#But I never like the idea of making someone go hungry for an unhealthy amount of time

[y-so-hungry]

My last meal was kfc 15.5 hours ago… I’m already so hungry! Please tell me when I am allowed to eat next? How many more hours will my poor tummy go hungry?

Aw you're hungry enough love, I don't usually like to keep people hungry more than a day, much less make them sleep hungry. Feel free to eat now

[evan4ever]

can i request you to evan peters any character(or himself doesnt matter)x female has eating disorder he’s helping her like you know

I’m Here

Warnings: please please read with caution!!! This may be very triggering. ED (anorexia). Please reach out if you need help, there are resources and I promise you’re not alone 🤍

a/n: I contemplated writing this for awhile because it’s a deep and hard topic, but I’m hoping I wrote this in a way for anyone who struggles with this to know that there is help and people care. I’m linking an ED hotline, called NEDA. You can always message me if you need someone to talk to. Please don’t go through this alone 🙏🏻

I’m having this take place after you and Kit are released from Briarcliff

—

It’s been weeks. Weeks since you touched your favorite food. Weeks since you’ve ate more than a single bite of any meal before you. Weeks since you haven’t felt sick.

When you and Kit had finally been let out of Briarcliff, things were finally good. Having formed a relationship with Kit all that time together in that place, it wasn’t a surprise that he had asked you to come home with him, to be with him forever. Neither of you could imagine being apart after surviving for your lives together. So, of course you happily accepted.

You moved into his home, you spent months fixing it up, he went back to his job as a mechanic and you got yourself a job at a local diner. You were happy, Kit was happy. It was a picture perfect story and you swore nothing would make you feel anything like you did in Briarcliff. How could it? That place was hell and now you were free and living peacefully with the love of your life.

But with all the happiness you felt came an increase in your weight. Kit’s too, but that never bothered you. You loved it, in fact. He looked healthy and you fed him good, which he loved. But your own weight gain was a problem for you.

It didn’t matter that you were gaining because you were in a healthy and happy relationship. All you could focus on was that the number was increasing. It didn’t help that being nearly starved in the asylum had obviously made you drop an unhealthy amount of weight. You looked sick then, but standing that day in front of the mirror and observing your new curves, your stomach pouch and larger arms — something snapped in you. You hated the way you looked and you wanted nothing more than to look like you had the day you left Briarcliff.

So, you stopped eating.

Of course you didn’t want Kit to notice your lack of food intake, so you managed to take a bite or two of supper when he’d come home from work and stir around the food on your plate managing to make it look emptier than when you or Kit made it. And anytime he happened to question anything, you told him you had ate quite a bit at breakfast or lunch and you weren’t very hungry. You always reassured him. And he always bought it.

Your interest in food slowly dissipated. You had no desire to eat anything at all. Though the nausea from an empty stomach hurt quite a bit, your own mind didn’t let it win the battle. At some point, it became painful to eat a bite at all, like you had finally trained your stomach to hate food as much as your mind did. It was a sick and painful battle, but the way your body started slimming out and the number on the scale began dropping faster and faster was exhilarating.

Your goal was to hit the weight you had been when you left Briarcliff, but once you hit that number — you still weren’t satisfied. You wanted to lose more. So instead of allowing yourself to begin eating more, a healthier amount, you didn’t. You continued not eating and the number continued dropping.

You were sure Kit had no idea. He never commented on your weight, when you were larger and even now at a smaller size. You truly expected him to notice and to love it. Boys loved skinny girls. So why wasn’t he complimenting your weight loss? By this point, it was more than noticeable. Even your coworkers were impressed and had told you that you looked amazing. But never Kit. He always complicated other things about you, how your hair looked, your sparkling eyes, the way you looked nice, but never the size of your body.

Little did you know, though, that Kit had taken notice. It began on one of his days off where he realized you hadn’t stem anything all day, and by supper time you gave him the same comment you always had — that you ate too much throughout the day, you just weren’t that hungry. He quickly caught on to what was happening, how your body wasn’t only slimming out but wearing away. When he’s hold you at night, it was nothing for his arm to wrap around you twice if it could. Your ribs and your hip bones were poking out so far that it was worrisome. Your skin began paling and your hair brittling. He noticed all of it.

Your energy was gone at this point. It took everything for you to do your daily tasks, it pained you to get out of bed. If you could lay forever, you would.

It was getting bad. You had lost control and you didn’t even mean to. Of course you weren’t intending to become sick and frail, but your mind took over and would not allow you to become healthy again. Eventually, you believed Kit just didn’t care. There was no way he couldn’t see that you were sick, yet he never said anything. It spines you further that the man you love couldn’t see that you made yourself skinny so that you’d be more attractive, so much so that your life was slipping from you slowly.

Today was Kit’s day off. You stayed in bed when he got up, pulling the comforter up under your chin and wrapping yourself in it because you were so cold. You heard Kit moving around in the living room and kitchen but didn’t care enough to even wonder what it was that he was doing. All you wanted to do was disappear into thin air.

“Baby?” You heard his voice as he entered the room, looking over the thick blanket at him. You gave him a smile as he walked to your side and sat next to you.

“Good morning babe” you hummed quietly, trying to seem okay even though you knew you weren’t. He gazed down at you and you realized it was a look of concern that was on his face. He wore a small smile, but his eyebrows were pushed together and his eyes looked sad. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked a few times before looking down at his hands, you eyes flickering down to them too and noticing the muffin he held in them. You sucked in a sharp breath before looking back up to him confused. He let out a sigh, his eyes still on the muffin.

“Will you eat this for me? It’s blueberry.. your favorite.” He spoke quietly, almost scared to have asked. You clenched your jaw and pushed your own eyebrows together as a silent battle went on in your head. He was right, blueberry was your favorite. An blueberry muffins were expensive, so you guys didn’t buy them often. And now, here was Kit, holding one for you.

You wanted to accept his request, you wanted to shove the whole muffin in your mouth and melt into the sweetness of it. But your mind said absolutely not.

“Mm babe..” you hummed again, resting your head back on the pillow and closing your eyes and you shot him a smile, “I’m not hungry yet. I’ve only barely woken up. I will later?” Your eyes opened to meet his that held even more sadness. Your stomach turned when he seemed unhappy with your answers. He never pushed further when you declined food before, so why was he now?

You watched as he set the muffin on the nightstand next to you, his hands falling back in his lap as they clasped together and he stared down at them. You sat in silence wondering what was going on, fixated on his unreadable stance.

“I think we need to take you to the hospital.” He stated so quietly you questioned if you heard him correctly. Blinking a few times, you sat yourself up in the bed quick to pull the covers up to hide your bones that showed. You were nervous now at his sudden change in behavior today and the thought of going to the hospital made your pulse speed up.

“What?” You laughed nervously, shaking your head as if you didn’t understand. “Why would I need to go to the hospital?”

Kit still hasn’t met your eyes while yours were placed on him firmly. Your nerves grew with every passing second.

“You’re sick, y/n.” He said, sucking in a noticeably shaky breath. Your confusion and worry increased with his seemingly sadness.

“I’m not.” You disagreed, shaking your head. A deeper sigh left from his mouth and his shoulders slumped more than they were before, your eyes noticing the repeated clench and unclench of his jaw bone. “Kit..”

“We can get you help. There’s people out there that want to help you. I want to help you.” He spoke his last sentence in a whisper, a tear dropping onto his cheek. Seeing it pulled at your heart, realizing that he knew what was going on and was scared for you. “If we don’t get you help, your heart is going to give out. You can’t continue down this path and…” he sucked in another sharp, shaky breath, “and I can’t live without you.”

His eyes finally flickered at you, more tears dripping from his eyes to his beet red cheeks. His eyes begged you, pleaded with you to hear him out. You, at a loss for words, only stared at the broken man in front of you. You had for so long believed he didn’t notice and didn’t care when all along he had. You quickly thought back to all the times he’d offered you food, your favorite foods specifically. All the times he bought your favorite take out even though he could barely afford it, yet you denied eating more than a bite. All this time, that was his way of trying to help you. The only way he knew how that wasn’t taking you to the hospital. Now, he knew he had no choice if he wanted you to survive this.

“I’m okay Kit, really. I just haven’t been hungry—“

“You’re lying y/n.” His voice raised. It wasn’t a yell but it was a plead. “You’re not okay. You’re dying.”

The word dying made you flinch, because it was true. Your body was only weeks away from giving out on you and you knew that. You knew it and you didn’t want it to happen but you couldn’t fix it. Everything he was saying was true. But the thought of getting help and being forced to eat and regain weight was the worst feeling you’ve ever had.

“You can’t do this alone and I’m here for you. I want to help you get help, because I can’t give you the medical help you need. But I can stand by your side every step of the way. I am begging you.” He held your eyes in his, never looking away from them. He needed you to see how serious he was and how serious this situation was. If he could help you the way you needed, he would. He’d never force you to go to the hospital if it wasn’t your life depending on it. But he knew his love and guidance was not enough. He could fill your head with every compliment in the world, reassure you day in and day out that your beautiful no matter how you look, that you don’t have to kill yourself to be beautiful. He could tell you every day that you didn’t have to be skin and bones for him to want you, that he wanted you at your highest and healthiest weight just as much as he wants you now. But your health now wont allow you to be with him forever, and for that, he needs to help you get the correct help. “I’m begging you.”

Your eyes closed, no longer able to bare the brokenness he held. What you were doing may be killing you physically, but it was also killing him mentally. It wasn’t what you intended to do, of course not. You just needed him to open up to you for you to see it. And you knew everything he was saying was true and it was said out of love, from the very bottom of his heart. He was begging you to let him help you the only way he could.

It went silent again as you thought about his request over and over again. Your mind was telling you now but your entire being was begging you to let him. It was fucked up how strong the mind is. How much control it had over the person it belonged to. But you knew of you didn’t allow him to help you that you wouldn’t last much longer, and that was the amount of encouragement you needed to be able to accept his plea.

“okay.” You whispered, your eyes squeezing shut tighter. Suddenly, it felt like you could breathe. Like a weight was lifted off your entire body. Like everything you were fighting alone in was no longer holding you.

“Okay?” Kit whispered. You opened your eyes slowly and blinked through the tears that had formed allowing them to fall. Once your vision was clear and you were able to see Kit, you sniffled and nodded. He nodded along with you, a new small smile forming on his lips. “Okay.” He confirmed, standing from your shared bed and grabbing your hand gently to help you from it.

His eyes skimmed over your fragile body, the sight hurting him deeply. You noticed him doing so, but you didn’t shy away or become embarrassed. You were able to admit you needed help, and it was like your eyes opened wide and you could see the damage your mind was doing to you. And he could see it too.

“We’re gonna get you help, baby. Everything will be okay soon I promise.” He spoke softly, hugging you to him once you were dressed. You wrapped your weak arms around him and rested you head on his chest. Every move you made made you dizzy, and you held him for support as he guided you to the car and helped you in, bucking you and closing your door before entering the drivers side and starting it. His hand reached for yours as he began driving, taking the small thing in his tightly like he was holding it for dear life.

Your mind raced nervously the closer you got to the hospital, wondering what their point of action would be. You were scared they’d take you away or that you’d become a clinical experiment. Kit must’ve been able to tell you were scared, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be okay baby. You’re gonna be okay.”

—

Tags: @evanpetersmood @witchsbitchestime @demxnicprxncess @yes-divine-ruler @shjjpm @evanpsrealwife @iruzias @jangsuzchap @quicksilversg1rl @submissiveforahsmen @angelmenace @lovelizzie-blog1 @justa19 @daylas-life @simp4petermaximoff @totta69

[jin0]

Andrew Has Babies On The Brain [Andrew Garfield]

(gif is not mine, all credits go to the author)

Summary : Andrew seems to love seeing you pise in front of the camera's. What he'd love more, is to see you flaunt your beauty with a belly full of babies. And you might grand him just that.

Pairing : Andrew Garfield x Reader

Warning : Minors DNI, 18+ ONLY, smut, creampie, breeding kink, pussy job, pussy whipped Andrew, slight dubcon (you gotta squint), kinda subby andrew, cockdrunk/cum hungry reader, basically all filth and a little plot (i fought my own brain to find a storyline here, i swear i did), titty worship, kinda manhandling, oral (m and f receiving), handjob while driving (don't do it kids), fingering while driving, pet names, other stuff that i defo forgot so yeah

A/N : the way i wrote 10k of smut again ??? and i forgot the plot mid writing ?? i genuinely BATTLED to finish this thing

_________________________________________

Andrew wasn’t the prideful type, ever. He was actually known for his self degrading ways that were turned more towards the funny side rather than the embarrassing one. Nevertheless, Andrew wasn’t the classic alpha, macho prideful type guy. He could dominate you if he wanted to and he definitely did, regularly but he never made it his mission to dominate you. Now, one thing he was proud of was you. You were his biggest pride and joy, truly everything to him. This would turn into regular possessiveness from him that would then turn into mind blowing sex with him fucking himself so deep in you, there was no way for you not to scream how much you were his.

You’d think, over time, he’d get used to how proud he was to be yours. It would make sense even more since he became your husband. You both married pretty young, right after you’d finished college. He was young and so in love for you, both sets of parents were terrified to even try and talk you out of it. The way you loved him was also like no other, your way of knowing everything about him and his mood before he did simply outstanding. You two completed each other like soulmates would and it wouldn’t be a reach to think you were, indeed, fated.

But to go back on his pride, you were his pride and joy, his everything and it became an even more blatant fact as he watched you pose in front of the cameras and paparazzis. The photographers were calling his name but he was looking at you and you only. Nothing other than the ease and comfort with which presented yourself to the people could bring such a smile on his face. His hand around your waist, you turned and posed for the people as if you were born for this and he couldn’t help it, that unhealthy, primal desire he had to scream in front of all these people that he was yours and you were his in more than a simple girlfriend and boyfriend way.

Because yes, you were married, but no one knew other than your close friends, family and the members of the cast (and by members of the cast, he meant the directors and Emma, the nosy intuitive girl that you both liked and who had walked in on Andrew calling you his wife). The public and the fans had no idea and you liked it that way.

Did this stop him from wanting to reveal it every time someone made a comment or hit on you or him ? No. The amount of time he held back from flaunting his wedding band in the faces of those flirting with him was astronomical and it even became a ridiculous running joke between you both that you’d never have to worry about losing him to someone else because he’d be the first to lose his shit and start a rant on how utterly perfect you were for him and the world.

No matter what he tried, his efforts to seem discreet when talking about you all seemed useless because his urges were always stronger than his will. These specific urges could never be contained when he saw you look so stupidly gorgeous in front of hundreds of cameras. The pride he felt seeing all these people look at you and you only had his heart swelling and beating out of control. He could see you, flaunting yourself in front of these camera’s and could only love you more, there was no vision better than this.

Except there was one thing that would make it better : a baby in your belly. Because yes, Andrew had babies on the brain. How could he not when everything you did made it impossible to not dream of a family with him ?

~

Coming home from the premier and the after party, you two were already all over each other. The car ride had been painfully long, too long to your liking as you tried not to cause an accident while your husband drove you back to your shared apartment. You’d been so aroused that he had to settle you with a hand nestled between your thighs, pumping his long fingers deep in your heated core and trying not to let his own aching erection drive you both into a tree.

In a desperate and dangerous attempt to relieve him, you’d offered your slick soaked panties to him, letting him moan your name in the piece of fabric while his knuckles turned white from his grip on the steering wheel. Your soft fingers wrapped around his thick girth, you pumped him vigorously, feeling your own release get close when you saw the pearly droplets of cum around slowly dripping out of his tip. The praises he chanted, his eyes tightly shut at every red light, made your head spin, feeling the urge to straddle him and ride him until your legs gave out under you was more than urgent.

How could you not want to watch your sweet pussy swallow his thickness and rip out nasty sounds of pleasure out of him soft lips ? He presented himself to you, unbridled desire exposed to the eyes of anyone who looked a little too close inside the car.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, we’re gonna have an accident sweetheart… Fuck, c-can’t cum just yet… You gotta let me park or wait but fuck, slow down… Can’t cum just yet…” He pleaded, his focus slipping out each time your manicured thumb rubbed the slit on the head of his cock.

Fuck, that exact move made him want to cum gallons all over you. He could see it, your sweet body, naked under his and covered in hid cum, just whining in pleasure as you begged for him to use you more. That exact type of thought was what made it impossible not to dream of you, belly full of his child, waddling about and calling out for his help a little more each passing day.

Your thighs tightening around his arm, you rode his fingers in slow hip rolls, digging the nails of your free hand into his suit covered skin.

“Andrew… Please, I need more… A-Ah, please baby… Can’t wait too long, gotta cum… Please baby, let me cum…” You cried out, biting your lip and swallowing your desire to stuff him deep in your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… Baby, I’m begging you, please, can’t risk it bunny… I know you feel good, god I can feel it… Pussy’s clenching around my fingers…but you gotta wait, when we get home, I’ll have you cum all over me… I’ll get you full too, so full you’ll be leaking for days, I’ll keep your pussy messy with my cum...”

“Oh, Andrew… Fuck, can feel it… Your cum… Want it inside… Wanna be full and dripping… Keep me full until I can’t walk anymore… Until I get all heavy and pregnant with your babies…” You mewled, rolling your hips on his and using his hand for pleasure.

In this exact moment, he pressed on the gas harder than ever, desperate to get home a’d get to work. He needed to get you all set up for that, he needed to get you prepared for what he was going to do to you. Fuck, this would be messy.

“Shit… Fuck, baby you gotta wait okay ? For me ? Wait a little, just a little… Fucking hell bunny, you’re so wet, so, so wet… Need to taste you or I’m going to lose it… Pretty pussy’s dripping all around my fingers… Imagine how much you’d be dripping around my cock ? All that sweet juice, can’t let it go to waste… Need it around me… Needa have you dripping on my tongue…” He mused, already daydreaming about the things he’d do to you once you were home.

He was frantically driving, mind jumping between a thousand thoughts, all directed towards you and you only. The small puddle that formed inside your dress and soaked it wet had his stomach tightening in desire, balls full and ready to spill and get you as dirty as you needed to be.

When you both arrived home, he was jumping out of his car, running to your side and pulling you out to carry you in his arms. Your thighs wrapped around his waist and your arms his neck, your fingers slid into his messy hair and pulled on the roots tightly. You could feel the bulge pulsating under you, all warm and soaked with your slick as you moved at the best of your capacities to rub yourself on his thick bulge.

You’d been moaning loudly into his mouth, a little louder each time his hands lowered on your skin. You squirmed and whimpered when his fingers grazed dangerously close to your dripping folds ready to part open as soon as you felt his digits near.

Your clothes, as fancy as they were, were thrown to the side and long forgotten when both your naked bodies, arousal so visible on your husband’s body when you looked down. You could see him, every piece of what you’d done to him. The thick, pulsating girth that throbbed over his stomach, needing all the attention you could give.

When his hand firmly gripped on his sac, desperately seeking to relieve the pain he was feeling, you were ready to drop to your knees and make use of your mouth. He looked magnificent, as exposed as he was on his first day on Earth, his deep brown eyes piercing holes in your skin as he dreamt of the things he’d do to you and the sounds you’d make in return. You could only submit to his will, down on your knees and ready to take whatever treatment he’d give you. In this moment, you were only a sweet meal ready to be devoured and enjoyed fully.

~

If you’d seen the state of his mind as soon as his hands took hold of your waist, you’d understand why each of your words fell into a deaf ear, heard but ignored or taken for sounds of pleasure (which they were). He could only hear you beg while his tongue worked hard to bring you to heights of pleasure you’d never reached before. Feeling him all around your body, your own mind was so bent, you were certain that your cells had taken his DNA and made it home in your mind. He was turning you into a vessel of his mindless, arousal fueled acts.

His fingers, added to the mix, spreading your walls wide and making your body feel like it was repeatedly being split in two, you bit down on the fabric of the bedsheets and tried to contain the amount if your own spit you choked on each time he’d go back into your tight, warm hole and press into your flesh as if he had a mission to fulfill towards your insides.

For what felt like hours, turned into different positions, all as mind numbing as the previous , you took and took and took, practically losing your capacity to speak a word that wasn’t a praise to the wonders he’d do to you. His name sounded like the only thing on your mind and it wouldn’t be wrong to see it that way, his entire being nestled so deeply inside you while you rode his face desperately.

Fuck, you looked so divine above him, makeup pouring off of your face because of the tears you’d shed every time he’d fuck his warm tongue into you and through an orgasm that would have your entire body shaking and your legs too weak to even stand. You looked like a goddess taken out of some ancient mythology, brought back to the human world to feel his love and let him serve you pleasure and happiness on a platter.

Your walls were so wet, he felt the slick run down his face, mixing with the loads of cum he dropped inside your dripping cunt earlier. He could still vividly see the way you squirmed while he straddled you, his hand firm around his cock. He’d made a mess of your pussy and admiring your body take it all willingly. You looked made for this, to carry around his seed and have it grow inside you.

~

After hours of sucking your insides and ripping orgasms that had your vision blurry and your belly tingling in anticipation, you had pleaded to please him a little. This was his night after all, the outing that started it all was in his honor and you ached to please the man you loved.

Pleasing him you did in more ways than you could even think of, the simple vision of you was enough to break him down to pieces, tearing him apart and putting him back together, hungry for a taste of you. His eyes scanned your entire body, watching you with both love and desire as you knelt obediently between his parted thighs. His muscles were tense under your soft fingers. He inhaled a sharp breath when they neared his balls, so full and veiny, ready to be emptied on your skin.

