacation?’

‘I take Whiskey out to the mountains every year in the fall. Sometimes Teak tags along with Jameson.’

‘But what about a city escape?’

He hums noncommittally, but a smile tugs at his lips as he rests his chin on your shoulder. ‘Can’t say I have, darlin’.’

‘Would you like to?’

‘Depends,’ he teases. ‘What is there for a country boy like me to do in the big, scary city?’

You tick off each option on your fingers. ‘Museums, galleries, shopping, music -’

‘Don’t know. Sounds loud and crowded,’ he grunts.

You roll your eyes. ‘Fine. We could just stay in and order takeaway. There’s the best Thai takeaway round the corner from my apartment.’

‘Alright. Keep going.’

Peering at him from the corner of your eye, you add, ‘We can have lots of sex.’

At that, he perks up. ‘Really?’

You smirk, winding one arm around his neck and brushing your nose against his. ‘So much sex, cowboy. I probably won’t let you leave the bed -’

Your squeal trails off into a bark of laughter when Jack flips you onto your back, but your breath is quickly knocked out of you when his soft lips latch onto the spot behind your ear, the one that he’s noticed you always tremble at. His blunt nails scrape their way up your inner thighs, and he senses the tremble rippling under your skin.

What he says next catches you off guard.

‘That night on your birthday, you hesitated when I asked to taste you. Why?’

Jack smiles when you don’t stiffen like you did that night at his question, but still, you dither, teeth worrying your bottom lip.

Freeing it with a swipe of his thumb, he smiles down at you reassuringly. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me, but I gotta tell you - fuck, I want to eat your gorgeous pussy.’ He pauses and smirks when he feels you shudder at his words, your eyes darkening. ‘I want to know what you taste like, want to slip my tongue deep into your cunt when you cum -’

‘Jack,’ you whine, hitching your knees around his hips in search of friction.

‘You’ll like that, won’t you?’ he teases, tonguing your earlobe. ‘God, I want to suck on your clit, see how wet I can make you with just my mouth.’

‘Touch me, cowboy,’ you plead, shoving your sleep pants and underwear down to your knees. ‘Please.’

He rips the bottoms off impatiently and opens you wide with hands on your ankles, groaning at the wetness he sees between your legs. He doesn’t want to push you, but he has to know. ‘Gotta tell me darlin’ - you want me to use my mouth?’

Vulnerability lurks beneath the frenetic glassiness in your eyes, and you swallow thickly in a confession. ‘I - it’s hard for me to cum from oral sex. My ex - he always got frustrated when he tried and well, it was just easier to not do it.’

You jump when Jack’s rough palms smooth over the outside of your thighs, a question in his soft eyes. ‘Would you like me to try, darlin’?’

You shift. ‘But - what if I can’t cum?’

‘Well, luckily, I seem to be able to make you cum in other ways,’ he replies with an easy wink to diffuse the tension in your body. ‘You don’t have to cum from oral sex, darlin’, and I won’t get frustrated if you don’t.’

You blink up at him. ‘Promise?’

‘I promise,’ he says, leaning his forehead into yours. ‘And I promise, it will feel good even if you don’t cum from just my mouth.’

Running your nails through the dark strands of his hair that brush his eyes, you take a deep breath and nod. ‘Okay, Jack.’

Catching your hand and pressing a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm, he says, ‘You can tell me to stop anytime, okay?’

You can’t help adding with a quirk of your lips, ‘Yes, sir.’

The fire paints the cowboy in orange and shadow as he makes himself comfortable in the cradle of your thighs. His hair glistens when it catches the light, still drying from his shower earlier. You watch the reflections of the flames flicker over his serious eyes, down his straight nose, past his tidy moustache and to his wickedly curled lips.

Your breath hitches of its own accord.

He really is beautiful. This is beautiful. Having this man all to yourself in the open wilderness, so eager to please you, under the blanket of inky darkness with only the milky way as witness - you’ve never known anything like this.

Jack starts slow. His breath skates over your sensitive skin as he presses leisurely kisses to your inner thighs, some with a scrape of teeth, some chaste, but with just enough heat behind them to draw you into rolling your hips in search of his lips.

‘Cowboy,’ you berate him half-heartedly, burying your hands into his brown locks and pulling.

‘Patience, darlin’,’ he murmurs, but he moves upwards so that his exhale brushes over your bare folds. Gently, he ghosts a finger over your slit, the almost contact making you cry out. ‘How much more soaked can this pussy get without me actually touching it, I wonder?’

‘Don’t tease, Jack,’ you seethe, fists hitting the sleeping bag underneath you in frustration.

He tuts, an insolent smile on his lips, before carefully pulling apart the outer creases of your folds with the tips of his index fingers, opening up your cunt to his gaze. He groans at the sopping squelch of the movement. ‘Fuckin’ drenched already for me already. How?’

‘Jack. Please.’

Slinking onto his front unhurriedly, as if he has all the time in the world, Jack hooks your knees over his strong shoulders, nudging his nose against your weeping seam and breathes in deep. He way he moans has you clenching around nothing in anticipation. ‘Fuck, you smell so sweet, darlin’.’

‘Jack!’ you can’t hold back the pathetic sob that bubbles up from your throat, trembling so hard you need his solid weight to anchor you to the ground. ‘Please, want your mouth, now -’

Your words morph into a mewl when Jack’s lips, wet and cool, finally make landing with a gratuitously loud suckle of your clit, which has your back arching clean off the pillowy sleeping bag underneath.

He takes it slow - so slow, almost too slow - his broad tongue (is there any part of him that isn’t?) questing deep into the pliant ridges of your cunt, tirelessly discovering nerve points that make you keen and wringing needy whimpers from you. His shoulders under your knees hold you open as you shudder and squirm beneath him.

‘Jack,’ you pant, the stars above you blurry one second and sharply focused the next as he laves your clit studiously.

