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sara-scribbles · 1 year

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The Littlest Dragon (Part 1)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Malleus Draconia/GN!Reader Summary: Your quiet life as a herbalist is disrupted when you take in an injured dragon Word Count: 5,768 Notes: I just really want a mini-dragon Warnings: None

Part 1, Part 2 Part 3

You almost mistake the bundle of black for a pile of cloth. Upon closer inspection, you can see shiny obsidian scales that shimmer in the light. The creature is larger than a squirrel but smaller than a house cat. Unsure what to do, you approach him cautiously but he doesn’t move.

Gently turning him over, your eyes widen. “A dragon?” Despite his small size, he has definite features of the powerful beasts just squished together in a smaller form.

A quick once over, you can see a twisted front leg and one wing bent at an odd angle. The creature's chest moves up and down but you can almost make out a pained gasp. Making a snap decision, you carefully wrap the dragon in your coat before rushing back home. Your half filled basket of herbs forgotten.

Bursting through the gate, you startle the three chickens resting nearby. The cluck loudly as you give a quick apology. Setting the dragon down on your table inside the cottage, you wash your hands before grabbing what you need.

Setting the armload of potions, salves and bandages, you get to work patching up the dragon. Thankfully the little guy stays passed out throughout the process. You clean and disinfect the wounds before applying salves. You create a makeshift splint for the front leg and wing. After finally satisfied, you slump down in a chair.

Watching the creature curiously, you decide to let him rest until he wakes up. You aren’t sure about the healing rate of dragons let alone such a small one.

Resting your cheek on the table, you gently stroke the top of his head. You’re fascinated by the two horns that curl back into his head. “I didn’t realize they could be so small,” you mumble.

Letting out a deep sigh, you take the dragon upstairs to your bedroom. You place a pillow on a chair in the corner of your room and set him down. Recalling a lesson on dragons, you bundle a spare blanket around him for a makeshift nest. Leaving the creature to rest, you return downstairs to clean up.

---

A few days go by but the dragon remains asleep. You periodically check in on him to change the dressings and reapply the salves. You’re happy to say the wounds are healing nicely. However, you’re starting to worry if the dragon will ever wake up.

It’s the middle of the night when you’re roused from sleep. Blearily opening your eyes, you meet the deep green gaze of the dragon. He stands on the pillow next to your own. His tongue flicks out making you flinch.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” you mutter. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sit up, which causes the dragon to step back. “How’d you even get over here?” You finally notice the bandages on the wing missing, but he seems perfectly fine.

He tilts his head to one side. Dragons are said to be intelligent creatures, you recall. “Do you want something to eat? I assume you’re probably hungry after sleeping for five days.”

Without waiting for an answer, you get out of bed and head downstairs with the little creature flying after you. You manage to make a simple plate of beef and vegetables. Watching the dragon attack the meal with such ferocity, you realize he must have been starving despite seeming so calm. Once he finishes the meal, he sits back with his claws on his stomach.

“Satisfied?” You chuckle as you notice food all over his face. He stays completely still as you clean his face.

Leaning an elbow on the table, you both stare at each other. “So… what do I call you?” He only lets out a gurgling of growls in response. “How about Tsunotarou?” He seems to nod as if your silly name is an acceptable one for a dragon.

“Well, it seems like your wing is healed, but your front leg still needs a bit of time. If you want, you can stay here until then,” you offer.

He says something you don’t understand once more, but looks satisfied as he decides to perch on your shoulder. “Alright, let's go back to bed. I have an early morning.” Yawning, you head back upstairs for some sleep.

---

You live in a cottage away from others. It was a gift from your late parents. Small but cozy, you don’t mind the solitude. In the front, you have a chicken coop with three hens. You also have a small barn for your goat, Phillis. In the back, your garden grows a few vegetables, fruits and herbs. The woods nearby provide you with wild herbs and berries. Anything else you need, you can go into town or ask Ace and Deuce to bring them.

As a herbalist, you create salves and potions, which you sell in town once a week. Unlike most herbalists, you lack magic. However, that’s never stopped you from doing your job. Plus you were taught by the best of the best, so the quality of your work is great.

The usual day consists of you getting up early to feed the chickens and goat. Then you take stock of your inventory. After, you usually head into the woods to gather herbs. The rest of the day consists of brewing potions and salves, and tending to the garden. At night, you make dinner, make sure the chickens are in their coop, and do some light reading before bed. Rinse and repeat.

It may seem dull to most, but you enjoy the routine. Sometimes your day is broken up by a visit from Ace and Deuce, an adventuring duo, who you’ve known since school. They argue and fight, but ultimately work well as a team when needed. Their antics never fail to make your day entertaining.

Today when you get up, the dragon follows you. In the kitchen you make a breakfast of eggs and a fruit bowl. It seems Tsunotarou isn’t too picky on what you feed him as he gobbles everything up. After a quick cleanup, you and your new companion head outside. Your three chickens are already awake. They strut around the front yard as you grab a bag of feed.

“Alright, ladies, time for breakfast,” you call. Sprinkling the food, the three descend near you in a flurry of white and brown feathers.

Tsunotarou, who perched himself on your shoulder, leans forward watching in rapt interest. “Do you want to try to feed them?” you ask, holding the bag of feed up.

Using his good claw, he picks up a small handful before tossing them in the air. Most of the feed falls on the ground, though some does fall on the chickens. “Maybe aim a little more toward the ground,” you chuckle.

The three start trying to eat the feed off each other's backs, which causes a lot of squawking. One pecks another on the head rather viciously. “Flora, that’s not nice! Now apologize to Merryweather,” Scolding the chicken, she seems to deflate a bit before sulkily wandering off with a sad cluck.

Shaking your head, you set aside the chicken feed to grab food for Phillis. “Those two always seem to be fighting,” you tell Tsunotarou, who continues to watch the three hens. “Fauna is the mild mannered one of the group, thankfully. I guess she balances them out.”

Phillis comes trotting over the moment you're within sight. Patting her head, you scratch her behind the ears. “Morning, princess.” She bleats happily at the attention. The little dragon flies off your shoulder to get a better look at Phillis. She noses his stomach curiously as he reaches out to pat her on the snout.

“She’s a gentle one.” You smile as she nudges your side to hurry you up on getting her breakfast. “Okay, okay! I’m getting there.”

Once you give her food and water, you head back inside to your work room. You go through your current stock of ingredients while Tsunotarou flips through the thick tome of recipes. You wonder briefly if dragons can read, but knowing how highly intelligent they are, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.

“That was given to me by my former teacher, Crewel. He taught me everything I know about brewing potions,” you explain as you check things off. “He was a tough teacher, but I learned from the best. I still have nightmares about that riding crop…” Not that he ever used it on you, but when he wanted to make a point, he made one.

You continue, “The potion and salve I used for you is for speeding up the healing process. It supposedly works on all living creatures, so I was hoping it would work on dragons.”

Tsunotarou leaves the tome to come over to your side. You shake your head as you reread your lists. “I seem to be out of a lot of stuff,” you mutter to yourself.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh. “I’ll have to make a trip into town.” Glancing at the creature on your shoulder, you regard him silently. His intelligent green eyes stare back as he stretches his wings.

“So, I either have to leave you here alone.” He bristles, eyes narrowing. “Or, you have to stay hidden until we get back from town.” You aren’t sure how people would react if they saw a small dragon on your shoulder. It would be better not to take the chance of possibly causing a commotion.

He agrees to your second option as he flies off your shoulder and lands in the satchel you keep hung up near the front door. His head pokes out when you don’t move. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

You leave for the main shopping center with the dragon in tow. A bit nervous, you try to calm yourself through the walk. Tsunotarou pokes his head out taking in the scenery. At least someone is feeling fine.

The hustle and bustle of the town can be heard as you near the gate. The guards let you through without much of a glance. Here, adventures and merchants can check in the numerous guilds while stocking up on supply. It’s always busy as people move in and out. You only really stop here every few months to get supplies. By now, the shops you frequent are familiar with what you need, which makes shopping a little easier.

First stop is to pick up some herbs. Looking at your herb list, you easily weave your way through the streets. “I was dangerously low on four leaf clovers and died mandrakes…”

“Hello?” The greenhouse is quiet as you don’t see anyone. “Jack?” You tap the little bell on the front counter.

Finally, someone comes to the front. “Hey, (Y/N),” Jack greets with a nod. Though just a part-timer, he knows the greenhouse inside and out.

Smiling, you point to your list. “Just need to restock a few things.” Handing the list over, he quickly looks everything over.

“I’ll be right back with everything.” He’s gone in a flash.

You feel Tsunotarou wiggle around in the satchel before poking his head out. “You have to stay hidden,” you whisper, placing a finger over your lips.

His head turns this way and that way before he retreats back into the bag. Just in time too as Jack returns with your things. Scratching his head, his ears twitch. “Uh, sorry we’re out of powdered death caps. We oughta be getting some next week.”

“That’s fine. I don’t think I’ll be needing them right away. Can you put me on the list to set some aside when they come in?” He leans over to hand you the other items. He pauses for a moment, his brows drawing together as his eyes dart around.

“Jack?” You inch back a bit. You can only hope he’ll ignore whatever he’s smelling.

Seeming to remember himself, he pulls back with an awkward cough. “S-sorry…” He hastily scribbles your name down in a small book. “That’ll be thirty-three for the rest.”

As you reach in your satchel for your coin purse, your hand brushes against the dragon hiding there. Freezing up, your gaze darts over to Jack, who thankfully is busy doing something else. You feel coins being pressed into your hand. Glancing inside your bag, Tsunotarou looks up at you expectantly. He flicks his tongue out a few times.

Counting the coins in your hand, you can’t help the grin spreading across your face. He had given your exact change. “Somethin’ up?” Jack inquires, noting the way you’re looking down.

Snapping your attention back to him, you shake your head. “Nope. Here’s the money.” You hurriedly hand him the coins. “I’ll see you next week, Jack.” Giving him a rushed wave, you quickly leave the greenhouse.

Once a good distance away, you let out a deep sigh. “I think that went well.” Opening your satchel a bit, you’re met with judging green eyes. “Don’t look at me like that! I panicked!”

Shoving the bag of herbs into a corner of the satchel, Tsunotarou curls deeper into the bag. Letting the satchel bag flap fall back down, you return to the other lists you made. “Guess we’ll visit Sam’s shop next…”

Sam’s is busy as usual when you arrive. Pushing through the throng of customers, you make your way to the shelf filled with bottles. Picking out a few that you need for potions, you move on to the jars. By the time you go to checkout, you can feel Tsunotarou squirming inside the satchel. He pokes his head out every now and then, but only does it when there aren’t many people around. People are too busy with their own shopping, they don’t even glance your way.

“Welcome back, little imp!” Sam greets.

You return the greeting with a wide smile. “Hey, Sam. Just the usual.” As Sam wraps each glass bottle in brown paper, you mentally do the math of how much you owe.

He carefully splits your items into two bags. “That’ll be one-hundred unless you’re looking for something out of stock?”

“No, I’m good for today.” You reach into your satchel and Tsunotarou presses the coins into your hand. “Here you go.”

Sam eyes your bag with interest but doesn’t say anything. “See you next time!”

You’re thankful that Sam doesn’t pry. The next stores are all uneventful. By the time you’re walking back home, you have an armload of bags. Your satchel can usually hold more, but the extra guest makes it difficult to fit anything beyond the herbs in there.

Once home, you put everything away before feeding everyone. Later, you’re stretched out in front of the fireplace with a botany book in hand. Tsunotarou is curled up on your lap while you read and take notes along the pages. Though you’re used to being alone, it’s like a familiar comfort to feel his weight on your lap.

When it’s time for bed, you carry the still sleeping dragon upstairs. Putting Tsunotarou in the makeshift nest, you climb into bed. However, before you can fall asleep, Tsunotarou flies over with the blanket in his mouth. Standing at the edge of the bed, it’s almost like he’s giving you puppy dog eyes.

Rolling your eyes, you pat the empty spot near your pillow. “Fine, come on.”

He lets out a satisfied chirp. He wraps the blanket in a neat pile before laying down. Laying on your side, you chuckle while scratching the top of his head. “Good night, Tsunotarou.”

---

At the end of the month you’re preparing a few potions that need to be bathed in moonlight. Tsunotarou sets down the vials you’ve finished in the rack on the windowsill near the front door. You're grateful to have the extra…claws while juggling a few other things at once.

“One more glamor potion and that should be the last of the orders,” you tell Tsunotarou as he perches on your shoulder while you’re stirring the cauldron. “Thanks for the help.” You give him a little scratch under his chin.

You swear he purrs with the way you feel his body vibrate. “I swear you’re a cat disguised as a dragon,” you chortle while bopping him on the nose.

He stares back at you before slowly blinking in return. “You can’t blame me for making the connection. You even caught a snake and left it as a gift,” you continue while sprinkling in some crushed rose petals. “Also, you shouldn’t do that again.”

The dragon grumbles deep within his chest. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but let's leave the wildlife alone.”

Pouring the potion into a vial and sealing it, you hand it off to Tsunotarou, who takes it into his paws before flying off to put it in the rack. Taking a seat, you lean back with a deep sigh.

Tsunotarou returns, taking a seat on the table. His front paw is fully healed and is no longer wrapped in bandages. Despite being back to full health, it doesn’t seem like he plans to go anywhere.

Suddenly there’s a commotion of loud squawking before the front door is thrown open. “Oi! (Y/N), we’re back!” Ace shouts while letting the door bang.

You tumble back in the chair and hit the ground. “Ahhhkk-ow!” Your head rebounds off the floor with a loud smack.

Two things happen at once. Deuce, who’s behind Ace, rushes over to help you up; however, he’s met with a hissing dragon blocking him that spits red flames at him. His sleeve automatically catches fire and the cottage is filled with panicked, confused screaming.

“Ahhhahhhhhck! Put it out!”

“Is that a dragon!?”

While the two run around screaming, you stare in a daze at the ceiling. Tsunotarou’s face suddenly fills your vision. He chirps a few times before you finally respond with a pat on his head. “I’m okay…”

Slowly sitting up, you notice the two idiots are now quiet. Deuce is no longer on fire, thankfully. However, they take in the sight of Tsunotarou sitting on your shoulder from a safe distance. You wince when you touch the already forming lump on the back of your head.

You huff before glaring at the redhead. “What did I say about suddenly bursting through the front door, Ace?! Can’t you knock like a normal person?”

“Well…I-I…!” Ace sputters unintelligibly before he jabs a finger at the dragon on your shoulder. “Forget about me for a second! What’s that thing?!”

Tsunotarou bares his teeth with a low growl. “We are going to have this conversation later,” you tell him before shifting gears. “This is Tsunotarou. I found him in the forest a little over a month ago.”

“Is he like a baby dragon?” Deuce asks, eyes wide.

Picking up the fallen chair, you shake your head. “I don’t think so. Anyways, baby dragons are much larger. Maybe he’s just a special type of dragon?”

Ace leans closer but pulls back when Tsunotarou snaps at him. “Kinda vicious. He almost barbecued poor Deucy.”

“You also busted in here suddenly. He probably thought you two were threats,” you point out. “Anyways, What trouble did you get into this time?”

“Psssh! Why’d you think we got in trouble?”

“Because you have an infected, bleeding wound on your arm, Ace.” Rolling your eyes, you go to your workroom before returning with a handful of potions, salves, and bandages. “Sit.”

As they plop down, you hand them each a potion. “We had a commission to take down some orcs that were terrorizing a small village,” Deuce explains. “But, uh, turns out it was actually a colony of orcs.”

“So you got beat up?” You clean Deuce’s cuts, which are mostly minor. A few do need some salve and bandages.

You move on to Ace, who looks the worse between the two. “We didn’t get beat up,” Ace grumbles. “We took them down! Aaaa-ouch!!” Biting your lip, you continue to dab his infected wound.

“You two get into more trouble than anyone I know. Did you at least get a good reward?”

“Of course!” Ace pulls out a hefty coin purse and lets it fall on the table. “All in a day's work.” He grins smugly with his nose in the air.

Flicking his nose, you shake your head as he covers his face. “Don’t freely show that off or you’ll get mugged. Again.” Finished with his wounds, you place a small container of salve in his hand. “Use this once a day until everything is gone. It should, hopefully, not scar.”

“Um, (Y/N), can we crash here?” Deuce asks. He shrinks back when you give him a look.

Rubbing your temples, you sigh, “Fine. But one of you is gonna be sleeping on the floor cause I only have one couch.”

Ace jumps up. “Dibs!”

“Wait, you got the couch the last time! It’s my turn!” Leaving the two bickering adventurers, you head upstairs to find some spare blankets.

Tsunotarou gives you a questioning look as you rummage around in your closet. “They’re good friends. A little annoying at times, but they’ve always had my back.” You can’t count how many times they’ve slept at your place.

“They’re just as rowdy as they were in school,” you mutter as you head back down with two pillows and some blankets.

---

You can’t sleep. Tossing and turning, you finally settle on your back to glare at the ceiling. Ace and Deuce both snore loud enough to be heard from your bedroom. Tsunotarou had disappeared though you weren’t too worried. He would sometimes leave in the middle of the night, most likely to hunt, but he would always return by the time you got up.

Sitting up, you carefully make your way downstairs. “Maybe something to eat will help,” you mumble. You spot Ace hanging off the couch, so you know who lost the argument.

Just as you’re about to tiptoe around Deuce, you hear some loud clucking. Eyes furrowing, you wonder why the hens are up at this hour. Forgetting about your midnight snack, you head to the front door. Stepping outside, the air is warm but nice enough for early summer. Before you can move, you notice a figure standing near the chicken coop.

Not only is it strange to see a person at this time, but there’s also one other thing making you pause and rethink your plans. The moon hangs large in the sky and bathes the world in an ethereal silvery glow. The stranger stands there, head tilted upward to the sky, completely still.

And completely naked.

Slowly closing the door, you slide the deadbolt in place with a muffled click. Hopefully the naked stranger will leave. You doubt the deadbolt would keep anyone out if they actually wanted to break in. However, the act of using it at least gives you a small peace of mind.

Deciding the hens can take care of themselves, you head back to bed. You’re far too tired to deal with whatever nonsense is happening outside. As you drift off to sleep, your last thought is of Tsunotarou. You send a small prayer to whoever is listening that he’s alright.

However, you're woken by a loud crash. And then. “AHHHHHH!!!” “DO SOMETHING!!!”

Bolting out of bed, sunlight filters through the window. Despite feeling like you didn’t sleep at all, it’s morning. You grab the nearest object, a broom, before rushing downstairs. In your haste you nearly slip but manage to catch yourself. Wielding the broom, you’re ready to smack whatever intruder is causing trouble.

Instead of a naked intruder, you witness Ace trying to put out a fire with one of your spare pillows. Deuce is rushing over with a cup of water and dumps it on the flaming blanket. It goes out with a loud sizzle. Both boys let out a relieved sigh as you set the broom down.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” you ask, not amused.

“Your overgrown lizard,” Ace jabs a finger at Tsunotarou, who is sitting on top of the table, “tried to set me on fire! He tried to murder me!!”

You glance at Deuce, who is still clutching the cup, then back at the frazzled redhead. “Did you do anything to him? Tsunotarou doesn’t just attack people out of nowhere.”

Ace rubs the back of his neck as he suddenly loses the fire in his eyes. “I…I might have said he got fat… And that you should get rid of him,” he admits. “B-But! I’m not wrong! He’s gotten bigger overnight. Soon he’ll be too big for your house!”

Your attention goes to the dragon, who sits patiently while watching the scene. You can’t deny that he’s gotten bigger. Now he’s the size of a large cat, possibly even bigger. “Do dragons usually have growth spurts?” you wonder aloud.

“I don’t remember reading about this at school,” Deuce says, nodding thoughtfully.

“Would you two think about the bigger issue!? He’s gonna grow too big and probably eat us all! That’s what dragons do!” Ace shouts, waving his hands around wildly.

Walking over to Tsunotarou, you gently stroke his head. “You wouldn’t do that would you?” He gurgles happily, leaning into your touch. “See. He wouldn’t eat us. We’re not very tasty anyways.”

Ace slaps a hand over his face. “(Y/N), he’s a dragon! Not a pet!”

“I know. And dragons are highly intelligent, which means they can understand us.” You chuckle when he rubs against your arm. “I’m pretty sure if Tsunotarou wanted to eat us, he would’ve burned us all alive by now.”

Deuce shudders. “Morbid…”

“Oh yeah!” You completely ignore the last comment. “There’s possibly a naked stranger wandering around this area. I saw him standing near the chicken coop last night.” Tsunotarou makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“...what?” Both boys stare at you before scrambling for the front door.

“Pretty sure he left already!” They don’t hear you as they race outside still in their sleepwear. Lifting Tsunotarou into your arms, you huff, “You’ve gotten heavier too. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to fit in my satchel now.” He only nuzzles your face with his scaly snout.

Coming outside, the hens are just fine. Tsunotarou flies out of your arms to grab the bag of feed. Deuce watches in rapt interest as he throws chicken feed in front of the hens. “He actually helps out?” he asks, surprised.

It really is a sight to see. “Yup. He’s been helping with small things here and there. He even hands me ingredients when I make potions.”

Once the hens are properly fed, he flies off to take care of Phillis. Despite her initial fear of him, Phillis seems to have gotten used to him. You two follow behind to Phillis's pen. Tsunotarou pats the top of her head while she eats.

“I never thought I’d see a dragon taking care of a goat instead of eating one…” Deuce looks both perplexed and awed.

“Hey!” Ace storms over with twigs and leaves in his hair. “What the hell, Deuce!”

