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baloobird · 5 years ago

Text

Because I Said So

by @baloobird for @searching4sanity716 I hope you like this!!! 💜💜💜

This is my submission to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!!!

Ao3 Link (but it’s not revealed yet)

Words: 10.1k (hehe whoops)

Rating: Not Rated

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker, May Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker

**Slight Trigger Warning: mention of an eating disorder accusation but there’s no actual eating disorder. Attempted kidnapping while on patrol but it’s stopped before it goes anywhere**

Summary: He should be used to it by now, this almost constant state of hunger, and he knows he should say something to May.

But he can’t.

When his aunt found out about Spider-Man, she - understandably so - wanted to know any and all things about this double life: his powers, how they work, how they affect him, and the like.

So Peter told her everything…except for one small, teeny tiny detail.

That he now has a faster metabolism than everyone else.

Peter doesn't tell May that he has to eat more than the average person because he knows how tight money is for them. He knows his aunt can't afford it so why say anything? And besides, he's fine.

Honestly.

No way is this going to come back and bite him in ass…absolutely not.

Adding my taglist here but the fic will be under the cut. I hope you enjoy!!!

Taglist: @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @dexteritymisdirectionsuggestion @peuty @starkaroos2034 @marvel-us-world @podcastsandcoffee @bestofirondadfics @mmmmmmmmmchicken @riseuplikeglitterandgold @desirexwolf @theoceanphoenixhasrisen @ultravioletstark @just-the-daydreamer @my-leg-is-not-a-chew-toy @diminajackson @theofficialdeannawinchester @whatwasmyprevioususername @spidey-mood @autisticbabynurse @ironmanismydad @tinyandsteven @dreamingformuses @smokesteamair @intuitive-mathgeek @softrdj @legendarypenofeating @petermyspiderson @zselenophile @shymothstudios @and-so-my-adventures-begin @sarcasticmusic @fandomsofrandom @cluusheen @mjc-dream @emygirl @pxterbpxrker @pawprinterfanfic @innocent-until-proven-geeky @blackwatchandromeda @jaelyn-karrett @iron-damn @unnoted-invisible @pixeltrix-13 @anyonewantathroatsweet @m0ther-of-dragons @chaos-with-a-pen @spideynamu @bthtallmadge2 @verdonafrost @the-reverse-mermaid @icymapletree @kitkatwinchester @irondad-is-cannon-bitch @brushes-of-sage @ghostinthebau @canonismybitch @tmifangirl24 @loverofstuffsworld @stuck-in-a-fictional-universe @i-write-disney-not-tragedies @drowned-in-books @peanutdoodles @hauntedbybleachella @aelinasardothien @tonystark-built-this-in-a-cave @tonystarkweneedyou @spideygirl2003 @7peternotparker7 @justme--emily @dongjiayun @dykeragee @jmercer1997 @swagfictionreadingnerd @dredfulhapiness @fallenstar07

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!!!

Peter has been staring at that damn clock for about thirty minutes now.

But only one minute has actually passed.

Why do the last ten minutes of class always feel like another fucking hour?

Despite time moving as slow as molasses, the teenager keeps staring at the clock, seeing his life tick away closer and closer to death.

Hey, it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than learning about the Industrial Revolution.

Whoever decided to make AP History the last class of the day deserves to be shot like Abraham Lincoln.

Ten more minutes until Mr. Stark. Ten more minutes until I can finally freaking eat.

As if reading his mind, the boy’s stomach releases yet another growl, so loud that a few of the surrounding students give him weird looks, making him flush in embarrassment.

The hero smiles sheepishly as he wraps his arms around his torso, hoping to suppress any more incoming rumbles.

God, he is so fucking hungry, as he has been for the last couple of hours.

He should be used to it by now, this almost constant state of hunger, and he knows he should say something to May.

But he can’t.

When his aunt found out about Spider-Man, she - understandably so - wanted to know any and all things about this double life: his powers, how they work, how they affect him, and the like.

So Peter told her everything…except for one small, teeny tiny detail.

That he now has a faster metabolism than everyone else. With the powers of his super strength, stickiness, and “spidey sense”, it’s no wonder he developed an increase in his appetite as well.

Of course he wants to tell May, he desperately wants to tell her to buy more food, to make enough dinner to feed four instead of two.

But he’d be an idiot not to notice how tight money is for them. Peter doesn’t miss the bills with the dreaded red stamp that states “past due”, or the student loan payments that she is at least a couple of months behind on.

“You, food, and shelter are always my first priorities, you know that,” May has said on more than a few occasions.

While yes, she always has enough for rent, food, and their phones, the kid would be lying if he said that their water and power have never been shut off. And he can’t count how many months they’ve had to go without wi-fi.

Thank God libraries exist or he’d never get any homework done.

So the teen does what he can to keep from going completely insane from lack of food consumption: since he’s a part of that free lunch program, he thankfully always has a lunch - even though it’s not enough to leave him satisfied - and Ned, the wonderful, amazing best friend that is Ned always packs an extra apple or another sandwich to give him so he won’t feel like he’s completely passing out by the time history class rolls around.

But even then he can hardly stand it.

Peter keeps his arms wrapped around him, watching the clock at the front of the classroom like a hawk.

Watching the last seven minutes tick by at the slowest possible speed.

The genius feels his head start to droop with fatigue and jerks it upright, keeping it from slamming completely onto his desk. He winces as he feels his stomach release another round of grumbling and squeezes it to keep it quiet, even though it won’t do him any good.

He ignores the more questioning looks from his peers but he doesn’t miss the sympathetic one his best friend is giving him from the next desk over.

Peter looks away almost immediately. He already feels embarrassed enough for his obnoxious stomach, he can’t stand someone looking as if he’s a charity case.

Which is exactly why he hasn’t told Tony about this either.

He jerks his head up yet again after feeling it droop for a second time and stares at the clock once more.

Five minutes, just five more minutes, Spider-Man.

The teenager misses his masked alter ego. He hasn’t been able to don the red and blue as much lately for a number of reasons such as homework and decathlon.

The most annoying one being that he can’t patrol but for so long without Karen taking notice of his decreasing glucose levels which she would then send to Tony and the last thing he wants is for his billionaire hero to find out about his money troubles.

Peter takes a deep breath, constantly reminding himself to keep his eyes open, damn it, he refuses to fall asleep four minutes before the last bell.

He’ll sleep after he eats all of his hero’s food.

Because when he stays with Tony, he pigs out, eating enough food to feed a “whole army” his mentor has jokingly said.

And since Peter is planning to stay the night, he relishes in going back home that Saturday with a more than satisfied stomach.

Well, for a few hours anyway, until he gets to what his current situation is now.

The boy looks back at the clock.

Two minutes left, hell fucking yes.

God, he needs carbs if he has any hope of staying awake on his way to the tower.

He just needs food in general.

Any food…allllll the food.

The bell rings at long last, leaving Peter wishing he could race out the doors but he’s too sluggish to exert that much energy. Again, he ignores his friend’s pitying looks as he gets his things before walking as fast as he can to his father figure’s car.

The second he gets in and gives his mentor a tired smile, the volcano that is his stomach erupts in yet another growl, announcing the hunger it so desperately craves.

Tony giggles as he makes his way to exit the parking lot, “Somebody’s hungry, huh?”

You have no idea.

His protege sheepishly giggles himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach once again, “Uh yeah, sorry.”

“Only you would say sorry about being hungry,” the mechanic says with a snort, “McDonald’s drive-thru sound good to you?”

“Please, I can taste the Big Mac already.”

“How many do you want?”

“Uh,” Peter holds back as slight anxiety sets in, “Two?”

As they stop at a red light, his mentor gives him a deadpan look, obviously not believing him, and repeats, “Pete, how many do you want?”

“Four?” Said kid answers in a questioning tone, covering himself in case Tony thinks the number is too high. He then adds on, “All with fries? Please?”

Tony smiles down at his kid, ruffling his hair while keeping one hand on the steering wheel, “How many times have I told you that you don’t need to be shy around me when it comes to eating?”

“I know,” his interns says, slumping his shoulders but taking full advantage of this “curls massage” to keep his mind off his hunger, “I just feel bad -”

“Don’t,” the older man says, firm but keeping a gentle undertone, “If you’re hungry, you’re getting food, that’s the rule when you’re around me. It doesn’t matter if you want to eat the entire damn cow, you’re getting it.”

Peter feels a warmth filter through him at that, leaning closer to his father figure and smiling serenely at the hair ruffling, squeezing his stomach as it continues to gurgle periodically.

Tony lets go when the light turns green, his attention back on the road, “Didya even eat today, good Lord, kid.”

Barely.

“Yes,” the tyke responds, drawing out the syllable, “If I didn’t, you’d have to carry me to the tower.”

“That’s a terrifying image.”

“Relax, Mr. Stark, I’m more careful than that,” Peter responds with a cheeky smile.

It’s true, he thinks. Despite the constant hunger, he’s always been careful, never letting it get to the point of him not functioning as a human being should.

Yes, he’s hungry all the time, but not that hungry.

It’s fine.

It’s fiiiiiiine.

“You lost me at ‘careful’, does the word ‘Vulture’ mean anything to you?”

“Hey, I stopped him, didn’t I?”

Tony rolls his eyes with a defeated sigh, “Yeah, touché.”

Peter snickers in brief victory as they pull up to the drive-thru ordering station, “Hey, I may be clumsy but I’m still careful.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” his mentor responds with his own snicker before lowering his window, turning towards the microphone. After the usual polite greetings, he says his order, making sure to order for himself as well, “Five Big Macs, five large fries, a Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper, and a side salad.”

“Ranch dressing okay?” The fast-food employee asks as Peter gives his father figure a look of pure confusion.

“Yeah, sure.”

“We’ll have your total for you at the first window.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, driving around the curve to the upcoming window.

Peter asks, “You got a salad? At McDonald’s?”

“No, I got it for you, you really think I’m gonna let you eat four Big Macs and no greens?”

“There’s lettuce on the burgers -”

“Nice try.”

“Jeez, ‘Helicopter Mom’, much?”

“You’ll thank me later when your stomach doesn’t hate you.”

For once.

Peter rolls his eyes as his stomach continues acting like a bear, looking on as his hero gives the cashier his credit card.

Eh, it’s more food, I’ll take it.

The second the boy takes his first bite of that heavenly, artery-filling burger, it takes all of his strength not to guzzle it down in five bites or less. He’s unfortunately learned from experience that not eating much for a week and then consuming enough food in one sitting to feed his entire apartment building equates to seeing all of that food again in a not so appetizing manner.

So by the time they get to the tower, only one burger is consumed and about half of an order of fries, yet the spiderling’s stomach is still growling. They settle in at the kitchen counter, with Tony digging into his own burger and fries, making light chatter with Peter unashamedly talking with his mouth full.

That Friday night and Saturday morning are spent in bliss, in more ways than one. The two heroes did their usual thing in the lab, Tony helped his kid with some of his homework, kicked back on the couch, and the tyke’s stomach was never not satisfied.

If only he could feel this way all the time.

The older man actually made dinner that night and told Peter he can take home the leftovers for him and May.

The teen’s heart did what felt like an actual backflip. He gratefully accepted the leftovers with absolute no intentions on sharing it with his aunt, instead his mind going into “math-mode” on how he can ration this throughout the week.

And when Happy drops him off that Saturday afternoon, he’s filled with the most energy he’s had since the previous time with his mentor, damn near skipping to his room in excitement to put on his suit and soar through the skies.

Until he sees May in the kitchen sporting a look of grim disappointment, and his whole demeanor falls immediately.

What happened? I haven’t done anything lately…at least I don’t think I have.

Hold up, did somebody die?

“Um,” Peter starts, gripping the straps on his backpack and praying his aunt can’t smell the leftover pot roast, “May, is everything okay?”

The nurse sighs despairingly, doing nothing to help her nephew’s case, “No,” she taps the barstool next to her, swinging it out, “We need to talk.”

The teenager’s anxiety spikes instantly.

Must she say the most horrible phrase in the English language?

Peter carefully sets his backpack on the couch before walking over and sitting on the designated stool, “Uh…what is it?”

“This,” his aunt slides a piece of paper over to him, “Progress reports were released yesterday and I didn’t check the portal until this morning. Explain this to me.”

Wait, progress reports? School isn’t even an issue, what the hell?

He looks down at the report and studies his grades, most of which are “A’s”, other than a “B-plus” that ruins the streak.

Fuck English and those fucking essays.

And there, at the bottom of the report, is his grade in AP History.

A “D.”

A big, fat, ugly “D.”

“What the hell?” Peter whispers in shock. This isn’t possible, he thinks, he’s never gotten anything below a “B” in, well, anything. School has always been his strong suit.

While yes, there were a couple of history quizzes he did less than stellar on, but shit happens, it certainly wouldn’t cause his grade to jump to a fucking “D.”

“There has to be a mistake,” he exclaims, still staring at the report with wide eyes, “There’s no way -”

“Really? No way?” May counters, voice a mixture of both anger and disappointment.

Making Peter want to crawl under a rock and die.

His aunt goes on, “Read the teacher’s comment.”

I don’t wanna.

The boy swallows a lump in his throat, reluctantly flipping over the page. He skims down until he sees the one for history and reads the comment.

Mr. Parker is no doubt a gifted student but he has difficulty with paying attention in class. While he does well on the homework, he lacks applying what he’s learned towards the tests and quizzes, both of which carry heavier percentages than the homework itself. I suggest taking more time to study, pay more attention in class, and, if possible, seek a tutor.

Peter scans over that comment who knows how many times.

Okay…maybe he’s done less than stellar on more than just a couple of quizzes.

How did he not see this, how in the fuck did he not know how bad his grade dropped?

The boy feels his stomach gurgle as it digests the last of his lunch that he had before he left to come back home.

Then it clicks.

Shit.

By the last class of the day, the food he’d eat at lunch has long since digested and his body is already begging for more.

So much so that he loses focus on the class and instead does what he can to keep himself sane until he can eat more food.

And the only reason why he’s able to do well on the homework is exactly that, he does it at home, where he’s hungry, but it’s bearable enough to where he can still concentrate.

At school, where he feels like his stomach might actually fall out of his body, leaves little room for concentration.

Peter looks back at his guardian with wide eyes, “I can explain.”

“Really? ‘Cuz I’m dying to hear it.” May lets out a light, humorless laugh, “I just, I just can’t believe we’re having a conversation about this. School was something I never had to worry about with you, what gives? Are you and Ned passing notes? Is there a girl you like that’s distracting you -”

“May, oh my God, I’m not ten,” her nephew says, annoyance in his tone, “And there’s no girl, for the record.”

“Then what is it, Peter?” May counters, getting annoyed herself, “Do you not understand the material, do you need a tutor -”

“No, no I don’t need a tutor. Look, I’m sorry, I’ll bring it up by the time report cards come -”

“You really think it’s that much of an easy fix?”

“Yes, look, May, it’s just a progress report, it doesn’t mean anything -”

“Oh, really now?” She asks, raising her voice slightly, “If they don’t mean anything, then why do they exist, huh? How would you feel if this was your report card? You’d lose your scholarship, Peter.”

Fuck, the fucking scholarship.

The teenager puts his head in his hands, his heart feeling heavy at the thought of being forced to leave Midtown, “Pretty shitty, yeah. May, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it got this bad, I promise I’ll bring it up. There’s a test next week, I’ll make sure to study for it.”

“Oh, you certainly will, no question, because until I see this ‘D’ disappear,” May hesitates before she says, “No more Spider-Man.”

“No!” The fifteen-year-old exclaims, head snapping right to his guardian, “May, please, please don’t take Spider-Man away from me. He’s what keeps me sane, c’mon, please.”