‘Yes, darlin’?’ he slurs against your pussy, not really expecting an answer. Instead, he pushes up the sleep shirt you have on, baring your tits to the cool night air. He moans into you and reaches up to squeeze them before teasing the tips, which only makes you push your hips into his face harder, earning a satisfied grunt from him.

Fidgety fingers curl into the fabric of shirt on his back, the air wrangled clean out of you as you watch his eyes flutter shut, a deep frown of concentration creasing his brow when he drags the flat of his tongue over you again and again, patiently building a rhythm that has you writhing. The blankets twist into knots between the gaps in your fingers, patches damp with your wetness cold against your skin.

Slippery with Jack’s spit and what he coaxes from you, your thighs quake when he rubs his moustache on the soft flesh. You watch the sodden bottom of the dark hairs smear the slick over you, sticky and messy, and that’s when you feel it - a crest rearing its head deep within you. Slack-jawed, you hold on for dear life, clinging to it as it swells. Air leaves you in shallow pants as his palms tighten their grip on you, anchoring you to his mouth so he can lap at you with unwavering intensity, a solemn determination to chase that high that has long alluded you.

When you do break apart on his tongue, the first time in too many years to count, it’s with a spine-shattering scream of his name that rips apart the stillness of the night, your gasps and pleads riding the evening breeze.

The echoes of your voice sail across the empty grasslands, carrying in the thin night air, and ring into the open arms of the mountains, where Jack wishes - no, where he prays - he could keep you.

Notes: These two have earned this filth, haven't they? I'm having the best time just writing them being horny AF for each other on the open plains, while weaving in the angst as the clock ticks down. Thank you everyone for your patience, I hope you enjoyed this update, and as always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🧡

Horsey notes: I galloped for the first time just a couple of years ago (no such opportunity for a city girl), in the shadows of the magnificent Pyramids of Giza first thing in the morning on a gorgeous Arabian horse. It was a magical moment that has stayed with me, and truly one of my favourite memories ever. I have never been so grateful for our four-legged friends than I was in that moment, flying over the golden sands.

#jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels fanfiction #kingsman fanfiction #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x you

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aarohij · 8 months

Text

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frostbitebakery · 2 months

Note

Anything from Who Ordered The Resurrection Special please?

DO I! :D

“The war is over. What now?”

Ryloth’s mountains rise on the horizon with the setting sun.

Obi-Wan rubs at the corner of his eye, leans back on his other hand. The grass is tickling against his skin. Kashyyk’s vegetation has always been so soft and lush; it’s a balm that almost, almost makes him smile. “I’m afraid we’re not out of tasks to do yet, my friend.” Perhaps his tone is too sarcastic, too downtrodden. But the exhaustion is clamoring up his every nerve and muscle and strand of thought.

“You’re right,” his Commander agrees softly, small chuckle rounding the vowels, echoes of it flowing back from the cliffs. Geonosis is not a good resting place. “Even death can’t keep you away from work.”

It sounds too serious for a joke. “What do you mean?” he asks and turns his head towards—

Goda shakes him by the singed shawl, breath burning and fire. “The one who should have been didn’t care and now everyone is paying the price.” The hole in his gut sizzles, melts, and Obi-Wan frantically pulls at the bandages. “Stop them before—“

“Goda, please, hold on, yes?” They’re alone but they shouldn’t be. It had been carnage the last time. Goda pushing Obi-Wan into a fighter with his last breath, voice cold and droid-like when it wasn’t drenched in despair.

Goda’s glove smells like death as it brushes against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “We weren’t ever meant to be, were we?”

“Who—? Commander—“

“Your men.”

Obi-Wan wakes up.

Day 2

Wolffe hauls the backpack higher up on his shoulder, pulls the cap deeper into his face. “Sinker owes me. I’ll rig up the IV once I’m back.”

“I’m sure Nurse Rosa appreciates the nickname.”

Wolffe holds up his hands. “She’s the one who came up with it.” He slaps Cody’s shoulder before turning to the front door. “I’ll get something to eat, too,” he says, stepping through the door and into the faint morning light.

Cody leans against the door, closing it with his weight, and lets himself sigh deep and even.

Their plan is to put an IV into the zombie for electrolytes until his organs can handle digestion. Wolffe gets some supplies from the hospital since going there is still out of the question even though the zombie has drastically healed since the first moment he appeared. It’s not leathery skin stretched over bones and gnarled limbs anymore. He had almost looked fresh faced when Cody had helped him into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. Very fresh faced. It’s easy now to imagine what he’ll look like once he’s fully alive again.

Cody’s cheeks turn warm and that’s enough of that.

Maybe Cody’s family is in a unique position when it comes to… the stranger side of life, and as a firefighter he’s certainly seen enough shit one can’t explain that easily. But he’d rather not make tinfoil hats in a padded room while the zombie is whisked off to be sliced and diced.

“Hel…lo…”

Perfect timing. Cody looks up to his unalive guest standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom, looking lost in Cody’s borrowed clothes. “Oh, hey, you’re up!”

“…there.”

Cody blinks. “Where what?”

Cody has to think about that one for a minute. Which might give Obi-Wan the wrong impression about his family and Cody’s relationship to them but he’s not exactly thinking about them day and night anymore. Not now that they’re all adults with their own lives.

“My siblings mean everything to me,” Cody lands on, tipping a finger against the red MFD mug. “They didn’t have it easy growing up but they worked hard and,” he huffs out a laugh. He isn’t cynical usually but working hard to achieve dreams and success hasn’t been cutting it since before he was born. “Our father had some helpful connections so they could at least get a foot in the door.”

Cody refuses to publicly acknowledge the reality behind those connections for his siblings’ sake. He dug deep to uncover the truth behind Bly suddenly getting the scholarship of a lifetime, the top notch medical school of the country personally inviting Wolffe into their program.

Fox had fucked off to the Navy following his dream of reenacting the beach football scene in Top Gun. So it was up to Cody to ensure their father’s shady business wouldn’t bite them in the ass in the long run. Ponds had already paid the highest price for that. Boba—

“Boba is the oldest,” Cody starts, smile tugging at his mouth despite everything. He’s currently in jail for murdering my second oldest brother, Cody chooses not to say.

