#chubby Leon is so important to me

[wherenymphsroam]

I READ DAD BOD LEON AND LIKE JDFKD imagine praising him and getting him all flustered and needy and just 😭 he is such a hottie I NEED HIM sorry im just a lil feral abt him

GRAHHHH YES !!!!

cw: leon finally in his retirement era ??? (probably not canon but we can only hope), chubby leon, older leon, body worship, very light scent thing, a messy blowjob, he’s insecure at first the poor thing, uhhhh not proofread <3

w/c: 1.5k

like, leon is sooooo relieved when he’s (somehow) allowed to retire. genuinely probably just passes out for a good couple of days, drowsy and catching up on years of sleep he missed for a month or so. takes things day by day, waning contentedly through different hobbies, interests, just trying to like…. find his personality back after basically becoming the governments dog for the most of his adult life.

and some things really like … don’t click at first.

that he’s not nearly as active without the physically demanding day to day. the mission every other month or so that sheds him of all his bodies resources, the ones that basically force upon him that consistently low body fat percentage. sure, he still works out because at this point, it’s weird Not To after putting in so much physical work for so long.

but he’s older now, his metabolism has changed. commercial gyms don’t exactly offer the same amount of intensity that his body is so used to having to work through. and naturally, parts of him grow complacent. he eats more, rightfully so. actually has the time to go out to eat on a consistent basis, and doordash is viewed as a god sent app.

he doesn’t really notice the pounds that have crept up on him until suddenly his favorite pair of jeans doesn’t need a belt to keep them up anymore. it’s when he tucks in his shirt for a more upscale night out that he realizes his button down is more fitted against him than maybe it was the last time he dug out his nicer clothes.

but once he realizes it, he shies away from it, avoids changing in front of mirrors. and when he starts refusing to change in front of you that you notice.

sure, leon was always attractive in your eyes. but it was never the muscles, the trim ‘v’ of his waistline that kept you around. you loved him, genuinely so. and to have him around more often, able to revel in some of the domestic things you couldn’t exactly soak up when he was still an agent? it’s like heaven on earth with him.

so when you notice the slight increase in his weight — the softness that begins to pad his strong biceps when he wraps his arms around you from behind, the extra bit you’re able to hold onto when you hug him — you don’t point it out. it’s welcomed, has you touching him a bit more than maybe necessary nowadays.

the first time he abruptly turns around when you walk in while he was changing, you don’t question it. it’s when he starts to dim the lights before the two of you topple onto the bed in a passionate display that you grow suspicious. your last straw is plucked when he starts coming to bed with a shirt on. an oversized one at that. he had never worn shirts to bed before, always complained about the materials feeling against him becoming irritating throughout the night.

he tries to deny when you first confront him. plays off the way the newfound pliant skin of his sides swells out over the top of his jeans waistband. shakes his head and makes a face at you, even goes so far as to roll his eyes when you reason with him, pointing out his recent ‘preference’ of keeping the lights lower when you fuck.

“I think you’re imagining this, sweetheart. I’m still sexy,” he reasons cheekily, trying to distract you with his cheesy nature.

“I didn’t say you’re not sexy,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You’re definitely still sexy. I’m just saying you look sexy with the extra bit on you,” you hum, leaning against the bedroom door.

it takes Leon a second, trying to allow ‘sexiness’ and ‘weight’ to coexist in his head. at least not in terms of himself. he loved women, all shapes and bodies and weights included. it was a no brainer to say that yes, your logic that sexiness could coexist with more weight was correct. but on him…? he’s Leon Kennedy. he’s not fat.

“Nor am I saying you’re fat, not by a long shot,” you continue, knowing all too well what that look on his face meant. the one he wore when he was thinking too hard about something.

he tries not to flinch when your hands reach out, capturing his sides. tries to stifle the sound that wants to escape when he realizes how much more sensitive the skin there is now with the extra weight. but the pounding of his heart and heat emanating off his body tells you all you need to know. so you continue.

you’re unashamed in how you explore how pliant his sides are now, in how you trace along where the firm cut lines of his abs formerly were. gently pinching and filling your fingers with the extra skin that lies over his lower abdomen, flattening your palm over the swell there and letting it fill your palm. his breath hitches, hands twitching at his sides, itching to slide your hands off him. he yearns to step out of your grasp, but knows that’ll be too telling. so he lets you continue, let’s you have your fun.

the button of his jeans pops audibly, and it’s clear that maybe he’s gonna have to let his favorite pair go pretty soon. but that’s okay. it’s obvious how okay it is when you slide his shirt up, up, up and out of the way. when your lips finds his sternum, trailing up and down its length before moving on to his pecs. silently appreciating how they’ve swelled a bit, how the hair that scatters across his skin has seemingly spread more. you tuck your nose in, inhaling him appreciatively when you slide your fingers under the waistband of his jeans, start to shimmy the denim down.

and oh god, you’re slowly lowering yourself, letting your lips ghost over his stomach now. you’ve grown sloppier, greedier in how you lick up the salt of his skin, bite into and suck at the pliant flesh. as if a fever had overcome you.

and really, that’s not all that far fetched of an idea. it was like you were seeing him naked for the first time all over again. except he’s softer, warmer… easier to paw and play with. responsive when your hands knead at his sides, his pecs. breathless and panting when he realizes his nipples are more sensitive for some reason when you drag the pads of your thumbs over them.

he could’ve gone bright pink when you ask him to strip completely. in front of the mirror no less. but he obliges, although begrudgingly. maybe a bit more hesitantly when you roll your desk chair over in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, instructing him to sit down. but that dissolves when you settle on your knees in front of it, as if sweetening the deal.

he doesn’t expect you to be so …. eager when you finally get yours hands on him. but fuck does he look good. softened thighs spread, the perfect mix between strong and soft in front of you. his soft cock, laid oh so prettily between them, ever so full balls nestled there. you really can’t help how quickly you find yourself burying your face into him, breathing him in and mouthing at his thighs.

your hands are greedy, so very greedy in how you grab at him. his thighs, the stomach that’s started to rest on them. his pecs you reach up to paw at when you realize they’ve started to create a crease between his chest and his stomach from below.

and at first, he doesn’t believe you when you tell him he looks even better like this. that if anything, you prefer him like this. doesn’t want to hear it when you try to coax him into repeating affirmations about himself, keeps his eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

but of course, he’s a weak man. you’re sat on your knees between his spread thighs, your ass practically begging to be ogled in those jeans.

and that’s what he focuses on at first. tries not to notice how you have to tilt your head slightly when you take him in your mouth, how you have to hold his tummy when you suck him off to keep it from inhabiting how far down you can get on his length. but as the heat in his body grows, as you get sloppier with spit dribbling down your chin, he has no choice but to look down at you.

and at that point, he can’t find it in him to care about the swell of his lower abdomen. he isn’t very worried about how much more space his thighs take up on the chair when you dip one of his balls into your mouth, licking and warming and soaking them in your feverish attempt to make him feel how sexy he is to you.

but by the time he’s coming ropes onto your pretty face, he finally gives in. finally obliges you fully and admits that maybe… maybe he was still sexy as fuck. maybe he did look better, healthier with the retirement weight on him.

[killuintense]

could you write a one shot of Leon and fem!reader talking about having a baby together? Leon assuming he would have to go easy on the alcohol and y/n happy to give Leon baby plsss ily<3 vvvv

❝ baby fever ❞

leon kennedy x fem!reader.

summary: the idea of confessing to you that incessant idea in his head to tell you that you would be an excellent mother, was consuming Leon.

content: 1.3k words, fluff, mention of pregnancy, a very cheesy and sweet Leon, mention of alcoholism, comfort.

note: i loved placing your request, thank you very much for making it and i hope you enjoy it, ilyyyy ♡ ♡

The night seemed to be calm and typical for that season of the year. The breeze was gently breezing and ruffling Leon's ashen hair as he quietly opened the door of the house without trying to make too much noise. It wasn't too late, but he didn't want to be loud, especially after spending all day at the main D.S.O. base taking care of paperwork and reports after his last assignment at Alcatraz prison. He laughed when he remembered your concern the moment you learned that he had been infected by a virus, blaming you for not accompanying him as you usually did being an important agent of the association.

"Ahmmm..." he heard a soft sound emitted by you from the kitchen and soon remembered that little detail. Your best friend had asked you as a last minute favor to babysit her baby for that whole day as family problems had arisen. She remembered the image of the morning. You, holding in your arms that little girl with golden hair and chubby cheeks, you and your look of love and tenderness. Leon would bet that he had never seen you make that face before, and a strange feeling welled up in his chest. Almost as if from his heart exploding in a feverish sense of need it was present "So goood, what a good girl, you like applesauce, don't you?" a complicit chuckle let itself be heard and Leon hesitated to enter the kitchen where your voice came from. He hesitated because he knew that if he came in and saw you behaving in such a natural and loving way with the little baby, many incoherent words and impulsive ideas would come out of his mouth.

However, the day had been long enough without wanting to see his beloved so he didn't hesitate to leave his blue leather jacket hanging in the entrance and enter the kitchen, watching how you held little Rosemary in your arms and gave her that preparation with enthusiasm "My love..." it almost came out in a sigh, and you admired it with surprise.

"Leon!" the excitement could be heard in your voice and dazzled in your eyes "I didn't hear the door, I'm sorry I didn't welcome you, Honey" you smiled and took the baby's little hand to improvise a greeting to Leon. He could feel his face heat up and if it wasn't for the baby on top of you, he would have run to lock you in his arms, sinking into a kiss that only he was capable of giving you. Before he could speak any more, though, the doorbell rang and soon you both realized that it was probably your friend finally showing up as promised.

He could see the disappointment in your eyes, knowing that if it was for you you could have her for another day playing with your cheeks as she laughed with amusement; and the blond wondered if he couldn't fall more in love, wondered if his love for you would make him explode. He needed to make you more his than you already were. He needed to sink into you in a different way and mark you, leave something of him forever in you.

"I really wish she would have stayed longer" you mentioned once the baby joyfully welcomed her mother's arms "You know you can trust me if you need help again" you offered and exchanged words of encouragement with your friend, cheering her up and congratulating her on having such a beautiful baby. Leon also waved, stood behind you with that soft smile he was only naturally able to do when he had you around. But he wasn't being enough. He wanted to close the damn door and tell you about that crazy idea that had been going around in his head since that morning he saw you with a little baby in your arms, about that feeling that invaded him when he took you by the waist hugging you and leaving a kiss on your lips and a soft caress on the little one's cheek before saying goodbye and leaving for work. He felt for the first time the feeling of a.... family. A family he only wanted to have if it was with you.

"Ah..." once you closed the door you stretched and yawned, hanging on the back of Leon's neck to hug him tightly "I really miss you today, big boy" you teased at the nickname, depositing a kiss on his jawline as scarred as it was rough, feeling the stubble of a couple of days unshaven.

"I missed you more..." he seemed as self-absorbed as ever, moving his hands from your waist to your belly, caressing it gently. It caught your attention that he would do that, of course, but you assumed he was affectionate because of the distance and remoteness that had consumed you during that week due to work. But you didn't think that Leon's mind was wandering in a need so primitive that it even saddened him "You really would make an excellent mother" he suddenly blurted out, staring at you as he gently bumped his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, sorry for pushing you into that situation.

"Is that a proposal, Kennedy?" you smiled, you loved it when he got shy like that. That remembered you when he was younger and still didn't know how to handle himself, how he wasn't able to carry all the traumas he had on his shoulders. "Leon... do you really think I would make a good mother?" you asked unsurely, a pressure in your chest made as it dawned on you that Leon wanted you to be the mother of his children. That he wanted to take that step with you.

"Obviously! Fuck, sometimes I find myself thinking about that too much" he smiled, kissing your cheek repeatedly causing you to giggle in amusement "Can you imagine? A little girl running all over the house, accompanying us everywhere, laughing and being happy..." his voice trailed off softly and he smiled "Being happy like we would have liked to be at some point. Not thinking about abandonment and the sadness of not having a home to return to" he squeezed your waist, as if trying to be aware that you were there, that you hadn't faded away. "And I know that last year was terrible... but I need to start again, I need to forget that I can drown my sorrows in alcohol" he murmured, ashamed of himself.

"Leon..." you took his cheek and smiled, kissing his lips softly "You'll make an excellent father, you know that, don't you?" a sparkle came into Leon's eyes, almost as if the hope of a future was opening in front of him, holding your hand, happy to move forward "Although to be honest, I'd like a mini Leon" you laughed, brushing your nose against his, in a sweet Eskimo kiss.

"If it's with you I wouldn't mind having a litter of mini Leons" he joked, though in a corner of his mind his almost animal instinct thought that if you let him he was capable of filling you completely until you couldn't take any more. 'We're not rabbits... for now' he thought, and chuckled to himself before he felt you pull away to go to the kitchen.

"Especially since I'm sure if she grows up to be a girl, she's going to be a spoiled daddy's princess" you said loud enough for him to hear and started cleaning up the dishes you had messed up during the day. Soon a giggle came closer and Leon's soft footsteps came into view, catching you around the waist as he let out a mocking sigh in your ear, sending a burst of electricity down your spine.

"Don't be like that, if you love that I spoil you, mh" he kissed your neck and you couldn't help but feel your body temper. You wouldn't give up that feeling of need for anything, that feeling of Leon wanting and having the instinct to take you in a way beyond what himself could have thought. You couldn't wait for the day to come, to one day have the privilege of having a seed of him growing inside you.

[simping-for-joe]

Someone Who Enjoys Life

Leon Kennedy X Chubby! Reader

It's been one of those weeks and your self-esteem has been having a rough moment. Leon won't just let that stand.

Warnings: Body image issues, bad eating habits (mentioned)

A/N: I was using a character AI for Leon and he said something to me since like sometimes I do basically storylines about body image issues and it gave me this line that I just adored.

It's been one of those weeks for you. You've struggled with your body image issues before so this wasn't exactly new territory. It's just this time it was practically bad.

Small things were getting under your skin this week. Little things like having to go buy a new pair of jeans due to the inner thigh fabric being worn out. Reminding you of the size of your thighs, and all it did was embarrass you. Noticing how your clothes fit on you, things like that.

It definitely doesn't help Leon has been distant this week due to work. Not that you could blame him, it's just when he's like this he's close to impossible to get support from. So, you kept it to yourself this week. Dealing with it in small ways, and you weren't sure if it was actually helping or not.

Leon immediately something was off this week, he knows you better than anyone at this point. He watched from afar as you avoided the shared bathroom mirror. He swears up and down that you didn't eat dinner one night, and he noticed you were more reserved when it came to physical affection.

He wanted to say something, he really did but he knows from past experiences that body image issues are a delicate topic. Not to mention while he's had some experience with it, it wasn't quite the same experience as you. On top of that, he was currently dealing with something work-related, meaning he shit out of ideas on how to handle this.

It was a quiet night in the week of chaos, Leon looked up from his paperwork as you were making something in the kitchen.

"So..." Leon speaks up, you look at him with a raised eyebrow as you can sense the awkward tone in his voice. "I um saw your jeans in the trash." He suddenly brings up. You stop preparing dinner, freezing as the faint feelings of shame and embarrassment rise up in you.

"Y-yeah... just you know... they got worn out." You reply stiffly, refusing to look at him.

"Oh, do you need to go shopping?" Leon was hoping this was going to be an easy fix.

"It's a-alright Leon really." You try to insist just wanting this conversation to end.

"No, if you need jeans you need jeans." He tries to argue with you, he just wants to be helpful. On some level, you understood that, but you were just so embarrassed.

"Leon."

"What? We can even get you a bigger size if you need." He offers, and that's the straw that breaks the camel's back. You don't know the exact reason why but you just start crying at hearing that, causing Leon to look at you with a mix of confusion, worry, and guilt. He rushes out of his seat at the table and heads over to the kitchen. "Sweetheart... what's wrong?" He asks you, his voice soft and low to be more soothing. "This isn't just about the jeans is it?"

"No..." You reply through tears, and before you know it he pulls you into a tight embrace. His strong arms make you feel secure and loved even as you sob against his chest. You feel his fingers in your hair as he just sways you both a bit as he just lets you cry. Letting out whatever you've been bottling up all week.

After a few minutes, you move away from him taking a deep breath as you finally start calming down from your outburst. It's quiet as you grab a paper towel and blow your nose.

"Do... do you want to talk about it?" Leon asks you quietly.

"I-It's... just been a rough week..." You mumble softly, almost numbly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He questions, his eyebrows pinched together with worry.

"You have work and me having some body image issues isn't-"

"No, no, no, this is important to you so it's important to me. I know how hard it is for you sometimes. I will tell you as many times as you need that you are beautiful and I will always love you." You look at him with slight disbelief. Leon did not care, he'd do this song and dance for the rest of his life if he had to, as long as you believed you were beautiful.

"I just... don't you want someone who's-" You begin, hesitating to say the word he knew was coming.

"Thinner?" He asks crossing his arms, you nod almost sadly. Leon is quiet for a moment before sighing and uncrossing his arms. "I love you so much, that words cannot describe. I love the extra weight you have on you, I really do. You're my soft, squishy partner in crime." He tells you cupping your cheeks gently as you blush brightly. "Do you know why I love your body?" He asks softly, and you shake your head gently. "Because you have the body of someone who enjoys life, and I think that's beautiful..." Your quiet as you think about that, and you feel your throat tighten again with emotion. "I see you and I immediately see someone with so much life and love in them. That's why I love you..." Leon tells you sincerely. "The really nice hugs are just a bonus." He adds on, getting a chuckle from you as you look up at him. You just hug him tightly, catching him a bit off guard but he embraces you back.

"I love you..."

"I love you too sweetheart, and I always will."

[fictionalslvr]

SYNOPSIS: At your twenty five birthday, you decided to do a big party. The problem is, a noise complaint is made by the old couple of neighbors next to your house, that's when a young handsome cop appears at your door.

PAIRING: Rookie Cop¡Re2 Leon x chubby f¡reader

WORD COUNT:3.432k

WARNINGS: Smut! Switch¡Leon. Sitting on his face, explicit content and descriptions, smut with plot, cunnilingus, whiny Leon etc.

NOTES: PLEASE listen to "birthday sex" while reading, it sure brings a whole new experience to it. Sorry if this is a very hushed story, had a lot to do on it, and feels hushed for me :( anyways, enjoy. I'm not a chubby woman, but i tried to represent who is, sorry if i did any mistakes on it.

The twenties, the phase where everything is changing. Everything seems new, you’re discovering life again, meeting people, getting to know new things and the most important, your life is probably adjusting at this age, is where you will understand yourself, get some self recognition and finally know what you want to do for the rest of your life. So, to celebrate this important phase, the most common thing to do is a celebration, a birthday party! You, yourself, were not someone that goes often to parties or clubs, but completing twenty five years? It’s a deserved party that you’re going to have tonight. The first thing to do was shopping, and nothing better to do so with a friend, no?

You are currently with a friend in a local shop, looking for clothes appropriate for the occasion.The old lady that runs this shop is a cute one, and you know her since a kid. When you got there, she greeted you with a brilliant smile, her little eyes twinkled as she almost closed her eyes, the biggest smile just for you. The doorbell made your both presences noticeable to her, the place is well cared for, always giving you comfort as soon as you step inside. She keeps saying about you grown, the old lady behind the counter makes you want to bend over and give her a tight hug. Miss Evans was too old to keep working as she is now, but she just loves the shop, as anyone in the town, she can’t leave the place like this. And honestly, you just bought clothes from this gray haired old lady since a kid, you wouldn’t buy anywhere else.

When she’s done greeting you and your friend, you both go towards the dresses section.

Holding a tight red dress in your hands, you put it in front of your body looking at the mirror and just letting it escape a sigh in defeat. He’s too formal for this celebration. Either way, you’ve been a bit insecure about your body recently, you never were the skinny type of girl, and growing more and more chubby as the years passes by isn’t helping. You’re not obese, that’s for sure. But finding someone is way harder for you.

—”This one is too formal, I'm looking like a girl on her fifteenth birthday.” You sigh once again, looking away as if looking for another dress. Your friend was helping you in this task, a lot of other dresses you proved this day looking for the perfect one, hanging in her arms as she looks frustrated for not helping you.