“He’s why your grade dropped, isn’t it?” The nurse asks, her only redeeming factor is that she doesn’t seem to like punishing him any more than he does, “That’s it, you’re too excited to be Spider-Man that you can’t concentrate on the class -”

“No, that’s not it! -”

“Then what is? Peter, help me understand ‘cuz I don’t know what the hell this is.”

The words are on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t get enough to eat.

He could say it, right here right now, he could say it. He would get to eat, and he could still be Spider-Man.

But May would feel awful.

And he can’t stand to see her more upset than she already is.

“You’re right,” Peter forces out, mentally kicking himself, “Yeah, it’s Spider-Man,” he concludes brokenly.

“That settles it then,” May confirms, voice small and filled with remorse, “No Spider-Man until you get your report card. And in three weeks, if I see anything less than a ‘C-plus’, it’s gonna be a long while before you see that suit again, you understand?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, the boy slowly nods his head, “This is so not fair -”

“It’s not up for discussion. Dinner’ll be in a few hours,” his guardian says, getting out of her chair to start chopping vegetables.

Peter quickly gets out of his own chair and gets his things before dragging himself to his room, the last thing he wants to do is look at his aunt let alone talk to her.

He gets to his room and slams the door, dropping his things and plopping onto his bed face down. He smushes his face on his pillow and screams into it as loud as he can without alerting May before slumping in defeat.

Words can’t express how mad he is at his guardian but it’s nowhere near how mad the kid is at himself.

How stupid was he? How did he not notice how bad he’s doing in the class? How could he have let it get this far?

And now there’s no more Spider-Man to at least soften the blow.

As much as he knows he needs to study, he doesn’t, he’d rather just lay in his bed and wallow in self-pity for the next week or so.

That’s just what he does until May calls out that dinner is ready. Peter wants to rebel by skipping dinner but realistically, he’d pass out if he doesn’t eat, and he wants to save those leftovers for as long as he can.

Dinner is the epitome of awkward.

Not much small talk is made as the kid eats his food as fast as humanly possible, afterward spending the rest of the night drowning out his thoughts through YouTube videos before succumbing himself to torture and digging out his history book.

No way is he letting the late 1800’s ruin his double life and his future.

The following week, he gets to work.

Unfortunately, his teacher doesn’t offer extra credit but he did say that if Peter continues doing well on the homework, studies hard for the upcoming quizzes and test, along with the paper due at the end of the month, the teen could have the potential to bring his grade up to a “B-minus”, maybe even a “B” if he aces them.

As long as his report card is above a “C-plus”, he doesn’t give a shit what it is.

The hero decides not to eat the extra food Ned gives him right at lunch and instead scarfs it down right before history. It doesn’t fill him up by any means but his stomach won’t sound like a thunderstorm either. Then when he gets home, he eats some of Tony’s leftovers, leaving his hunger manageable enough to make it to dinner.

It works for that week, to the teen’s pleasant surprise. Who knew that eating can make a person more focused and actually pay attention?

With this new routine, not only does the boy continue doing well on the homework but he damn near aces both of his next quizzes with a “B-plus” and “A-minus” respectively. The higher his grades get, the more confident he feels, he can almost taste the sweet freedom of swinging through the air and becoming one with the wonders of Queens.

Hell yes, Peter thinks, he’ll be back to donning the red and blue in no time.

However, that second week proves to be tougher than the first.

For one, Peter finished the leftovers; he didn’t want to, but he knew the food would eventually go bad if he kept it for much longer so he bit the bullet. Pair that with his dinner that night, it made him the most satisfied he'd felt since that waiter at the Thai restaurant gave May an extra plate of food for free.

God, why can’t that happen again?

He sticks to the same routine at school but when he gets home, he limits himself to a small snack to keep him satisfied until dinner.

But that has yet to work.

The teenager is having a hard time concentrating on his homework. The calculus that he normally breezes through is taking him twice as long to complete, same with physics, and he’s forced to put off history until after dinner, where his stomach doesn’t feel like it’s falling out and giving him enough energy to finish it with a passing grade.

Which is where Peter is finding himself now the night before that dreaded history test.

He huffs in frustration as he stares down at his dense brick of a history textbook, words blurring together as he reads over the same page for the fourth fucking time - and maybe the information might actually stay in his brain for once - and starving despite fixing himself a sandwich earlier.

Maybe his dinner should’ve had more sustenance than that but what the hell, he doesn’t know how to cook and May’s going to be at work until like midnight, he had to fix something.

Even though it’s only eight o’clock, the kid’s eyes are drooping with fatigue, resisting the urge to fall asleep on his book and thus making his chance of passing his test get slimmer and slimmer.

That lousy sandwich didn’t do shit.

Peter lightly slaps his cheek to wake himself up and he continues reading through that same page…again.

Why can’t I learn history dates as good as math formulas, this shit’s exhausting.

He studies as much as he can, going from the textbook to his chicken-scratch notes and now graded past homework and quizzes. Yet the more he tries to memorize political figures, the more he focuses on the food that’s in each and every one of the kitchen cabinets.

As if reading his mind once again, his stomach gurgles with hunger.

Okay, I think I saw another apple in the fridge. I mean, it can’t hurt.

Oh my God, and there’s a bag of chips we haven’t opened yet, maybe May won’t notice if I eat a few…or the whole fucking bag.

Maybe she’ll forget she bought them, no harm, no foul.

The hero’s mouth starts salivating at that. He can’t keep torturing himself like this, he has to get something to eat. Just as he’s about to do so, he hears a scream from outside his window.

“No!”

Peter’s head jerks to the window behind him, eyebrows narrowing in curiosity.

He’s normally pretty good at tuning out the murmurs that flood the mean streets of Queens…but that sounded close.

Too close.

Like right-outside-his-apartment-building close.

His worry grows when he hears another scream that sounds like it’s coming from the same person.

“Let go of me!”

Not just a person.

A kid.

Peter is out of his chair in less than a second. He opens his window and peeks out from the corner so he can’t be seen. After a few seconds of searching, his eyes land on a scuffle across the street between a middle-aged man with a black hoodie covered face and a little boy who can’t be older than eight or ten years old.

“You’re not my dad!” The boy cries, trying to get out of the man’s grasp.

“Shit,” Peter whispers, “Shit, shit, shit.”

The physiological need now forgotten, the hero races to his closet while he’s hurriedly taking off his clothes, putting on his suit in record time, and keeping a close ear on the scary situation at hand.

Okay, save the kid, come back, save the kid, come back…

He knows he’s breaking his aunt’s trust - which is saying something considering he kept this identity from her for almost a year - but he can’t just sit here and study shit that’s already happened while a child is being kidnapped.

The boy hears the usual greetings from Karen after putting on the mask, looking out the window once more before sneaking out of it, climbing the last few stories so he can scope the situation from the rooftop. He hears the little boy yell out again, “Let go of me!” but the kidnapper keeps dragging him along, mumbling some shit that Peter doesn’t find relevant to comprehend.

The teen swings to the next building, following the kidnapper and the poor little kid. He tells his AI, “Karen, activate web grenades.”

“Web grenades activated,” she responds, her usual robotic manner sounding out of place given the circumstances.

The spiderling swings to a building ahead of the criminal and waits patiently from the rooftop, web shooter aimed at the guy.

Keep walking, keep walking…aaaaand YEET.

He presses the button and a whole net of web fluid goes flying, trapping the kidnapper and hitting him against the wall of a closed bank. Unfortunately, the kid’s left hand got caught up in it and stuck around the web as well.

And he starts wailing.

Peter webs his way over in seconds, ignoring any bullshit the criminal is shouting, and lands in front of the boy.

He starts speaking words of reassurances, keeping his voice as soft and non-threatening as possible, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, I gotcha, you’re okay.” The teen whispers to his AI, “Karen, call the police.”

“Already in pursuit, Peter.”

“Thanks.” Peter uses his super strength to tear the boy’s hand free, applying a small amount of web fluid to keep the net intact. He kneels in front of the kid and asks, keeping his voice light, “Hey, I’m Spider-Man. Are you okay, did he hurt you?”

The boy sniffles, wiping away a few tears with his sleeve. He holds out his left hand as he says shakily, “Just m-my-my, my hand…he was, he was holding it too tight.”

The teenager sighs in relief, thanking God that nothing worse happened. He ignores his stomach’s occasional growls as he asks, “I’m sorry he hurt your hand, buddy. Do you know where your parents are?”

The boy hastily shakes his head, eyes widening in fear, “My-My mom, we were walking and-and there were all these people and, and I-I let go of Mommy’s hand but I didn’t mean to!” His panic increases the more he talks, “Someone, someone uh, someone bumped into me, it was an accident -”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s not your fault, these things happen sometimes. So you got separated from your mom and that’s how you got lost?”

The little boy nods his head, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes, “And, and then, and then he,” he points to his attempted kidnapper, “Grabbed my hand and wanted to take me away.”

“He’s lying,” the offender says from the other side of the web net. Without even looking at the guy, Peter shoots a web at his face, successfully shutting him up.

The hero hears sirens in the distance and smiles from behind the mask, “The police are coming soon and they’re gonna help you find your mom, okay? Can you tell me your name?”

“J-Josh.”

“Well, Josh,” the teen holds out his fist as a police car turns the corner, “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Thanks, Spider-Man,” Josh smiles as he gives his hero a soft fist bump, biting his lip as he asks, “Can you stay until I find my mom?”

Another stomach growl escapes the spiderling but again, he pushes it down, “Of course, buddy.”

Law enforcement finally arrives and a female officer approaches the boy, taking his hand as the young genius stands up. His anxiety starts to rise as he starts to feel unexpectedly dizzy and he’s forced to put a hand on the wall to steady him.

Karen says into his ear, “Glucose levels decreasing rapidly, I suggest you seek appropriate nutrition or I can contact Mr. Stark -”

“No,” Peter commands, “Look, I’ll eat something after we find his mom, okay, just don’t tell Mr. Stark -”

“Are you talking to yourself?” Josh asks, turning around to look at the hero in confusion.

“Uh, just, um,” the other boy stutters, spinning around and again, having to use the wall to steady him, “Uh, Bluetooth.”

The little kid raises an eyebrow but simply shrugs and continues walking away, still holding the officer’s hand.

Peter uses his super strength to free the criminal and his mouth only for the guy to be arrested by two other officers. As they’re walking to a second police cruiser, the kid finds himself having to take short breaths and are his eyes deceiving him or is everything going suddenly blurry?

I thought my powers fixed my eyesight.

Karen again whispers in her owner’s ear, “Glucose levels are drastically low. Willing to contact Mr. Stark -”

“Please, Karen, no,” the spider-boy sharply whispers back, “I literally live here, I’ll eat something when I get back.”

“My concern isn’t when you’ll eat, but for if you can make it back at all. I have no choice -”

“Yes you do, don’t call him.”

Peter walks over to Josh, seeing his kidnapper being handcuffed and put in a car from the corner of his eye, albeit a blurry one, and says, “How you doing, little buddy?”

“Great! They found my mom, she called the police after I got lost and they’re bringing her here.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s great,” the hero says with as much energy as he can pull together, “I have to go now so you be safe, okay?”

“I’m never letting go of Mommy’s hand ever again.”

God, they’re so innocent.

“That’s good, good lesson,” Peter takes a couple more deep breaths as he stands up, ignoring the lightheadedness swirling in his brain, and with a friendly, “Have a good night”, he swings as fast as he can to his apartment.

Food, food, food, food, food…

The teenager sluggishly climbs back through his window and takes off his mask, swaying on his feet as his fingers start to shake. He starts to head over to the kitchen but grips onto the ladder of his bunk bed to let his vision catch up to him.

But then he looks at his bed.

His wonderful, heavenly, comfortable bed.

God, he’s so tired.

No, I gotta eat something.

However, he inches closer and closer to his bed, his world literally swirling around him in such a way that he’s amazed he can still stand up.

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt.

He’ll just eat something when he wakes up.

No harm, no foul.

Peter then gets into position and starts to belly flop onto his bed.

I’ll just take a nap riiiiiiiight here -

He is out cold before his head even hits the pillow.

“Boss, Mr. Parker is in distress.”

Tony’s head snaps up from the TV, gaze going to the ceiling, “What happened? He’s not supposed to be Spider-Manning.”

“Sending Karen’s information to your phone now.”

The man’s phone vibrates on the end table barely a second later. He hurriedly grabs it, reading what’s on the screen.

“Peter Parker’s glucose levels are devastatingly low. His vitals indicate that he is suffering from malnutrition and needs to seek medical attention immediately -”

“FRIDAY, call a suit,” Tony exclaims as he’s getting off of the couch, waiting to hear the rest while on his way to his kid.

“Yes, boss.”

“Kid, what the fuck are you doing?” Tony mumbles as he’s racing to the lab. In no time but it feels like too much time, he punches in his code and walks into the room, instantly getting into his suit, “FRIDAY, read me the rest of what Karen sent, put Peter’s vitals up on the screen.”

“Yes, boss, tracking his location now.”

The hero is out and flying to the location on the GPS only to see that the destination is at…the Parkers’ apartment.

The kid isn’t out.

And Tony has no idea if that’s a good thing or not.

Now knowing where he’s going, he turns off the GPS, trying not to let any panic set in at the boy’s ever slowly decreasing levels.

Or at the open window leading into the kid’s bedroom.

The billionaire stops right outside the window, carefully slipping inside and lifting up his faceplate.

He sees the tyke out cold on the bottom bunk of his bed, his left hand gripping his mask and a small puddle of drool next to his mouth. Tony would’ve thought this was adorable if he wasn’t so worried.

The older man kneels next to his kid and gives him a slight nudge, “C’mon, Pete, it’s time to wake up.” He nudges him a little more.

And a little more.

Tony gets more desperate as his anxiety skyrockets, “Peter, this isn’t funny, c’mon, wake up, we gotta get your idiotic ass fed yesterday.”

But Peter makes no notion of any plans to get up. The only way his mentor knows he’s still alive is by his vitals FRIDAY is whispering to him and the boy’s back rising and falling to the tune of his breathing.

“Kid, you’re really about to make me fucking do this,” Tony says with a sigh, grabbing the teen’s mask and putting if over his head to hide his identity, “FRIDAY, alert medbay, tell ‘em we’re on our way.”

“Roger that, boss.”

The mechanic slips his nameplate back over his face as he picks up his kid, positioning him like a toddler and sitting him on his arm, cupping the boy’s head to keep it close to his neck, “Might need two beds if I get a fucking panic attack over this,” he mumbles.

“Roger that, boss,” FRIDAY responds, not noticing the sarcasm.

“I didn’t mean - whatever,” Tony turns on his repulsors so he’s now hovering over the floor and with one leg at a time, he oh so gently flies out the window, not even bothering to close it as his suit takes off at full speed, determined to get this kid some help before…

He refuses to think about the rest of that sentence.

The entire flight back to the tower, Tony keeps a tight grip on his kid, damn near smushing Peter’s head against his neck. The man says occasional words of reassurance even though he knows no one is listening, “You’re gonna be okay, kiddo, you understand me? You have to be okay so I can whoop your ass later.”

Honestly, he’s not sure if he's saying this more to the kid or to himself.

He has superpowers, of course everything’s gonna be okay.

Because I said so, damn it.

Peter comes to, finding himself in a hospital gown on an equally uncomfortable bed, a bunch of wires attached to his left hand and a remote on the table to his right, assuming to adjust the bed and TV.

“What?” He mutters, taking in his surroundings. The room is a standard size with a marker board stating the healthcare professionals’ names, a portable cart containing whatever necessities the patient and doctor might need, along with an attached bathroom and window with a view of New York City.