Obi-Wan tilts his head in interest but Cody moves right along.

“You met Wolffe,” he continues, grinning at Obi-Wan’s sigh. “Yeah, he has that effect on people.”

“I’m not here to hold people’s hands, Dr Koone,” Wolffe says reasonably.

The medical superintendent looks down at his hand being held by Wolffe and raises a bushy eyebrow around the breathing mask contraption covering most of his face.

“This means nothing.” Wolffe about had a heart attack when he got the news of the gas leak explosion rendering his mentor comatose. “It’s not my fault you like to live in a medical drama.”

Dr Koone pats his hand.

Wolffe sighs. “I’ll have Boost fluff your pillows. He’ll sneak in your ER novels.”

“I actually am not sure what Bly does,” Cody says slowly. “She got a bunch of doctorates hanging in her garage and her favorite hobby is making slime.”

Bly punches the end call button on the touchscreen with a growl. “No one lets me do anything around here!”

Cody blows on the spoonful of sauce before taking a careful sip. “They’re not going to fund you your own CERN, Bly.” A bit more oregano should do the trick.

“The things I could do with it!”

The alarm is about to go off and Cody stops it before the first beep. “Drain the spaghetti, please.”

Bly takes the huge pot over to the sink, hitting the cold water. “They act like I’m one inevitable lab accident away from becoming Doofenschmirtz.”

“They aren’t wrong.”

Bly whirls around, hands over her heart. “That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me, Codes.”

“I love you no matter what doesn’t count at all, does it?”

His sister scoffs out a laugh and waves him away. “I already knew that, idiot.”

Cody shakes his head and announces to the station that lunch is ready.

“After Fox’s stint in the Navy and fulfilling that dream, he went on to the next one,” Cody explains and pauses.

“Please give a warm welcome to our special guest tonight,” the club host says into the mic. “His unapologetic attitude towards life and its wonders has firmly established his name in the poetry community worldwide.”

Cody is about to clap when he notices everyone around him snapping their fingers.

“I swear, all your lives are made purely out of 90s tropes,” he murmurs to Bly.

“You would know, old man.”

Fox slinks onto the stage in a tight fitting black turtleneck and board shorts, and grabs the mic. “Pain.” He stomps onto the floor once. “Spite.”

The crowd goes wild.

#my wips #who ordered the resurrection special #Goda means honor in Latvian

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javier-pena · 2 years

Text

mine

Pairing: Wolverine/Logan x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You are ready for a cozy evening in front of the TV - until Logan discovers something about you.

Notes: So, I was (re)watching all the X-Men movies in a very confusing chronological order and I couldn't help but notice how many times people call Wolverine an animal. Paired with his apparently great sense of smell it made me want to write a breeding kink story because Wolverine deserves to be a dad and live a happy life. Big thanks, as ever, go to Dani @alexturner who forced me to do better with this than I had done.

***

The heat of the day is coating your neck in a sweaty sheen, a gust of warm evening air sends a cooling sensation down your spine. You straighten your back and stretch, relieving some of the tension that has been building while you were tidying up the cushions on the couch. The Canadian summer evening is still too warm for manual labor, but you want the house to look pretty for Logan.

For dinner, you’re preparing a salad and some homemade bread. All the fresh vegetables are cut and mixed, the bread is in the oven, slowly rising, a light brown crust stretching across the soft delicacy waiting inside. Now all that’s left to do is wait for your husband to get home from work. You spent all day preparing for this moment, running errands and fixing some minor things around the house. There is no special occasion justifying working through your list of chores other than wanting to spend a relaxing evening cuddled up on the couch, watching a dumb movie and sharing jokes. He deserves an evening of rest and relaxation.

Even though your senses have been on high alert for half an hour now, even though your hearing is focused on the sound of his truck tires outside of the house, your whole body brimming with anticipation, you don’t notice him coming in. But there is a presence behind you now. Something in the room is shifting; the air is thicker than before, everything is denser suddenly, and there is this tension, this strain, like a storm is about to break loose. You want to turn around and greet him, but before you get a chance, his strong, solid body is right behind you, so close you feel the warmth radiating off it. Even though he’s not touching you, you know you’re trapped, forced to stay close to the back of the couch, your gaze directed out the window opposite it, and at the mountain top you can see from here, bathed in that strange, everlasting summer glow.

Something is different tonight.

He touches you with a sudden urgency. His large hands cover your hips and part of your thighs as he pulls you back into him and you let him hold you while he towers above you. Nose buried in your neck, he breathes you in, the air tickling your warm skin. His grip is unrelenting, hard as steel – he makes it obvious that freeing yourself is not an option. But you don’t want to, not when he runs his lips over your shoulders, not when he pulls you even closer with a soft growl.

“I could smell you from halfway up the mountain,” he finally says, voice gravelly with want. And then he presses his clothed, hard length against your backside. “Did you wear a sundress on purpose? Did you leave the windows open on purpose? Admit it, you just wanted to distract me, lure me inside.”

You laugh airily, trying to downplay your confusion. “Logan, what are you talking about? How am I distracting you?”

He stops moving behind you and you can feel the tension rolling off him, you can feel how he’s holding back in the strain of his arms, in the way he gives you a tiny bit more space. Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from whimpering. Yes, something is definitely different tonight.

When he speaks again, his voice is so deep it sends a jolt of pleasure down your spine. “Gorgeous thing like you, completely oblivious …,” he whispers, making you hold your breath, “it’s a good thing you have me to take care of you, sweetheart.”