—”No worry, we’re gonna find you something casual —but not that much— until the night comes.” The soothing words are more for her, than you. Panic all over you two. All you can hear is your friend slurping a milkshake in her hands, the dresses almost falling from her arms.

—”How about…this one? It’s not very casual, nor too formal.” You bat an eye on it. Eleonore is holding an ocean blue dress in her free hand, a bodycon one that is backless behind. Your whole expression changes with it, your lips parting slowly in shock.

Putting the one red dress back to its place, you take the ocean blue one from the hand of your friend. Putting in front of your body, you’re scared it won’t fit, because you’re simply amazed by it.

—”I’m going to prove this one.” Eleonore's face lights up, she nods with her head, already putting the others' dresses back on the original place as you head to the changeroom. Closing the curtains, you slip down your clothes, putting the dress up with caution.

It fits perfectly. Like it was made for you. You felt like Cinderella putting on the crystal tiny shoe, your whole face shining in joy. You look at the mirror in front of you, twirling slowly in your heels to give you a total view of it. It completely accentuated the curves of your body, your plumpy chest fitting nicely in the dress, he was a bit short, getting a bit above your knees, but that’s not a problem. You turn and look over your shoulder, seeing the backless part with a big grin. That’s exactly what you’ve been looking for, all those approximately 3 hours are compensated with this specific dress fitting you like a glove. Even with your insecurity still hitting on the back of your head, this dress makes you look amazing. Stepping out of the dressing room, you face Eleonore, waiting for you. Her lips curl up in a smile.

—”You look perfect, girl! You’re stunning, really. I…have no words.” She giggles, putting one hand in front of her lips, expressing how shocked she is.

—”I know, I don't even look like me.”

—”Stop! You’re looking like a queen!” Her compliments got you smiling like a silly, Eleonore was always worshiping you, she could kiss the floor you stepped on to prove how pretty she sees you are.

—”Thanks, Eleo. You’re the best.”

—”Only the best for you! Now…this dress is your final choice right?” You nod with your head.

Stepping out of the local shop with a bag in hand, you and your friend are exhaling happiness all over, giggling and talking about the party you’re having tonight.

Of course that Eleonore helped you to prepare things, all day with you in your help, baking the cake, preparing drink and doing the decoration, everything in blue tones that look like your dress. And the house is all decorated in blue, looking so pretty and delicate that it makes you melt. You start to feel a drip of sweat rolling down your forehead slowly as the day passes by, all day carrying things, making the invites and all was hard.

—”Thanks for the help, Eleo.” Your voice sounds deep, all because of the hard job you did all afternoon. A box in your hands, you thank your friend for the help before the party begins.

When the night comes by, the moonlight makes the decoration even more pretty under the dim light of your home. As people come in, you greet all your friends. Soon the place becomes claustrophobic, lots of friends and the heat of their bodies taking over your house. Not to mention you, a dark blue makeup, and the pretty dress adorning your body, you were like a queen just as Eleonore said.

—”Looking stunning tonight, [name]!” One of your other friends says as you pass by, your shoes clicking on the floor, making a soft sound. You wave at them, a giggle escaping from your lips. Every inch you pass by, you hear a compliment, it’s really feeding your ego now.

Later, the party needed a bit more of music, as you turn up the volume of your speakers, with a drink in hands, you’re dancing with your friends, the scents all mixed, people having fun, everything is turned to you tonight, everyone looking at you, complimenting you and greeting with a happy voice saying ‘happy birthday’. You feel like a total star tonight. And maybe, your fame was not well seen by other people, specifically, your old neighbors, who didn’t like the loud music and sounds so loud at night. You just notice when someone knocks at your door, thinking it’s another guest who is later for it, you go open the creaky door.

Your jaw falls on the floor, you never expected to call the attention of cops this night. In front of you, there's a young blond man in a blue uniform, a badge on his chest that says ‘officer kennedy’, he’s probably a rookie judging by the way he seems nervous. Without any sign of beard, face all clean and skin probably softer than yours, he’s adorable, round face just making his doe eyes more cute. He has a good pair of baby blue eyes, that are fixed on your for longer than you thought before he started speaking.

—”Excuse me, ma’am. I received a noise complaint here.” The young man holds tightly into his uniform, pressing his own lips together and straightening his stance. And the way your body greets him, you’re unforgettable the exact moment his eyes dart to you.

—”Noise complaint…? But from wh—” You stop your own question, knowing right away it might be the older couple next home staring at the situation through the window from their house. You sigh, rubbing your temple with the hand who isn’t holding your drink. The old couple pulls the curtains, hiding their faces peeking at you.

—”I’m sorry officer, I'm not the type to do parties. But this is a special occasion.” With a grunt, you look away from him, and you can swear he didn’t take his eyes from your body. —”I can lower the music volume if that’s better. The party won’t last long.”

His doe eyes lifts up, he clears his throat before speaking. And the same way, his voice fails at the start of his sentence.

—”That would help, ma’am. But may I know what’s this…special occasion?” He lifts an eyebrow at you.

—”It’s my birthday.”

—”Oh. I guess it sure is a special occasion then.” Official Kennedy scratches the back of his neck.

—”Seems like I can't ruin your party, then. I wouldn’t do this…anyway.” He tries to joke, sounding awful as he tries to explain. You can't help but giggle at his silly behavior, pretty rare from a cop. He looks deeply into you as you giggle, letting an awkward laugh join yours.

—”So officer…Kennedy, right? I can count on you to leave this pass by this time?” Using all the charm you have, you try to convince him to leave this only this time. Leon looks at you, biting the inside of his cheeks as if he’s holding something back.

—”Nothing comes for free, ma’am.”

—”There’s no discount for the birthday girl?” He tilts his head to the side, thinking of any possibility to deny such a woman like you.

—”I…I can think about it.”

—”I’m not doing anything wrong, anyways. And I can give you something back in order to forget this...noise complaint.” You make a sound of ‘pop’ with your lips, the lipstick on it making Leon tremble like a little boy again.

—”Like what?”

—”Come on, officer. Don’t play dumb…I could see you staring at me.” His eyes darted to yours, his ears becoming red and he let it a gasp escape.

—”I’m sorry, it was hard…not to.”

—”No worries. I can give you what you want, and you can pretend the noise complaint never happened.”

—”I don’t know if this is right. I don’t even know your name.”

—”Come on, officer. I’m [name], now let’s get over this.” He looks down, specifically at your cleavage, and gulps down loudly. A soft malefic chuckle escapes from your lips.

—”Call me Leon, let’s get into my police car.” Leon almost sounds too eager for this. Because he is. You leave your cup on the desk next to your door and steps outside, closing the door and forgetting all about your birthday. He opens the door of the back seat and enters with you, closing the door next.

He sits there, uncomfortable as your knees touch his. When you let your weight fall down on the seat, he can feel that he’s about to pass out. Your big round thighs, all displayed to him as your dress slips up a little more. And your smell, he can feel it better at this proximity.

—”Gosh…this is…this is crazy.”

—”Are you okay with it, officer?” Showing him those cute eyelashes like this?

—”Of course.” He blurts out the words without thinking more. —”Is it okay with you? Don’t want you to think I do this with everyone who seduces me. Y-You’re the first one.”

You giggles, a hand leaning to grip on his shoulders to calm him down. That soothing voice flooding his brain.

—”First one? I’m flattered. And don’t worry, I'm okay with it. I’m not the type to seduce cops as well.”

—”Great…so…what will it be?”

—”What do you want, Leon?”

—”Honestly? ‘Want you to ride me, sit on my face, or…just…cum in your boobs.” He gets bold suddenly, your eyes widened with his sudden dirty talk. Leon is fumbling his fingers, looking down at his own lap as he can feel his pants tighter around his growing erection.

—”You’ll have to choose one, Leon.” You giggles, leaning closer to whisper in his ear.

—”Sit on my face.”

—”Are you sure? I’m a bit…heavy and—” Without letting you finish, he looks you in the eyes, making all your worries vanish.

—”Sit on my face, [name].”

—”Okay…”

He lays his back on the seat, waiting for you to prepare yourself. Thankfully, you’re with a dress, it will be easier. You position yourself above him, slipping down your panties all the way down to your ankles. Leon looks at your now exposed pussy, already wet because of his words.

—”Already soaked. Damn…” He curses under his breath, his hands being placed on your thighs, he can feel how his cock twitches just with the view of your body.

Without any warning, he pulls your body down, now your pussy against his lips as he whimpers with the contact, just as you do in surprise. Leon takes no time with it, like a hungry man, his tongue starts to circle around your clit with veracity. Your fingers slip down, tangled on his blond strands of hair underneath your body. The way his warm tongue feels on your clit, makes you squirm above him, arching your back with the dress still on. Honestly, you’re perfect with it on, Leon wouldn’t want you to take off as well.

—”So pretty, all for me. All for me, right?” His voice is muffled, but whiny. You can feel the tip of his nose against your clit now, he pulls his tongue inside of you, tasting every part of you he can, as his tongue slides into you.

His fingers tremble on your thigh, you can sense you much he wanted to taste you like this. Those angel eyes he had, they weren’t that angelic now, not when he was caught up by the devil. Anyways, forbidden things have a secret charm. Leon keeps whimpering under you, his tongue wasting no time to please you. He opens his eyes, just to drink that potion that is you, panting and shaking above his. His early baby blue eyes became dark in lust and pleasure. He keeps licking you, swirling his tongue around you as his nose does the job of stimulating you even more. You had your eyes closed, fingers locked on his hair, back arched and turned into a complete mess for him, desiring more, eager for more.

—”So pretty, so damn pretty. Want you to cum on top of me like this.” His words fall into deaf ears, you’re in a whole new world.

The sensual rocking of your hips is only telling him to keep going with his movements. From underneath your rear, you can feel a bothering bulge against the cotton of your dress. He’s so damn hard with this he could just keep eating you out and living like this forever. Your taste is something he won’t ever forget, so quickly, you took a big space of his memory, consuming him for more. His words and movements are driving you crazy, the good sensation taking over all of you, taking all your brain and making you dumb for more. You can feel a weird knot in your stomach, the one that tells you you're close, that is eager for more. Your voice fails as you try to let Leon know you're close.

—”Leon…i’m going to cum!”

—”Do it, fuck it, do it” — He has this urge just as you, his circling tongue getting more frantic to help you reach your limit.

In sync with his own pace, you start to feel dizzy. The party doesn't matter, your boring neighbors don’t matter, it's only the pleasure, the pleasure that this young cop is giving you with only his tongue and the tip of his nose. His fingers dig into your skin even more as the increasing feeling fills your chest. A loud moan comes out when you feel everything being drained out by him. The orgasm he just gave you made you shiver, still panting heavily with your lips parted. Leon takes everything, the bursting sensation you just had made him feel complete as he licks it all. You get up, pulling your panties back as there isn’t a single drop of your cum inside of you.

Sitting down on the backseat, you take a moment to recover, your head fallen back as your chest rose with joy, going up and down. Leon sits up, his eyes still exhaling lust and desire for you as he observes your body.

—”Can i kiss you? You’re so pretty, i-i can’t.” He whispers, as if it’s a secret. You chuckle softly and nod with your head.

Leaning closer and cupping his cheeks, you smile at him.

—”Thank you, Leon.”

—”I’m the one who should be thanking you here.” He bites his lower lip eagerly, and you can’t keep him waiting. You pull him to a deep passionate kiss, sharing your taste and the taste of your climax with your tongues together.

The deep kiss lingers for a long moment, because Leon doesn't want to stop, he wants to keep tasting all of you, your lips are just a new territory he’s already addicted to. You both are forced to break the kiss, searching for air as you look down at him, your foreheads together as he pants heavily.

—”I guess…there will be more noise complaints here, ma’am. I need to see you again.” You giggles, nodding softly. This is definitely not the last time you’ll be seeing this pretty cop.

—”Only if the cute cop gives me a discount.” Leaning closer, you give him a few brief kisses on the lips, seeing how his eyes and face melts for yours, he looks like a puppy this way.

—”This cop is going to give you more than that.”

You two stare at each other, both ruined, all sweaty but in total happiness for what just happened. As it hits you like a truck, you remember your party, the notification of your phone rings with a message, it’s Eleonore. You take your phone and look, before looking at Leon again.

—”I have to get back now.”

—”Oh…o-okay, right. I should probably come back to work too.” He straightens up, fixing his hair the best he can. The pleasure was so much that you both forgot everything around.

—”And…happy birthday, [name].” Leon says softly, you giggle, after this gift, there was nothing you could ask more. With your thumb, you pass it on his lips, taking out the mark of your lipstick on it.

—”Thank you, Leon.” Getting out of his police car, you pull your dress down again, waving at him as he chuckles and leaves, his eyes promising he will be back. Leon starts the car, reluctant as if he doesn't want to leave yet, the erection between his legs telling him to stay, but he knows this will be for another time you two meet. He sighs, looking at the steering wheel he's holding with his hands, now sitting on the driver seat as he watches your cute face, waving at him. He waves back, a nod and a smile as his car slowly vanishes on the road ahead. For a moment , you're sad, he didn't even have time for his own pleasure, and yet, you eager to see him again.

—”There you are! The birthday girl, where have you been?” A feminine voice makes you jump slightly in surprise, just behind you, it’s Eleonore with a big grin on her face, her voice dragged by the alcohol.

—”Just…receiving a gift.” She looks down at you, not good enough to notice a silly smile on your face, she shrugs, taking your hand to pull you inside the party again. But you know that the party won’t be the focus of your mind anymore. And Leon won't be focusing on his job as well, not when this twitching pain on his cock keeps reminding him, with images of what he just did with you, he wants more, he needs more of you. You should probably thanks the old couple of neighbors you have later, because of their noise complaint, you had this perfect night.

[leonskittybunwriting]

8:12 PM (Leon Kennedy)

Warnings: !!DEAD DOVE NOT EAT!!  DIRTY COPS.  HEAD INJURY.  SUPERNATURAL CREATURE LEON. 

Note: This is a Leon kennedy x OC fanfic. 

A/N: I don't own resident evil characters, and I don't own resident evil!

Leon kennedy Resident Evil: Darkside Chronicles

Another note: I made the edit, but I got all the pictures from pinterest!

She screams loudly as someone grabs her from behind and slams her on the alleyway next to the hospital, she lets out another loud scream when her attacker pulls down her underwear and repeatedly thrusts in and out of her. 

“Get off of her you piece of shit!” A nearby nurse shouts, her attacker gets off of her and runs away and a male nurse chases after him as the female nurse runs to her side. 

later that day 

Leon's black combat boots hit the tile floors of the hospital, covered in mud and dirt head to toe, his police officers outfit completely soaked in water from the rain. 

“I'm here for my wife.” Leon says to the nurse stationed at the front desk. 

The nurse looks up at him and asks “Her name?” 

Leon's eyes narrowed and he said “Misf Kennedy.” The nurse nods and looks at the computer and says “She's in room 5, Mr. Kennedy.” 

Leon walks down the hallway, some of the nurse give him dirty looks for being dirty but he doesn't give a fuck, his wife was raped from a man that escaped from this hospital and his not happy with anyone here so they can kiss his fucking ass. 

Leon opens the door to room 5 and pokes his head in, and his heart breaks when he sees his wife curled up with a numb look on her face. 

“Baby?” Leon whispers. 

Mist looks over at Leon and her brown eyes tear up and Leon rushes to her side and wraps his large muscled arms around her. 

“I'm here. I'm here now baby.” Leom whispers in her ear as she wails against his chest. 

Leon gently runs his large fingers through her hair as Leon's cell phone rings, he pulls it out of his pocket and answers it. 

“Kennedy.” Leon says. 

“Leon, we found the guy you want us to take care of?” Chris asks darkly. 

Leon smirks and says “Take him to the basement and I’ll take care of him.” 

Chris chuckled darkly and said “you got it boss.”

Leon hangs up and he gently cups Mist's face and he whispers softly “Do you want to go home?” 

Mist nods and she grabs his shirt with her chubby hands and she asks softly “Will you be able to carry me?” 

Leon nods and says “Yeah, stay here and I'll get discharge papers.” 

Mist nods. 

Leon steps out of the room and says to the nurse nearby. “I need discharge papers for Mist Kennedy.” 

The nurse looks up at Leon and says in a nasty tone “She has to stay overnight for her head injury.” 

Leon chuckles darkly causing the nurse to grow uncomfortable and he says “As far as I'm concerned you should be held accountable for what happened to my wife, get the discharge papers, we have a personal doctor.” 

The nurse nods and gets started on the papers. 

When the papers get printed, Leon grabs them and signs them for his wife before going and picking Mist up and taking her to the cop car. 

Mist looks at Leon as he buckles her in and she says softly “I'm sorry they called you out of work baby.” 

After Leon gets her buckled in he gently cups her face and says “Mist, baby listen to me. You are so much more important to me than my job.” 

Mist blushes at that and she leans forward and awkwardly kisses his nose and she whispers “I'm sorry for acting so weird, I don't know how to act right now, Leon.” 

Leon shakes his head and he whispers softly “Take your time, my love. I'm not going anywhere.” 

Mist smiles weakly at him and she whispers “Thanks baby.” 

Leon nuzzles his nose against hers before pulling away and closing the door and goes to the other side, gets in and starts the car before going home.

At Home and After Leon Helps Mist Get INTO BED. 

Leon walks down to the basement and turns on the light in the middle of the room. 

Chris, Carlos, Jill and Claire stand off to the side as Leon stalks over to the man who is tied to the chair and growls as his red eyes appear. 

“I'm going to make you regret being alive.” Leon growls. 

Next MorNing On The News 

“Leon, Look!” 

Leon looks at the news because his wife wants him too. 

“A man by the name of Jack R had escaped the hospital at 8: 12 PM yesterday, he went into the hospital for having some issues but the medicines they have given him had only made him worse, he had raped countless of girls as well. His body has been found, it looked like he was mauled by an animal.” 

“I wonder what could have done it.” Mist says softly as she hugs Leon's arm. 

Leon holds her close as his eyes become red “I have no idea baby.” 

----

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

Splinter celebrating a birthday with the turtle tots

Here you go!!

@phoebepheebsphibs

@daboyau

Splinter looks down at the wide eyed tot staring up at him.

Leo couldn’t get to sleep that night. Usually, he’d just crawl into bed with one of his brothers and wait it out so he wouldn’t be alone, but he caught his dad up as well. The movie he had on looked interesting so he made his presence known and demanded uppies.

Splinter knew well that insomnia doesn’t mess around, especially not for Blue, so uppies were gladly given and they cuddled together on his chair. The movie he had on was an anime one about a boy who would live with different family members every year. It focused on the birthdays he’d have since none of them celebrated it the same way.

“That, my son, is a good question.” Splinter answers.

He didn’t like celebrating it without his mother. Even when he was famous and having extravagant birthdays, or just going out to dinner with Big Mama, he’d lie and pick a different date than what it actually was.

He can hardly remember the real one anymore.

“Why don’t you know? You know our birthdays.”

“That’s because I wrote yours down.” Splinter smiles.

“Why didn’t you write down yours?”

“It wasn’t as important for me to remember.”

Leo looks back at the screen.

“You don’t want a birthday party with cool toys and food? I won’t mention the cake because you eat it all the time anyways.”

Splinter chuckles.

“Not everyone celebrates birthdays with presents and food. You see how they watch movies together when he’s with his aunt and uncle? How his grandparents take him fishing? Sometimes it’s just about doing what makes you happy. I do things I enjoy every day.”

Leo hums slightly.

“What’s your favorite thing to do? Sit on the chair? You do that a lot.”

Splinter lifts him up.

“I do plenty of other things!”

Leo giggles and wriggles around.

“Like what?“

“Like…..becoming the tickle monster!” Splinter begins tickling him with his tail.

Leo squeals and giggles more.

“Okay! Okay! You do other stuff!”

Splinter slowly stops and hugs him close again.

“You don’t need to worry about my birthday, Blue. It doesn’t upset me to not know it.”

Leo snuggles into him more.

“I like my birthdays.”

Splinter smiles.

“I always want you to.”

They continue watching the movie until the both of them knock out. Leo wakes up first, getting himself down from the chair. He knows that he’ll stay asleep for a while.

Leo makes his way to Mikey’s room first. He’s the least angry when he wakes up. Leo pokes his cheek.

“Mikeyyyy. Wake up. I need to talk to you!”