What the fuck am I doing here?

He shifts on his bed in an effort to sit up but he accidentally hits something with his right leg.

The spider-boy tilts his head in confusion only to gasp at the sight of his father figure sitting in a chair next to him, fast asleep with his head on his kid’s bed, resting it on his crossed arms.

Peter can’t help but smile at the sight of Iron Man snoring but that doesn’t answer his question. He looks back down at the wires on his hand and follows them up to an IV bag with the label “glucose.”

Wait, glucose?

Everything hits the hero like a sack of potatoes as his mind takes him back to the last thing he remembers: the hunger, the little boy, Karen constantly telling him about his levels…

Deciding to take a nap.

And he wakes up here.

“Shit…shit, shit, shit, shit.”

The teenager jumps as he hears random beeps on some machine to his right. He feels his heart racing with panic and his legs start restlessly jerking from underneath his thin blankets, thus accidentally waking up his mentor.

Tony’s head snaps up when he feels his arms being nudged for about the fifth damn time. After blinking out of his stupor, he puts his focus on his frightened kid, “Peter, hey, hey,” he grabs hold of the tyke’s right hand and gives it a heartfelt squeeze, “Kid, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe now -” he cuts himself off at noticing his words aren’t doing shit and his other hand goes the young genius’s shoulder, “Peter.”

The child stops abruptly, looking right at his hero. Said man gives him a reassuring smile and comfortingly rubs his shoulder to calm him, “You’re okay, buddy, take a breather.”

“Wha-what happened?” Peter asks between deep breaths, doing as his father figure says and trying to settle down, “Is May okay -”

“She’s fine,” Tony confirms, releasing his protege’s shoulder. He can feel the kid’s iron-grip in his hand and makes no move to let go, “She was here earlier but I made her go home for a bit and rest up. I’d rather there’d be one adult with a sore back than two.”

“Wait, how long was I out?”

“Well, considering it’s now,” the billionaire takes a brief look at his watch, “One PM, about fifteen hours, give or take. You had one hell of a nap, if I do say so myself.”

“That sounds like an amazing nap, I wish I savored it,” the teen replies, “But what happened?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Tony responds, face looking upset, “Why don’t you tell me why your levels were so low that I had to come get you in my damn suit and bring you back here?”

Peter sighs in frustration, “Glucose levels -”

“That’s right. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Um,” the spiderling starts, trying to be as vague as possible, “Dinner.”

Tony raises a confused eyebrow, “How much did you eat at dinner?”

“The normal amount,” Peter answers with a shrug.

Please don’t see through my bullshit.

“And you didn’t eat anything later on? You always have to eat something before bed.”

“I, uh,” the boy lets go of their grip, feeling his hand start to tremble uncontrollably. He brings it to his lap and puts it with his other hand under the covers, “Forgot.”

“You forgot to eat,” Tony says, face the epitome of unamused, “How do you forget to eat, your stomach practically screams at ya.”

“I just-I just did, okay, I’m sorry -”

“Oh really, you’re sorry? This ‘forgetfulness’ put you in the damn hospital, ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it. I want you to tell me right now what the hell happened. Why did you let it get this bad?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Peter retorts, getting pissed at the man’s tone, “I didn’t want to end up like this, I thought I had it handled -”

“What handled, Peter?” At hearing no answer, the billionaire continues, “I already know about you Spider-Manning when you’re not supposed to -”

“It was one time! I couldn’t just let a kid get kidnapped cuz Spider-Man got grounded.”

Tony’s eyes soften at that, “Was that what happened last night?”

“Yeah, I heard it right outside the apartment building.” The teen’s voice lowers, “I was studying and I was about to get something to eat when I heard the kid scream, I-I couldn’t just let that happen. I was just gonna save the kid and come right back, I didn’t know it got that bad.”

“How hungry were you?”

“What?”

“How hungry were you?” The mechanic asks, repeating the question, “‘Cuz if you were just hungry, your levels wouldn’t’ve gotten that low. Kid, you were way past starving.”

The kid looks down in shame, feeling his cheeks heat up and he can only imagine how red they must look.

Tony then asks, trying to keep his tone as gentle as he can, “What is it that you’re so afraid to tell me, Peter?”

Peter looks up at him with sad eyes, biting his lip.

Fuck, he’s seeing through my bullshit.

Seeing no chance at a loophole, he knows he has to bite the bullet…but how does he go about telling billionaire Tony Stark that he’s not eating because his aunt can’t afford more food?

Said man asks, keeping his same tone, “Why are you not eating?”

“I am eating -”

“But clearly not enough, why? When you’re with me, you eat ‘til the cows come home - oh shit,” Tony cuts himself off, covering his mouth as his eyes widen in fear.

Peter’s eyes narrow in utmost confusion, “What, what is it?”

“You’re not eating as much as you should,” the older genius mumbles, trying to piece all this together, “And you pig out when you’re here.” He turns to his kid, sporting a scared expression, “Do you throw it all up later?”

That makes the other’s skin prickle into goosebumps, his own eyes bugging out, “What?!”

“It all makes sense now,” Tony states, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms in concentration, “You eat like a horse when you’re with me, but I just brought you here because you’re not eating enough at your place. You already threw it up when you saved that kid, didn’t you -”

“Oh my God!” Peter shouts, the insinuation sinking in, “You think I have an eating disorder?”

“What the hell else is it, Peter? No wonder you were scared to tell me -”

“No, Mr. Stark, it’s not that, I promise it’s not that.” The kid swallows a lump in his throat as he briefly purses his lips, finally giving in, “You don’t understand.”

“Try me -”

“I’m serious, you won’t.” Peter props his elbows on his knees above the covers, putting his head in his hands, “And I don’t expect you to understand.”

Tony leans forward, crossing his arms next to Peter’s outer thigh, his face unreadable, “Then make me understand,” he says slowly.

After a long deep sigh, the boy finally spits it out, head still in his hands, “I don’t get enough to eat.”

“What?”

Peter lifts his head up, resting his hands in his lap, “I don’t get enough to eat. At home, I mean.”

“May doesn’t feed you enough -”

“No, she does, it’s not May’s fault. She feeds me enough food…for if I didn’t have powers.”

It takes a few seconds but the hypothetical lightbulb goes off over the man’s head, “May doesn’t know you have to eat more.”

The spider-boy silently nods his head.

Tony asks, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

The tyke’s shoulders slump with dread. The guy who can buy fucking Google is about to hear his stupid working-class money troubles.

He then says, eyes looking everywhere but at his mentor, “‘Cuz she can’t afford it.”

“Wait, what?”

“She can’t afford it. I don’t know how she manages to buy enough for if I was just a normal human being, with all the bills and her loans and everything. She can’t buy more food for me, Mr. Stark. I’d love to get a job and help her out but I’m only fifteen -”

“Stop, stop right there,” Tony cuts him off, looking even more confused than he was earlier, “That’s what this is about? You don’t want her to buy more food?”

Peter looks up at the older man, looking offended, “It’s not that, I’d love for her to buy more food but she can’t. I’ve seen the bills when she thinks I’m not looking, or her student loans she’s behind on. God, if it wasn’t for my scholarship I wouldn’t even be going to Midtown ‘cuz we can’t afford it.” His voice lowers as humiliation sets in, “Which is why I have to get my history grade up.” His eyes grow to the size of his head, “Oh my God, my test is today -”

“Don’t worry about it, I called the school this morning, you can make it up next week.”

“Next week? But it’s Thursday -”

“Yeah, you’re gonna need more than one day to recuperate after all of this,” Tony says, slightly annoyed, “Why didn’t you tell me you guys are having money issues, I can help you out -”

Peter cuts him off with a humorless laugh, “You really think that’s gonna solve everything?”

“If it means to get you to eat more, it absolutely will,” the billionaire responds, raising his voice in offense.

“I knew you wouldn’t get it -”

“Then make me get it, for God’s sakes, you need money and I can give it to you -”

“We’re not a charity case, don’t you understand?” The child exclaims, “We’re doing fine, we don’t need help -”

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing -”

“But we are!” Peter sighs deeply in frustration, “You’re not the first person to offer us money, okay? You don’t know how it feels.”

“How what feels?”

“For someone to try and help you out by giving you money. It sounds great on paper but you’ve never had someone give you this-this ‘look’ of pity that makes you feel this big,” Peter shapes his thumb and index finger into the shape of a “C”, with both fingertips almost touching, “All because you’re not making that much money. I just, I don’t wanna put Aunt May through that again. She’s proud of what she does, she loves what she does, she loves helping people. I don’t want anyone belittling her again.”

That makes Tony pause.

While yes, no shit he knows the vast majority of people don’t have his kind of money but most of the people in his life over the years only hung out with him because of his money. He’s never thought about the opposite end of that coin, how someone is proud of making a living, especially being in a profession that they love.

And that as long as they can provide for them and their family, they don’t need to be a billionaire to be happy.

“You really love May, don’t you?” Tony finally asks, a proud smile spreading across his face.

“More than anything,” his protege says with a nod of his head, “So please don’t tell her -”

“You know I can’t do that -”

“Please -”

“No, Pete, while your intentions are good, I can’t let you keep starving yourself like this. Who knows what would’ve happened if you weren’t in your suit, if I didn’t get that notification from Karen.” The older hero grabs hold of his mentee’s hand again, “Hey look at me.”

Peter reluctantly looks up at his father figure, his shame slowly but surely ebbing away.

Tony gently his thumb over the tyke’s knuckles, giving him a reassuring smile, “You deserve to eat. We’re gonna tell May and we’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

An unexpected third voice erupts from the doorway, “Tell May what?”

Both heroes’ heads snap to the front to see the woman herself walk in, closing the door behind her. She immediately rushes to the other side of her kid, giving him a hug, “How you doing, sweetie, you gave us quite a scare there.”

Peter hugs her back letting go of Tony’s hand, “I’m better now, thanks to Mr. Stark.”

“It’s nothing, bud,” the mechanic says, comfortingly rubbing the tyke’s knee, “I’m just glad I can help.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Tony,” May says when they separate, sitting down in her own chair opposite the older man, “I know I said that like a million times, but really, I owe you one -”

“You don’t owe me a thing, not where the kid is concerned.” Tony turns to his intern, “But you actually came at the perfect time ‘cuz Pete here has something he’s gotta tell you.”

“Oh?” May turns to her nephew, grabbing hold of his left hand, being mindful of the wires connected to him, “Is it about what happened, I’ve been dying to know.”

“Yeah,” Peter replies, defeatedly, “I’m sorry I went out as Spider-Man but I had a good reason.”

“We’ll talk about that later, I’m just glad you’re okay. What happened, sweetie, you’ve been eating just like you always have, what was the problem?”

“That’s the thing, May,” the boy starts, scratching the back of his neck, “There’s something I didn’t tell you about me after I got my powers.” He doesn’t wait for her response, “I have to eat more than I used to to keep up with them. I have I guess what you call an ‘enhanced metabolism’, meaning I have to eat more than everyone else.”

The nurse’s eyes squint in confusion before her eyebrows raise as everything sets in, “Oh my God,” she says, leaning back in her chair and hand covering her face, not unlike what Tony did earlier, “So all this time you were starving yourself?”

“Well -”

“Why, Peter?! Why the hell would you do that?”

“‘Cuz I know you wouldn’t be able to afford it, okay?” Peter cries, “I didn’t want you to struggle any more than you already do -”

“Stop,” May cuts him off with another hug, her eyes glistening with unshed tears behind her glasses, “Stop, baby, stop.” She lets go and looks right in his eyes, “Don’t ever pull that shit with me again, you understand?”

Peter nods his head, letting a small grin escape him at hearing a muffled snicker from Tony, “I promise. Um,” he takes a deep breath as his aunt settles back into her chair, “It’s also why my history grade is as bad as it is.”

“What?” Both adults ask at the same time.

“Uh,” the teen starts, fidgeting with his top blanket, “So the free lunch I get at school doesn’t fill me up obviously and Ned sometimes brings extra food and that helps…for a while.”

“I know where this is going,” he hears Tony mumble.

“Yeah, and history is my last class of the day so by the time that comes around, I’m really, really hungry so I have a hard time concentrating. In my defense though, it’s boring as shit.”

Both adults can’t help but giggle, “Yeah, history wasn’t my strong suit either,” Tony says, coming to his kid’s defense.

“Peter, this is why you need to tell me things,” May says, “You still understand why I punished you, though -”

“Yeah, even though I hated it. Is Spider-Man ungrounded now?”

“You get rested up and eat for once and we’ll talk.”

“Deal,” the kid confirms with a grunt.

As if on cue, his stomach releases an ever so slight gurgle. As much as the IV bag has helped, he needs actual food sustenance.

Tony says, pressing the button to call a nurse, “And on that note, let’s get you patched up and we’ll order in, how ‘bout that?”

May cuts in, “And you can have allll the orange chicken your tummy desires.”

Peter gives them both a timid smile, wincing as another growl rolls in his abdomen, “That sounds amazing.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m a failure.”

“Kid, you know you’re not, it’s just a few dates and inventions.”

“You make the Industrial Revolution sound like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

It is now the following week, the day before Peter’s makeup history test, and the father-son duo are in the lab after school. Instead of actually working on anything, Tony is helping his kid study.

If only he can get Peter to put the material in that hard head of his.

“You get into that mindset, and it will be the easiest thing in the world, bud.”

“Easy for you to say,” Peter whines, “Your scholarship’s not riding on this.”

Aw, how cute that he thinks I won’t help him out.

“Forget about the scholarship, you’re already stressed as it is. Focus on the triple cheeseburger you’re gonna get after this thing is finally over.”

“The two triple cheeseburgers,” the kid shyly elaborates.

Ever since the tyke dropped that bombshell about him freaking starving himself, things have changed. For one, May - refusing Tony’s help - is buying more groceries and always makes sure her kid gets a lunch in addition to the free one that’s available. Whenever Peter stays with his father figure, things stay the same except now when Tony makes dinner, he purposely makes more for leftovers.

And now, the man is about to present his kid with another way to help him out.

“Pete, I think your brain might actually explode, let’s take a break for a sec, huh?”

After releasing a long, dramatic sigh, Peter drops his pencil, “Y’know what? Fuck history.”

Tony can’t help but bust out laughing, “Kid, you know why you have to learn it, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but it’s not like I’m gonna be a historian or anything.” The teen gets up and walks over to where his father figure is standing, “Whatcha wanna work on?”

“Actually, I want you to do this for me first.” The billionaire takes a folded piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and unravels it, holding it out to his protege, “I want you to sign right here, and initial here.” He points to the designated areas where a signature is required as the teen takes the document, reading what it says in confusion before his eyes widen in shock.

“You’re…you wanna make my internship a paid internship?” Peter asks, not believing what he’s seeing, “And May already signed it?”

“Yup, you’re not eighteen so I needed May’s approval. So,” Tony casually leans against the table, holding out a pen for the kid, “What d’ya say?”

“I-I,” the teen stutters, his gaze not leaving the sheet of paper, “But like it’s not actually an internship, that’s just a front -”

“Really? You think all the stuff you do around here is just a front?” The older genius asks with a cheeky smile, “Making up web fluid and all the repairs you help me do, I should’ve done this a long time ago if I’m being honest.”

Peter looks long and hard at the writing in front of him, occasionally glancing back and forth at both that and the man who put it together.

He’s not stupid, the kid knows why his mentor is bringing this to his attention.

And he’s grateful.

Tony could’ve tried offering money again, making him feel like a loser even though he didn’t mean it in that way.