“Huh??”

“I thought we were looking for the weirdo (Y/N) saw. Instead you leave me to do the work.” he grumbles.

Deuce gestures over to Tsunotarou. “I-I got distracted,” he sputters.

The redhead barely passes a glance over to the dragon. “Excuses like always, Deucy.”

“Did you find anything,” you ask, distracting Ace.

“Nah. Think whoever it was left.” Ace shakes his head.

Resisting the urge to say “I told you so” because he didn’t listen, you head back inside. “Come on, unless you wanna stay in your pajamas.”

While Ace gets cleaned up in the bath, Deuce helps with getting breakfast ready. “Hey, do you want us to ask Riddle to come over?”

You hand a plate to Tsunotarou to bring to the table.“Why?”

“To get some protective runes made around the perimeter of your place. Maybe it’ll keep the weirdo you saw out.” There’s a huff and light growl from behind him. “Uh… is he okay?” He inches away from the irritated dragon.

You scratch the top of Tsunotarou’s head, which causes him to almost vibrate. “Something wrong, Tsunotarou? Are you worried about the weirdo too?” You chuckle when he butts your arm with his head.

“You don’t seem too worried,” Deuce points out.

“Milk or orange juice?” You hold up two jugs.

“Milk, please.”

“I mean, I think if that stranger wanted to hurt us, he would've broken down the door. The deadbolt doesn’t do much,” you say while setting down glasses. “I’ll be fine, Deuce, so don’t worry.”

“...sure,” he agrees hesitantly. You can still see the concern on his face, but before you can say anything more, Ace comes down.

“Breakfast ready?” He slides into a chair looking around expectantly.

You hand him a bowl of fruit. “No thanks to you.”

Breakfast is a lively affair with the two extra guests. Ace and Deuce keep the conversation going as they regale you with their latest adventure in detail. It goes by far too quickly for your taste. Sure your days aren’t so quiet with Tsunotarou, but it does get somewhat lonely having a one-sided conversation.

“Well, Tsunotarou, it’s just you, me and the girls again,” you say with a deep sigh. You set him on the ground with a groan. “Okay, buddy, you’re a little too heavy to hold for long periods now.”

He lets out a pitiful sound before rubbing his head against your thigh. “Come on, let's get the rest of the day started.” As you go back into the house, Tsunotarou doesn’t immediately follow.

His sharp green eyes survey the area around your home. Tongue flickering out, a low snarl starts in his chest. Something catches his eye in the trees just beyond your fence. His back bristles as he opens his mouth. Green flames swirl around his mouth as his eyes narrow.

“Tsunotarou, are you still out here?” you call, coming back outside. Lifting him up, you don’t notice the way his gaze is focused on something else. “Are you mad that I can’t carry you?” you ask with a chuckle.

The dragon doesn’t respond as he rests his snout on your shoulder. As you close the door, his gaze never leaves the line of trees. There’s a flash of yellow before the door is firmly shut.

---

To your surprise Ace and Deuce return a few days later. And even more of a surprise, Riddle is with them. You nearly slam the door in their face when you see them. Nervously looking between the two adventures, you can feel heat prickling the back of your neck. Ace avoids eye contact while Deuce sheepishly mouths an apology.

Riddle is the first to speak up. “These two let it slip that you’re harboring a dragon. Being the head of the Heartslabyul Guild, I thought it would be prudent for me to check. Rule 134 states no unregistered magical creatures within 10 miles of the guild are allowed. They must be taken to the appropriate handlers.”

Casting dirty looks at the two, you open the door wider. “Please come in, Riddle.” You rather like having your door on its hinges.

As he enters, he looks around before his gaze zeroes in on the dragon resting on the couch. “It really is a dragon…”

Ace and Deuce carefully slink past you before you shut the door. “As you can see, Riddle, he’s not a danger to anyone.” You try to smile as innocently as possible.

He turns to you. “I realize the rules may not apply to you, (Y/N), since you’re not a part of our guild, but a dragon is dangerous regardless of its size. Ace mentioned he grew bigger last night. Who’s to say he won’t stop growing and then lay waste to everything?”

Said redhead suddenly has a keen interest in your hanging herbs. “Tsunotarou isn’t like that,” you argue. “He’s never hurt anyone and he’s been living with me of all people.” The magicless human who would be a prime target for magical creatures.

Riddle walks over to the now awake dragon. Tsunotarou regards him with keen interest unlike Ace and Deuce. They both size each other up. Riddle’s brows draw together as he continues to observe him.

“Everything okay?” you ask when the staring seems to drag on.

“Did you know there’s a curse on him?” He walks around the couch to observe Tsunotarou on all sides. The dragon doesn’t move an inch but seems fairly relaxed despite Riddle being a complete stranger.

You and the two boys share a look. “No, I didn’t. Is that why he’s so small?”

“Maybe.” He’s unsure. “It’s old magic and very powerful. I honestly don’t know what kind of curse it is.” Standing in front of Tsunotarou once more, Riddle sighs while touching his head. “This is more complicated than I thought. I’ll need to do some research before trying to determine the curse. I might have to ask Vil for his help on this.”

Sitting on the arm of the couch, you stroke Tsunotarou’s head. “Are you cursed?” you ask him. His head bobs up and down. “How come you two didn’t notice?” Your question is directed at the two bean spillers.

“They probably wrote it off as the creature's magical powers leaving a residue,” Riddle answers. He gives them a stern look. “They’ll need to go through more training later.”

Both stiffen as the color drains from their faces.

“So what now?”

Shaking his head, Riddle glances at his pocket watch. “I need to head back to the guild for tea. I’ll look into curses and consult Vil about this as well. For now, just make sure no one else sees him. We don’t want people to think a dangerous creature is on the loose and panic.”

“Alright. Thank you!” At least he’s going to try and help. You know Riddle could have decided Tsunotarou was a danger and taken him away.

When they’re gone, you plop down on the couch. Tsunotarou immediately climbs into your lap and makes himself comfortable. “Cursed huh?” You lift his face so you can look into his eyes. “Are you secretly a prince who got cursed by an evil sorcerer and only true love's kiss can break the spell?” you ask with a teasing grin.

He stares back before blinking slowly. Laughing at the ridiculous thought, you bop his nose affectionately. “I hope Riddle figures out your curse. I’d love to see your full form.”

#twst imagines #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #reader insert #scenario

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pedropascallme · 1 year

Text

Stupid For You

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: “‘What do you think, kid? Do I sound like your dad?’”

Warnings: Use of gendered titles (“wife” and “mother”) but otherwise just longing and a little fluff?

AN: Read part two here

Soundtrack: Stupid For You by Waterparks

“I could bring you in warm…or I could bring you in cold…” You hopped around in Din’s old chest plate, doing your best impression of the Mandalorian as Grogu watched on, gurgling happily and reaching up for you.

“What do you think, kid? Do I sound like your dad?” You picked him up, cradling him in your arms as he continued to babble nonsense. You had finally figured out, after days of being unable to stop him from crying, that all the baby really wanted was his father. It had been an accident that you had found out, really; it just happened that Grogu had gotten himself stuck in an old pauldron, and it just happened that you really wanted to try on some of the armor for yourself, and it just happened that you had to bring the kid everywhere with you—otherwise you would end up in a ship piloted by a wild-child who enjoyed tearing apart anything he could reach with his tiny baby hands.

Din had been gone, what, four days now? Not too bad. He had been gone longer before. He often returned to the ship after a little over a week, battered and bruised, and all you had to do was make sure his son was fed and happy. You were essentially just a glorified babysitter, although sometimes you liked to think of yourself as a sort of makeshift mother; you really did love the kid. Still, the longer you spent on the Crest, the longer you cared for the child, the longer you spent time with Din, growing increasingly fond of the few words you shared with each other (including a few in what you assumed was Mando’a that you couldn’t understand. What in the fresh hell was a “mesh’la”?) you couldn’t help but…miss him?

It was stupid. You were stupid. You knew his given name, and you knew he was a Mandalorian, and you knew his freak baby was capable of a little too much. Everything else was more or less a mystery to you. He seemed to like it that way, and you weren’t really in any position to change it at all. Making any move he was uncomfortable with could result in losing your job, the one true connection to anybody else that you had. Maker, you had seen what Din could do; worst case scenario you’d end up in carbonite. And, really, what would the galaxy’s scariest bounty hunter want with a wife? Not that you were thinking that far in advance, but weren’t you?

Stupid.

The child yawned, big eyes drooping slightly as you walked him to his floating bassinet. He continued to try to keep conversation with you, small patu noises here and there.

“I hear ya,” you placed him down, “but how about we continue this conversation at a later date?” He squawked and you put your hands on your hips, jutting out your knee in an attempt to properly emulate Din. Grogu made a sound that seemed like a laugh, eyes closing slowly as he tried to fight off his drowsiness.

“This is The Way.” You whispered to him, still trying to bring him peace of mind by pretending. You could feel that he missed his dad—guardian—whatever—every time Din went out during these long periods. And, hey, pretending to be as fearless and powerful as Din was fun for you, too. It kept you and the baby from going stir-crazy. It made you both feel a little safer when you put on the old, beat-up armor and acted like you were an unstoppable Mandalorian. Grogu’s breathing settled into a soft rhythm, signifying that he had lost his battle with sleep. You closed the top of his crib, turning on your heel.

“Is that what I sound like?”

You stopped in your tracks.

Din stood before you, still as a statue.

“W—I just—”

“I think my voice is deeper.” He walked forward, only taking a few strides before he was directly in front of you.

“You have a modulator.” You tried your best to avoid his gaze, heat blooming in your cheeks as you had been caught in the act of imitating—mocking—your boss. Your caretaker. Roommate? Boss.

“Mm.” He stood still before reaching his arm out in front of him, a gloved hand making contact with the chest plate you were wearing. He wrapped his knuckles against it, and you felt the vibrations of the metal over your chest. You could feel your heart in your throat. He was back, without any warning, without so much as a hello, and now he was standing before you, this beautiful man without a face, making what must have been the first purposeful physical contact you two had ever had.

“Where did you find this?”

“The-the kid found it. Kept rummaging through your, uh, wardrobe…” You trailed off, unsure if that was the correct word to use for the tiny storage space on the ship that Din had the habit of throwing spare capes and old clothes in. “He likes when I wear it.” You tried to sound like you weren’t pushing down the feeling of intense humiliation.

“You’d make a good Mandalorian.” Din dropped his hand. “It looks good on you, cyare.”

He stayed in front of you for a few moments, peering through his visor and examining you. After a few moments, he turned, walking away and up to the cockpit.

You stood where he had left you, raising a hand to where he had touched the armor you wore.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

You're playing ring around my head I wear you like a halo You're a symphony, I'm just a sour note

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

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doobea · 8 months

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BLLK - RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS CONT.

contents: some suggestive in oliver's, overall super fluffy, like domestic fluff its insane but i love it, gn!reader characters: sae, oliver, isagi, rin a/n: hehe im throwing this out just to have something but also i love coming up w hcs and its been a WHILE since my last one

SAE

Because of his constant travels, it was his idea one night that there needed to be something physical to keep himself reminded of you at night. Which led to him bringing you to a build-a-bear store the very next day. You took your time deciding which animal to choose from, scents, cute outfits (obviously you had to pick the soccer jersey), and recording your voice memo. He keeps the plushie by his bedside, sending you pictures of it every night, and even buys a small bed for it. You can't help but feel slightly jealous that he's treating a toy better than you.

The sounds of him brushing his teeth and gurgling mouthwash wakes you up every time. He doesn't mean to be so loud about it, Sae can't exactly control the volume of his electric toothbrush and he has to make sure that his breath smells nice before he goes in for a morning kiss.

"My hands are cold." and proceeds to touch your face. Will chase you around the house to make sure you warm him up. Don't even bother running away because he's a literal athlete. Probably refuses to wear gloves when it's cold outside just so he can stick his hands in your pockets too.

OLIVER

Karaoke nights with Oliver are like no other. He has a nice voice, but will purposefully sing terribly just to hear you laugh. With the combination of alcohol and old-school tunes, the two of you will test the limits of the so-called 'soundproof' rooms.

He's the type of boyfriend who loves to test physical boundaries in more ways than one. Walking in public, he'll 'accidentally' brush his hands against your bottoms or your chest. If you're taking a shower, he'll try and poke you from behind the shower curtains. Leaves his mouth a mess when he's eating food and specifically asks you to lick the sauce away.

Sadly, he eats your leftovers when you haven't touched them after a day. He tries to be super sneaky and tries to help you look for it after finishing the whole thing. And yes, he gaslights you just a tiny bit - "baby, are you sure you didn't eat it yourself?"

ISAGI

Under the condition that you have a lot of plushies, Isagi will either neatly place them around your shared apartment or send you videos of him punching them across the room - there's no middle ground.

Mentioned this before briefly but he'll show you all the highlights of his games. But not the professional videos - he'll go out of his way to find videos that are edited poorly (he thinks they're cool tho) and will force you to watch them with him. The videos with dubstep outros and intros, like and subscribe for more, and Roblox figures flying across the screen.

If you're not paying attention to him, Isagi will literally pull out his phone, take a picture of you with 'HEEEYYY' as the caption, and send it to you despite being within arm's reach. What's gotten your attention that's more important than him?

RIN

He definitely sleeps with a blanket that he's had since he was like five. The type of blanket that has holes in it, design and color faded by how much he's used it, and he was super embarrassed when you found it stuffed underneath his bed when he first invited you over. After suffering an endless amount of teasing, he brings out the blanket when he wants cuddles.

Facetiming with Rin is always so endearing yet so awkward at the same time. His face is never fully shown, only the corner of his head, and there are long periods of silence just because Rin hates having conversations on the phone. Expect a lot of "oh so what are you doing right now" every ten minutes - he's trying his best!

His favorite pastime is laying in bed with you in his arms and scrolling aimlessly on the phone. Whether it be reading a funny thread together, scrolling through TikTok, or watching a movie on Netflix - he finds it easy to relax with you and easily falls asleep within an hour.

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honestsycrets · 5 months

Note

hi sy! first things first, you’re a fantastic writer. i am in LOVE with your western series! second, may i request an idea? it’s the 1920s, and miguel is one of the top mobsters in nueva york, while the reader is his mob wife. after an attempted hit from one of miguel’s rivals that nearly kills her and gabriella, the reader decides it’s time to her and little girl to skip town, but miguel will be damned if his family tries to leave him. cueeeee angst, drama, the whole shabang!

canary I: a threat | [miguel o'hara x reader x gabriel o'hara]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader, gabriel o'hara x reader

❛ type | double shot; 5k

❛ tags | non-monogamy, some angst, 1920s inspired piece, irish clan inspired piece, bootlegging and mention of hits, explicit, a depiction of killings, some jealousy, some trad-roles elements, f!reader, 1920s slang and Spanish not translated, time period birth control (cervical cap).

❛ sy’s notes | i have spent weeks staring at this piece. it's a bit longer than my usual works and for that reason i decided to split it up into two chapters. this piece takes on a little bit more of a generalized irish mob approach rather than italian. this chapter is more domestic than the subsequent one will be.

Miguel O’Hara hated it when his kills ran. No matter how many alleyways they ducked into, shoddily constructed fences they tumbled over, or crappy cars they tried to hitch a ride in, he always found them.

His fingers were blisteringly tight around his kill’s throat, sure to leave certain bruising if the man made it out alive. He wouldn’t. Not based on the blood that seeped over Miguel’s tanned hand. He gurgled underneath Miguel’s hand, the kill messier than he imagined. Any number of his hitmen could have carried out this contract but instead, his crisp white top was slathered in the contract kill of the week. He recalled the sudden memory of his hand on your slight waist, the kiss on the top of your head with the promise of his night. He snarled the memory away.

Should’ve just shot him, Miguel thought. Mierda.

With the fading of the man’s life, his choked grunts drifted into silence. Miguel allowed the man to slump over. Silence fractured, his world bursting with sound. The salt-laden wind whistled past his hair as ships sailed into the pier, carrying cargo, and his latest shipments. Bootlegged booze had its own benefits-- poor training and numbers among agents, for example. A crackle of an engine sped down the road was followed by the bright beams of an electric headlamp.

“¡Oye, Miguel!”

Of course. Under the bright moon that shone arrogantly in the dark sky, the figure came into focus. His polished suit was just a tad too big for his toned, but hardly muscular frame. Even in the darkness, he had the kind of smile that made people feel like they were the special ones. It matched the gentleness in his eyes behind that swoop of chestnut brown hair. If the feds published men of their color on army recruitment posters, he’d certainly make the cut. Handsome, but not too handsome. Strong, but not too strong.

“Gabe,” he breathed. “The lights.”

“Lights? The lights!” Gabriel looked back at his shiny black car. He bounced back toward the car, bellowing. “This a Spot boy? You did a number on him.”

“You sap. Could you be any louder?” Miguel threw aside. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you could use me tonight, big shot,” Gabriel said in that sugar-dipped tongue of his. It works less on Miguel than it had on you. It was oddly discomforting. As the days wore on, he loathed his brother’s silver tongue.

“I could use someone watching my girls.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I was. They're sleeping." Gabriel booted the man, more than minced meat when Miguel was done with him. “You had some beef with him, huh?”

“No.” Miguel mumbled, looking at the man’s body rather than his own, something sharp hovering there. There was nothing he wanted less than to stand in the biting cold listening to his baby brother prattle on a moment longer. He wiped his blade on his once-was-crisp slacks and slid it back into its sheathe. “Let’s hit it.”

“Jake,” Gabriel said, an annoying rendition of an okay. Gabriel was full of shitty terms from his stint in the big house. Almost as many as he picked up at Miguel’s speakeasy.

“Say. Miguel?”

Gabriel’s voice was soft, almost strained. Miguel caught his eyes, knowing subconsciously what his brother would say. He sucked in a breath to calm himself from a reaction to thin, sharp words. They balanced on the point of a knife as Gabriel spoke them into existence.

“They're our girls.”

This setup wasn't going to last. One day, you'd probably settle with Gabe. Miguel jerked up to the sensation of your fingers ghosting his chest, twiddling around his inky black chest hair, gliding across scars. He senses the source of his disquiet, your small frame draped over his side, watching him with a foreign curiosity.

“Muñeca?” he murmured sleepfully, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “What's it? Did Gabriel sleep in?”

He finds it hard to believe that his chirpy brother would do such a thing. Mornings were notoriously his favourite part of the day. Unlike Miguel, who shunned the light that streamed in from your thin curtains.

“Coppers took him in for questioning,” you murmured, leaning in to lay a small peckish kiss on his lips. That was quick. His eyes swept down to your lips, lingering there as you spoke. “Gabi said you’d come with me to iglesia.”

“Chingado. He passed the buck onto me.” Miguel groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow, weighed down by such a stupid request. You thumbed the golden necklace he’d forgotten to take off, gliding one of your legs up his hirsute thighs. He finds himself hiking your leg higher up his thigh. “That’s what you woke me up for?”

“‘Course not,” you muttered. “I missed you last night. Where’d you go off to?”

“To finish intake.”

You didn’t believe that.

“Promise it didn’t have nothing to do with what Gabi got carted off for?” He holds you in a working gaze, something that tells you he isn’t about to answer something like that. You are his woman. Yet, some secrets aren’t ones that he’s willing to disclose. It could put you in a compromised position. Most men, namely the Italian boys, had enough sense not to drag a man’s family into problems between the mob and the clan but in this world, not everyone had sense.

“Miguelito, you’re scaring me.” Your breath quickened, palpable with your chest against his. His large hand encompassed the middle of your back, guiding small, consolatory circles.

“Some things you’re better off not knowing,” Miguel worked at an explanation. Some things like the amount of hits he was getting for Spot boys. The booze going missing from the speakeasy. Some of his girls licked off the street. Just-- some things. “Got it?”

“Long as it’s not another dame,” you mumbled, fisting his necklace around your fist, dragging him forward for emphasis. A smile tugged at his lips, somehow pleased with your response. “What? You been out the house more times than not.”

“I share you with my brother,” Miguel worked the back of his neck. “Better that I skip town than hear you moaning for him. Might hem him up one of these days.”

You laugh-- but Miguel doesn’t find a lick of it funny.

“You got me now,” your hands drifted up to Miguel’s massive shoulders. “How ‘bout this. You fill me all up for church, wear that spiffy dark blue suit. Then we take Lyla out to get her some cherry coke at the apothecary’s. Maybe I’ll even sing you a whole song today if you’re lucky.”

Church, again. Miguel rattled a groan. Of course, he couldn’t have one day off from frateurinizing with people who hated the fuck outta him. Church folk. He didn’t know why you insisted on going with people who openly called you loose.

“Can do without one of those things.”

“If you want me, you go to iglesia, Miguelito.”

West-Side Violence at All-Time High! Italian Enforcer found dead! The West clan’s Gabriel O’Hara facing added charges on suspicion of--

Tch. You interrupted the scowl on his face with a well-placed kiss to his cheekbone, sliding a piping hot mug of Joe before him. Wafts of steam warmed his cheeks. You set down his morning’s breakfast, a plate loaded with fats. No tamales today, but baked beans from a few well-established Irish wives in the area. You wiped your greasy fingers off on a dirtied apron. Miguel stabbed a hunk of sausage as you spoke.

“Gabi’d never do that. They’re trying to hem him up like that capo last month,” your voice quaked, strutting back toward the cabinets. “It’s too personal. He’d… fill ‘em up with lead sure, but a stabbing? It just don’t make sense.”