“See that Bunny… See how hard I get for you ? Felt so fucking needy the whole day, cock so full. Can’t keep it all to myself, you know ? Gotta get you messy all over, you’re still so clean, too fucking clean.” He grunted, pumping his glistening shaft in his fingers.

The golden wedding band he slipped on as soon as he laid you on the bed, fucked out to perfection and whimpering his name, was glowing under the light inside the room. He had made incredibly good use of his fingers, spreading them inside you while your beautiful hand stroke his cock. He could barely see straight, his vision blurred by clouds made of the sweet scent of your cum drenching his face. His need to taste you before he stuffed you full never ceased to amaze you.

Riding on nothing, you whined shamelessly when the cold air came to torture your dripping folds. Your soft lips wrapped around small pieces of skin on your husband’s thighs and bit his skin, closer and closer to his sac, until you reached it. Your mouth opening wide, you swallowed the lump of skin, sucking onto it and rubbing your tits on his knees, you cried out when you couldn’t reach the amount of pleasure you were looking for.

Your brain settled for taking the matter into your own hands, grabbing on your flesh and kneading your breast vigorously while you pushed his legs further apart, needing to have a mouth full of his balls.

If you could see the way you looked, dreamy as ever, trying to stuff your narrow throat with his balls while his cock rested lazily on your face. You rubbed your nose all along the shaft, greedy to feel the entirety of him inside your mouth but too small and stupid to have him fit of think of the right way to make it work.

“Andrew… G-God Andrew, can’t… Can’t make it work… Needa make it work… Too big baby, cock’s too big, I can’t get it to fit…” You moaned, small tears forming in the corner of your eyes in frustration and cock hungry desire.

His poor bunny girl, couldn’t even use her dumb brain to get her mouth stuffed like she wanted. Sliding his palm around the back of her neck, he pulled you back, smiling when you whimpered loudly at the loss of contact.

“Shhh baby, calm down bunny. Can’t think of a way to get your pretty mouth full huh ? Need all the help in the world to have my cock all the way down to your pretty throat ?” He cooed, looking down on you with true tenderness, the kind he reserved to you only. Grazing the front of your throat, he pressed into it, chuckling when you let out a small gasp that he felt vibrate through your skin. “Bet you’ll fell me all the way here. Pretty sure I’ll even see myself in there. What do you think Bunny ?”

As soon as the last word escaped his mouth, you opened yours wide. Good girl, perfect wife you were. He thanked all the deities up in the sky as he grabbed him and slowly entered your mouth. He slid down into you, never going faster to give you time to breath but fuck was it difficult. He wasn’t wrong, he could see the bulbous tip of his cock show throw your esophagus. You looked completely out of it, probably due to the loss of oxygen and the feeling of his tongue filling you up so nicely already.

You could never get used to his size when inside you, too big to fit but always so eager to try. It was heaven on earth to feel the creamy substance drip down your throat already. So much cum that had been wasted on his stomach or on your back while you sat on his face. All of it, you needed a little bit on your tongue.

Sitting back down and guiding your face towards his hips, he cradled your cheek with a loving smile and let you work on pleasuring him and you both. He could practically smell it, your slick pouring onti the floor and down your inner thighs. Your twitching pussy was just as desperate to be filled as you were.

You quickly picked up the pace, digging your nails in his thighs and holding onto him while you fucked your own face on his cock, the obscene sounds of dripping drool and his balls slapping against your chin fueling you with arousal. This was the duty you’d chosen, stuffing your throat full of his cock and letting your pussy rest after hours of abuse. Your senses were overwhelmed by the salty aftertaste he left in your mouth at each drag of your tongue on his shaft.

Every vein, every bump, every parcel of skin a little thicker that the rest, you felt it all, your blood travel to your heart and making it beat so fast you could feel the beating in your cunt. You could barely breath but it was all worth it, everything was worth seeing him lose himself into you. His entire body was tense, chest flexed and neck extended to throw his head back, all in hope to not cum as soon as his eyes would lay on you.

He couldn’t resist it, the vision of your cum stained face, hungrily sucking him dry and milking his cock to perfection. He’d have you belly full enough to satisfy your hunger, that he promised it. His balls swelling up with more cum, he smiled down at you, feeling that same pride he felt earlier spread through his entire being.

“Fuck… Look at you Bunny, pretty little Bunny you are. With a pretty ring on her finger and a pussy dripping sweet, sweet, heavenly juice just for me. Keep moaning like that baby, keep ruining my dick with that pretty throat. Yeah, fuck, a-aaah… Fuck… That mouth is to die for Bunny. Could spend my whole life in there.” He moaned loudly, guiding your head on his girth as he rolled his hips against your lips.

Fuck, he was so happy to be your husband. Only him could get this treatment, your beautiful face all flushed and messy with tears, cum and drool dripping everywhere. You stayed consistent, raising yourself higher on your knees and resting your chest on his thighs. Your fingers ran up his leg to lay on his stomach for a few seconds before he grabbed your hands hastily. He felt like he was falling, his body was deprived of sensations that wouldn’t have him spinning. The knot that formed at the bottom of his stomach, building up each time you’d moan around his member kept his feet shaking and his hands tightening around the back of your neck.

“A-Ah, fuck, Bunny you’re doing so good… Treating me like your last meal baby… Fuck, good girl, sucking me so well…" He muttered, eyes fixated on you while he met your own movement and pushed his hips on your mouth.

You swallowed hard, letting all the liquids in your mouth descend into your stomach and let him slip out slowly. Your eyes never left his face, only closing when your own pussy would make the vision too much for you. Running a hand down your stomach, you twirled your thumb on your clit, crying out around the tip of him cock. Your tongue lapped on the head, hands wrapped around the base, and you softly sucked on the slit.

“A-Andrew… P-Please baby… Need your cum…” You mumbled, dropping tender kisses all around the man’s swollen cock.

This had been all that was needed for him to spill out into your mouth and all over your face. His deep voice resonated into the room, probably echoing all the way down the stairs. With a tight grip, he pushed you to swallow him one last time, which you did eagerly, letting his cum spread inside your mouth and down your throat.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you pushed your palm on your stomach, a warmth enveloping your insides when you felt his seed fill you up. Your hunger satiated and your brained filled up with bright clouds of happiness and true pleasure, you swallowed each and every drop he pored down your into you.

The taste and smell of arousal shook your body and swarmed your sensitive clit with desire. Letting him slip out of your warm mouth, you stared at his manhood still hard and standing straight, painfully begging for what he really craved the whole night. You could see it in his eyes, the way he’d been eyeing you since you got on your knees, hell, since you crossed the door.

Standing up on trembling legs, you reached down to stroke your clit and run your fingers through your folds. As soon as your as met his thighs, he gritted his teeth, grabbing two handfuls and pushing your flesh on his. The feeling of your wetness dripping on his skin had his mouth salivating, drooling shamelessly in front of you. But when you moved to sit on his lower stomach, his cock resting nicely on your backside, he knew he would be cumming again very soon.

“Aah… Ah, Andrew… Fuck, if you could feel how full you got my stomach baby… Feel so, so full… Can you feel it ? Look…” You urged, grabbing his hand to place it over the small part of your stomach that had swelled.

“Fuck Bunny… Fuck, that’s me in there… My cum got your stomach so nice… Got so cum hungry, I couldn’t keep it to myself… Had to much to offer you Bunny… So much cum to keep you satisfied…” He moaned, a fucked out smile stretching his lips.

He leaned towards you, needing to feel your lips on his. When his face neared yours, he quickly pushed his tongue into your mouth. He was getting drunk on the taste of his own cum on your tongue. You, yourself, could cum instantly when the distinct taste of your own slick mixed with your saliva. Kissing loudly and messily, your hands roamed his body while his stayed around your hips, guiding them back and forth to coat his cock with the slick that dripped out of you.

You rode his shaft, teasing another orgasm out of the both of you and feeding on the pleas that escaped him. He needed you, deeply and so, so desperately. He watched you rub your pussy with your fingers but never truly pushing them inside you. Your just play with your folds, letting him rest on his thirst for more. He wanted to see you pleasure yourself, fuck your pretty cunt with your fingers and moans into his ears how good it felt. He wanted you to use him like he loved to see you do.

“F-Fuck baby, please… Fuck Bunny, don’t keep me waiting… Please, let me see these pretty fingers spread inside you… Please you gotta let me see you fuck yourself over me… Please Bunny, please…” He groaned, rubbing his nose on your cheek and kissing you passionately.

You stayed quiet, only moaning his name while slowing down on his cock. Glistening under the lights, he watched you coat him wet of your juices and use him like some inanimate object that was good only for your pleasure. That’s who he was, an object in your hands, ready to be used over and over again, until he hand nothing more to give, until he was cumming dry, crying for you to let him rest.

Observing him with lust clouding your vision, you bit your lips in desire, this man was so desperate for you, it filled you with an unhealthy pride and need to bring him to his knees, exactly like he wanted. You took out your fingers from your cunt and away from your clit before shoving them in his mouth when you felt your orgasm come.

White light wrapped around you and blinded you to everything around when his warm seed shot out of him and on your back. Moving just enough to hover above the tip of his cock, he watched in awe as you spread your pussy open and let his cum shoot up directly into your warm heat.

This had to be a dream, taken straight out of his deepest, darkest fantasies. He couldn’t believe it. His wife, the woman who owned him, mind, body and soul, was right there, opening her magnificent pussy to let him fill her up just right. She was so desperate for his cum, crying out the wonders of the creamy substance that covered her insides, that she was ready to let herself be covered in that manner. She couldn’t be real, not to him, she had to be made straight out of his imagination or his dreams. She was too perfect in his eyes to be.

The only way for her to ever be more perfect would be while carrying a heavy womb, filled with children you’d make together.

In that instant, it could be doubted how absolutely pussy whipped he’d looked and how worst he turned in a matter of seconds. That singular act of you getting yourself messy with his cum cemented in his mind, the need for him to fuck a baby into you, or two, however many you’d want. He just knew he had to or he would die on the spot, his balls exploding with the overload of cum he kept inside of him. It was too much to bear, keeping his need to fuck you silly at bay had his mind melting into a puddle straight into his dick.

When you grabbed him tightly in your hand, he had to move, do something. He couldn’t keep dreaming awake, begging for you to sink him deep into your channel. His head hung loosely in front of yours, letting you guide his tip towards your clit and nudge it so slowly, his heart could stop beating if he didn’t feel you come all around him. His grip on the edge of the seat was iron tight, his nails digging into the leather that stuck to his skin and burned him like hellfire itself.

“See that baby ? Feel how warm my pussy get’s for you ?” You purred against his forehead, rubbing your nose on the crown of his head and trying to move him to look up and into your eyes. You knew he couldn’t, not when he was this overstimulated.

“Yeah Bunny… Yeah I feel that… Fuck, yeah I feel my pretty pussy… Fuck, I need her… Need her so bad…” He cried, pushing his face towards you and pursing his lips to kiss your tenderly.

The softness of the act, probably meant to soften you up, only pushed you away from the idea of stopping the torture you inflicted him. This soft bubble of love that pour around you when his arm wrapped around your waist made your belly tingle and your mind grow hazy.

“God I’m so wet, it’s dripping everywhere… Getting you all messy… I’m sorry baby, so sorry… Can’t help it… Just feels so good to have you in my mouth… You taste so good baby… You cock felt so nice in my mouth… So full and creamy…” You whined into his mouth, swallowing his moans and sucking on his lip.

His hips started moving on their own, jerking into the tender skin of your hand and pulling another load out of him. This one he needed to see it inside you, he needed to get your insides messy with it. The guttural need he had to kiss you was what lowered your guard, giving him the opportunity to reach for what he truly wanted from you.

His warm palm cupping your jaw, he pressed it open allowing himself another taste of you, your delicious sweetness as addictive as drugs would be. He couldn’t resist it, your lips so supple, warm and inviting. All of you was designed to break him and turn him inside out. His cock twitched as soon as he got to feel your tongue on his.

“God, you taste so good Bunny, so fucking good… Can’t get enough of that pretty mouth…” He muttered, leaning towards you and slowly taking back the power from you.

Softly grabbing your wrist, he moved it at a slower pace. He needed to cum inside you, he needed to know that you could feel inside you what was yours, he needed to give it all to you. The frantic look on his face was to die for, a testimony of his eagerness to get inside you as soon as possible. Before he broke right into the palm of your hands.

When he reached for you clit, stroking it delicately, your own thighs started to shake all over again. That sensation of your body pushing itself to the limits to grant him a proof of your pleasure and your love, the things he did to you.

Too drunk on pleasure, you gave in, letting him take your hands off of his cock and hold them instead. He pulled them to your back, kissing you deeper than before while his thumb kept on stroking your sensitive clit. Your swollen folds bare on his skin, his thighs were directly drenched by your wetness. He could feel your insides, pulsating on his muscle and unabashedly using him to reach your own high. You worked yourself on him, ignoring his subtle attempt at nudging your entrance open for his tip.

You pulled away to breath, inhaling a big ball of oxygen and letting it fill your lungs. You hadn’t breathed in a while it seems because as soon as you opened your eyes, your blurry vision noticed your husband smearing the little drops of cum on his tip all over your sensitive bud. His soft eyes laid on you, drinking in your sigh.

“A-Ah… Ah, Andrew… God, Andrew I can’t… Pussy’s too sensitive… Can’t do this, please baby, not yet…” You begged, holding on his shoulders and dragging your nails down to scratch his skin.

His mouth quickly shut you up, covering yours for another passionate kiss. Your lips were warm and sweet, tasting like honey straight from the hive. You were the sweetest honey ever, he could feel the cavities already. Nothing could compare to the sweet taste of you.

His mind wandered in deeper holes when his lips lowered to kiss your cheek, your chin and bite pieces of your neck. He sucked on them long enough before repeating the motion elsewhere, until your skin was entirely covered. He pulled you to hos chest with the arm that still held your hands behind you and stuffed his nose in your breast, deeply turned on by the two swaying in his face.

He wanted to chuckle at the idea of being turned on. He had clearly gone stupid, his brain softly crumbling all over his cranium and proving yet again that he simply could never express entirely how good he felt every time he had your body exposed in front of his. His vocabulary shortened as his cock got harder, all his neurons disappearing when you came in.

“Fuck… Fuck baby, I can’t… Can’t keep it in, gonna cum Bunny… I need to cum inside you… Please Bunny, lemme get you all messy and full…” He pleaded, pressing the bulbous tip of his cock into your heated core.

You shook your head, too sensitive to survive his cock spreading inside you.

“N-No… Please baby, not yet… Can’t handle it…” You whimpered, your hips stuttering when you felt his caress on your clit with the tender head of his cock.

He couldn’t stop himself anymore, his tip well placed on you. He couldn’t even try and think of a way out, his body working on autopilot to nestle himself slowly In the comfort of your warm walls. Feeling your juices spread on his tip, dripping over him to perfection, he could only give into his urges.

“Oh god, oh fuck ! Oh fuck, fuck, baby fuck… It’s going in Bunny, I’m putting it in… Fuck…” He moans, pushing inside you and biting back a pained gasp, feel the overwhelming tightness if your walls swallow him whole and suck in his next orgasm.

His lips stayed on your, whispering yeses softly while you whined no repeatedly, begging for him to not enter you as you wouldn’t be able to take it. You were too sensitive, too raw to be able to take it, to be able to handle his width breaking you down from the inside. But it felt so good, feeling him slowly invade you had your breath caught in your throat.

You tried to refuse him, laying your hands flat on his chest and pushing softly with teary eyes while he kept you close. His large hand held your nape and kissed the side of your face tenderly, his breath fanning your warm skin and hitting your ear. You could hear his raged breath, the internal fight that he was living, too sensitive to himself handle your pussy but his entire being desperate enough to try. He needed to try, he needed to have you wrapped around him, and then, he’d fulfill his mission.

“’M sorry Bunny, so sorry, fuck… Your pussy… Feels too good… Can’t stop, I’m so sorry… You forgive me huh ? Please, f-fuck, tell me you forgive me… Please, can’t survive it… Fuck…” His voice sounded so strained, as if there was more in him that he was holding back.

You didn’t know whether or not he was telling you that he couldn’t survive you being angry at him or if he was saying he couldn’t survive your pussy but either you’d take and enjoy thoroughly. Either was perfect, the sheer desperation in his voice enough to fuel your ego and have you drench the plush head of his cock with slick.

“A-Andrew… Ah, please… W-We… can’t… Please… Please Andrew… Can’t do it anymore… Can’t baby…”

“Yeah you can baby… Look,” His hand caressed your cheek to lower to your jaw and move your head to see the part of you both that joined. Your pretty cunt, wide open and spreading even wider for him, it was happening. “You’re doing it… You’re taking me whole Bunny, so much of me…”

In a few more movement, whispering soothing words to calm down your quivering thighs, he fully penetrated you, buried to the hilt and your pulsating walls vibrating on his sac. He felt pure relief travel through his being and through yours too. He was fully merged with you, a connection that transcended the human level of anything.

His heartbeat as fast as the motor of a sports car or a rocket ship, he pressed you down on his thighs as hard as his muscles allowed without hurting you. Hurting you was the last thing he wanted, unless you asked from him to do so. Right now, all he desired was to tenderly let his every cell soak into the pleasuring and delicious taste of you, starting from your center.

Your own hands reached and searched for him, the brain shattering orgasm teasing it’s arrival a little more at each beat of his heart inside his member. You both shared the same feeling of being merged together, two hearts beating in one commune body. This would be as close as you’d get to sharing a body, and seeing how codependent you both seemed to be when being intimate, it was probably for the best.

Your nails dug deep in the flesh of his back when your body was moved to be fully pressed to his chest. He caressed the side of your neck and tilted your head to the side, exposing your flexed muscles, tender and sensitive to his expert touch. He knew everything there was to know about pleasure and giving it to you. There was no need to try and escape him, not when he knew how to get you to be perfectly softened and pliant in his hands.

“Feel that Bunny ? Feel my cock ? How desperate it’s been for that pussy of yours ? You feel how nice it’s sitting inside you ? Feels perfect don’t it Bunny ?” He whispered, sucking on the veins of your neck that showed.

You mewled softly on top of him, your walls suckling on his shaft and searching for more cum to drench your insides with. Overwhelmed by his size and the softness of his touch on your naked skin, you let yourself be guided by his large hands. He took his time getting you settled, tenderly caressing your back before moving his hips in slow circles.

The small sounds of pleasure you let out directly in his ear had his heart hammering harder against his ribcage. You were so responsive to him, so good, perfect even. The slight movement of your own hips synced in with his to meet his thrust had blood rushing down his veins straight into his cock. This was perfect, you were perfect, he’d never cease to say it, think it, feel it.

Seconds turned into minutes and the pace shifted to a quicker one, your walls tightening around him and making it harder to not cup on the spot. It had been difficult for him to keep it in this whole time, the amount of times he avoided cumming in his pants today being absolutely brain shattering. This effect you had on him, bringing him down to the same level of restraint that a teenager, he was baffled that he managed to hold on this long without cumming more.

Slowly loosing the tenderness and self control he had earlier, he quickly accelerated his movements inside you, and showing more force towards you. You moved like a doll on top of him, dependent on his desires and the way he wanted things to go. His hands, still tight around you, descended towards your hips, holding them firmly before letting his fingers crawl towards your ass that he gripped with passion.

His hold on you was desperate, attempting to hold your whole being in one go and attempting to bring you an overwhelming amount of pleasure as soon as he could. Guiding you from there, he pushed you down, your pussy pressed on his lower stomach and on his sac, he pushed into you repeatedly. You swung your arms around his shoulders and held onto him for support.

“-A-Ah ! Oh fuck, Andrew ! Fuck, t-this… this… F-Feels too good ! Please baby, please Andrew keep going ! God, cock feel so good !” You sobbed loudly, mouth open and breathing hard on his cheek.

Fucking into you as if it was his only task, you could feel the bruises form on your ass, the death grip he held on you, marking his ownership to you. Because he’d never say it out loud or even think it, but you knew better. You had no reason to lie to yourself when you body screamed it regularly : he owned you. Beyond the legal papers that stated that you both were bounded by matrimony and all that shit, even before that. He owned you, mind, body and soul. And the same way he owned you, you owned him.

“Fuck ! God, oh God ! Andrew, m-more ! Please… More, please ! G-Gimme more !” You cried out, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a incoherent string of sounds. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ! P-Please, baby… Please don’t stop ! So, so fucking good ! Cummin’, I’m cummin’ baby !”

The obscene sounds of your thighs slapping against his while he controlled your movements on top of his large body resonated around the room. These were one of the moments where you’d be thankful for his fame, avoiding the embarrassing explanations and apologies you’d give your neighbors for your loud cries echoing all through the floor.

The vivid sounds of your pussy being repeatedly slapped by his balls only drive him to slam you down on him harder, searching for you both to be the only things that could be heard. His balls meeting your cunt, over and over and over, your wetness dripped down your inner thighs and drowned his senses, as if calibrated to smell you. The overwhelming sweetness of your juices and you scent mixed with the taste of you still on his tongue, he was still covered entirely in you.

His thrust were violent into you, making the seat rock back and forth before it fell when he abruptly stood up, your thighs held firmly in his hands. He was rough, fucking what was probably been hours of restraint and control over his urge to fuck you senseless.

Traveling to the bed, you were unceremoniously dropped on the mattress and your legs were parted open as far as the could reach to not only grant him more access but open the window to the beautiful vision of your swollen cunt taking his fat cock like a charm and begging for more. Greedy you were, sucking him dry and keeping you full.