But no, Iron Man is offering him a job, a job where he can continue doing what he loves while he helps out his aunt in the process.

He can feel accomplished…proud even.

A smile breaks out across the teen’s face as he takes everything in, thinking about what he can do with the money he’s going to make in addition to helping May: saving up for college, a car, and ooh that Nintendo Switch he’s been dying to have -”

His thoughts are interrupted by Tony clearing his throat, snapping him back to reality, “My arm’s getting tired here, kiddo, you in or not?” The man asks.

Peter takes the pen and lays the sheet on the table, signing on the dotted lines before giving it back to him, “Um, th-thank you, thank you, Mr. Stark, you’re amazing.” He concludes with giving him a hug, wrapping his arms around his hero’s torso thus making the older man gasp in surprise.

“Well, I already knew that,” Tony says jokingly, giving the tyke a light ruffle of his hair, “But it sounds so much better when you say it. You’re the amazing one, don’t doubt that.”

“Tell that to my history book.”

“Speaking of,” the mechanic starts with a snicker, “The Second Industrial Revolution -”

Peter cuts him off with a groan, defeatedly resting his head on the other’s chest, “You said I could take a break -”

“Yeah, for a sec.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“But you ‘needa’, c’mon, back to studying.” Tony lifts his mentee’s head and lightly pushes him back to the direction of his textbook, “So, who invented the telephone?”

“Uh, ‘Mr. Telephone’? He probably used his last name when he invented it.”

Tony lets out about the deepest sigh he’s ever expressed, “So this is how my hair goes gray.”

The following week, it is an ordinary day at the Parkers’ residence. May is preparing dinner while her nephew - who is still feeling satisfied from his after-school snack - is at the counter working on homework, trying not to stare so much at his history test that his aunt stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet.

But damn, he’ll never get tired of seeing that shiny red “B-plus.”

There is a sudden knock at the door, making both Parkers tense up since they’re not expecting anybody.

May opens the door with her kid standing off to the side. On the other side stands a middle-aged man holding a clipboard with about half a dozen bags on the ground around him.

Are Peter’s eyes mistaken or do those bags look like the reusable ones grocery stores sell?

“Ms. Parker?” The man asks, voice neutral but friendly.

“Uh, yes?” May reluctantly responds, looking the epitome of confused.

“I got your groceries here for ya.”

“What, um I didn’t order anything, Peter, did you?” The nurse turns to her kid who responds with a simple shake of his head, his expression matching his aunt’s.

The man’s eyes squint at the small clipboard he’s holding, “Isn’t this your address, ma’am?” He holds the clipboard out to the older Parker and she studies the sheet for a couple of seconds, eyes looking more and more baffled.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that’s us but-but I don’t understand -”

“No need to explain, I’m just the messenger. If you would just sign right here, saying you received your items -”

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m not paying for something I didn’t order.”

“Don’t worry about it, that’s all taken care of. All I need from you is your signature.”

“Uh,” May stutters, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Okay, sure.” She signs the paper and gives it back to him.

“Do you need assistance with the groceries today?”

“No, we got it from here, uh, thank you, thank you very much.”

“Alright, have a good day,” the delivery man then leaves them be. They pick up the grocery bags and bring them inside, quickly going through them as if it’s Christmas.

They gawk at the food items in front of them: steak, salmon, lobster, there’s even veal and duck amongst a pile of vegetables, some of which they’ve never even seen before.

“Where did all of this come from?” Peter asks, amazed at all that “Santa Claus” has graced them with.

“Wait, there’s a note.” May reaches the bottom of one of the bags and pulls out a mini note card that could mimic one that goes in a flower arrangement. She then reads aloud the brief message.

This is what you get for refusing help. Expect groceries every Monday and Thursday for the next, well, ever.

Signed, “You Know Who I Am” -

“Mr. Stark,” Peter finishes with a disbelieving grin, “Of course he did this.”

May can’t help but laugh, not believing this herself as she gets out her phone, “I’m giving this man a piece of my mind.”

Her nephew giggles in response, already getting out his own phone and sending his father figure a text.

Thanks for the groceries but you reeeeeally didn’t have to do that

Tony responds not even a minute later.

I know 😉

Now for God’s sakes EAT!!

254 notes · View notes

pangtasias-atelier · 4 years ago

Note

Could I please request a continuation of the Byleth and His Three Fatties story. But with a slight twist. Maybe we can get some insight as to how the three of them act when Byleth isn't around? With all the fun bedroom shenanigans!

And here we have the final request of this batch! Once again, thanks for being so patient, and especially for the kind words of encouragement in our talks! Had a lot of fun (as shown by the length anbdhbs) so I hope you enjoy!

All smut will be tagged #risque

________________

The long oak table currently seating one hungry diner, a bevvy of dishes rest in front of them. Caspar digging in, his heavy gut presses firmly against the table. Seeping onto the table itself, his sprawling gut also rests on his meaty thighs. Though his hefty lower body seems rather small with how much room his stomach commands and takes up. But his fleshy thighs twist and strain his ill-fitting boxers, the hem creating a concavity in his soft ample thighs. His ass, while dwarfed by the rest of him, still offers some extra height upon sitting down, Caspar no longer as seemingly short as before. Sporting two sizable jugs for moobs, Caspar’s tank top is more reminiscent of a sports bra. The black fabric clings and wraps around his breasts, the bottom hem of his shirt digging into the fleshy underneath of Caspar’s moobs. Food Caspar’s first order of business upon waking from his deep snore filled slumber, his hair is a tad bit more unkempt. The shaved sides of his hair are the same as always but the tuft of Caspar’s hair is a bit more grown, the surprisingly soft blue wisps splay out in all directions. His corpulent chins wobble with each heaving swipe he takes at his buffet for breakfast, Caspar cramming a mouthful with each hurried bite. Focusing on the hashbrowns, Caspar’s preference for loading up on filling carbs is no different from his workout days. The bottom flab of his stomach slowly firms up with every plate, the soft mass rounding out.

Letting out a yawn, Caspar leans back into his poor chair. The chair thankfully lacking any arms, Caspar’s stomach has enough room to rest and spread comfortably. Bringing a hand to his face, his doughy arms jiggle as he rubs the crust from his eyes. Caspar rests his free hand on his stomach. Rubbing it, he smacks his lips, the sweet sticky syrup from the pancakes still dancing on his lips. Decently loud snoring in the background, Caspar pays it no mind.

“Hey!” The second should be occupant of the table just now arriving, Ashe’s tidied appearance is in contrast to Caspar. His neatly kempt hair a new fixture from his old haircut, the medium length gray hair is still just as well maintained, Ashe’s hair still parted perfectly. Ashe’s body also contrasts Caspar, Ashe heavily pear shaped. A shelf for an ass wobbles behind him as he waddles. Bringing a corpulent thigh past the other, Ashe’s gait is slow. His sweatpants are unable to reach over his hill of an ass; instead, the upper fat of his ass sneaks out, squished by the tight waistband. His stomach jiggles to and fro with each step, the soft paunch contained by his gray tshirt, albeit snugly. His perky yet supple moobs shake as well. Huffing, Ashe carries two plates in his hands. The sleeves wrapped around his arms, they leave a notable indent. His arms quiver under the whopping food piled onto both. A large stack of pancakes topped high on each plate. A penchant for anything and all sweet, Ashe’s craving sweet tooth only intensified as more and more extra pounds piled upon his short frame.

Placing both plates on the table, Ashe takes a seat on the extra chair; Ashe’s ass covers the entire spot, both sides of his asscheecks hanging off. Clearing his throat, Ashe sits up straight. His paunch rests against the table. “Those dishes were supposed to be for all of us,” Frowning, Ashe keeps his plates of pancakes close by. Cutting into them, his arms admittedly feel tired from the taxing effort, so used to having Byleth cut them for him. Hearing the slumbering Sylvain snore away, Ashe ignores it in favor of his own food, doing the exact same as Caspar by worrying about his own hungry gullet first.

“I left you your pancakes, didn’t I?” Boh hands rubbing his massive belly now, Caspar lets out a burp before sighing. “Besides, there’s still tons more in the kitchen,”

“Well, yeah,” Ashe admits, taking a bite of his syrup soaked pancakes. “But you could’ve waited at the very least,”

“I gotta keep up my weight,” Letting out a chuckle, Caspar flexes his left arm, the flab from his arm instead sagging instead of flexing in any meaningful way. Resting his right hand on his nonexistent bicep, his right arm simply presses against his plush moobs, the overgrown melons seemingly larger. “Gotta make sure I give myself all the extra attention Byleth’s been giving me as of late,”

Mouth chock full of pancakes and syrup, Ashe takes a swig from his milk. Quickly washing down the food, a tactic Byleth taught him to eat faster, Ashe lets out a heavy breath. “Byleth has been giving me special attention too,” Ashe bristles, his tone a bit more forced than before, a frown marring his round face before he goes back to stuffing his face.

As if giving any sort of meaningful examination from his seat, Caspar rests a large hand under his chin as his eyes roam all over Ashe’s body. “Hmm,” Standing up, his bare skin wobbles, the soft billowing mass pulled down from gravity. Behind Ashe, Caspar sinks both his hands onto Ashe’s breasts. “Yeah, you are starting to fill out a lot more up here. I’ve heard how Byleth praises you while you’re underneath him and panting as-” Sporting a bit of a chubby down there, Caspar grins at Ashe’s flustered state.

Swallowing the bit of pancake in his mouth, Ashe feels his face burning. “Well, I can hear you too!” Ashe responds matter-of-factly. Caspar meekly grins. “I can hear how much you whine and beg for Byleth to keep his hands-”

A particularly loud snore rumbling through the large space, both Ashe and Caspar quiet down. The snoring still going, it dies down back to its usual level.

“But, you’re not as loud as Sylvain is,” Ashe whispers, his sweatpants as tight around his groin as Caspar’s boxers.

“Hah! He’s always complaining about how he’s still got it and whatnot,” Caspar grins, shaking his head as the thought of Sylvain’s incessant claims fill his head. “So,” Caspar grabs Ashe’s hand. “Let’s go see if it’s true,” Caspar, leading the way, the two waddling men make their way to Sylvain’s room.

“Wait, what?” Ashe bumbling behind, his paunch nearly presses up against Caspar’s portly rear. If their positions were swapped, then they’d be practically on top of one another. The scene reminiscent of the two’s semi common ‘get togethers’ Ashe rapidly blinks, Sylvain’s room closer and closer with each successive blink.

“You heard me,” Caspar lets out a triumphant hmph as they stand in front of Sylvain’s closed door. Sylvain’s snoring sounds much louder as well. “We’ve seen how we’re in bed, so let’s see how Sylvain compares,”

Caspar’s lack of tacit throws a wrench in the cogs of Ashe’s brain, words unable to leak out of his mouth as he looks on at Caspar wide-eyed. “W-well, yes we have been intimate with each other, and,” Collecting his thoughts, Ashe lets out a contemplative huff. Shifting his weight, his sweatpants struggle under the shift, sagging down some more.

“And?” Eyes purposefully not drifting to how Ashe’s ass sticks out behind him, his mind instead thinks about Sylvain’s the man’s prodigious figure more enticing. The exploration much like a brand new expedition to uncharted lands, so many unknown and new folds to touch and feel.

“And we should give him a surprise since Byleth isn’t here today,” Bringing a fist into his open palm, Ashe’s little lie to ease his conscience aids him in achieving his excited state, a cat-like grin adorning his face. Pushing forward, the unlocked door easily swings open for the two obese intruders.

Upon entering, his ass brushing against the doorway in the process, Ashe stands stupefied at the pile of blubber that is sleeping on the massively sized mattress. A big belly pushing him from behind, two hands then push Ashe out of the way.

“What’s the hold...!” Caspar whispers, before standing just as in awe as Ashe. “..up…”

“He’s huge,” Ashe whispers. He instinctively takes cautious steps towards Sylvain. Beside Sylvain, his huge stomach rises with each heavy snore he emits.

“Damn, he sure is,” Caspar on the opposite side of Sylvain, he licks his lips upon the sight,

Sylvain sleeping on his back, his titanic gut rises up into the air, the mass of fat shifting and quivering upon each inhale and exhale. The crest of his gut rising a good three feet, the rest of his stomach cascades down, blanketing his own body in a hefty dosage of fat. Rolls adorning his body, Sylvain’s meaty love handles splay out, each as thick as a pillow. Two monstrous tree trunk thighs popping out from underneath, the sheer width of them refuse to be outshone by Sylvain’s gut. Clearly demonstrating his lack of restraint, the fat from Sylvain’s cankles even overlap, the folds of his thighs folding. His titanic breasts larger than his own roly poly face, the two prodigious tits press up against Sylvain’s chins. Sylvains saucers for nipple take up a good portion of his chest. Arms pushed aside from the bundle of fat occupying his breasts, they rest useless to the side. Pressed up against the satin sheet, the bunched up fat seems much more tantalizing, Sylvain’s arms massive. A mitt for a hand attached at the end, those in turn have portly sausage fingers, the small bundles of fat close to one another.

Sylvain’s massive form puts both Caspar and Ashe to shame. Each priding on their stomach and ass respectfully, Sylvain’s figure is larger than both while being equally massive everywhere.

Snickering to himself, Caspar edges his way down the bed. Enough space, he climbs on the bed. A dangerous creaking filling the room with two large men on top, Caspar pays it no mind. His boxers tighten up further as he gets closer to his goal. In front of Sylvain’s stomach, Caspar takes great caution to not step on Sylvain’s rolls of fat with his knees.

Sylvain still snoring away, he keeps going strong even as Caspar rests his weight on Sylvain’s gut. Even still when Caspar worms an experienced hand in between his stomach and thigh folds.

Ashe aware of Caspar’s plan, he wastes no time in disrobing. T-shirt thrown to the side, he struggles removing his sweatpants before tossing those as well. Boxers the last to go, Ashe climbs the bed as well, the creaking much louder now. Sylvain’s hole hidden from lying down and his dick currently occupied by Caspar, Ashe paws at Sylvain’s fat, smushing and grabbing the abundant folds.

A wrist deep just to reach Sylvain’s dick, Caspar huffs as he hugs Sylvain’s stomach with his right hand. Giving a tentative touch to Sylvain’s flaccid dick, Sylvain pauses his snoring to huff. But only for a second before he resumes his snoring, still blissfully in dream land. Sylvain’s dick already chubbing up from the simple touch, Caspar moans. Despite Sylvain's fat pad surrounding his dick, Caspar can still feel it's girth, Sylvain well endowed.

“I’ve barely touched him and he’s already hard,”

Ashe removes his mouth from Sylvain’s saucer like nipples. “He probably can’t reach himself,” Ashe only aware of such a thing due to his and Caspar’s growing difficulty with said task, he resumes playing with Sylvain’s nipples, pinching them. An idea forming in his head, he gets off the bed and waddles out of the room, one of his hands fondling his own dick, his fat pad pushed back far from the exertion.

“Fuck…” Caspar groans from the realization. His boxers feel ready to tear apart, and not just from the pathetic size of them. His dick sinks into Sylvain’s stomach, the fat warping around it. Sylvain’s dick sufficiently hard, he gently wraps his hand around it. Easing into it slowly, Sylvain’s snores die out just as slowly.

Little moans sounding out from Sylvain, Caspar begins to pick his pace, a dribble of precum smears his hand. Using his thumb, he eases the tip of Sylvain’s dick; a particularly loud moan comes from Sylvain.

The creaking of wheels coming from behind his back, Caspar picks up his pace, mentally thanking Ashe. The cart full of nothing but pancakes, Caspar holds back his eye roll.