He pulls you back into his chest, nose nudging your jaw and neck. Before you can get lost in the sensation, he cups one of your breasts and squeezes tightly, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. And while he doesn’t allow you a single second to compose yourself, it dawns on you. It’s not easy to do the math when he’s all over you, but once you counted and recounted there can be no doubt. The rest of it isn’t important. You don’t care about the rest. Not when he’s pulling up the hem of your dress to grab handfuls of your ass. Not when he’s kneading it, pulling on the flesh, squeezing it. Not when he doesn’t stop until you both hear it – the lips of your pussy parting with a wet sound, and you grab the backrest of the couch to steady yourself. You know you’re adding fuel to the fire, but you can’t stop yourself from moaning his name, from trying to assure him you want this, from begging him to continue because you’re so wet for him all rational thought is impossible. Those few sounds are all he needs.

Those few sounds make him feral.

The next thing you hear is the sound of your dress tearing. He doesn’t care about ruining your clothes, not tonight, not when he’s guided by some ancient, animalistic instinct. Tightly wrapping the shreds around his hand and curling it into a fist, he presses it into your back to push you forward, make you lean over the backrest of the couch you just tidied up so nicely. Your breath comes in short bursts, somewhere between gulps and quiet moans, little pleas of anticipation. Another tear follows as he gets rid of your panties, pulls them off you and discards them carelessly. You’re starting to feel dizzy from how shallow you’re breathing, and you barely manage to remain standing, even though you have the couch to lean on. And then he unbuckles his belt.

You developed a Pavlovian response to that sound long ago, to the thick leather gliding through the hard metal holding it in place. But tonight, you don’t need it. Tonight, he already has you leaking in anticipation. You just close your eyes and wait for him, for the press of his thick length against your folds, for the way he will claim you with sure thrusts.

He makes you wait for it though, leaning down again, pressing his chest against your back, pushing you harder against the couch. The way he has trapped you now makes it impossible to escape. He breathes you in again, nose pressed against your neck. With his free hand, he lifts your hair, pulls on it to force you to expose more skin, holding it tightly wrapped around his fist once he’s satisfied. And then he bites down, hard, so fucking hard, that you know you’ll wake up a marked woman tomorrow. The feeling of his teeth digging into your soft flesh, the pain it brings you, makes you scream in surprise and need. You try to shift, to get just a tiny bit of friction against your clit because this is becoming unbearable. Your arousal is dripping down your thighs, and if he smelled what time of the month it is for you from outside the house, he’s definitely smelling that.

He pushes himself off you with a grunt and lets go of your hair. You barely have time to catch your breath before you feel his full, heavy cock press against your exposed ass. He runs it down to your soaked folds, teases you, gives you just enough to make your blood boil. And then he finally pushes inside of you, not slow and gentle like he usually does, but with one short, hard thrust that makes your fingers dig harder into the backrest of the couch as you hold on for dear life.

He gives you two more thrusts, almost experimentally, as if he’s trying to determine the right angle and the best amount of force to use, and once he’s satisfied, he grunts, “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart.” And then he lets go of the last bit of restraint that was still holding him back.

The couch beneath you shakes with his hard thrusts. It’s already too much, you feel on the verge of an orgasm, so you force yourself to focus on the way he feels inside of you, on how he’s stretching you open.

“I want to fill you.” It sounds like a promise.

He leans down again, which changes the angle slightly and makes you push yourself up on your tiptoes to accommodate him. Once more, he buries his teeth in your shoulder, worries the flesh between his teeth until tears shoot to your eyes.

“I’m going to make you take my cum over and over again until you’re swelling,” he growls right next to your ear, “until I can see it leak from your pretty cunt, until it takes.”

You struggle against him, but not to escape him. Pushing yourself back onto his cock until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you, you want to tell him how much you want this, but before you get a chance, he pushes himself back up. There is one tiny indulgence you allow yourself though, one glance across your shoulder at the man who has you in his grip, at your husband, the father of your future children. Your gaze lands on his eyes clouded over with feral lust, his flushed neck, his shirt stretched tightly over his chest, as he struggles to keep breathing.

“Please, I want it to take,” you whisper. “Please fuck me harder, please make sure it stays inside of me.”

You roll your hips forward then backward, letting your head fall down between your straining arms. Again and again, you push and push, desperately fucking yourself on his cock while he tries to match you. All that is audible between the two of you are the sounds of your shared desperation. And it’s not enough.

“Please fill me up,” you beg. “Please … I – I want to ride you afterwards.”

You’re not sure if it’s too much, if it goes beyond what he wants to do tonight. He lets go of your dress, but grabs your hip to still you, and for one wild moment you’re sure it was too much. It’s only the hard, frenzied way he starts to thrust into you over and over again that disabuses you. His other hand finds its way to your neck and closes around it, not hard, but definitely strong enough to keep you in your place.

“You’re going to look so fucking beautiful and full when it takes …” He’s out of breath now. “And don’t worry, it will take.” That thought alone, that image of your belly growing big with his child, makes your head spin. After a beat, he adds, “Everyone will know you belong to me.”

It immobilizes you. You let him fuck you like this, rough and fast, so hard every thrust pushes you into the couch and pushes the couch along the floor. He’s so strong, stronger than anyone you know, and you couldn’t wish for a better protector for you and the child he will give you. But then any thought, any feeling, any stirring at all is fucked out of your head and heart when he tightens his hold on you and his thrusts become frantic, animalistic. It feels like he doesn’t care if he breaks you, all he cares about is breeding you. Your pussy clenches tightly around his cock, fighting to keep him inside of you, and with that little bit of extra friction he comes, emptying himself with a low grunt.

You can feel his spend coating your walls, and that is what pushes you over the edge. You join him, whimpering desperately, clenching and clenching until he has given you every last drop. He pulls out roughly and you whimper more; the feeling of being used by him like this makes the edges of your ebbing orgasm flare up again. The sound you hear when he drops to his knees behind you is dull, the sound you hear when he pushes a hand between your legs is wet.

He gathers some of his spend leaking out of you on his fingers, then shoves them up between your legs roughly, trying to keep it all inside of you. You let him, even though you’re overstimulated, and every touch makes you push yourself away from his ministrations. He grips your hip again to hold you in place, pushes two fingers inside of you, and you whimper loudly, unable to escape the onslaught.