Your husband slowed down to observed, mercerized by the vision of your insides deformed around the tip of his cock. He could see the faint shape of his cock show through your lower stomach and felt his balls tighten, full and ready to get you full.

“F-Fuck Bunny… Can’t keep going pretty… Gotta get you full, put a baby in there… Look,” He motioned for you to look down, towards your stomach, changing and molding to the will of his girth. He smirked when seeing how blissed out you got as soon as you saw what he wanted you to see. “See that ? I Can get it So warm and full, so pretty too… We can get a pretty baby in there Bunny, get you heavy and waddling all around in front of the cameras…”

The grunts of pleasure coming out of him made your head spin, you felt small and dominated by his primal acts, the desire to be filled coursing through your veins as if you yourself had a mission to fulfill. You needed to feel him inside you for hours, days even. You needed to cradle your stomach and feel the round shape understand your fingers. You needed to let him see for himself how greedy you could get with your hormones all over the place. You wanted Andrew to fuck you full and keep doing so even when your womb would already be occupied by the seed he’d planted inside you.

You wrapped your legs tightly around him and pulled him closer, reaching out to his and scratching the base of his stomach in a pathetic wiggle to get him deeper inside you.

“A-Andrew… Andrew please… Please, please, please, gimme one… Want a baby, please Andrew… Wanna be full, so full I can’t do anything without you… Oh God, oh God, oh fuck ! Want you to fuck my tits full of milk for our baby, please Andrew, please… I need it, gimme a baby !” You wailed, looking at him with blurry eyes.

You couldn’t see yourself right now, you definitely couldn’t but if you had been able too, you’d understand why he was so hard right now. Cumming once wouldn’t be enough, that was for sure, but that was fine. He’d make sure to get you fuller than ever before. You already looked like you’d been pushed to the brink of insanity, but when he’d be done with you, you’d look truly out of your mind.

Slamming his hips harder into you and watching your ass bounce against his skin, he bent down to catch you nipples between his lips. He sucked on both with hunger shining in his eyes, the kind that he only showed when he’d be granted the privilege of tasting your sweet, honey and vanilla scented skin. He let go of your flesh in an obscene plop that resonated in your ears and made your insides twitch. You let go of the sheets and ran your hands through his hair to push him into your chest when he caught your second nipple and repeated the act. You arched your back, giving him access to more places to suck on while you rolled your hips against his, meeting his thrusts.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck ! God, Andrew, can’t keep it in ! Baby, cummin', cummin', Andrew I’m cumming ! Feels so, so good !” You screamed into his mouth when he covered your for a kiss before leaning his forehead against yours. The sudden intimacy had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

His thumb lowered to your sensitive bud, rubbing circles around it as the head of his cock plowed into your cervix. The swollen skin of your clit tingled on his fingers, giving him the response he wanted. You cried louder when in a quick change of position, he hammered into you while pulling on your ankles to slam you against his cock and strike into your deepest part.

Messy hair, drool dripping from the side of his mouth and looking wrecked inside and outside, he watched you scream his name as loud as your vocal cords allowed, cumming all around his cock and drenching the soft sheets under you. He’d never see you cum this hard before but it kept going, his own release flowing over you and making your poor helpless figure tremble harder. Your legs locked him in place inside you, shaking hard but staying strong around his waist.

He was fascinated by how cum hungry your pussy was, so tight around his waist, he felt like his seed was being syphoned out of him. He couldn’t move or this rationally either, a wreck, he was a wreck above you. His eyes clouded by more than desire, they were clouded by devotion to you. He’d made you a promise and he was doing a very good job keeping it. There was no place for doubts or suspicions here, his confidence in his capacities to put a baby in you by the end of the night was at a 100%.

Pulling out of you, he watch your swollen cunt quiver and drip out pearly drops of cum, watching it sip in and out of your folds. His eyes couldn’t get away from the mess you had both made on your pussy, watching it coat your skin and the bed in a pretty white puddle.

His hands started moving on their own, grabbing his cock, still hard and raised high over your shaking figure, and rubbing the plush head between your folds, smearing his cum all over you. Your eyes, red and swollen from the tears you’d shed earlier and all while he fucked you senseless, watered all over again. You were too raw to handle this kind of teasing from him.

“Ah… No… A-Andrew… Andrew please… Can’t… Can’t take more…” You mewled, your head spinning and your eyes rolling when your felt him tease your clit with the slit of his cock.

You bit your lips hard, trying to contain yourself from squirting all over him, your previous orgasm still too fresh to handle that kind of torture. Poor Bunny was too sensitive, too overwhelmed. He’d help you cool down before filling you up all over again. Crawling on top of you, he straddled you and presented his cock to you, letting it rest on top of your nose and smiling when you crossed your eyes to see it before raising a timid glance at him.

“Go on Bunny… Taste us before I get back to her. You know that after this you won’t get to think rationally or at all. So taste us before you get all stupid and giggly on cock.”

His words could’ve been a request but your pussy was doing the thinking for you, and what an obedient girl she was, thoughtless and only ever needing him to be satisfied. You’d let her get you in so much trouble before and here she was again, doing her usual number and still winning. You laid your hand on his thighs and suckled on the tip of his cock, feeling your insides warm all over again and ready themselves for more of this to cum very soon. He took away his cock and leaned down over you, kissing the tip of your nose before kissing your lips and making sure to get a taste of you both. This would be a long night for you both.

~

For hours, the sound of wet skin slapping against each other, leaving your flesh tender and sensitive to the soft touch of the air, resonated around the room. You’d both been cumming all over the other, leaving more than a trace of you or more than a simple mark on the other.

His cock hitting the perfect places inside you, what you’d remember was his grip on your body and the ways he’d fuck your brains out while whispering the sweetest words there was. You both needed each other in this moment but he was supporting you. You were a wreck in his arms but he was holding you steady on top of him. This last position he’d chosen was more of a way to come down the violent highs you’d been through already.

He kept you sitting on his lap, his chin on your shoulder, a hand holding your breasts and kneading it vigorously while the other arm wrapped around your stomach and caressed the small bulge left by the amount of cum you’d swallowed and he’d poured into your womb. You were falling asleep in his arms, his girth still deeply nestled inside you and twitching from time to time. He had you bouncing in this position earlier but now he wanted to bring you back to a calmer state of mind.

Kissing your skin tenderly, he rocked you from side to side, his deep voice whispering the things he’d been thinking of the whole night.

“If this takes Bunny… You’ll look so divine, can’t even handle the thought of it… Your belly will be so pretty, all round and swollen… And I’ll carry you everywhere, no more walking for you. Fuck, we’ll drive wherever you want and get you all the things you ask for little baby…”

You chuckled softly, caressing his hand over your stomach.

“How do you know there’s a baby already ?” You wondered, looking at him through hooded eyes.

It was his turn to chuckle, kissing your cheek, nose and lips tenderly. You were more than beautiful in these moments, you were one of the wonders hidden by the world and given to him to protect and worship. He was yours to love and adore and these moments proved more than anything else, how deeply you yearned for each other.

His palm was firm on your stomach, cradling whatever was in there now. He could feel it in his soul and so could you, the tender flesh above your uterus feeling warmer than ever and so welcoming. You’d discussed a baby before and you wanted to have some with him but both your careers were taking off and you deserved to settle down and enjoy the married life before. So you kept your wishes to yourself. But here you were, in sync with each other and desiring the same thing.

“I know that there’s something in there because of my fatherly instinct. And no matter what, we’ll put in the work to make sure we get our little us in a few months.” He moved his hips against your ass slowly, ready to get back to it just to make sure. “We’re going to get us a little baby, adorable little one looking exactly like you to run around and steal my heart all over again. I’ll be outnumbered but it’s fine, it’s a battle I’m ready to lose.”

The laugh that echoed in the room made his heart jump, ready to leap out of his chest. You sounded so happy, he could barely contain the love he felt, and the image of another little you just made him die inside.

“We’re going to start a revolution in this house Garfield. Me and little us, we’re going to win this house and make you our servant.” You chuckled, kissing his forehead tenderly and his lips out of habit.

“This sounds like a great time to me Bun Bun…” He responded, his eyes focused on your lips. He bit his own, hungry for kisses and soft caresses from you. “But let’s make sure you get you little ally first okay, can’t risk you not winning this war can we ?”

Yeah, you both already saw it, the red carpets with a full belly to present the world and a future war to begin. That was the dream.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

My Silent Screams And Our Wildest Dreams

Summary: Reader knows two things, she loves Spencer and Spencer doesn’t love her back. But, she finds herself learning a couple more things that threaten to shake up her world.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 3.8 K

Warnings: Pregnancy, unhealthy amounts of being obviously in love, guns/gun violence (canon level), hospitals, kissing, the kind of cheesy love confessions that only happen when someone almost dies, oh and near death experience :(

Author’s Note: This is my first fic for @shemarmooresfedora and my 500 follower co-celebration! Be sure to check out her fic too! Everything will be posted to this masterlist, which will remain linked in my pinned post forever & always! I hope that you enjoy reading!! Let me know what you think here

My Silent Screams, Our Wildest Dreams

There aren’t many things in this world that Y/N is sure about. If she has to make a guess she’d say that there are two things she’d bet her life on. The first one being that she’s head over heels in love with the only man on Earth that she shouldn’t be and the second one being that Spencer doesn’t love her back. Even if Y/N could turn back time and return to the night when Spencer turned up to her apartment soaking wet with a bottle of red wine in one hand and Legally Blonde in the other, she wouldn’t dare. She knows it’s selfish to love a man who doesn’t love her back, because there's a rather large, rather hungry part of her that is lit on fire every time Spencer somehow brushes his fingertips against her skin.

But sitting there in the Women’s Restroom, there’s a third thing that Y/N is sure of: she’s pregnant. Y/N grabs a wad of toilet paper and mops up the tears that stream down her face. Motherhood has always been something that she’s thought about in the very distant future, and never with a man who didn’t love her like she loves him. Even if that faceless person did turn out to be Spencer, he’d be spinning her around and kissing her face. She wouldn’t be crying in a dirty stall with day old make-up streaming down her face. Taking a deep breath in, Y/N pulls out her phone and calls the only person she knows that could help her.

“Penny,” Y/N says, not recognizing her own voice, yet hating the way that it cracks.

“Y/N, are you hurt? Where is the team? Is Spencer with you,” Garcia’s questions fly in and Y/N knows that Garcia has no idea, but even mentioning his name wounds Y/N deeply.

“Penelope, I need to talk to you, like right now. And I need to get this out because if I don’t do it right now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get it out,” Y/N whispers into the phone, scared that JJ or Emily could come looking for her in the bathroom.

“I’m listening, Y/N,” Garcia tells her. Y/N’s eyes flit over the pregnancy test stick that seals her fate, one way or another. Taking another deep breath, she thinks that it’s now or never.

“I’m pregnant. And-and I’m in love with the baby’s father, but I know he doesn’t love me back,” Y/N says, quickly getting it out all in one breath, “I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s kind of a miracle that I got pregnant at all, Penny. You know what my doctor told me last year,” Y/N think back to the last time she visited her doctor. She told her that it would be very unlikely for her to get pregnant, yet here she was 13 months later pregnant with her and Spencer’s baby.

“Y/N, sweetie, I need you to take a deep breath for me. Can you do that, honey?” Penelope’s voice is clear and strong through the phone, reminding Y/N of why she’s the first person she called in the situation.

“Listen to me now, Y/N. I will support you no matter what. You don’t want to be a mom, I’ll drive you to the nearest clinic the moment you get back and you’ll stay with me till you’re okay again. You want to be a mom, I’ll be the coolest aunt and spoiler that little baby. Hell, Y/N, I’ll even marry you myself and will raise that baby together,” Penelope finishes chuckling lightly.

“Penelope, I love you. I-I just need to get my head together. I’ll call you when we get back to the hotel,” Y/N says, still a little hesitant to end the call.

“Y/N, I mean it. Whatever you want, I’m your biggest cheerleader. And I will marry you and we will be the best moms,” Penelope tells her, causing Y/N to giggle, despite the enormous pressure that rests against her chest.

“But do you think you should at least give the father a chance? Maybe you should tell him that you love him, Y/N. I don’t think you’re-

“Thank you, Penelope,” Y/N whispers as the tears threaten to make a comeback. She hangs up the phone, a little shaken from the call. It seems so foreign to say it aloud. Y/N doesn’t know how she’ll be able to break the news to Spencer, or rather if she ever will.

***

“Y/L/N and Reid, you two will go interview the foster mother. I sent the address to your phone, Y/L/N. You need to look for signs of neglect in the language that she will be using. Anything that could lead us to getting reasonable suspicion of domestic abuse in the formative years for Anderson,” Hotch orders, nodding as he delivers the assignment.

Spencer stands close to Y/N. His fingertips brush against the back of her hand, like he’s reminding her that he’s just as alive as he is. It’s telling her that he wants to hold her hand, but can’t. They’re not a couple, they’re just co-workers who, as much as they’ve tried, can’t keep their hands off each other. The moment Hotch turns around to talk to Emily and Morgan, Spencer quickly squeezes Y/N’s hand. He lets go just as fast as he grabbed it, but the small gesture is enough to send Y/N over the edge.

“Can I drive? You’re the only one that lets me,” Spencer asks, pretending to be simply talking with a coworker.

“Of course, Spence,” Y/N says, walking past him to the doors of the police precinct, “I have the address,” her voice is quieter than usual and she hopes that Spencer doesn’t pick up on it.

“Y/N,” Spencer says, as they walk out into the dry Arizona sun, “what’s wrong, you were in the bathroom for 19 minutes, that’s 14 minutes longer than average,” Spencer says, glancing over at Y/N as they make their way to the parked SUV.

“Spencer, do you seriously calculate my peeing time?” Y/N scoffs, nudging Spencer with her elbow.

“I just want to make sure everything is alright with you. That’s all,” Spencer says, reaching down to grab Y/N’s hand. He brings it up to his lips and kisses the back of her palm, then her wrist and starts to kiss each of her fingers before Y/N pulls her hand away.

“Spencer,” she says, “someone could be looking,” Y/N is too preoccupied in hiding her secret from Spencer to notice that Spencer’s smile falters when she drops her hand. He’s as observant as they come, yet Y/N’s suspicious behavior would ring the alarm bells in his brain even if he wasn’t.

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” Spencer says, probably repeating the words in his brain till they no longer sound like a word.

“So the foster house we’re going to, what do you think we’re expecting,” Y/N says, trying to steer the subject to something strictly professional. It’s hard though, be professional as Spencer backs out of the parking spot and heads to the house.

“Do you want me to put the navigation on?” Y/N asks, even though she probably knows the answer, she still asks because she’s gotten lost on the Virginia back roads with Spencer one too many times during their monthly weekend off.

“I don’t need a computer to tell me where I need to go, Y/N,” Spencer says, looking around wildly for his next turn, “I know exactly where I am, we just got turn down Maple and then on to Revere,”

“Whatever you say, Spencer,” Y/N says, her words come out a little more annoyed than she intended.

Spencer, who never seems to fail to notice a change in her mood, reaches across the center console to place Y/N’s hand into his. Y/N, though craving the physical connection, can’t help but feel a little guilty at accepting it. Letting Spencer hold her hand like this is taking advantage of him, she thinks. But she can’t deny that Spencer’s thumb rubbing against the back of her hand makes her feel loved. It’s so steady and constant that it almost makes her think that Spencer could love her back. And maybe he could, in some rosy colored alternate reality where she was less “her”. It’s in her wildest dreams where Spencer is spinning her around, kissing her face to show just how happy her being pregnant makes him.

“You know that you really should have both hands on the wheel,” Y/N tells him, once the affection becomes too much that the line between co-workers that hookup every chance they get blurs between co-workers who are together.

“You never seemed to complain about us obeying traffic laws, from what my memory can tell me, darling,” Spencer says smartly, sneaking in a smirk as he turns left.

“Yeah, well. Maybe we should just start following the rules, Reid,” Y/N says, distancing herself from Spencer as she turns her head to face the car window.

Y/N, lost in her thoughts, doesn’t realize that Spencer has made loops around the block until she sees the brightly decorated community library for the third time. Spencer sighs heavily as he turns on the hazards and pulls over.

“Alright, I’m lost,” Spencer says, defeatedly, “you have to use that navigator thing because I don’t have a clue and I hate using it because it means that the-”

“That the government is tracking your location, yes, Spencer,” Y/N says, letting herself for a moment to forget that her and Spencer are in this weird limbo, “I think you forget that you are the government, though,”

“Well, thank goodness I got my girl over here to remind me,” Spencer says, sneaking a kiss on Y/N’s cheek as she mounts her phone to the stand.

“Hey Siri, navigate me to 568 Piedmont Street,” Y/N says, turning up the volume on her phone for Spencer as he drives off in the direction of the foster home.

***

There’s another thing to add to the list of things that Y/N is sure about. One, she loves Spencer. Two, Spencer doesn’t love her back. Three, she is pregnant. And four, Spencer and her are probably going to die.

Anderson stands in the middle of the living room, his arm around Spencer’s neck and his gun pointed at his temple. His eyes are wild, but Y/N notices a pain behind them. It’s the kind of pain that comes from years and years of abuse. She knows that she’s the only person that is able to talk him down, but she still prays silently that Derek and Emily are coming soon.

“Anderson,” she says, her voice calm as she can manage watching Spencer struggle to get loose, “Anderson, look at me. You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay, she hurt you. Melissa hurt you, Anderson. And I’m here-we’re her to get her,”

“How do I know that you’re telling the truth? You can be just saying that get your partner out of here,” Anderson says, tightening his grip on Spencer.

“Please, Anderson. You just gotta trust me. You got to trust me. Spe-Agent Reid and I are here to help you. I’m here to make sure she can’t hurt you or any other kid ever again,” Y/N says, her fear rising in her throat as she makes eye contact with Spencer.

He’s mouthing something to her, telling her to run when she has the chance. Spencer, with his last breath, is trying to save her from what seems like an inevitable ending.

“I’m not leaving you!” Y/N shouts, more for Spencer than for Anderson, but she quickly changes her demeanor as she reaches a hand out to the unsub.

“I’m so sorry,” Anderson sobs, dropping Spencer to the ground, “I just wanted my dad. No kid should have to grow up without a dad,” he cries, reaching for Y/N’s extended hand.

She accepts it and in the next three seconds, Y/N is sure that her life, for the second time that day, is forever changed. Something must have triggered him, something in the house must have brought back a bad memory because all Y/N can hear is a gunshot, and Spencer screaming.

***

Y/N changes the list. She’s sure of four things. She loves Spencer. Spencer doesn’t love back. She’s pregnant with her and Spencer’s baby. And Spencer is probably going to die, while she lives.

Derek sits next to her, though he is sleeping, Y/N can feel his steady breath that rises and falls. He’s been there the whole night, not leaving Y/N’s side. Hotch and the others went back to the police precinct to deal with Strauss’s calls about Spencer’s accident.

“Your boy is going to be just fine,” Derek mumbles, turning to face Y/N in the fluorescent lighting of the hospital, ���please, Y/N we all know. Everyone knows, but you and Spencer,”

“What? I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Morgan,” Y/N says, trying to pretend she’s just an apathetic co-worker, despite her waiting for nearly five hours for Spencer to get out of emergency surgery.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know that you know that he loves you and you love him. Yet you’re dancing around each other like idiots,” Derek says.

“He doesn’t love me, Derek, not like I love him,” Y/N says, tensely, already guarding herself from thinking about what it would be like to love Spencer freely.

“You know that I heard the whole conversation from in the house, right? Spencer pleading with Anderson to let you go, you screaming when he got shot, you tackling Anderson,” Derek tells her, reminding her of probably the worst moments of her life, “I heard it all, Y/N. And I know what it sounds like,”

“Derek, you can’t be messing with me right now, I couldn’t handle that. I-I he almost died. He almost died thinking that I don’t love him. And God, Derek, I love him so much it hurts to breathe,” Y/N says, her sticky tears traveling down her face and onto her cardigan, that is actually Spencer’s.

It’s funny in a sick way. Y/N realizing just how terribly her and Spencer hid their relationship from the team.

“Family of Spencer Reid,” the doctor in blue surgical scrubs comes through the doors, looking for Spencer’s people, “we’ve got an update on Agent Reid. He’s stable and will be moved to a room until he’s discharged. He’s incredibly lucky that the bullet moved through just three centimeters to the right, anything closer and he wouldn’t have made it off the table,” the doctor says, her eyes moving to Y/N’s stricken face and to Derek’s stoic stare. They’re too scared to be happy and too nervous to pretend that they are out of the woods.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Morgan says, turning to place a comforting hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Y/N says, turning to hug Derek in a tight embrace, “Oh my god, Derek, I really thought he was gone,”

“Our boy is gonna be okay, Y/N. He’s gonna be just fine,” Derek says, into Y/N’s shoulder. She doesn’t say anything as Derek breathes into the cardigan. She wonders if he too is imagining that he’s hugging a healthy and strong Spencer.

***

There are four things that Y/N is sure of. She loves Spencer, Spencer loves her, she’s pregnant with their baby, and Spencer is going to make it through the night. That’s enough to get her through the next couple of hours. Her head rests against Spencer’s bed and the constant beeping from the monitors hooked up to his chest tell her he’s still breathing.