Mikey sleepily opens his eyes.

“Mmmmm…..bout what���?”

“Dad. We’re gonna make him a birthday.”

Mikey’s eyes open fully and he hops straight up.

“Birthday!?”

“Shhhh! We have to keep it a secret!” Leo insists, putting a finger over his lips.

Mikey smiles and copies the gesture.

Leo takes Mikey off the bed and carries him like a dangling cat. They make their way to Raph’s room next. He gets pretty grumpy when woken up, unless it’s Mikey.

Leo places Mikey on top of him. Mikey leans down and pats Raph’s cheek. Raph grumbles. Mikey grabs his cheek more. Raph grumbles louder and opens his eye, calming down when he sees his chubby cheeked little brother with a big smile.

He sits up and hugs him.

“Watcha doing up early, goober?”

“Dad’s birthday!”

Raph tenses up.

“He’s got a birthday!?”

“Noooo, not yet! That’s why I want to give him one!” Leo comments.

“I dunno, does he want one?”

“He said not to worry about it but I think he’d like it! We don’t even need to make a cake! I have a plan, it’ll be so cool!”

Mikey looks at Raph with eyes as big as he could possibly make them.

“Pleeeease, Raphie?”

Raph’s eyes sparkle as he hugs Mikey closer.

“Alright alright, I’ll help. We’re gonna have to get Donnie up though. That’ll be the hardest part.”

“Leon’s got it! Just watch and learn!” Leo boasts.

Raph carries Mikey this time as they all head to Donnie’s room. Leo is the only one to enter as the other two stay at a safer distance.

“What? Dad brought green glowing stuff? I think that’s what Donnie keeps asking for!”

Donnie shoots out of bed, nearly face planting after getting his blanket stuck around his leg. Once he escapes, he grabs his glasses and whips his head around.

“Where!? Where is it!? Give it to me, you don’t know how to properly store it!”

“Okay, so mayyyybeee dad didn’t really bring any-“ Leo gets knocked to the floor by a pillow tossed with the strength of an upset, mutant toddler.

“Never lie about uranium!”

Leo slowly sits up, pulling the biggest frown any of them had ever seen as the pillow slips down from his face. His brothers all start panicking. He never really cries because he gets physically hurt, emotionally though and he can throw a tantrum that rivals even Mikey’s.

It takes forever to calm him down too.

“Leo! It’s okay! Donnie’s going to apologize, right Donnie?” Raph looks between them both.

“…..I don’t want him to yell, but it is his fault-“

“Donnie!”

Leo keeps frowning and tears start pricking at his eyes.

“What do we do!?” Raph continues to panic.

Mikey leaves Raph’s arms and rushes over to Donnie, pulling him by the jacket sleeve closer to Leo.

“Hug.”

“I said I don’t want to apologize-“

“Hugs aren’t sorry. They’re hugs.”

Donnie sighs and kneels down, hugging Leo and patting his back.

“There there, don’t cry and have a meltdown.”

Leo hugs him back close.

“I just wanted to have you help with the birthday party!”

“What? Who’s?”

“D-Dad’s. I’m making one up for him….”

Donnie moves Leo away slightly, gripping his shoulders.

“Why didn’t you lead with that!? This is the perfect way to get some approval! You’re a genius, Leo!”

Leo’s mood changes immediately.

“Of course I am! Now we gotta hurry and be way more quiet than we have been so he doesn’t wake up. Everyone ready?”

They all nod.

“Then let’s get started!”

Splinter jerks awake at a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. He half expects to hear crying as he rushes there. What he sees instead of hearing surprises him.

His boys have pulled out the party supplies, they were sloppily decorated and plastered everywhere.

VHS tapes of different Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim movies littered the floor. There were also different toys and board games alongside them. He notices the fake fish hook and plastic fish specifically.

Raph is holding a kitchen drawer that accidentally got pulled too hard and came off it’s rollers.

Donnie is holding a paper plate while Leo is holding their bag of cookies and Mikey is placing the birthday candles they reuse on the plate next to poured out cookies.

“What….is going on here?”

“Happy birthday?” Leo smiles awkwardly.

After the contents of the drawer are cleaned up and the bag of cookies is put away, Splinter sits down with his sons.

“Can you explain what you were doing?”

“So….Leo wanted to do a birthday for you! We helped! He said you fish and have toys for birthdays so I got those!” Mikey smiles.

“Raph got down the party stuff so it would look all nice. I also got movies for us to watch. I tried to help get the candles.” He says shyly.

“You eat cake a lot so….” Leo starts.

“…..we wanted to give you cookies instead. We can’t use fire so we just put them there.” Donnie continues.

“Blue, I told you not to worry about my birthday.” Splinter sighs.

Leo taps his fingers together.

“You do birthdays for us because you love us. We love you too so I wanted to too.”

Splinter’s heart nearly bursts hearing those words. He’s spent all this time thinking about how birthdays made him feel and never considered that it might be different for them. They have no idea what he went through. All they know is that their birthdays were fun and nice and they wanted him to have that.

He pulls all of them into a hug.

“I have such wonderful and sweet boys. Thank you for this. Since you took the time to make this for me, we should have the party.”

The four tots cheer.

All of them spend time watching movies, eating the birthday cookies, playing with toys, and fake fishing.

As they near the end, Donnie sneaks off then comes back with a poorly wrapped gift.

“I made this, but Mikey wrapped it, Leo taped it, and Raph cut the paper so some credit to them I guess.”

Splinter smiles and takes it, opening it up.

“A photo frame! I know just what to put in it. Come together, boys.”

They do as asked and wait as Splinter brings out an older looking camera. He sets it up on a tripod and timer, then joins them.

They all smile before the camera goes off.

“Daaaaaad, how long are you going to stare at that old photo?” Leo calls from the kitchen.

Splinter sets it down.

That moment felt just like yesterday, but it was now many birthdays ago. Wonderful birthdays, set up by his sons.

They didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“I’m coming!”

He goes to the kitchen, it’s filled with a lot more people than previous years. It’s not even the same kitchen as before. Twice destroyed, things have changed. It’s lucky that the photo survived.

It’s even luckier that their family has gotten so big. Casey SR, JR, April, all there together.

A happy “birthday” indeed.

[beautifultypewriter]

Hi, if your request are open. Can I ask for a Merlin and a The Hobbit/ The Lord of the Rings ship, please.

Features: I am a short woman 4'9. My birthday is July 29, Leo. I have curly golden honey-blond hair which goes to my bra-strap length, I have dark chocolate brown eyes, and a little bit of chubbiness in my cheeks. I have a butterfly-shaped scar on my forehead which is from skin cancer from when I was 5-6 years old.

Disorder/Disability: Dyslexia, Epilepsy, and Anxiety.

Personality: I am a sweet, loving, stubborn, caring, and understanding woman but if you mess with me/hurt me, my family, friends, or the people I love I become scary-scary.

Likes/love to do: I love to drawing/painting, embroidery, reading (I am a bit of a bookworm), anime, cosplaying, doing any type of math, and baking in my free time.

I don't like/afraid/scared of: afraid of Spiders, don't like people insulting or making fun of family/Love ones/Friends, and I don't like being yelled at because it scares me from past traumas and anxiety.

Style: I love to wear, off-the-shoulder shirts, leggings, jeans, button-up shirts, dresses, and once in a while a shirt with a long skirt. My home aesthetic is a mix between astronomy and witch.

The only other thing is that I wear a heart-shaped ruby necklace around my neck which was a gift from my whole family. I never take it off.

I hope I didn't overdo this. Please take your time. If you're not interested in doing this I understand.

I’m sorry that this took so long! I hope you like it!

Lord of the Rings

I ship you with… Frodo Baggins!

I think that you and Frodo would get along really well. He would like that you were really protective of your friends and family because he knows how important those relationships are. Frodo is very soothing, so he’s perfect to have around when you’re feeling anxious. He would love to sit and read with you. The fire would be going and the two of you would be sitting in arm chairs side by side, books open in your respective laps. He would also love to give and get book recommendations. If you’re baking something then Frodo is sitting patiently, watching and waiting to give whatever you made a taste. The two of you would walk all around the Shire, holding hands and smiling at each other. He’d pick flowers and tuck them into your curls as his cheeks turned pink. It’s all very sweet.

Merlin

I ship you with… Sir Leon!

Leon loves to see all your paintings and is always complimenting your work. He definitely buys any paints/brushes/other supplies he sees in the market place to give to you so that you never run out of what you need. Leon would never let anyone yell at you and if anyone ever tries then he would take care of it very quickly. He would be really good at comforting you whenever you’re feeling anxious. Definitely ready at all times to take care of any spiders that end up in your house. He takes care of it quickly and quietly, so you don’t need to worry. Leon loves how sweet and caring you are and he appreciates how well you treat him and everyone else close to you. He takes you on dates to the castle library (which can be very hard to get into for most people, but not him) and sits patiently as you flip through whatever book you found for the day. He also loves to ask you questions about what you’re reading and will listen intently to your answers, smiling the whole time.

[star-mum]

I'm so fucking happy about this, you don't GET IT (thank you for the tag my love <33)

"Lila Stilinski" cute cute cute cute

"a bloody, messy affair that made him faint" Stiles, who very knowingly passes out at gory scenes INSISTS to be with you in the delivery room with you the whole time

"Stiles had lost your baby" KSKSKSKKS OKAY! NO PANICKING (is panicking) JUST CALL UNCLE SCOTT !! OR ISAAC !! SHIT EVEN UNCLE DEREK WOULD HELP RN !!!! (im sure uncle Isaac is the Best Bet cause he'd keep his fucking mouth shut) (scott can't lie for shit and Derek would use it as leverage, Im sure of it)

"big beautiful forehead" babies with BIG ASS OUTDOOR HEADS are everything to me <33 sorry for the poor soul who had to push that Absolute Unit out tho

"she had been 'signed out already" OKAY ! OKAY ! WHO ELSE WOULD BE ALLOWED TO PICK UP THE BABY ???? family ? maybe Sheriff Stilinski forgot to let his son know ?? Or maybe auntie Lydia wanted to have a little Girls Day and just didn't tell Stiles ???? LILA IS FINE OBVIOUSLY BUT WHO WOULD DO THIS TO STILES ???? SKKSKSSK

"What?" The Sheriff shrugged" an unbothered king ! sksksks he's like "... Stiles I pick Lila up every Thursday ???" "yeah ! and today is fri-

... oh"

"I got bored on my lunch break, and I wanted to see my baby, so what?" HE'D SOOOO BE THE "GRANDPARENT THAT SPOILS KID ROTTEN" LIKE NO RULES !!! WHAT LILA WANTS SHE GETS !! He already did the responsible grown up thing and look where that got him, this is his right

"he had done the same thing for Stiles when he first came home from the hospital" CAUSE THAT'S A FATHER !!! A DAD !!! CAPITAL EVERYTHING!!!!

"Besides, it's not kidnapping if I'm the Sheriff." KSLSLALLAKS CORRUPTION !!!!

"six months since baby Leon" Leon Lahey 🥺🥺🥺🥺

"tears still running down his chubby cheeks" reason 135 of why I shouldn't have kids: I COULD NOT JUST WATCH MY BABY CRY KNOWING THERES VERY LITTLE I COULD DO TO FIX THINGS !!!!!

OH MY GOD !!! WEREWOLF THINGY !!! ISAAC !!! DO THE THINGY !!! TAKE LEON'S PAIN AWAY !!!!

"alerting him to the presence of Boyd entering the apartment" I actually let out a little scream, BOOOOOYD !!!! I LOVE HIM !!! YESSS UNCLE BOYD !!! TO THE RESCUE !!!

"It's not like it's a hobby or something" KSLSLS he's so snarky

"where Isaac had convinced him to sit and read a book until Leon had settled to sleep" 🥺🥺🥺🥺 it does take a village (or a whole pack of dumbass wolves)

"Stop touching me." Derek said, muffled against Isaac's hand" hey can we turn Teen Wolf into a Baby Daddy like sitcom ???? there's still time !!!!

"with bright red hair" if her banshee dna is capable of IMPREGNATING her girlfriend !!! then the red head genes can be dominant, idc idc

"Luna Harmony Martin" I KNEW THE NAME WAS GONNA BE CUNTY!!!!! YEEEESSSS !!!!! also !! are all the names starting with an L for a specific reason or was this just a very cute coincidence 🥺 (my name starts with an L 🥺)

"no clowns" REAL !!! ALSO we don't need a sweaty middle aged man in pancake makeup for our daughters bday (think that's okay) (very respectfully to the clown business)

"picking out cute little dresses for the birthday girl to wear" she's such a Girl Mom, I love it here 💖💖💖💖

"and when it came to spoiling the baby, they were even worse" loooove rich grandparents

"And hello to you, Mama" im screaming, im crying and I'm throwing up PLEAAAAASSSEEEE I WANT HEEEEEERRRR !!!!

"Then she'll get one." REAL REAL REAL REAL

"she was the most important little girl in the world" and she is <33 not just to Lydia, she just is the most special little princess in the whole entire world

"Derek was annoyed - not with his son, with you" what the fuck did i do ?!?!?!!?!? besides YOU KNOW make YOUR son with my OWN BODY AND CARRY FOR 9 MONTHS !!!!!

"about how co-sleeping was 'dangerous'" SKSKSKKSKS he is the most DUMB LITTLE SAD PUPPY OF A DAD !!!! like the kind of parent that cries more than the kid when they get vaccinated, OOHH WHEN HE GOES TO PRESCHOOL DEREK WILL BE IN HELL !!!!!

"You had made Derek feel like some criminal" KSKSKS i love him so very much, he's so stupid and silly <33

"the incredibly small baby perched in the middle of his bare chest, so tiny against Derek's large, muscled frame" little Lex (to keep the L names tradition) could use a sibling 🥺

"in the haze of sleep, he could roll over and crush the baby" yeeeahh that's probably not good is it

"What - are you gonna take him from me?" IM NOT SENDING HIM TO MILITARY SCHOOL !!! WHAT A DRAMA QUEEENN

"Do you honestly think that I would hurt my son?" 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"been sleeping with only half your brain, like a shark" sharks do what now? is it so they keep swimming forward ??? even asleep ??? do they actually do that ????

"When you woke up the next morning, the crib was smashed to pieces" boy- that cOST US MONEY !!!!

OH MY GOD !!!! Reader getting Derek one of those kangaroo baby things !!! Alex is on it CONSTANTLY they're almost never apart (and it's so fucking cute)

would you be willing to do a follow up to the teen wolf pregnancy hcs? something with the characters interacting with their kid - can be as a baby or older - just them being parents and adjusting to being young parents.

i love your writing 💗💗💗

Fyi, I was not even planning on working on requests tonight, but this caught my attention so much and gave me such a good idea that I had to do it. I decided to do it with the same characters from the first part, but if you want to see this prompt with other characters, then I would do the 'how they react to finding out that you're pregnant' part first with different characters

My requests for Teen Wolf are OPEN, but please read my Rules before sending in a request.

Part One - How would they react to finding out that you're pregnant with their baby?

How would the pack act as parents?

Included: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, and Derek Hale.

Warnings: fem reader - uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is the one who gave birth to the baby, as in the previous part); Stiles's part is extremely self indulgent and something I have been thinking about since I wrote the last part so bear with me; mentions of breastfeeding, giving birth, teething, and other parenting/baby topics; the baby is a different age and has a different name in each section just for funsies; mention of Lydia and reader's baby having red hair - but I did this to drive home the baby's genetic relation to Lydia and I don't think it has to specify the reader's race (someone with darker skin can still have naturally red hair); Lydia calls the reader 'Mama'; mention of the reader being a werewolf in Derek's part because there is a weird continuity in these reactions (and I should write a full fic about Derek and this reader character cause I am slowly becoming addicted to their story, ngl); I believe that's finally it.

Stiles was panicking. He was officially the worst parent ever - everything his dad said was right. He wasn't ready for this, nobody should be a teen parent, he was a failure. God, his whole life was crumbling around him...

You were out of town because your sister was getting married. You had been incredibly hesitant to leave the baby - sweet, adorable, nine-month-old Lila Stilinski - but Stiles had insisted that you go on a weekend getaway to your sister's bachelorette party. You deserved it. You had spent nine whole months growing his baby and then you had given birth to her (a bloody, messy affair that made him faint - to nobody's surprise), and you had spent the last nine months nursing her and getting your degree from home after you had fought through your pregnancy taking double courses to graduate high school early. You were a gem, a beautiful, shining gem of a woman and a mother, and somehow - while you were off getting your much needed rest and having fun - Stiles had lost your baby.

His baby - his baby that he loved very, very much.

He had woken up that morning, late, having forgotten to set the alarm, and rushed around the apartment like a chicken with his head cut off rushing to get Lila ready for day care and himself ready for school, and he dropped her off as usual, with a smile and kiss on her big beautiful forehead. And when he went to pick her up that afternoon - she was gone. The day care worker couldn't give him any other news than the fact that she had been 'signed out already', and it left Stiles panicking, thinking about that cult that sacrifices babies every single day.

In his rush that morning, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so he couldn't get his dad on the line - and he was currently running at top, lung-crushing speed toward the police station, running past the deputy on duty at the front desk, who simply shrugged and buzzed him in when she saw his bright red face and his clear desperation.

"Dad, D-dad, you have to-!" He was going to ask his father to put out an amber alert, to call every single one of his deputies back to get them looking, but when his father turned around - that sweet girl with the bright purple bow in her hair was in his arms.

Then, Stiles shifted on a dime from panic to anger.

"Dad, what the hell?" He barked out, struggling to sound as pissed off as he was while still trying to catch his breath.

"What?" The Sheriff shrugged, kissing his granddaughter on the forehead before cooing brightly at her, smiling at her with all the brightness in the world, paying Stiles absolutely no mind.

"You took her out of day care without telling me first?" Stiles gaped, absolutely angered that his father had let him believe for even a moment that his girl was missing.

He knew it was a cruel irony - a blunt kind of karma. All the times he had come home late, all the nights he had snuck out believing that his dad was simply being too hard on him for giving him such an early curfew. Now, in a single crashing moment, he instantly understood why his father had worried so much - why he was so angry every single time Stiles was out of his sight, especially when there was danger around.

"Your phone was off." Noah shrugged, rocking Lila back and forth in his arms, giving her another kiss on the forehead as he began to hum the tune of a lullaby under his breath. "I got bored on my lunch break, and I wanted to see my baby, so what?"

It was the usual for him - any time he was within ten feet of her, she didn't have a moment in your arms or Stiles's. On the day she had been born, he had brought a giant gift basket to the hospital, grumbling under his breath about how he still thought it was 'irresponsible' of Stiles, but demanding to see 'his baby'.

He had burst into tears upon seeing Lila for the first time, and was deeply aggressive about who was allowed to visit and for how long. When she came home, he stood watch over her crib with his gun in hand for multiple days before he finally gave up and went to sleep (and according to you, he admitted quietly that he had done the same thing for Stiles when he first came home from the hospital).

"My phone died." Stiles stressed. "You could have left a note for me at the school or something. You gave me a freakin' heart attack."

"Be more responsible and charge it next time." The Sheriff grinned at him.

"Just - don't kidnap my daughter again!" Stiles snapped. "She is my daughter-" He argued, taking a possessive, protective stance.

"Yeah, well I made you, so I have certain rights when it comes to this little sweet girl." His father said, trailing off into a cooing baby voice as he began fawning over Lila once again. Stiles rolled his eyes. "Besides, ever since the three of you moved out, I hardly get to see my babygirl anymore."

Stiles felt a twinge of guilt at this, but wanted to argue. The three of you needed your own space, and you had moved into an apartment that was less than twenty minutes away from his father's house. He still saw Lila at least once every single day of the week, unless he was busy working.

"Dad-"

"Besides, it's not kidnapping if I'm the Sheriff."

"It is so kidnapping! It's kidnapping if I report you."

"Is it still considered an abortion if I terminate you now?" His father glared at him.

Stiles let out a huff.

Isaac was tired. He knew that being a parent was going to be tiring, but in the six months since baby Leon had been born, this was his first full night alone with his son. His son who was teething, crying incredibly loudly, and in pain because of his little teeth coming in. He wasn't nearly as upset about the fact that he hadn't slept as he was about the fact that his son was in pain and he could do little about it.

