Warnings: RPF, tummy kink, mummy kink, age play, light sub/dom, body image, body image issues, food.
"I am so drunk," Mads says, his head lolling on to Hanne’s shoulder.
"I know, honey, I know," she laughs, undoing his bow tie for him and pulling it away. He kisses her neck, not as sloppily as she had expected. The smell of sweat mingles with his aftershave and smells so good.
Warnings: RPF, food, gentle feeding, sex references, tummy rubs.
Apologies that the words containing words from the Scandinavian alphabet do not: my iPad wouldn’t let me insert them and my laptop is dead until future notice.
"Hands OFF!" Hanne scolds as Mads reaches over to scrape cake batter off the edge of the bowl, "You’ll give yourself food poisoning!"
"Won’t," Mads replies, half-sulkily, "I can handle raw egg, Hanne."
my parents told me not to pick my scabs
but you bleed the prettiest
and over every better choice
I will always pick you
I do not use the word slut.
At least, it is not a bad word.
I call myself a slut,
with my emotions
"the sluttiest virgin in the world"
that’s what my ex called me
the night I met up with her
in London and kissed her
so hard when in wine
and said, “I’ve missed these lips”
even though she had a boyfriend
and we had broken up
originally because she’d cheated on me.
I’m a bad friend when I’m infatuated.
In college I monopolised my time
on the current object of my affections
and hurt my friends and barely realised.
I am a slut, in thought and feeling.
I do not use the word slut.
But sometimes, in jealousy, I want to.
Because I can’t ignore that she is small
fits in the palm of your hand
and her femininity would suit your masculinity
and possibly already has
that slut- no.
It is none of my business.
That word has been hammered into me
between the ages of eleven and now,
right between my eyes and not between my legs.
Perhaps that’s the problem.
I do not use the word slut
but sometimes the word slut
The haze is broken by Imogen’s cry, but they don’t mind. Alana goes to lift the tiny girl out of her cot and brings her back to the bed, where she places her gently on Will’s stomach. Snuggling against the cushioning of her daddy’s body, Imogen stops crying almost immediately. The warmth and softness is intoxicating to her, and she is soon asleep again.
Warnings: contains mpreg, slash, rpf, open marriage, polyamory, body image and body appreciation.
You may get there by candlelight
How many miles to Babylon?
Three score and ten.
Can I get there by candlelight?
Yes, and back again.
If your heels be nimble and light,
You may get there by candlelight.
—How Many Miles To Babylon, lullaby.
One of the reasons Mads sleeps with men is because they aren’t going to get pregnant. Admittedly, it’s a teeny tiny reason, and it’s not like he won’t still use condoms; but he has regular checkups himself and he doesn’t sleep with anyone who hasn’t themselves been checked out recently, so if the condom breaks there is most likely nothing to be worried about.
Warning: tummy rubs + some appreciation of very slight weight gain.
Making the Rumblies
Mads Mikkelsen leans back in the chair at the head of the dining table, breathing out through the corner of his mouth, slipping one hand down to his waistband to try to discreetly lessen the pressure on his stomach. They’ve just had to film seven takes of him eating a quarter of a meal, for reasons Mads cannot comprehend, and his clothing is punishing him for it. Hannibal’s suits are unforgiving, tailored so exactly to Mads’s body that just a bit too much food in his stomach makes the suit trousers pinch, something that clearly wasn’t considered when designing costumes for a character who is shown eating at least once every episode; but he doesn’t want to complain.
Warning: Contains acceptance and appreciation of slight weight gain.
A pudgelove/wg prompt - Charles is totally unashamed of having a soft rounded belly, Erik is totally turned on by it but really awkward about expressing it. Maybe Charles teases him about his awkwardness, before reassuring Erik that it’s fine and he loves the attention Erik pays to his belly. Bonus: On valentines/b-day etc. Charles (before he’s reassured Erik) overeats and ends up with a really distended belly and Erik is beside himself with desire but totally awkward about it. I love your fic!
Erik Lehnsherr was never particularly skilled at expressing his feelings.
Author’s note: Happy Christmas! I apologise for how ridiculous and cheesy this fic is, but I think we could all do with some happy, corny fic right now!
Merlin rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet, his warm breath billowing around him in the sharp, cold air as he waited at the bus stop down the road from Camelot College.