It’s been three hours since Derek went back to the hotel, on Y/N’s insistence that she will be fine by herself. During that time, she counted that Spencer took 2,775 breaths, in and out. Each time he didn’t breath, Y/N felt her heart stop. She felt her world come crashing down the second that she heard those gunshots and she knows that will not be able to bear it again.

Laying her head on the hospital bed, Y/N can feel the cotton blanket against her cheek. Her work pants are tight against her belly and she wishes that she took the chance to change into scrubs. Before her thoughts could wander too far to the idea of needing to buy maternity clothing, Y/N feels a hand brush the hair from her face.

Spencer’s brown eyes meet her and she swears that she’s never seen him more tired. He licks his lips and curves them into a smile. His hand cups Y/N’s cheek tenderly. Y/N thinks that his hands have touched every inch of her body, yet this touch is the most intimate touch she’s ever felt. She wants to give in to him, melt into this hospital bed without a care in the world, as long as Spencer’s arms are wrapped around her body.

“Spencer,” Y/N croaks out, “you, I,” she says, faltering. She doesn’t know what to say to him, words can’t seem to him justice.

“Y/N, let me say this please,” Spencer says, trying to sit up in bed. He holds his hand out for Y/N to grab. She does without hesitation. Something about hiding this from the world seems so superficial, so stupid now that she almost did it for the last time just in the SUV nine hours ago.

“Y/N, I know we said that we both weren’t looking for a relationship. I know that, Y/N. But I failed, I-I, how could I not? You are my world, Y/N. You have been for some time now. So what I’m trying to tell you is that I-”

“I’m pregnant, Spencer,” Y/N says, interrupting perhaps the only love confession she’ll ever care to hear, “You’re going to be a dad,” Y/N says, watching the way Spencer’s face morphs from confusion to joy.

He brings Y/N’s hands to his lips, kissing her fingers, her palm and the back of her hand. He kisses her through a smile and his smile turns to laughter. Like always, Spencer’s laughter is contagious.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, you were on a roll, but I’m just so glad that you’re alive. I’ve loved you for years, Spencer. I thought you didn’t love me back, I mean, how could you?”

“How could I?” Spencer says, holding Y/N’s hand in his, he brings it back up to his lips, “How could I not, Y/N. You’re beautiful, but that’s the last thing that I notice, you’re kind and you’re funny,” he kisses up her arm, groaning slightly from the pain from his stitches.

“Spencer, be careful, baby,” Y/N warns, but wishes he’ll continue anyway,

“I always wanted to hear you say that,” Spencer says, smiling through the pain. He scoots over in his hospital bed, making room for Y/N to climb.

“Did you ever think that we would end up this way, when we, uh, you know started, um?,” Spencer asks, his voice trailing off towards the end. Even after all they’ve been through, Spencer is still nervous and flustered at mentioning their previously ambiguous relationship.

“Did I ever think we’d ever be having a baby together?” Y/N confirms, nuzzling her nose into the crook of Spencer’s neck. She can feel Spencer nod “yes”.

“Just in my wildest dreams,” Y/N mumbles quietly, into Spencer’s hospital gown.

“You dreamed about me being a dad?” Spencer asks, his voice dripping with a combination of pain medications and love.

“It happened so fast, Spencer. You were always in my dreams. But somewhere along the way my dreams twisted into something that I never thought would come true,”

“But in reality, no because I never thought you’d love me like that,” Y/N tells him, feeling Spencer shift uncomfortably, “I know, it’s kind of silly now that I think about it,”

“I dreamed of you too, Y/N. I always wondered why you stood out more than the others. More than Derek and Penelope. More than anyone I’ve ever met. No matter how hard I tried, you always seemed to occupy my days and haunt my nights. And besides, I don’t think I did a very good job of hiding how much I love you,” Spencer says, breathing in deeply due to the pain.

“I think I was so scared to be vulnerable, scared that you wouldn’t love me back I’m too much sometimes-” Y/N starts, but Spencer twists his body against hers to press his lips to Y/N’s mouth.

It’s strange to kiss him again. To kiss him after knowing that he loves her back, to kiss him without feeling the burn of guilt or worrying about the cold bed that would be left in his wake. Kissing him is like breathing in fresh air, it’s a rebirth that not even in her wildest dreams could Y/N forget. It makes up for all the times that she wanted to tug him by the neck in the middle of the bullpen and kiss him in front of everyone.

Y/N snuggles in close to Spencer, his arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her in tight. She can feel his heartbeat against her back and his wet kisses against her neck. Spencer rests his other hand in hers and Y/N brings his hand to rest against her belly.

“I wonder what it will be like to hold their hand,” Spencer mumbles into Y/N’s (his) cardigan.

“Least it’s not in our wildest dreams anymore,” Y/N says, kissing the bare spot of Spencer’s skin that is exposed from his gown.

Spencer hums as his breathing goes more steady. He takes his turn to press sweet kisses into Y/N’s temple, whispering to her that he’ll never miss a day when he tells her he loves her. Y/N holds off from sleep until she’s sure that Spencer is asleep.

“I promise, I’ll never not let you hold my hand,” she whispers to Spencer’s sleeping form in the dark, “but thank goodness you have two hands,”

***

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I really love to here what you thought!

The next fic will be out on Wednesday and I'm very excited to those prompts :)

Regular Taglist:

@shemarmooresfedora @april-14-blog @willowrose99 @calm-and-doctor @spideygenius @measure-in-pain @nomajdetective @spencerreid9 @saspencereid @laurakirstine @winifrede @muffin-cup @spencers-dria

[prongssprank]

Marauders Dietary/Food Headcanons:

CW/TW: food/relationships with food

(Because I had a random idea and now I’m running with it)

Lily Evans:

- Has been vegetarian basically her whole life

- She did go Vegan for a few years but didn’t keep it up (partially because she missed honey so much)

- Lily loves to cook and create her own recipes

Dorcas Meadowes:

- Suffers from Celiac so they eat gluten free

- They love to bake, they never buy bread from a store

- Dorcas also always brings a plate of food or a treat to share when they visit someone else’s home, always keeping people’s dietary requirements in mind

Sirius Black:

- Surprisingly to some, Sirius is actually not to shabby in the kitchen, he prefers to just help but can make a few dishes quite easily

- Prefers sweets to chocolate, and is a sweet tooth

- Loves seafood, particularly mussel (oysters)

Remus Lupin:

- He was anaemic when he was younger so now he eats red meat at least once a week

- Can follow a recipe… most of the time, but would much rather get takeout than cook for himself

- Remus is also a big comfort eater

Marlene McKinnon:

- Vegan and a big lover of oat milk

- Cannot cook for the life of her, except pancakes, they are her one specialty

- They’re allergic to nuts

Mary Macdonald:

- Is intolerant to a fair amount of foods as she suffers from IBS (irritable bowel syndrome)

- Gets moody when she’s hungry and even more moody when she gets bloated (as a result of IBS)

- Her random talent is making the best sandwiches, all of her friends often beg her to make them sandwiches

Peter Pettigrew:

- Is lactose intolerant (I know, ironic) not severely so he sometimes has dairy products anyways

- Has always hated vegetables, loves fruit but can barely stand most vegetables

- Has an amazing sense of smell when it comes to food and is a pretty good cook (totally not ratatouille vibes shh)

James Potter:

- Okay hear me out, he hates red meat. Cannot stand it but he does like chicken and other white meats

- Enjoys cooking and can make some pretty good stuff, every now and then he may go overboard with experimentations, especially different herbs and spices

- Has always wanted to try seafood like crab and shrimp but unfortunately he has a shellfish allergy

Alice Fortescue:

- Is obsessed with breakfast foods, it’s her favourite mealtime ever

- Is good at cake decorating, often teams up with Dorcas

- Alice is also one of those people who often fills their days so much that she forgets to eat sometimes which is part of the reason she never leaves without having had a good breakfast

Andromeda Black:

- AMAZING cook, can bake as well. Honestly just a wiz in the kitchen but never accepts help from anyone because she likes to be in control without distraction when she’s cooking

- She’s not a fan of pastries, she’ll have cake and brownies on occasion but she’s never loved pastries

- She definitely gave cooking lessons at one point in her life

Regulus Black:

- His secret food pleasure is olives, they don’t even need to be with anything he’ll eat them straight out of the jar sometimes

- Has a few different allergies including egg, soy and peanuts

- Never really tried cooking before until he turned 17

Frank Longbottom:

- Great at cooking and loves to do it, flipping pancakes and spinning pizza dough are his favourite thing to do

- His favourite food is Fish and Chips, it’s so plain but he adores it

- Frank loves diversity and when he and Alice would travel he would always explore new cuisines, he loves almost everything he tries

Ted Tonks:

- Always carries toffee with him, Andy always teases him that he’s like an old grandpa, he doesn’t mind

- Is probably one of the least picky eaters you’ll ever meet. Seriously he’ll eat anything

- His all time favourite food is Dino nuggets because it brings out his inner child, that and they’re easy enough for him to make when Andromeda is too tired to cook

Narcissa Black:

- Another vegetarian, stopped eating meat around the age of 9 by herself (meaning her family were not vegetarian)

- Had an unhealthy relationship with food for most of her teenage years but she slowly learned to love it and herself again

- She’s always had a soft spot for eclairs

Kingsley Shacklebolt:

- Very tolerant to spicy food, he would always have competitions with people, James was the only person who ever came close to beating him

- Not technically food but he was an avid tea drinker, he and Remus would always drink tea together

- Kingsley was also that person who would rarely have snacks or packaged food, he would always have proper meals that he cooked

Side note: these are just some of my personal opinions and headcanons! Everyone has their own, please be respectful <3

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 2

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

Chapter 2:

The journey to Mother Miranda’s personal laboratory was much shorter and more enjoyable than the original walk to the meeting site, in Salvatore’s humble opinion.

Mother Miranda was mostly quiet, distant, and preoccupied throughout the duration of the walk, even more so than normal. That being said however, while this sort of behavior would usually spell disaster for whichever one of the 4 lords was forced to be in her presence during these sorts of moods, in this situation, Mother Miranda did not appear tense or agitated or hostile like she usually would be. Just lost in thought. As though she were only quiet because she was too busy thinking about something else to speak. She didn’t even seem to mind his various attempts at starting conversation, which surprised, but endlessly delighted, the mutant man.

‘Mother must be in a very good mood today. She hasn’t hit me or told me to shut up the whole time we’ve been together. Maybe she’s made another breakthrough with the cadou? I’d certainly be very happy if I were in her shoes’ Salvatore excitedly thought to himself as the woman in question stepped forward to unlock and open the large steel door of her personal laboratory, allowing Salvatore to step into the facility before closing and locking it again behind her.

“Moreau, do you recall the set of mutation experiments I began at the beginning of last year?” The raven mother asked, turning around and beginning to quickly make her way down the long, dark corridor.

“Y-you mean… the o-ones with the new c-cadou strain th-that I… that I d-developed… f-for you?” Salvatore stutters, breath labored and body struggling to keep up with the taller woman’s vastly larger steps.

“Correct” Mother Miranda says, turning a corner. “As impressed as I was with the final results of this particular strain, I’m afraid it still isn’t good enough. None of the subjects I implanted with cadou last year turned out to be favorable candidates.”

Salvatore stops in his tracks, a look of horror and agony on his face as news that he’d failed mother once again practically tears him apart from the inside out. “O-oh Mother… I-im so s-s-sorry to h-hear that… b-but don’t w-worry… I’ll-I’ll try h-harder next t-time… I w-won’t fail y-you again Mother, so p-please… please j-just give me a-another chance to get it r-right… i b-beg of y-you…”

Mother Miranda stops and turns toward the mutated lord, staring at him in silence as he drops to his knees and grovels at her feet, begging desperately for his failures to be forgiven.

“Off your knees, Moreau, this behavior is unbecoming of a Lord such as yourself. Besides, I never said that you were the one to blame for the lack of successful results, nor am I necessarily displeased by the fact that these experiments yielded failed vessels.”

Salvatore allows his gaze to rise to his mother’s face, where, true to her words, the parts of Miranda’s face that Salvatore could make out from behind her mask did not appear marred with the familiar expressions of anger and disappointment that the 4 lords were usually met with after another round of failed vessels.

“Y-you’re… you’re not upset with m-me?” The deformed man asks, his voice laced with shock and disbelief.

“No, my child, I’m not upset with you. While these experiments may have ended in failure, they did provide me with useful information that may prove to be pertinent to our mission in the near future. In fact, as I said earlier, the reason why I’ve brought you here is because I want to give you a gift, as a reward for all your incredible work. Did you expect me to be upset with you simply because this round proved unsuccessful as well? Do you really think so poorly of your loving mother, who works tirelessly to ensure her children are happy and rewarded for all their faith and trust in me?” Mother Miranda sniveled pitifully, turning her gaze away in mock dejection as Salvatore, horrified that he’d insulted and hurt her somehow, scrambles to his feet, gently taking both of Miranda’s hands into his own and holding the supple skin to his bloated and deformed face, desperately hoping this would comfort her.

“No no no no, o-of course n-not, Mother… I-I’d never expect s-something like th-that from y-you… and-and I k-know better… b-better than a-anyone�� just h-how h-hard you w-work… not j-just on y-your experiments… but f-for all o-of us… too… you l-l-love us… you… love ME… I-I’ll always love y-you, Mother… always” Salvatore blurts, stumbling over his words as he tries desperately to comfort Mother Miranda, an effort he’s seemingly rewarded for, when Miranda takes one of her hands away and brings it back to the top of Salvatore’s head, once again gently brushing her hand against it.

Salvatore’s knees nearly give out from under him as the heavenly sensation washes throughout his body like a raging typhoon, leaving him feeling tired and weak yet hungry and wanting for more, though whatever that “more” was, Salvatore was quick to beat it back down deep within himself, knowing this was neither the time nor the place for him to be entertaining such… primal desires about someone like Mother Miranda, no matter how little he intends to act on them.

“Thank you, Moreau. You always know exactly what to say to make Mother feel better. You’re such a good boy” Mother Miranda says, making sure to put extra emphasis onto the last two words as she reaches forward and pulls Salvatore closer to her.

“G-g-g-gggg… good… boy… me?” Salvatore chokes, tears beginning to fill his eyes as Mother Miranda’s arms come to wrap around him, pushing the deformed man’s face to lean against the soft, feathery material of her bosom.

“Yes, Moreau. You’ve always been very special to me. From the day I met you, you’ve been such a good, well-behaved boy that I never have to worry about” Miranda begins, her face blank and expressionless as she passionlessly strokes Salvatore’s face. “No matter how simple the task, those 3 are always making mistakes of some kind and forcing me to come and clean up their messes after them, especially that snake Heisenberg. But you? No, never you, Moreau, not my special, perfect little boy who always tries his best to make Mother happy. Do you enjoy making Mother happy, Moreau?”

“Y-y-yES! Of-of c-course I do” Salvatore moans, his voice slightly muffled by Miranda’s chest as he violently nods his head in affirmation, tears freely falling from his eyes as his head swims deliriously from the endless wave of kind words and gentle touches.

“Good! I always knew you did. And for that, I'm going to reward you with something very special. Something to… keep you busy... while I’m away for a little while” The raven mother coos again.

Salvatore stops for a moment when the meaning of Miranda’s words finally registers in his brain. “While… w-while you’re… away? You’re l-leaving us?” Salvatore asks, his voice growing increasingly distressed with each word.

“Only for a short time, hopefully,” Mother Miranda answers, “but yes, at the end of this month, I will be leaving the village in order to attend to some very important business I have. I’m not sure how my journey will fare, however I'm optimistic that it will be the key necessary to finally getting my Ev- uh… pardon me; the key to finally achieving our goal of creating a perfect vessel. Doesn’t that sound nice, Moreau?”

“It-it does” the deformed man says quietly, still put off by the mention of Mother leaving, but not wanting to put a damper on his mother’s incredibly rare good mood. “But… where is i-it… th-that you’ll be g-going… an-and for h-how long?”

“Just down the mountain to pay someone a visit, however I have no idea when I'll be back. That will depend on how successful my mission goes, I suppose.”

Silence falls over the two as Salvatore, still upset by the news that Mother Miranda would be leaving, continues to take in the comfort and warmth of his Mother’s arms for just a moment longer, selfishly wishing that Mother held him more often. Eventually however, Mother Miranda does pull back from the superficial embrace, gesturing for Salvatore to follow her once more, which the deformed man begins to do without question.

“Of the 4 of you, you’re the last one to come and pick your gift,” Miranda says, unaware of the visible slump that Salvatore’s shoulders take on upon hearing this. “However, despite there only being one option left, it would appear as though your siblings have decided to spare you their usual games of trickery this time around. If anything, I think you might be the one to have ended up with the best deal after everything is said and done.”

Salvatore looks up at Mother Miranda with an expression of mild confusion, wondering what on earth she could mean by that. His musings are quickly interrupted however, when the two enter a large room filled with various pods.

“Of the 22 test subjects we started with last year, only 13 were genetically compatible with the cadou parasite, and even then, only 4 ended up surviving the full mutation phase. Despite their impressively stable conditions, they still aren’t suitable vessels for my purposes, however I felt as though it would be such a waste to just do away with them. So, with that in mind, I’ve decided that my gift to you all, before I must leave you for a time, is to give one test subject to each of you.”

“G-give? You’re… y-you’re giving us t-test subjects?” Salvatore repeats dumbly, not certain he understood where this was going.

“Correct” Mother Miranda affirms. “This is easily the most successful batch of mutations we’ve seen to date, and given the amount of time and effort I poured into making sure these last 4 survived until now, I’d at least like to see some use gotten out of them before they die or suddenly lose control of their mutations and go rogue.”

“Like… l-like what?” The hooded man asks nervously.

Miranda merely shrugs her shoulders, uncaring. “Anything you like. Housekeeper. Playmate. Labrat. Partner in Crime. Whatever it is you desire of your gift, you may have without question. And in the event they refuse you… well, you’ll at least have a fun little toy to chase after for a little while.”

“I... see...” Salvatore says quietly, growing less and less excited about this whole “gift” thing, now that he knows that his gift is just another person.

Another person to scream and wail at how unbelievably hideous and disgusting of a monster he looks, no doubt.

Without another word, Miranda heads over to the large control table located in the middle of the room, pressing a few buttons before 4 of the many identical pods begin moving toward them. Steam pours out the tops and bottoms of the metal pods as the large capsules slowly finish lowering themselves from their hung pedestals, displaying them directly in front of Miranda and Salvatore.  The man in question stands anxiously in front of the still sealed door, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he waits for Mother to show him his gift, a myriad of thoughts and fears and worries flying throughout the mutant man’s mind.

“The first 3 have already been chosen by your siblings, but the one on the far right is all yours” Miranda says, pushing another button that causes the singular pod in question to click open, its door slowly beginning to rise upward toward the ceiling.

Salvatore nods in understanding as he tries to avoid watching the door of the pod open, instead hyper focusing on what Miranda is saying as the tension in the room becomes so thick it feels as if it could be cut with a dull knife.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of waiting, the pod door finally finished opening, and in that exact moment, as the disfigured man’s gaze finally fell upon the sight of his gift for the first time, his eyes went wide in shock, his mouth dropped open in disbelief, and his hands fell limply to his side in complete and utter bewilderment at the sight that stood before him.

“That… th-that’s… for me?” Salvatore manages to croak out, his throat suddenly dry as a desert and the air from his lungs having left him the second before.

Raising his hand up toward the creature wired into the pod, the hooded man finds himself unable to look away, feeling almost mesmerized as his mind struggles to figure out whether all this is really happening, or if he’d finally succumbed to the insanity of his condition and dreamt all this up as a sick and twisted way of coping with his soul crushing loneliness. Either one was just as likely at this point.

“I’m sure you’ll still be quite pitiful on the day I have to leave, but at least this way you’ll have something to keep yourself occupied with until I return, yes?” Mother Miranda says smugly, clearly pleased by his reaction. “So, what do you think, Moreau? Do you like the gift I’ve gotten for you?”

It wasn't until after several moments of silence that Salvatore finally responded. After stuttering and slurring unintelligibly over several sentences worth of responses, 2 words, and 2 words alone, finally managed to tumble from the mutant man’s lips, his eyes shining as he finally reached forward enough to slowly and carefully intertwine his fingers with the small and delicate hand of the beautiful young woman that slept peacefully inside the pod.

“She’s perfect!”

[prorevenge]

Manipulative Power hungry Aunt torments my family for years. Costs her $300000

Dealt with my shitty manipulative abusive Aunt all my life, finally got revenge.

Players: Myself (M late 30s), Sister (3 year younger), Aunt (Older "Sister" to my Mother), Mother (Single Mom, adopted, no blood relation to my Aunt). Cousins (3 total, 1M, 2F. I have good relationships with them now, mostly).

My estranged father who had been living several counties over, is pretty much out of the picture by the time my parents got their divorce when I was 9. Due to financial hardship, we were forced to live with my Aunt and the nightmare of a household we would soon find ourselves in. My Aunt married into Georgia "Wealth" and you can figure out what that means on your own. She had 3 kids and eventually caught her husband having an affair. It's a huge scandal, she gets the house, the kids and a fat payout from the family attorney. This is important because my Aunt didn't do a damn thing in her life to earn her money, her house, her lifestyle or basically anything. She was born poor along with my Mom.