Sure didn't. Miguel dropped the paper to the side of the oak table, tracing lines of worry that grew into spiderwebs of panic across your forehead. You spoke so feverishly in defense of Gabriel, whose absence was palpable. He often talked about the latest hired singer, sneaking behind your waist for kisses on your nape when Miguel could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning after pulling all-nighters.

“I have someone on it.”

“I bet Papa did it.” His daughter-- or Gabriel’s-- they were never quite sure. He glanced to his foot where Lyla sat. A full seven-year-old, Lyla was a spitfire of a thing, her hair in a bouncy bob topped by a silky ribbon. She glanced up from the dreidel she was spinning around and around. His lips pulled into a minced smile. “What? He’s a liar.”

“Miguel.”

Couldn’t even eat in peace.

“Lyla,” Miguel gestured toward the door. “Go wake up Maeve. Go on kid, get.”

That kid had a smart mouth. He watches her roll her eyes, only budging when you supply her with a hunk of pan dulce. She takes a mean bite, eyes locked on Miguel as she hopped out, somehow less bothered than she was a few seconds ago. You closed the metal door behind your daughter, a hand balled up on the bend in your waist as you watched her skip down the stairs and out of view.

“Most girls don’t talk like that about their papas,” you mumbled. Your arms crossed one over the other for support. “Does she hate him that much?”

“Most girls don’t grow up in the life.”

“Mi culpa.”

With his breakfast all but spoiled, Miguel pushed the plate away. His hand was soft on your waist, nose burrowed into your hair, tracing the notes of jasmine and rose, vanilla and sandalwood. The scent was unmarred by the stench of speakeasy smoke so early in the morning. Your hand came over his, steadying yourself from the rushing thoughts by leaning into his touch.

“I need a girl at the speakeasy tonight.”

Unlike his brother, Miguel’s requests rarely offer a tone of choice. It rolls off his tongue dry and hits your ear like a spike. Nothing about your relationship with Miguel was easy-- it was marred by the rivalry among the brothers-- and as you suspected-- interloping from your grandfather.

“Y Lyla?”

“Maeve is her nanny.”

“How can I step in there without Gabi?”

“He’d want you to. And I want to see you out of this dumb apron.”

“It isn’t dumb,” you pursed your lips, somehow more convinced despite your reservations. Most days, you spend the day in the house-- isolated from any life you came to Nueva York for. Any half-formed excuse that was on your tongue flopped. He nearly has you. “It is right dumb, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. What happened to my canary?”

“She met a pair of terrible brothers who don’t care for pulling out.”

“Don’t blame me.”

He pushed himself against your back, twiddling your fingers against the pantyhose that clothed your thighs. A smile tugged on your lips as Miguel leaned over to kick the front door shut, dipping onto his knees. It wasn’t often that he allowed you to ruin his perfect face before work. Today is a special treat.

But… if you thought back, you really should have.

Took a long time to get any mail from the island. Almost impossible.

In your hands is a sloppily penned letter-- You should be married to one of those boys-- your grandfather. He isn’t stupid enough to think that you’re opening this for the first time tonight, here and now, right in front of him. If you’re ‘reading’ it, you must be wanting him to take a hint. Miguel bent down, placed a kiss on your temple, gliding his hands over your own to place the letter onto the vanity.

He used those very same hands that were meant for maiming against the clasp of a set of pearls around your neck with gentle precision. His fingers coursed along the curls at your nape as he clasped them together.

“How long before your set?”

“Half an hour… maybe.” You stood to face him, pursing ruby-red lips, whispering in his mother’s tongue. He never liked it when his mother barked at him in Spanish, but when it's off your tongue, he knows how sweet it could be. Your hand inched its way over his chest, tracing the fat knot against his throat.

“What’s the issue?”

“I don’t-- feel very perfect. You have all these shebas out there--” women who not only knew how to sing but weren’t terribly mottled by stretchmarks or burdened by the eviscerating effect of motherhood. They’re beautiful, free canaries when they sing in his speakeasy. As much as you loved singing-- you felt shy on that ruby-red stage lately, before a dozen ruby tables and the hopping band.

“They’re to bring in the sugar.”

“Uh-huh, bring in the sugar until they take you away.”

“I’m satisfied.” Miguel took a step up, communicating the way he knew how, by settling his large hand over your jaw. His strong hand glided to your chin, urging you to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. Tied me down with Lyla as it is.”

“Words are just words. Why buy the…”

“Cow if you can get the milk for free, sí, I know what your grandfather says.” He slips into your chair. “Què quieres?”

“I don’t know, Miguelito. A promise. A marriage. Algo.”

“You want me to wife you up? Don’t remember ever talking about this.” He gestured you to come closer. You stepped up, knocking between his legs. Miguel’s gaze falters, chasing the glint of your tassels as they come to a stop.

“What’s the issue?”

“Nothing. I thought you’d ask Gabe.”

“Gabe gets around.”

“You believe those rumors.” You slap his large hands groping up your thighs, climbing over his lap like it was your throne. His massive frame eclipses the chair, suppressing your comparatively smaller frame. “And don’t think I do?”

“Do you?”

“No,” he laughs. Or, not recently. It’s hard being a father-- harder when he has a whole ass business to keep on top of. Most women wanted those things: jewels, a new pair of silk knickers, and a home. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

“Oh Miguelito,” he suckled your neck, drawing horrendous marks to the surface. Marks of his ownership in the absence of a ring. He hears the pleased hum of your voice, low and sweet, and knows that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“I haven’t put in my cap,” his fingers danced across the outside of your thighs, slipping past your stockings to your silken shorts. He slotted his fingers underneath the fabric, grazing his fingers through your neatly kept curls. Your breath came in deeper bursts as he melded his hand over your vulva, expecting you to grind back on him. You did, ever so eager for him.

“Don’t bother me with that,” he said in a low, husked voice. “You know how I feel about your birth control.”

It was your idea, primarily. Gabe was ever too content to simply be with you-- he didn’t need a large family like the rest of Miguel’s Irish clan. Four, six, sometimes more. Unlike Gabe, Miguel wanted the exact opposite. You shifted over his thigh, obeying his desire to have you ride him. Miguel urged your hips down, working his thumb over the precious button as you did. Miguel’s leg trembled up against your slit, bursts of warm friction warming your hungry body. With his slacks freshly cleaned, you worry about soaking them, soaked in lubricant as you were.

“Come here,” you surrendered a soft moan to him, leaning forward now, less to ride his thigh than the bulge in his slacks. He does not quite care for the idea of ruining himself inside the confines of his pants, but if you want to feel him, he has no reason to deny you. You’re wonderfully spoiled, juddering your hips over him like any whore walking the streets in exchange for a coin or two. What he’d give to have this to himself.

It donned on him-- he could have it to himself. This time, he’d be certain of who the child belonged to. He adored his Lyla, though his irritation with her quips was ever palpable, this-- right here, the ability to fill you and be certain filled him with fat hunger and possessive need to burst into his slacks.

“Stop-- Muñeca-- stop,” Miguel tipped his head back, gathering his focus by digging his hand into your hair, stopping you immediately. His harsh grip loosened, followed up by loosening the button of his slacks and shoving them below the curve of his ass. His cock slapped your silken shorts, beads of his desire dripping from his cockhead. “Take those off. I’m finishing inside.”

“Miguelito,” you slipped onto shaky feet, enough that Miguel could force the shorts underneath your dress to the floor. “We agreed that babies would be--”

“You asked to be my wife. Ain’t this what wives do?”

“I know bu-- not there, deja, let me,” you stopped. His cockhead clumsily poked here and there, until finally, your hand guided him properly. Your mouth fell into a hazy moan when Miguel’s cock shoved forward, breaching your cunt with a snap of his hips. You seated yourself back onto his fat cock, reminded of the absence of your cervical cap in your cunt.

For all your talk, you ached for him, dipping your intertwined hands down to your mound. The rhythm was as sloppy as whatever singer was on stage right now, her voice giving way into a distinct crack. Whatever-- if it bought him more time to properly seed you, he didn’t mind.

He buckled forward as you clenched down upon him, holding him prisoner deep in your body. Liquid soaked his slacks-- and Miguel huffed, puffs of hot air warming your back. That was going to be fun to walk out in. His wife’s cum soaking his crotch.

“Hold still. It’s almost showtime,” Miguel’s voice was thin, his hand splayed on your waist as he used you less like his woman and more like a toy for his pleasure. It didn’t take long for Miguel to find a proper rhythm, his muscles flexing against your back. You were preoccupied as it were with the pain of Miguel’s teeth sinking on your shoulder, spiking hot as his pleasure crested. Soon enough, you felt his warmth fill your core, your head lulling back against him only after his thrusts ebbed.

“Don’t clean up, go on stage leaking.” Miguel held out his hand for you to take, allowing you to pull your shorts back up your ass, nestling his leaking cum in the fabric. It helped ease the anxiety of having you on stage, somehow, to see you in such a state.

“When you knock me up, you’re telling Gabi. I... can't.” You told Miguel, smoothing your dress over your shorts. There was a nervous flush in your eyes-- shame, he placed the emotion. He scrubbed the smile from his face. He had at least a few weeks.

“Sure thing.”

There was a certain delight in seeing you dressed up in that little black dress, all bright red lips, and sultry song. Not that you didn’t look tasty in that stupid apron you wore not to dirty any one of the pretty dresses you wore to church-- like you weren’t a heathen for warming the bed of two O’Hara boys. The people knew it. The church knew it. Damn well, the town knew it.

“Pal, that’s her on stage,” went an Italian boy. An allied family through nothing but contract killing and coin, he was safe here for the time being. One little lapse in a contract could shake it all. “That’s their kitten.”

“She married?”

Miguel turned his gaze back to you for a long moment. Your warm, sweetly lidded words slipping off your tongue, making his mind sluggish and relaxed after a long day. He captured your eyes, minding how your hands fell to the tasseled ends of an already short skirt, daring to expose your skin obscured by pantyhose to the crowd. You knew the game, how far you could lift your skirt without your would-be husband jumping his cage.

“Don’t be goofy. Miguel’d get sore if Gabe tried. She has ‘em both around her finger. Has a kid by one of them. No one knows whose. I got my money on--”

Stupid kids.

“Kid, I’m gunning for another.” Miguel cut the boy off, eyes crinkling at the edges. Something in the way you moved on stage reminded him of Lyla’s pregnancy, perhaps the glitter in your eyes when you met him at his table, instead of backstage, holding his large hands in your own. Some sparkle in your eye, a ginger announcement in his ear. Half elation, half… something else. Something, not quite fear, swirled in the boy’s eyes. Miguel watched with a keen interest as the boy flushed.

“Right on, big shot.”

Miguel brought his cigarette to his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed and his mind wander to the past. He should have known you were hands-off from the moment Gabriel wouldn’t beat it with the idea of adding another girl to their speakeasy.

The best time to tell Miguel about his new girl in the speakeasy was when he was in a good mood: catching any bootleg thief put him in a good mood. Not that he was particularly partial to grey matter and blood spraying him like a fresh pinata, but… he was more partial to money in his pocket and a good reputation. His boys cared for much of the violence in the West of this shitty little town.

“You hired a new girl?” Miguel repeated, drawing a long hit of his cigarette with blood-smattered fingers.

“Spanish girl. Like us. We don’t have a Spanish girl in this joint.”

“Gabe. Most of our clients are Irish. They don’t speak Spanish.”

“You should see her Miggy. She’s got this angelic little face,” Gabe whacked his elder brother, his grin growing ear to ear. There it was, his baby brother got blinded by his dick again. “When she sings you-- well, you get all twisted up.”

“Angelic face,” Miguel mumbled under his breath, tapping excess off of his cigarette. For the price he paid his girls, she had better have the face of Mary herself. The last few Gabe had pulled were mistakes. Some drug-addicted. Others whose husbands always caused a mean stir. He drags his hand down his face, weighing the costs. “She another dumb--”

“She’s Daniel’s littlin’. You remember Daniel? Taught you how to use a kn--”

The sigh that sat in his chest dissipated like vapor, perfusing into his tissue. Miguel looked at the paper Gabriel set in his blood-tinged fingers. He rotated it, gave it a look with his tired eyes. Talk to Gabriel. That old man knew just what Miguel would have said: get your ass back on a boat and go home to whatever rinky-dink island you foolishly sailed off of for this shitty city.

“Lemme see her sing.”

He doesn’t pay attention when Gabriel introduces you onstage for the first time, focusing on the paper ledgers Peter arranged for a review. Unlike his Italian connections, he don’t mind mixing it up with the Jewish boys. They’re twice as smart on the books and twice less likely to be hauling in trouble. Bootleg booze was one thing— the opium, the heroin, the cocaine, and morphine another. It packed too much heat from the coppers.

He hadn’t meant to look up.

It didn’t occur to him that you could have a sickly sweet voice, tempered by the rich Spanish on your tongue, only rivaled by those beautiful looks. His abandoned ciggy threw smoke into the air. He slumped back into the chair with a heavy thud, unclenched his tense jaw, and listened to a siren’s song that felt both familiar and distant all the same.

You had the sort of eyes he swore he’d met before, despite knowing he’d never seen a face like yours around. He’d remember sinking his teeth in that delicate neck that sat under pearls that he supplied most of his singers for their performances. His eyes hungrily cantering down your tassel dress. Not one he provided, no, he knew most to all the pieces in the back. There was a simple beauty in the gown.

You were trouble. He caught your eyes with an intent expression and expected you to blush and look away. You smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or Gabriel, who flicked a grade-A smile, and a twiddling wave of your little fingers. He wants to feel them scratching down his back.

“--anyone home? Miggy? Miguel. Don’t tell me you’re already stuck on her.” Gabriel teased, elbowing Miguel in the arm. “You are! Told you she could sing.”

“Pipe down.” He jammed his ciggy in the dish.

“Sorry.”

He watches you a moment more, the slide of your legs to the tune of the band. The way your laugh resonated through the speakeasy when a patron stumbled onto the stage for his take on some stiff-legged swing. Most women would push them off, look to him for help in the swing, but you ran with the twirl the drunk led you into. He hated to admit that Gabriel was right. Among all the girls in his speakeasy, you brought a lightness to the life of a drunkard he’d not seen in a while.

“Gabe,” he mumbled, standing up and whirling his suit jacket over his broad shoulders.

“Yeah?”

I told’ja so, Gabriel’s voice sounded in his head. He could already feel the stiff annoyance that would be Gabriel’s fist connecting with his shoulder. Why did Gabriel have to know him so well? Miguel spoke with an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Let’s keep her.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

A hail of loud pops ruptured his sweet, distant memories. He reaches out to snatch his gun from the table, settled between the fresh flowers he plucked for your show. For an instant, his world wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t sounded out by the deafening assuredness of a kill, but very real panic under the singled out by the shrill of your scream.

They're going to push up on us, Miguel told Gabe. He never did take anything outside the speakeasy seriously.

Except tonight, there was no Gabriel. Miguel clasped his hand around his gun, whirling for the source of the flame. The barrage of gunfire is put down as quickly as it began. With a host of Irishmen in the bar, he should be so unsurprised. One of the Italian kids slumped over on his table.

There’s blood-- a lot of blood. Hysterics bound all around, some soothed by their partners or friends. The other Italian boy just stares-- lips slightly apart-- jarred by whatever horror was before him. Miguel finds it hard to believe that he hasn’t seen worse. Others burning his ears like the morning sun in his eyeballs every day you forgot to pull the curtains closed.

“God damn it, Peter.” Standing there is the scrawny little devil of a bookmaker himself, smiling cheesily.

“Hope that’s a good god damn it.”

He shoved his way from the tables, numbing out the complaint of the Italian boy. You were long since gone, probably a good thing that you weren’t here, that’s for fucking sure. It’d been the first time since Gabe’s incarceration he managed to drag you out of there and now… you were somewhere, undoubtedly frightened. Maybe even hurt.

“Boy, wonder who this kid crossed. Say, about Gabe, I got good news--”

He seized a chair, flicking it past Peter, a sure hiss for him to shut the fuck up about his baby brother in the can. Peter put his hands up reflexively, tracing Miguel’s rising shoulders.

“She ran to the back.”

The slender hallway down to his office is cold, only illuminated by the occasional pull-pin light bulb swinging overhead. He came here most days that he wasn’t on shift, taking a hit, or caring for his boys. Keeping track of everything was the best way to stay ahead. And even still-- he missed something from one of Spot’s boys.

You didn’t bother to close the door, balled up in a corner of his small office. He has a glorified cot for a bed in a corner, a heavy desk that nearly killed Gabe trying to hike it down the stairs years ago, and a rack stuffed with any number of books.

“It’s me,” his voice filled the room. You peered up from behind your arms, wrapped around your knees. What a stupid oversight, he thought, whoever was in charge of the damn door let someone in that was… going to be a problem. He was good with Lucky’s crew. Now he was gonna have to pick up that wired phone and tell him some kid was dead.

Your heels scratched across the ground, scooting back to the cool wall. You weren’t hurt-- just, sort of shocked. Maybe being conned into church with you panned out somehow.

“Muñeca.”

“That ain’t… ever happened with Gabe before.”

Gabe. Dy by day that he heard his brother’s voice, it became more of an annoyance. It wasn’t fair to make the comparison-- Gabe caring for most things that went on in the speakeasy, Miguel caring for interpersonal deals and security. With Gabe away, he’d not… it didn’t matter.

“It won’t happen again.”

“If Lyla were here--” You’re a shark-- going after the one thing you knew would hurt. The little girl back at home who he went to great lengths to make sure was safe. She was… his, even if he felt was his brother’s, putting more salt into an ever widening sinkhole that was his irritation.

“She wasn’t.”

“But what if she was?”

“Cállate,” he barked.

“Fine, I’ll beat it. You can holed up all alone down here like you like to be, you-- you-- big lug.” You recoiled for an instant, before forcing yourself up, rubbing at heavily fallen tears in your pursuit of the door. Your cheeks were kissed by raw agitation, all pink and in any other situation, beautiful. Miguel swayed to catch your elbow.

“Discúlpame,” he murmured, a rare apology if you could even call it one to begin with. There was a long pause, and he wondered if you would be upset with him for the rest of the day. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He knew he made it damn hard not to.

That was the thing about Miguel. He made it hard to get close, but even harder to leave. No matter what he did, you wanted to stay there right by him-- because he was the complicated brother. The one who… well, hell, you wanted to be about. Gabe was good and easy, your Miguelito was…

“Dios mio, Miguelito. This hinky stuff ain’t happening again. Or-- Or I’ll leave you both. Take Lyla right back to the island I came from and marry a man who isn’t in wrong with the police.”

You should have known the day that you gave birth to his daughter that something like that wasn’t going to happen.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara x reader

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plumpedxprincess · 1 year

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The Breeding Facility (Part 2)

reader insert | accelerated pregnancy | multiples | rapid hyper preg

~~~

“Welcome back!” Your doctor says, “I hope your rest period was well. Are you ready for your next pregnancy?”

You nod eagerly.

Your doctor goes over options, saying you can choose a 5 day solo pregnancy or a 10 day multiple. Without complications from your last go around, you can pick either one.

You hesitate but ask anyway, “Is there anyway I could do a multiple pregnancy in five days?”

Your doctor looks surprised at the question but shuffled through her paper work. “That is an option, but it’s typically left for more advanced breeders who’ve been with us for a while.”

“Oh, that’s fine—“

“No, no!” she interrupts, “That of course is an option for you! There are a few things to understand though.”

Dr. Ambrosia explains that multiples are inseminated 3x more than solo pregnancies, so they are unsure how many babies each person will have until day 2. She also explains that due to the more rapid growth, the breeder is required to eat six meals instead of three to keep up energy levels.

“Are you still interested?”

You lick your lips with anticipation. “Yes.”

“Then let’s get started.”

~~~

Day one leaves little to focus on except your eating. While you don’t mind eating a lot of food, you didn’t realize how much food would be required. Your belly sticks out a bit, but your clothing still fits well.

You ask around to see what you could expect from a multiples pregnancy, hoping to hear a rough estimate of how many people typically carry, but you get a wide range of numbers from just twins to 6 or 7 babies.

You can’t tell if the thought of seven babies terrified or excites you. You love watching yourself grow.

~~~

“Oh my, you’re carrying triplets!”

You smile at the easy number while also being happy that you didn’t get stuck with just twins.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” your doctor asks.

“Yeah, actually,” you say, “My clothing is getting tight and I still have two days left, is there anyway to get new clothing?”

“I apologize but we can only request clothing before pregnancies. It’s a rule from the higher ups. I’ll be able to get you some for the next pregnancy but for this you’ll have to stick with these.”

“But by day five this will be so exposing!”

“Apologies!”

It feels like some silly joke, but as you go home, you realize just how many exposed bellies you see. You don’t mind all that much as your shirt rests just above your belly button.

~~~

The biggest difference in accelerating a multiples pregnancy is the way you feel yourself growing.

Every once in a while, in a calm moment, you could look down and notice your belly getting a little bit larger, a little bit fuller. Your clothes a little bit tighter.

Your shirt has stopped fitting when you woke up on your fourth day. It was acting more like a sports bra at this point, barely containing your breasts that had grown quite large overnight.

You were constantly stroking your belly, trying to calm the kicks but also trying to feel like it was covered. Having your full navel on display was a bit much.

It was around dinner time on your fifth day when you felt yourself grow the most, and you knew others could see it too. You were on your fifth meal of the day and had decided to be ambitious and eat in the common area.

As you shoved pasta into your mouth, you paused from a strange sensation, placing your hands on your stomach as it gurgled.

Before you knew it, it was like you were inflating. Your fingertips that had been touching now separated and your thighs widen to accommodate the space your belly was starting to take up.

A few people looked on, some in strange fascination and a few others with a knowing look.