“Mine,” he growls, as he watches his fingers coated in your joint arousal disappear inside your swollen folds.

***

wolverine/logan taglist: @paintlavillered

#logan x reader #wolverine x reader #logan x you #wolverine x you #logan #wolverine #x men #fanfic #yes i did have a look at some sexy lumberjacks for this lmao

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murdrdocs · 1 year

Note

um idc if it's possible or not but buying a ranch with peter? in a quieter spot so ya know.....

fuck outside on a picnic blanket bc he's definitely the type to do that if be sees you in a pretty sundress

LITERALLY SCREAMED WHEN I SAW THIS AND PUT MY CHICK FIL A AWAY LIKE THIS IS EXTREMELY PERSONAL TO ME

peter quill has always been meant for the quiet life. he's spent years ravaging, and saving the galaxy, and now it's time for him to settle down with someone pretty, who loves almost nothing more than wearing pretty sundresses and having picnics in their backyard.

you go through the motions, even though you both know how it'll end.

peter cuts up the fruit, creating a fruit bowl that'll eventually be shared by the two of you. he slips pieces while he does so, giving you some as well and kissing you afterwards, savoring the taste of the watermelon on your tongue mixing with the strawberry on his. he makes the drinks, too, concoctions of arnold palmers with some sort of fruit juice added in.

you make the sandwiches, usually whatever kind you woke up craving the morning-of. it's a simple routine, domestic, easy, innocent. and then it's all packed into the basket and you hold hands as you walk out to the tree and the innocence exists for just a little while longer, long enough to make a dent in the fruit bowl and the pitcher.

but then you're straddling peter's lap with your sundress pooled around you and your hands are in his hair while his are on your back, pulling you closer to him. you're grinding your crotch against him, lacy material scratching against denim. the thin straps of your dress are pulled down and peter has his lips on your breasts, sucking fresh hickies to replace the one's that have faded from your picnic just a little while ago. there's some along your inner thighs that need fixing, too, and peter reminds you of the fact while he lays you on your back, kissing you through your giggles.

you know you could take the dress off, but keeping it on is part of the fun. being ordered to hold it while peter's copper head of hair situates itself between your legs, keeping the top pulled down for access to your nipples, holding the fabric between your teeth when you ride peter, your hands busy with digging into his shoulders and your eyes needing to see his cock disappear and reappear from your cunt.

it's all like clockwork; you get a new dress, the fruits and vegetables are ripe, the weather is your definition of perfect, and you're outside on your property, letting your boyfriend fuck you senseless with nothing but nature as a witness.

#never wanted anything more #this is like my no 1 fantasy #peter quill x reader #peter quill x you #peter quill smut #peter quill #celeste writes mcu #peter quill x gn!reader

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thefrogdalorian · 6 months

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Dincember Day 15: Candle

Word Count: 2232 Rating: General Summary: Despite planning a special evening to mark your final night in the cabin that you, Din and Grogu have enjoyed a relaxing vacation in, your plans are soon thwarted by an unexpected power cut. However, the sudden loss of light ends up having very romantic consequences. Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: I don't know how power even works in Star Wars and whether a power cut would even be possible but it made for a cute romantic trope. Also kiss my knee Din Djarin ... Din Djarin kiss my knee.... kiss my knee Din Djarin

Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist

It was your last evening in the cabin on the snowy planet where Din had taken you for a surprise vacation and you were busy preparing a meal with some of the fresh supplies you had bought from town earlier, in order to make the most of your remaining time here. You hummed as you carefully sliced the vegetables you had purchased from one of the stalls in the bustling centre of the quaint town to accompany the Marsh pig that Din had successfully caught during a walk with you and Grogu earlier in the day.

The relaxed nature and slow pace of your vacation meant that it had been a while since he had used the impressive skill set he possessed as a Mandalorian. Fortunately, both for the benefit of his sanity and your stomachs, it turned out that he had brought a rifle with him that had made short work of the creature. It had been a long hike with so many beautiful sights in this idyllic snowy paradise, the mountain town nestled between sloping surfaces with frosted peaks.

The mountainous terrain meant that you had built up quite an appetite. Your stomach rumbled at the various aromas that wafted into your nostrils as you pottered around the kitchen. You could tell that Din and Grogu had similar hunger pangs; your boys were bored and hungry, but they were doing their best not to show it.

You took a break from chopping the vegetables and set your knife down to cast your eyes to the adorable scene before you. Din was sitting on the rug alongside Grogu as he played with some of the toys that the two of you had bought for him during your stay here, mainly little wooden animals and creatures. Din was naming each one as Grogu picked them up and levitated them with the Force. You always loved observing the two of them, but you especially loved it when they didn’t know you were watching. They just looked so adorable, Din sitting cross-legged despite his hulking frame, patiently explaining the various painted wooden figures to his son. It was the perfect familial scene. You would never tire of observing them and thanking fate, or whatever in the galaxy it was, that had brought you together. Knowing that Din and Grogu were your family flooded you with a kind of warmth and security that you had never felt before.

It was such a precious moment that you wanted to savour forever. You wished you had some way to bottle up the contentment that you felt right then and there, doing something as simple as watching your family in the middle of cooking a meal. But moments were always fleeting, and this one especially was not destined to last.

Suddenly, everything around you went dark. Without warning, the cabin had been plunged into darkness. With no fire lit and total darkness outside the cabin as the sun had already set, there was a complete and utter absence of light.

“Din?” You called out into oblivion, your heart pounding at the sudden loss of light, hoping he and Grogu were alright. You were just glad you had set down the sharp knife on the counter before light had been lost.

“I’m here, cyare,” Din replied.

“What happened?” You questioned, as though Din had any more knowledge about the situation than you did.

“Must be a power cut,” Din theorised. It would explain why all the lights had failed at once, without warning.

“I can’t see a kriffing thing.” You whined, attempting to feel your way around the cabinets in the kitchen so that you could close the gap between the two of you and find Din's comforting presence in the darkness.