Under her household, she was drunk with power. Years of therapy have allowed me to recognize that certain people when in a position of power, get a perverse pleasure in ordering others to do their bidding. She was the strictest of authoritarians in every possible way you could imagine. Chores had to be completed by an exact specific time. Vacuuming by 3:45pm, Dishes by 3:55pm, Laundry days for my Mother us kids were Tues/Thurs 5:35pm-7:55pm. If it was still running, she would shut the power off for the two units. As we grew older, her own kids opted to stay with their father for full time custody and she had them on Weekends. Even they couldn't stand her when she was in charge and in the house. As time passed, she got them less and less opting for alternating weekends as Highschool activities took precedence over time with Mother.

For my sister and I, the large 6 bedroom house was not ours for the taking. My mom had to pay rent as well as rent for 1 bedroom as that was all she could afford on her salary. We had to share a bedroom until my second year of HS. All the while there was 1 spare unused bedroom available at all times. My Aunt needed this for "Guests" when they stayed over. Not one guest stayed there in the 10 years I was under that roof. Finally the church we attended told my Aunt to give up the spare bedroom so my sister can have her own room as it was "unhealthy" for two teenagers sharing a room together like that. That infuriated my Aunt because someone told her what to do in her own household. My sister and I got the brunt of her wrath. As my Mom's salary was tapped out, my sister and I had do extra chores like mowing the lawn, trimming the shrubs, cleaning the pool which we could no longer use without her being outside watching us.

My Aunt's behavior was becoming more and more outrageous and disconnected from society. For example, she had always snapped her fingers when she wanted to get someones attention, but it was getting far more frequent and she would blow up into a tirade if either my sister and I didn't obey. Her own kids tried repeatedly to tell her that the shit she was doing was wrong but she wouldn't listen.Eventually they wanted nothing to do with her outside of the home. She was a tyrant there and repeated intervention to get her to see the folly of her ways would fall on deaf ears.

I Snapped:

All through HS I had no confidence as a person. I was weak willed and growing ever distant from friends and society. I say this in all truthfulness and fear, that had circumstances continued the way they had been going, I could very well had taken a gun to myself or worse, to others around me. I was that bad off.

I had just graduated HS and started my first semester of community college. I'm 2 weeks into my classes attending from home when my Aunt drops a bomb on me. "You owe me $$$ for this months rent, the same amount for next months rent as well. It is the 27th after all. You're an Adult now. You're out of HS and working now, so you need to pay rent" The fuck? I blew a fucking gasket as I yelled back. "You can't just suddenly decide to charge me rent just because you feel like it. I need 30 days notice, I have rights".

My Aunt yelled at me some bullshit excuse that she had discussed this with my mother and it was decided that I needed to pay my own rent now. In some miraculous backbone move, of which I still have no idea how I stood up to her, I yelled right back at her, "If I'm an Adult, then treat me like and talk to me about rental agreements. I'll start paying you rent in 30 days starting the 1st." I turned my back to her and walked away with my fists balled tight. I was furious with anger but I walked away. My Aunt saw my fists from behind and screamed bloody murder that I was going to attack her. No, I wasn't. She snapped her fingers at me repeatedly on my tail to get my attention but I didn't turn around. I needed to cool off and clear my head. As I turned the corner, she grabbed my wrist hard yelling "I'm not finished talking to you". I threw my still balled up fist forward keeping with my stride to break her grip as I hadn't stopped my momentum. This caused her grabbing arm to slam hard into the corner of the wall that I had just turned into. She screamed in pain but I left the house and took off.

The aftermath of that incident was that my Aunt called the cops on me in an attempt to press charges. She was taken to the hospital and suffered a fractured wrist and she was put in a cast/sling (don't know as I never saw it and never inquired further). Her story changed every time she told the cops what happened while my story was spot on every time. I can still recall that moment down to the smell in the house, where I was facing, the working and non-working lightbulbs etc. Forever ingrained in me. I was kicked out of the house and I couldn't visit my sister or my Mom there at the house again. Fine by me as I didn't want to see my bitch Aunt ever again. I was happy to meet my Mother and sister at the local diner or outlet. We could be ourselves there and not hostages in our own home.

Years Later:

My Mom wised up and got out of that abusive relationship with her sister and moved out on her own. She got a temporary nice place, invested wisely and with the help from the church, got help getting a place of her own. In 2009 after the housing crisis, she bought her own place that she could never have afforded on her own prior the Market crash. But some good came out of it. She wept knowing my Sister (and her family) and myself can come visit any time and stay.

Over the years I've been able to forgive my Aunt. Not forget, Forgive. I've let go a lot of my anger and hatred toward her that she put me through. When she has no leverage or control over us, she's a somewhat decent person for being a total bitch of a person. My Cousin's have calmed down, heard my side of what happened those years ago and know what kind of person I am compared to what kind of person their Mother is. They chose to believe me and know I didn't hit her or strike her or beat her across the face like she continues to claim.

The Revenge:

While I have been able to forgive my Aunt for what she has done to me, I cannot forgive her for what she did to my Mother. Kept her in financial hardship for a decade while she sat on a bank account full of cash and assets. Or what she did to my Sister. Forced her to pay for damages because the water heater burst while my Aunt and Mother was away one weekend leaving my sister at home. She didn't discover the flooded rooms for hours. My Aunt's reasoning, "It was her responsibility to watch the house." Not the responsibility of the home owner to maintain/replace the water heater before it goes. Lets leave that Upfront $5000 financial burden before the Flood insurance kicks in on a 16 year old girl.

I've had little to no contact with my Aunt since I was kicked out of the house nearly 2 decades ago. But I do keep in constant contact with my cousins. While I'm not going to divulge what I do for a living, I can say that I work with and for the Government. I've worked my ass off getting to where I'm at today. I'm known for being truthful, wise and giving good advise when asked. Because of this, I often talk financially with my cousins. All of whom are money-smart and are doing well for themselves. They often then relay this information to their scheming mother who has no mind for business and investments. All that money she got from her house sale, her divorce settlement, her previous investments is pretty much gone. I spent YEARS planning on the perfect trap and it took a long time to prepare everything to make sure everything appeared right.

IANAL and I don't pretend to know the law but I do know the regulations and laws pertaining to insider information. This is not that. 100% certain of it and if I ever go to court, I know my lawyer has a solid case in my defense. But is this a grey area, most definitely. I let slip to my Cousins about some future real estate plans near my Aunt's new area of living. It "may" be worth a lot more because of future development taking place in the area. All of that was true and backed up by what was in the News paper and New Construction signs that newly appeared on Google Maps (at the time). The rest was fabricated by myself backed up by actual information I looked up on real estate websites and on projects I was working on through my work.

The Telephone game takes place and a few weeks later I presume, my Aunt starts making phone calls to real estate agents trying to buy lots of Land in the undeveloped shitty area of her new house. Over the course of a few months to a half a year, she spends $300,000 of her last remaining savings on land hoping it will pay out when the area around it gets developed in the upcoming years.

Only, HUD/Government/City doesn't have any plans to develop in those immediate areas. In fact, analysis showed that building in those areas was poor planning and would cost the tax payers twice to three times as much as the land was not environmentally sound. It was best to build 6 miles away.

This post was long overdue because it's been over 2 years since my Aunt purchased Land that is basically worthless. See, she won't sell the land unless she gets at least the same price she paid for it because she's the OWNER of that land. Can't tell her what to do on her own land. Sweet Karma strikes in a way I couldn't possibly have foreseen. My cousin informed me that the value of the land has decreased significantly because it's not environmentally sound to build anything commercial there. But it's zoned for commercial use. Currently 3 of the 4 blocks of land she purchased are just weed farms next to eye sore abandoned buildings or industrial complexes. Nobody can build on it and nor does anyone want to buy it. Sucks to be her!

Best part is, my cousins have absolutely no idea that I set them up for their Mother to take the fall. These environmental results are relatively new and the perfect cover to say why the Project changed locations 6 miles away.

TL:DR Abusive Aunt torments my family and myself for a decade and more. Decades later, I am in a position to trick her buying worthless land. Icing on the cake, that land can't be used for it's intended purpose and has devalued significantly.

(source) story by (/u/Limecherrry)

[johannas-motivational-insults]

I’ve seen a lot of people saying things along the lines of ”portal!Catra just wants to be with Adora and doesn’t resent her so obviously Catra is uwu soft baby who just wants to be loved and doesn’t actually want power” and implying that all Catra needs to find happiness and fulfillment is to give up the power-hungry charade and go be with her girlfriend. As an abuse survivor myself, I find this troubling on a number of levels, and I have a few things to say to this:

1) Portal!Catra is not real Catra.

Portal!Catra is something straight out of a really ooc high school au. She is very different from real Catra, and the contrast is meant to be shocking (much like the asshole au version of Buffy in BtVS 3x09 “The Wish”). It’s a reflection of how people are shaped by their circumstances, it’s not a character study of Catra’s actual wants and needs.

The Catra we saw in the portal, before she remembered her real history, was not dealing with the fallout of a lifetime of abuse. She did not know to be afraid of Shadow Weaver. In fact, she rolled her eyes and groaned when Shadow Weaver scolded her and Adora for goofing off and said she had high hopes for both of them. Real Catra would have killed to hear Shadow Weaver say she had high hopes for her, and here she was acting like it was an annoying lecture she heard all the time. The Catra of this “perfect world” has not spent her whole life being tortured and degraded and humiliated and told that she would never amount to anything.

So yeah, it makes sense that this version of Catra is happy for her friend who got promoted, in contrast to real Catra’s reaction. In this reality it’s good for the whole squad, and they all got the chance to prove themselves in Thaymor. In this reality it’s not a reminder that no matter what she does, she’ll never be as good as Adora, always be seen as useless and never get a chance to prove her worth. This Catra knows maybe she could become a Force Captain one day too. And if she didn’t, maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world; she hasn’t been told time and time again how incapable she is, so she doesn’t have her canon self’s all-encompassing urge to prove people wrong about her.

In the portal reality, Catra wasn’t blamed for Adora’s failings or treated like a nuisance - a sidekick at best, a liability at worst. She wasn’t pushed down so Adora could be lifted up, they were lifted up together. Of course this Catra doesn’t resent Adora the same way she does in canon or have the same obsession with proving herself.

2) “Just being with Adora” is what caused this problem in the first place.

Catra spent her childhood finding solace in Adora while battling a growing resentment towards her. We’ve all seen “Promise,” this fact is right there in canon. Just being with Adora was Catra’s strategy to try to stay happy throughout her childhood, but it wasn’t working.

Adora was the only good thing in Catra’s life, but this relationship brought her pain as well, and not just from Shadow Weaver. She felt like Adora didn’t respect her, didn’t believe in her. And it’s hard to blame her when you see some of Adora’s cocky posturing, like the “sure you did” and “riiiiight” comments. Adora’s just teasing and playfully asserting dominance (perhaps even trying to flirt a little), but to Catra it doesn’t feel playful, it feels malicious and disrespectful. The one person who makes her feel like she’s worth anything at all so casually dismissing her abilities is devastating.

Sacrificing her need for respect and validation to go be with Adora is not going to fix Catra’s problems. It is not progress, for Catra or Catradora. It’s regression into the unhealthy dynamic that caused much of the conflict between them in the first place.

3) There is no reclaiming this “ideal Catra.”

This may seem like a callous thing to say, but it doesn’t matter what Catra could have been under better circumstances. We are all shaped by our experiences, and no amount of love or therapy will undo what we have already gone through and how it shaped our psychology. All we can do is learn how best to live with who we are now. I’ve had to learn this the hard way, as someone with an acquired disability and a boatload of trauma. There is no ideal version of yourself to get back to, only future versions of yourself to work towards.

This is as true for Catra as it is for anyone irl. It’s not fair to say that Catra “at her core” just wants to be safe and loved and with Adora and therefore all her other needs borne of her abuse and neglect are meaningless. That’s extremely negligent, actually. That attitude minimizes Catra’s trauma, implies that she just needs to learn to get over it and then she won’t have these “impurities” in her personality anymore.

Catra has been abused, and she will always be hypersensitive to indicators of abuse. She’ll get triggered and riled up by seemingly innocuous things when it feels like someone is trying to dominate or subjugate her, take away her agency. She is always going to need to feel a certain sense of power and control just to feel safe and comfortable. In certain situations and around certain people she may feel safe enough to let that guard down and just relax and trust, but that’s a privilege, not a right. On that note...

4) Catra does not need to chase this ideal for anyone’s comfort.

Yes, Catra needs to change. She needs to stop pushing away everyone who loves her, she needs to curb her self-destructive impulses. She needs to take steps toward not just redemption, but healing. This will only be possible once people finally start to acknowledge her trauma, but that’s a whole other story.

However, Catra does not need to change the ways her abuse has shaped her. That’s impossible, and an unfair expectation. Healing from trauma is not the same as erasing it, and this is a very common misconception in the real world as well as in fandom. It’s also an extremely harmful misconception.

Now, this idea in particular is a popular theme in discussions of Catradora’s relationship dynamics, the implication being that Catra will only be happy/healed if she can get to the point where she not only can, but wants to yield control to Adora and that if she can’t/won’t then she doesn’t really trust her and their relationship is broken. The yikes level of this argument, especially in NSFW contexts (which is where you will often see it), is off the charts. It is not fair to expect an abuse survivor to put herself in uncomfortable and potentially triggering situations just to prove she trusts her partner or to demonstrate personal growth. Period.

Now, that’s not to say expressions of trust on Catra’s part wouldn’t be good for the relationship. Adora wants to take care of Catra as much as Catra wants to take care of her, and feeling like Catra trusts her (in those contexts or in others) would certainly stroke Adora’s ego. The problem lies in it being an expectation or us treating it like a milestone, something to celebrate. If Adora is a good partner she will work with Catra as she is and let her express trust in ways she feels comfortable with, rather than pressuring her to do things she’s not comfortable with to prove her feelings for Adora or illustrate her progress.

In short, erasing her history and ignoring her abuse is harmful.

Like I said, portal!Catra is not real Catra, and we can’t treat her like she is. It makes zero sense to ignore or villainize her perfectly legitimate need to feel powerful and in control over her own life just because someone who lived a totally different life didn’t have that same need to the same degree.

And I know I will get comments that canon Catra doesn’t really want power either, but I disagree. Catra doesn’t really want to rule the world, it’s true, but she wants to prove that she can. We’ve seen her enjoy being in a leadership position because she’s good at it and it reminds her of her own competence and worth. Just because she found no satisfaction in losing her soul to take over the world does not mean she finds no genuine fulfillment in being in a position of influence.

Even regardless of how much she enjoys it, Catra is still drawn to power because she has grown to associate it with positive outcomes like safety, agency, and self-actualization. Yes, power may not be Catra’s ultimate goal, but that doesn’t make it meaningless to her. And I really wish people would stop acting like a perfectly normal response to abuse is a character flaw that needs to be fixed.

It seems a lot of people are quick to forget Catradora’s real history as depicted in “Promise” because they like the “Remember” version of their relationship better. Because they like this version of Catra better. It’s understandable - who doesn’t want to see Catra happy, right? But like Adora so devastatingly told Catra (and all of us), it’s not real.

We need to stop pretending it’s real.

[princess-butters]

Just a celebrity [knj X reader]

A/n: Hi, I know it’s been a while since my last post, I legit have no excuse except that it’s procrastination and that I had no ideas to go by, I still don’t, but I’m trying my best to write as much as I can now. I have a fanfic in the works that I have coming up and it’s hard to write each chapter without it being mostly filler and actually relevant to the story, you know? It’s actually something that’s been in the works for almost 4. Fucking. Years. and I’m just now writing most of the chapters I have planned. It’s somewhat of a short story too which I’m glad because I was really worried it would be too long and dragged out with said filler but what I do have is a character introduction to the characters. It’s not all of them but it’s at least something to begin the story so once it’s done, I can post it and show you guys what I’m working on. But anyways I’m getting sidetracked. This was originally supposed to be for an imagine but it became too long and I decided it should be its own story so enjoy.

Warnings: [TW // Mentions of forced strict diet, and starvation, Namjoon really wants to eat but can’t because of his company, description of being underweight. Fluff with bits of angst. Y/n is a cynical bitch to Namjoon in the beginning but warms up to him at the end of their first encounter. It’s a fluffy relationship at the end. If I’m missing any TW, please let me know.]

Word count: 1.8k

Your first interaction with Namjoon was during his concerts in Korea since you were studying abroad and your friend, whom you’ve met online and was the sole reason why you wanted to move here, told you about a K-pop group that had debuted a while ago and it’s safe to say that you...didn’t care too much for their music and you only went to their concert to support your friend who was quickly becoming a big fan of them. It’s a unique story, really, it’s not your simple story of a fangirl who goes to some concert and one of the members sees them in the audience and brings them backstage. No, this was completely different. You never had the desire about fantasizing idols when you were younger, now that’s not to say that you didn’t enjoy music because you did, hell, you even own band merch that you still proudly wear but you never found them to be attractive like most fans would and always saw them just as artists.

While Namjoon did spot you and your friend in the crowd, he didn’t tell some security guard so you could exchange phone numbers – it was by complete accident and fate one day when you were walking home from the grocery store to pick up some food for you and your friend until you heard someone bolting towards you, running away from something that seemed serious. Annoyed and a bit taken back by his actions at first, you glance behind you not expecting much but what you didn’t expect was the amount of crazed fangirls heading your way. Gasping as you saw the hurdle of fans, your feet were stuck planted on the ground, standing there frozen with fear as the young, violent fans inched closer and closer, pushing each other around like a bunch of wild animals, until you felt the warmth of someone’s hand, presumably the same guy from earlier.

“Come on, don’t just stand there like a crazy person! I know a place where we can get rid of them!” He sounded young, about your age, the young musician took your hand in his and dragged you with him.

And that’s how you became stuck with each other behind some gritty, old building, trash bins and garbage all over the bleak scenery, you and the young musician huddled up together in-between two dumpsters as the loud and obnoxious cheers of fans faded out into the air. Both sighing with relief, you look up at him unimpressed.

“I guess this is your everyday lifestyle?” You question the young star and he lets out a heavy sigh, still trying to catch his breath from running so fast. It probably didn’t help matters that he was also dragging you along with him.

“You haven’t seen the worst of it. I usually find these girls in my room.” He tells you nonchalantly, like he’s used to it at this point.

“Shouldn’t that be considered trespassing?”

“Yeah but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m a big star around here and what these girls want, they’ll sure as hell get it.”

“Wow. And here I thought you were just another puppet for the music industry.” You reply back with a snarky undertone, lifting yourself up from the ground and wiping any muck and dirt left on your clothes. The young musician didn’t take your words kindly and narrowed his eyebrows together.

“Hey listen, it’s not as easy as you may think. Just be thankful you’re still alive because if they had caught you, you would’ve been roadkill by now.” He commented as if it was a statement of fact.

“I barely know you!” You argued, lifting your arms up to emphasize your point.

“Doesn’t matter to them. They see some girl out with a popular celebrity, they become lions and you’re their prey.”

You roll at his comment, thinking he’s just over-exaggerating. “Well thank you for the joyride, but I really should get back to my apartment.”

“What did you get?” He asks curiously as he stares at your bag full of food, he sounded like a kid who saw a bag full of candy on Halloween.

“Black bean noodles with rice on the side.” You explain to him simply, going over to make sure you got exactly what you needed and it didn’t fall out while you were running.

The man rests his hand against his stomach, it begins rumbling with hunger as he heard those three words. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday because of the intense and strict schedule his company has forced him to go through and he would be lying right now if he said he wasn’t hungry. “Black bean noodles? That sounds really good! That’s one of my favorite dishes, I haven’t had something like that in a while.”

You cross your arms, thinking it was his way of attempting to relate to you on some level. “Oh please, you’re a star! I bet you eat everything that’s handed to you.” You didn’t mean for it to come out so cold and bitter but you couldn’t help yourself, this was some celebrity and you’ve had a dislike for them because a lot of them are just stuck-up snobs who bully everyone lower class than them. The man gives you a look that even you couldn’t figure out, almost like he was envisioning the different foods he wished he could eat but couldn’t.

“I wish it were that simple. My company would kill me if they saw me eating anything like that, I’m forced to be on a strict diet and I’m barely allowed to eat a granola bar let alone noodles.”

Shocked by his explanation, you lower down your arms and began feeling bad for making such assumptions. You alternate looking between him and the food, clearly the thought of him starving had profusely disturbed you and you couldn’t help but send an expression of empathy and sadness to the lone musician. When you decided to speak up once more, your voice went up an octave, softly responding back in a more friendly manner, it was your discreet way of apologizing to the poor guy for being so harsh. “Really? I’ve never got it before. My friend likes them and practically begged me to get it for her.”

“Your friend has good taste. I guess I better get going, the fans have died down and it’s probably safe for me to leave. It was nice meeting you.”

“Yeah.” You mindlessly say as you watch him turn around before you could say anything else but when he rounds the corner, you quickly find your voice once again and call out to him, hoping he hasn’t left just yet. “Hey! If you want to, why don’t you come over and have dinner?”

He emerges from the side and leans against the bricks walls, hands in his pockets like he’s trying to protect himself from the freezing cold. “I can’t. Mostly because we don’t know each other and my company would kill me if I ate something that wasn’t on their list which is not many, to be honest.”

You slowly walk up towards him and look at him directly, taking a minute to look at his features. Poor thing looked like he was starving himself, even though you’ve never liked idols and found them all to be the same mindless puppets, it can’t be said for this guy. His cheek bones were hollowed, he’s skinny but to an unhealthy standard, and his eyes were baggy and darkened around the sockets, almost sunken in. You couldn’t tell if it was from a lack of sleep, starvation, or both. You hesitate for a moment before placing your mitten hand on top of his exposed hand. “But you’re starving. I can’t let you walk away and not have something.”