Reaching the shaft of Sylvain’s dick, his skin pulled back, seems to break the dam. A splooge of Sylvain’s cum splattering over Caspar’s hand, Sylvain huffs and groans as he wakes up.

“Byleth?” Sylvain yawns.

“Nope,” Ashe at the ready, he crams an entire rolled pancake inside Sylvain’s mouth before bringing his hand to Syvlain’s mouth.

Sylvain instinctively chewing, he goes to complain about the dryness of it, no syrup provided. Instead, his mouth ends up assaulted from Ashe squeezing the syrup straight from the bottle and into his mouth. The sweet sticky syrup piling up all in his mouth, his words feel slurred, so much more lethargic.

“Where’s Byleth?” Some sort of liquid smeared on his stomach, Sylvain pays it no mind, instead greedily accepting another pancake from Ashe. Feeling spent, Sylvain’s well rested brain connects the dots, his cum stained fat pad making the job easy.

“Went out, that’s all he told us,” Caspar appears beside Sylvain once more. Grabbing Sylvain’s hand, Ashe does the same. Both of them pulling with all their might, and Sylvain helping, he finally is seated on his bed, his fat now sagging forward instead of all directions.

“Thanks, and listen, I don’t mind, but if we’re gonna fuck, then I get to take charge,” Putting on his showstopping grin, Sylvain’s grin dies as Caspar laughs at him, Ashe snickering as well.

“We can hear how Byleth tops you,”

“And seen,” Ashe chimes in, remembering when Byleth took Sylvain right in front of them upon Sylvain’s insistent demands of getting to top Byleth.

“Yeah yeah. That’s ‘cause if I topped him, then he’d probably break under all of this hot bod,” Confident face losing the facade, Sylvain begins to feel rivulets of sweat form on his forehead as both Ashe and Caspar retain their grins.

"You are big as hell," Caspar grabs Sylvain's love handle, shaking the mass. A chain reaction occuring, Sylvain's body shakes like the ocean, billowing fat smacking each other. "You'd probably crush us too,"

The two grabbing Sylvain's hands once more, they use their other hand to help move Sylvain once more. Heaving him up, Sylvain's body tremors as they push him on his stomach. A good amount of adjusting to position him just right, Sylvain's hill of a dimpled ass rests high above him.

"H-hey!" Grunting, Sylvain's arms wobble as he attempts to lift himself up. Falling back down into his plush, supple moobs, he catches his breath. Ashe smacking his ass with a resounding slap, Sylvain feels his spent dick already firming up again. Taking charge was fun and nice, but to be fucked senselessly… Eyes closed, Sylvain shakes his head, forcibly yanking the thought out of his horny addled brain.

Unfortunately, an already lubed sausage finger tapping at his entrance shoves it back in, Sylvain whimpering. A fork brought to his mouth, Sylvain finds a now nude Caspar standing in front of him with a plate. Stomach grumbling, he opens wide, the still warm hash browns smoothly going down his greedy gullet. A bite turns into a couple before the entire plate of hash browns ends up devoured, Sylvain's blubbery stomach still craving more. Pancakes offered next, the heavy carbs trudge their way into their rightful spot in the pit known as Sylvain’s stomach. Crammed into his mouth whole, the vigorous chewing distracts Sylvain’s mind, his soft billowing gut ever so slightly firming up. Syrup poured down his throat, his adam apple bobs as he laps up the viscous liquid. Parched, a few mewls has Caspar at the ready, a pitcher of milk brought to his lips.

A heavy weight resting on him, Sylvain's hands cling and curl around the bedsheets, Ashe's dick at his hungry entrance.

"Still think you're a top?" Unwilling to hold off any longer," Ashe immediately goes to town on Sylvain's ass. His own fat body shaking, the quivering mass that is Sylvain's quakes. The bed reminds them all of its precarious situation, the frame not equipped to handle such a dangerously high weight. Fat slapping against fat, Ashe's engorged dick easily slides in-between the soft rolls of fat making up Sylvain's ass.

"Y-eah, of course…" Sylvain's back arches as high as he can, his stomach pressing deep into the mattress. "Yeah, I'm a-" Another forkful ready, Caspar has scrambled eggs now. His body shaking back and forth with each hump, Sylvain's body becomes increasingly hotter. Gut chock full of food, the stuffed sensation is no stranger to Sylvain. Despite doing none of the actual work, two large warm bodies pressed up against him as they have their way with him has him breathing heavily.

His dick left painfully unattended, the friction from his fat pad is sufficient enough. Balls churning, a shove forward from an eager Ashe has Sylvain ejaculating all over; the dried sticky fat pad adds some more fresh cum. A pair of brusque forceful lips on his own, Sylvain finds himself pulling himself forward to the gesture.

Caspar pressing his lips against Sylvain’s, his tongue darts inside Sylvain’s readily open maw. Stubby hand reaching under Sylvain’s chins, Caspar helps raise up his face, gazing at him with half lidded eyes. Breath required for both of them, Caspar pulls back, his moobs rising and falling with every labored breath. Bringing his hands to Sylvain’s cheeks, he pulls and squishes them. “You really are damn adorable,”

Sylvain mutters in response, his face just as flushed as before. A whine escapes him as Caspar stands up. Ashe pulling out only has Sylvain a bigger mess, the lack of warmth sending a chill up his spine.

Ashe still raring to go, he shifts on his knees. Hands slowly pumping his dick, his legs twitch as he almost cums. Slowly inching his way, Ashe finds his perfect spot. Touching himself, his legs slowly spread as he tilts his head back, Ashe growing louder. So painfully close, he unabashedly moans as he cums, his seed ending up all over Sylvain's side.

Taking his time, Ashe slowly eases himself off of the bed.

"W-wait!" Grunting, Sylvain's huffing and puffing face betrays him.

"We're not done yet," Casper gleefully announces. Making his way to Sylvain’s ass, Caspar traces his girthy fingers across Sylvain’s body before parking himself right in front of Sylvain’s entrance. Wasting no time like Ashe, Caspar girthy dick penetrates Sylvain's gaping chasm.

Sylvain's dick woefully spent, it still has blood flowing to it, his dick painfully hard. Reaching down, his hand barely makes it to the edge of his stomach. Too much fat barricading his dick, Sylvain grunts as he futilely tries to reach.

Ashe taking Caspar’s old residence in front of Sylvain’s face, the plump overfed face makes his heart swell, beads of sweat trickling down Sylvain’s half lidded face as he attempts to catch his breath. Leaning down, his prodigious ass sticks in the air as he gently brings his lips to Sylvain’s. Squirrel cheeks pressing up against his own, Ashe holds his spot, Sylvain putty in his hands. Pulling back, Ashe huffs, his dick hard once more. “We should - we need to spend more time together,”

Sylvain finds himself humming in agreement, words unable to be uttered as Caspar continues to pound his ass.

Ashe finding it unfair how Caspar got to give Sylvain a hand job, he decides to do one better. Climbing on to the bed, he rests his belly on Sylvain's head. Positioning himself, the need is unnecessary, Sylvain happily accepting Ashe's dick.

Caspar still pounding away at Sylvain's ass, his sprawling gut makes it difficult, the blanket of fat sprawled over on the rolling plains of Sylvain's back. Balls smacking, Caspar grips into Sylvain's ass for dear life. "No fair," Caspar grunts, his breath shallow. Caspar picks up the pace, hands leaving imprints on Sylvain's ass now.

"Don't care," Sylvain expertly slurps away. His skillful tongue works wonders on Ashe as it happily licks at the tip of Ashe’s dick.

Unwilling to be left behind, Ashe takes charge, face fucking Sylvain. Hands gripping Sylvain’s fiery red locks, Ashe huffs. His knees shaking under him, the wide legs shake from their overuse, Ashe nearly ready to fall over and lie down.

Pounded away from both ends, Sylvain can only offer muffles mixed in with his small breathy groans, his brain unable to think of anything meaningful. His entire body jiggles, two fat men fucking the obese man. The quick yet heavy breakfast from Caspar resting heavy in his stomach, his wobbling from being pounded on both sides causes it to churn and gurgle.

All three ignore the treacherous creaks and splinters of the frame underneath them, their own libido of much higher importance. Now a race to see who finishes first, Caspar ends up the winner. Falling against Sylvain's ass, his dick slowly softens. His semen filling up Sylvain's ass, dribbles of it trickle out. Ashe not far behind, he once again makes sure to pull out seconds before. A bit ending up in Sylvain's mouth, he happily swallows the sweet semen. Yet most of his ends up splattered on his face, Ashe painting Sylvain in his cum. All three resting, the painful splintering of the bed rings in their ears, even their tired pants drowned out by it. A few seconds passing, time seems to move at a standstill.

Until a deafening splinter sounds out. The frame finally gives out from underneath the incredulous weight stacked on top of it.

Plummeting much closer to the ground, all three of their corpulent bodies wobble, all their flab smacking against each other. The room quakes from the crash, furniture shaking as a result.

"Fuck…" Sylvain breathily moans as he attempts to catch his breath.

Legs worse than jello, the effort of standing up feels like the hardest task in the world for Caspar and Ashe. Moving Sylvain proceso even more challenging, all three read to sleep without a care. Getting Sylvain back up, they bring him back down on his back.

Caspar too tired to give a damn, he goes to nuzzle against Sylvain's stomach, pressing up against him as much as he can.

Ashe much the same, he pats Sylvain's stomach. "We'll clean up," Yawning, his jaw feels painfully sore from how wide he opens. "after a nap,"

Sylvain already asleep, his loud snores fill the calm and quiet air, Caspar's and Ashe's little snores sounding out as well.

Ashe and Caspar having some splooges of cum on them, neither of them compare to Sylvain's cum riddled body, their semen marked all over him. Cleaning up the least of their worries, they save it for later in the day. A couple hours passing by, noon soon hits the day. All three still asleep, none of them notice the door opening. Byleth returning from his long retreat, he brings a new addition in tow. Ferdinand behind Byleth, the extra couple of pounds on his frame are given away by his tight outfit. Spotting the debaucherous sight, their acts present on their bodies and by the musty smell, Ferdinand blushes.

"Soon, you'll be in that huge pile," Byleth whispers in Ferdinand's ear, laughing as he blushes yet nods, eager for said day to come.

#risque #risqué #fat emblem #fat!sylvain #fat!caspar #fat!ashe #fat!threehouses #ssbhm #fat fiction #male weight gain #mwg #my writing

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prettyinlimegreenboots · 4 years ago

Note

[text] I was using my old baby blanket as a makeshift skirt because no pants

Some cursing and mentions of beer

Race / Spot

I was using my old baby blanket as a makeshift skirt because no pants

Bubba, what happened to the excitement you had this morning with tackling laundry today?

That went out the door when you did

I don’t know what to say about that

Tell me you love me and you’ll help with laundry tonight? 😏😏😏

Babe …. by the time I get home, I'll be coming off a 12 hour shift

The very last thing I want to do is laundry

So what you’re saying …

Get three loads before I get home or no cuddle time

😤😤

You’re mean!!!

….. uhhhh Spottie you there?

Sorry bad accident equals a lot of people flowing into the ER - it was chaotic there for a moment.

Three loads Racetrack

Any preference on which ones I do? Folded too?

Darks for sure. I need underwear done. Folded and put away

Could go commando

You try going commando in scrubs - tell me how you think it’ll go 🤔

Ahhh fair point.

Any requests for dinner tonight? What time will you be home?

Be home around 3

As for dinner, really craving pasta - I don’t care what kind, just lots of carbs

Garlic bread?

Is that even a question? You can’t have pasta without something to mop up the extra sauce!!

Aye aye captain. Three loads and pasta will be ready by the time you get home.

Best news I’ve heard all day! Love you snookums

Love you too pooks. I’ll see you in a bit. Go be the tough guy nurse I love

Dork.

But if you really love me, you’ll have a beer cracked and ready for me on the counter

What if I'm cracked and ready for you on the counter?

Al say that makes no damn sense. But I see where you going with this

Tell Al to keep his eyes off your screen

So????

Surprise me. Now I gotta go - bay 2 needs an IV checked and I’m up. Love you.

Love these two idiots. Thanks @wide-eyed--wonderer for sending this one in!!

#newsies #newsies fan fiction #writing #ask #wide eyed wonderer #drabble requests #newsies drabble #drabble prompt #racetrack higgins #spot conlon x racetrack higgins #spot conlon #texts prompt

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thecleverdame · 5 years ago

Text

Control and Release - 24

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 3.7k

Parts 25, 26, 27 & 28 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

Sam’s zipping around his house like he’s on fire. On any given weekday he doesn’t come home until after eight or nine and works well into the evening. This afternoon however he arrived home just after you and has been wrapping up his day in a frenzy.

“Damn it,” he snips, shaking his head at a handwritten note. “I can’t read Linda’s handwriting. It’s chicken scratch. I have to get rid of her. I need Pepper back.”

“I thought her name was Lauren,” you say.

“Laurel, Lana, I really don’t fucking care.”

“Let me see it.” You pluck the paper from his hand.

While her handwriting is not the prettiest, it’s still discernible. “Paul Handcock, Steven Turney...no Tunney, and Lady Toni Bevell? Fancy.”

“She’s English,” he snorts. “One of my least favorite people.”

“Who is this a list of?”

“Three execs from the UK I’m bringing over to work on a project. I’ve had an interest in opening an office in London for years now. Legal consultation for international cases.”

“Wow,” you lean back, watching him tap a message into his phone. “There’s a lot going on behind the scenes.”

“Always,” he sends off a message and takes a breath before going to his laptop. “If everything goes to plan, we’ll be spending some time in London next quarter.”

“We?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he types furiously, eyes fixed on the screen. “Unless you don’t want to come with me.”

“No, I mean, I want to. I wasn’t sure you meant you and me.”

“You, me and some of the executive team. It’ll be a lot of work but I can find time to enjoy the city with you.”

Your heart does this school girl flutter at the idea of him automatically including you in his plans.

“I’d love that.” You glance up to check but he’s not paying attention. “Cole said something interesting today...”

“Oh?”

“He, ah, he said that he’s noticed the way you look at me.”

Sam pauses, a quiet lull and then he looks at you. “Did he?”

“He said he thinks you’re interested in me and that I shouldn’t be alone with you because you might try something. Might get a little handsy.” Wiggling your fingers you watch for his reaction.

His nostrils flare, eyes narrowing at this new information.

“He’s projecting,” Sam quips, stepping closer. “He watches you, studies you the same way I did. It’s not a bad plan, to set himself up as the ‘good guy’.”

“I don’t think he’s like that.”

“You’re not a man and you don’t have an accurate perception of how attractive you are. Trust me, he’s like that. We all are. It took me all of five minutes to see he was interested in you.”

“You never said anything.”

“Because I’m not threatened. Unlike Cole’s fictional version of me, I don’t think he’ll lock you in a room and try to feel you up. But he’ll make his play. Give it time.”

“I think you’re both overreacting.”

“Cole will prove me right eventually,” he grins, tilting his head to the side, looking over your face. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, Mr. Winchester,” you smirk. “But I like that you asked.”

He smiles a controlled little smile and goes back to typing.

“Do you want to order something for dinner? I’m starving.” You’ve been craving a pizza but you doubt you’ll be able to talk Sam into a choice so blatantly unhealthy.

“We’re going out tonight,” he explains.

“Where?” you ask.

“It’s an Italian place, you’ll love it. Carbs as far as the eye can see.”

“Yessss,” you hiss with a laugh and he pulls you into his arms. “Nothing makes me happier than breadsticks.”

“Easy to please,” he kisses you softly, his eyes fluttering shut, then open.

“We’re going out on a weeknight? This must be a special occasion.”

“Do you know what day it is?” he asks.