But the lack of light made that a complicated endeavour. Despite how gingerly you were moving, feeling the space around you on account of your loss of vision, you were not careful enough. Your innately clumsy nature was not helping you now. Your cautious movements were abruptly interrupted as you collided with an object unseen in the dark. You shrieked in pain as your knee connected with a hard, painful corner of the cabinet that you had unknowingly been on a collision course with.

“Cyare! Are you alright?” Din asked concernedly into the blackness, his voice fearful as he heard your yelp.

“Fine…” You winced, your knee throbbing, “I just walked into a cabinet!”

“Oh dear,” Din said sympathetically. “Don’t move, I’ll come to you. I think there are some candles in one of the drawers.”

“Okay, Din,” You breathed, clinging onto the cabinet for dear life as you awaited Din to make his way over to you. “Be careful.”

As it transpired, you had no reason to worry. It seemed that despite the lack of light, Din was making storming progress. You listened in awe as the sounds of Din’s footsteps swiftly drew nearer to you. Despite knowing that he was approaching, you shrieked once again when he finally reached out to touch you, his hand reaching out to touch your upper arm softly. You wondered how he could see so well considering the lack of light, but then you supposed as a Mandalorian he had had much training in adapting to adverse conditions.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” Din said soothingly. “Can you hold Grogu while I try to find the candles?”

“Sure,” You nodded, releasing your harsh grip on the surface to take the little boy in your arms. “Hi, buddy,” You cooed, leaning down to kiss Grogu’s wrinkled head. He was incredibly well-behaved, not whining like one might have expected from a child during a power cut.

In all the darkness, your other senses attempted to compensate for the deficit caused by your loss of sight; as you grew used to the darkness, every sound that Din made was amplified. You heard him opening and shutting the various drawers and cupboards as he attempted to find the candles which would provide a much-needed lightsource.

The sound of Din fumbling with the matches, striking them against the coarse texture of the box was the last thing you heard before light once again miraculously appeared in the cabin. You watched as Din placed a few small candles out and lit them one by one, silhouetting his broad shoulders in the warm orange glow as his back was turned to you. Then, Din turned around. For a moment as you first laid eyes upon his altered state in the darkness, you almost burst into laughter at the way the shadows cast across his face gave him a slightly terrifying appearance. Despite how sinister he looked, simply seeing him again instantly calmed your nerves that had been frayed thanks to your painful encounter with the corner of the cupboard.

“Finally, some light,” Din huffed as he walked towards you and placed a candle next to you on the counter, your eyes slowly adjusting to the light.

“Thank you, Din,” You smiled, “I don’t know what I would have done without you. It’s amazing how well you can move in the dark.”

“I’m used to it,” Din shrugged, “I guess there were some perks of never being permitted to remove a helmet. Especially one with a tinted visor.” He added dryly.

You smirked at that. Din was still adjusting to a reality where he could remove his helmet around you, it was difficult after so many years of conditioning and being led to believe that taking it off in front of others would render him an apostate. Now, though, Din knew that he was nothing of the sort. How could showing your face to those you loved ever be considered such a sin?

“How’s the knee?” Din asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist, brown eyes looking at you with much concern.

“Sore,” You replied with a pout.

“Want me to kiss it better?” Din asked, raising an eyebrow.

You just laughed at your ridiculous Mandalorian. But the giggles soon turned to a yelp as he actually followed through and leaned down to press a small kiss to your clothed knee. “Din!” You exclaimed breathlessly at the touch, shaking your head at how absurdly adorable he was as he stood up and met your gaze again.

“Any better?” Din questioned, wrapping his arms around your waist again.

“A little. Think I need one more kiss though,” You smiled. “Maybe up here,” You added as you pointed towards your lips.

Din reached up to cup your cheek. He leaned in towards your lips. You closed your eyes as his warm breath washed over your mouth, preparing for the moment when your lips would touch. But before that could happen, the unimpressed whine of the little child who was nestled in your arm took you both out of the moment.

“Sorry, pal,” Din said apologetically. “Forgot about you there.”

Din took Grogu back from you, rocking him slightly. But Grogu was not concerned about your display of affection, nor the lack of light. There was only ever one thing on his mind, which became patently obvious as he thrust his arms out towards the chopping board where the vegetables had been lying forgotten.

“Guess I better finish preparing the food,” You observed. “The little guy’s hungry.

“Do you want some help?” Din offered, always eager to help out whenever he could.

Though you had discovered that while Din was skilled at most things he turned his hand to, unfortunately cooking was not one. There had been several precarious moments when Din had been unleashed on an open flame. On your last night here, you wanted to keep those occasions as memories only. The night had thrown up enough surprises for you to have any desire to add Din setting himself on fire while attempting to cook, to the list of mishaps.

“It’s okay, thank you,” You smiled, “Perhaps you could set the table, though? A candlelit dinner sounds kind of romantic. Watch out for the cabinets though.”

So you resumed your task of chopping up the vegetables while Din busied himself with the task of setting the table. You seasoned the vegetables and fried them gently in a pan with the sliced Marsh pig, thankful that your stove was not operated by the same power source that had caused the lights to go out in the rest of the cabin. You glanced over sporadically, checking that all was well with Din and he had not inadvertently set himself on fire while setting the table and placing candles on the surface.

But all seemed to be well with him, as Din and Grogu sat at the table together. You were moving the vegetables around in the pan when you heard the child’s amused little giggle. You turned around to glance at them again and your chest swelled with pride at the sight. Din was using his hands and fingers into recognisable shapes and creatures to cast shadows onto the wall in the candlelight, much to the little boy's delight. No doubt it was taking his mind off his growling stomach and the shadow animals were a suitable replacement for the wooden toys he was playing with just before darkness descended over the cabin.

Eventually, after careful preparation, the meal was ready to eat. You plated the meat and vegetables up and carefully carried one plate at a time to the table, painfully aware of the many hazards in the kitchen. It did not matter in which order you took them over, though; you had long since learnt after many tantrums that Grogu required a portion size just as substantial as those of yours and Din’s. Despite his tiny size, the little guy had a voracious appetite. You wondered where all the food he ate was stored, it was seriously impressive, though you suspected his abilities with the Force had something to do with it.