“I really can’t.”

“Please? I really don’t want to leave you in this state and the food I have isn’t that bad for you.”

After realizing that you’re not gonna give up on this and that you really were serious, he took a second to think it over. The thought really was enticing and he would be lying to himself once more if he said he wasn’t interested and desperate to eat anything, even if it came from a complete stranger, and he knew the food was legit because well, he can see it very clearly. “Well...alright.”

Once you heard his confirmation, you show a small smile and nodded with him. “Then it’s settled! Off to my house we go!” You latch onto his arm and begin walking home with him when another thought came to mind and halted in your steps. “Oh yeah, you’d better wear your disguise or we’re gonna be running from your psycho fans. I didn’t even catch your name.”

A chuckle came out of him as he placed his cap snug on his head and his mask covering half of his face, the only thing visible were his eyes, everything else made him seem like he was invincible to the public eye. “My name’s Namjoon.”

“So you’re that Namjoon guy my friend always talks about! Oh boy, this is gonna be fun.” You smirk to yourself as you two resume walking, the thought of your friend acting like a complete psycho in front of her bias entertained you.

Once you and Namjoon arrived at your place, your first instinct when you walked through the front door was give an explanation to your friend about why you were late and how worried she was. When you told her what had happened and showed her evidence to prove your case, her reaction was a lot more different than how she usually is. Throughout the evening, you and Namjoon got along fairly well—with the exception of your friend asking him benign questions about his career as an idol and if the other members are exactly the same in real life—you would frequently apologize for her erratic behavior as it worried you it would make the idol uncomfortable but he says it’s nothing compared to what he always hears from fangirls.

You and Namjoon surprisingly hit it off at the end of the night and you exchanged phone numbers when he was about to leave and promised each other you would meet again soon, this time without your friend in the picture. After he left, thoughts began to provoke and you wondered to yourself that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong about idols for once.

And now let’s look at today’s events, where are you and Namjoon right now in your relationship? Well one thing’s for certain is that you two are officially dating and have been since 2017, two years after your initial meeting. When you two became more comfortable with each other, he had invited you over to the dorms and introduced you to his members, to which they immediately welcomed you into their group with open arms, you’ve actually become best friends with some of them. It’s been a fun and crazy ride, exploring different countries and cultures had never crossed your mind before but now you can safely say that it’s been one of the best things to have ever happened in your life. You were fortunate to have somebody like him and him you because along the way, you have made each other better, Namjoon had taught you that being guarded and stubborn shouldn’t lock you out of the world and it’s okay to let your guard down sometimes, and you taught him that just because he was an idol doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be any boundaries and that he was a human being first.

Whenever the media caught wind of your relationship, they always thought it was just a fling and that the two of you would break up like everybody else in the industry but so far, you have proved each and every one of them wrong and now both you and Joon don’t give two shits about what everybody says.

[deliberatelyvague]

Spotlight (Asmodeus x fem!reader)

Started: April 5, 2020 at 7:42pm

Ended: April 5, 2020 at 8:50pm

Word Count: 2,030

Shipping: [Asmodeus x fem!reader]

Trigger Warning: cutting, eating disorder, (notes of) depression

Author’s Note: Uhh so here’s another one. I enjoy writing stories, so please, continue requesting!

Prompt/Request: OK SO IDK WHICH ONE I WANT TO REQUEST SO IM DOING BOTH. Can I request a mc x asmo scenario where mc is a super duper popular idol but it’s later revealed that in order to keep her beauty she develop an eating disorder and started to develop depression resulting in cutting her self?? Sorry for the weird ask!!

—————

You had always heard the saying ‘beauty is pain’. You didn’t realize how much pain it was, however, until you got down to the Devildom. Of course, you weren’t totally off Scott-free, your fans still expected some content, and you were in no place to deny them that.

Now, you loved the majority of your fans. They always backed you up, defended you and the link, but there was just somethings they couldn’t defend you from. Including yourself, unfortunately.

Getting famous started moderately fine, you went viral because of your singing videos, and you guess some modeling businesses enjoyed your looks and attitude enough that they asked if you could do some shoots. From then on, it was a whirlwind of sessions, meet and greets, starving yourself and self harming.

That last part was relatively new, and it was caused by some hate that you had received. Well, hate was to put it in modern terms. A tabloid had started rumors that you had gained weight, which wasn’t wrong (you were still growing and maturing, your body weight is going to fluctuate), but they stretched it beyond what it was and paired it with some terrible pictures taken with your guard down. It all mixed to create a terrible atmosphere, especially when other tabloids started to gossip about your weight as well.

Eventually it seemed that your weight was the only thing important. So, you started to cut down on food. You started to take walks and workout moderately regularly, and the results were almost instantaneous. You dropped a few pounds a week, your figure slimmed down and you had never felt better. But then, the opposite effect happened with the tabloids, talking about how much weight you had lost, but this time they were praising you. You loved that feeling, it’s why you continued singing and modeling anyway.

People called you beautiful and you thrived off the attention, which is probably why when you went to the Devildom you and Asmodeus hit it off so quickly.

You two were best friends within the first week you were there- and since he had a tendency of going partying after school and hanging out with other friends of his on some days, he never noticed how little you truly ate.

None of the other brother’s noticed, or you figured they didn’t.

But then something happened, you stopped losing weight as quickly as you had been. This sends you into spirals of anxiety, making you cut back more and more, exercise more. But it didn’t work. In fact, one week when you had weighed in, you had gained weight.

As you stared at that number flashing at you, the number that was only a pound above where it had been last week, you started sobbing.

Thoughts piled up in your mind about how you weren’t good enough anymore, about how your fans will leave you, about how Asmodeus would leave you. His friendship meant the world to you, and you would be lying if you told yourself that a friendship was all that you wanted from him.

But he was out partying with demons that were better than you, no doubt, ones that were skinnier, more confident, and yards better than you in everything.

In the back of your mind, you remembered the hater’s comments on some of your most popular songs, telling you about doing things to your body. You remember the tabloids gossiping about self-harm scars on popular actresses' bodies, and you thought about why they would do that. It’s said to be a pleasure source, something that makes the person doing it feel better.

You would do anything to feel actually, genuinely happy, for once, so before you even thought about it you had popped a blade out of the razor in the bathroom and pressed it to your hip. You almost never showed off your stomach, so it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

You flinched away from the wound almost immediately, the pain coming in tiny spikes. But then, eventually, there was a bit of pleasure coming from it, watching little dots of blood pop up and drip down your hip and fall onto the ground. You cut yourself again, then once more.

You swallowed, breaking out of the trance the red lines had put you in before you realized that you needed to finish your homework. You cleaned up your cuts, sliding on a pair of loose-fitting joggers and a shirt you had taken from Asmodeus and padded over to your desk, sitting in the sodden chair, trying not to bother the cuts more than the pants would already. You quickly finished the homework, well as quickly as you could when every few minutes or so you would move slightly and the cuts would be agitated, and for a few quick moments you considered taking off your pants, but you didn’t know when Asmodeus would make his way to your room and come in without knocking like he usually did.

Though eventually you did change into some sleeping shorts, ones that almost fell off of your body, and that were practically bootie shorts.

“Doll, I’m coming in,” you heard Asmodeus’ voice through the door before he opened it. You were laying on your back on your bed, your head hanging off and your DDD in your hand.

“Asmo!” You called gleefully, his face immediately lightening your mood substantially. “How was the party?”

“It wasn’t as good as the one the other week, you remember that one, right doll? The one I forced you to come to.”

“Oh, yeah that one. I love that the first party you made me go to was also a rave. Go big or go home, right?”

“Of course! Now, Doll, what are we doing tonight? We could watch a movie and eat some unhealthy snacks?”

“Uh, we can watch movies, but I don’t really want to eat anything,” you told him, flipping around on your bed and sitting on your legs. He tilted his head and a frown formed between his two perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

“Oh? But Lucifer told me you didn’t eat tonight, you must be hungry?”

“No, I’m not really,” you assured him, but your stomach decided to betray you in that exact moment almost as if it was saying ‘don’t lie to him I am hungry’.

He looked from your stomach to your face with an unamused look on his face.

“[Y/N], he also told me that he’s never seen you eat, that you don’t eat dinner here at all. You know you don’t have to lie to me, right?”

The honesty in his voice and the look in his eyes almost broke you.

“I know,” he looked concerned, but didn’t push you. You knew you would tell him about your disorder when you were ready, hopefully if he had any idea about your disorder, he knew that too.

The two of you decided to do an at-home spa day, and he took you to his room. The two of you did face masks, hair masks, mani-pedis, and other things like that.

You had chosen each other’s nail colors, and you had picked an orange color to match his eyes, and he picked pink, using a holographic color on your ring figures. You liked that enough you did that on his ring figured too so you both would be matching.

While you waited for your nails to dry and picked out toenail polish, he asked you about any crushes.

“Oh, no, Asmo, I don’t really have my eyes on anyone,” you lied as you looked through the shades of blue he had. His eyes immediately lit up.

“Yes! Yes you do, I knew it! Who is it?” He said excitedly, and you shook your head.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe that. I’m not going to tell you because it’ll never happen, trust me.”

“Doll, how could you say that? I’m sure a lot of people would love to date you, to be able to call you theirs!” You shook your head, scoffing at him.

“Not this guy. I’m pretty sure he had his eyes on someone else, anyway.”

“Is it Lucifer? It does seem like he has his eyes on Diavolo, but I don’t know about that one, Doll. You still might have a chance.”

“No! It’s not Lucifer, I don’t have that big of daddy issues.”

“Who is it? Please, tell me,” he begged, and for the first time you actually looked at him. His eyes showed almost.. sadness. He seemed sad to be thinking about you with someone else.

You just shook your head.

“Asmo,” you let out, leaning back and looking at him. “It’ll ruin this.” He frowned.

“[Y/N], what do you mean?”

“Asmo,” here it comes, you just decided to let it out. “I like you. I really, really like you. But I understand if it weirds you out, if I’m not your type, I-”

You were interrupted when Asmo held the back of your head and brought your lips to his. You melted into his, and he put his hands on your hips and pulled you onto his lap. You let out a yelp when he pulled on you a little too hard, your cuts opening.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” He asks, before looking down at where his hands were, one of his hands having a little spot of blood on them and the shorts being stained with a little amount of blood. “[Y/N], what’s this?” You let his lift your shirt and pull down your shorts slightly, and he let out a small gasp, his face dropping as he took in your figure, one significantly smaller than it had been when you first came, and the multiple cuts you had on you.

“I, it’s just stress. The tabloids, the comment sections of almost anything when I post pictures, it’s all just a lot.”

“Doll, you could have come to me. Here, let’s fix you up a little bit,” he soothed, picking you up and making you wrap your legs around him, carrying you to his bathroom and dressing your wounds. You didn’t say anything to him. “When’s the last time you ate or drank anything?”

“I drank some water earlier today,” you tell him, and he smiles slightly and strokes your hair. “Good job on that, Doll. But we need to get some food in your stomach, okay?”

Your heartbeat sped up, and you shook your head, tears coming.

“No, Asmo, I can’t eat. Please, don’t make me.”

“I’m not asking you to eat much, please, I can’t have my girl dying on me. What about a piece of fruit and some more water?”

You looked at the floor for a few seconds.

“Can we watch something while I eat, and cuddle, please? It’ll help me take my mind off of it, I think.” He nods, and you both walk to the kitchen after fixing your clothes.

Grabbing your food and water you make your way to your room and turn on [TV show or movie] as Asmo sat on the floor, pulling you into his lap, his chest pressed against your back. He kissed underneath your ear.

Once you had finished the food, which took a bit, but it’s still down for now, he praised you.

“Good girl, Doll. Now finish the water and he can cuddle more.”

You finish the water and turn to him.

“Thank you, Asmo. For helping me.”

“Of course, Doll. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

————

This was written by me in no way trying to romanticize mental illnesses. I try to write what I feel would help me in the moment. I completely understand that mental illnesses don’t just ‘disappear’ when you’ve figured out that someone loves you or someone helps you once- that’s why I don’t write what happens after in most cases. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust, or call a hotline.

[footsandwichwmustard]

American Dad Bod

It was a bright, sunny afternoon in Langley falls, with the sun covering the suburbs below in a golden glow. You could hear the cries of all the kids playing on their lawns, spraying each other with water guns and hoses. It was the height of Summer, and everyone was enjoying the most of it before autumn set in. The classic American house was everywhere you went, the pale wooden clapboards copied and pasted everywhere. At first glance everything looked relatively normal, and just like all over the United states  

One house, specifically 1024 Cherry Street, felt different. It looked completely normal, up to the garage sticking out of the front . However, the occupants inside were anything but. Steve was sitting in his room, not daring to go outside in case he got burned. At least, that was part of the reason. The other reason was that he just wanted to spend the summer playing video games by himself, no one disturbing him. Well, almost no one. As much as he hated to admit it, he kind of missed his dad’s presence. He used to cook him breakfast and teach him how to play football and catch a ball. He remembered one day when he and Stan spent the whole day just throwing a ball to each other, laughing and having a great time. Now, ever since his job working with the CIA, he rarely saw him. In fact, he always left for work before Steve got up, and returned way past his bedtime. It just wasn’t fair: All he really wanted was to get closer to his dad.

Stan sat in his office, leaning back in his chair and smiling with satisfaction at his hard day's work. His life had led to a very interesting job: interrogating terrorists. He was very good at it, leading him to have a big, spacious office and some interesting coworkers he goofed off with. Only last week, he got to shout at a possible terrorist all on his own. This was how he liked it: all day on his own, with a very important task. He looked down, and started to write his emails and other jobs he should probably be doing. He grimaced as his eyes were blinded by the bright rays of light from outside. Shutting the blinds, he scowled slightly as he heard the door open and ruining his isolated peace.

His boss Mr Bullock, or Avery, stood in the doorway, looking at Stan in his chair. He was tall, about 6’3”, with short grey hair that had all but disappeared from his head. He was around 50, and held himself up very importantly, often towering over his employees. As bosses went, Stan was all right with him, but he could really get on  his nerves sometimes.

“How’re you getting on there Stan?” He asked, reminding him of a teacher.

“Couldn’t be better, sir.” He answered, looking irritated. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, probably someone asking him about something.

“ I’m glad to see you working so hard there Stan. Keep up the good work, pal.” He said, before turning around and closing the door behind him. Stan sighed and took his phone out of his pocket, looking to see who had texted him. It was Steve, who had texted him asking when he would be home.. He sighed, and started to type back.

He realised, as he was doing so, that he had hardly seen his son all week. His job had led him to hardly see his family. Surely Steve just wanted to spend time on his own playing video games? He was a huge dork after all. He looked at his phone, at the message he wrote.

*Won’t be home ‘till late. Sorry. x*

He hesitated, and started to delete it quickly. He could probably spare a night to see his son. Rolling up his sleeves, he set to crack down on his calendar, hoping to clear some stuff tonight. Stan took a small glance outside, and saw the sun set over the buildings, the orange glow penetrating the room.

It was around 6, and Stan had packed up his things and put on his jacket. As he was about to walk out to his car in the lot, he felt a rumble deep within his stomach, begging for some food. He had always kept nice and fit, and would scold anyone if they looked overweight or out of shape. No, Stan prided himself on his beefy chest and muscular arms. Still, that glow of golden arches invited him to chow down on their greasy, fatty food.

“Well, I guess I could get some. Just for Steve, obviously.” He told himself as he walked outside and got into his car. Besides, the kid could do with some meat on his bones.

He arrived at the drive through with a hungry loom on his face. He pulled his car up to the window and asked firmly for his food.

“Yeah, could I get the meal deal, with the large coke and large fries.” He stopped, then added. “ And could you add 2 more adult portions to that too?”

He heard the voice behind the glass say yes, and told him to head over to the next window, where he would get his food. Very soon, he had his car filled with junk food, and god knows how many calories were in it. By the time he had started driving along the main highway to his home, the car was filled with the smell of meat and fries. Stan felt his stomach rumble hungrily as he inhaled the smell, and he absent-mindedly took a couple of chips from the top of the box and started eating them.

It was quiet in the Smith’s house, and it was just Steve up in his bedroom, not making a sound. He stared hard at the screen in front of him, trying to beat the boss hat had been beating him for a while now. The only light in the room was his computer, which glared that ghastly bright blue. He was annoyed: this had been the third time that his dad had not answered his texts this week, and he was getting really pissed.

The sound of defeat echoed through the house as Steve’s character died, and he grunted in irritation. Just then, from downstairs, he heard a key turn in the lock on the front door, and someone walking inside. Suddenly, his eyes widened, as he knew that Stan had finally listened to him, and had come home early. What’s more, he could smell the thick scent of food along with him, and before he knew it, he ran out of the door and across the house to meet his dad. He flew down the stairs and ran into Stan’s arms.

“ Hey, sport! You’re pleased to see me.” He chuckled, hugging him back.

“ Of course I am, I never get to see you!” he replied, snuggling his face into his chest. He blushed slightly as he felt Stan’s abdomen on his arms. Was he imagining things, or was his dad putting on a bit of weight?

“Let me just get the food out of the car, son.” Stan said, and walked to his car outside. Steve walked over to the kitchen, and was about to get some plates, when he had an idea. He knew it may not work, but he wanted to try something. He walked over to the cupboard at the end of the room, and opened it. Inside was a big can of weight gain powder, which he bought to try and help him get bigger, maybe more muscle. However, his body did not take kindly to it, and so never used it. Well, maybe it could have a use after all…

Stan came back with all of the food, and put it on the living room table, smiling with satisfaction. Steve walked in too, and widened his eyes at the amount of junk Stan had bought home.

“I’m just going to the bathroom. I won’t be long.” Stan said, walking past Steve. He caught a long whiff of his dad’s manly musk. When he heard the bathroom door close, he took out the weight gain powder and subtly poured some into Stan’s drink. He smiled widely to himself, as he heard the toilet flush and his dad walk back into the room.

“Man, I’m starving!” Steve said, as he and his dad sat beside each other on the sofa. He turned on the TV for the background noise, so his dad wouldn’t notice anything wrong with his drink. Steve watched intently as Stan picked up the drink, and took a big sip of it.

At once, he heard a rumble coming from Stan’s stomach, and watched his dad start to grab the food greedily in front of him. The TV hummed in the background, while the two ate their food. Steve wasn’t hungry, what with his gaming habits confining him to the chair in his room and not moving whatsoever. Stan, however, had just finished a hard day's work, and not to mention the powder his son had slipped in his drink. They both could feel the effects of both of them: the fat, greasy food was being shovelled into Stan’s gaping maw.

Steve watched in amazement, seeing his dad pig out in front of him. He could practically see the grease dripping from the fries he held in his large hands. He couldn’t let on that he was enjoying all of this: he and his dad had never really hung out properly, and he definitely didn’t want to ruin it.  Still, he couldn’t help but blush when Stan shifted in his seat, obviously trying to get comfortable. He could almost see the pudgy gut forming underneath his sharp blue suit. Speaking of the suit, it was starting to get filthy, due to Stan’s increasing clumsiness with his food. Bits of burger fell onto the clothing, and eventually, he started to notice.

“Shit! This blazer’s ruined.” He remarked, spraying bits of clothes onto Steve’s face.

“It’s fine, just put it in the wash.” He replied, trying to wipe the food off of his face. His dad proceeded to undo his blazer, which was starting to get tight around his middle. Steve’s eyes widened as it revealed Stan’s white shirt,which was taut around his large, round gut. Steve resisted the urge to rub it as his dad leaned back again and carried on chewing his burger. He had never seen his dad act this way before, and he loved it.

After a while, the pile of gresy wrappers and food was cleared from the table, most of the junk food going into Stan’s belly. Steve himself had only had a burger and a couple of fries, which didn’t surprise him. From the look on his father’s face, he could tell that he was experiencing some discomfort.

“Hey, dad. Are you alright?” Steve asked, looking concerned.

In response, a deep burbling and sloshing came from his father’s belly, and he could almost hear all of that unhealthy food being digested. The sound travelled quickly through his body, and Stan puffed out his cheeks, releasing a deep, long belch into the air. The rumbling burp lasted a good three seconds, and when it ended, he sighed heavily with relief and comfort.

“ Wow, that felt good!” He boomed, laughing and fanning the air around him. Steve sat there, staring open-mouthed at what he just saw. After a while, Steve grew tired of watching the same sitcom over and over again on TV. He looked up at the clock, and saw that it was 9:00 already.

“I think I’m gonna hit the hay.” Stan said, his hot, meaty breath blasting Steve in his face. He slowly stood up from the sofa, clutching his belly, and Steve wondered if his dad noticed that he had a belly or that it was just a bloat. Still, as he started walking upstairs, Steve noticed Stan’s big, plump bubble butt jiggle in his slacks with each footstep.

He spent a while longer downstairs, staring at the screen in front of him. Eventually, he got bored and decided to head upstairs to bed too. As he got dressed and lay in bed, he thought about how incredible it felt watching Stan wolf down all of that food. But how long could he keep it up? Apart from tonight, he never saw him enough for anything like this to happen. How long until Stan started noticing his new gut, watching it move independently as he walked? How long till he saw his love handles grow over his belt?

Just the thought of all of this gave him even more motivation to fatten up his dad.

* * *

The sun shone brightly through the windows of the Smith’s house, as morning came to Langley Falls slowly and gently. This summer had been the hottest and driest that most of the town had ever experienced. The ground was cracked and dry as a bone, with almost none of the green grass left.