“What?” you look at him, hesitant smile wilting. What have you forgotten?

“One year ago today you came into my hotel room,” he murmurs. “You were wide-eyed and unsure, but so excited at the same time. I remember exactly what you looked like, sounded like. The way you touched yourself for me.”

How could you possibly forget? It’s been a year and look how far you’ve come.

“I’d never done anything like that before,” you admit, a shy smile creeping across your face.

“I hope not,” he nips at your mouth, his lips ghost at the corner of your lips before trailing down to find the curve of your jaw before landing at the shell of your ear and whispering. “We’re going to try a few new things tonight.”

“I’m ready,” you whimper as he sucks at the skin under your ear, sending tiny whizzes of pleasure shooting up and down your spine. Your toes curl in your shoes and you lean into him grasping at his shirt.

“Glad to hear it,” he murmurs, looking you over in approval. He steps back, leaving you breathless with heavy eyes. “Get dressed.”

---

“I’ve been looking forward to this part all night,” you confess, standing in his bedroom.

“I hope it doesn’t disappoint.”

“I’m not sure that’s even possible,” you say, watching his face awash with amusement and lust. Perhaps a layer of restrained affection underneath it all.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” Sam instructs.

You comply without even thinking, stripping your dress off, then your bra and finally the heels that you’re all too happy to get rid of. You crawl on hands and knees to the middle of the bed, wiggling your ass and looking back. Sam walks towards you in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, a white t-shirt and his tie from earlier in the day. His erection is already straining at the material, and you get a little thrill out of the fact that he wants you this badly.

“How would you like me, Mr. Winchester?”

“On your back,” he barks, leaning forward to swat you on the ass before you can roll away. With a yelp you lay down on your back, stretching out long as he joins you. Slinging one leg over your belly he straddles your stomach, careful of his weight. “Hands above your head.”

You reached upward, watching his face as he binds your wrists together with his tie and then loops it through an open slat in the headboard. He’s most comfortable like this, in charge in a sexual situation. He’s also the most handsome just like this, controlled but relaxed, in his element. You wonder what he has in store for you.

“You’re beautiful tonight,” he comments, dropping down your body, stopping along the journey to suck a nipple into his mouth.

“Just tonight?” You’re not really serious, poking fun and getting lost in the feeling of his mouth sucking hard.

“Always,” he looks up, dragging his teeth down the skin between your breasts. “But especially tonight.” He snakes lower, kisses his way over your ribs, then belly. “I like taking you out, having other people look at us and knowing you’re mine.”

“I like that too.” You watch as he carefully parts your thighs, his palms pushing your legs wide and you finally realize what’s about to happen.

He pauses to look up at you, grinning like a cougar about to eat a fat little rabbit and then swoops down, burying his face between your legs.

“Sam,” you gasp, hips jerking forward. The tip of his nose bumps your clit as his tongue sinks into your folds, searching deeper until he’s shoved as far into your pussy as he can get. Your mind slows down, thick and cloudy as he fucks you with his mouth.

Strong fingers curl into the clammy flesh under each knee as he pulls you up for him, holding your trembling thighs so wide that your muscles burn.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he mumbles against your cunt, taking a breath before diving back in. Two fingers slide in deep, thrusting slowly in and out. His mouth finds your clit, the tip of his tongue pressing over the aching bud, once, twice and then sucking it into his mouth like he’s been starving for you.

He’s never gone down on you before. To be honest, you thought this was something he didn’t do. While he’s spent countless hours with his fingers between your thighs he’s never had his mouth on your pussy until now.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he grunts right up against your sex.

“Fuck,” you groan, arms tugging at the restraints.

You can feel him chuckle as his tongue flicks out against your clit. He goes gently at first, teasing strokes and lazy circles until you’re vibrating out of your skin, until you’re ready to kill him if he doesn’t give you more, so he does. Gentle flicks of his tongue over your clit, sliding lower to push inside you with the slow thrust of his tongue that makes you wiggle and squeal until your hips buck up off the bed. You cum so hard you gush all over his chin. He doesn’t stop, he keeps working your pussy until your quivering and begging him to stop.

When you finally can’t take anymore, he rises and tugs at the tie around your wrists, freeing your arms. Then he rests back on his heels before pulling his shirt up over his head, tossing it to the floor. RHe starts to push down his underwear, and then just stops, looking down at you in appreciation.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, then nods in summation.

“Yes, I am yours.” You reach out for him. He grins, dodging your arms and dropping down to place a kiss on the inside of each thigh. Then placing a kiss on your clit, enjoying the way you roll up to meet his mouth.

Finally, he slides his body up, over yours, skin sticky with sweat.

He kisses you, tongue sliding past your lips and you can taste herself on him, and you dig your nails into his shoulders.

“Take your clothes off,” you whisper, catching his ear lobe between your teeth.

He grunts and rolls his hips against your core. You can feel how hard his cock is as he grinds against your clit.

You watch the beauty of him stripping down. He’s beautiful and powerful and under different circumstances, you’d take the proper time to appreciate every inch of him.

He lays back down on top of you,, belly to belly. So close you can feel his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. You’re shaking, trembling underneath the weight of him. You feel his cock pressing against where you’re wet and needing, that perfect tease.

He slides inside so slow. You’re so full, so tight, nothing’s ever felt like this. You hold onto him, crying out in pleasure, straddling the line of too much. He dips down to swallow your cry, pushing further inside, sinking deeper until you can feel him rest against your body.

“Hey,” he whispers, and your eyes flutter open. Jesus, he’s so beautiful. He’s not sure what this reaction is. Neither are you. This feels like connection, like more than anything that came before. You’re shaking like a virgin getting fucked for the first time. “You alright?”

“God, yes,” you moan and cant your hips against him. “Please, Sam. Fuck me.” You push up with your body, wanting more, needing him to move.

He doesn’t. He just lays there, pressed inside, staring at you like you’re a work of art.

He pulls back, and you feel the stretch of his cock as it draws out of you, almost to the tip. You whimpers, biting your lips as you writhe up into him, trying to find his hips with yours. Then he thrusts into you, filling the empty space inside your pussy and you’re moving to meet him, head thrown back and soft cries pouring from an open mouth.

You rock together, one hand holding yours above your head, fingers laced together. The other cupping a breast as he pants against your throat. You grip his ass cheek in your hand, rolling up to meet until the two of you are nothing more than body bodies sliding against each other. He kissed you sweet and slow, and you open your mouth to let him in.

“Can I cum?” you wheeze, the words fractured.

“Yes,” he whispers, grabbing you by the shoulders to hold you still, thrusting harder, his eyes locked on yours.

“Fuck,” you mutter hoarsely, and then cum so hard your teeth snap together and it’s all you can do to stay earthbound.

“So fucking hot, tight, Jesus Christ I can feel you,” Sam grates out, pressing his face into your shoulder. His whole body goes tense and then he cums, filling you with everything he has.

He goes soft, resting his forehead on the pillow next to your head. You turn into him, cheek brushing against his hair, humming with pleasure. You flex your hands, still holding tight to his, and he lifts his head to look at you, grinning down at you with an exhausted but pleased look.

“Not our usual sex but…” he trails off. He looks proud and he should be after that.

“It was amazing,” you smile up at him. “You always know what I need, even when I don’t.”

He studies you for a moment, eyes twinkling before leaning in to kiss you.

“What were you like?” you ask, settling into his side. “When you were a kid I mean. What did little Sam want to grow up to be?”

First comes Sam’s trademark pause and then a simple confession that tells you so much more.

“I just wanted to be normal. As a kid, I was starving for it. I wanted to have a house and a mom, I wanted my dad to sit down with Dean and I every night and eat dinner. Chasing monsters was the last thing on my mind, what I craved was to fade into the background. To fit in. And now look at me. If ten year old Sam could see me now he’d be appalled.”

“Why?” you murmur, the pads of your fingers rubbing a gentle path through his chest hair. “You’re successful, you don’t think he’d be proud?”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t the plan. My dad lost himself in work and I swore up and down I’d never be like that. I wanted a family, a dog, a nine-to-five job. I’ve gone so far in the other direction I couldn’t be further from normal.”

“Is there any part of your family that you miss?”

“I don’t know,” he replies immediately, shifting his hips.

“There’s nothing good from all those years?”

“Dean, I suppose.” His hand trails over the back of your elbow and up your arm. “We butted heads from the time I could talk but he took care of me. He did the best he could. Dad would leave and Dean was in charge. When my dad first started leaving us on our own it was only for a night or two. But as I got older he’d leave for a week, sometimes two. Dean fed me, got me to school, stole the best comic books so I’d have something to keep me busy.”

“That’s a lot...for both of you.”

Your heart sinks into your gut as you picture these two little kids alone in some skeezy motel. It’s a wonder Sam got from there to here.

“I felt guilty for a long time after I left. For years I wondered if I’d done the right thing. I kept Dean grounded, or tried to anyway. But when Jess died I…”

He trails off.

“I’d like to know about her,” you add. Tilting your head up you burrow into his neck and use the arm over his chest to pull yourself closer to his body heat. “Only if you want to tell me.”

“I don’t talk about her.” He clears his throat.

“Okay.”

The two of you lay there listening to the distant ticking of the wall clock in the hallway. His house is unnaturally quiet, a modern capsule, sealed off from the rest of the world.

The minutes tick by as you lay there, both of you wide awake but neither willing to break the bubble. You’re about to suggest a shower when he speaks again.

“She baked all the time,” he says. “She was good at it. Cookies, pastries, cakes. I gained ten pounds during our first year together.”

You don’t respond, just wait as his fingers curl into your hair.

“She was the first person in my life to ever encourage me to do the things I wanted. Every time I suggested something she’d tell me to go for it. My whole life my dad told me I needed to be like him, there was no other choice. But she encouraged me to be anything I wanted.”

Again, you’re silent. Afraid of intruding on this fragile moment of reflection.

“She loved me and I lied to her. I made up stories about my family. I told her my dad was dead. My brother was a drunk. Anything to avoid talking about them. I rewarded her affection with made-up stories because I didn’t want to own up to where I came from. Looking back it was stupid, she wouldn’t have cared. We could have truly known each other and I took that opportunity away from us.” He sighs. “I won’t make the same mistake with you. I can’t talk about it all, not with you, not with anyone. But I won’t ever lie to you.”

“Me either,” you confirm. “We all need things that are ours alone. Secrets, moments, even people sometimes. I don’t begrudge you that.”

“You always surprise me,” he says, deadpan and devoid of emotion. “You deserve a better man than me. Someone who’s not broken, gutted from the inside. You deserve to be loved.”

You think about those words, you deserve to be loved. As if he’ll never be able to deliver.

“You don’t think you’ll ever be able to love me?” you ask.

He grunts, clearly uncomfortable but his arms only tighten around you.

“I hope I can. You make me feel a lot of emotions, strong emotions...my first instinct is to purge them. Ignore them before they grow stronger. I have a lot to work on.”

“I could love you,” you respond, but the untruth of the statement doesn’t settle right. You’ve felt it for weeks now. Refusing to give in to fear you say what you feel. “I do love you.”

You hold your breath. Will he run? Kick you out? The truth is that you love him but you still don’t trust him, not completely.

“I’m not sure how you could love a person like me. I’m a shell, half-empty inside,” he responds calmly.

“I don’t think that’s true. You shut off access to certain parts of yourself, but they still exist. Empathy, compassion, love... I've seen little glimpses of all of them.”

He snorts.

“What?” you ask.

“A little voice in the back of my head keeps whispering there’s a good chance that you like the way I make your body feel and that’s all this will ever be.”

It’s easy to forget that Sam doubts himself. But he’s just human after all and he needs assurances just like everyone else.

“I do like the way you make me feel. The way you touch me. But I also like the way you look at me, listen to me, really listen. You care what I think. I like how you think I’m capable of more professionally, you don’t let me fade into the background, you challenge me. I like laying here with you in the dark. I like listening to you. The sex is amazing, but it’s sex. There’s so much more to being together.”

There’s a flickering burst of light from outside and the low boom of a storm approaching. Sam doesn’t respond, he just holds you close, fingers trailing over skin as words and confessions sink in. It’s impossible to know what the future holds. But right now you have each other and neither of you are taking that for granted.

#control and release #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut

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p-artsypants · 5 years ago

Text

Longest Night (36) Visiting

Ao3 | FF.net

Waking up was slowly becoming Adrien’s least favorite activity. Of course, that was shortly followed by falling back to sleep. He was in a state of barely wakefulness, while also being too tired to sleep. His mouth was dried out and scratchy, and the tingling sensation of numbness had settled into his limbs.

Breathing was still difficult. He knew that the tube in his throat was supposed to be helping with that, but it just sucked. It all sucked. Everything hurt, and he felt disgusting, and his nose itched.

Was this his existence from now on? He didn’t know if he could bare it.

The doctor was standing in front of him. “Hi Adrien, how are you feeling today?”

How was he supposed to answer that? With a moan? A smile?

“Wink once for yes, and twice for no.”

Wink.

“Excellent. Now I know you’re uncomfortable, but we need to wake you up for a little bit. In about an hour, we’ll sedate you again.”

Oh so he wasn’t even sleeping on his own? Damn.

“Are you warm enough?”

Wink.

“Are you thirsty?”

Wink.

“Yeah, I’m sure your mouth is dry too. But you can’t take any fluids by mouth right now. You have a feeding tube in your mouth, and a nasotracheal tube in your nose so you can breathe. Then we have an IV for fluids. Because you’re thirsty, that’s a sign that I can up your fluid intake.”

Adrien closed his eyes, emotion building behind his eyelids.

He didn’t want this.

“We’re going to get some food in you too, while you’re awake. It might feel a little awkward because you won’t be swallowing on your own, but you have to eat.”

It not like Adrien could protest.

So food was forced down the tube in his throat by a pump. It wasn’t a lot, but it helped to ease the pain in his stomach.

“There’s someone who’s been dying to see you. Well, he’s been here for a while, but he wants you to see him,” Said the doctor. “Are you up for a guest?”

No. He wasn’t. He didn’t want anyone to see him.

Unless it was Marinette. In which case, yes.

Wink.

Instead, a black blur floated in front of his face. “Hey kid,” Plagg greeted, with a soft voice full of affection.

Looking into Plagg’s infinite green eyes, Adrien felt a hurricane of emotions. Feelings of abandonment, betrayal, grief, and failure. Of sorrow and anger, confusion and hatred.

It was awful and unfair. Plagg hadn’t done anything wrong, and Adrien knew that in his head.

But trauma messes with the brain.

Adrien clenched his eyes shut, as tears leaked out.

“I missed you,” Plagg said, nuzzling against his cheek.

Where were you?! Adrien screamed in his head, I needed you!

“You’re so brave, Adrien.”

But Adrien didn’t want to hear it. He was so lost in his hurt, he couldn’t bare it. He swatted Plagg away, feebly.

The Kwami sunk to the mattress, staring at his charge. This was not the tearful reunion he expected. “Adrien?” He whispered.

The boy kept his eyes shut as tears continued to slip out.

The doctor carefully wiped his face. “Alright, that’s enough for today.” He urged.

Plagg disappeared, hiding somewhere out of sight, and that was just fine with Adrien.

“That wasn’t very nice, Adrien.” Gabriel scolded.

Ugh. He wanted to talk to his father even less. Especially right now. Why was he even here? Wasn’t he profoundly disappointed in him already? Was he a glutton for punishment?

“Plagg has been here all along. He’s been worried sick. I’ve been worried sick.”

Yeah right.

Adrien rolled his eyes and turned his face towards his pillow. This was unfair, having to listen to this, not being allowed to leave. Not being able to defend himself.