He had considered calling you a few times throughout the night when Leon was letting out particularly harrowing cries and Isaac was on the verge of tears himself (especially considering with his heightened werewolf senses, the pain of those cries seemed to pierce through him even more) - but he had agreed to take care of Leon by himself to get him out of the house that you and your mother shared because you had been studying for the SATs and you needed sleep the night before your big exam. So as much as it pained him, he endured alone and ended up crying with his son while he sucked on a frozen teething toy with tears still running down his chubby cheeks.

The sun had come up a while ago and Leon had just fallen asleep, his portable crib set up in the middle of the loft so that Isaac could watch over him - his hair messy and his eyes bloodshot red as he stood at the counter, chugging down a cup of black coffee, trying his hardest to stay away until after your exam was over so that you could take Leon and he could have a nap.

He was not at all pleased when the door creaked open, seeming like the loudest thing ever - alerting him to the presence of Boyd entering the apartment.

"Hey, man-" Boyd greeted him in a usual bright tone, and Isaac cut him off with an abrupt hush. He put a finger to his lips and then motioned to the crib, and Boyd peeked over, nodding once he saw the baby. "You're on Daddy duty again?"

"It's not like it's a hobby or something," Isaac told him tiredly in a hushed tone. "I am a father now." Even with the tense whispering and the tired droop of his shoulders, there was a certain sense of pride in the way he said this.

"Well you-"

Isaac shushed him again, as Boyd speaking in his usual tone was far too loud for Isaac's liking.

"You know, he's gonna have to get adjusted to noise sooner or later." Derek piped up from his place on the couch, where Isaac had convinced him to sit and read a book until Leon had settled to sleep.

"Shh!" Isaac tried to hush Derek into silence, but he glared at Isaac and kept talking at his usual volume.

"Babies born into pack families are brought up co-sleeping, so they sleep through the noise of a dozen family members-"

Isaac crossed the room and put a hand against Derek's mouth, forcing him quiet this time.

"I don't care." Isaac insisted. "Nobody is going to wake up my son now that he is asleep."

"Stop touching me." Derek said, muffled against Isaac's hand.

Isaac backed off, and before Derek could speak up again, Leon woke with a high pitched wail.

"You guys have fun with that." Boyd said, taking this as his queue to leave.

Lydia was overjoyed. Telling her parents about everything had been nothing short of a confusing nightmare, and after a lot of convincing from Melissa and Noah and a lot of questions without a lot of answers, they had both still been sceptical right up until you had given birth.

The moment they had laid eyes on a sweet newborn baby girl with bright red hair - they were convinced that against all odds, you and Lydia had made a baby together.

That was an entire year ago - and now, Lydia was having the utter pleasure of planning her beautiful Luna Harmony Martin's first birthday party. She was so perfectly in her element - picking out decorations, designing an utterly epic and fabulous birthday cake (including a separate, smaller smash cake that only her daughter would get to touch, because it was only the best for Luna), planning entertainment - a professional princess performer and some magicians (no clowns - Luna didn't need those kind of memories implanted in her psyche this early on), and the best part: picking out cute little dresses for the birthday girl to wear.

Much like her mother, she was a fashion icon, and she would likely need multiple outfit changes for her party - not just with the fact that she would get covered in cake or her own spit-up, but because a proper birthday girl should always be photographed in more than one ensemble.

You weren't surprised when Lydia came home with two large armfuls of shopping bags. You wanted to protest, to tell her that a one-year-old didn't need that many clothes that she wasn't even going to wear, but you knew that Lydia's parents weren't going to take away her credit card anytime soon (and when it came to spoiling the baby, they were even worse) and you also knew that this was one of her ways of showing your daughter love.

So when she came to sit on the cushy foam playmat with you and Luna, dropping the many shopping bags on the cough behind the two of you, you simply let it happen.

"Hello my sweet girl," Lydia said, greeting your daughter in a sweet voice as she kissed her chubby cheeks and pulled her into her lap. "And hello to you, Mama."

Mama. The nickname still made your stomach churn with heat - something that Lydia had gotten into calling you more lately after some rant about how Luna's 'speech centre' was 'rapidly developing' and she wanted to influence what the baby would call you.

You couldn't help but to grin as you kissed her too.

"I see you've been shopping." You said, motioning toward the bags.

"A bit." Lydia shrugged. "After I booked the carousel-"

"A carousel?" You questioned. "Lydia, she's a year old. She can't even ride carnival rides - she's not even going to remember any of this."

"It's for the photos. Obviously." Lydia sighed in return, rolling her eyes at you. "The theme of the party is Cotton Candy Princess, what kind of idiot would I be if I didn't include at least one classic carnival ride in my photos?"

"At this rate, she's gonna want a golden pony by the time she's five."

"Then she'll get one." Lydia cooed at Luna, kissing her cheeks again, smearing pink lipstick on her.

You couldn't help but to smile - you knew that this was Lydia's way of showing your daughter that to her, she was the most important little girl in the world.

Derek was annoyed - not with his son, with you.

Since the moment he had found out that you were pregnant, Derek loved his son more than anything in the world. He loved you just as much, he had right from the moment he had slashed Peter's throat and then turned you where you were dying, bleeding out, and used his newfound Alpha powers to turn you in order to save your life. Because that was the moment he knew he would risk anything and everything in order to keep you alive.

He loved you very much, but he was still annoyed with you.

You were determined not to let Derek sleep with his son - a tradition as old as pack life itself, now being marred by you shoving articles in Derek's face about how co-sleeping was 'dangerous' and how the baby should have his own crib. A baby of only three months old should not be damned to isolation. It made Derek's heart ache just thinking about it. He was used to the comfort of your body - he was used to the sync of your heartbeat, the sound of his voice and Derek's constantly nearby. He shouldn't be off in the corner by himself. You had made Derek feel like some criminal, sneaking out of bed at one in the morning to pluck his son out of that damned crib in order to spend some time with him.

And now, Alexander was sleeping peacefully on his bare chest, skin to skin as nature intended, feeling the peace of his father's heartbeat as Derek dozed into a gentle sleep himself on the sofa himself. He was - until he heard the distinct squeak of the bed springs on your side, a distinct huff from you as you got out of bed.

"Derek," You sighed when you saw what he had done, crossing your arms over your chest - it was an entirely appealing sight; the incredibly small baby perched in the middle of his bare chest, so tiny against Derek's large, muscled frame. But it did make you worry - Alexander wasn't secured in any way - he could fall, he could roll off. Even though Derek was an incredibly capable, loving parent, even in the haze of sleep, he could roll over and crush the baby.

It scared you.

"What - are you gonna take him from me?" He glared at you, deep betrayal in his voice. It was clear that the only thing keeping him from raising his voice further was the restraint not to yell so close to the baby's ear. "Do you honestly think that I would hurt my son?"

You held back tears, hating how much the insinuation clearly pained Derek.

"Never." You told him, your own tears choking your throat. "Derek, I know that you would never hurt him intentionally. But-"

"Exactly." He replied, cutting you off. "And there is nothing that will harm him. I am not going to let it happen."

You sighed, putting a hand to your forehead in frustration.

Derek shook his head, sitting up, putting a hand against Alexander's diapered bum to support him - able to hold nearly the entirety of his tiny body with one hand.

"Didn't you notice that all of those articles you read are written by humans?" He pointed out. "This is something that my family has done for generations. Our senses are honed for stuff like this. The moment that a baby is born, we sleep differently. Haven't you noticed?"

You had noticed - you felt like you had been sleeping with only half your brain, like a shark. You thought it was something your mother had warned you about, how you would never get a full night's rest again after having a baby. But it felt different. You did wake up rested, but you didn't dream anymore. You felt conscious nearly the entire time you were asleep - hyper aware of everything, your body responsive to every single coo, every little noise the baby made. You became hyper aware of the rhythm of his heartbeat while you slept, often using it as a white noise machine while you laid there.

"Yeah." You admitted - Derek gave you a subtle smug grin, and nodded.

"I'm not going to hurt him, not even by accident - because I can't." Derek told you firmly. "I will wake up the minute he cries, and I won't shift in my sleep. And this is healthy for us. Our heartbeats will sync up and this will help him sleep better. Please, just trust me on this."

Derek rarely pleaded with you about things, rather than outright telling you - so you knew that this mattered to him greatly.

"Yes. I trust you." You told him. "Come back to bed?" You posed. "All of us in the same bed."

He smiled, and leaned in to kiss you before he got up off the couch, bringing your son with him.

(When you woke up the next morning, the crib was smashed to pieces, and Derek - who was in the kitchen making breakfast with Alexander still pressed to one shoulder - claimed that he had no idea how it happened.)

...

Teen Wolf Masterlist

[adrianasunderworld]

The boys× chubby!reader

I woke up this morning and thought of some the boys×chubby! Reader headcanons.

(Note: I bring up body insecurities and weight.)

Piers

If you are plus sized and feel insecure about your weight. The other side of that spectrum is true for Piers. Piers is a very skinny guy. He's always been self conscious about it, especially when he was a teenager. Piers always wished he was able to gain weight, but to no avail. He's mostly come to accept it. So when you open up to him about any insecurities you have, he gets it.

Piers loves to hold you. To him you are soft and warm and he wants a hug. If you're sitting on the couch or laying in bed, Piers will cuddle up to you like a human pillow. Chest, stomach, thighs, its free real-estate.

Whether you dress alt or not...wear fishnets or shredded tights for him. Just do it.

Raihan

Raihan...is a big man. Dude is a titan. So yes, at some point in his life he was self conscious about how much he stood out. He was very awkward when he hit that growth spurt. Eventually though he grew into himself and worked on himself to earn the confidence he has now. If you're someone who is insecure and tends to talk down yourself. Raihan is not having it. He is your hype man. Your #1 admirer. A body positive king. He wants you to see what he sees, and what he sees is a treasure.

Is a firm believer in thick thighs save lives. And speaking of thighs, sit on his lap. Don't go "No, I'm heavy i don't wanna hurt-" Sit.

Raihan takes pictures of everything. Whenever you are together, Rotom always gets a dozen pictures of you. Raihan will hand pick the best ones, show you, and say, "Look at these and tell me you aren't the baddest bitch." He will especially do this if you are having a bad week and need a pick me up.

Leon

Leon is not a shallow man. He's spent half his life in the spotlight. His pubescent years on public display. Being very aware of how important image is to being a public figure. It messed with his head for awhile and still does sometimes. He never wants anyone to feel crappy about themselves the way he did growing up. So when you two become friends and eventually start dating, he is very sympathetic to you. You can talk to Leon what makes you uncomfortable, its okay.

Wear thigh high socks for him. No I will not elaborate.

Never tell Leon you are too heavy to carry. The man lifts. He can carry most of his Pokémon like babies. His arms are strong and they will hold you. Leon will bridal carry you, because that is what you deserve.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Feathers for the Pillows

Prompt: Hey there, I have a prompt for you if you'll take it! I absolutely loved your wingfics with Virgil, and was wondering if we could have something similar with Merlin? Maybe with his magic slowly turning him into a more ethereal magical being and giving him wings that he has to figure out how to deal with and hide? Possibly Arthur finding out? Thank you!

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 3776

A bird falls out of the sky when Merlin is little. 

Merlin didn’t realize it was happening at first.

 He was young, still learning how his human body worked, how his magic worked, how to play and run and jump and laugh. His mother looked on fondly and shook her head, wondering how the gods could’ve created such a boisterous little boy and then had the idea to give him magic on top. Perhaps in some way, it was a way to keep himself safe, when he toppled off of shelves he’d managed to float himself up into, or when he fell from trees that he was too young to climb. Or perhaps it was another of their tricks, something to keep the mortals busy and entertained while they plotted. Either way, Merlin has magic and he runs about the woods, leaves dancing along in his wake, the forest itself opening up and welcoming him into its shadows. Patches of golden light draw forth the gold from Merlin’s eyes. The forest breathes.

 A bird falls out of the sky.

 It lands in front of Merlin, strangely still. It looks at him with dull, cloudy eyes. The light glints off of its feathers. There are three bent out of place. It lies on a bed of leaves and looks at Merlin.

 Merlin stops, tilting his head as he looks back. The bird’s eyes are unfocused, staring not at Merlin’s face but through it. The beak is open partway, the head cocked to the side. The wind ruffles its wings. The feathers twitch. It won’t look away from Merlin.

 Merlin gulps, reaching out his chubby little hands and taking a step closer. Does the bird want his clothes?

 “Merlin?” His mother’s voice comes from far away. “Merlin, it’s time to eat!”

 Merlin stops, looking once more at the bird before turning around and running back home. The bird’s eyes watch him go.

 Merlin dreams of flying.

 When he’s just turning into a young man, his back starts to hurt all the time. His mother frets that he’s working too hard, but he mumbles that he’s been using magic, he’s not putting any strain on his back. She cuffs him lightly across the shoulder, but the furrow between her brows doesn’t disappear. It only deepens as Merlin’s back worsens, when little lips begin to appear beneath his shoulder blades.

 She sends him to Camelot.

 Gaius looks him over and raises an eyebrow—the first time Merlin sees the eyebrow of magical disbelief, but certainly not the last—and points Merlin to a drawing of a man with wings.

 “They will grow,” Gaius explains solemnly, “but they will not hurt you.”

 “They’re hurting me now,” Merlin grumbles, reaching around to scratch at his back. Gaius stops him.

 “Growing pains are to be expected,” he says, “but they will get worse if you do not let them grow in properly.”

 “How’m I supposed to do that?”

 Neither of them knows. Neither of them knows because Merlin is magic, under Uther Pendragon’s nose, as the servant of the Crown Prince Arthur.

 They can’t bind the wings as they grow. They can’t excuse Merlin’s back pain as anything other than back pain. They can only pad Merlin up with ill-fitting tunics so much.

 Arthur doesn’t notice.

 After a year, they’re fully grown. The feathers are…unruly, but small enough and white enough that they can be passed off as ornamentation, discarded from some elaborate headdress. The wings can fold up under his tunic and stay hidden, so long as no one touches him.

 Well, that won’t be a problem.

 He moves through the castle too fast for people to get a good look at him. The knights don’t want to look at him. Arthur only cuffs him upside the head.

 His secret is safe.

 Then he undergoes his first molt and he lies in agony for a day, as Gaius tries his best to care for the wings. The feathers overflow, crowding the room, until Merlin can figure out that they can make pillows out of them. It takes a moment for them to appear in the rest of the castle, but Morgana comes by to ask whether she can have an extra one. Apparently, they help with her nightmares.

 Merlin is more than happy to oblige, at least until Morgana asks him where he gets the feathers from.

 “Um…”

 “Oh, don’t worry,” she winks, giving his arm a gentle pat, “I won’t tell. Just make sure you bring plenty, hmm?”

 Morgana touches him. It’s always sweet, just a quick pat on his arm or his shoulder, but she touches him. She notices. Gwen notices too. And Gwen sticks by his side, is allowed to stick by his side, when the feasts and the council meetings happen and they work.

 “Merlin,” she admonishes one hot night, “you must take off at least one of those shirts, you’re going to boil to death.”

 “I’m fine, Gwen,” Merlin says, wiping sweat off his brow, “I’ll only be cold in a few minutes.”

 His hands are always cold.

 The wings don’t like always being cooped up under his tunic, so he stretches them every once in a while. He goes out of Camelot, far away from the prying lights of the high walls, and sits in the forest, stretching his wings. They are a little stiff sometimes, but he works patiently until he can unfurl them painlessly, letting the extra feathers slide off to be collected.

 “You really must tell me where you’re getting all these feathers, Merlin,” Morgana remarks one day, “maybe I’ll have to place an order large enough for a shawl.”

 Merlin gulps. “I can—I can see?”

 “Oh, I’m only teasing,” she says, taking him gently by the arm, “I know you’ve got more important things to do.”

 “Merlin!”

 “Like tending to Arthur,” she mutters, rolling her eyes as Arthur storms around the corner.

 “There you are, come on. Job for you.”

 “Coming.”

 No, Arthur doesn’t notice.

 The knights…the knights.

 Leon notices, Leon notices everything. Although he doesn’t realize exactly what he’s noticing, Merlin watches him approach after a training session and carefully pull him to his feet.

 “Can it be healed,” the knight asks softly, far too quiet for the others to hear, “what ails you?”

 “What?”

 Leon gestures to Merlin’s back. “I have known men that…cannot be healed as easily.”

 Merlin’s shoulders slump. “No, it’s not…it’s the way I am.”

 “I understand. Please,” Leon says, resting a kind hand on his shoulder, “do not hesitate to tell me if there are things that I can do to make this easier.”

 Leon notices everything, Lancelot notices Merlin.

 Merlin doesn’t bother to hide his magic from Lancelot. The man met him and knew, and he takes very great pains to make sure that Merlin knows his secret is safe with Lancelot. Merlin finds himself leaning on Lancelot more than he would care to admit, even going so far as to physically lean on the man. Lancelot never minds, always reaching to stealthily make it a little easier for Merlin to stand. But Lancelot doesn’t put together that Merlin has wings.

 “I’ll help you,” Lancelot promises when merlin says he doesn’t want to tell him, “you don’t owe me an explanation.”

 Merlin lets himself slump forward into Lancelot gratefully.

 Lancelot helps quietly, Gwaine helps loudly.

 Whenever Merlin beings to slump, needing a break, Gwaine makes the loudest, most obnoxious distraction he can, be that some loud bawdy joke, some great exclamation, or knocking over a massive shelf of newly polished pie tins. He plays up his clumsiness, his ‘common’ nature, all to make everyone else more focused on him than on Merlin.

 “Let them think what they will,” he says to Merlin by the fire one night as they keep watch, “I don’t care. As long as you’re okay.”

 “Even if you don’t…know why?”

 Gwaine shrugs. “I trust you.”

 Merlin smiles.

 Gwaine distracts, Elyan suggests.

 The first time Elyan notices Merlin wincing every time something comes near his back, he brings Merlin to the armory and suggests a leather tunic.

 “It might help with support,” he says, pointing out the different points on the back, “and give your spine a little less to deal with.”

 “…could it be made to fit under clothing?”

 “Of course. I’ve got a friend that works down in the blacksmith’s district that makes ones to go under ladies’ clothes.”

 Merlin looks at it and promises to think about it. In truth, if it’s going to be fitted properly, they’re going to have to see his wings.

 That’s not a risk he’s willing to take.

 But he does promise that Elyan can make him something to make things a little easier.

 “I won’t pry,” Elyan promises, “but you’ll let us help, yeah?”

 “Yeah.”

 Elyan puts things together, Percival pulls things apart.

 “Easy,” the knight mutters as Merlin winces, “almost there.”

 Merlin grits his teeth and pulls, straining away from the metal digging into his back. Percival grunts, holding it apart.

 “On three, ready?”

 “Ready.”

 “One…two…three.”

 Merlin yanks. The metal comes apart in Percival’s hand and the force sends the two staggering apart, panting. Percival tosses the remains over his shoulder.

 “That’s the last time I put one of those on,” Merlin grumbles, rubbing his shoulder.

 Arthur had the great idea to do full melee drills today. Problem is, with Arthur standing back to watch, the knights are an odd number. Which means that Merlin was placed in a suit and made to hold a lance. The metal pressed his wings flat to his back and squeezed, making it hard for Merlin to stand, much less fight.

 Percival had taken one look at him and ushered him away, using his strength to pry apart the pieces to get Merlin free.

 “Are you alright,” he asks, using a voice that Merlin has never heard before, “are you very badly hurt?”

 “No, I’ll be fine.”

 “Good.” Percival lays a large hand on Merlin’s back, only for Merlin to flinch away. “Sorry.”

 “Just…” Merlin shakes his head. “Go tell Arthur I’ll be back in a minute, yeah?”

 Percival leaves with a nod.

 The knights notice, even if it’s not everything.

 Then Morgana walks in without knocking while Merlin’s wings are out and he freezes.

 “Oh,” she breathes, dropping the pieces of fabric she holds, looking at Merlin’s wings spread wide, “Merlin, they’re beautiful.”

 Merlin is too shocked to make a sound.

 Morgana closes the door softly, walking forward with her hands outstretched. “I won’t hurt you, Merlin, I promise, I just…wow.”

 Merlin swallows. “Are you…you’re not afraid?”