You couldn’t help the moan you let out once you felt how your breasts had grown a bit too. Your hips felt plush within the seat at the dining table and the table itself was now pressing into your large dome of a belly.

It was over in just a few minutes, but once you realized it was done, you worked to get out of your seat, hoping to get home to relieve the horniness that the growth spurt had created.

Getting out of the chair took a minute, but you were walking as fast as you could once you got up.

When you laid on your bed with your vibrator on, eager to get off, you reached down, only to realize you couldn’t reach your clit at all. Your belly was in the way.

You groaned in frustration, hoping the other, longer vibrator you had could work.

It did, and soon enough you were coming on your sheets, one hand rubbing the vibrator across your nether regions while your other hand traveled between your nipples and your belly. You loved the feeling that your belly button was finally popped.

Just when you were about to go to sleep, room service knocked on the door, with your last meal.

And boy was it a doozy. The last meal was nearly all desserts, from cheesecake to chocolate cake to ice cream to fudge and cookies.

While you were worn out from your orgasms, you knew you had to eat in case of another growth spurt in the middle of the night. The food helped make some padding of fat so your skin wasn’t so tight, and it also made sure the babies and you had enough energy for the accelerated pregnancy.

By the time you finished the meal, you were laying on your side, your hands roaming the soft dome at your midsection. You couldn’t believe you weren’t full term yet. That would be tomorrow. You fell asleep curious and a bit nervous about what it would feel like.

~~~

You woke up on your back, nearly unable to breathe from the weight resting on top of you. You managed to sit up right, your legs nestled around your belly. If you thought you were large yesterday, you were practically gargantuan now.

You noticed the seam on your shorts had ripped in the middle of the night, so you slid out of them. When you looked down, all you could see was belly. No feet, no legs. Just belly.

Your back was sore from the weight but there were some pain meds along with your other medications. You wondered if they would really even help the full ache that spread through your body. You truly felt like you were all belly and babies.

Your doctor came in early to say that you could go down to the labor wing to spend the day. It was best if you stayed in bed until you gave birth.

In the labor wing, they asked you to continuously eat all day until your contractions would start, and the constant food caused two more growth spurts, which they said were completely normal.

You felt huge and overdue by the time your water finally broke. This pregnancy was feeling like a burden but you were also kind of in love with the feeling. Knowing your body was doing so much to ensure these babies were healthy and well was amazing.

You couldn’t wait to do it again.

#pregnancy kink #multiples pregnancy #hyperpregnancy #accelerated pregnancy #rapid pregnancy #rapid preg #hyperpreg #fpreg #writing #weight gain #pregnant #pregblr #breeding facility

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

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𓃮 Even the Sun Influences the Tide: Chapter Eight

Even the Sun Influences the Tide: After the death of your foster brother, King T’Challa, you had spent much of your year of mourning in isolation. When your mother gathers you and your sister to end your mourning period, you encounter the newest threat to Wakanda: Namor. You don’t know what to think of Namor, but you do know one thing: he probably shouldn’t be making trips to see you at your beach hut.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Namor/K’uk’ulkan x Fem!Reader, I Tried To Make The Yucatec Maya & Xhosa Translations/Traditions As Accurate As I Can Get.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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K’uk’ulkan had kissed you deeply one last time, not being able to help himself after staying away from you for so long. You thought you were going to pass out from the heat burning beneath your cheeks at the intensity of his kiss… but no, you were just left in a daze. Then he guided you out of the tent, eager and looking forward to seeing you in the traditional wedding attire of his people. He had only ever seen you in the simple clothes you wore while living in your hut, and dressed in the clothing Namora had prepared for you? He had an almost impossible time taking his eyes off your beautiful form, let alone keeping his hands from wandering. K’uk’ulkan could only imagine what you would look like dressed in the traditional ceremonial garb. Calling for Namora, he spoke a few quick sentences in his native tongue, informing her of what he needed her to do for you. Namora was shocked to say the least, but she was pleased that you were making an effort to end the violence between your people. So with a promise to take good care of you, Namora bowed her head and guided you back the way you both had come.

You didn’t speak Yucatec Maya and didn’t have Griot with you, so you had no idea what had transpired between Namora and K’uk’ulkan. At the very least when you were brought to the room you had woken, you were surrounded by more blue skinned women, and not hardened soldiers. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? More rapid fire illusive words were exchanged, the faces of the women soon glowing with excitement and happiness. You felt more reassured by their reactions and your shoulders relaxed. Then two of the women approached you, taking your hands and tugging you in the direction of another hall. You glanced back at Namora with wide eyes, but she only nodded her head at you.

You trusted Namora, so you would trust these women.

The women had led you to a hot springs that bubbled and gurgled with steam and mist, inviting and making your body ache. You needed a moment to relax. You were going to get one because the women, Zyanya and Tlalli as they had told you, were carefully stripping you out of the dress you wore and motioning for you to step down into the warm water.

You had long since gotten used to bathing naked around other women, it was a common practice at the hot springs in Wakanda… but you couldn’t hold back your nerves this time. Not when you were such an outsider. You felt self conscious of your body, of your skin, of your being. Neither Zyanya nor Tlalli made any inclination at being judgmental over what they saw, busying themselves around you as you submerged yourself into the water. Wrapping your arms around your folded knees, you closed your eyes and took several deep and calming breaths.

You were alone, surrounded by the enemy of Wakanda, whose leader you had just shared a very intimate kiss with, and without a plan. You had also just agreed to a ceremony you knew nothing about.You might as well have sold your soul to the devil… but it if prevented needless death, you would take it. Yet you had thoughts of doubt, you were the ordinary one in the family. The black sheep whom T’Chaka and Ramonda had welcomed with open arms years ago. You didn’t know the first thing about how to make an alliance or be diplomatic, you never had the need to learn despite it being your choice of action. It wasn’t like you were ever going to be an influential figure from the royal family. At least you were smoothing things over with K’uk’ulkan, that was good. You were doing something right.

Hands gently stroked your hair and began to run scoops of water over the strands, soaking them and combing them. You were reminded of the times Ramonda had lovingly washed your hair for you when you were but a child, combing your hair neatly before braiding the strands in one of the many traditional styles of your new home. For a moment, you felt a flicker of homesickness. You had spent so much time trying to get away from your family to lesson your hurt, only to start wanting their company the moment you had the space you desperately craved. Were they even looking for you? Or were you simply assumed to be running from confronting the pain you had been stewing in for an entire year?

Those thoughts made your lip wobble and you harshly pressed them together to stop yourself from being consumed the sadness you had battled for so long. You were stronger than this, you had burned your funeral clothing. It was time to let go. Fingers began combing something that smelled nice, into your hair, lovingly tending to your hair and overall treating you with respect and reverence. Then Tlalli began massaging perfumed oils into your skin and you loosened up, letting her maneuver your limbs and treat every inch of your skin with devotion. You let them. It was probably part of a ritual, such as cleansing your body for the ceremony, or preparing your spirit in one way or another.

By the time your skin was buttery soft and a pearlescent sheen for being massaged and treated so delicately, your hair was fully washed and combed and you were being helped out of the hot springs. A beautiful stitched and embroidered robe was held open and you happily allowed them to cover your naked, damp skin with it, relishing the softness of the material. Led back to the cavern full of women, your jaw went slack.

While you had been bathing, they had been very busy. There was now a space where several women were fussing over white fabric, needles and silver thread in hand. A corner now had a table with several jars and brushes, squabbling women standing in front of it with scrolls of symbols… your eyes then caught a few boxes of jewelry, all a bright and vibrant jade that matched the ones K’uk’ulkan wore. Your hand was taken and you were led over to the jewelry.

You curiously looked around at the beautiful pieces, wondering how you were to wear some of them as they were obviously body piercing pieces. Then a women turned around and brandished a needle. Your eyes went wide and you gulped, panic washing through your body. Apparently you had unconsciously stepped backward, as you backed right into Namora. She gave you a soft smile and gestured for you to sit down. You wanted to whimper but held it back as you reluctantly sat down and nervously eyed the woman with the needle.

Less than a minute later, after one of the women had demonstrated that they could, in fact, pierce your body with little to no pain, you were allowing them to pierce the places they wished. The Talokanil had created a compound that numbed the surrounding flesh almost instantly, enabling for fast and painless piercing. Your ears were the first to be done, an industrial bar, much like Namora’s being placed along with an orbital, several helix and cartilage ones. You were fairly sure most of the argument the ladies ended up embroiled in, were about what jewelry would look best on you. You took comfort in the fact that they cared about placement.

Then they had wanted to pierce your septum. You had to resist screaming when the needle drew close to your face, but again, you felt no pain, and a beautiful vibranium ring had been placed. You had to admit that you liked the look in the mirror. The patterns in the metal reminded you of those you saw in the mayan murals and upon the fabrics around you. Shuri was going to like your new look, that you knew. Your mother? She was going to do a double take and possibly balk at your appearance. That wasn’t to say she would hate them, but she would probably want you to have piercings from Wakanda, not from the people who she was convinced were a threat to both you and her people. But what had you on edge the most, was when they moved to pierce your lip.

You panicked once more and Namora had come over, soothing you and reassuring you in the language you didn’t understand. You hated that you needed to hold her hand as they pierced your lip, adding a lip ring that divided your lower lip in half. When it was done, with no pain which you once again felt silly about, you were left staring into a handheld mirror in wonder. You looked like a completely other woman, with a tribal elegance. You looked different, more mature, regal, elegant in an ancestral way… but you felt that you now looked more like yourself than you ever had.

Someone took your hand, and you were tugged to your feet. Brought over to the women who had been arguing over markings on several scrolls, you were sat down once more, only this time, you were confronted with paint brushes. Your right foot was grabbed and held out, and then you watched with wide eyes as they started painting swirls of crimson on your body. You didn’t understand what the purpose of the symbols were, but you could figure out that they were probably a part of their culture, so you let them paint to their hearts content. Even when they tugged at your robe to get to your upper thighs, back, and stomach. They wouldn’t put so much time and effort into it if it wasn’t important.

You were perfectly fine with the paint, it just itched as it dried on your skin and you had to force yourself not to scratch the flesh where beautiful lines of red had been artistically drawn. Before they moved onto your back, your hair was once again brushed out before being braided back from your face. Once your hair was out of the way, the paintbrushes descended onto your back, and it tickled. You found yourself biting down on your lip, which only made you remember that you had a lip piercing now. Your mother was going to do a double take when she saw you, you were now certain. You also entertained the idea that she wouldn’t take kindly to you going off and doing some ceremony you didn’t know anything about, just for the sake of peace. But at the same time, hadn’t she lost enough family, enough people, already? Someone had to do something.

That happened to be you.

While you were staring off into space, wondering what your mother would think about what you were about to do, the Talokanil finished up their work and began fussing over the outfit you were to wear. It was a handmaid of course, embroidered with equally white thread to accentuate the red and green adorning your body. When it came time to dress you, you were herded behind a screen and the robe tugged from your body. Your cheeks blazed with fire while you cradled your arms to your painted chest. The moment you saw white fabric you were relieved to be dressed in something.

The white gossamer material was dropped over your head and blue fingers were quickly holding onto your arms while they tied the sleeves and the neckline of the fluttering fabric against your skin. While they were fussing over the ties and plucking at white fabric, you came to a realization: undo the ties resting off your shoulders, and the dress could very easily be pulled from your body… you weren’t going to have to do anything naked… were you? You might draw the line at that.

“Really should have thought this through,” You fretted to yourself. Desperation for peace had convinced you to jump the gun so to speak, but if this worked, you would have no regrets. So you let them fuss over you until they were happy and chittering in Yucatec Mayan. The screen was pushed to the side and you picked at the cuticles of your left hand.

“In reina,”(My queen) You took in a deep breath, realizing that you could no longer stall. You twisted on the ball of your foot to see Namora standing next two others holding a large mirror. Your reflection caught your breath. You recognized yourself, your reflection, but this was the first time you had felt like you were someone. Not necessarily someone important, but someone. You didn’t feel like you were going to fade into the background, forgotten like so many times before. Between your plentiful new piercings, the pure white gossamer of the off the shoulder dress, and the red markings upon your skin, you found yourself staring at your reflection with a faraway expression.

“Ki'ichpanech,”(You are beautiful) One of the women murmured, the others nodded. Your skin prickled from the chill in the air and you finally looked to Namora.

“K’uk’ulkan?” You asked softly, knowing that she would at least know what you were indicating with his name.

“Chukpaxten, In reina,” (Follow me) She responded with a nod. The women who had helped you made the hand gesture you were now associating with a sign of respect. You felt compelled to return the gesture and did so, carefully raising your hands and copying their actions. Bright smiles appeared not heir faces and you turned to follow Namora, grabbing the skirt of your dress so you didn’t trip. As you walked, you saw flashes of red from your legs, bright and vibrant compared to the white skirts you held away from them. You hoped that you didn’t get any of the paint on the dress. It’d look like a bloody mess.

The path that Namora followed led back to the cavern where K’uk’ulkan was working on murals, that you knew… but there was a change of scent in the air. As if someone had burned incense. It tickled your nose and you forced yourself not to sneeze. Upon entering the cavern with the murals, you stopped short, your eyes widening. The space was clouded with the smoke from what had to be incense. There was now what looked like an alter set up with several items placed on a table. Colored flowers were placed at four points, red, yellow, purple, and white.

“Mayor,” (Elder) Namora spoke, bowing to an older looking Talokanil who stood draped in traditional garb.

“What am I getting myself into,” You whispered as the eyes of elder Talokanil gazed upon you. This all looked very… official. Fear crept into your veins. Of course it did. This was a serious alliance you were negotiating/commencing, you had to respect their traditions. If you screwed this up, you felt like you were dooming your nation to certain war.

Date Published: 4/23/23

Last Edit: 4/2/23

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#namor x y/n #namor fanfiction #namor #namor of talokan #namor x reader #namor fic #k'ul'kulkan #marvel #black panther 2 #wakanda forever

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neonovember · 1 year

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Reigning expectations pt.2

pairing: thor x fem!reader

summary: Your feelings of inadequacy come forth as thor tries to prove that you deserve whats been transcribed by the gods

word count: 4K

warnings: illusion to smut, depression, self esteem issues, thor’s dirty mouth, probably inaccurate depictions of Thor and Asgard

a/n: pretend I know what I’m talking about, this part two has been long over due

MINORS DNI

The clang of the mythological metal rang through the Avengers tower as it tobbled from your grip and lay flat against the hardwood floor. There is an imminent silence that blankets the team, as they, all of them, wallow in the confusion and wonderment that had just occurred.

The cool midnight breeze wafts in from the balcony doors, and New York glitters with phasing lights and smoke.

It lasts a mere second before the entire team has enveloped the space with rapid questions and demands, each derangily looking between Thor and an alarmingly frozen you. You press your fingernails into your palms, and as your ears begin to ring, the rush of realisation hits you hard then, and it almost tobbles you beside the damn hammer itself.

Quickly rising, your eyes scan the tower, and you don't hesitate for a second before dashing through your teammates, trying to escape the questions you have no answer for and the reality that you have no desire to face. The end of the hallway has an enclosed door that leads to an elevator that takes you straight to the rooftop, separate from the main elevator and one you've found all on your own. You were not shy from escaping into the night air to feel the relief of air gushing through your lungs, it was just a tad bit safer 12 stories high.

Pressing the buttons impatiently, you stand erect in the metal elevator, surrounded by glistening mirrors you can't help but scrutinise your reflection. A queen? A descendant of a god? You let out a pathetic laugh that you hide from yourself. There must have been some cosmic shift in the universe that caused you to lift that hammer, a blip in the loops of universes that made up your timeline, anything, everything, just something that didn't mean worthiness.

Your entire life you had gambled with bouts of low self-esteem, it would manifest through periods of deep self-loathing and merely acceptance of yourself. Everything you did, and every choice you made would be scrutinised by those closest to you, and when the team accepted you as their one you couldn't quite understand why. You didn't know it then but that moment was when you truly started living, the team was your bedrock, the resounding calm after the storm, they helped you pick up the pieces when they fell all those years ago, and now? Now you fear everything was about to change.

You slide down the elevator walls, feeling the mirrors crowding you, leaning in, as push your heated skin against the cool metal walls. You can’t face yourself, much less the thought of your mythological destiny.

— -

Thor’s POV

The team looks towards one another, confusion lifting their features from the amusement and loudness just moments ago.

God, you had truly lifted it. Every harrowing thought that clouds and preens against Thor's mind are are all confused and disoriented. But the pulse in his heart quickens, and his eyes glaze over and he just knows.

He always knew you were worthy.

It bubbles in his heart and causes a restlessness to clamour its way into his chest. It radiates from the tips of his toes to his golden locks, this knowing, it drives him to search and reach for you, for his girl, for his Lady.

A hand presses into his arm, tugging at the tailored navy cloth of a thousand threads

“Thor??, Thor can you hear me??” The baritone voice breaks through his fazed-out expression, causing him to turn swiftly to Steve.

Thor can only manage a gurgle of noise that escaped from his throat, his head swiftly nodding as a concerned look pulls against Steve’s golden features.

“Did you know about this? About another being on Earth holding the capability of your hammer?” Steve asks, eyes widening.

“Not even a celestial being Thor, a goddamn mortal, a human, our fuckin- our teammate, how is that even possible?” Banner interrupts, his gruff voice pitching higher at the end of his sentence. The smell of spilt booze and tobacco intensifies as Bruce sits down on the coffee table across from Thor.

“I-uh, I had no idea” Liar.

“The hammer, Mjolnir, it, it was crafted millions of years before our time, at the hands of mythological legends that embedded a deep power that cannot be explained nor restrained by the-the physics of this world” Thor begins to explain, hands flying across from him, gesturing to the tower and beyond the thick window walls.

The team leans in, the puzzling amusement wafts in the air and they hold their breath, none of them could lift it even a hair, and yet, you grasped it like it weighed nothing like it was a part of you.

What other hidden powers did you possess? What other lurking lineage would manifest out of the blue, causing them to wonder what you truly wore, even years later.

“While it may seem incredibly heavy to all of you, for me, and-and now for y/n” Thor gestures to your seat, before finding it empty, the imprint of your body pressed into the leather but no sign of you.

Thor quickly rises from his seat, moving from the crowding space of the coach, his eyes flicker across from the team, and still, your absence harrows deeper into his chest.

Shaking with earnestness to find you and tell you all the things left at the tip of his tongue and bit back into his lip, the sounds of the team are muffled from his ears.

A crackling fire breathes deep within him, black and blue flames licking their way up his stomach, pushing him, burning him with a sole purpose that bristles the hairs down his back.

Find her. Help her. Keep her.

“Thor? We’re you going?” Tony asks, the drunken liquor that had once softened his features hardened again, the prior events sobering him quickly.

“Y/n, she- she’s gone” Thor replies, his voice cracking as he begins to move

“Shit” Mutters Tony, before moving from his position, calling for Friday to secure the building, barring all exits.

“If she gets out, she’s going to be confused, that power that runs through your veins, it brings something within you, and if we don’t find her, she might- she’s going to..” Thor replies, his eyes darting across his teammates, tugging at his collar which has begun to itch his skin.

“She’s going to hurt some people” Steve replies, an understanding that blankets his features, nodding with a gruff mumbling through a tight-lipped mouth.

“More like a lot of people” Tony snorts, fingers fumbling at indiscreet buttons embedded into his tailored suit. Whilst the rest of the team begin gearing up to find you, and suddenly, like a flash of wind and rain, Thor gritty his teeth and steps forward.

“Wait, stop, STOP, before you all try and hound her, let me talk to her, I’m the only one who can, and believe me, she's not going to want her team mates scurrying around the tower like she's some intruder”. Thor says, before Tony scoffs loudly

“Listen, I get the whole kicked puppy appeal, and I know how you like to play Prince Charming, but we need to find her as quick as possible, this isnt just for our safety, its for hers. Did you ever think about that?” Tony replies, eyebrows raising expectedly.

“She barely knows what's happening to her, and she could end up hurting herself alright? Unlike many of you who think I actually care about the team, well maybe just Y/N but still.” Tony murmur, as he casts his gaze across the team.

“Which is exactly why I, need to find her, not you not the team, not Lady Friday, me” Thor emphasises the word, pressing his index towards his chest.