“Mr. Agreste,” the doctor interrupted. “Adrien’s heart rate is accelerating. We’re trying to keep him calm. Perhaps now is not the time for a lecture.”

“Of course. I’m sure he’s just confused.”

Confused? No, he was perfectly aware of what was going on. He was in a hospital, bound to a bed, and being prepared to fit right back into the peg he didn’t fit anymore. He could see it unfolding around him.

And it was maddening.

“I can see you’re feeling tired. Ready to go back to sleep?”

Please. Please for the love of God.

Wink.

“Alright. Just try to relax and take a deep breath, counting down from ten.

1…

2…

3…

Well it didn’t work, because here he was awake again.

“Good morning Adrien, how are you today?”

Again, he couldn’t talk. Hadn’t they just had this conversation? Perhaps not, considering the doctor had been wearing a blue shirt yesterday, and today he was wearing a red one.

Had he slept that hard?

“Are you cold?”

Wink wink.

“Are you hot?”

Now that he thought about it, he was stifling under these blankets.

Wink.

The doctor rolled back the top layer.

Again, he was force fed some unidentifiable substance through a feeding tube, and he was asked a dozen yes or no questions.

“I have some more visitors for you. If you’re up for it.”

Why not? It’s not like he was really given a choice.

But when Tom Dupain came into view, with a warm and tender smile on his lips, Adrien relaxed.

“Hey kiddo, look at you! You’ve got some color in your cheeks!” He said softly, brushing his thumb over his forehead.

That felt nice.

Sabine was up further by his head. “We’ve been with Marinette most of the time, but when the doctor said you were going to wake up for a little bit, we just had to come say hi!” She was lightly scratching his scalp.

That felt really nice.

Now these were parents. Always a warm welcome, full of hugs, ready to stuff him full of carbs. Whenever he had come over to Marinette’s house, they had both asked about his day, his well-being. It was everything he craved in his own father.

They were a comfort. The comfort of having a mom and dad around when you didn’t feel well. Though they couldn’t necessarily make the pain go away, the kiss on the head was soothing.

“Marinette’s sitting up now and eating on her own.” Sabine said, as she squeezed his hand. “Isn’t that just wonderful? She still sleeps most of the time, but that’s really good.”

It hurt to hear about his lady. Hurt to hear and not see.

“She came to see you a few days ago,” said Tom. “When you were severely unstable instead of mostly unstable.” He joked. “She really misses you.”

And he missed her. Even though they were mostly separated in the catacombs, she was still with him in experience. The fear for her safety, wondering if she was safe, it kept her close when he couldn’t be with her. Her voice from the adjacent cell, her hand in his...

What a horrible thing to bond over.

“She’d come see you every day if she could.” Tom insisted, “but the doctors want you both to stay as calm as possible. Especially you. But it won’t be long until we move you into the same room.”

Sabine swept the bangs from his forehead. “And Marinette is really looking forward to spending the Christmas season with you. Hot cocoa, cookies, evenings in front of the fire and watching the snow fall...”

All things he had seen in movies, but nothing he had emotional attachment to. Maybe having them around for the season would make things more bearable, but he doubted Sabine had any idea how unmotivated the holiday made him.

“You’re so strong.” Sabine whispered, before kissing his forehead. “You’re fading fast, but just know that we’ll be checking in on you when we can.”

Adrien felt a tear run down his cheek.

What did he do to deserve such love? Did they just love Marinette so much that it overflowed onto the people she loved? Was that what a parent’s love was like? Or what it should be like?

With one last squeeze to his hand, they left. Their departure was foggy, as the drugs started to kick in again.

“Just sleep Adrien, you’re doing so well,” praised the doctor.

1…

2…

3…

And then he was awake again. And the process repeated himself. Hot? Wink wink. Cold? Wink. Blankets. Food.

Guest?

Wink.

This time, it was someone he was unfamiliar with. A woman with short gray hair, stout, Coke-bottle glasses.

“Well hello there, Adrien. Adrien Agreste, the one and only! How’re you feeling sweetie?”

Oh, so this was a fan then? Or perhaps another nurse?

“My name is Dr. Robin Zollar, I’m a board certified clinical psychologist, and I specialize in the treatment of physical and emotional trauma in youth. I’m going to be working with you and Marinette going forward.”

Her voice sounded so familiar to him. Who did she remind him of?

“I know it’s kind of a kick in the pants not being able to talk things out right now, but I just came to introduce myself and let you know I’m here for you.”

It was a cartoon character, for sure. An older woman in a cartoon...

“I’ll be keeping an eye on your recovery, and when you can talk, I’ll be right here to listen. And if you don’t want to talk about it right away, you don’t have to. I won’t judge, I’m just here to help.”

Ah yes. The fairy godmother from Cinderella. An odd connection, but it felt accurate.

“What you’ve both been through is extremely traumatic, and it’s one that no one else can sympathize with. From here on out, you’re going to have to learn what your new normal is. Don’t expect to get right back to where you were. You need to be patient with yourself and know your limits. Most of all, I want you to talk out what you’re feeling. Don’t bottle stuff up, though it might be easy to do so.”

What, no bippity boppity boo?

“You have a great support network here. It’ll be really easy to shut everyone out, but I recommend against that.”

A strong support network? Where was that network the rest of his life? When his mother died? Through all those years of grieving and neglect? When he asked for therapy?

Where was the comfort then? He had asked for help. And he had been told he didn’t need it. It took the trauma to be public to get help.

And that was bullshit.

“Is that something you’re interested in? Wink once for yes, twice for no.”

Wink wink.

The woman nodded. “Okay. Well, if you change your mind, your father will get in touch with me.”

Yeah right. If he changed his mind, his father will ridicule him for it. ‘Why didn’t you take it before?’ He’d ask, ‘it’s been long enough now. You don’t need it anymore.’

But it’s not like it would help anyway.

The psychologist bid him farewell while he was lost in his thoughts, and soon he was put back to sleep again.

The next morning, while felt like a minute later, Adrien blinked his eyes open, seeing Doctor Boucher nearby.

But there was someone else too. A warm, familiar face that he hadn’t expected to see.

Nino.

Nino was smiling at him. Just a patient, friendly smile.

Adrien hated it. And he hated that he didn’t know why.

Nino rested a hand on his shoulder, rubbing a thumb back and forth over his collarbone. He comforted him while he was fed, and all his vitals were checked. Then the doctor backed off.

“Hey bro, you look like death.” He said it with a laugh, trying to make a joke. To loosen him up as always. To bring laughter and happiness to his dull, gray, lonely life.

“I mean, you look better than when you were brought here. Got a little color in your cheeks. Well, your face in general, I can’t really see your cheeks.”

Right.

“Chloe really wanted to come, but your dad was afraid she would jump on you in her excitement.”

That was probably true. He didn’t really want to face Chloe right now anyway.

Nino swallowed thickly, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with emotion. “I really missed you, Adrien. You’re my best friend, my brother…the best person I know.” He sniffed. “I want you to be happy, you know? I want…to help you. And I’ll do anything for you. You know that, right?”

There was a tickle on the back on his head. A memory locked away that was demanding to be recalled. A moment on a rooftop, standing in the drizzling rain. Nino on the ground, terrified, staring up at him with nothing but fear.

“Hey, hey dude…come on man…you didn’t know.”

Shame. That’s what he felt. He had hurt his best friend, though he couldn’t remember the specifics. But why wouldn’t be feel shame? The whole world saw him naked, crawling on the ground, wallowing in his filth and crying crying crying…

Wasn’t Nino embarrassed by him? Wasn’t he disgusted? Everyone else was.

He had to be faking it. Cutting him off like he wanted to would make him feel too guilty. That had to be it.

Who would want to be friends with him?

Nino kept talking, but Adrien didn’t want to hear anymore. So he closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.

Eventually he left, by suggestion of the doctor, and the room went quiet.

Every once in a while, he’d hear the flip of a piece of paper, and the beep of a machine. Cracking one eye open, he saw his father reading a magazine. The lights were dimmed, and they were alone.

The doctor hadn’t put him back under for sedation.

Which meant he could finally rest without the jarring sensation of the scene changing every hour, but it also meant he had to fall asleep on his own. It also meant he had time to think. And only think.

His pain was low, but with each passing minute, it was starting to rise again.

It would be really nice to lay on his other side. Ugh, but he was too weak to even try.

God his throat was dry.

His father flipped another page. Why wouldn’t he just go home? Why was he here? Pretending to care?

A throat cleared, but it wasn’t Gabriel’s.

Adrien raised his eyes to the door, where a figure in black leather stood.

Adrien’s throat was already dry, and he almost gagged on his feeding tube.

“Relax, it’s just me.” Said the figure, becoming more visible.

Chat Noir had come to visit him.

Wait.

He rubbed his thumb over his ring finger, not feeling his Miraculous.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’m a hallucination born of a lot of pain meds and trauma. I don’t think the doc ever had a time to explain that to you.”

So he was crazy now?

“No, you’re not crazy. My visits will fade with time. But you have to talk somehow.”

To who? Himself?

“Yeah. Better than no one. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why Chat? Why not regular Adrien? It’s because you don’t want to be Adrien right now.”

True.

“But Chat’s always been your creative outlet. Your source of bravery, your fun side. Maybe you’ll listen to me better.”

Listen to him? What did he have to listen to?

“Your attitude stinks,” Chat said fiercely. “How dare you. You should be glad they can’t see your facial expressions. Nino was so worried about you, and you tuned him out! Tom and Sabine? They took time away from their own daughter, who’s hurt just as bad as you are, to come see you and to love on you, and you doubted them! Your own father, who has never showed an ounce of care for you in years, is here, right here!” He gestured to the man who was oblivious to the exchange. “He’s left his house, he appeared in public, and he looks like a hobo! Because of you! I know this isn’t going to undo all those years of hurt, but you have to acknowledge him. It’s not fair to him, and it’s not fair to you if you don’t.”

And when he wasn’t dying in a hospital? When Gabriel decides everything is fine now, and turns back into a robot?

“Then that’s his problem. Then you can say ��screw it’ and be with Marinette.” He took a few steps closer and loomed over him, threateningly. Though he was a hallucination, Adrien feared he might actually get hurt.

“More than anything, you need to apologize to Plagg.”

Plagg abandoned him. No matter how many times he called for him, he never came. Not in the darkest places, in the longest nights…

“He was asleep in the ring! You can’t blame him for that! Don’t you know how much he loves you? He’s been with you every moment since you got the ring. He’s your constant companion, and he knows how to make you feel better. Why would you push him away?”

He promised never to leave Adrien alone ever again.

“That wasn’t his fault. You know that. I’m right here, telling you. And I am you. That part of you that Salo tried so damn hard to stamp out. That part of you that loves unconditionally, that gives second chances to those that don’t deserve it. The part of you that made you worthy of the Miraculous.”

Well, Adrien was tired of that part of him. It only lead to trouble.

“Deny me all you want, but I’m the foundation to your very being. I’m not going anywhere. This is who you are, Adrien. Accept it, or spend the rest of your life in denial and misery.”

“Adrien?” The small, timid voice of Plagg spoke up. “Are you still awake?”

The kwami floated into his vision, his limbs limp, his ears drooped, and eyes downcast. “Listen…I know…I know you feel like…” He sighed, unable to find the words. Adrien knew he was always bad with feelings. “I love you, Adrien,” he said finally. “You’re my favorite holder I’ve ever had. I would never, ever intentionally abandon you. When Salo took off the ring…I felt ripped away from you. I felt it. It was the worst feeling ever. Then I was alone in the ring, waiting. I didn’t know if you were killed or—“ Fat tears fell from his eyes as he struggled to continue. “And then I woke up, and I found you…and you were in surgery and there was all that blood—“ he dissolved into quiet sobbing.

Maybe Chat Noir had a point. Maybe everyone was right. Even if the only person, or kwami, gunning for him was Plagg, he would be unstoppable.

It took great effort, but Adrien raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around Plagg’s small body, stroking his head with his thumb.

“Are…are you still mad at me? Wink once for yes, and twice for no.”

Wink wink.

#longest night #ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #adrien agreste #chat noir

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mollydollyjournals · 4 years ago

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I just ate all my salad and berry stuff as per plan...I'm so damn full. Uncomfortably. But at the same time it doesn't quite feel like the same kind of full as if I had a load of starchy carbs or something. And with fruit and veg, I always feel way less full fairly quickly. It just kind of gives me a break from being hungry, like I've been craving sugar a lot today which never really happens unless I'm restricting a lot, but all the berries took care of that in a way that isn't too terrible. Then I massively fill up on salad which also has a vinegar dressing and that's meant to help metabolism and stuff too...

I just had a massive heart palpitation but uh ignoring that and pretending I'm fine. My point was I'm trying to eat stuff to make my metabolism work, but also stay low cal. I did a day earlier this week where I had breakfast then nothing else, and I've had days where I haven't drank that much (hydration) and all those days my weight stalled or even went up. So I'm trying negative calorie foods...in the past I've found it helps, so I'm hoping it'll help me past 156 this time.

Currently I still feel super full...I'm having another coffee cause I gotta stay up forever now. Then I start working my way through the last 250ml water and a load of squash. Then I'll have managed my full 2l water for the first time in a while. Normally I just about manage 1.5l so this will be a good thing. And I hope I finish it all early enough that I can weigh myself and get an idea of what I'll be tomorrow...and I hope it says 156 so I'll be 154 tomorrow or some miracle. Ugh. Can't stand seeing 156 on the scale anymore. Definitely can't stand the idea of it going higher. Please please go lower please I'm begging you

#alcoholic #alcoholism #weight loss #weight loss journey #weightloss #lockdown 2 #lockdown goals #november 2020 #november 2020 goals #liver damage #journal

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lindsayrises · 5 years ago

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Water date

If we were sitting down with the beverage of our choice, I would tell you...

- I didn't get out of bed until noon. I was awake, but just couldn't get going.

- I went to the grocery store. Eating healthy is so damn expensive. Got lots of good stuff though, and my protein drinks were on sale. They're never on sale.

- I've been extra hungry today. I suspect I'm not eating enough. I don't want to fall into the trap of restricting my calories...but I do pay attention to it on MyFitnessPal even though counting calories isn't part of the plan I'm following (no more than 20-30 grams of carbs per meal and 35 grams of protein per meal). I feel a sense of control when I'm hungry. Disordered relationship with food? Yes.

- I'm already dreading work tomorrow. But there are lots of hours to still enjoy in Sunday.

- I've been sleeping a tiny bit better. I still wake up multiple times in the middle of the night. I don't know if I'm just getting used to it or if I really am sleeping a little better, but I feel less tired. I started taking melatonin a few days ago.

- Ramsey has been extra snuggly today. I think it's because there's no sun coming in through the window for him to lay in.

- I know I already posted this, but I feel relieved after withdrawing from the NYC marathon lottery. Also already mentioned, but I'm feeling a little more hopeful about half training with my "run inside my school" plan.

- I'm getting in 80+oz of water a day.

- I haven't been snacking in between meals too much. I haven't binged in over a week and I haven't been craving fast food too much.

- going without Dr pepper has been fine.

- vehicles are expensive. Yesterday's new-brake situation did not help my budget.

- that's all I got.

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falling-stars-and-open-scars · 4 years ago

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Well fuck {TW some meanspo directed at/for myself}

Note: I am a legit dumbass. Do NOT do what I do. I do NOT advise this for anyone but myself. I am NOT a doctor and willingly acknowledge that I am causing more damage in the long run. Please please PLEASE do NOT do as I do. You are far too good for this, kiddo. <3

May 25th, 2020

Hey guys. I know, I haven’t written in a while. Life’s been crazy and busy and stressful and yada-yada-yada, I ended up gaining back *ALMOST* all of the weight I lost at the start of the year (from 290, down to 270; then back up to 283).