Inside, Steve was safe from the heat, tucked into his bed. He would have been asleep like usual, but the light from the sun woke him up. He grunted and shifted in his bed for a few minutes, trying to get to a comfortable position. After a while, when it looked like he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, he groaned loudly and slowly stumbled out of bed. He stood up straight, and started getting dressed. He pulled on a green t-shirt and a pair of loose fitting shorts, and started making his way downstairs. As he headed across the landing, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He sighed as he took a look at his hair, which was sticking up in very unnatural angles. He would put a comb to it later.

He walked slowly into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and decided that he should probably make himself and his dad something for breakfast. He found the gainer powder in the cupboard, and grinned mischievously, knowing that this would be another great opportunity to add a little something to Stan’s meal.

Speaking of his dear old father, Steve heard a huge groan from the floor above, as Stan got out of bed and started walking across the hallway. Was it his imagination, or was his dad’s footsteps heavier than they were before? No, they definitely were. Each footstep made the floorboards creak, especially when he came lumbering down the stairs. Steve turned around, and saw Stan standing in the doorway.

He was dressed in nothing but his underwear, showing off his muscles on his arms, and his beefy chest. That wasn’t what Steve was focusing on though. His dad was now sporting a nice, large round gut, which made him look more manly than ever. His chest and belly were lightly covered in hair, and his thighs were bigger than he had ever seen before. Stan walked heavily into the kitchen, and scratched his ass and gut like a caveman. As he did so, his belly jiggled softly, indicating to Steve that the gainer powder was working.

“Morning, dad. Hungry?” In reply, Stan’s gut garbled and groaned, causing him to put a fist to his mouth and fight back a particularly nasty burp.

“Sure. Give me everything in that pan of yours.” He boomed, taking a seat at the table.

“Coming right up!” Steve said, louder than was probably necessary.

He dumped the greasy pile of bacon and eggs onto Stan’s plate, causing a huge mountain to form in front of his father. He smiled mischievously as his dad started digging in greedily.

“Hold on! I haven't even given you toast yet.” Steve chuckled, watching the huge man eat like a pig. Stan replied, but it was almost impossible to make out what he was saying with the amount of food in his mouth. Every bite he took, he knew that all of it would add on to his piling pounds. He could see his dad’s fat, sexy guy expanding with all of the food, and it would only continue.

Steve soon took a seat next to his father, careful not to draw attention to his weight. It would kill his dad knowing that he was getting bigger, and besides, ignorance is bliss, right?

Greasy bacon was soon nothing more than sludge in Stan’s stomach, and he took no time in scarfing down the rest of his food in front of him. Each movement caused his body to shake, and his normally rock hard chest was now softer, his pecs not losing their shape, but now becoming a lot more squishy. Steve fought the urge to reach out and feel them with some effort.

After a while, all of the food on the table had been consumed by Stan. Each and every crumb of toast, and every bit of the fat bacon had been sent to his widening stomach, which groaned and gurgled softly, momentarily satisfied with the meal it was given. Stan himself was leaning back against his chair, patting his stomach and smiling with gluttonous joy. He had only just finished, and yet you could already see where the calories from the breakfast were going. His thighs were widening, rubbing against each other as he sat, and his gut had ballooned momentarily, so that the flabby mass took up his whole lap.

“W-was it a good breakfast?” Steve asked, careful not to startle his dad. In response, his stomach gurgled loudly, and he adjusted his position, so his face was right next to his son’s.

*BROOOUUAAPPHHHH*

Stan released a foul, gluttonous belch into his son’s face. His breath reeked of half digested food, with a mix of morning breath to really put it over the edge. Steve’s nose wrinkled, as he stood back and coughed, overwhelmed at the smell of it all.

“Jeez, dad!” He remarked, fanning the air vigorously around his nose. Stan merely laughed, as he stood up and wrapped his muscled arms around his neck. Steve let him, and smiled to himself, glad that he was finally getting a chance to hang out with his dad.

“Hey dad. I saw the football out on the couch. When did you get it out of the attic?” Steve asked, motioning to the living room.

“Yesterday, while you downstairs. I was thinking I could show you some moves, you know, to help you show your pals up at school.” He replied, smiling down at him. Before he could say anything, his dad told him to stay where he was, and ran to his room: or tried to at least. Instead, he sort of waddled, due to the amount of food he had eaten. His body was showing even more signs of his gluttony, with big love handles at the back, and a flabby pile of fat and muscle on the front.

Steve stood there, wondering what his dad could possibly be doing up there. He heard lots of crashing, the floorboards creaking floorboards showing Stan’s weight gain. He heard his dad cursing as he fell on the floor. 5 minutes later, just as Steve thought he should go and check on him, Stan came back into the kitchen, dressed in what Steve assumed was his fathers old football uniform. The shirt, still a nice white, was struggling to contain Stan’s increased mass. It strained around his large jiggly gut, and revealed a full 2 inches of hairy skin where it should have normally fit perfectly. His beefy chest was clearly showing underneath too, with the soft pecs pushing against the material. Steve couldn’t stop staring as Stan started posing, flexing his muscles as a joke and even pec bouncing.

“It’s a little small, but it still works!” He boomed, oblivious to the gut that was protruding underneath him. If the front was not fitting, Steve couldn’t imagine what the back must look like. His dad took the ball from the couch and threw it to Steve, who barely caught it in time, fumbling like someone who never plays sports.

“Come on! We need to get you playing so you can wipe the floor with your friends!’ he laughed, grabbing my arm and pulling his son outside.

The sun blasted us wirth light and heat, as Steve stood on the parched lawn, protecting his eyes from the sun. He was scared: he had no idea how to play, and knowing his dad, he wasn’t going to get any instructions either. Before he knew it, his dad was shouting to move, as he started charging across the lawn, straight into Steve. He threw himself to the side to avoid the charging bull, falling to the ground with a hard thump. A shadow fell over him as his father picked him up easily off the floor.

“Nice try. Maybe next time, try to react quicker.” Stan said, sounding quite out of breath. The recent weight gain must have had a bigger effect on him than Stave realised. From here, he could see his dad covered in sweat, more than your average football player. His arms were glistening with sweat, the light dancing off of his muscles. Not only that, but the underarms of his shirt were swimming in sweat, and Steve could only imagine what he must look like underneath.

Before he could say anything, his dad grabbed hold of the bottom of the tight shirt and, with a lot of effort, ripped the fabric off of him, revealing the glistening, flabby gut that he wore. Every inch of skin was shining, dancing in the light, much like the fat. No muscles could be seen on his midsection, just the ever growing mass of flab that stuck there. His pecs too, now looking softer, were bright and glowing.

Steve’s dad smiled mischievously as he shouted at him to go long. His little knowledge of football told him that he should run backwards, hoping to catch the ball. Stan threw it far, the ball sailing through the blue sky and towards where Steve went. Almost miraculously, he felt the ball fall bluntly into his hands, the weight of it sending relief down him.

“ Hey dad! I caught the ball! I caught-

He felt the air get knocked out of him, as his dad ran up to him and tackled Steve to the ground. The ground hit him hard, and he felt his glasses fall off of his face. He tried to get up, still a bit dazed, but Stan’s huge, fat body pinned him to the ground. Steve’s hand felt his dad’s soft, squishy belly, now slippery with sweat, and his beefy, large chest. He tried to kick out, but it was no use.

Stan sat up, still on his son’s chest.

“Having trouble there, sport?” He laughed, slapping his gut, which rippled enthusiastically at the sudden force. Steve was momentarily hypnotised, before coming to his senses and slapping Stan.

“Dad! Get off me!” Steve cried, still trying to wriggle free. Suddenly, he heard a low growl from the very depths of the massive gut that was on top of him. His body vibrated as his dad smiled, and leaned over him. He opened his mouth, as the gas bubbled up his throat, to release a huge belch on his son. Steve felt the hot dad breath blast his face, the smell overwhelming him. As Stan laughed, he couldn’t help smiling to himself.

This was going to be a great summer.

[unforth]

Okay, give me the goods on Distant Shores. :p

Alright so there's a historical thing that in the 17th century Russia that...okay no I'll just quote Wikipedia. (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_language_education_in_Russia)

So alessariel sent me this with the suggestion of making it a Viktuuri AU with Yuri as Dembei and Victor as a bastard son of Peter the Great (iirc Yuri P is an actual full blood heir) and I fell instantly in love with the idea and wrote 7000 fricken words of it in *one day* including all the research I had to do but it was so clearly going to be a huge time sink that I shelved it and haven't gotten back to it yet. Like...7000 words got Victor and Yuri to the point they'd met, and that's about it. It also heavily features Phichit who, as the Siamese ambassador, is the only person in the entire court who speaks and reads Chinese fluently (okay I'm looking at it...Victor also speaks fluent Chinese so it must be specifically that Phichit was the only one who could read it, since speaking it doesn't help Yuri one bit), and is therefore the only person Yuri can even kind of communicate with, since there's a lot of overlap between Chinese hanyi and Japanese kanji. Kamchatka is aaaaallllll the way in the East of Russia which means that when Yuri is found there he's then dragged across thousands of miles of Russia to the capital in St. Petersburg by people who don't understand a word he says or care that all he wants is to go home to his sister (it's Yakov and...someone else, I don't remember).

I have spent an unhealthy amount of time thinking about how despite seeming like a total arrogant douche bag tool Victor is the only one who is patient with Yuri and listens to him and makes a genuine effort to figure out how to communicate and that they slowly fall in love while Victor learns Japanese and Yuri learns Russian and it was gonna burn sooooooo slow and be soooooo sweet when they finally fucked.

Sigh.

I still love it.

Why don't I have time to write all the things?

Anyway I wrote the first chapter in fucking April 2017 and haven't looked at it once from that day to this here have a couple excerpts. It's dual PoV switching between Yuri and Victor but the first chapter is mostly Yuri.

Oh yeah I also devised an alternate way of sharing dialog so that the reader would know what was being said in Russian/Japanese but it would be clear the CHARACTER didn't understand. I figured given the language barrier issues the story would be unreadable if I was constantly like, "and then x person spoke in a language the pov character didn't understand."

Annnnyway. Here's some Yuri PoV after Yakov finds him.

The world shook.

No, no, not again, I can’t, not again, just let me die, please!

Or maybe it was all a dream, the last moment before the end.

Yuri opened his eyes.

The sky was incandescently bright overhead and he snapped his eyes shut again.

No tsunami crashed in around him. Something snapped, cracked, and wood rough beneath his fingers suggested he was aboard his boat. Putting a hand beneath him, Yuri tried to rise but had no strength. A gentle hand that felt heavy and harsh pressed on his shoulder.

[Easy now, you’re alright.]

The tone was cheerful, kind, clearly supportive though the words were meaningless. Turning his head, Yuri opened his eyes again. A man like none Yuri had ever seen before grinned down at him, pale skinned, blue eyed, broad, with long brown hair partially hidden beneath an orange hat with a furred rim, pulled back to drape around the shoulders of a red...something...that must be a uniform, but unlike anything Yuri had seen. It wasn’t a kimono, or a yukata, or like any item of clothing Yuri had seen before.

An oni?

No oni would look upon him so kindly.

Still grinning, the man held something out to him. [Are you hungry?] Yuri stared blankly at what was offered to him, a hard, unidentifiable tan square. [Do you speak Russian?] The man offered him the weird thing again, insistently thrusting it toward his face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Yuri said. Until the stranger proved dangerous, he didn’t want to assume the worst of anyone, even a pale-skinned barbarian, but he feared what he didn’t know, feared what the stranger might expect from him.

[I’ll take that as a no,] the man said, still grinning. Drawing the mystery item back, he held it in his hands, snapped it in two, and put one of the pieces in his mouth with exaggerated movements. [See, it’s food. You can have some if you want.] He offered the thing again, chewing with his mouth open to show how the thing broke down and turned to mush.

Food.

Hesitantly, Yuri tried to lift an arm again, but he was too weak. His stomach rumbled, the man chuckled, and Yuri opened his mouth.

[Good, good! That’s the spirit!] With hearty good cheer, the man shoved the food into Yuri’s mouth. It was dry, hard, near flavorless, but Yuri chewed it as best he could, jaw aching with the effort, and when he struggled to swallow, the man produced a sloshing container and carefully trickled some of the contents - not water, whatever it was burned like sake - down Yuri’s throat. He wanted to protest - the last thing he needed was to grow drunk, and he’d never had a high tolerance - but he was so thirsty that he said nothing. Better drunk than dead.

I’m still not convinced I’m not dead, though...

And Victor PoV...okay no I'm not spotting any excerpts that really function stand alone but basically 'indolent' doesn't begin to cover it.

I'd love to get back to this one someday...

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.21

Tense. Things at home were tense. Lance had muttered about needing to go shopping, then left. Keith knew when to bite his tongue, and this was definitely a time for tongue biting. Wanting to do something helpful Keith put his mind to cleaning. Not like in-depth cleaning, but enough to be counted as an effort around the house. That meant first he had to find everything, then he had to argue with the washing machine as he tried to figure the damn thing out as he didn’t know if sheets were washed on the same cycle setting as clothes... if they weren’t before, they were now. Blue had acted like it was the end of the world once the vacuum cleaner went on, dramatically running from the living room so fast she skidded. Adam would have been proud of him. As was every foster family he’d never fit in with. Sure, he had anger issues, but he wouldn’t have anger issues if people stopped making him angry.

Keith got less done than he’d set out to accomplish. Barely finishing the first floor before there was the sound of a car horn out the front, the approach drowned out by Lance’s ancient vacuum that would have been tossed out long ago if Adam had seen the device. Adam really did have the one functioning brain cell between him, Shiro and Keith. The hunter knew it was unhealthy to hold onto things, Adam had died over a year ago now, but he and Shiro together had been the best family Keith had ever had. Shiro never treated him like a legacy. The child of a hunter who’s name carried far too much weight. Since being accepted into the Order and beginning his training as a cadet, he’d lived in the shadow of the great werewolf hunter Krolia. He understood why she had to leave him, why she did fought as she did, but... Shiro and Adam felt more like family to him than she did. Krolia was... she was... it was heavy to think about her accomplishments. Stowing the vacuum back in the laundry, Keith rushed back through the house, trying not to appear like he cared whether Lance was alright or not... because he didn’t.

Heading out, Lance was standing at the back of his bronco, trunk door open

“Help me carry stuff��

Lance wasn’t supposed to be doing anything exerting like carrying in the whole damn shop from the look of it

“Did we really need so much stuff?”

“Not supposed to go out, remember. So I stocked up. Before you bite my head off, I didn’t go shopping alone. I found my phone in the car and shot Hunk a message”

“You... talked to Hunk?”

“Am I not allowed?!”

The snappiness in Lance’s tone kind of hurt, as did the fact Lance had talked to Hunk before they’d had a chance to talk about their situation

“I’m not saying that. I’m just wondering what... It’s none of my business”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have snapped. I told him Mami had a fall, well, Miriam had a fall and I was in Platt due to it. He went a little crazy shopping”

“So you’re blaming Hunk for this?”

They needed a whole army to eat the amount of food in the back of the bronco. Lance sighed as he passed Keith the first bag

“He’s a good man. I really do think he and Pidge are both interested in you, as in being friends. Sorry, can we save talking until we’re back inside. I want to wallow a little longer”

“Alright... but don’t think you’re getting out of this”

“I wouldn’t dream of it”

*

People were exhausting. Hunk was one of those people. He was a natural born worrier who’d worried the moment he showed up. Lance was pulled into a tight hug, hiding his discomfort as he was. Normally he loved Hunk’s hug, but he couldn’t tell him the truth and it sucked big hair testicles. Repeatedly trying to redirect the conversation from him, Hunk kept bringing up how unwell Lance looked and how he needed to eat more. Yeah. He did. But looking at all the food in the supermarket isles made him sick. It fed the knot of anxiety that’d settled in his gut. He was changing for the worse, and there was no way to back out of it now. When Matt came, everything would change again. Pidge would be over the moon to see her brother again, while Matt would be terrified of one wrong move exposing his secret. Secrets sucked. They festered like wounds. Growing and spreading that infection until you felt physically ill.

Settling down with a cup of coffee, like a normal human would, Lance stared into the cup as Keith put things away. Lance wanted to take control, he wanted to take back some kind of order in his life, yet with Keith living there, he needed to loosen up. Keith needed to know where things went and how to navigate his kitchen beyond how to use the coffee machine. Keith really seemed to like his coffee. He wasn’t so fond of broccoli, or corn for that matter, but he also never really complained about eating anymore... provided he could hover while Lance he cooked, still kind of paranoid Lance was going to poison him or something. If he was going to do that, he would taken care of Keith the second Shiro was clear of the picture.

“You look pale. Do you need blood?”

Keith’s question took Lance by surprise. He never hid his drinking blood from his friends, but they thought he was simply indulging in red wine. Keith had seen him drink, and extremely embarrassingly vulnerable. He’d swallowed down that blood bag at VOLTRON with no worries thanks to how hungry he was... So why was it now he was feeling self conscious thanks to Keith asking? And why were his teeth almost throbbing at the idea? It would be a blood bag like the rest of the times he fed, having Keith there was not his ticket to a fresh meal because he didn’t want a fresh meal. That’d mean only submitting to his vampire way

“Not yet”

“Coran said you need to keep your strength up”

“Since when did you care?”

Keith placed down the box of cereal he’d been trying to find a home for

“Since I don’t run away from mistakes I’ve made”

Ouch. Yeah. Keith had fucked up, but he was kind of trying... but only because he felt obligated too. Obligations sucked. Lance knew he was only a job to Keith, but “mistake” struck like a bullet to the heart

“Dude, ouch”

“I... I mean. I take responsibility for my actions. You’re changing because of me. We can’t ignore it”

“I can try”

Keith slammed his plan down on the kitchen bench with enough anger that Lance felt himself jump

“Why?! Why do you that? You said nothing to Luis. You didn’t try defending yourself. You didn’t ask to be turned”

He really hadn’t. He’d been such a lonely kid, he always seemed to have plenty of people around him, but he’d always felt so filled with faults that he kept messing up his friendships. Every month he seemed to have a new best friend who’d leave him to play with someone cooler and smarter than he was. Someone who better at games, and didn’t have problems with English as Spanish was the spoken language at home. He’d been alright with his siblings until they all started to grow older... then they’d all sort of... given up on their little brother

“Luis gave into his fear long ago”

“That doesn’t make it right. He tried to have you hunted”

“I know he did. Look, I’m way too sober for that conversation. But you’d be right if you thought I ruined our family. No one knew how to handle a kid with flashbacks, nightmares and all the things that come with being a vampire. I’m happy they all got out and had a life...”

“The rest of your family’s like that? Like, Luis?”

“It’s complicated. They don’t understand why I’m the way I am. Why I don’t drive a car in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, why I live in a house that’s a cross between farmhouse and plantation. Why I work so cheaply when I could be earning more. They all think I sponge off Mami, and stay with her so I have control over her. It’s easier to pick your battles and the way I see it, Mami won’t live forever. I’ve caused her enough pain that shouldn’t have to see me fighting with my siblings. Fuck... I really am way too sober”

Taking off his glasses, Lance leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Keith didn’t know his life outside of whatever he’d read. He didn’t know how hard it was in the house to have a blood sucker. He didn’t know how many times Lance had made things hard for their family. How he’d cost them all this extra money to keep him fed and safe. Then there was therapy. Him changing schools. Him dealing with his mental health while trying to deal with puberty and nightmares. And God knew how hard it was. How hard it was for his parents, how exhausted they were. How his condition was kind of taboo, and no one was allowed to make a joke about it lest his Mami heard and you’d get smacked across your arse with her pink slipper. Keith picked up the box of cereal again, Lance could hear his moves. The way the contents of the box shook, and the way his clothes rustled. The tiny shift of his footing as he stood on tiptoe to find a space in the cupboard

“I think you were wrong not to stand up for yourself”

Of course “Crusader Keith” thought he needed to stand up for himself, he’d been trained by “Shiro the Hero”

“Tried that, doesn’t work”

He always sent cards, via Mami who knew their address

“Even if Shiro turned, I don’t think I could ever give up on him”

“That’s because you’re far more emotionally mature that my siblings were when they had to deal with a messed up little brother. I’m going to get a bottle of red. Fuck being sober, I’m going to wallow the patheticness out my system, then hopefully I won’t be such a grumpy dick”

“I don’t think you’re being too grumpy. You’re still a bit of a dick”

Lance snorted, placing down his cup of coffee

“That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me”

“Don’t get used to it”

Lance’s lips turned upwards, the ghosting of a smile. Keith was a total dick, and had no place in Lance’s life, but he wasn’t as obnoxious as he’d been when they first met

“Have a look in the blue bag, down the bottom. I got you something while I was out”

*

“Have a look in the blue bag, down the bottom. I got you something while I was out”

Keith didn’t get Lance at all. He’d been moping, now he was kind of smiling, or grimacing, Keith wasn’t completely sure, but the fact Lance had bought him something seemed kind of like a trap

“You got me something?”

“Yep. Blue bag is all yours”

His? Wasn’t the food because he was human? What else did he need?

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why did you get me something?”

“Because when I saw it, I thought of you. Don’t make this weird”

It was already weird. All of this was weird as fuck. Peaking in the first blue bag there was a whole heal of vegetables, including broccoli which he hated, Lance snorted at him

“Not that one. The other one”

“You could have told me that”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda”

Whatever that meant. Grabbing the second blue bag, Keith pulled it forward by the handles

“Milk?”