“It's not quite how I envisioned our final night here, but this is actually pretty nice, all things considered,” You sighed as you sat down to face Din opposite the table that he had impressively set, with cutlery and neatly folded napkins. A candle flickered in the centre of the room and cast a warm glow throughout the cabin, which felt distinctly festive.

“It’s quite… romantic,” Din agreed, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should have power cuts more often.”

“You don’t need a power cut to use candles, Din,” You scoffed, amused by his ridiculous ideas.

Before Din could vocalise any more absurd notions, Grogu loudly belching broke the romance of the moment. It appeared that he had devoured his portion already. No doubt would shortly begin stealing food off yours and Din’s plates. Din would snap at him not to do that, wagging his finger exasperatedly. You would roll your eyes and smirk at the two of them. But until then, you were just enjoying the peace of the moment after the shock of being plunged into darkness. You savoured these last few precious moments in the cabin where you had spent such an enjoyable few days.

Cooking and eating your meal by candlelight was not quite what you had envisioned for your final evening in this idyllic, snowy mountainous paradise. But there was something romantic about looking up at your favourite Mandalorian, his handsome features illuminated by the warm orange glow of the candle.

#dincember 2023 #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal characters #my fics #oh to stare at din djarin in the candlelight......#YEARNING

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voraciousvore · 3 months

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Giganterra (Chapter 1)

Prologue | Chapter 2

Content Warning: Soft, safe, unwilling vore

Word Count: 2.1k

------ Chapter 1: A Typical Royal Dinner ------

Six years later…

Crown Prince Ronny, the adult heir to the throne, sat down at his usual spot at the table, on the right-hand side of his father, the king. King Richard claimed his rightful place at the head of the table, and Princess Bianca, the youngest by about two years, sat across from her brother Ronny. The king’s personal guard Ajax, his shadow, stood discreetly off to the side behind his seat, ever watchful.

Ronny, dour as always, glared at his sister, who stuck her tongue out at him in response. He scoffed superciliously and removed his gloves for dinner, folding them neatly on the table. He was rescued from having to converse with his loathsome family members by the servants, who came in balancing plates loaded with vittles. Ronny sat in a gloomy silence as Chester, the royal food taster, checked each entrée for poison. He curled his lip with mild disgust when he was given his portion: prime rib, sautéed swiss chard, and scalloped potatoes, with a human dressed in a light sauce.

Bianca had a similar reaction, poking and prodding the tiny woman on her plate with her fork. The woman winced, but stayed silent and didn’t try to run, knowing the consequences of resisting giant royalty would be far more gruesome. “Daddy, when are we going to get more humans? It’s been a while since the last tribute.”

King Richard wiped his lips daintily with a napkin as he gleefully swallowed the human on his own plate. “Hmmm… it’s been a while, hasn’t it? We are certainly overdue for some fresh meat.”

The giantess princess perked up. “If so, can you order some little men this time? Pleeeeeease? Ladies are fine and all, but they’re all we ever get, and I want a handsome boy to play with…” She pouted, scraping her fork with an obnoxious screech on her dish. Her human repast covered her ears and grimaced. Ronny rolled his eyes.

The king gave his daughter a knowing smirk and chuckled lightly. “I’ll see what I can arrange, my darling.” He picked up his knife and cut into his meat, which leaked blood onto his plate.

Ronny shook his head and dug into his own meal, flicking the human carelessly off his slab of prime rib. He didn’t understand his father’s obsession with tiny maidens, or his sister’s fascination with miniature men. Why couldn’t she be normal for once and content herself with an attractive giant instead? Humans were fine for eating, when he was in the right mood, but otherwise Ronny found them to be gross vermin, clambering around with their wiry legs like bugs. Distracted by his thoughts, he failed to notice his tiny female side dish had crawled off the edge of his plate. He put a bite of meat in his mouth, and his face puckered with detestation.

“Ugh!” he groaned, spitting the offending meat back onto his dish without concern for decorum. “Nasty!” His face turned purple with rage. “Bring me the royal chef!” he bellowed. The servants scrambled to obey. Soon enough, the obese chef rushed into the dining room, huffing and puffing with the effort.

“Yes, Your Highness? How may I best serve you?” he asked nervously, wringing his hands and picking at his blond mustache. He was sweating profusely, his skin ruddy with exertion.

“Bucky!” Ronny roared. “This food isn’t fit to serve to a dog! The meat is cold in the middle and saltier than the sea! Dumping a mountain of salt on such a bland cut doesn’t improve the flavor, you cretin! I’m a prince, and I deserve only the best, not this offensive rubbish!”

His temper flared as he got worked up into a frenzy. He stood up out of his chair and gesticulated with his hands aggressively. “You’re a sorry excuse for a cook, you worthless piece of shit! Just look at these vegetables! Wilted strings reeking of too much garlic and swimming in watery juices! And these potatoes! Unpalatable texture, lumpy and uneven, tasteless paste! Unacceptable, reprehensible slop!”

He picked up the plate and hurled it against the wall with all his might, shattering the porcelain and staining the wall and expensive carpeting with juices. The servants hurried forward to clean up the mess in a hush. Nobody was especially surprised by his tantrum: The servants were accustomed to unhinged outbursts from the royal family. Ronny ignored them and continued to verbally berate the chef, who pointedly stared at his feet. Ronny shoved his finger into his fat chest as he ranted in his face, spitting and swearing. After several minutes of screaming at the top of his lungs and frothing at the mouth, Ronny finally cooled down, dismissing the silent chef with a contemptuous wave of his hand. His face changed from pink back to its usual pasty shade. He crossed his arms petulantly and slumped in his chair.

“Good job, Ronny,” King Richard praised, grinning wide. “Sometimes you need to put the commoners in their place and make them fear you.” He chomped down on a bite of meat, clearly enjoying his meal despite his son’s scathing condemnation of its quality. Ronny shrugged, still scowling. The servants, so inferior to the royals as to be invisible to them, cleaned up his mess in the background.