Tony sighs, he's shoulder giving way, teeth grinding and he bits back a harsh retort, Bruce shifts on his feet, knuckles rubbing across his bottom lip as his mind runs over the hundred questions and possibilities pressing his mind.

“Maybe he's right,” He says, causing Tony to swiftly turn his neck, eyebrows raising as he cocks his head in shock.

“Jesus Banner, you're telling me you agree with him?” Tony replies, a comical laugh leaving his mouth as shakes his head in dissaprovment.

“Look, Tony, I want, more than anything to find her as quick as possible and find out what or how this is happening, alright? But we've got to be smart about this, she's going to be out there, scared, and feeling disoriented, and that isn't a good combination with cosmic wielding powers. The only one who can reach her, through the fog and mist of confusion is Thor.” Banner replies, eyes noting Tony’s scrutinising gaze.

“You should go” A voice rises from the team before Bucky coughs loudly,

“He needs to go, Tony, she only needs one person at this point, and it's you, it's gotta be you” Bucky replies, nodding towards Thor who returns the same gesture.

“Always voted out of a team I practically created, why do I even try anymore” Murmurs Tony, scratching his chin roughly, before he seems to surrender as Thor’s blazing blues bore into him.

Before Thor has a chance to step forward, Tony's gruff voice presses him to stop.

His hands reach down to pat his pack pocket awkwardly, before shifting his reach into his jacket, he throws a small rectangle screen towards the golden-haired god.

“It’s a portable tablet screen that's directly connected to Friday, think of it as a, uh mini Friday in your pocket. If you need us, just click the side button twice,” explains Tony. As Thor pockets the tablet securely, he nods towards him, an understanding that is murmured between their eyes.

And with a turn, Thor takes off into the darkness of the expansive tower, following the route he's carved into the forefront of his mind. The route he knows you take every day, hoping to the gods he’ll find his girl.

--- -

Shouldering the rooftop door open the gush of the city air fills your lungs with mouthfuls, the sting of smoke and escaped steam wrinkle your nose and you sigh out loud at the circumstance you face this rooftop with.

You ride your dress up as you fumble to reach for a maroon brick, shoving it carelessly between the door and the adjacent wall to keep I from locking from the inside.

Walking through the rooftops brick terrace held together by rows of porcelain columns, the glitter of strung fairy lights glistens against your skin, the midnight breeze wafts through your hair and you can't understand why but there is a sliver of unease that runs down your back, bristling the hairs on the curve of it.

Stepping towards the edge of the rooftop, your eyes strain as they watch the waves of yellow cabs and red umbrellas, rolling over and crashing into the bank, pulling back, and pushing into the sea of people that engulfed this city. Sky-scratching buildings seem to loom down on you, as you raise your head towards the skies, towards the thin band of here and there, the world in which its lineage ran through your veins.

You wondered if you would live between those two worlds, between the green and blue of Earth and the luminous realms of Asgard. Would you have to forgo your life on Earth? Leave your teammates to go fight- to go fulfil some designated throne that had been waiting for you since the inception of time? Your thoughts are cut off as you feel that same shiver caress your spine, it's blinding in its uncomfortableness, like an itch you cannot scratch.

And without any conscious reason, you feel yourself recognise the presence of another being, one that feels connected to you, beyond the strained curiosity and shock your other teammates had plastered on their faces.

This person, they reach for you, the whisper of their knowing hands, strong, as they'd hold you, stripping away everything else, the constraints of normalcy and what dictates ordinary on Earth. Reaching for you, like they know, like they understand, like they too grasp the strength of the Nordic grafted hammer.

“Thor” You whisper, head tilted towards the black oil spill that spreads across the evening sky.

“M’lady” He replies swiftly, the sound of his boots stepping forward from their place leaning against the rooftop door frame.

“How did you find me” You chuckle humourlessly, letting the auburn locks fall across your face, a curtain that guards you against the world.

“If I knew better, I’d call it a hunch, but if I'm being completely honest? I can’t help but notice you in a room full of others, you pull me, like some invisible force, where you go I follow, call me foolish and I’d say I’m but a fool for you”. Thor replies, with a deep baritone voice that causes you to quiver.

You gulp at his admonishment, softly turning your body to gaze towards his lingering figure, a stretch of space between you two that told you if you didn't want this you could still back away and run from it. A stretch of space Thor always kept from you, keeping you at arm's length until now, until he couldn't bare to keep you away.

He overpowers everything, his stature looming over everyone in the team like some formidable statue, the cloth navy shirt and pants going to every muscle and ripple in his body, the threads stretching across his expansive chest and back.

The whips of his dirty blonde hair escape his haphazard bun, licking the edges of his beard and curved lashes beaded with a sunset yellow. The wind flutters around him, a blossom appearing on his cheeks and neck, as his eyes survey your expression, trying to decipher your response through the stone of your features.

“You-” You clear your throat as you continue “You truly mean that?” You whisper back, stepping closer towards him. He looks across at you, eyes fluttering under heavy lids, nodding furiously as he steps towards you, causing you to step back until the small of your back brushes against the rooftop railing.

“Swear to the gods, this is a truth I’ve held closer than anything in my life” Thor promises, he's closer now, close enough where you can trace the sun-kissed freckles across his cheeks or the whisper of a white scar that snakes its way across his forehead.

“Let me help you? Please?” Thor looks down at you, a fire burning within the storm of his azure eyes, waves crashing against each other, the depth of a dark beast that tries to swallow you whole.

You furrow your eyebrows, your heart pounding against your chest as you swallow thickly, looking up towards him you reach for his arm and he grasps you earnestly, squeezing hard.

“I don't want to hurt people Thor, and- and I don't think there is anything you can help me with” You reply, as you press your teeth into your bottom lip.

Thor’s gaze on your bristles, his jaw tight as he observes you closely, his eyes darken before he shakes the moment away.

“What do you mean?” Thor replies, confusion spreading across his features

“Thor, do you honestly believe I am some kind of long-lost queen to your dynasty? That I, have the duty and honour to carry that hammer?” You reply, your gaze shifting across his features, as a moment of realisation hits him.

“You don't think you're worthy.” He murmurs, shaking his head as if the mere saying revolted him.

You bite your lip, smiling hard before nodding, it was true after all, so why did it hurt so much when it came from his mouth?

“Did you think I truly believed I was when I grasped Mjolnir in my hand all those years before? Every single fibre of my being dripped with doubt that It wouldn't nudge, that some overarching god saw my deepest fears and believed them”. He replies, his eyes glazed as if reminiscing about life before.

You listen carefully, but can't help the look of shock that overpowers your features. The hammer was practically grafted for him, the hilt and handle moulded to fit the length of his hand. His big, burly, thick hands. And yet he was doubtful, a voice tries to doubt his words, saying they are just a front, but you know, deep down, that he is probably the only person who has spoken to you this truthfully, the only person you know looks at you and sees you.

“And you know what happened?” Thor continues “I picked it up, and with it those doubts lay where they would, and I was so thankful, that they saw everything, my deepest fears, but refused to believe them as true. Refused to give them any chance to destroy me”. He replies

“And now, I come to you, and hope to god I give you that same reassurance, that same ever-lasting remembrance that you are, and will always be, worthy” Thor replies, fingers tracing the curve of your face, tucking a curl behind your ear.

“This isn’t to say I don't carry those same doubts, trust me, darling, they are with me, each and every day, but most days, the belief in me is a little louder” Thor replies, a smile tugging his lips as he looks at you.

“It’s just- it's just so confusing. I mean why now?” You reply.

“Gods tend to have a pretty funny sense of humour, trust me” Thor replies, a chuckle escaping his mouth, it's beautiful, the sound still held back by nerves and the eagerness to not make a fool of himself infant of you.

You can't help but let a giggle leave you, the sound so foreign after so many years of your non-expressive facade, it felt good, to let yourself be free, let yourself go of the pain of everything unsaid.

“You know, before the team, before everything really, I had a sister. She was younger than me but so so tall, and had this amazing raven hair that just fell into beautiful curls down her back. I always felt I needed to protect her, even when I didn't know what that meant you know? And then she died, and my entire life just caved in on itself” You murmur, the memories of those years before pain you, the familiar burn aching just like it was yesterday.

“I was so broken Thor, I mean, just- I was ruined” You smile, tears ebbing on your waterline as you shake yourself.

“How could I possess such power, such significance, when I was so destroyed for years? When I couldn't even bath myself when I couldn’t- when I could protect her. I was weak, and that stays with you, I feel it in my bones. It stays with you” You struggle to swallow around the brick lodged into your throat, blinking back tears that have begun to stain your cheeks.

Thor's hand comes to swipe them away with his thumb, holding it there so that he grasped your face, and scooped it within the mass of his enormous hands. You get safe in them, like the horrors of your past could be protected by his index and thumb.

“The pain, the pain of losing someone close to you, it’s like that of losing a part of yourself, during the battle of Asgard, I had lost-” Thor coughs, shaking his head before continuing. “I had lost one of my dearest comrades, my confidante, my friend. I took it, the pain, and I kept it within me, letting it fester and bellow as more of my loved ones passed. I didn't know it then but I was slowly stripping away, decorticating and rotting from the inside out”.

“I don't think I will ever forgive myself you know? For not doing enough, for doing too much, I don't know. It’s all such a blur, just feelings and memories now, that pain is there.” Thor replies mournfully, pressing a hand to your chest softly.

“But there comes a point where you have to make a decision, to either allow yourself to sink further down the depression and grief, are allow it to be a part of yourself, letting its waves crash over you rather than against you, let the storm take you until it has no choice but to pass”

“It’s there and we carry it with us every day and isn't that enough? Isn’t the pain we feel a testament to our love? To the love, we felt for them? In some weird way, this hammer? Mjolnir? it saved me. Appearing every time I called for it, by my side through it all, and I want that for you, I want you to feel that you can trust me enough to keep me by your side”. Thor replies, wiping away the tears that glisten from the city lights from your cheeks, dipping his head to lean it against your own.

“Oh Thor” You sigh, the sound of his name ripping through you like an avalanche, the emotions you've kept buried deep within the carcass of your chest finally ripped wide open.

Thor shudders at the sound of his name leaving your pretty lips, gods he was enamoured, the way your soft voice whispered the curves and flicks of his syllables. He wonders how you'd whisper it, how you'd shout it in the throes of pleasure, keening as he filed you to the hilt, dark hair sprawled as he rocked into your slick folds.

“I came to his rooftop as a signal of my resignation to this crazy idea of wielding Mjolnir, to give in, yet again to the harrowing voices that had soon taken over every thought in my brain since my sister's death” You reply, eyes shifting to the murmur of the Hudson, the deep river that held and accepting your darkest admonishes, your darkest secrets with open arms.

“And now, now, you've let me see, Thor, you've let me finally see” You croak, a teary smile as you reach for him, your hands grasping at the hairs on his nape.

“How can I thank you? How can I possibly thank you for believing me, my stupid fears, my regrets, my past? For taking the chance none in years had ever?” You reply

Thor looks down at you, the beginnings of an unravelling love tearing through his features, his eyes shining as the gaze over each slope and line of your face, hands tugging as they grip your waist closer to his towering figure.

God, he thinks he’s always known you were something special, from the moment you had spilt half your coffee on him to the moment you had tackled him down on that rubbery training room floor. The curves of your hips pressing into the hardness of his stomach- Jesus Christ.

He couldn't help but spend his nights imagining you pined under him after that, how pretty you’d look with him taking care of you, and now, with the reality, you would both be faced with, with you being able to imprint your presence in the city and world he loved, his cock throbbed with need.

He could picture it now, your curved back sleeping peacefully in his bed in Asgard, left bare save from the threaded blanket strewn between you both. The shine of the city’s morning light filtered into the large pane windows of the castle. Thor answering calls from the team, before you nudged him gently, the need spreading across your face with the bite of your lip and flutter of your eyes. Throwing the tablet across the room before pressing into you sopping heat with a groan, pressing soft kisses to your neck as he shushes you gently “I know baby, I know, let me take care of you hm?” And oh would he fulfil your every burning, dying wish.

Thor didn't have much these days, just stolen memories and tobacco-burnt loves. But now, now he felt he had you, entirely, now he felt you had him, wholly. Until all you saw was a man who wanted to love you, and all he saw was a goddess beneath him.

“Hold me tight, My Lady, and don’t ever let go” Thor presses into your neck, before the burning blue light of Mjolnir colours your eyes, the rooftop terrace, and the sky above. The electricity pushing you forth into the sky as Thor guides your hands to the hilt, letting you feel the power that surges in you, the power that is destined and owed to you, and you only.

His Queen.

Divider by @firefly-graphics !

Requests are always open, however as school begins my updates my be significantly shortened.

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fluloa · 1 year

Text

A TINY TUBE | sam drake x reader [chapter fic]

“Oh, shit.”

Two lines. Two red, thin lines. You blinked one time. Two times. Yep, they were still there, redder than the lipstick sitting in your makeup bag and plastered on a white tiny tube.

What the fuck? Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck?

You had to be hallucinating shit. It’s just really late, that’s all. You’re beginning to see things from exhaustion. Yeah, that’s it.

You stood up, feeling shaky in the legs as you splashed cold water on your face. You looked to the pregnancy test once again.

“Okay,” you sighed. “We’re just gonna take a shower, and head straight to bed. It’s a dodgy test! I did get it from the dollar store.”

Wait— Sam. Fuck. Sam. Your heart picked up a pace. Wait! No, he’s on a fishing trip with Nate. He’ll be back in a night and two days. Fuck. Relax, girl.

Why are you worrying, anyway? It’s a dodgy test.

You strip yourself of your clothes, naked and lightly shivering from the cool wind flowing in from your tiny window. You shut it, accidentally a little too hard and you flinch. Your eyes catch in the mirror in front of you.

You are exhausted, that’s for sure. Bad stomach cramps lately. Your period hasn’t come for a week. You vomited twice in three days. You’ve caught barely any sleep. Your body’s sweaty consistently.

Your hands skim slowly to the lower curve of your belly, the warm flesh feathering at your fingertips. Maybe it wasn’t a dodgy test.

You woke up the next morning feeling almost dead, your hair tangled and eyelids puffed. A part of you was absolutely thrilled about having a small little bean growing inside of you, and the other was drop-dead afraid.

You began to think. The last time you and Sam had sex was about two weeks ago, just before he left on the fishing trip. You both had just finished locating and collecting the patiala necklace and stumbled into a dark, wet cave. Banged it out like no tomorrow. Popped a morning after pill you bought from a Mexican cheap store into your mouth and called it a day.

Okay, you were definitely pregnant.

“I think I’m gonna stop buying medical things from cheap stores.” You said to yourself, reaching down and patting your belly softly.

Your mind drifted to Sam once again. How’d he react? Would he be upset, happy, mad? The baby would affect your jobs, and Sam had told you many times before that he didn’t want to stop nor take a break any time soon. You’ve been together for a year, but hadn’t even bothered to talk about babies. Marriage, yeah. But babies?

Guess you had two days to prepare. You picked up your phone, opening up messages and tapping into Elena’s contact. Sliding the phone to your cheek, you were taken aback when she picked up immediately.

”Y/N.”

”Hey. Can I come o—“

”Yes.” Elena groaned, piercing your right ear with her loud voice. “I’m bored. Cassie’s bored. Get your ass over here right now.”

“Okay,” you laughed. “I’ll be there in five.”

As you go to end the call, Elena yells out three. You laugh again. Of course you would go to her first, especially since baby Cassie is turning one soon and god knows Elena’s information and experience on pregnancy. She’s also your closest and only female friend you have. Then again, you don’t know what her reaction will be.

You’re in her driveway in a flash, with one of Sam’s shirts and some sport shorts. You knock at her door, gasping when it flings open and wind gushes at your face.

“Hey. Love the outfit,” Elena grins. Her warm eyes flicker to your hair, which is effortlessly pinned up into a messy bun as it tilts to a side.

“Thanks.” You mumble, walking into her home and immediately being greeted to a little baby girl crawling her way to you. She gurgles, her shining blonde hair curling out and bouncing as she claps her hands.

“Hey there, honey…” you reach down, ignoring the stinging pinch in your back as you pick Cassie up and bounce her on your hip.

“We’ve missed you,” Elena smirks, as Cassie grabs your hair and yanks it, loosening the bun.

You wince, “I can tell. Missed you too.”

”So, a coffee?” she asks, making her way into the kitchen. You follow her, sitting down on one of the stools and placing Cassie on your thigh. “Or two coffees?”

Shit. Are you allowed coffee while pregnant? You don’t know, and you won’t take any chances.

“Uh— None, thanks.”

Elena frowns, flicking on the kettle while she stares you down. “Okay…”

“Possibly some water. I just brushed my teeth, that’s all.”

You let out a mental sigh when she brushes you off. Nice improv, you think.

“You can go into the loungeroom. Put on some Netflix or something. And no cocomelon.”

You roll your eyes, letting out an exasperated groan. You trudge over to the nearby loungeroom, pinching at the top of Cassie’s shirt and wiping around her mouth. “Mom’s just being a party pooper. Cocomelon is the bomb.”

“Mom heard that.”

“Huh? What? I said nothing,” you say. You decided to put on a kid’s movie, and it wasn’t long until Elena was on the couch next to you with a water bottle and coffee.

“So,” Elena said.

Cassie was playing with your left hand, trying to bend and twist the fingers. “So,” you replied. Elena hands you the water bottle, and you take it with gratitude.

“You gonna tell me something?”

“Right.” You breathed in, something Elena didn’t fail to notice. Your hand tenses around the water bottle, plastic crinkling as you mentally prepare yourself for the outcome. “Um, when did you first begin to realise you were pregnant?”

You avoid her gaze, focusing on the way Cassie’s chubby fingers clutched around your larger ones. When you notice that Elena hadn’t responded for a weird amount of time, you turned to look at her.

Her eyes were wide, a small frown and her mouth open like the letter O. She flicked her eyes to your stomach, then back up to your face. “You’re not…”

”Well—“

”Holy fucking shit, you’re pregnant!” Elena squeaks, and you jump at her loud tone.

“Jesus, Elena. Yeah, I guess so? I think so. I tested positive,” you ramble. Elena’s arms whip out, gripping you firm on the shoulders and shaking you hard. “Hey— hey, Cassie’s on my lap—“

”Hooooly shit! You’re gonna have a baby!” Elena shakes you, and you’re sure you’re going to get a concussion. She finally lets you go, letting you catch your breath. “Was it planned?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Still out of breath, you tuck some hair behind your ear.

“… Does he know?”

“No.”

Elena blinks a few times. “I just… wow. You’re pregnant. And Sam doesn’t know.”

You groan, chugging some water as the coldness strikes your throat, “Yeah.”

“Wait, so, it wasn’t planned.” Elena adds, before dropping her tone down to a playful one, “How did that happen?”

Putting the water bottle down on the couch, you cover Cassie’s tiny ears. “After we found the patiala necklace. In a, um, cave. No condom, and I took a morning after pill.”

You mumble the last part under your breath.

“Oh my god.” Elena sighs, shaking her head as gentle chuckles slip from her lips. Your face flushes warm.

“It was like, intense too. My ass still hurts from when he was pushi—“

”Okay! No more details,” the blonde cries. You smirk, finally uncovering Cassie’s ears and squishing at her soft cheeks.

You breathe out, a sadness dropping into your voice. “But I just don’t know how he’ll react. Don’t know how to tell him.”

“Honestly, me neither.” Elena admits, rolling up the long sleeves of her black cotton shirt. “Sam as a dad… that’s a weird thought.”

“Maybe he won’t have to be,” you say. It’s the truth. You don’t know whether or not you’re going to keep it. The thought of the choice sends a chill down your spine.

“Just see how it goes. Talk to him about it. At the end of the day, it’s your choice.” Elena places her hand onto your arm, her peachy lips out-stretched into a genuine smile. You weakly smile back.

About two hours later, you’re back at your house, munching away at some noodles you spotted in the fridge. The show you’re watching is quite interesting, and coincidentally, a female character just found out she was pregnant.

The female character screams and runs around the house while knocking over a bunch of things.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You pause mid-eating, noodles dangling from your lips. A rather rough knock. It’s weird, because you weren’t expecting anyone today. You can’t help but feel goosebumps arise on your skin, a sense of fear creeping into you.

You walk over to the door, gliding it open slowly. Your heart then skips about ten beats.

“Hey there, beautiful girl.” Sam grins, fishing equipment dangling from his arm.

You splat out a hey as he scoops his arm around your back, pulling you in swift and kissing you firm on the lips. You’re greeted with the familiar taste of tobacco and pine, a taste you’ve grown to love and adore. But one you weren’t expecting until tomorrow. The warmth of his tongue dips into your mouth, taking you aback and you let a gasp flow from your throat.

He walks you back into the house, fishing equipment dropping onto the tiles with a loud clatter. He breathes against your lips, “Miss me?”

He pushes you against the side of the kitchen bench, his hands roaming along your stomach and legs before gripping at your hips. He picks you up, dunking you on the surface and tongue plunging into your mouth all at once. It’s too much.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging your fingertips into the fluffiness of his black jumper. You gently push him back, to which he surprisingly obliges to and leans back, staring up at you with those all too familiar dark golden eyes.

”You’re early,” you say, huffing as his thumbs massage circles into your hips.

“Sure am. Thought I’d surprise you and come home a day early.” He reaches into his back pocket, fishing around for something. “I got you something.”

You nod as he takes something from his pocket, his hand closed into a fist. Your eyes widen when his hand stretches out, revealing a black beaded necklace that shone a little underneath the kitchen yellow light.

“It was in one of the markets. It’s simple, but I think it’s cute,” Sam explains. He unclips the metal clip, lifting his arms and wrapping it around your neck. You hear a click, your fingers moving to play with the beaded necklace.