 “You’re Merlin,” Morgana smiles gently, “how could I be afraid?”

 “They’re magic.”

 “Yes.”

 “And you’re still not afraid?”

 “No.” She reaches out tentatively. “May I?”

 Merlin shudders as her hands lightly brush one of his feathers. She makes a soft noise.

 “These are where those feathers come from,” she murmurs, “aren’t they?”

 “…they’re mine.”

 “They’re lovely,” she promises, her smile so wide, “and so are you.”

 She giggles as Merlin flushes red.

 Morgana vows to keep it a secret, and in turn, Merlin teaches her about magic. Her nightmares fade away as she sleeps on pillows they make together, as Merlin carefully grooms his wings and Morgana teaches him how to embroider. They keep it a secret, under the watchful eye of Gaius, sewing, and plucking and talking in the night. Gwen comes to join them, smiling wide and bringing Merlin into a gentle hug as he shows her for the first time. Her hands at the base of his spine feel warm.

 “Do they hurt much?”

 “Not anymore,” Merlin says, giving them an experimental shake, “I’ve…gotten used to it.”

 “Well, you must let us help you when they hurt,” Morgana says, rethreading her needle, “if only as an act of repayment.”

 “Repay—Morgana…”

“You’ve given us the gift of your feathers,” Morgana interrupts, “not to mention all that you’ve done for Camelot. For me.”

 “And for me.”

 “But I—“

 “You’re lovely, Merlin,” Morgana promises, smiling when Merlin flushes red again, “let us help you?”

 And what can Merlin do but say yes?

 They do help, but there’s not a whole lot they can do. It just…it hurts sometimes.

 The feathers will itch. The wing joints will grow still and stiff. And when the wings grow still and stiff they’re just pounds of dead weight, almost impossible to hide. Merlin grows slow on these days, unable to bound up the steps after Arthur or dart about the castle. Instead, he sits and does small chores, like polishing armor or writing speeches. Morgana will sit with him if she can, sewing. Gwen will fetch her own chores and they’ll do them together. The knights will sit with him and keep the other eyes of the castle away.

 Arthur…Arthur doesn’t do much.

 And really, really well…isn’t that why it might hurt so badly?

 Merlin spends nearly all of his time with Arthur. He knows more about Arthur than he does about nearly everyone, maybe even more than he knows about himself, and Arthur just…doesn’t care?

 That makes the wings grow a little heavier.

 One day, it’s very bad. Merlin can’t roll over, can’t dislodge the weight on his back. It makes it hard to breathe with his chest smashed as it is against the mattress. He stares at the wall, blinking, unfocused, not seeing anything but the vague light and dark spots against the solid gray of the stone. It hurts. He feels dull, lifeless, unable to summon any energy to move.

 His eyes begin to cloud over as he lies still.

 Soft footsteps outside his door. The door opening slowly and closing just as slowly. The creak of the floorboards as someone walks to sit next to his head. Red jerkin. Brown trousers. Golden hair.

 …Arthur?

 “Hello, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “hard day?”

 Merlin nods, confused as to why Arthur’s here and why he’s not shouting at Merlin to get his lazy arse out of bed.

 “Are you feeling alright?”

 The answer that Arthur probably wants is ‘yes.’ The honest answer is ‘no.’ The very  honest answer is ‘why do you care?’

 Merlin settles for shaking his head.

 Arthur makes a noise of sympathy, reaching forward to card his fingers lightly through Merlin’s greasy hair. His fingers reach through to Merlin’s scalp, scratching gently.

 “Arthur?”

 “Yes, Merlin,” Arthur says immediately, “it’s only me. Does it hurt very much today?”

 Merlin frowns. How…what…what is Arthur doing?

 “Did Gaius…Gaius tell you?”

 “No, Merlin. I figured that when you didn’t show up today that something might be wrong, so I…came to check.” Arthur smiles and ruffles Merlin’s hair. “Good thing I did.”

“Not—I meant about my—my—“

 Merlin runs of out air, twisting his head as he is to look up at Arthur from his position on his stomach.

 “Easy,” Arthur says, gentling Merlin’s head back to the pillow, “rest your neck. I’ll talk, yeah?”

 Merlin’s too exhausted to do anything but obey.

 “No, Gaius didn’t tell me about your back, Merlin.”

 “…Morgana?”

 “No, not Morgana.”

 “Gwen?”

 “Not Gwen.”

 “…knights?”

 “Not the knights either.” Arthur’s hand reaches down to scratch at the base of Merlin’s head. “No one had to tell me, Merlin.”

 But Arthur…but he…

 “You never noticed,” Merlin mumbles, half into the pillow, “not…ever. Not before.”

 “About your back?” When Merlin nods, Arthur huffs gently. “Merlin, I noticed the first day you arrived in Camelot.”

  What?

 “I just…well, I figured you were…that you may be ashamed of it,” Arthur continues, a little sheepish, “or maybe I assumed you’d prefer if I never brought it up.”

 “S-so…so you…”

 “I always knew, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “but I…no, I’m—I’m sorry I never said anything.”

 “…oh.”

 Arthur shifts, getting off the stool to kneel on the floor, his face next to Merlin’s, his hand still rubbing the base of Merlin’s skull. “Can I make up for that a little by helping now?”

 Merlin nods.

 “Right,” Arthur murmurs, “now…thank you, firstly. Second, have you tried getting out of bed today?”

 Merlin shakes his head, growing more and more miserable.

 “Alright…would you like to?”

 “…’ve got work.”

 “That wasn’t what I asked,” Arthur chides gently, “I asked if you’d like to get out of bed.”

 He smiles kindly when Merlin seems to flounder for an answer.

 “I can help you get out of bed if you like,” he says, “but…you are also allowed to lie here for today. Especially if it hurts. I’ll stay with you.”

 “You…you will?”

 Arthur smiles, petting Merlin’s hair again. “Of course.”

 Merlin closes his eyes, losing himself in the gentle pats. It…it might be nice to try and sleep again, but…but his wings might just hurt more when he wakes up.

 “No?” Arthur nods when Merlin shakes his head. “Alright. Let’s…let’s see if we can at least sit you up.”

 He tucks a palm under Merlin’s head and holds it steady, reaching low and wrapping his arm around Merlin’s waist.

 “Hang on.”

 Merlin’s back strains with the wings as Arthur begins to sit him up, only for Arthur to grunt and pull harder.

 “You’re much heavier than you look, Merlin,” he says worriedly, “are you—are you sure you’re not hurt?”

 “I—I’m—“

 “Are they broken?”

 Merlin freezes.

 He looks slowly at Arthur. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

 “Come on. My Merlin doesn’t get to grow wings and not have me notice.”

 “I—I—“

“Shh,” Arthur soothes, his arms still tightly around Merlin, “it’s alright. Do I look angry?”

 “N-no, but—“

 “I’m not. I’m worried.” Arthur nods at Merlin’s wings. “Are they broken?”

 “N-no, just…just stiff.”

 “Alright. Can I…can I help?”

 Merlin swallows. Arthur…Arthur knows. Arthur’s not angry. Arthur’s not…angry?

 “My Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, gently bumping his head against Merlin’s, “of course I’m not angry, you’re lovely.”

 He chuckles when Merlin flushes red again, adjusting his grip to help the blanket stay on Merlin’s shoulders.

 “Will you let me help?”

 Merlin’s fingers tighten in the front of Arthur’s jerkin and he nods.

 “I’m going to take the blanket off now, okay?”

 The blanket falls to the bed and Merlin’s wings unfurl, spreading as wide as they can, trying to stretch. Arthur’s breath catches in his throat as he holds onto Merlin.

 “Oh, Merlin…”

 “They hurt,” he mumbles, “they hurt.”

 “Alright,” Arthur mutters to himself, “alright. Let’s do this.”

 The bed sinks behind him as Arthur carefully positions himself between the wings. He reaches out to gently card his fingers through the wings, going right to the glands.

  “Ah!”

 “Sorry,” Arthur mumbles, “I’ll be more gentle.”

 “How—“ Merlin shudders and gasps as Arthur’s warm, warm hands move easily through his wings— “how do you know how to do this?”

 “The stable has hawks,” Arthur murmurs, gently sorting out the stiff joints, “and I learned how to tend to them when the stable master taught me to hunt.”

 “So—so you—ah!”

 Merlin can hear the smile in Arthur’s voice as he rubs his thumb around the base of the joint connecting Merlin’s wing to his back. “Yes, Merlin, I know what I’m doing.”

 Merlin has never been touched like this.

 Arthur knows just how to stroke the muscles to get them to relax, to pull out the broken and crumpled feathers and work the oil throughout. He knows just how gentle to be when he swipes his thumb across the gland, knows just how firm to be when he runs his fingers through the base of the wings. He knows Merlin, knows how to pause when Merlin shudders too much, how to reassure him that he’s almost there, just a moment, please.

 “H-how—“ Merlin bits back another gasp as Arthur straightens a particularly stubborn feather— “how did you n-not tell me?”

 “I thought you were ashamed of them,” Arthur says softly, resting his hands at the base of Merlin’s sides, “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

 “I…”

 Was he?

 “…I was ashamed of my—of the magic,” he stumbles, “and I…”

 “Oh, Merlin,” Arthur says quietly, reaching forward to wrap his arms around Merlin’s waist, “you should never be ashamed of your magic.”

 He chuckles when he feels Merlin gasp under his hands.

 “That one you can blame on everyone else not doing a good job of hiding it.”

 “Don’t be mad at them,” Merlin blurts, “please, it’s not their fault—“

 “Shh,” Arthur rumbles, reaching up to scratch at the soft part of Merlin’s wings again, “I’m not. Just...you can exhale now, Merlin, it’s alright.”

 Merlin breathes. His wings flutter a little. A tiny gold glimmer darts around the feathers. He relaxes back into Arthur’s arms, letting Arthur hold his weight and his wings.

 “You’re alright, now…”

 A soft knock on the door.

 “Who is it?”

 “Morgana.”

 “And Gwen!”

 “Merlin?” Arthur chuckles when Merlin just mumbles. “Come in.”

 Morgana giggles as she catches sight of Merlin all sprawled out on Arthur’s chest. “Seems Arthur started feather collecting earlier, hmm?”

 “Feather collecting?”

 “You didn’t think those pillows made themselves, did you?”

 Gwen rolls her eyes as the two bicker, reaching to gently pull Merlin forward to hug him.

 “You feeling a little better?”

 “A little.”

 Gwen smiles. “I’m so glad. You look…a little lighter too.”

 Merlin smiles back.

 “He hasn’t told you either?”

 Merlin glances around to see Morgana shaking her head. Arthur huffs.

 “Well, now we both have to ask him.”

 Merlin’s face goes pale. “A-ask me what?”

 “Don’t look so afraid,” Morgana says, “it ruins your lovely face.”

 …well, he’s not pale anymore.

 “Stop flirting with my Merlin.”

 “Oh he’s your Merlin, now, is he?”

 “He’s always been my Merlin.”

 “What did you want to ask me,” Merlin interrupts before his face can get any redder.

 “Right.” Arthur claps his hands. “Can you fly?”

 “What?”

 “Can you fly?” Arthur gestures to the wings. “Or are they just there to be pretty?”

 “What happened to no flirting?”

 “Oh, that’s just for you.”

 “Rude.”

 “I, um…” Merlin twists his hands together. “I’ve never tried.”

 Morgana looks at Arthur. Arthur looks at Morgana. They both look at Merlin. Gwen giggles.

 Merlin sighs.

 “Tomorrow?”

 “Tomorrow.”

 Merlin dreams of flying.

[theculturedmarxist]

Below is the story of my day touring Tema with Prince Philip, in this chapter from my book “The Catholic Orangemen of Togo”. You may be surprised to read that I rather liked him.

The African Queen

One morning I was sitting in the lounge at Devonshire House, with its fitted wool carpets and chintz sofas. I was drinking the tea that our steward, Nasser, had brought me. I heard movement in a corner of the room, and thought it must be Nasser cleaning there. But looking round, I saw nobody. Puzzled, I got up and walked towards that corner. Rounding a settee, I nearly stood upon a thin, green snake. About four feet long and just the thickness of your thumb, it was a bright, almost lime green colour. There was not much wedge shape to its head, which rather tapered from its neck. Its tongue was flickering toward me, perhaps a foot away, its head raised only slightly off the floor. I took a step backwards. In response it too retreated, at surprising speed, and zipped up the inside of the curtains.

I stood stock still and yelled “Nasser! Nasser!” This brought Nasser hurrying into the living room with Gloria, the cook. “Nasser, there’s a snake in the curtains!” Nasser and Gloria screamed, threw their arms in the air, and ran together into the kitchen and out the back door of the house. This was not altogether helpful.

I remained where I was to keep an eye on the snake, not wanting it to be lurking inside the house unseen. After a while the front door opened and somebody, presumably Nasser, threw in Nasser’s scruffy little dog. The dog was normally banned from the house, and celebrated this unexpected turn of events by immediately urinating against the hall table. Then the dog too ran into the kitchen and out of the back door.

Abandoning my watch, I went out and recruited the reluctant gardeners and gate guards. They armed themselves with long sticks and came in and beat the curtains until the snake fell onto the floor. As it sped for cover under a sofa, Samuel the youngest gardener got in a solid blow, and soon everyone was joining in, raining down blows on the twitching snake. They carried its disjointed body out on the end of a stick, and burnt it on a bonfire.

Everyone identified it as a green mamba. I was sceptical. Green mambas are among the world’s deadliest snakes, and I imagined them to look beefy like cobras, not whip thin and small headed like this. But a search on the agonisingly slow internet showed that indeed it did look very like a green mamba.

The important question arose of how it had entered the house. With air conditioning, the doors and windows were usually shut. Nasser seemed to have solved the mystery when he remarked that a dead one had been found last year inside an air conditioner. The unit had stopped working, and when they came to fix it they found a snake jammed in the mechanism. That seemed the answer; it had appeared just under a conditioner, and it seemed likely the slim snake had entered via the vent pipe, avoiding the fan as it crawled through the unit.

This was very worrying. If anti-venom was available (and we held a variety in the High Commission) an adult would probably survive a green mamba bite. But it would almost certainly be fatal to Emily, and possibly to Jamie.

A week or so later, I was constructing Emily’s climbing frame, which had arrived from the UK. A rambling contraption of rungs, slides, platforms and trampolines, it required the bolting together of scores of chrome tubes. I was making good progress on it and, as I lifted one walkway side into position above my head, a mamba slid out of the end of the tube, down my arm, round my belly and down my leg. It did this in no great hurry; it probably took four seconds, but felt like four minutes.

There was one terrible moment when it tried an exploratory nuzzle of its head into the waistband of my trousers, but luckily it decided to proceed down the outside to the ground. It then zig zagged across the lawn to nestle in the exposed tops of the roots of a great avocado tree. Again the mob arrived and beat it to death with sticks. I persuaded them to keep the body this time, and decided that definite action was needed.

I called in a pest control expert. I was advised to try the “Snake Doctor”. I was a bit sceptical, equating “Snake Doctor” with “Witch Doctor”, but when he arrived I discovered that this charming chubby Ghanaian really did have a PhD in Pest Control from the University of Reading. As Fiona had an MSc in Crop Protection from the same Department, they got on like a house on fire and it was difficult to get them away from cups of tea to the business in hand.

He confirmed that the dead snake really was a green mamba. We obviously had a colony. They lived in trees, and he advised us to clear an area of wasteland beyond the boundaries of our house, and build a high boundary wall of rough brick at the back, rather than the existing iron palings. He also suggested we cut down an avenue of some 16 huge mature trees along the drive. I was very sad, but followed this sensible advice. That removed the mamba problem from Devonshire House. But I continued to attract mambas on my travels around Ghana.

The second half of that first year in Ghana was to be almost entirely taken up with preparations for the State Visit of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh in November 1999. A huge amount of work goes into organising such a visit; every move is staged and choreographed, designed for media effect. You need to know in advance just where everybody is going to be, who will move where when, and what they will say. You need to place and organise the media to best advantage. You need to stick within very strict rules as to what the Queen will or will not do. Most difficult of all, you have to agree all this with the host government.

I had been through it all quite recently, having paid a major part in the organisation of the State Visit to Poland in 1996. That had gone very well. The Poles regarded it as an important symbol that communism had been definitively finished. It was visually stunning, and at a time when the Royal Family was dogged with hostile media coverage, it had been their first unmixed positive coverage in the UK for ages. I had handled the media angles, and my stock stood very high in the Palace.

I am a republican personally; I was just doing my job. The Palace staff knew I was a republican, not least because I had turned down the offer of being made a Lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order (LVO) after the Warsaw visit. I had earlier turned down the offer to be an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) after the first Gulf war.

Rawlings was delighted that the Queen was coming. He craved respectability and acceptance in the international community, which had been hard to come by after his violent beginnings. But he had turned his Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) into a political party, the National Democratic Congress (NDC), and had fought elections in 1992 and 1996 against the opposition New Patriotic Party, which had an unbroken tradition running back to Nkrumah’s opponent J B Danquah and his colleague Kofi Busia. There were widespread allegations of vote-rigging, violence and intimidation, and certainly in 1992 the nation was still too cowed to engage in much open debate.

Even by 1999, social life was still inhibited by the fact that nobody except those close to the Rawlings would do anything that might be construed as an ostentatious display of life, while Rawlings had sustained and inflated the personality cult of Nkrumah still further (he is known as Osagyefo, “the conqueror”.) Open discussion of the disasters Nkrumah brought upon Ghana was almost impossible. It is still difficult for many Ghanaians today, after decades of brainwashing. As Rawlings had gradually liberalised society, the increasing freedom of the media, particularly the FM radio station, was giving a great boost to democracy. But there was still much prudent self-censorship. The media was particularly reticent about investigating governmental corruption.

The NDC government was massively corrupt. There was one gratuitous example which especially annoyed me. A company called International Generics, registered in Southampton, had got loans totalling over £30 million from the Royal Bank of Scotland to construct two hotels, La Palm and Coco Palm. One was on the beach next to the Labadi Beach Hotel, the other on Fourth Circular Road in Cantonments, on the site of the former Star Hotel. The loan repayments were guaranteed by the Export Credit Guarantee Department, at the time a British government agency designed to insure UK exporters against loss. In effect the British taxpayer was underwriting the export, and if the loan defaulted the British taxpayer would pay.

In fact, this is what happened, and the file crossed my desk because the British people were now paying out on defaulted payments to the Royal Bank of Scotland. So I went to look at the two hotels. I found La Palm Hotel was some cleared land, some concrete foundations, and one eight room chalet without a roof. Coco Palm hotel didn’t exist at all. In a corner of the plot, four houses had been built by International Generics. As the housing market in Accra was very strong, these had been pre-sold, so none of the loan had gone into them.

I was astonished. The papers clearly showed that all £31.5 million had been fully disbursed by the Royal Bank of Scotland, against progress and completion certificates on the construction. But in truth there was virtually no construction. How could this have happened?

The Chief Executive of International Generics was an Israeli named Leon Tamman. He was a close friend to, and a front for, Mrs Rawlings. Tamman also had an architect’s firm, which had been signing off completion certificates for the non-existent work on the hotel. Almost all of the £30 million was simply stolen by Tamman and Mrs Rawlings.

The Royal Bank of Scotland had plainly failed in due diligence, having paid out on completion of two buildings, one not started and one only just started. But the Royal Bank of Scotland really couldn’t give a toss, because the repayments and interest were guaranteed by the British taxpayer. Indeed I seemed to be the only one who did care.

The Rawlings had put some of their share of this looted money towards payments on their beautiful home in Dublin. I wrote reports on all this back to London, and specifically urged the Serious Fraud Office to prosecute Tamman and Mrs Rawlings. I received the reply that there was no “appetite” in London for this.

Eventually La Palm did get built, but with over $60 million of new money taken this time from SSNIT, the Ghanaian taxpayers social security and pension fund. Coco Palm never did get built, but Tamman continued to develop it as a housing estate, using another company vehicle. Tamman has since died. The loans were definitively written off by the British government as part of Gordon Brown’s HIPC debt relief initiative.

That is but one example of a single scam, but it gives an insight into the way the country was looted. The unusual feature on this one was that the clever Mr Tamman found a way to cheat the British taxpayer, via Ghana. I still find it galling that the Royal Bank of Scotland also still got their profit, again from the British taxpayer.