“Lactose free. Actually, all the milk I’ve been buying lately to feed your coffee addictions been lactose free, so you’re welcome over that. I said in the bottom. You know, under everything else”

“Shut up. It just looked like bottles of milk”

“On the top, maybe. I’ll give you that”

Keith sighed to himself mentally. How was he supposed to put up with Lance for another two weeks when he had nothing to do. He couldn’t work out, Coran had benched Lance from teaching him anything physical. Sitting around and doing nothing didn’t agree with him. Lifting out the two bottles of milk, he was annoyed that Lance had something nice. He wasn’t strictly like allergic to lactose, but some brands definitely upset his stomach more than others. At the bottom of the bag was a wrapped box, the paper slightly wet from the condensation off the milk bottles

“It’s a box?”

“Wow, I bet those powers of observation are what makes you a great hunter. Open the box, dummy”

Grumpily Keith took the box out of the bag, mumbling as he did

“You didn’t need to buy me anything”

“You’re really bad at accepting gifts aren’t you?”

“Shut up”

Inside the box was a red digital camera. Keith had always loved the colour red, he also indulged in a little photography thanks to Shiro. It wasn’t as fancy as his camera at home, but it wasn’t bottom of the range either

“You got me a camera?”

“Yep. If you’re going to be sticking around, I figured you might want one to keep up the pretence of having left it here”

This would have easily cost Lance a couple of hundred. Didn’t the vampire have better things to spend his money on?

“Why...?”

“Not this again. Fine, I’ll play along. Why, what?”

“Why did you spend money on me?”

“Because you’re stuck here and I thought that it might be nice to have something of your own. It’s also an apology for all the shit I put you through by turning into a bat. Just make sure you get a few photos of the house, I told the others you were taking photos to help me renovate. Accept the damn gift”

Lance seemed as bad at giving gifts as Keith was at receiving them. Not that the camera was a bad gift, the vampire seemed embarrassed that he was making a fuss over it all. Big gifts like this were shaved for birthdays or Christmas, no one went around simply buying things for other people, unless it was Shiro. Shiro had absolutely awful impulse control, Keith’s not that much better. His savings only went as far as saving for what he wanted, buying it, then looking at his abysmally empty bank balance sadly. There was no reason to really save when any mission could see him dead...

“Thanks. I’m not used to things like this”

“I can tell. Just... the camera isn’t me trying to buy your apology. Just so you know, I wanted to do something nice for you, with like, no strings attached... and now that this has gotten even more awkward, I’m off to get that red”

As Lance pushed his chair back, curiosity struck, Keith tilting the box in Lance’s direction

“Hey, Lance... Do you show up in these things?”

“Really? Photos, videos and mirrors... People wish they’d looked as good as I do dead. I mean, otherwise it’d be super suspicious when I didn’t show up in Pidge’s videos, when I let her film me”

“Oh... I hadn’t thought about that”

Lance snorted at him

“Some vampire hunter you are. Please don’t destroy my kitchen while I’m gone. Also, I grabbed some stuff so we can make pizza for dinner... I assume you don’t mind pizza and beer?”

Keith wrinkled his nose. That sounded like he was going to be cooking... and if the piece of shit toaster Lance used to have was anything to go by, then maybe that wouldn’t be the best idea. Lance was already walking towards the kitchen door

“I don’t know how to make pizza”

Raising his hand, the vampire waved his concerns off

“Then prepared to do the learn. Man, I’m going to have to teach you everything, aren’t I?”

“About vampires?”

“Nope. First you learn to do the human, then you’ll learn how to do the dead human. Don’t forget, I’ll hear you if you try breaking my kitchen... ow, fuck...”

Walking straight into the door frame, Lance rubbed at his forehead. Keith had no idea how Lance managed to walk into so many things and be so absolutely uncoordinated while in his own house. He wore glasses, shouldn’t that like help him see? Shouldn’t he have some kind of sense when he was getting too close to something? What kind of a vampire needed glasses? Lance didn’t make sense at all.

[godzillaahh]

tw for eating disorders and related topics

this is not something i’ve discussed with anyone except my husband and i just feel like ranting a bit. I’ve been slowly coming to the realization over the last few months that I’ve been struggling with eating disorders and disordered eating for.... a VERY long time without realizing. Also realizing that a lot of people around me have supported those mindsets. not on purpose, but due to just. societal influence I guess. for me I seem to fluctuate between a few, the first being bingeing. Definitely not extreme bingeing but I get really triggered by my emotions and eat a lot of unhealthy foods and foods that my stomach has trouble digesting. secondly I can swing in the complete opposite direction and eat very very very little. What’s hard about this one is I seem to have a very skewed understanding of what a lot of food or enough food really looks like. When I’m in this mood I find it difficult to realize how little i’ve eaten, and then get very annoyed by my hunger like “I ate!! Why am I hungry???” when in reality I ate like. a single small item (fruit/granola bar/small wrap). and thirdly, which relates to the second one a bit, is something i’ve only heard about recently; orthorexia. this i was struggling with really badly when I began having weird muscle and nerve problems and was convinced I was dying (mainly because my doctor made me fearful over my heart when it turned out there was no reason to be). I became very obsessed with like.. daily value percentages. for example, making sure I did not go for 100% daily intake for saturated fats (according to labels). ((and honestly for fats i was worse i would get so anxious if i went over 30-40%)). This also included counting EVERY calorie and being obsessed with staying under a certain amount and being sooooooooooo obsessed with every ingredient in my food (which I think is fine in some cases but not to the degree I was doing it). I cut out sooo many foods and became really restrictive in my diet, and if I ate anything outside of my “safe” foods I would have panic attacks. All the while people congratulating my “healthy decisions” and weight loss when I was in reality very ill and suffering. the problem with that one in particular is that it’s disguised as ~health culture~.and it’s difficult because in my case (and probably many others) it starts out as making healthier decisions, but it becomes obsessive. it takes over your whole life and mind. even someone else inviting you over for food or even JUST OVER TO THEIR HOUSE causes all sorts of anxities about the food that you may encounter that you have no control over or have the ability to know everything that is in that food. and I’ve realized my eating has been disordered since I was young, but I never realized because a lot of my disordered ideas were caused and encouraged by my mother and my peers, so I think a part of me thought every one else was doing what I did/do. even now I’m struggling again with near-bingeing or barely eating. I still have some anxities over my health, food and life in general, and these are constantly triggering these mindsets, often teetering on the fence between one or the other. Some days I want to eat everything and other days i’m horrified about the idea of anything ~impure~ lmao. I don’t really have a point to make, just a big thing I wanted to get off my chest. be seen, y’know. I think no one’s ever known that this is something i’ve been going through. i didn’t even know! feel free to talk to me about this stuff because i get the feeling this is an illness that makes people feel really isolated, since I feel isolated by it at times. ANYWAYS YEAH FKAJFNAKS i struggle with disordered eating and if you do ily and you deserve to treat your body kindly

[fat-acceptance-dropout]

What first caused you to go against FA? (For me it was when I was bullied for wanting to lose weight)

It's been a while since I answered this question, so I guess it's time to answer it again; bear in mind, though, that I'm mobile so cut me some slack.

There are two things that made me go from supporting to opposing Fat Acceptance.

One, cognitive dissonance.

Two, becoming aware of the hopelessness lurking just below the surface of the FA movement.

Let's tackle them in order, since that's how it happened.

Picture this:

I'm sitting on my bed, eating some horrid thing called a pizza cone that I'm not enjoying, but I'm eating nonetheless.

As I'm eating this, I'm browsing Tumblr and start writing about how weight loss is impossible, and I'm the living example, because I exercise and eat healthy without losing weight.

Do you notice the contradiction?

I certainly did.

It's hard to argue about healthy eating when you're basically fellating cheese and pepperoni and not even having fun doing it. (Seriously, fuck pizza cones. Pizza is fine as it is. Cones just complicate things.)

I had to be honest with myself in that moment. I neither exercised or ate healthy, at least not often enough for it to make a difference.

Certainly, I did it sometimes, but the exercise was hiking twice a week, and maybe some yoga, and the eating healthy was drinking green smoothies and not caring about what I ate the rest of the day.

Certainly, I dieted sometimes. Lasted a month or two, went crazy, binged and called the whole thing a bust.

So, with that big, bright, sharp moment of clarity, I decided to try for real. No half measures. I decided to go all the way.

I joined a boxing gym, which was something I had always wanted to do and something that I was fairly confident I'd be able to stick to. By now, I knew well enough that I didn't like regular gyms, so I decided to avoid those.

No weight machines for me, just free weight exercises and boxing.

Then, I started counting calories.

By now, I knew that sticking to a diet plan just wasn't going to happen, and counting calories would allow me to eat what I wanted as long as I measured myself.

It went horribly.

When I first started counting calories, I went over my daily limit by 12:00 pm, which was one of the most frustrating things I had faced at the time.

I had to acknowledge that I really ate a lot, and that I had not only very little control over what I ate but also over when I ate.

I ate food I didn't like, I ate when I wasn't hungry, I ate when I was feeling down, I ate when I had cravings, I ate when I exercised, I ate when I didn't exercise, I ate and ate and ate.

So I started puking to eat more.

Rather than acknowledge the fact that I had an unhealthy relationship with food I decided to double down on it by binging and purging, rather than just binging.

I didn't lose any weight.

I knew it was a bad idea when I started, but I still did it, and when that neither made me lose weight or made me reduce my caloric intake, I realized I needed a change.

So, I changed. Acknowledged my unhealthy relationship with food, worked on changing it, worked on eating better, worked on exercising for real, and wouldn't you know it? I started losing weight.

So, as I started losing weight, and I started feeling better in ways that I never would've expected —no more ankle pain, no more flash heats, no more snoring, no more fits of coughing— I realized that the FA movement and HAES had lied to me.

Not only was weight loss possible, but excess weight does have an impact on your body.

That's when I realized the hopelessness lurking below the surface of the Fat Acceptance movement, because below the 'love yourself', 'you don't have to lose weight to be loved', 'you deserve respect regardless of your weight', and 'your weight doesn't reflect your worth' of the movement, that I wholeheartedly approve of, there are some insidious messages:

- Weight loss is impossible

- Your actions have no impact on your body.

- Your weight has no impact on your health.

- Even if you want or need to change, it can't be done, so you're fucked.

- Wanting to change means there's something wrong with you.

- Suggesting changes means, at best, ignorance, at worst hate.

And more.

While I understand that, to some, the idea of weight being out of one's control is liberating, I always did find it defeatist, even when I was a complete supporter of the movement, and it caused no small amount of resentment.

After all, how are you not supposed to feel resentful and angry when others have the thin genes? When you're just going to have to accept that you're fat? That you're helpless to change?

Make no mistake. I believe in self acceptance, in learning to love yourself and not using someone's physical appearance as a measure of self worth, but I found that the deeper one digs into the movement, the more helpless it makes you feel, the more it goes from accepting yourself to there is nothing you can do to change.

Again, some people see that as liberating. I didn't. I still don't.

It's kind of why my message isn't "you should lose weight," or "you shouldn't be fat," but rather "you can lose weight." (and keep it off.)

Because ultimately, I believe that knowing that the choice exists is what makes all the difference.

You can choose to lose weight. You can choose not to lose weight, but you're choosing. You're actively making a choice, and you can change that choice if you feel like doing it.

Choosing to be fat is a hell of a lot better than being fat because you have no choice, and the constant message of "you can't change, you can't change," of the FA movement is what led me to go from simply not being part of it to being against it.

[esepoimipullula]

So, there’s this reply to that “do you ever read you friend’s writing and you wonder why they even put up with you” post, about how that’s an unhealthy attitude that will only hurt both you and your friend, even if you pass it off as a joke. About how you should try to better your writing because you love writing and it gives you joy and improving makes you feel proud, not because you keep comparing yourselves to others or because you’ve been told you can’t be too confident in your achievements and now think hating everything you create is the way to improve when it’s really just a way to both destroy your self-esteem and make creating unnecessarily difficult. And the thing is, I agree with it. The wording feels a bit harsh to me, but I’m kind of an oversensitive softie, and I suppose people do need a good kick in the pants once in a while. And I really do agree.

I think love is fundamental, and if you don’t love writing or what you write, you should either stop or take a good, long pause to figure out if you can love it, again or at all. I write because I love it. Or at least, I feel something close to love for it. I don’t really think about it. Sometimes a sentence, a description or a line of dialogue or a simile or anything else, pops into my mind out of the blue and I’m like either, “Oh, what is that? Who or what is it about? Where do is it lead me?” or “Yes, that’s it, hold that until a less ungodly hour/a moment when I’m free to try and do something with it or at the very least write it down.” Sometimes I’m watching or reading or doing something and my brain says, “Yeah, but you know what would be cool? If this thing happened to these characters!”, and the thing that should totally happen to the characters may or may not be related in any way to the thing I’m watching or reading or doing. And sometimes I have a sudden craving for a certain story or character or scene, or a want that has built up through years, but of course I know I won’t find any piece of fiction that fits my tastes exactly and precisely and because I don’t know any writers who happen to be mindreaders and I’m not about to become the kind of prompter who feeds the plot almost line by line to the unlucky writer their asking for a story, so in the end I go, “You know what? This is actually a very good idea and it’s a shame no one has written it yet so I’ll just do it myself!” And sometimes I feel frustrated or unsatisfied or irritated or even just a little too frantic and in too deep to actually feel any love or joy or anything else while I’m writing rather than when I take a step back to reread and edit what I’ve written, but I wouldn’t trade all those other “sometimes” I’ve just mentioned for anything in the world. And honestly, I wouldn’t do it even with these less pleasant “sometimes,” as much as I like to complain or joke or jokingly complain about them. Because they are all part of what makes me me and the idea of ever giving them up, even for some relative peace of mind, feels as absurd and unnecessary as the idea of consciously trying to change my tastes in food or music or fiction or jokes or pets --- I can only guess at where some things come from, so how would I even go about upturning or taking away things that feel almost more like instinct than anything else? And why would I ever wish to? And I don’t think I’ve never been in romantic love, I’m not even sure if I know how that’s really supposed to feel like or work out, but this is kind of love I know. The kind of love I feel for my family and my friends, who all have annoying, stupid habits because that’s what people do and I’m sure they find my habits annoying and stupid, too, and that’s fine, and the kind of love I feel for our cat, who yells at me when he’s hungry and scratches me when we play and bullies the neighbour’s overly friendly, peace-loving dog and does a lot other things that made me fear and wonder, “Oh, god, what if the novelty of having a cute little cat all for ourselves wears off after a while and we don’t want him anymore and we become one of those families that take in a pet and change its whole life only to immediately give it back and give it trust issues in the process because they’re not actually fit to have a pet” before we’d actually gotten him but now they’re just part of him and you’ll have to fistfight each and every one of us in a parking lot if you try and take him away from us. That’s the kind of love I have for writing, and even if it’s not always joy, and sometimes it’s annyoing or irritating or no more pleasant than merely, simply breathing, what does the unpleasantness or the lack of enthusiasm really matter? Nothing, or at least, very little. It’s my love, I can only guess where it really comes from, it’s always with me and I can’t imagine it ever going away, and you can fight me in the aforementioned parking lot.

And I think it’s this love that allows me to... not quite be carefree about my writing, but something a bit like that. What do comments and reviews and kudos matter, if my love expresses itself through fandoms most people don’t even think can be considered as fandoms or themes nobody but me thinks or cares about? Sure, validation and compliments and people genuinely enjoying what I create make me feel great and may even warm my heart, depending on how much thought and effort I put into a particular work or how long I’ve wished to be able to find other people interested in a certain fandom, but they’re not my reason for writing or even something I really need -- I’ll keep doing my thing whether I get a hundred kudos and fifty comments or only three views. I did use to compare myself unfavorably to other writers and despair over all the ways I found myself inferior and lacking, but then I realized... what good is wishing I could be as good as someone else, or even someone else altogether, if my writing is part of me, stems from who I am? What influence on me could another writer’s success and the methods and techniques used to reach that success even have? I should strive to satify myself while doing what I want, to become as good as I can be according to my standards and through the methods and techniques that work for me. I can take what I like and analyse it and try to make it mine and incorporate it in my style and my ideas, there’s nothing wrong with that and it’s a good way to broaden my horizons and challenge myself and improve my work and love writing even more, but in the end, I can’t be anyone but myself --- and I may have lots of flaws, but in the end, there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with that. Actually, there is some joy, and even pride, in that. And so, I reread my old works and see them with new, more charitable eyes, remembering the fun and the satisfaction and the need to write precisely that specific thing, pushing aside the old doubts that gave me nothing but endless nitpicking and rewriting and saying, “You know? Maybe my use of em dashes wasn’t actually as overbearing and cringy as I thought, maybe I should start using them a bit more freely again.” I reread my new works and tell myself, “Fuck it, of course I enjoy this and I am actually a bit proud of it, I wrote it for myself, according to my own tastes and following my own inspiration and putting as much effort and care into it as I thought it needed!”

I still have doubts and fears like everyone else, but they’re more along the lines of, “I know I can write better than this, so why am I not doing it right now? What is the problem here?!” or “I love and care and believe so much in this idea and I want to be good enough to do it justice and make sure it’ll make me feel perfectly satisifed and proud with the final result”, than “Everybody is doing the thing I feel is my thing better than me” or “I’ll never be this other writer I admire.” My writing blocks are usually more about getting stuck in the middle of a work while struggling to find the right words to put the exact feelings and actions I have in my mind on the page precisely as I’ve imagined them (”No, thats not it! There’s something missing and I can’t go on until I find out what it is! The words here don’t sound right!”), or struggling to find the Right Words to start a new project at all because I still have to work on internalizing that perfectionism is the enemy and a first draft is meant to be changed and corrected and maybe even kind of suck even if rationally I understand both concepts, or having Something Big in mind but knowing I usually just follow the flow of my ideas until it dries up and feeling my best works really come from truly getting lost into it and then worrying about how difficult Building An Actual Plot Like A Rational Person will be, or having scenes or even whole stories feels just so complete in my head that laboring to get them out of it feels like doing the same exact work twice for nothing (which isn’t true, but tell it to my brain), or just... not being able to start or go on or even end even if I have everything from ideas to motivation ro the right, relaxed but willing and driven state of mind, for some reason. Or, like, utterly dumb stuff like, “This paragraph will only make me feel good if I manage to get the lines to align in this specific way without changing the meaning or ruining the tone and atmosphere, so I will now modify it four or five times until I get it right even if I know this doesn’t make any sense.”

Except... there’s this friend. Her writing is the kind that uses a scant amount of sharp, essential words to tell whole worlds made of unsaid things, so soft they make you feel like you’re inside a dream or so harsh they're like a punch in the gut but always so clever and full that you always feel you’re always missing somthing, you just aren’t smart enough to figure it out. I have to make a conscious effort not to compare them to my works, because then mine feel overwrought and overdramatic, childish and naive.

And I know, believe me I know, that despite how much of yourself ends up in your writing, despite how much your writing can be a part of yourself, skill as a writer is not synonymous with worth as a person. You can be a good and/or succesful writer and be a complete shithead, and thinks like kindness and open-mindedness will always be fundamentally more important than the ability to string words together in a pleasing manner. But she’s kind (perhaps kinder than I deserve, because I know sometimes I can be a real dick), and open-minded, and sweet in her own way, and brave, and confident, and so smart and cultured, and sharp, and funny, and interesting, and she seems to understand people a lot better than I do. And even when we’re just chatting, I’m not always sure I understand every layer to everything she says, I’m not sure I can keep up with her wit and her mind. The confidence I feel while writing evaporates and I feel slow and shallow and boring and dumb and wonder why she puts up with me, how she hasn’t realised she could be talking to her people more like her yet.

The worst thing is, it’s not even her doing anything to make me feel like this and I know it too well. I don’t even think she knows, and I hope she never finds out. She’s not just kind to me, but affectionate and supportive, and in a honest and genuine way, and I know it’s irrational and stupid to think I might have tricked her into behaving like that with me, or that she’s not being sincere, or that she just doesn’t care enough to  take a good look at me and find out what my brain thinks is the truth. I know it would be hurtful and ungrateful to tell her. 

I also know she’s not perfect, because no one is. She has her flaws, too, and sometimes she says things that make me roll my eyes or sigh in frustration. There are some things I know more about than her, too. And we don’t even live near each other so I’ve never even met her in person, so I know if that happened at one point, I’d probably find out a bunch of annoying things about her.

But when she compliments my writing, sometimes my brain either shortcircuits for a moment or starts coming up with all kinds of bullshit like, “She’s just saying that because you’re friends and she’s a very supportive person. You’re pretty much the only one writing for this ship, so this is more like when you’re desperate enough to run fics in Russian and Chinese through Google Translate and you still leave kudos even though half of it came out as gibberish. It’s like when you read something you know is actually not well-written or well-plotted at all just for a certain specific character or trope in it, she’s just the type who doesn’t believe in guilty pleasures. She’s using a very happy and pleased tone but that doesn’t mean anything on the internet, almost everything here is hyperbole anyway so her actual reaction must have been a lot more lukewarm.” And when she writes to me or says she enjoys talking to me, sometimes my brain will go, “That’s great and I appreciate it! ... but seriously, why.”

*sigh* I guess that’s another thing I’ll have to try and work on this year. Being more open about what I feel -- at least on a sideblog read by only *checks* fourteen people, none of whom are the friend in question or any friends we have in common or any of my regular internet friends at all -- instead of keeping everything bottled up inside at all times is another one, apparently. Let’s see if it’ll really make me feel lighter.