“It’s pretty. Thanks, baby.”

He’s already leaning closer as you say those words, his eyes landing on the plumpness of your lips. “You’re welcome.”

His mouth is back on yours again, more aggressive, more hungry. His fingers slip underneath your shirt, the warmness of his tips dancing along the skin of your belly before grabbing at your sides. You let him pick you up (again), leading you to the couch and plonking you there.

He presses at the button of your jeans, skilfully flicking it undone and swiftly gripping onto your metal zipper. He’s moving too fast, and you can’t catch up. You hum an uncomfortable grunt, placing your hands on his chest and pushing him. His face is written in confusion as he jumps off of you, his mouth glistened with saliva and his pupils dilated. Fuck, he looked good. But you needed to talk. As much as you didn’t want to.

“What did I do?” he asks, and god, the look on his face makes you want to just jump back onto him.

“You didn’t do anything, it’s just— we need to talk.”

His gaze averts to the ground for a second, his chest sinking and he wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. “Alright.”

He looks worried, and you can tell that he is because of the way his tongue pokes from the bottom of his mouth. He does that when he’s worried. Fuck, there’s that feeling, the yucky swirly shit that thrushes in the pit of your tummy.

“I tested positive.”

You said the words in a big blurred rush, not connecting his burning gaze on you, instead playing with your fingers.

“You… tested positive?” he repeated, his voice wavering and quiet.

“On a pregnancy test.”

His jaw dropped, his eyes now unfocused and not on you and now on your abdomen. “You have a baby. In there.”

“Mhm,” you murmur.

“Oh, shit.”

“That’s what I said.” You dryly chuckle, your eyes settled in a wince and he flicks his attention back up to you. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t pin point.

“You’re pregnant.” He said, sounding as if the words were to himself. “Holy fuck.”

You couldn’t ignore the pain rumbling in your chest, your lips twitching into a miniature pout. He didn’t want it. “Yeah… I know. I can organise an appoi—“

”I’m gonna be a fucking daddy,” he laughed, his teeth poking out as his mouth stretches into a grin.

”What? You aren’t upset?” you question. That wasn’t the sentence you were expecting.

“Are you kidding me? We’re gonna have a frickin’ kid and you think I’m upset?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I thought it would be a burden. We’re busy all the time, and you’ve told me many times that you don’t want to take a break any time soon.”

“We just found a necklace that gave us about a million each. I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine for now,” Sam grins.

You frown. “But… so… you wanna keep it?”

“Yes. Fuck, more than anything.” He lets out a breathy laugh, leaning over and cupping your cheek. You could just melt. You seriously could absolutely just melt into his hands like a hot puddle of runny goop. He wanted the baby, he wanted it.

He kisses you, a kiss so sweet and sensual that you can barely believe it’s his lips giving it to you. You can’t help but let a groan out, your hands sliding up his back and into his messy brown hair.

“Can’t fuckin’ believe it,” he sighs against your hot lips, gushing sounds forming as he slips his tongue in to catch your own. “My baby’s gonna have a baby.”

You giggle, and it turns into a low gasp when his hand snakes, down to the liner of your jeans and skimming underneath to touch the rim of your underwear.

“This is the only action I’ll be getting for a while, right?” Sam asks, his breath hot and wet against your mouth.

“You know it, cowboy.” You take your own hand and scoop underneath his jacket, slipping it off his shoulder. “So make it worth its while.”

A devilish smirk paints across his lips, grabbing you tight and laying you out on the couch. He hikes his arm up your thigh and wraps it around his large hip, dropping his voice an octave lower. “Yes ma’am.”

#sam drake #samuel drake #sam drake x reader #fluff #some smut too #lol couldn’t help myself #sam drake as a baby daddy #oh yeah motherfucker #sam drake smut #pregnant reader

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depravity-disposed · 10 months

Text

It was late night as A & B cuddled on the sofa together, the glow of the TV screen reflecting off of them.

B laid across their partner’s Lap, A periodically popping grapes into both theirs, and their own mouth as they gradually worked through the fruit bowl.

The next commercial break came and A took thier eyes off of the screen, giving their partner a loving look of admiration as they caressed thier head. B looked up at them and smiled, softly purring from the affection.

An open mouth told A what they expected next, so without second notice B was fed another grape, this time getting a good view as B savored its taste; licking and swirling it around with their tongue, before sending it down with a gulp. A fairly audible one, majority of the small fruit had been left intact from being purposefully unchewed…

A knew they were blushing at the sight. They couldn’t help it~

“Aww~” B cooed, “You like my mouth that much~”

A scoffed. “Obviously~”

A planted a gentle kiss to thier lips and B grabbed another grape from the bowl. This time however, instead of immediately snacking on it, they held it between two fingers, Almost as if they were contemplating something…~

“… you know what would make this better~?”

“What~?” A asked.

“If these grapes were tinies~”

A raised an eyebrow, curiosity and arousal beginning to peak at their partner’s implications~ “Are you suggesting, or insisting, love~?”

B looked up with a teasingly smug grin. “You tell me~”

A chuckled, softly shaking thier head. “You know, the more we do this, the more I’m convinced you’ve gotten this kink from me~”

B shrugged, “Maybe… Well, Not like you still. Stomach growls still don’t do anything for me.”

“You don’t like listening to mine then~” A teased’ “Sad~”

B rolled thier eyes. “You’re the exception~”

A laughed this time. “Yea alright~ you keep saying that, but you and I both know how flushed you get when we do these things love~”

B giggled a bit, a blush rising on thier cheeks, “okay.. … I guess i do like feeling them go down…~ … I-it’s really…”

“Exciting~?” A purred

“Y-yea…~”

B’s blush grew, and A knew they had hit a sweet spot~

“What about the squirming~? The way they kick and scream inside of you, knowing they’re trapped in your strong, unrelenting body~? The way your stomach shifts on them, mashing and smushing them into an unrecognizable slop~?”

B bit thier lip. This talk really had their mind currently fixating on what their middle had been doing now.. those poor little grapes.. bobbing around in a hot, simmering broth of caustic stomach acids, stomach groaning softly, eager to begin another round of swift sluicing~

“…god… keep talking..” B huffed out, soft and hot, “You’re getting me all worked up baby~”

A smiled, both devilishly and sweetly, “Good~ I love seeing you a mess like this~”

A’s hand caressed and scratched at B’s soft underbelly, causing it to let out an obscenely lewd gurgle. B let out a soft moan, squirming in their position as they focused on the overwhelmingly pleasant sensations that were making thier tummy flutter~ They could feel the acid starting ooze from it’s lining, starting to pool the more A stirred the bottom of their belly~

They look so pretty fawning over thier own tummy~ and of course, A’s smile, words of encouragement, and enamored, flushed face steadily drove them more and more crazy~ They couldn’t complain though, sultry words sending chills through their body as each burble from their pampered guts sent delightful jolts right down to their crotch, thier little heart skipping a beat everytime~

“You look so good for me, thrashing around as you food digests~”

A pressed a bit harder, earning s sharp moan from both B and thier belly~

“Look at you, being so dirty and shameless as your stomach happily churns them away~ Can you feel every ripple of your stomach~? It sure feels like it from here, it,s gurgling so loudly, I could mistake it for something much different~”

A gave one last tender rub, before giving an abrupt, sudden slap. B moaned out unapologetically, their tum letting out loudly a its contents roiled angrily~

“Oh, I’m sorry love~ I promise to be a little more gentle~”

B whined as A sloshed their middle. Whatever gentle treatment they had promised… B hoped it was a lot more then just this…~

#lmao I hated color coding this shit #t///lex #w//ls #v ore #digestion #stomach sounds

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butmakeitgayblog · 3 months

Note

ADHD here, please tell me, teach me, write instruction to how brush and floss your teeth three times a day.

Please.

Do you set alarm clocks? Do you have apps that reminds you? T_T

And no, wisdom teeth ARE NOT easy.

I gotchu

👇👇👇👇

Nope no apps or alarms. It's all less about a schedule, and more just working it into your eating routine. Making flossing and brushing part of your eating process is the easiest way rather than just relying on memory or "oop it's 1pm, gotta brush!" when you may not even eat lunch until 2, you get me?

Here's my process:

1. Brush before you eat breakfast. If you feel a bit nauseous in the mornings, try and sip some water to settle it down, but whatever you do, do not eat or drink anything other than water before your first brush. Why?

Eating softens the enamel! Acidic drinks (coffee, juice, etc) softens the enamel! If you eat/drink and then brush, you are quite literally brushing away your teefie's lil coat of armor!

2. Brush yo damn tongue. I know it sucks. I know you'll gag. It's hell. Do it anyway. I'm suffering with you ✊

3. Don't just go crazy everywhere in there. If you're zigzagging around your mouth like it's Mario kart, you're missing spots. I brush in sections to guarentee coverage. Top right molars - front, bottom, back, back edge. Bottom right molars - front, top, back, back edge. Etc. In total, six sections each brushed exactly the same.

I'm fully aware written down it sounds OCD levels of bullshit, but I promise, it's the same 2-3 minutes spent brushing as usual, just organized and effective rather than pure chaos and a prayer of plaque removal 🥴

Also, don't brush too hard. If your bristles are bent and smooshed, ease up my god you're brushing away the enamel by force 😳

4. After you brush and spit - Do. Not. Rinse.

Don't.

Put the water down.

If at most you have to refresh the tongue from feeling weirdly coated, take a tiny sip of water and gurgle only on the back of the tongue and spit.

I say this because the longer the toothpaste stays on your teeth, the better. You want that flouride and whatnot doing its thing on your enamel and gum line as long as possible, so give it as much time as you can and let your mouth naturally clean it out. It will.

5. Floss after every meal. Every one. It will become a habit and you'll start to hate the feeling of not flossing after. Floss after snacks!!! If it's solid food, floss. Period. Flossers can and will become your best friend because they are so convenient. I love them, I just keep a few in the zipper part of my wallet and whenever I'm out, I can (and do) floss on the go.

Side note, there is a right and wrong way to floss. So, be mindful of that.

6. Other than morning time, brush after meals when you can, HOWEVER!!!! WAIT AT LEAST 20 MINUTES (see part 1.) In those 20 minutes after you finish eating, drink water and thoroughly swish it around your mouth to help dilute the acid sitting on your teeth. Floss during this time as well to get the crud out from between your teeth so it's not just sitting there. If you're out in public or at a job where you can't brush after lunch, brush as soon as you get home. Literally take off your shoes, hang up your coat, kiss your pet (or spouse or... idk houseplant) hello, and then go brush.

8. After your final brushing of the day, eat or drink nothing else but water. Nothing.

Look at me

Nothing else ಠ_ಠ

If you do want to eat or drink again, gonna have to wait 20 min and brush again 🤷‍♀️

So you see, it's less about a schedule and more just working the act of brushing and flossing into your normal eating routine. Make the two synonymous. Make it part of your meal process. Eat. Floss. Rinse with water. Wait, then brush.

Important*****

For those who have days when they cannot mentally or physically make themselves brush, listen to me. I understand. It's ok. Believe me, I do know more than I ever say on here. But don't do nothing. If that is you, keep a small bottle of listerine next to your bed/chair so you can swish and spit. Buy a bag of flossers and keep those near you to at least floss. Buy those little one use brusher sticks/a clean rag and toothpaste and use those. If that's the best you can do, there's no shame in that. I promise your future self will be so, so grateful for these little things, because even a little is better than nothing. And in the end you deserve to have your mouth feel fresh, even when you yourself don't have the spoons to do much else.

#anon #i take teeth hygiene very seriously lol #my mom had so many teeth problems and my aunt spent THOUSANDS on her teeth #i just realized young that I did not want that to be me #and having lived the majority of my life without dental insurance it's always been a very do or die thing #cuz if something goes catastrophically wrong i can't afford to fix it #so maintenance has always been the name of the game for me

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pangtasias-atelier · 4 months

Text

Summoner's Sedentary Supports: Corrin

After taking time and struggling to write smaller sizes without going crazy, so going back to writing absurd fat fuck sizes was easy though I still crave to embellish like blob sized dialogue without stretching it so much lol. Hopefully enjoy cause had fun just blurring this out.

Warning: This is a fetish story!

In the very distant, most remote wing of the Order of Heroes brick white castle—the area originally physically remodeled a couple of years back before being magically reinforced another year afterwards—the entire wing is only occupied by the Order's summoner and all of the men he's supported. The area would appear vacant from the lack of activity in the expansive hallways, if not for the loud whirring of machines sounding out from every room alongside the small yet incessant tremors that ring out from varying unknown gurgling sources, said sources all ones that Kiran intimately knows and takes care of. The only room that currently displays some different sort of sound is Corrin’s.

“Oh come on, no need to be shy,” Kiran lays down on Corrin’s corpulence, using the widespread flabby shoulder fat that’s coalesced with his numerous neck rolls as well as his plump, overly swollen breasts. So unused to being allowed to whatever he wishes, Corrin indulges himself and Kiran, gladly allowing himself to be fattened up as he craves to be, no longer having to adhere to a strict schedule. Corrin’s lard near his face is practically indistinguishable from the rest of his landscape of fat. The main distinguishing feature showing Corrin’s head is his silvery mop of hair. Not that it helps all the time with how much his face sinks into his blubbery tonnage. Kiran caresses Corrin’s face. His bloated cheeks spread out on both sides of his face with all the flab stored into them, each ponderously sized jowl far too fat for Kiran to handle just one with both of his hands.

Corrin merely whimpers. His eyes focus on anything but Kiran. Unfortunately, everything else besides Kiran is either the walls in the distance or the lard of his own enormity, nothing else in the room besides the two men, and Corrin takes up almost the entire space on his own even with a spell meant to infinitely expand the room to accommodate for Corrin’s immense, ever growing weight. Corrin's size leaves him more of a blubbery blob than a man. All of Corrin's weight is well spread out, every single inch of his immobilized figure pumped up with fat, fat, and more fat. So much of Corrin to go around, even his tail has gotten much wider; the large, extra limb which once used to be nearly as big as him back when he used to not weigh several multiple tons of lard is now fat enough to smother an entire mattress from its width alone, and yet even his fattened up tail manages to look small compared to the rest of his enormity, his tail wedged in between the insurmountable cascading hills of fat for an ass.

The portal leading to Corrin’s mouth—a portal linked to a location supplying him an endless torrent of buttery laden, fattening Hoshidan and Nohrian food that only Kiran knows about—now sealed off, Corrin’s faint blush from Kiran’s remark slowly evolves into a darker, more vibrant hue, the light dusting of pink of his jowls turning a much more noticeable red; partially from Kiran’s remark, but mostly from the bit of peckish hunger he feels in his room crushing belly quickly growing into an empty starving pit that begins to demand food in mere minutes of going without even so much as a little snack to satisfy himself.

And do so loudly, a thunderous growl of a tremor resounding from his tremendous gut, enough shaking caused to leave Corrin a wobbling mess, his numerous, countless rolls of flab sloshing against each other for quite an extended period of time. “Hnnngh,,,” Corrin whines. So unbearably hungry, he looks at Kiran, the summoner’s own prodigious 600 pound figure surrounded by Corrin’s own. “I waaghnnnt…moooore -wheeze- fooohhd…” Corrin’s eyes droop. His energy nearly depleted, he gets just what he needs to recover the recently spent calories—calories wasted to both Corrin and Kiran.

And Corrin’s body does desperately need the food with his body requiring such an absurd amount of calories simply to keep his weight stagnant. Not that either man intends to maintain such a goal, Corrin stuffed with more and more each and every single day to keep him growing. At such an excessively high weight, Corrin’s gut is large enough to cover up his sizable room back in the Northern Fortress, twice as much in fact, and his entire body spreads out far enough to take up as much space as he was allowed to roam in the moderately sized abandoned fortress he grew up in. Corrin's large immensity manages to remain somewhat dressed. All thanks to Kiran’s magic. Likewise, his room is enchanted with the same expandable magic to grow and contain all of him. Corrin’s simple attire highlights nearly every inch of flab on his figure. Not all of his corpulence is clothed despite the enchantment on the clothes. Corrin’s stretchable black workout attire he always used to wear underneath his armor—back when he could actually lift and swing a sword unlike now where talking is the most strenuous thing he does in a day—is now all he wears. The top black tank barely fails in fulfilling its job of covering up his immense, rotund belly, instead doing its new job of showing off the lurching mass of adipose that makes up the lowest roll of many on his stomach. And despite making it past his cavernous belly button, the fabric clings to his navel, the outline of it showed off just like the rest of him. Corrin’s stomach resembles a nearly toppling massive stack of hotcakes, each roll on top of the other just ever so slightly coming close to oozing far enough to sag and overtake its lower roll. Unlike Corrin’s gut, his breasts are practically exposed in their entirety, the sides of his massive tits spilling out the sides of his sleeveless top. Corrin’s own breasts are large enough to come close to rivaling his transformed state. The crevice of space from where his chest presses up against each other seems to suck in the fabric of his top, the upper portions of his rack also visible. Only around half the width of each breast is covered up, his wide, puffy tits ever so slightly pressing up against the edge of fabric with the rest poking out. And they press up against Corrin’s useless arms. Corrin is completely incapable of moving his arms with how wide and heavy they are, multiple men required to lift up just a single one of Corrin’s engorged biceps the size of tables. Corrin’s wrists are in the same situation, the flabby wrists swallowed up by his bloated forearms much like his biceps do to it, Corrin’s elbows completely unbendable as a result. His hands fare no better; the bloated digits can only just barely be wiggled much like his toes. Corrin’s pants manage to cover the expansive hillside for legs. The patterning on them is so stretched out from his blubber so as to leave it completely unrecognizable, the meant to be solid shapes bloated out into massively rounded out spheres much like his actual body. Corrin’s thighs are partially trapped underneath the expanse of his gut that extends far past his feet. And Corrin’s ass juts out far out behind him, the black mass of stretched out fabric only broken up by the smidge of visible white from the underside of his engorged tail which doesn’t go as far out as his enormous, shapeless rear.

“Coming right on up. Like I’d let such a big, handsome dragon waste away,” he says with a quick snap of his fingers, a portal summoned back up just for Corrin. Food immediately begins to pour out the portal within seconds, carb laden noodle dishes of ramen and pasta magically rushing their way to Corrin’s face. The magic practically ends there, Corrin’s greedy and noisy guzzling all his own doing as he opens his mouth wide and tears into every mouthful of food flung his way.

Corrin goes on for quite some time, his eating only slightly slowing down as he begins to huff and pant. But Corrin says nothing, a slight pathetic little whimper occasionally sounding out in between the entire dishes he devours like appetizers.

Simply enjoying the peace and comfort from resting atop Corrin’s overflowing bed for a bed, Kiran grins up hearing him. He opens up an eye, glancing at his sunken face. “If you want something, you gotta tell me,” he pats and rubs Corrin’s flab, not even sure of what exactly he grabs with so much of him to grab. “Remember, I’m here to please you,

“I crahveh…-uhhhrrgh- ishhee -nggnhh- creahmm…” Corrin demands while diligently stuffing himself with everyhitng given to him. “-huff- Pleasshe,,,,” Corrin throws in after a massive belch, another whine coming from him in between all the food happily allows to be shoveled down.

Kiran closes and opens a portal, instantly replacing the food upon Corrin’s request. “You keep enjoying yourself and I’ll make sure to keep you well fed,”

“Hnnnghh mmmhmmm,” Corrin lazily replies with his eyes closed in contentment. Corrin’s moans grow louder as the warm pasta becomes replaced with a cold deluge of strawberry ice cream mixed with chocolate fudge slushing down his gullet.

Kiran speeds up the volume of ice cream pouring into Corrin’s mouth, his moans growing more muffled despite his increased enjoyment. “Extremely well fed,”

#fat emblem #my writing #ssbhm #feeder emblem #fat fiction #maleweightgain #the S supports

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

Text

*breaking down doors to yell about the time travel au*

steve distracts the demogorgon from will, then stays by the byers’ house to make sure he’s there yo hear screams or movement, just there to help. and then he stays there because ne needs to see will be alive and well and here in the morning.

and he is.

and steve’s been awake for over two days, hasn’t slept because first there eas Vecna, then there was Max getting cursed, then everyone was busy dying, and everyone died, they died, and now he is here and everyone’s alive and he needs to make sure they stay that way, and he’s not sleeping, he’s watching over a boy who doesn’t even know him here yet.

and then he realises that. that. he needs to go to school. he’s in his junior year of high school. it’s been 3 years. he doesn’t remember shit. but he can’t fail. so he goes to school, because there’s nothing else to do

and he finds nancy and the last time he saw her, she was dying. she wants to kiss him and he pulls back, and the last time he saw her face fall like that, it was because she died!

and she likes him so much, she looks at him with those pretty eyes and that kissable pout, and steve can only stare because he realises he has to break up with her, or barb will die tomorrow, and nancy never really liked him anyway and he cant do this again, cant get his heart broken again, and he cant even look at her without seeing all that blood, without hearing her screams that turned into gurgled promises that it was all going to be okay, that steve should stop crying, that she loved him, always did, but never like that.

and steve breaks up with nancy in that hallway on that blasted monday morning, and she doesnt understand, shes so angry, shes trying to hide the tears and so is steve, and she tells him he doesnt look good, shes worried, but steve just says ‘forget it, nancy wheeler’, and his heart hurt and his head hurts and he’s nauseous as barb pulls nancy away, telling her he’s not worth it. and she’s right, he isn’t. he isn’t.

steve spends all of first period throwing up in the gym, because no one will find him and his very bad panic attack there.

#time travel au #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington whump #steddie #because of course it will be steddie endgame #omg imagine me making Nancy call Steve bullshit in this au too and Steve knowing that there's no universe in which he isn't bullshit #wouldn't that be fun? :))) :') :D ...#dio rambles #I really gotta start writing this foreal huh #this was taken from dms actually don't look at the missing apostrophes please and thanks

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storiesbyrhi · 1 year

Text

Angel of the First Degree - Chapter 17: Glory