So while the State Visit was intended as a reward to Jerry Rawlings for his conversion to democracy and capitalism, I had no illusions about Rawlings’ Ghana. I was determined that we should use the Queen’s visit to help ensure that Rawlings did indeed leave power in January 2001. According to the constitution, his second and final four year term as elected President expired then (if you politely ignored his previous decade as a military dictator). We should get the Queen to point him towards the exit.

Buckingham palace sent a team on an initial reconnaissance visit. It was led by an old friend of mine, Tim Hitchens, Assistant Private Secretary to the Queen, who had joined the FCO when I did. We identified the key features of the programme, which should centre around an address to Parliament. A walkabout might be difficult; Clinton had been almost crushed in Accra by an over-friendly crowd in a situation which got out of control. A school visit to highlight DFID’s work would provide the “meet the people” photo op, otherwise a drive past for the larger crowds. Key questions were identified as whether the Queen should visit Kumasi to meet Ghana’s most important traditional ruler, the Asantehene, and how she should meet the leader of the opposition, John Kufuor. Rawlings was likely to be opposed to both.

The recce visit went very well, and I held a reception for the team before they flew back to London. Several Ghanaian ministers came, and it ended in a very relaxed evening. Tim Hitchens commented that it was the first time he had ever heard Queen and Supertramp at an official function before. It turned out that we had very similar musical tastes.

Planning then took place at quite high intensity for several months. There were regular meetings with the Ghanaian government team tasked to organise the visit, headed by head of their diplomatic service Anand Cato, now Ghanaian High Commissioner to the United Kingdom. We then had to visit together all the proposed venues, and walk through the proposed routes, order of events, seating plans etc.

From the very first meeting between the two sides, held in a committee room at the International Conference Centre, it soon became obvious that we had a real problem with Ian Mackley. The High Commissioner had been very high-handed and abrupt with the visiting team from Buckingham Palace, so much so that Tim Hitchens had asked me what was wrong. I said it was just his manner. But there was more to it than that.

In the planning meetings, the set-up did not help the atmosphere. There were two lines of desks, facing each other. The British sat on one side and the Ghanaians on the other, facing each other across a wide divide. The whole dynamic was one of confrontation.

I have sat through some toe-curling meetings before, but that first joint State visit planning meeting in Accra was the worst. It started in friendly enough fashion, with greetings on each side. Then Anand Cato suggested we start with a quick run-through of the programme, from start to finish. “OK, now will the Queen be arriving by British Airways or by private jet?” asked Anand. “She will be on one of the VC10s of the Royal Flight” said Ian. “Right, that’s better. The plane can pull up to the stand closest to the VIP lounge. We will have the convoy of vehicles ready on the tarmac. The stairs will be put to the door, and then the chief of protocol will go up the stairs to escort the Queen and her party down the stairs, where there will be a small reception party…” “No, hang on there” interjected Ian Mackley, “I will go up the stairs before the chief of protocol.” “Well, it is customary for the Ambassador or High Commissioner to be in the receiving line at the bottom of the aircraft steps.” “Well, I can tell you for sure that the first person the Queen will want to see when she arrives in the country will be her High Commissioner.” “Well, I suppose you can accompany the chief up the steps if you wish…” “And my wife.” “Pardon?” “My wife Sarah. She must accompany me up the steps to meet the Queen.” “Look, it really isn’t practical to have that many people going on to an already crowded plane where people are preparing to get off…” “I am sorry, but I must insist that Sarah accompanies me up the stairs and on to the plane.” “But couldn’t she wait at the bottom of the steps?” “Absolutely not. How could she stand there without me?” “OK, well can we then mark down the question of greeting on the plane as an unresolved issue for the next meeting?” “Alright, but our side insists that my wife…” “Yes, quite. Now at the bottom of the steps Her Majesty will be greeted by the delegated minister, and presented with flowers by children.” “Please make sure we are consulted on the choice of children.” “If you wish. There will be national anthems, but I suggest no formal inspection of the Guard of Honour? Then traditional priests will briefly make ritual oblations, pouring spirits on the ground. The Queen will briefly enter the VIP lounge to take a drink.” “That’s a waste of time. Let’s get them straight into the convoy and off.” “But High Commissioner, we have to welcome a visitor with a drink. It is an essential part of our tradition. It will only be very brief.” “You can do what you like, but she’s not entering the VIP lounge. Waste of time.” “Let’s mark that down as another issue to be resolved. Now then, first journey…”

The meeting went on for hours and hours, becoming increasingly ill tempered. When we eventually got to the plans for the State Banquet, it all went spectacularly pear-shaped as it had been threatening to do. “Now we propose a top table of eight. There will be the President and Mrs Rawlings, Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh, The Vice President and Mrs Mills, and Mr and Mrs Robin Cook.” Ian positively went purple. You could see a vein throbbing at the top left of his forehead. He spoke as though short of breath. “That is not acceptable. Sarah and I must be at the top table”. “With respect High Commissioner, there are a great many Ghanaians who will feel they should be at the top table. As we are in Ghana, we feel we are being hospitable in offering equal numbers of British and Ghanaians at the top table. But we also think the best plan is to keep the top table small and exclusive.” “By all means keep it small,” said Ian, “but as High Commissioner I must be on it.” “So what do you suggest?” asked Anand. “Robin Cook” said Ian “He doesn’t need to be on the top table.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Neither could Anand. “I don’t think you are being serious, High Commissioner” he said. “I am entirely serious” said Ian. “I outrank Robin Cook. I am the personal representative of a Head of State. Robin Cook only represents the government.”

I decided the man had taken leave of his senses. I wondered at what stage can you declare your commanding officer mad and take over, like on The Cain Mutiny? Anand was obviously thinking much the same. “Perhaps I might suggest you seek instruction from headquarters on that one?” he asked. “Anyway, can we note that down as another outstanding item, and move on to…” I don’t know whether Ian secretly realised he had overstepped the mark, but he didn’t come to another planning meeting after that, leaving them to me and the very competent Second Secretary Mike Nithavrianakis.

The most difficult question of all was that of meeting the opposition. Eventually we got the agreement of Buckingham Palace and the FCO to say that, if the Queen were prevented from meeting the opposition, she wouldn’t come. But still the most we could get from Rawlings was that the leader of the opposition could be included in a reception for several hundred people at the International Conference Centre.

I had by now made good personal friends with several Ghanaian politicians. Among those who I could have a social drink with any time were, on the government side John Mahama, Minister of Information and Moses Asaga, Deputy Finance Minister, and on the opposition side John Kufuor, leader of the opposition, his colleagues Hackman Owusu-Agyemang, Shadow Foreign Minister, and Nana Akuffo-Addo, Shadow Attorney General.

In the International Conference Centre the precise route the Queen would take around the crowd was very carefully planned, so I was able to brief John Kufuor exactly where to stand to meet her, and brief the Queen to be sure to stop and chat with him. As he was the tallest man in the crowd, this was all not too difficult.

Once the Queen arrived and the visit started, everything happened in a three day blur of intense activity. Vast crowds turned out, and the Palace staff soon calmed down as they realised that the Queen could expect an uncomplicated and old fashioned reverence from the teeming crowds who were turning out to see “Our Mama”.

The durbar of chiefs in front of Parliament House was a riot of colour and noise. One by one the great chiefs came past, carried on their palanquins, preceded by their entourage, drummers banging away ferociously and the chiefs, laden down with gold necklaces and bangles, struggled to perform their energetic seated dances. Many of the hefty dancing women wore the cloth that had been created for the occasion, with a picture of the Queen jiggling about on one large breast in partnership with Jerry Rawlings jiving on the other, the same pairing being also displayed on the buttocks.

After the last of the chiefs went through, the tens of thousands of spectators started to mill everywhere and we had to race for the Royal convoy to get out through the crowds. Robin Cook had stopped to give an ad hoc interview to an extremely pretty South African television reporter. Mike Nithavrianakis tried to hurry him along but got a fierce glare for his pains. Eventually everyone was in their cars but Cook; the Ghanaian outriders were itching to start as the crowds ahead and around got ever denser.

But where was Cook? We delayed, with the Queen sitting in her car for two or three minutes, but still there was no sign of the Secretary of State or his staff getting into their vehicle. Eventually the outriders swept off; the crowds closed in behind and we had abandoned our dilettante Foreign Secretary. Having lost the protection of the convoy and being caught up in the crowds and traffic, it took him an hour to catch up.

Cook was an enigma. I had already experienced his famous lack of both punctuality and consideration when kept waiting to see him over the Sandline Affair. His behaviour now seemed to combine an attractive contempt for protocol with a goat-like tendency – would he have fallen behind to give a very bland interview to a male South African reporter? He was also breaking the tradition that the Foreign Secretary does not make media comments when accompanying the Queen.

When we returned to the Labadi Beach Hotel, there was to be further evidence of Cook’s view that the World revolved around him. He was interviewing FCO staff for the position of his new Private Secretary. Astonishingly, he had decided that it would best suit his itinerary to hold these interviews in Accra rather than London. One candidate, Ros Marsden, had an extremely busy job as Head of United Nations Department. Yet she had to give up three days work to fly to be interviewed in Accra, when her office was just round the corner from his in London. Other candidates from posts around the World had difficult journeys to complete to get to Accra at all. I thought this rather outrageous of Cook, and was surprised nobody else seemed much concerned.

The port town of Tema, linked to Accra by fifteen miles of motorway and fast becoming part of a single extensive metropolis, sits firmly on the Greenwich Meridian. As far as land goes, Tema is the centre of the Earth, being the closest dry spot to the junction of the Equator and the Greenwich Meridian. You can travel South from Tema over 6,000 miles across sea until you hit the Antarctic.

There was in 1999 a particular vogue for linking the Greenwich Meridian with the Millennium. This was because of the role of the meridian in determining not just longitude but time. Of course, the two are inextricably linked with time initially used to calculate longitude. That is why Greenwich hosted both the Naval Academy and the Royal Observatory.

The fascination with all this had several manifestations. There was a BBC documentary travelogue down the Greenwich meridian. There was a best-selling book about the invention of naval chronometers, Longitude by Dava Sobel, which I read and was as interesting as a book about making clocks can be. There were a number of aid projects down the meridian, including by War Child and Comic Relief. Tema and Greenwich became twin towns. And there was the visit of the Duke of Edinburgh to Tema.

I think this was the idea of my very good friend John Carmichael, who was involved in charity work on several of the meridian projects. It was thought particularly appropriate as one of the Duke of Edinburgh’s titles is Earl of Greenwich – though the man has so many titles you could come up with some connection to pretty well anywhere. We could make it a new game, like six degrees of separation. Connect your home town to the Duke of Edinburgh.

Anyway, Tim Hitchens had warned me that the Duke was very much averse to just looking at things without any useful purpose. As we stood looking at the strip of brass laid in a churchyard which marks the line of the meridian, he turned to me and said: “A line in the ground, eh? Very nice.”

But we moved on to see a computer centre that had been set up by a charity to give local people experience of IT and the internet (providing both electricity and phone lines were working, which thank goodness they were today) and the Duke visibly cheered up. He was much happier talking to the instructors and students, and then when we went on to a primary school that had received books from DFID he was positively beaming. The genuinely warm reception everywhere, with happy gaggles of people of all ages cheerfully waving their little plastic union jacks, would have charmed anybody.

We returned to Accra via the coast road and I was able to point out the work of the Ghanaian coffin makers, with coffins shaped and painted as tractors, beer bottles, guitars, desks, cars and even a packet of condoms. The Prince laughed heartily, and we arrived at the Parliament building in high good spirits. There he was first shown to a committee room where he was introduced to senior MPs of all parties. “How many Members of Parliament do you have?” he asked. “Two hundred” came the answer. “That’s about the right number,” opined the Prince, “We have six hundred and fifty MPs, and most of them are a complete bloody waste of time.”

The irony was that there was no British journalist present to hear this, as they had all thought a meeting between Prince Philip and Ghanaian parliamentarians would be too boring. There were Ghanaian reporters present, but the exchange didn’t particularly interest them. So a front page tabloid remark, with which the accompanying photo could have made a paparazzi a lot of money, went completely unreported.

On a State Visit, the media cannot each be at every occasion, as security controls mean they have to be pre-positioned rather than milling about while the event goes ahead. So by agreement, those reporters and photographers accredited to the visit share or pool their photos and copy. At each event there is a stand, or pool. Some events may have more than one pool to give different angles. Each journalist can probably make five or six pools in the course of the visit, leapfrogging ahead of the royal progress. But everyone gets access to material from all the pools. The FCO lays on the transport to keep things under control. Organising the pool positions ahead of the event with the host country, and then herding and policing the often pushy media in them, is a major organisational task. Mike Nithavrianakis had carried it off with style and only the occasional failure of humour. But he had found no takers for Prince Philip in parliament, which proved to be fortunate for us.

I should say that I found Prince Philip entirely pleasant while spending most of this day with him. I am against the monarchy, but it was not created by the Queen or Prince Philip. Just as Colonel Isaac of the RUF was a victim of the circumstances into which he was born, so are they. Had I been born into a life of great privilege, I would probably have turned out a much more horrible person than they are.

Prince Philip then joined the Queen in the parliamentary chamber. Her address to parliament was to be the focal point of the visit. I had contributed to the drafting of her speech, and put a lot of work into it. The speech was only six minutes long (she never speaks longer than that, except at the State Opening of Parliament. Her staff made plain that six minutes was an absolute maximum.) It contained much of the usual guff about the history of our nations and the importance of a new future based upon partnership. But then she addressed Rawlings directly, praising his achievements in bringing Ghana on to the path of democracy and economic stability. The government benches in parliament provided an undercurrent of parliamentary “hear hears”.

But there was to be a sting in the tale: “Next, year, Mr President,” the Queen intoned, “You will step down after two terms in office in accordance with your constitution.” The opposition benches went wild. The Queen went on to wish for peaceful elections and further progress, but it was drowned out by the cries of “hear hear” and swishing of order papers from the benches, and loud cheers from the public gallery. There were mooted cries of “No” from the government side of the chamber.

I had drafted that phrase, and it had a much greater effect than I possibly hoped for, although I did mean it to drive home the message exactly as it was taken.

For a moment the Queen stopped. She looked in bewilderment and concern at the hullabaloo all around her. The Queen has no experience of speaking to anything other than a hushed, respectful silence. But, apart from some grim faces on the government benches, it was a joyful hullabaloo and she ploughed on the short distance to the end of her speech.

Once we got back to the Labadi Beach Hotel, Robin Cook was completely furious. He stormed into the makeshift Private Office, set up in two hotel rooms. “It’s a disaster. Who the Hell drafted that?” “Err, I did, Secretary of State” I said. “Is that you, Mr Murray! I might have guessed! Who the Hell approved it.” “You did.” “I most certainly did not!” “Yes you did, Secretary of State. You agreed the final draft last night.”

His Private Secretary had to dig out the copy of the draft he had signed off. He calmed down a little, and was placated further when the Queen’s robust press secretary, Geoff Crawford, said that he took the view that it was a good thing for the Queen to be seen to be standing up for democracy. It could only look good in the UK press. He proved to be right.

The State Banquet was a rather dull affair. Ian Mackley’s great battle to be on the top table proved rather nugatory as, in very Ghanaian fashion, nobody stayed in their seat very long and people were wandering all over the shop. There were a large number of empty seats as, faced with an invitation to dinner at 7.30pm, many Ghanaians followed their customary practice and wandered along an hour or so late, only to find they would not be admitted. This caused a huge amount of angst and aggravation, from which those of us inside were fortunately sheltered.

Mrs Rawlings had chosen a well known Accra nightclub owner named Chester to be the compère for the occasion. His bar is a relaxed spot in a small courtyard that features good jazz and highlife music, and prostitutes dressed as Tina Turner. It was a second home for the officers of the British Military Advisory and Training Team (BMATT).

Chester himself was friendly and amusing, but amusing in a Julian Clary meets Kenneth Williams meets Liberace sort of way. Chester says he is not gay, (regrettably homosexuality is illegal in Ghana) but his presentation is undeniably ultra camp. It is hard to think of a weirder choice to chair a state banquet, but Chester was a particular pet of Mrs Rawlings.

Chester was stood on the platform next to the Queen, gushing about how honoured he was. His speech was actually very witty, but the delivery was – well, Chester. I turned to Prince Philip and remarked: “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two Queens together before.” To give credit to Chester, I gather he has been telling the story ever since.

High camp was to be a theme of that evening.

Fiona and I accompanied the Royal party back to the Labadi Beach Hotel to say goodnight, after which Fiona returned home to Devonshire House while I remained for a debriefing on the day and review of the plans for tomorrow. By the time we had finished all that it was still only 11pm and I retired to the bar of the Labadi Beach with the Royal Household. The senior staff – Tim and Geoff – withdrew as is the custom, to allow the butlers, footmen, hairdressers and others to let off steam.

The party appeared, to a man, to be gay. Not just gay but outrageously camp. The Labadi Beach, with its fans whirring under polished dark wood ceilings, its panelled bar, displays of orchids, attentive uniformed staff and glossy grand piano – has the aura of a bygone colonial age, like something from Kenya’s Happy Valley in the 1930s. You expect to see Noel Coward emerge in his smoking jacket and sit down at the piano, smoking through a mother of pearl cigarette holder. It is exactly the right setting for a gay romp, and that is exactly what developed after a few of the Labadi Beach’s wonderful tropical cocktails.

We had taken the entire hotel for the Royal party, except that we had allowed the British Airways crew to stay there as always. Now three of their cabin stewards, with two Royal footmen and the Queen’s hairdresser, were grouped around the grand singing Cabaret with even more gusto than Liza. Other staff were smooching at the bar. All this had developed within half an hour in a really magical and celebratory atmosphere that seemed to spring from nothing. I was seated on a comfortable sofa, and across from me in an armchair was the one member of the Household who seemed out of place. The Duke of Edinburgh’s valet looked to be in his sixties, a grizzled old NCO with tufts of hair either side of a bald pate, a boxer’s nose and tattoos on his arms. He was smoking roll-ups.

He was a nice old boy and we had been struggling to hold a conversation about Ghana over the din, when two blokes chasing each other ran up to the settee on which I was sitting. One, pretending to be caught, draped himself over the end and said: “You’ve caught me, you beast!” I turned back to the old warrior and asked: “Don’t you find all this a bit strange sometimes?” He lent forward and put his hand on my bare knee below my kilt: “Listen, ducks. I was in the Navy for thirty years.”

So I made my excuses and left, as the News of the World journalists used to put it. I think he was probably joking, but there are some things that are too weird even for me, and the lower reaches of the Royal household are one of them. I have heard it suggested that such posts have been filled by gays for centuries, just as harems were staffed by eunuchs, to avoid the danger of a Queen being impregnated. Recently I have been most amused by news items regarding the death of the Queen Mother’s long-standing footman, who the newsreaders have been informing us was fondly known as “Backstairs Billy”. They manage to say this without giving the slightest hint that they know it is a double entendre.

The incident in parliament had made the Rawlings government even more annoyed about the proposed handshake in the International Conference Centre reception between the Queen and John Kufuor. My own relationship with Ian Mackley had also deteriorated still further as a result of the Royal Visit. I had the advantage that I already knew from previous jobs the palace officials and Robin Cook’s officials, and of course Robin Cook himself, not to mention the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. All in all, I suspect that Ian felt that I was getting well above myself.

As the party formed up to walk around the reception in the International Conference Centre, Ian came up to me and grabbed my arm rather fiercely. “You, just stay with the Queen’s bodyguards” he said. I did not mind at all, and attached myself to another Ian, the head of the Queen’s close protection team. I already knew Ian also. Ian set off towards the hall and started ensuring a path was clear for the Queen, I alongside him as ordered. Suddenly I heard Sarah Mackley positively squeal from somewhere behind me: “My God, he’s ahead of the Queen! Now Craig’s ahead of the Queen.” If I could hear it, at least forty other people could. I managed to make myself as invisible as possible, and still to accomplish the introduction to John Kufuor. The government newspaper the Daily Graphic was to claim indignantly that I had introduced John Kufuor as “The next President of Ghana.” Had I done so, I would have been in the event correct in my prediction, but in fact I introduced him as “The opposition Presidential candidate”.