Suffice it to say, I’ve been SUUUUPER pissed at myself for not having more control of what I eat/drink, allowing myself too many breaks from the plan. What makes me even more upset is the fact that my best friend also started to lose weight (she was 199 and is now down to like 170) -- SHE has managed to keep it off {and of course, everyone is commenting on how good she looks}. BUT she also has prescribed medication to help her; so it’s not like she’s doing this by sheer willpower alone like I’m trying to do. She honestly doesn’t need to lose weight, she looks just fine for her frame/age; but she’s medically considered on the obese side and she wants to try to donate her eggs for money. {Let’s just ignore the fact that I’m like Morbidly Obese Level II >_>}

My point is: she’s fine the way she is. People still find her super attractive. She can still FIND her size in any store she walks into. She can still eat and people won’t be disgusted by the sight of it; they actually encourage her to eat MORE because “Oh poor thin thing, you haven’t eaten since yesterday at lunch”. She can do everything I can’t. She’s still the pretty princess and I’m just the smart-ass fat sidekick.

God damn, I just want to be considered beautiful. I want to feel comfortable in my own damn body. I’ve started doing camming, and while I do have a small following, I absolutely HAAAATE the idea that they are ONLY following me because of a fat fetish that they have....they ONLY view me as attractive because of my size, like my size is something to be proud of {newflash: it’s not}. I’d rather be a cute, tiny thing, than this big blob of uggo. But, as it stands now, that is exactly what I am: a blob of uggo.

I don’t think I will ever get down to my 16-18 year old weight (which back then was 160-180). I think I need to accept that, the absolute best I can do will be 200. I will never be 160 again. I will never be 130 again. I will never be this small, fragile doll that people want to care for and love. At best, 200. Which, I guess isn’t bad for a 30 year old; I’d rather be 200 than 300.

It absolutely sickens me to be this way; to be 30 years old and 300 pounds -- knowing that, if something doesn’t change, I WILL be 600 pounds at some point in my life. It disgusts me to think that, on My 600 Pound Life, they STRIVE to be my size or less. It disgusts me to think that my size is someone else’s goal because who tf wants to look like this, who tf wants to look like me?

So, I have decided that I need extreme help. Trying to do keto AND low carb AND restrict was too much...so now I’m just restricting (hardcore). From 1,200 kcal limit per day to 800kcal limit per day (except on work days, then I will allow 1,000 because I have to lift 50+ pound dogs of various temperaments multiple times a day PLUS deal with pissed off feral cats -- I NEED to have my strength and wits about me those days so I don’t get bit and I can’t do that if I feel like ass/feel like I’m going to pass out).

Yesterday, I did amazingly well and was actually UNDER my limit for the first time in months {capped off at 547/800}. Today, it’s so far so good at 380 {and it’s not quite lunch time yet; speaking of which, I think I’ll have a diet cherry coke and call it good}. I haven’t weighed myself in about a week and, given that ol’ Satan’s waterfall is brewing in my uterus, I don’t think I will right now; I’ll wait a little while longer.

Overall, I’m still really mad at myself for letting go, for undoing all of the work I put in. I think that, deep down, the fact that no one noticed my weight loss or commented on it; made me unmotivated. Because 30 pounds lost on a 300 pound person doesn’t LOOK like much of a change; whereas a 30 pound weight loss on a 180 pound person IS a noticeable change, even though they lost the same amount of weight. I think I crave praise and positive attention because I cannot tell it to myself and truly believe it -- too many years with that negative voice, that negative self-talk, to believe anything good about myself; so I MUST hear it from others whose opinions I actually value.

{Ooof, that got deep real quick}

So, in summary:

800 cal limit, EXCEPT on work days (So Monday, Thursday, and Friday; Volunteer days do NOT count even though I’m basically doing my regular job but just slapping a “volunteer” label on it)

Period/Satan’s Waterfall/Monthly Subscription does NOT excuse me from weight loss. You want chocolate? Tough, eat an apple. Oh you’re cramping and irritated? Food’s not gonna fix that, ride the wave and deal with it.

If you dont know the calorie count, PUT IT TF BACK!

Ring-Fit at LEAST once a week for at LEAST 20 minutes {in addition to the physical demands of your job}

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mayphoenix · 5 years ago

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...with Long Intervals Of Horrible Sanity turned 9 today! Wow -- nine years! Where has the time gone? I should give an update. My life has taken on great changes. I am still living in the same apartment, still going through the same battles with housing and food assistance (they cut the latter and I’m getting $100/mo to buy groceries). My eldest cat has renal failure and pancreatitis and I have no idea how much longer he will be with me, so I am cherishing every day. Not to be outdone, two other cats decided they needed to have costly trips to the vet, one with a middle ear infection brought on by food allergy, which I’m now treating at home, and another who had to have all but four of her teeth extracted. I had to put my ghostwriting on hold for fear of losing rent assistance -- back in 2017, I was told it didn’t count as “regular” income, but then in 2018 I got a new caseworker who said all income counts, but now I’m back to the previous caseworker and she refuses to return my calls or answer my emails, and calling the main number is useless because it routes directly to a voicemail box that’s always full. Back in November 2017, I received Kona, a 2002 Subaru Impreza Sport from a friend who could no longer drive (medically). She knew I needed a car, so she just gave it to me. Original owner, she had put 38K miles on this vehicle. Mechanics everywhere have said, “That car will outlive you!” Yeah, well...unfortunately, this particular make/model/year of Subaru comes with what one website calls The Dreaded Head Gasket Problem. It is inevitable, and last winter I noticed a lot of odd-smelling exhaust coming from Kona that smelled of burning coolant. I had the radiator and thermostat replaced, and was told there was a leak somewhere. A few months ago, another mechanic found this tiny leak. I am told I can still drive as long as I watch the coolant level and temp gauge, and what to do if she overheats. Meanwhile, the Check Engine light is on because the O2 sensor has gone out, and now there is a squealing sound which I know means a bad belt somewhere. And the brakes are getting soft, too. I was quoted over $1800 for the head gasket repair and O2 sensor which entails taking out the engine, fixing it, and putting it back in. I’ve already had to replace two tires (and on an AWD, you have to have all tires matching -- come to find out, they have discontinued this tire so I got two of the last new ones in existence). This “free” car has already required over $1000 in work. And it’s all I’ve got so I have to do what I can to make sure she keeps going. Now, I don’t know if I’ve talked about this, before, but I do have a spiritual side to me. It’s not conventional by any means. I don’t subscribe to any one religion. But I always knew I was a natural healer (laying on of hands, energy work) and came from a long line of witches (going back to my Pictish ancestors and Native American roots; my great-great-grandfather was a medicine man). I used to do this for as long as I can remember, drawn to people in pain and using something inside me to take it away and make them better. I never knew there was a name for it, until one day someone saw me working on a friend’s migraine and asked, “Where did you learn Reiki?” My reply was, “What’s ‘Reiki?’” I had a very dark period in my life about 15 years or so ago where I shut down, though, withdrew into myself, because I was so depressed and suffering from undiagnosed PTSD and anxiety/panic disorder. I was so afraid I would pass my sickness on to someone else, so I stopped healing. Following the end of my marriage in 2010 and being on my own for the first time in my life, I went through several surgeries and was put on different medications for various ailments, some of which nearly killed me. I also had a few TIAs (mini-strokes). The only thing keeping me from ending my life was knowing my cats needed me around to care for them. Also, I found out my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s but then six months later during a follow-up, the doctors at U of M Ann Arbor said, “It’s not Alzheimer’s, we don’t know what it is.” (Note: based on her behavior, it may be Vascular Dementia but that can’t be diagnosed until after death -- so for now, we just know it’s dementia.) And then right before Christmas 2017, I got fed up with the repeating cycle of being used and abused by my sister, prompting me to cut ties with her, and my eldest niece told me to go fuck myself, leaving me pretty much on my own. Well, Life has a way of making things fall into place whether you like it or not. After all the shit I was going through with the TIAs and getting my cholesterol under control (I’ve put myself on a low-carb diet), my chiropractor told me out of the blue, “You should go into Reiki.” Damn, there’s that word, again... He said there was a guy named Adam, a massage therapist and Reiki Master, who rented space from him twice a week; I should talk to him. Well, Adam was never in when I would go for my appointments. One day, my friend Keith who volunteers at the local Gilda’s Club said I should look into their free workshops for yoga, meditation, and tai chi. I figured this might be good to help with my stress levels, at the very least, so I checked their calendar -- and there was someone offering free Reiki at the end of the month. I went in and immediately felt something happen, just being in the room with this woman. It was like being inside a Tesla coil. I began telling her things -- about her, like her childhood, etc, that she confirmed. And I began to cry. Not out of sadness but release. She said when I walked into the room I had an entourage of spirits with me -- guides, angels, light beings -- more than she’d ever seen, before. She got me on the table and while she never once actually touched me, I could feel pain, like she was physically pulling on me. What she was doing was pulling things out of me. She found his large cord attached at my solar plexus chakra and said, “You are attached to past trauma.” Oh, yes...yes, indeed. I told her to cut the cord and I felt it. It made me cry out, it hurt so much, but then afterward...I felt different. Something had changed. A week or so later, I went to my next chiropractic appointment, and when I stepped out of the exam room, I turned and saw this young man standing in the hall, looking right at me. I just stopped and said, “You’re Adam.” He said yes. “You’re a Reiki Master.” He said yes. “We need to talk,” I said. And he showed me into his room, where we spent an hour talking. I noticed he seemed nervous. He said, “I’m always nervous in the presence of a great healer.” Who, me? He said he could ‘feel’ my energy. He then recommended I go to Jodi, the Reiki Master who taught him. I found her place of business online and saw that they did monthly “Open Reiki Shares” where people just get together and work on each other in a group, for free. One of these sessions was coming up. I decided to go and see what it was about. What happened that day...it was incredible. Not only was I healing but I was tapping into the minds of these other people, seeing what they were seeing. Then they got me on the table and the Master seated at my head began to shake. She said, “You’re not an Old Soul -- you’re ancient, and you come from a place across the universe.” Well, I already knew that...but no one else had ever acknowledged it, until that moment. Someone picked up on the fact that I’m a writer, and then another Master said, “She is a Storyteller, and she is going to help others with her words.” Cryptic! They also said they saw a mass of spirits around me, and one of them said that there was a guide who had yet to reveal itself to me but would do so soon. I signed up that day to take Jodi’s Reiki I & II course. When the time came, I found myself learning things I already knew, things I already did, and I understood after all these years why people thought I knew Reiki -- because I had been doing it, all along. Even my chiropractor, who is an empath and a healer, sensed it in me. During the attunement, as I had my eyes closed, I “saw” a dragon look down over my head at me while Jodi was behind me. I had been told she had a Dragon guide, so I figured that was him. I even looked up and said, “Hello!” I cannot begin to describe how it felt to be attuned, and how I have felt ever since. I called my friend Seth, a massage therapist and a powerful healer in her own right who is studying shamanism, and she said it sounded like I was tripping. I was seeing everything in such sharp focus, hearing things, aware on so many levels. Jodi had asked me if I experienced anything during the attunement and I mentioned seeing her dragon. She just grinned and said no, he was my Dragon. Now, please note: in the late 90′s, I attended a drumming circle class where we all went on an inner journey to meet different spirit guides, and the one that appeared to me was a Phoenix. Back then, I figured he represented that part of me that was always getting burned up and somehow rising from the ashes. I even got a tattoo of the bird on my back. Well, now I have a Phoenix and a Dragon -- in Chinese, these are the balance of Yin and Yang. Coincidentally, my first tattoo was a yin-yang, and one of the first rings I ever bought was a yin-yang with the OM symbol on either side. It would also explain why, after being attuned, I had a sudden craving for Chinese food... I have since learned the purpose of these guides. The Phoenix is used in long-distance healing when I send Reiki out to others, and the Dragon protects me while I do my work. He will also “encase” me or other people in eggs of protection. The Phoenix takes his duties very seriously, while the Dragon...is a bit of a diva. He’s also a shape-shifter because I’ve seen him in full reptilian form and in human form with wings. I have many other animal totems but these two are connected to my healing abilities and now that I’ve come back to that aspect of who I am, I find that they represent the dual sides of me -- Two-Spirit. The Phoenix is still me as I reinvent myself, refusing to be destroyed. I used to be so timid and when I screamed in anger I sounded like a wounded animal; now when I’m angry, my Dragon roars through me, refusing to take shit from anyone. Life has changed for me so much since this all happened. We are in a time of Awakening and Transition, and I’m seeing it all around me even as I, myself, am going through it. I have people asking for my help -- “Please send me Reiki!” from all over. And I do. I’ve been using it on my cats. I’ve used it on myself. It’s incredible. I have been changing the vibration in my home, making it brighter, more colorful, inspirational. I have been finding old jewelry and wearing it (that’s the Dragon, show-off that he is with his bling!). I have been pushing myself out of my comfort zone and spending more time at Gilda’s, where I hope to offer free Reiki once a month to those who need it. I am also hoping to get a portable massage table so I can do Reiki housecalls. I’ve even joined a local group of professional writers that gets together once a month. I have started to wean off of one of my medications (Klonopin) which has been rough but I knew I had to stop when I began to notice an occurrence of bad side effects and found that it could do a lot of long-term damage to other parts of my body. I am doing meditation, now, which helps. I am also preparing to set up a Patreon in order to fund my writing so I can get my first novel out -- somewhat autobiographical, it has been years in the works and deals with surviving narcissists and finding one’s path in life, it’s called The Dragon in the Garden. (I came up with the title ages ago; little did I know...) I have a sequel plotted, and then another book set in New Orleans with different characters. All of these are mine, not ghostwritten, but I can’t use my own name because two other authors have published under variations, so I’ve come up with something else that will serve. Bit by bit, things are falling into place. But you know the most important part of all of this? I am not stressing out, anymore. I have decided to live in the moment, and see anything ahead of me is positive. Yes, I am concerned about the state of the planet, about the children in concentration camps, about the madman running the country...I am aware. My head is not in the sand nor in the stars. I remain a realist. But I can do that and focus my energy on making things happen for the better. I am being the change I wish to see in the world. I am putting out what I want to receive; instead of calling negativity to me, I am sending out positive energy. I cannot deny the results, the changes that have happened since I started to do this. It’s good. Very good. Recently, I volunteered to make a journey to Mississippi, driving a rental car down to the Gulf of Mexico and back in three days (18 hours driving down, 21 hours driving back), to rescue some kittens that were about to be abandoned and bring them to a local foster group. I saw this as an opportunity to do a Medicine Walk/Spirit Journey. I saw so many signs along the way, received messages, and learned things about myself. I had my eyes opened to people around me, those who would deceive and manipulate. And I had a lot of time to think. I discovered new levels of forgiveness within me, and how to release what is no longer of use or importance. It makes things so much better, so much simpler. I have wasted too many years worrying about stuff and nonsense.

Oh, I still have limitations -- physical and mental. As my Reiki Masters have all told me, every healer is damaged in some way. I envision myself as a work of kintsugi, the Japanese art of putting broken pottery back together with gold. I am not perfect and never will claim to be. But I know that I am One with the Divine, Source, Creator Energy, God/Goddess/All That Is. I am on the right path -- and maybe I always was. I just had to go through some dark and scary places along the way in order to be where I am, now. Namaste!

#tumblr birthday #tumblr milestone #my life #happy tumblr anniversary #reiki #self-discovery #healing

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