Eddie Munson x Chubby!Reader 5617 words Series Masterlist

Warnings: Anxiety; fatphobia including internalised; drug use; bullying; body issues; discussion of body function and fluids; period shame/stigma; disclosure of sexual assault (chapter 2); disordered eating and thoughts of food; shitty/abusive/critical parents; porn magazines; smut; reference to suicide (specifically Virginia Woolf’s); no beta; grief/mourning; verbal fighting; meat (turkey)… for the vegans

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson finds you in the midst of a panic attack, it is the beginning of something. A fic featuring body and sex positivity, Eddie in a dress, soft small moments, scary big truths, and all the usual special feelings you’d expect from one of my stories.

Chapter Summary: 1987.

Author’s Note: Reminder that in this fic the new school/college year would begin at the end of January/start of February (because I’m Australian and applied our system to the U.S. accidentally).

This is the final chapter of Angel of the First Degree! Chapter 1 was published at the beginning of August 2022, so it’s been a couple of months riding this very emotional and hopefully healing ride. The story started as one of those little bedtime fantasies. You know the ones where you pretend your pillow is Eddie and you’re totally somewhere else? When I started to write it, I decided that I wanted to put a whole lot self-love, self-acceptance, and self-reconciliation into it. To have so many people read this and get something genuine and positive from it is beyond cool and into the land of super fucking special. Thank you to everyone on the taglist, and to everyone who commented and reblogged. This fic is dedicated to every chubby girl that thinks they’ll never be loved; you will be, and it will be glorious. xo Rhi

You had always hated sleepovers. When you were a kid, your parents put immense pressure on you to be good and polite. Be the perfect guest or else. You stayed rigid, having no fun and remaining quiet. Most of the time you weren’t invited over again purely because you freaked the other kids out. Assuming you had done something wrong to warrant the cold shoulder, your parents would punish you.

In your teenage years you hated them because you were terrified of having to get changed in front of other people. It wasn’t just about the weight you were killing yourself to keep off. Hair. Scars. Moles. Dips. Bumps. Acne. There was a never-ending list of things Hayley could pick on. At school you could duck behind lockers or sneak into toilet stalls. Sleepovers were exposing.

Sleep would never come. Partly, the anxiety was keeping your heart rate too high to settle. The room would be too hot then too cold then back again. Every sound was amplified. Partly, you purposefully kept yourself awake long after everyone else was asleep. You had no idea if you snored or if your tummy gurgled or what other noises your body would make when you weren’t in control. It was a horrifying thought.

Then, 1986.

Then, Eddie.

Then, beautiful healing and glorious acceptance that a body is just a body; it means as much or as little as you wanted.

When Esther invited you to a sleepover in the first week of January, you were genuinely excited. It was just you and her living the slumber party dream. Snacks and movies with cute boys. Sneaking booze and giggling. It was proof that friendship between two girls absolutely could and did work. You needed to learn that after high school.

Esther drove you home mid-morning, hugging you tightly before watching you wave from the trailer door. As you waited for her to drive away, you glanced at Eddie’s van. In a brief and passing thought, you noted that it looked like it was full of boxes or something. Maybe Corroded Coffin got a gig and he was sorting equipment out.

As you entered the trailer, Eddie was closing the bedroom door and turning to walk down the hall.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted, meeting you half way to hug you. He walked you backward until you were in the living room. “Have fun?”

“Mmmhmmm,”

“Break into Esther’s dad’s good stuff again?”

“Yep,” you replied, popping the P.

Eddie grinned. “That’s my girl.”

You nudged your head into his chest, like a cat asking for a pat. He obliged.

“What did you get up to while I was gone?”

“Sex, drugs, rock and roll,”

“You listened to Reign in Blood again while writing that dungeon master guide for Gareth?”

“Yep,” Eddie said, mimicking your tone and popping the P.

You smiled at each other, then Eddie let you go. When you stepped around him, intending on throwing your backpack down in the bedroom, he grabbed your wrist.

“Ah, actually, could you sit in here for a second? I have some… news.”

Anxiety’s greatest hit Flight or Fight started playing in your head. The moment he saw your eyes go wide and body freeze, Eddie tried to smile, taking you to the couch. You let him take your bag off and hold your hands.

“I don’t like this,” you blurted out.

“It’s nothing bad! It’s good. I promise. I mean… I think it’s good. It’s good.” He was reassuring himself as much as you.

This was the moment.

Eddie had been orchestrating your future for weeks. In the process, he had broken the law, forced all your friends to keep secrets from you, invaded your privacy, and made sweeping guesses about decisions you should have been the one to make all along. But it was all for you. It was to make it up to you. It was to give you what you deserved. It was to show you that he loved you. That he would be by your side no matter what you were doing or where you were doing it.

All you had to do was accept it. Eddie was terrified that you still hadn’t learnt how to do that.

“I’m gonna say some shit, and you’re gonna want to tell me to shut up. And, uh, I’m bringing up some stuff that we said we wouldn’t talk about anymore. But you’ve got to promise you’ll hear me out. Like, just let me finish this whole thing before you… lose it or whatever. It’s the only way you’re going to understand. You have to promise.”

Your eyes were already welled up with tears and there was nothing Eddie could do about it. As he held your hands, he kept looking from your matching red rings back up to your scared face.

“But it’s good?” you whispered. The single guess your brain would allow was that he was going to break up with you because of something that had already happened, something you had no power over anymore. You needed him to tell you it was good, that it was going to be okay.

Eddie nodded. “Yes. Yes, I promise. Nobody’s dying,”

“You’re not br-”

“No! No. Sorry. Sorry, I should have started with that. Fuck. I’m fucking this up. Planned every goddamn detail but it’s all coming apart now… Ah, no. No. We’re good. We’re… great… I’m sorry. I’m… nervous. That’s why I need you to just hang in there and let me get it all out,”

“Okay,” you promised, your expression no less sad but slightly less scared.

Eddie took a breath and forced himself to look at you as he spoke. “We… were stupid to never talk about this year. Like, after high school. We never talked about it but I knew you’d applied to colleges. It was kind of in the back of my mind. You know? I just kept ignoring it because I’d just got you, like, really properly had you and if I thought about you disappearing on me… It, ah, worse than sucked? Freaked me out. Then the letters came and I… I don’t even know what I did. Turned into my dad. I was just… scared-

Then you said you didn’t want to go and we could pretend nothing happened and it was fine for like, a second, but it wasn’t really… I felt like shit for making you have to pretend you never wanted to go. Because you did. And I don’t know if you really believe everything you said, about it just being a way to get away from your parents. But, um, I didn’t believe it… I still don’t… So… Yeah… I had fucked up in this huge way that meant pushing your life onto a path it shouldn’t’ve been on… So… So, I’ve… fixed it…”

It sounded like one long sentence, void of punctuation and pause. You had rebuttals for many points but were focused on waiting until the end.

Eddie read your face, the way your lips were slightly parted and your eyes had cleared. He continued.

“I’ve been tryna find the right way to tell you everything. You know, in a way that explains it all properly. So you don’t have a million questions. Dustin said to start at the end and work my way back, but I think that will just confuse you. Kid thinks it will be romantic that way, but I think this is beyond… all that… Esther said to start at the start, which sounds dumb now I say it out loud. But, you know, my head was tellin’ me not all good stories start at the start, you know?”

“Eddie.” He was rambling, getting off topic.

“Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. Yeah… I’m starting at the start. And, um, the start is that I called The University of Chicago and got them to re-send your acceptance letter and all the other stuff. We did all the paperwork and shit. Enrolled you. We had to pick some classes, but you can change them once you're there, if you want to, and-”

You let go of his hands and stood up. “Eddie. I’m not going-”

He yelled your name, startling you into silence. “You are. You are going, but I’m going with you. Please just fucking sit down and let me finish.”

Slowly you moved back towards him. Eddie reached out and held you by the hips, pulled you back down onto the couch gently.

“You’re going. You’re enrolled. The only thing I couldn’t do was apply to get your scholarship conditions changed. The letter is ready to go, all you have to do is sign it and hand it in, in person. You can petition to change the ‘cost of living’ from a dorm to rental cheques. It’s not a dollar-for-dollar swap, but it’s something to help with rent, you know?”

No. No, you didn’t know. Eddie was using words and phrases you had never heard before. You didn’t know what a ‘cost of living’ condition was, and you didn’t know what he meant by ‘help with the rent.’

“I got an apartment. It’s tiny. Like, smaller than the trailer, but it will be enough for us. You’ll catch a train to class. And, um, I got a job. You know John?”

“Wayne’s John?”

“Yeah. Cath’s sister owns a bar. She’s giving me a trial shift, but I won’t fuck it up. Know my around the bottles so that’s pretty much a sure thing.”

You still didn’t know what was happening, not really, but it was nice to hear Eddie back himself. He paused, searching his mind for any other important details.

“I think… think that’s it. Your scholarship pays for most things you need. I’ve got enough saved to cover us for a few months. That’s why I’ve been selling so much. For this. And that’s what I was doing in Chicago… Uh, yeah. Alright. That’s… it.”

Eddie had his concentration face on. Eyes to the ceiling and tongue poking out, he was thinking. When the expression softened into neutral warmth, he looked at you expectedly.

Your body felt weightless, like it was floating. When you stood and walked down the hallway, you were just as surprised as Eddie. One foot in front of the other, you let your body take you to the bedroom, open the door, and turn the light on.

The room was packed up. There were three boxes neatly stacked in the corner, labelled ‘Eddie – childhood shit,’ ‘Wayne,’ and ‘donate/trash.’ The furniture remained, but even the mattress had been stripped of linen. Eddie’s posters weren’t on the walls. Angel and Hellfire were nowhere to be seen. Everything was gone.

“It’s all in the van,” Eddie explained from behind you. “Landlord said there’s no parking spaces for the building, but there’s an empty lot across the road everyone uses.”

When you stepped into the bedroom, it felt surreal.

“We’ll be there by late afternoon. Got a couple stops on the way.”

You spun around to face him. “Wait. What? What do you mean?”

Eddie frowned, looked around the room he had grown up in. “We’re leaving today,” he said, spelling it out.

“No…” You shook your head. “I… I can’t just… We…” Shock? Were you in a state of pure shock. Reaching out for something to ground you, Eddie was there before you could take another step. He clasped his hands to yours.

“You can. We can. Everythin’ is ready. All we gotta do is go. All you’ve gotta do is trust me… And you do. You trust me, right?”

Blinking hard, you stopped looking around the room and focused on Eddie. His baby cow eyes that inspired Hellfire. His soft lips that sang Tupelo Honey. Slowly, you nodded.

“Yeah? I’ve got you… I know this is scary. It’s terrifying for me too. I’ve never really done more than sit around here and sell weed. Never had actual responsibilities or whatever. But we can do this,”

“We can do this,” you repeated in a whisper.

Period blood and fat rolls and food. Pressed flowers and red gems and vinyl records. Anxiety attacks and displaced fear and shame. Fangoria hoodies and fairy lights and kitten ears. You could do this.

A tear rolled down your cheek, just another for Eddie to wipe away. He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose. When you leaned up into him, he kissed your lips and pulled you into him hard.

“Wayne will be home soon. Let’s eat something and wait,”

“Does he know?”

“Yeah. Everyone does. They’re all waiting for us to come see ‘em before we go.”

Homesick. You felt homesick and you hadn’t even left the trailer.

Eddie had only just covered the Honeycomb with milk when the rumble of Wayne’s truck made you jump up off your seat like a dog waiting for their owner. As soon as he was in the door, you ran to him and clung.

“Guess it’s happening then,” he said, a sorrow to his tone you didn’t quite catch.

The sobbing was out of your control. Eddie came to hug you into a Munson sandwich. Both he and Wayne were doing their best manly man thing in a shitty attempt to not cry too. Wayne’s jaw was clenched tight and Eddie’s eyes glistened with tears.

When you took a nearly-normal breath, Eddie wrapped his arms around you from behind and hoisted you up, carrying back to the kitchen. You stood at the bench and looked into the bowl of cereal, your stomach in knots.

“You gonna eat that?” Wayne asked, taking the bar stool seat opposite you.

Shaking your head, you slid it across to him.

“What are you gonna do with all the quiet?” Eddie asked his uncle.

“Sleep. In a bed. Regularly,” Wayne answered. He was playing it cool but you knew he’d be lonely without Eddie. “Proud of you both. Gonna go make something of yourselves,”

“I mean, let’s not get carried away. She’s the genius. I’m just bartending,”

“You’re leaving Hawkins, Ed. S’not nothing.”

Eddie looked at Wayne, then quickly turned his head away, wiping the tears before they could fall.

“Nobody’s died, kid. Chin up,” he said to you then.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

Eddie stepped closer to you, pressing his side into yours.

“Being an adult is scary. And trusting someone else with all your shit is scary. But after last year, somethin’ tells me it’s gonna be alright.” It was less optimism and more sage wisdom.

The three of you stayed together for a round of instant coffee, then Wayne presented a parting gift. It was a brand new toolbox fully stocked with essentials. “Never know when a screwdriver comes in handy,” he’d said.

Wayne hugged you tight and watched you get into Eddie’s van, crying again. You couldn’t hear the words exchanged between the two, but you watched them through the windshield and felt guilty for separating them.

Eddie climbed into the driver’s seat and took an audible breath out. “Okay,” he said mostly to himself. He looked over at you and nodded. “Okay?”

You couldn’t muster words, but you affirmed him with a nod.

As the van pulled out of Forest Hills Trailer Park for the last time in a long time, you didn’t bother asking where the next step was. The resignation hit you hard and it felt like exhaustion. You were too tired to think about what was happening to you. The emotions were all so intense and so conflicting that it had begun to feel like the absence of emotion. You just stared out the window and disassociated.

Reality crept back into your mind when the route to Esther’s house became apparent. As Eddie turned onto her street, you burst into tears again. They were all waiting.

Esther’s garage door was opened, shielding the group from the January cold. Once Gene spotted the van, everyone came running down the drive waving.

Esther and Gene. Gareth and Jeff. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will Byers, who had yet to return to California. Max and El. Even Jonathan and Argyle stood against the house, sharing a joint.

Your door was ripped open and Esther pulled you from the van. Although tears were streaming down her face, she was grinning ear to ear.

“This is good. This is good!” she kept repeating, knowing you needed to hear it as much as possible.

The group presented you and Eddie with a large box, wrapped in a comically big bow. It only just fitted into the van, Eddie and Jeff pulling stuff out to play Tetris with boxes and bags.

“Open it when you get there,” Esther instructed.

“We all helped,” Dustin added.

Everyone wanted to tell you what role they had played in this grand gesture of love and faith. Dustin and Suzie, and the hacking of The University of Chicago’s system. Gareth keeping you busy while the others filled in college paperwork and agonised over what elective classes to enroll you in.

When you had spoken to everyone and there was nothing to do but leave, you felt like you were going to puke. You had genuine and kind and weird and wonderful friends that truly knew you and loved you. And you were about to leave them.

“Chicago is only a couple hours away,” Jeff reminded you.

“And if Notre Dame doesn’t work out, maybe we’ll transfer and come crash your party,” Esther added. She had told everyone about how Notre Dame only began to accept women students as of 1972. Esther was already ready for fight, so you knew she’d burn it down before letting it give her anything other than a world class education. She and Jeff had both been accepted and would live in dorms on campus.

Gene was off to The University of Illinois, leaving Gareth in charge of the now-sophomores and Hellfire Club. “Look after the children,” Eddie said to him, ruffling his fluffy hair.

Eddie had resolved himself, helping you and your shaky knees back into the van after hugging everyone again. You cried and watched everyone run after the van for as long as they could, which, for a bunch of nerds and freaks, wasn’t long.

The van pulled over once Eddie had driven around the corner and down the block a little. He pulled the hand break on and got out. When he opened your door, you launched yourself at him, letting him hold you while you sobbed.

Eddie moved you until you were pressed into the little space between the van and open door, keeping some of the cool air from getting to you. Three bittersweet minutes passed before you could collect yourself, sniffling and wiping your nose on your sleeve.

You looked up at Eddie and his beautiful face.

“Next stop is optional,” he said softly.

Nodding, you hugged him again.

“They don’t deserve it, but, I don’t know, it might be good for you?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I want to.”

Driving through your old neighbourhood was strange. People’s yards had changed. Plants had grown. Shutters repainted.

Your parents’ Ford Escort was parked in the driveway of the house you’d never really called home. Looking at it, you remembered what it was all like before Eddie found you behind the woodwork shed. Before Of Mice and Men. Before ‘basketball’ safe words and sticker charts.

“Ready?” Eddie asked. When you nodded, you both got out of the van.

Like she had done when Eddie last was there, your mother opened the front door before he could knock. You stopped walking when she did, suddenly afraid of her. She said your name like you’d returned from the dead. Eddie felt your hand squeeze his tighter.

“Do- Do you want to come in?”

You and Eddie followed her through the living room and into the formal dining space. Your father was at the table, newspaper in hand and a cup of coffee sitting on a coaster. He folded the paper in half and set it aside as the three of you entered the room.

“Please, sit. Do you want tea? Coffee?” your mother asked, a picture of a perfect host. She seemed more fragile than you remembered. You’d grown for nine months in her womb. She had birthed you, bloody, raw, and screaming. And there she was, offering tea.

“No. We’re not staying,” you answered.

The house was quiet and clean. Sanitised. Lobotomised.

“Then, to what do we owe this pleasure?” The cruelty had not shifted from your father’s voice.

“I’m leaving.”

Your mother looked to your father for the right reaction. He looked genuinely shocked, and you saw it in the few seconds he took to hide it.

“I’m taking her to Chicago. She’s going to college. Guess we owe you a thanks for bringing the letters ‘round,” Eddie said in the same voice that always guaranteed detention.

Before he could speak again, and he was just about to, you pre-emptively cut your father off. You knew what he was going to say. “Eddie’s got a job there. We have an apartment. If anything else comes for me in the mail, forward it to the trailer park.” You could have said ‘forward it to Forest Hills’ or even ‘to Wayne Munson,’ but you very specifically wanted to say ‘trailer park.’

“Well, what’s your new phone number if-” your mother started, grabbing a pen and notepad from the dining room’s buffet drawer.

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “If someone dies, call Wayne at the park. Otherwise, that’s it.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Eddie was committing the expression on your parents’ faces to memory. He was delighted at their floundering. And you, you were surprised at how easy it was to do it – to say goodbye on your own terms. They suddenly stopped being so terrifying, instead, they were just… pathetic.

“What did you want then?” your father asked.

It was a fair question and you gave it a moment’s thought. “I want… I want you to know that I’m happy. That I’ve been happy. Happy living in a one-bedroom trailer. Happy being in love with the big bad drug dealer. Happy eating bad food and getting fat. Happy drinking underage. Happy having sex. And like, weird sex too. I’ve been happy being me. Because I’m good. I’m good and smart and beautiful and strong, and it has nothing to do with you. That’s… that’s what I want. I want you to know that everything good about me is not because of you. And I hardly think about you… So, if someone dies, you can call Wayne. Maybe I’ll come. It really fucking depends on what I’m doing that day.”

Eddie had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from laughing or cheering. His eyes went wide and he stared straight at the ground because he knew if he kept looking at the dumbfounded and horrified looks on your parents’ faces, he’d lose it entirely.

You finished your speech, feeling beyond exhilarated. “Fuck,” you said to yourself.

“Fuck,” Eddie agreed.

You looked at him and his ten billion megawatt smile. “I love you,”

“Oh, no, I love you,” he replied, a small chuckle following his words.

You and Eddie collided in a kiss, then left the room without so much as a final glance or one single word more.

…

Maybe it wouldn’t be the last time you and Eddie jumped the fence and walked to the secret spot behind Hawkins’ drive-in, but it probably would be. You sat side-by-side on the ripped out backseat and got lost in your minds.

Eddie thought about when he asked Ms. Kelly and Mr. Barnes for help. He thought about the day you handed him a list of words. About the softness of your thighs and the smell of burnt paper and the trust you’d placed in him.

You thought about smashing pumpkins with Esther and Jeff, and the school dance and hotel room. About Build-a-Bear and gingerbread armies and how Eddie’s fuzzy hair was lit light a halo on sunny days.

“Are you gonna miss it?” you asked Eddie.

“No… You?”

“No. I don’t so.”

…

Two months later.

“Nobody will know. I’ll be super sneaky,”

“Eddie… There is nothing about you that flies under the radar.”

Eddie sat on the edge of the fold-up bed. It was the one Wayne used to sleep on, and it was on the ‘to do’ list. The list was as follows:

get permission to repaint ceiling

repaint ceiling

need: T.V.

need: VHS player

need: some houseplants

send Wayne dumb postcard

replace bed

pizza coupons

get quotes to Eve

BUY 1987 CALENDAR ASAP why? – to put down my due dates and your shift times – that’s cute

need: bedside table?

call everyone to give number/address

need: bookshelf

put extra lock on door and windows

try Niko again – who’s Niko – from The Hideout - ?? – not the Hawkins one

“Please? I wanna know what it’s like to be one of the special smart people.”

You pulled your jumper over your head and looked over at him. He grinned and winked. It was ridiculous.

“I’m leaving in ten minutes,” you warned, giving in.

As you packed your college notebook and texts, and put a layer of mascara on, Eddie hurried around. Jeans and boots – his Reeboks were the first casualty of Chicago weather – and a heavy jacket.

The apartment was easy to keep warm. It was small, barely more than a room. A kitchen nook and space for a circular two-seater table. A thrifted television set sitting on a coffee table, and a bookcase. The fold out bed was pushed up against the far wall. And, the bathroom could only hold one of you at a time. Still, it was perfect.

On the train to college, you rested your head on Eddie’s shoulder and closed your eyes. It was nice to have him there.

“So fancy,” Eddie whispered as you made your way into one of the buildings and through to the lecture hall.

You took your usual seat to the left, near the back but not too far. “You have to be quiet,” you said to Eddie.

He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. You were smiling at him when Kamala threw herself into the seat on your other side.