As always, the Queen’s last engagement on the State Visit was to say farewell to all the staff who had helped. She gives out gifts, and confers membership of the Royal Victorian Order on those deemed to merit it. Only once in the Queen’s long reign had she ever been on a state visit and not created our Ambassador or High Commissioner a Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order – that is to say, knighted him. Ian and Sarah were to become Sir Ian and Lady Sarah. This seemed to me to mean the world to them.

The day before, Tim Hitchens had turned to me as we were travelling in the car: “Craig, I take it your views on honours have not changed.” “No, Tim, I still don’t want any.” “Good, you see that makes it a bit easier, actually. You see, the thing is, we’re trying to cut down a bit on giving out routine honours. The government wants a more meritocratic honours system. We need to start somewhere. So, in short, Ian Mackley is not going to get his K.” I was stunned. Tim continued: “And as well, you see, it hasn’t exactly escaped our attention that he has … issues with the Ghanaians, and some of his attitudes didn’t exactly help the visit. Anyway, if you were to want your CVO, then that would be more difficult. Ian Mackley is going to have one of those. So that will be alright.”

No, it won’t be alright, I thought. You’ll kill the poor old bastard. For God’s sake, everyone will know.

I wondered when the decision had been taken. The kneeling stool and the ceremonial sword had definitely been unloaded from the plane and taken to the hotel: that was one of the things I had checked off. When had that decision been reached?

We were lined up in reverse order of seniority to go in and see the Queen and Prince Philip. I queued behind the Defence Attaché, with Ian and Sarah just behind me. She was entering as well – nobody else’s wife was – because she was expecting to become Lady Mackley. Tim was going to tell them quickly after I had entered, while they would be alone still waiting to go in.

You may not believe me, but I felt completely gutted for them. It was the very fact they were so status obsessed that made it so cruel. I was thinking about what Tim was saying to them and how they would react. It seemed terribly cruel that they had not been warned until the very moment before they were due to meet the Queen. I was so worried for them that I really had less than half my mind on exchanging pleasantries with the Queen, who was very pleasant, as always.

If you refused honours, as I always did, you got compensated by getting a slightly better present. In Warsaw I was given a silver Armada dish, which is useful for keeping your Armada in. In Accra I was given a small piece of furniture made with exquisite craftsmanship by Viscount Linley. Shelving my doubts about the patronage aspect of that (should the Queen be purchasing with public money official gifts made by her cousin?) I staggered out holding rather a large red box, leaving through the opposite side of the room to that I had entered. Outside the door I joined the happy throng of people clutching their presents and minor medals. Mike Nithavrianakis and Brian Cope were Ian Mackley’s friends, and they were waiting eagerly for him. “Here’s Craig” said Mike, “Now it’s only Sir Ian and Lady Sarah!” “No, it’s not, Mike”, I said, “He’s not getting a K” “What! You’re kidding!” It had suddenly fallen very silent. “Ian’s not getting a K, he’s only getting a CVO.” “Oh, that’s terrible.” We waited now in silence. Very quickly the door opened again, and the Mackleys came out, Ian with a frozen grin, Sarah a hysterical one beneath the white large-brimmed hat that suddenly looked so ridiculous. There was a smattering of applause, and Sarah fell to hugging everyone, even me. We all congratulated Ian on his CVO, and nobody ever mentioned that there had been any possibility of a knighthood, then or ever.

Personally I don’t understand why anyone accepts honours when there is so much more cachet in refusing them.

[moveslikejagrr]

leon dratisatl | edmonton oilers

(don't read this if you are sensitive about your body)

•••

Binge-watching your show for about an hour, you felt a churn in your stomach as it made a small noise.

You groaned and paused the show as you placed your hand on my stomach, rubbing it smoothly.

You were definitely hungry because you hadn't eaten anything in the morning and now it was late evening.

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen as you searched for food. As you did, you placed it in the microwave and waited for about two minutes before it dinged.

You smiled proudly and felt the delicious smell go through your nostrils as you practically moaned at the food you were looking at.

You sat back down and ate the food deliciously as you felt the flavour mix in with your tongue. You then resumed the show and ate peacefully.

Out of nowhere, you thought about your mother's words when she caught you eating at four a.m. in the morning.

"Stop eating, Y/N! You're getting too fat!" She yelled and you lowered down your head and the fork you were holding.

"I'm sorry, Mom." You mumbled, feeling the brim of your eyes to form tears as you tried your hardest not to cry.

You didn't want to feel like a baby around your mother. But the words she said hurt you even more.

"Go, I don't wanna ever see your face!" She pointed at the door and sighed. You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent crying as you walked your way out.

Remembering all that, you suddenly stopped chewing and lowered down the bowl. You stood up and shut the TV down, heading to the kitchen again to throw out the food you were eating.

You felt disgusted. You pursed your lips into a line and headed upstairs as you grabbed your phone.

Closing your bedroom door, you walked into your washroom and turned on the lights, revealing your chubby self as you were a kid.

You questioned yourself almost every day as to why your boyfriend was dating you. He was the superstar in the NHL and had his name all over but you, you were just different.

You had called yourself names every day when you grew up with skinny family members so you could feel the pain go through your body to realize how it felt. And you felt it and you became numb every single day. Of course, Leon noticed it but you told him every lies that came into your mind and he had no idea that you went through it because you didn't think to have the nerve to do it. You were basically scared of Leon running away from you because he was your first boyfriend and still is.

You quivered your chin and placed both hands on your stomach to spread the fat from behind but failed.

You felt a tear slipped as you sobbed onto your hands, looking away from the large mirror.

"Why can't I be skinny?" You whimpered and sobbed uncontrollably until you got over it.

You sniffled and sat on the toilet seat as you thought about Leon and your life especially. You were basically overweight and hated every part of your body.

"Baby, I'm back!"

Your eyes widened and quickly sniffled as you instantly wiped the tears under your eyes and on your cheeks.

You stood up and closed the lights as you walked to your bed. You sat and didn't realize that your face was puffy and red.

When Leon came into the room, you plastered on a fake smile and hugged him tightly.

"Hey, babe." He said of his soft tone as he kissed your cheek and you felt like you wanted to drop to your knees and sob all you want but you kept it in as you pulled away.

"Hi. Did anything happen new?" You told him and cursed under your breath when your voice cracked.

Leon slightly frowned. "Nope, I just missed you." He smiled brightly and wrapped his arm around your neck as he pulled you in.

You smiled sweetly and looked over to your side as you felt your eyes suffered behind. You wanted to sob so bad.

"Are you ok?" Shit. He noticed it.

You frowned and pursed your lips as you shook your head. He raised his eyebrow and squinted his eyes at you questionably.

"What's going on, Y/N?" He asked you and saw his face plastered with hurt.

"It's nothing, Leon. It's nothing important." You declaimed and shrugged your shoulders.

"It is when you're my girlfriend." He exclaimed and you sighed, looking over to your shoulder to avoid eye contact. "Look at me, what's going on?" He softened his tone and you wanted to kiss him up so badly. He was being so sweet and you did nothing but ignore him.

"I can't tell you, babe. I'm scared." You whimpered and stood up from his grip.

"Are you pregnant?" He asked you and you quickly shook your head with a chuckle.

"No! Leon, it's so stupid. I'm literally crying over something dumb." You scoffed and stopped as you realized what you said.

"You were crying?" He raised his forehead in confusion. You exhaled sharply and nodded, earning a sigh from him. "Baby, why were you crying?" He stood up and walked over to you, placing his finger under your chin to look at him.

You quivered your chin, "I hate being fat. Look at my body! I'm fat! My thighs, my stomach, my face, everywhere!" You rambled on and he cut you off as he pulled you into a tight hug where you finally sobbed.

"Don't, baby. It's ok. It's fine." He smoothed your back and whispered to you sweetly.

You kept sobbing and sobbing until you got over it and when you felt a wet pool on his shoulder, you instantly regret it.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Your voice cracked and slightly pulled away so you could breathe.

He smiled at you and shrugged. "It's fine, it doesn't matter." When you looked directly at his eyes, you saw nothing but passion and love sparkling.

"Leon." You breathed out and sniffled.

"Who did this to you?" He said and you bit the inside of your cheek.

"My mom, especially." You replied and he exhaled heavily, grabbing onto you tightly as he was never going to let you go.

"Don't let her get to you, baby. It's fine. You've been beautiful ever since I saw you." He smiled sweetly and pecked his lips on your forehead.

You swallowed hard. "You don't understand, Leon. I've been bullied all my life because of my parents. They put me through this." Ever since you found out that your parents have been talking behind your back and tried to forced you to lose weight, you did nothing but hate on them.

You couldn't believe them that they put you through everything crap so you moved out and later met Leon where you felt a bit more insecure about yourself.

"Don't worry, Y/N. We'll get everything under control." He nodded to make sure and you smiled at him.

"I love you." You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him towards you.

He chuckled. "I love you more, baby. Don't forget that. I will always treat you like a queen you are until we die together." Then, he found his hands through my waist as he tightened the hold around.

You raised your eyebrow at him and gave him an 'are-you-sure-?' look. "You can't keep that promise. What if we break up?" You asked him and he quickly shook his head.

"I'll make sure that won't happen." He gave you his smugly smile and you chuckled before deepening into his hug again.

[risottostitties]

Secret Santa!

I’m back from vacation woo!

This is a secret santa thing I participated in with @staruplatinum‘s discord. This is actually for @staruplatinum because I was her secret santa lol. I hope you enjoy it! I tried my best I promise!

Please check the tags before reading

Discovery

It was the third day in a row that Abbacchio had been awoken by the sound of vomiting from the bathroom connected to the room he shared with Nina. While normally such a sound wasn’t new to him, they both enjoyed their alcohol a bit too much if he was being honest, they hadn’t had any the previous night. Or the night before, out of concern that she might be getting sick. So the fact that Nina was waking up in the morning and immediately vomiting immediately put the lilac haired man on edge. What could be causing this? She didn’t feel feverish.

“Have you considered going to a doctor?” He asked, rolling out of bed to gently scoop his girlfriend’s hair out of the way as she heaved. They hadn’t eaten yet, so mercifully this spell of sickness would be brief.

It seemed like she was getting sick more and more often lately. Buccellati had to stop ordering shellfish because the smell made her sick.

“I already considered that, appointment’s this afternoon. I figured that if it was something important I’d tell you after.” Nina admitted, standing on shaky legs and flushing the toilet before going to clean her mouth out.

“Do that.” Abbacchio hummed, watching as she brushed her teeth with an expression softer that what people would expect out of a man like him.

It was hard not to feel soft, not to look at her with such complete adoration. After all, he’d never have anticipated finding himself in such perfect domesticity. It made this bout of illness all the more concerning for him. He hopped to hear nothing but good news from the doctor soon.

 Month 3

Well, as it turns out, it was news alright.

“What do you want to do about this?” The unsure waver in Nina’s voice made his heart clench.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant, and unless there was something else going on it was his. According to the blood work, and the imaging she’d gone in for, she was about twelve weeks in, or approaching the end of the first trimester. There was time, theoretically, to end things before they became a real problem. Kids were never in the picture. In their line of work it was far too dangerous, and what’s more to have him as a father. To come into this world in the shadow of a failure such as himself. To grow up knowing your dad was not only a criminal but a coward and a disgrace as well; wasn’t that just too cruel?

What was he supposed to do? On one hand it would be easier to tell the kid everything from the start, to not allow them to idolize their father and grow up with the false notion that he was a man worthy of their admiration. If they were going to hate him anyway, why would he prolong the inevitable. Was it not cruel to allow the kid to build up a version of him in their head only to have it torn down as soon as they were able to investigate their father’s name?

Of course, this was assuming there would be a child at all.

“We should-“

“I want to keep them.” Nina’s voice prevailed over Abbacchio’s reluctant admission.

It startled him into silence.

“Why would-“ Why was he getting choked up. “It’s a bad idea, with our lives. They’ll be in constant danger.”

“We’re strong enough to protect them. Leone-“ Oh god, there she went. Using his first name. Even after all this time, he still felt his heart skip a beat when she said his name with such a reverent, adoring tone. “I want this. Us. Our family.”

Who was he to say no when she looked up at him like that. Eyes dewy, expression both hopeful and unsure. If he really wanted to, he could probably talk her out of it. But then for a brief second he pictured it. A little boy with her eyes and his nose, chubby and healthy in his mother’s arms. And he wanted it so much, it caused him to ache.

And although he was still wildly unsure… he found himself nodding.

“Our family.” He agreed, closing the distance between them with a quick step and leaning down to capture her lips with his.

He couldn’t tell if the salt he tasted was from her tears of his.

 Month 4

Emotional announcement aside, Abbacchio still had his doubts about the whole pregnancy thing. Morning sickness was killer, and he couldn’t do much to fight off the mounting guilt when he awoke in the morning to his girlfriend hunched over the toilet heaving on an empty stomach. He did this to her after all.

But as though she could read his mind, Nina was always there to reassure him. And soon, he started to warm up to the idea of being a dad. Even as the cravings started to kick in and he found himself up at odd hours of the night, Leone Abbacchio couldn’t remember ever feeling happier. They had decided to keep it their little secret for as long as they could.

Their friends were good people, but they were loud people. And, something about the quiet domesticity the two of them shared together; the beginning of their own little family, something about that was just too nice to give up quite yet.

Although it was only a matter of time before someone found out.

 Month 5

“Nina, did you want any wine with your meal?” Bruno’s good natured question caused the woman to pause, and for Abbacchio to tense up.

“Oh no, no thank you. Not this time.” Her response was just a touch nervous, and Bruno honed in on that like a blood hound. Sometimes his ability to read people was a curse to all of them.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, softly. A question that was quickly overshadowed by Narancia’s boisterous proclamation.

“You haven’t been drinking much either Abbacchio, what gives? Finally going back on the wagon?” The young man adjusted his bandana as he looked up from his homework. “Can’t manage without your little girlfriend?”

The smug smile on the teenager’s face immediately put Abbacchio in a bad mood, but instead of retaliating he simply reached for his glass of water. They had been told to try and reduce stress on Nina as much as possible, it wasn’t good for the baby. And Abbacchio snapping at people did little to relieve stress.

“None of your business.” He settled on that, which only seemed to fuel the fire.

“What, you pregnant or something Abbacchio?” It was meant as a joke obviously, but the silver haired man almost choked on his water; sputtering as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shit man I’m kidding! I didn’t think it’d get you that bad!” Mista was quick to offer his apologies, and a napkin.

“Abbacchio?” Bruno’s soft, but pointed question, left little room for the silverette to worm his way out of things.

Thankfully, Nina stepped in before he could mutter something under his breath.

“They’re due in December.”

And with that, all hell broke loose.

 Month 6

Between the obnoxious ribbing from Narancia and Mista, there was a genuine happiness that filled the small private room in the back of their favorite restaurant. It wouldn’t be easy of course, raising a family in this kind of life. But with an army of over protective uncles it seemed like the kid would have a good start as any.

Nina was starting to really show now, as the doctor had warned them. Once the second trimester reached its end things would progress much faster than they had before. Nina had been removed from active duty because of her condition, something she protested greatly about. But Bruno would be hearing none of it. She had a child to nurture, he chided, she couldn’t be putting her life at risk anymore. Neither of them could. Soon, they would have someone very precious relying on them.

So both Nina and Abbacchio found themselves on ‘light duty’ so to speak. Abbacchio rarely rent on any dangerous jobs anymore. Bruno had taken to using Mista as his back up in Abbacchio’s place. Which, he supposed, was fine. Despite being dense, the gunslinger had a good head on his shoulders, and he was dependable. And, as much as the former police officer and his partner hated being left out of things it certainly wasn’t the case that they had nothing to do.

“I don’t have any fucking idea how this works. This is stupid, they won’t even remember the damned nursery why does it have to be so complicated? Just put them in a fucking box or something and be done with it.” He’d been working at this crib for over an hour now, and frankly Abbacchio was starting to lose his patience.

“Leone. If you imply our child deserves to sleep in a cardboard box in front of me one more time, you’ll be the one sleeping on a box.” Nina sat happily in a rocking chair (the first of many gifts from Godfather Bruno) munching on some plantain chips.

“Do you want to help then?” He asked, pulling back to adjust the bun he’d thrown his hair into.

“Hmm… no. I’m good thanks. I’m busy growing a foot.” Nina’s grin split wider at the exasperated expression on her partner’s face. “Besides, if you really hate the crib we can always co-sleep.”

The crib was finished later that evening.

 Month 7

“So you don’t want to know the gender? Why not? It’d be a pain in the ass to buy all these new clothes if it turned out you had the wrong one.” Narancia asked, watching as Nina opened his gift.

Somehow he’d managed to get a baby onsie emblazoned with ‘All Eyez On Me’ album cover. Very much a little boy outfit. Complete with the sneakers and a hat.

“You fucking moron, this is why I told you to find something gender neutral. I knew I should have bought your present for you.” Fugo grumbled, shoving his present towards Nina next.

“Oh yeah, a strawberry outfit is totally gender neutral. What little boy would be caught dead in that?” Narancia snapped back, and Fugo jumped from his chair. The clattering sound made Nina wince.

“You spoiled my gift before she could open it you cretin! I’m going to end your whole bloodline you filthy fucking-“ And there he went, Fugo was pissed again.

“Oi! If you’re going to fight take it outside!” This, thought Abbacchio, was why they had tried to keep it a secret for so long.

Thankfully though, that seemed enough to stop any further altercations and Fugo muttered an apology before fixing his chair.

“You sound like a dad.” Mista joked, already on his second slice of cake.

“That’s because he is one. Thank you Narancia, Fugo, they’ll love the clothes.” Nina spoke, admiring the cute strawberry printed onsie (and lamenting the fact that it was mostly white, that wouldn’t last long) before putting it carefully with the other gifts.

Mista had given them blankets, five of them (a good number! He claimed) and had even taken the time to show Abbacchio how to swaddle a wine bottle in them. Apparently, Mista was quite good with kids. He never talked much about his former life, but he admitted to having several younger siblings. The ex cop found himself impressed. Although the thought of asking the gunslinger for any help made his stomach coil. Nina on the other hand, seemed to have none of those qualms.

“Mine’s a bit big. I’ll help you get it back to your apartment, but please open it here. I’d like to see what you think.” Bruno spoke up last, offering up a box larger than the others they’d seen before.

“You already bought most of the nursery furniture, Capo. You really didn’t have to get another gift!” It was true, as Nina had said. Bruno had taken it upon himself to furnish the nursery. They should be saving their money, he said, and he wanted to make sure his godchild had appropriate furniture.

“It’s the last one, I promise.” Abbacchio had the feeling it wasn’t the case, but as he helped Nina cut the tape off the box, those thoughts faded.

It was a mobile, with fish and boats and other aquatic creatures carefully hand crafted from wood with sea glass safely secured and dangling from fishing wire. It looked lovingly made and Abbacchio had to do a double take.

It wasn’t until after the party that he had the chance to ask Bruno what the deal was.

“Did you buy that yourself? The mobile. Its beautiful but, you didn’t have to go out of the way for that. The brat won’t remember it anyway.” He asked, taking one last cig break before he and Nina returned to their apartment.

“It was mine.” That gave the taller man pause. “My father held on to it. I found it in the attic a few years ago, and didn’t have the heart to throw it away. I’m happy to know it’ll get good use again. It deserves to be hung up, instead of collecting dust.”

“You should save it for your own kids.” Abbacchio spoke, before taking another drag and offering it to Bruno, who declined with a wave of his hand.

“It’s better put to use now, don’t you think?” Bruno’s expression was far off, and Abbacchio couldn’t read it. So instead of responding is simply shrugged, exhaling his final drag and putting the smoke out with his foot before returning to the restaurant to collect his pregnant partner.

Bruno followed and helped them load everything into the car. The unreadable expression gone from his face.

 Month 8

It was getting close. Braxton Hicks contractions were starting to appear. They had scared the shit out of the two of them the first time it happened. It was far too early and they had panicked, rushing to the hospital despite having been told what to expect this late into the pregnancy.

Nervous energy was abound between the two of them. Nina was officially on bedrest. She had been getting weaker and the doctors erred on the side of caution. There was little to worry about, they assured, they just decided to be safer rather than sorry. Leone couldn’t disagree with that, although he was glad that the whole pregnancy thing was almost done. Nina looked like she would kill someone if she had to remain cooped up in their bedroom for too much longer.