Bianca was unperturbed by Ronny venting his spleen, continuing to toy with the human on her plate as she ate the food around her. Eventually, she got bored and lifted the poor woman up by her leg, studying her wriggling with a cold inquisitiveness. She lowered the tiny woman headfirst into her mouth, licking her face and closing her plump lips around her torso before slurping her flailing legs inside with the rest of her body. She sucked on the delicious morsel for a while, shuffling her from one cheek to the other, before sending her off on a trip to her stomach with a hearty gulp.

She watched as the servants flitted anxiously back to the table, bringing with them a sumptuous feast of roasted partridge and yams for the picky prince. He sulked as the royal food taster sampled each portion and cleared the food for consumption. The servants backed away, sweating nervously as Ronny tasted the partridge. The bratty prince raised an eyebrow and grunted, but didn’t complain. The tension dissipated among the servants and they disappeared into the background again, relieved not to be on the receiving end of another explosive fit.

“Hey, Ronny, what happened to the human in your food?” Bianca queried.

Ronny shrugged as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. “Fuck if I know. She probably ended up as a red stain on the wall.”

King Richard frowned. “What a waste.” He gave Ronny a stern look. The aura in the room subtly changed, as if the air itself chilled. “Don’t squash your humans so carelessly, Ronny. They are valuable, and we can only extract so many without them revolting against us.”

Ronny stiffened. “Of course, Father,” he mumbled, casting his eyes downward. “I won’t do it again.” The king assumed a milder expression, accepting his words, and the mood lightened again. Ronny repressed a shudder.

“I never understood why you don’t just conquer the human kingdom, enslave the populace, and farm them,” Bianca remarked, tilting her head. “Wouldn’t that make more sense? Then you can have as many as you want.”

The king sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Haven’t you noticed the humans that are here for a long time tend to lose their unique flavor and vitality? That’s because, if they’re not fed and cared for well, and they grow sad, they become frailer, weaker, and less appealing to the palate. That’s why over time we need fresh tributes, and why I usually dispose of them, when they are no longer of any use to us for our personal pleasure.”

He licked his lips as he finished the last bite of his dinner. “I prefer my humans to be free-range, so to speak, and of high quality. That standard of health isn’t possible if they were all forcibly imprisoned. Happy humans also multiply in greater numbers, which is even better for us. Let them have their silly little kingdom, go about their lives, and exist in blissful ‘freedom.’ As long as they give us our rightful share and don’t complain, I will be content.”

He inserted his fingers into his pocket and pulled out a small, trembling woman. “Of course, as you know, not all humans go stale! I still have my favorites, like my cute sweet little Millie, now don’t I?” He grinned roguishly and nuzzled her with his nose.

“Y-yes, of course, Your Majesty! I would never want to disappoint you!” the poor creature squeaked, out of fright rather than affection. Ronny looked away, repulsed by the display. He hated his father’s distasteful perversions and could hardly stand to watch. Bianca stared at him with jealousy, wishing she had a tiny man to kiss and pet and play with. King Richard always exclusively requested maidens as tribute, and she was fed up with his selfishness. She was used to always getting what she wanted, so the fact that she couldn’t have one irritated her to no end.

The servants cleared the dirty dishes off the table and brought slices of cheesecake for dessert. King Richard removed a small vial from his pocket full of a glowing blue potion and dripped a drop onto Millie’s head. Her face paled with dread as her body absorbed the substance, a magical anti-digestion fluid that would keep her unharmed inside his stomach. He pressed her into the soft dessert with his index finger up to her shoulders. She turned her head away from him, and Ronny spotted quiet tears glistening on her cheeks. The prince switched his attention to his own dessert and ate in silence, ignoring the display.

King Richard scooped up Millie with his fork and licked the sweet filling off her body, chuckling at her small whines of discomfort. He gently enveloped her in his mouth, humming with delight. After slopping his tongue all over her and sliding her against the inner walls of his teeth, he took another bite of cheesecake and rolled her around with it, sucking it all up with pleasure. He continued in this manner until he finished his entire slice before finally gulping down the small lady.

Ronny hastened to excuse himself from the table, grabbing up his gloves. As he lifted them, he noticed an abnormal weight inside, caused by a small, shivering lump. He flipped the glove and dumped its mystery contents out on the table, only to discover the food human that he thought he’d thrown across the room was hidden inside. She tumbled out and landed on the hard surface with a splattering of sauce.

Ronny glared at her, then at his fancy gloves, soiled inside with sauce. “Ugh! Look what you did, you filthy little rat! These gloves are ruined!” He flung the gloves away, his dark eyes flashing as his white-hot wrath returned with a vengeance. The woman’s eyes widened and she cowered before the giant man looming above her like a mountain. She had already narrowly escaped death when he smashed his dinner plate against the wall; she knew what he was capable of with his volatile temper.

The giant prince slammed his fist on the table next to her, startling her to her feet. Even standing up, she was shorter than his stacked fingers; he could easily crush her in his grasp like an insect. Her legs turned into useless rubber beneath her as she comprehended the futility of resisting and collapsed to the table. Ronny unclenched his fist and grabbed her up, raising her close to his face.

“Vile, foul worm,” he grumbled as she whimpered helplessly in his hand. “I’ll make you pay for that.” He knew humans hated to be eaten, so he shoved her into his mouth and swallowed her hard, sending her straight to the fleshy prison in his midsection. King Richard grinned with approval as he observed his son. Ronny stormed off in a huff, stomping on his gloves and kicking them to the side on his way out.

He clomped down one of the many stony corridors of the castle, fuming with irritation. He could feel the human fighting inside his gut as she was jostled about by his rapid steps. That idiotic human deserved her punishment. Those gloves were custom-made, based on the measurements of his hands, and now he’d have to order a new pair from the royal tailor. Such an inconvenience!

Chapter 2

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