“I swear to fucking god, the guy who makes my coffee spits in it,”

“What?”

“Here. Taste this. Does it taste like spit?” She shoved a cup of takeaway coffee in your hand. “Seriously. Does that taste weird?”

From behind you, Eddie’s arm reached around and he took the cup. You and Kamala watched as he took a fearless mouthful, then handed it back to her.

“Yep. That’s spit alright,”

“I fucking knew it,”

“Eddie, don’t encourage her,” you warned.

“Holy shit. This is Eddie?” She dramatically leaned forward to peer around you at him. He gave her a little wave; she gave him nothing. Sitting back up she gave you a face you absolutely couldn’t read.

“What?”

“He’s like… Super hot,”

“Yeah,”

“Even though he looks like he listened to bands that use more hairspray than me,”

“He does,”

“No, I’m fucking serious. He’s like… Super babe material,” Kamala said like it was going to be on the test. She looked around the room. When you followed her gaze, you realised she wasn’t the only one that had spied Eddie and his hotness. “Seriously, like, what the fuck. I can’t get a guy to shower once a day, and you have this motherfucking rockstar wrapped around your finger.”

You liked Kamala because she swore a lot and could not be told a single thing. People tried. Debates in class were frequent and lively. But she annihilated them each and every time.

Kamala looked at Eddie and narrowed her eyes. “Hi,”

“Hi?”

“Do you have any hot friends?”

You snorted. Dustin called Eddie every other day. If it wasn’t him, it was Gareth with DM questions or Jeff bitching about frat parties.

“I’m one of a kind,” Eddie replied, full charm. You rolled your eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kamala sighed, falling back into her seat, finishing her spit coffee.

After the lecture, Eddie hung around for a couple of hours while you worked in the library. He had his own notebook with him, still writing songs and poems, and wrestling with the idea of starting a new band. “Feels like cheating, you know?” is what he’d say whenever you talked about it. Corroded Coffin were hours apart but still so alive in all four of their hearts.

Eddie kissed you goodbye and caught the train back to the city for his shift at Eve’s bar. He had proven to be an adequate bartender, but that isn’t where he showed his worth. Eddie convinced one random guy he met in a music store to play at Eve’s. The band brought in a few extra people, a few more beers sold. He did it again. And again. After only a month there, Eve paid Eddie extra to double as the bar’s booking agent. By the end of the second month, she agreed to renovating the stage and clearing out one of the hardly used storeroom to turn into a greenroom.

You cleared your week’s reading requirements and had a basic skeleton for your next essay. By 4:00 pm, you felt on top of everything and wandered back through the library and headed out to find coffee. The air outside was bitter, the days averaging only 36°F (2°C), as you hurried along.

“Hey, honey. The usual?” Kasey asked, your favourite barista in your favourite on campus café. You liked that her name was Kasey; it made you think about the one you’d left behind in Starcourt 2.0. Build-a-Bear Kasey. Her nimble hands stitching together your beloved teddies. Maybe you’d always have a Kasey, somewhere in the periphery of your life.

“Yes, please,”

“Kam was in here before. Said she met the Eddie,”

“She did,”

“She said he was really hot,”

“Yeah. She asked if he had any friends.”

Kasey laughed. “Of course, she did.”

Kasey was easy to talk to, and even once she handed you your matcha latte, you hung around a little while longer.

On the train back to the city, you savoured the grassiness of the latte. Nobody in Hawkins was drinking matcha. Well, Esther’s parents might have been. They’d always been trendy, like their daughter. You missed Esther, but she was due to visit at the end of the term. She’d promised to show you all the secret spots in the city that you could only know by growing up there.

You swapped trains, catching the L to get to Eve’s bar. It was between knock off and dinner time, so it was busy. When you walked in, Eve sauntered by with a tray of beers.

“Hey, babe. He’s just gone on break,”

“Thanks, Eve.”

Rounding the bar and smiling at the new guy, you went through to the back and announced your arrival with a knock on the break room door. Eddie was inside the room, stretched out on the couch that had decades of questionable stains.

“Angel,” he greeted, opening his arms wide.

You dumped your bag on the table and flopped down onto him. He kissed your face all over.

“How’s work?” you asked him.

“The usual. Managed to get a hold of Neko over at The Hideout. Says he’ll throw me some scraps,”

“That’s good right? Even their rejects are better than other places’ headliners?” You were just parroting back what Eddie had told you about the place, but it showed Eddie you were listening and you understood.

“Yep. See how it goes. Eve seems impressed that he took my call, so there’s that. What about you?”

“Finished my readings early,”

“Cool. Maybe we can do something this weekend then?”

“Do you mean like, go out or like, order pizza and paint the roof?” you asked.

“I don’t know what it says about me, but honestly both sound kind of fun,” Eddie admitted, happy boyish smile. You stayed cuddled together for a minute more, then he asked, “So… I like Kamala.”

You laughed. “She told Kasey about you,”

“Kasey is… coffee friend?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie laughed. “If only the Hawkins High basketball team could see me now,”

“Fighting babes off,”

“Should we write to Jason Carver?”

“I think we have to,” you replied, looking up at him grinning. “Anyway. You hungry? I brought dinner.” Eddie let you up so you could go to your bag and pull out two frozen microwave meals. “Stopped at the place on the corner. You want the chicken or the beef?”

It was incredibly unglamorous, sitting in a dingy room eating two dollar microwave meals. It wasn’t what happened in the romance novels you sometimes read for escapism. It didn’t feel cool or grunge or metal. It just felt like life.

When you were in Senior year, you had thought to yourself that the weekends were where the glory was. You remembered that exact phrasing. Playing footsy under the table, you looked over at Eddie. It was this, this average weeknight of your new normal life, that’s where the glory really was.

Glory in the healing. In the trust and future plans and to do lists. Glory in the quiet. In the fresh paint and fire escape joints and having a warm cup of tea waiting for Eddie when he got home. Glory in the love. In the sex as snow fell and phone calls home to Wayne and in semi-precious stones. Glory in every single day you spent with Eddie Munson.

Fic Taglist: @ajeff855 @b-barnes04 @nerd-squad-headquarters @word-wytch @harrys-tittie @munsonsmel0dy @sidthedollface2 @eddiethesexy @bardicfrustration @orpheusredux @munsonsgirl71 @a-time-for-wolvess @eddieswifu @rosaline-black @thegirlwhohides @emotionaldreamer @e0509 @briasnow-blog @kiyastrf94 @erinsingalong @rainylana @mrsdollardog @tayhar811 @chickennug90 @b-irock @nana90azevedo @eddiemunson95 @akiratoro420

Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

#Mine #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader

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gumballavocadoharry · 7 months

Text

One puff is all it takes:

*Mentions of cigarettes, smoking, spankings and discipline. Things were different in the 50's....don't smoke (period.) or drink (irresponsibly).*

It was a rare perilous item to be seen in the house. Almost never seen. Bunny always had one in her fingers, Jack used to use it ceaseless in his early twenties, Alice's mother used it a lot...as did her father. But despite the usual sightings of the skinny little wrapped paper, the warnings and terrors of it never set itself aside. For sure, the dangers of it were far more bigger than a cheap rolled up piece of ash that was available at any booth or store possible.

But there it was.....captured by the eyes of a curious little boy. Roger, just couldn't rip his eyes from the micro white cylinder shaped paper with the harsh smell of cigarette smoke. Now, Roger had been duly warned of the nasty addictive habit that came with smoking. James Dean made it look cool, but it was anything but that. Roger reasoned that his father, Jack, the man he looked up to, smoked a lot in his heyday. Roger would hear stories of his father with his friends, hanging out at clubs, drag racing, flirting around with....woman and of course, smoking.

Jack had this rebel with a cause attitude, living life carefree in the streets of New York City, doing whatever he wanted, tasting the freedom of adulthood with a teenage mentality. Of course, Jack wasn't 'as cool' anymore; settling down to a tranquil night of family games instead of staying out late into the dawn, living for the day. But this was Roger's chance.....a chance for him to stand boldly against the peers of his school. To be the first third grader to smoke.

"Oh shoot, Bunny must've left her cigarette over here." Alice swooped the nasty bud and tossed it outside on the lawn, stomping it out. She cleansed the house of vague smokey smell and peppered fragrance to it. But Roger's alluring fascination of the item still wasn't mellowed.

The thoughts followed him; outside watching Bunny smoke while listening to her husband and watching their children play, Dean, taking a cool break from his yard work and settling down into his favorite lawn chair to smoke a cigar, and then there was Nancy's father who smoked a pipe after a hard day's work. The good people of the city, smoking their cigarettes while washing their cars, shopping, even going on dates. Movies where the man lights his lady's cigarette for her. It bombarded Roger with the notion.

Finally, Roger had enough. He had told his friend, Bryon about his plan, and requested a couple cigarettes from his father's pack. "Only two Roger. If my dad notices, I'll be in big trouble!" Roger agreed and took the buds before heading back home. He kept them tucked under his shirt until he made it to his bedroom.

The taste of metal ran through Roger's mouth. A warm patch on the back of his neck heated behind his ear. His palms pressed firmly on the sides of the table while his back was turned and his eyes scanning the bed as if the aphonic object could say anything. Only the gurgling of Roger's gut was speaking in the room.

With shaky hands, Roger carefully peeled back the flap of his open jacket and just looked at the two small tall white sticks. The muffled smell of tobacco pinging his nose from time to time. Everything was set. Roger had internally planned to smoke the first one after hours, once the households of the neighborhood died down and Roger could take a few quick puffs before putting out the bud and coming back inside the house like nothing happened.

"They'll just think it's Bunny's." Roger reasoned aloud. A knock on the door shook Roger from his unsteady conscience. "Hey Rog, dinner time!" Susan's voice echoed through the door. "Coming!" Roger called, throwing his jacket into his closet and coming downstairs for the home cooked meal of chicken and veggies. Roger kept a keen eye on his dinner, making occasional conversation as not to uproot a suspicion of cloaking something.

After dinner, Roger waited anxiously. Every scribble of a sound sent a jitter through him. Susan's footsteps to her bedroom, the clinking of the dinner dishes being washed by Alice and finally the little snicker of Jack probably counting bills in his bedroom. Roger's heart became the only ricochet of echoes throughout the bedroom. The sounds of the house settling would snatch him off guard, swiping his head to the door as to who was coming in.

"Susan, Roger, time for bed guys. I'll be in there to tuck you both in soon." Jack's voice boomed through the hall. Roger quickly holsted himself into his pajamas and into bed before Jack could arrive. "Is my little puppy all cuddled in his bed?" Roger, gave a smile, scuffling himself not to dart his eyes towards the half peeked closet. As Jack bent down to smooch a kiss on Roger's forehead, the boy could see through the little gap of Jack's arm and torso of the closet with his jacket tucked inside.

It was mocking him; badgering him with this spoiled innocence of receiving his usual goodnight kisses that shined perspective on a anything but innocent act that Roger had set to perform. With a quick boop on the nose, Jack whisked himself away with wishes of sweet dreams and an "I love you." Once the door was closed, the hallway light shadow had disappeared, Roger made his move. Alice and Jack had settled into bed and so had Susan.

Roger grabbed the flabby jacket and tiptoed quietly downstairs after shoving pillows and blankets under his covers; carefully sculpting the figure to look like his own. He grabbed a lighter from the drawer and with sleath, he managed to unlock the front door and skate out to the garage, grabbing his bike and wheeling off around the corner.

A thick rush of heat ran through Roger the more he peddled away from the house. His look back of the perfect suburban home with perfectly trimmed grass, flowered bushes and the perfect little round satellite sitting neatly on the roof. He swallowed his gut and drove his bike as fast as he could. The night was quiet, streets were empty....Roger was alone. Isolated. He had an abundance of privacy because everyone was home sleeping. Even the sounds of late night crickets had settled down.

The little light on his bike was his only map through the dark. Roger finally decided on the back of a empty old aparement building in the city. He made sure no one was around, no one was looking. Roger then carefully pulled the cigarette from his pocket and grabbed the lighter he snagged and lit the little stick after shoving it into his mouth. He took a deep breath before inhaling the bitter substance. With one puff, Roger started gagging, rasping for air that he couldn't find. He dropped the cigarette and stomped on it, putting it out immediately.

Roger tamed his loud gags before getting on his bike and riding back to his house. He put the bike back in the garage before coming back into the house, shoving the jacket back into his closet and going to bed....all without one wake up from anyone.

The next morning, Roger woke up with the nasty tobacco smell in his mouth. He rushed to the bathroom and brushed his teeth a total of four times to rinse the smell from his mouth. His jacket didn't have any odor besides the smell of two in the morning. Sweat stuck to his body like dew. It dripped from his forehead, unaware that his night rests was nothing mere than tossing and turning in sheets full of guilt.

Roger knew the effects of smoking and how medically and morally wrong it was- even for the first thrill.

Roger's mouth grew dry and metallically. He wanted to crawl in his skin upon hearing the open door of Susan's bedroom and the smell of steamy vegetables cooking into a egg coated omelet. His knuckles turned porcelain, being squeezed tightly into fists that were unnoticed util Roger saw that his hands felt tight and sticky.

He took careful steps down the stairs, almost in a memory of the night at its peak when Roger to contort his toes to match the silent sounds of the living room. At breakfast, Roger facaded his usual gregarious makeup, chatting away about his latest schemes and Susan piping in about his adoration for Delilah Crane; a honey blonde girl with the roundest brown eyes and sweetest uproot smile he'd ever seen. Roger learned the hone out his alibis if he were to ever get away with something that would surely spark his parents attention to their natural benevolent fret.

Once the breakfast dishes were cleared, Roger grabbed his backpack and was headed for the door before being stopped by Alice. "Roger, you forgot your lunch...and I don't have anywhere to be so I can drive you kids to school today." Alice seemed more excited about it than the children. Maybe it was because this would be a missed opportunity to hear the walk-to-school type gossip.

"Bye kiddos, see you at home." Jack took his time kissing foreheads in a line that started with Alice and ended with Roger: Oldest to youngest it seemed. Roger watched from the car window of Alice's black chevy, Jack taking off, honking, signaling his departure until the evening. The car ride was filled with music from the radio and Alice's murmured humming along to it. Roger stared out blankly at the familiar streets of his nocturnal adventure, remembering the grayish colored post office and the neighboring tanish house that sat behind it with the little chimes of the wind chimes that were hanging from the porch.

Alice eased the car into a parking spot, whipping her head around to her children. "Okay sweethearts, I'll see you both after school. I want you both to have a nice day." She kissed their chubby cheeks before sending them on their way with their bags and lunch in their hands. Susan broke off from her brother, marching towards her more senior classes and girl group, trussing herself into a conversation.

Roger walked through the mellow lit hallway and made it halfway to his locker before a voice slapped him from behind. "Roger!" Bryon ran up to Roger with excitement bursting in his eyes. "Did you do it?" Roger pinched his eyebrows more annoyed than confused, "Do what?"

"You know....the cigarettes I gave you?" Roger's minds flashed back to the night. "Yeah," He pulled Bryon aside, not wanting anyone to hear his dirty little secret. "I snuck out at night and I lit one and inhaled and puffed before putting it out." Bryon's eyes shot from out of his head. "Really?" Roger looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. No one cared; thrusts of kids squeezed past them to their respective classes. "Yeah...but don't say anything. This could play out two ways and I don't wanna get excited if it goes sour. That happens a lot." Roger almost sensed shame in his voice from sputtering out those last words.

The school day went by quickly like the moon shifting shape to the sun. Roger's nerves were on fire the whole day, wondering if Bryon could shut his lips like he promised. Susan's class let out early so her walk home from school was a solid twenty minutes before Roger's. Skipping down the hill, he noticed Bryon standing near a blue car, being shadowed by a man. It was only when coming closer did Roger recognize that to be Bryon's father, Mr. Weyer.

"Bryon, two cigarettes from my box are missing- I counted exactly twenty five in there- now what's going on?" Bryon gulped, staring only at his feet. "You didn't smoke em did you?"

"Of course not, no!" Roger couldn't deny the truth in his friends voice. And neither could his father. Roger had made a dash down the road, taking the long way home as to recollect himself. He stopped by 'The Bargain Bin', a cheap discount store for candy, postcards, nick-nacks..and so fourth.

Roger bout a five cents worth of bubble gum, munching away, blowing bubbles until he was home. Upon arrival, Roger found it strange of seeing both his parents cars in the driveway. Is it an early day for everyone? He thought. His mind was frazzled trying piece together a puzzle to what was going on. "A party for me?" He thought aloud, "But no balloons, no streamers.." Roger's stomach sunk when a worst case scenario sliced into his brain. Suddenly his fingers twitched, his heart raced and his mouth became tangy with the taste of metal. Like the taste of blood mixed with spit after biting into your own cheeks.

Roger took a deep breath and opened the door bracing himself for the worst. But it was much worse than he could have ever described it in that moment.

Alice and Jack were sitting on the couch....Roger's jacket in Alice's hand and the cigarette in Jack's.

A sudden stab of fear shot through him like a jumpscare upon seeing their furious faces. "I can't even begin to say how disappointed I am!" Jack managed to voice with gritted teeth. "Smoking! You smoked a cigarette after everything we've taught you!"

"How did you-" "Bryon, Bryon Weyer's father told us after Bryon told him what happened. Apparently, he gave you two from his father's and you smoked one of them...we have the other one here." Alice chimed in.

"And don't deny it, the lighter from the house is in your pocket." Jack hissed. He bit his fist and stood up, pacing the room with hefty breaths that gave slight whistles every now and then. "Why? Just why Roger?" Alice concerned with anticipation. Roger shrugged, "I...I saw everyone doing it: Bunny, Grandma and Grandpa, Bryon's dad, Bryon's older brother...and then....Dad used to when he was younger," Jack whipped his head around, "I was in my twenties and it was stupid choice! I regret that everyday Roger because....well first of all, it made my breath stink, my clothes stink and I kept getting cavities,

"Oh, and not to mention that one of my friends who smoked learned that lesson first head on his deathbed from a five year battle with lung cancer!" Roger bowed his head, feeling the pangs of making such a pointless excuse. Alice put her fingers to her head, "Roger....are you okay? Are you sick and is anything hurting?" Even through the mess of this, Alice still showed her true empathy through her anger.

Roger gave a swift shake of his head. "Good. Now march yourself upstairs to your bedroom right now before I get the switch!" Jack's words shook Roger enough for his scamper up the stairs and close his bedroom door.

Jack paced the room. "Alice, I know he's only eight, but he has to learn that this is completely unacceptable! You know he deserves a firm hand this time." Alice squeezed her lips with her hands, "Yes, yes he does Jack." She sighed, allowing a shaky gasp to penetrate into her lungs.

"I-I'm beside myself! When did he smoke it? How could we not notice?" Jack finally sat down, releasing a deep sigh that was imprisoned inside him. "He's a good boy deep down, I know he is....but these bad influences are everywhere."

"What do you think his punishment should be?" "One month, no TV, no bike, no candy, no leaving the house without supervision, only walking to school and back with one of us, no friends over, no talking to friends on the phone, no dessert, no comics, extra chores and a first hand lecture on the dangers of smoking."

Alice swallowed hard, "Are you sure that's not too harsh?" "He snuck out of the house and smoked Alice. Those are two big offenses! And....I think he needs the switch this time too. This is too serious to just turn away from." Alice nodded, knowing Jack was not being impartial.

"I also think that Bryon's connection with Roger should be cut off for awhile. He's clearly not a good influence if he gave Roger the cigarette."

"You're right. Let's go talk to him."

Roger sat at his desk, tapping his foot- a nervous habit he inherited from his mother- and stared blankly at the grainy oak desk. He knew he was really in trouble now and all Roger could think about was punching Bryon in the face for selling him out. A knock on the door shook Roger from his thoughts. In followed Jack and Alice. "Roger, me and your mother were talking and we decided that this act cannot go unpunished. So as of today, you are grounded for a month. So that means, no friends at the house of phone calls to them, no TV, no dessert or candy, no comics, no bike and no leaving the house without us and that includes going to school. And you'll hear the first hand lectures of the dangers of smoking."

"What! All I barely smoked it! It was one puff and it was horrible!"

"Well, Roger..maybe next time you won't try something like that again. And another part of your punishment I forgot to mention is extra chores and......a walloping."

Roger hung his head, tears fuzzing his vision. "I don't like this anymore than you....but it's necessary." Alice left the room, leaving just Jack and Roger.

Later on that night, Roger sat alone in his room, studying his window. The moon floated like a cloudy balloon and impaled itself into the wires from the backyard. A knock at the door broke Roger's somber mood for a minute. Jack had entered, with a stack of Roger's comics. "I figured if you're going to be in this house for the month, then...I'll lighten up with the comics. But that's all." His voice had a sternness to it in a modest way. One that wasn't overbearing in the sense of disrelish for his small compensation.

"Wow, thanks Dad." Roger set aside his comics. Jack neighbored Roger on his bed. "Why?" Roger lifted his eyebrows and gaze to meet Jack's. "Why Roger? Why do something so reckless?" He shrugged. "I don't know," and true....after all this, he really didn't anymore.

"You have a nice healthy pair of lungs. You have soft and smooth skin, white and pristine teeth, a clear speaking voice....I just don't wanna see you end up like some of these smokers Rog. They have bad teeth, they look seventy when they're really forty and above all, they're not healthy and they don't live long at all. That's not something for anyone and especially a boy your age. Do you understand?"

Roger nodded. Jack held his arms out for Roger to collapse in them. "I just don't-" Jack gave a quick kiss to Roger's temple, "wanna see you get sick okay? I love you very much and...I know I came on strong, but it's only because I wanna protect you. I didn't have anyone to tell me cigarettes were bad, and I got sick a lot. My father smoked a lot because he didn't know cigarettes were bad. But I'm telling you because of all this. Now," Jack moved Roger to face him, "I don't ever wanna see this again okay?"

Roger nodded. "Okay?"

"Okay." Roger said, realizing Jack needed verbal reassurance.

Roger became satisfied with knowing that some risks are not worth the cost.

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