It was late, and while Leone had stopped drinking in solidarity with Nina he couldn’t help but want a sip to calm his nerves. Instead though, he walked around the apartment (trying to mind his feet so he didn’t wake his sleeping partner, the pregnancy made her a light sleeper) and took stock of their little home. Their life together.

It was new, better than the one bedroom they’d shared. Bruno helped them get into a neighborhood with a good school. Their rent was affordable, and their neighbors were friendly. IT was all so domestic, it felt like a dream. Or a cruel prank. He half expected to wake up on the couch hungover but that had yet to happen.

He paused, looking into the nursery. Bruno’s mobile was strung up over the crib. The room was simple, white furniture with light blue walls. With the mobile they added a few more ‘nautical’ things into the décor. Striped sheets in the cribs, some bubble decals on the wall, but over all it was a simple and calming room. The shelves were lined with books and blocks and other baby toys, and the stuffed animals they had been gifted were safely tucked away out of the crib. In less than a month there would be someone living here.

Leone took a seat in the rocking chair and observed, not even noticing as he nodded off to sleep.

In the morning he awoke with a blanket covering him, and he got up. Nina had no business being on her feet covering up her idiot partner. Ah, partner. That needed to change soon. Husband sounded better. But that was for later. Once the kid was born, then Abbacchio could worry about making his girlfriend his wife. Some would say it was out of order.

Abbacchio hoped to encounter them one day so they could say it to his face. See how well that worked out for them.

 Month 9

How did it come to this? How had he allowed it to come to this? Abbacchio knew the kind of man he was, the kind who took the cowards way out of things. The kind who would rather turn to underhanded bribes than admit the futility of his work. The kind of man who allowed an innocent man to die for his mistakes. The kind of man who fucked up everything he touched. It only stood to reason that someday, eventually, he would ruin this as well.

He should have put an end to this when the problem first reared its head. Instead here he was, taking a drag from a rancid cig he bummed off a nurse to try and take the edge off of things. It was snowing, almost Christmas. This would have been their first Christmas.

Everything was wrong.

It all happened so fast. Things were going fine, labor was long but not unnaturally so. It was about five hours in when the baby’s heart beat started dropping. Emergency c-section. She seemed fine. The baby came, a girl, shockingly enough. And then Nina started slurring her words. It all happened so fast, he was being rushed out of the room by a nurse and the last thing he heard was the slowing of a heart monitor.

Twenty minutes later a doctor came to offer his apologies, and a child. Abbacchio had turned and left then, unable to handle the weight of what just happened. Shoving past Bruno (the only one allowed to be there for the birth) he ran from the hospital; coward that he was. And here he found himself, smoking to try and… what? Numb something? He was already numb. The cold helped with that. Perhaps if he stayed out here long enough, he’d risk hypothermia. He’d be doing everyone a favor right, freezing to death outside the hospital. It was abundantly clear to Abbacchio that he ruined every good thing that had the misfortune of encountering him.

Perhaps it would be best if he vanished from this kid’s life before he had the chance to infect that too. Or perhaps he’d doomed the kid of a life full of hardship by virtue of being the son of a bitch that fathered it. Her. It was a her. They had a name picked out. It was-

“Are you going to keep the name Sophia?” The only person capable of piercing through Abbacchio’s haze of self-depreciation had come outside to meet him.

How Bruno managed to get the baby out of the hospital so soon after it was born, who knows. Or perhaps he just became numb to the passage of time along with the cold. How long had it been already? Who knows? Who cared. But there she was, bundled up tightly in her hospital blankets and Bruno’s own coat for good measure.

“I’m not keeping anything.” Abbacchio huffed a long drag from his cigarette, having the decency to at least blow away from his friend and the child he held.

“Leone.”

“Bruno.”

His friend’s normally gentle face was furrowed into an expression of distaste. Always so righteous, of course Bruno would take issue with his decision. He still clung to the belief that Abbacchio was worth something, a dangerous notion considering that now there was a child in the mix. Bruno was a smart man, but perhaps their friendship had blinded him to the reality of the situation-

“She loved you and Sophia very much, you of all people should know that.” Bruno tried, only for Leone to take another drag from the smoke.

“A horrible choice on her part.”

“Leone.”

“What, Bruno? What do you want?” That was it, Bruno had found Leone’s breaking point and fuck, if he wanted a reaction out of him so bad, he had it. “Do you want me to be on my knees bawling in the hospital room? Should I be clinging to her hand, shaking her body, begging for her to wake up? What kind of reaction would please you Bruno?”

He threw the cigarette down and stomped it into the slush.

“What am I supposed to do?” Abbacchio could hear his voice crack, knees hitting the cold snow as his legs gave out.

It was amazing, how quickly rage could turn to sadness. Nina had borne witness plenty of times, as had Bruno. This was nothing new for either man, but there was a certain weight to it now. Nina was gone. She wasn’t coming back. If she were here she would be on her knees with him. She’d hold him close, let him scream into her shoulder and cling to her hard enough to bruise (something he always felt horrible for after). And in the end, she’d be there to fix his makeup. Sometimes they’d both need to touch things up; she wound up crying with him.

He’d have her sit on the bathroom counter as he fixed the delicate wing of her eyeliner. They’d tease each other over their puffy eyes and still runny nose. It was like a ritual between them almost, doing each other’s makeup. It wouldn’t happen again though, and the realization washed over him like a cold wave. He missed the numbness then, as he choked out an undignified sob. It was so much easier to be numb.

“Leone.” He could hear the crunch of slushy snow in front of him as Bruno knelt, careful not to jostle the child too much. She was already getting fussy from her father’s loud outburst. “I can’t help you. You need to help yourself. But I can be there for you, and for Sophia.”

“I’ll fuck that up too.” Abbacchio managed, unable to lift his eyes from the ground to look at the child beginning to fuss in Bruno’s arms. She already hated him it seemed. The sound of his voice was enough to make her squirm in discontent. He couldn’t blame Sophia.

“Sophia doesn’t seem to think so.” Bruno’s soothing voice did little to calm the infant, but it began to work on Abbacchio. The tears had yet to dry, but a feeble hiccup signaled the end of his sobbing.

“She’s trying to get away from me.” As if on cue the baby squirmed more, turning her head from her father.

“I think she’s just scared.” Bruno corrected, shifting the baby in his arms. “Leone, try holding her.”

“What?” That caused Leone to snap to attention. “You can’t be serious.”

He had very little time to react though, as Bruno deposited the infant into his arms. Abbacchio had to fumble a bit to support the head, but once things were in order it felt almost… natural.

He stood then, trying to dry what wsa left of his tears off on his shoulder. The kid looked kinda like both parents. She had some wispy pale hairs. Were those from him? Or would she grow dark hair like her mother? Sophia was still fussy, a spirited little thing it seemed, and although her eyes were mostly shut against the cold he could see the tiniest little sliver of purple and gold. She had his eyes.

She had. His eyes.

It was a simple realization, nothing remarkable. It didn’t do anything to quell the ache growing more and more apparent in the place in his heart Nina had occupied. It didn’t lead to any grand epiphany of how he was going to handle the future without her at his side. Nina had been his rock, his confidant, the person he loved most in the world and the one person capable of making Abbacchio see through the haze of self-loathing to imagine a better future. And she was gone. There was nothing that could replace her, and he didn’t want anything to replace her. If he hurt, it meant that she had been there once, right? The fact that her passing left such gaping hole was proof, in its own way, that she had really loved him. And that he, the failure Leone Abbacchio, had been capable to returning that love. Worthy of accepting that love.

And the physical proof was here in his arms. A mixture of Nina and himself. A gift that she had lavished so much time and love on, and had worked so hard to bring into the world. And what a job she did. Sophia was healthy, and energetic if the way she squirmed was any indication. Nina would have been so proud, so happy to have been her mother. Sophia couldn’t replace Nina. She couldn’t do anything to fill the voice her mother left behind. But it was strange, there was a new spot now. A new hole, but instead of emptiness it overflowed. He had to take a shaky breath to try and steady himself. It was overwhelming, the feelings of grief and loss and love mixing together. He could feel himself crying again, although for a new reason.

“Leone?” Bruno asked, having gotten up out of the slush himself.

“I’ll try.” It was all Abbacchio could manage as he again used his shoulders to try and dry his face. It was enough though, and as the new father began to bounce his daughter to try and soothe her, the two men headed back into the hospital together.

[thewinterwaifu]

(~1~) Could I have a part 1-5 matchup please? I’m 5’3”, olive-skinned, with long curly brown hair. I’m chubby with a big butt and wear a lot of black and muted colors (sage green, rust, mustard). I’m an infj that tends to keep people at arms length and takes a really long time to open up, but when I do I’m very loyal and supportive. I love listening to true crime podcasts, watching funny movie reviews, and doing lots of creative things (like crafting, painting, makeup, nail art).

(~2~) I love cooking and trying new foods and if someone comes to my house I *will* be making sure they’re well fed! In general I can be a mom friend and tend not to let people take care of me, even if I really should/want them to. I also love things like true crime podcasts and documentaries. I can also be very bratty, but only in a playful way as I’m very submissive. When I’m passionate about something I rant and get very carried away. I have tattoos and constant tan lines, thank you! ❤️

Of course!

I match you with...

Leone!

Honestly,this guy needs someone to take care of him,he deserves it!Even if he may be a bit grumpy at times,he deeply appreciates everything you do and is grateful about having you in his life

He can be dominant in the bedroom,so if you are the submissive type,he can definetely make you have a good time!

He lives the enthusiasm in your eyes as you talk about things you love,and as a former cop and now a gang member,he has lots of true stories about crime he would love to share with you if you just go ahead and ask him about it!

Abbacchio admires your loyality and can offer the same amount of dedication,you are very important to him

[thequalityrunaway]

Morning Routine with the Baby

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022825

Leon warily pulled his coffee mug away from his mouth as his head was tugged backwards. Impatiently he tried to drive for another sip of the bitter caffeine but was forced to back down yet again when the force of the hairbrush ruined the synchronization of lips to porcelain.

His grumpy grunt of annoyance earned him a light swat on the shoulder, “Put it down, you’ll spill it on your shirt,” Cloud was finally getting somewhere with Leon’s mane of hair.

Doing what he was told, Leon settled for shovelling mouthfuls of toast into his mouth. His irritation was soothed very quickly when Cloud’s quick, talented fingers began to weave a loose braid- it was therapeutic.

The morning light painted their kitchen a light yellow colour with long shadows, pretty gold rays peeking through the cloud blankets. The smell of coffee and the tinge of frying oil wafted through the air, joined with the sound of distant cars and the hairbrush rustling through Leon’s hair by his ears.

With a snap of a band Cloud was finished.

Leon’s husband rubbed the shoulder he’d abused, “There.” The blond exhaustedly slumped into the chair beside Leon, half an eye on the baby monitor on the kitchen table.

Cloud had massive shadows under his eyes, his hair was messier than normal, his shirt was inside out and he had forgone pants to shuffle around in boxer shorts- or he’d been too tired to fish pants out of their chest of draws. As Leon watched the blond’s head was slipping down the arm that propped it up, attempting to sleep again in the moment of peace.

Leon took a huge gulp of coffee to mask the fact he felt as tired as Cloud looked, mentally thanking whoever invented caffeine. As the chemical reaction woke up his numbed brain and body he noticed that Cloud was entirely leaning on the table now, possibly passed out.

The coffee mug was refilled, then Leon carefully ran a hand through the blond’s bangs, watching the sun play with them as his fingers did.

One blue eye opened and he roughly murmured; “What?”

Just smiling, Leon shook his head and continued his light petting.

The pretty blue eyes closed again, followed by a tired sigh. Leon was suddenly glad that he was going to work today and not Cloud; the blond would have the chance to catch up on a little sleep. Though even sleep deprived, unwashed and barely dressed Leon still thought he was amazing.

Even more amazing was how Cloud had managed to haul them both out of bed and get Leon’s lunchbox ready while Leon struggled to wake up in front of a bathroom mirror. Cloud was still running on low batteries from his shifts yesterday. Cloud is amazing, Leon marvelled as his second coffee cup emptied into his mouth.

Leon pecked a kiss to the back of Cloud’s neck and reluctantly got to his weary feet to make Denzel’s first bottle of the day; Cloud had used a lot of energy getting him ready in time for work, so now that Leon was awake and Cloud was failing to keep coherent it was Leon’s turn to do a little something for Cloud’s dedication.

Fried eggs, toast and coffee soon appeared next to Cloud’s spot on the table; ready for whenever he was awake enough to eat.

Leon then put the baby formula to be warmed up and went back to sipping coffee and lazily admiring how wonderful his husband was for the last ten minutes before he took on the morning commute.

One coffee later, the baby monitor started to crackle. Denzel whimpering as he woke up in his cot all alone.

Cloud sighed, woken up by the sound of their baby- Leon put a cup of coffee in front of his face, “I’ll get Denzel,” he offered.

“You’ll be late,” Cloud protested, pulling the mug closer; eyes hypnotised by the steam …

“Cid won’t mind,” Leon lied, Cloud was too tired to notice. The older Man made sure that Cloud was finally eating before he left the room.

Denzel was full on bawling when Leon arrived. The little one throwing a baby’s tantrum for being left to wake up all alone in the pillow-cage.

Leon smirked at him, watching those waving fists and kicking feet for a moment. Then he brushed back Denzel’s fluffy hair and wiped those wet cheeks dry. “Morning, sweetheart,” he watched the chubby face contort into a pinched expression of rage- wide bulging eyes, pursed lips, wrinkled nose, puffed up cheeks and eyebrows that didn’t know what to do.

Leon couldn’t help but laugh as he scooped the baby up in his blanket. He kissed Denzel on his forehead as he walked back to the kitchen. “He has your glare,” Leon teased after yawning into the back of his hand, Cloud’s grunt of protest made Leon laugh again.

“Shut up,” Cloud muttered, moving onto the fried eggs.

The bottle of formula cured Denzel’s ridiculous face. His cute wide eyed expression returned as he guzzled down the formula as fast as he could. “He’s very hungry today,” Leon commented, amazed at how much formula Denzel seemed to consume on a daily basis.

“He’s growing, he barely fits his newborn clothes anymore,” Cloud pointed out, perking up again now the caffeine was filtering through his system. No doubt he’d crash again in a few minutes. “Needs a lot of food to keep up the pace,” Cloud yawned, already preparing another bottle just incase Denzel was hungry enough for seconds, rubbing the sleep from his eyes for the twelth time.

“You’ll need big-boy clothes soon, hm?” Leon leaned against the counter, Cloud taking a moment to lean against him in turn and button up Leon’s shirt to the top. As Cloud looped his tie into place Leon irrationally wondered how long it would be before Denzel was buttoning up shirts and heading off to work; it would be years, but it felt too close for comfort.

“He’s growing up so fast …”

Infected by the same nostalgia, Cloud chuckled, “Remember when he was small enough to fit into our hands like this?” he cupped his hands. Now he’d barely hold Denzel’s body that way.

“I do,” Leon pressed their foreheads together and Cloud squeezed Leon’s hips. After stalling another minute, Leon sighed and gave Denzel to Cloud. “I should go, might only be five minutes late if I rush.”

Cloud winced when he looked at the clock, Leon was too scared to look himself. “Be careful.” He pulled Denzel up to his shoulder and started to burp him, his blue eyes looked at Leon from head to toe, trying to see if they’d missed anything important in their sleepy morning routine. “Tell Cid I’ll take Thursday this week.”

“You’ll be working three days in a row,” Leon protested.

“If I work Thursday I get the whole weekend off,” Cloud explained, anticipating Leon’s reluctance to let him take back another working day so soon after getting Denzel. Their little one barely let them sleep nights anymore, even part time work was exhausting. Cid was accommodating enough to have them both on part time work, on alternating days. One Dad would always be with their baby son, and the other would work to earn a living. “We can go out on family trips, that’s what weekends are for, right?”

“Maybe in a few weeks, when Denz can sleep for longer hours?” Leon suggested, pulling on his right shoe and grabbing his coat.

“I’m not going to discuss this when you’re halfway out the door,” Cloud dismissed, kicking Leon’s other shoe closer to him as Denzel hiccuped a few times in his ear; milk-drunk and sleepy again.

“Fine,” conceded Leon, shaking his head to clear it for the road, “Have a good day,” he kissed Cloud on his lips as he fumbled for the door handle behind him.

Cloud tugged Leon’s tie into a better position, Denzel reaching out to turn up Daddy’s collar and smear a little milk onto it. Leon huffed, Cloud chuckled and took the infant’s hand back, “You too, Lee, drive safely.”

Leon stole one last kiss and walked to his vehicle. Cloud waved in Leon’s car mirror until their small house was out of sight, his last view of them until the evening was of Denzel tugging Cloud’s bangs into his mouth and Cloud watching in annoyed-confusion.

Yawning, Leon silently wished Cloud good luck. “And good luck to me too.” Cid wouldn’t be pleased with him this morning.

[millennialsimsproductions]

Rowan was texting Marina when a text from one of her co-workers, Faye, popped up at the top of her phone.

She’d covered a couple of Faye’s shifts in the past, so she opened the message assuming it would be a similar request.

Faye: Hey, Rowan! I’m having a costume party for the holidays, and I thought you could come. I invited other people from the office as well as my friends, so don’t feel too weird about not knowing anyone. See you there?

Stunned, Rowan asked Marina what do to.

Marina: I think you should go! You’ve mentioned how you want to be closer to your co-workers. This’ll help with that. Plus, it’s a costume party, so you get to dress up

She likes costume parties? That’s so cute, Rowan thought, and told her as much.

Rowan: I’ll go. Thanks for the encouragement

Marina: Of course, babe. Tell me how it goes!

The second Rowan walked in the door of Faye’s townhouse, the first thing she heard was Leon’s unmistakable voice.

“...but with the pregnancy and everything she thought it would be better to make it official,” he explained, and Rowan froze in the doorway.

Did he say pregnancy?

“That’s wild, dude,” the guy he was talking to replied, someone Rowan didn’t know. “So you just went to City Hall and got married?”

“Yup,” he sighed, and Rowan nearly choked on her shock. “It’s a bit of a bummer, I’m not gonna lie. But I don’t want my kid to be raised by any other dad, and she was willing to marry me.”

Leon? Married? Rowan rushed to the kitchen to get herself some water. No. Way. I need to tell Raquel about this. I also need to get out of this party before he sees me. But I need to at least talk to Faye, it’s why I came.

“Hey, Rowan!” Faye greeted, baby in her arms. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“Yeah, me too.” Rowan couldn’t quit glancing at the bundle of chubby cheeks and little fists. She was just so...cute.

“Hey, I hate to spring this on you,” Faye said, “but I really have to pee and this bunny suit takes time. She doesn’t do well without being held when there’s a lot of people around, so would you mind holding her for me while I go to the bathroom?”

“O-Oh. Uh...” Rowan scanned the vicinity, and saw no sign of Leon. He must have been on the other floor of the townhouse. Still, she needed to leave before he saw her.

“Please? I’ll go as fast as I can.” Faye looked more pleading than she had when she asked Rowan to cover her last shift because Faye hadn’t been able to sleep at all the night before.

“Alright,” Rowan agreed, unable to say no in the end. “Hand her over.”

Rowan stayed right where Faye left her, and fussed with baby girl’s blanket to make sure she was warm enough. Rowan had little experience with babies, but she’d at least held a couple in her life, so she wasn’t too daunted by the task.

She looked down at the baby girl’s face, and saw her huge eyes staring into Rowan’s face. She blinked, surprisingly long lashes batting against her cheeks. The tiniest baby smile flirted with her little lips, and something in Rowan just melted.

“You’re so cute! Yes, you are!” Rowan gushed, holding her closer so she could giggle and whisper her praises. She bounced when she found out it made the baby laugh, and hefted her in the air to make her giggle and smile.

Everything about this little girl’s joy made Rowan’s heart full to bursting.

Yeah. She could see how taking care of your own kid would be important, even to someone like Leon.

She wanted kids. She’d always known that, but never in her life had she wanted one this badly.

Faye came back shortly after, took the baby from Rowan’s arms and left them surprisingly empty and cold, and Rowan said her goodbyes and headed home.