#it’s the first doctor stuck in ten’s body

[hobgoblinns]

I TOLD YOU GUYS THEYD BE FLIRTING

[euphoriaslux]

two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

-

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day ten: breeding kink

>>> so i actually think he would be able to get his partner preggers but that's because i say so xoxo but also bc maybe ce doesn't affect the reproductive system?? idc if it does he deserves a family!

>>> starring: choso kamo x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: breeding kink thank you, pregnancy kink, choso is obsessed w his wife hours, oral (fem), creampie, >>> wc: 2.2k >>> event masterlist:

he’ll never forget the day you told him you were pregnant. it was something he had considered impossible, to the point he never bothered wearing a condom or cumming anywhere but inside you. seeing you pregnant only made sure those things wouldn’t change. you were already so perfect to him that it was almost unnerving, even all these years of marriage in. he fell in love with you the moment he met you back in shibuya, but somehow you had become even more beautiful to him. 

he was obsessed, almost to the point of embarrassment, if choso understood the concept in regards to his love for his wife. but he wasn’t shy about being yours. it was all so new to him, the idea of fatherhood, viewing you as a mother, watching you change before his very eyes and all the long doctors appointments. he loves it though, oddly enough. especially the notion of being a dad and watching your body and mindset shift and grow. 

choso can tend to be clueless due to his rather unconventional navigation of life, but ever since he learned how to work a cell phone, the internet has been his very best friend. unfortunately, yuji can give some very…troublesome advice. choso thinks it’s a miracle he’s still alive at times. so google can help in ways his earnest younger brother cannot, giving him multiple opinions and sources on what to do and how to do it. he spends hours of his time researching how to care for you; wanting to know if it was normal to be this attracted to you while you were all moody and pouty with just the start of roundness at the bottom of your belly—the jury was still out on that one, by the way. 

one thing that was normal was your increased need for him, not like he was complaining. he loved this side effect the most, able to satiate his perverse desire to keep stuffing his already pregnant wife full, relishing in how eager and frankly nasty you had gotten. you were damn near insatiable, and choso thought he was in heaven for it. all through your first and second trimesters, you couldn’t get enough of him—and the feeling was mutual. as you grew larger and the house became cluttered with baby shower gifts and preparations for baby kamo, he continued to clock hours towards his family. he read article after article on parenting, actively assembling the nursery and searching up names with you. he was beyond joyful, still unable to believe that you were growing his son or daughter within that gorgeous body of yours, your breasts had started to swell and your hips had begun to spread. he loved every second of this: your neediness, everything about how you look while making him a father, and the way his friends circled around him and became such a supportive family. 

his thoughts bordered on crazy, a haunting desire to keep you like this all the time, lounging around the house in your pretty maternity dresses doing nothing but being waited on hand and foot; relaxing while stroking your swelling stomach. it’s what suited you best, he thinks—stretched out along the couch basking in the rays of the sun beating in through the living room window, snacking on a fruit board he made you and baby. he’s nearly foaming at the mouth, your long robe-style dress clinging to all the delicious curves of your body; the light cotton seemed to outline your heavy boobs, tight around your semi-hardened nipples. it hugged your six-and-a-half-month sized bump, your other hand resting there protectively. choso was stuck in the moment, trying to commit every detail of you to memory. he almost didn’t hear your chortle of disbelief. 

“you said what, now, babe?” you whip your head towards him, heart fluttering violently at what he uttered— you needed him to say it again. it was easy to grow addicted to your husband, building his spawn had you needier than ever. even the smell of him had you going absolutely feral level insane even though this pregnancy had been the highlight of your life so far. you thought your clinginess and desire was driving him to his own insanity, figuring he must hate tending to you and your attitude as of late. you must have just heard him incorrectly. 

“huh?” he blinked, violet eyes refocusing on your plush lips speaking to him. “what did i say?” he asks, just as confused as you are. his cheeks darken anyways, as if you caught him doing something naughty, which only makes you believe your ears were in fact not deceiving you. 

“you said you should keep me like this all time.” you chuckle, full on tilting your head towards him from your spot on the sofa. he averts his gaze as soon as you meet him, and you let out a teasing fake gasp. “my husband wants to keep me barefoot and pregnant, huh? you know that’s pretty outdated…” 

he shakes his head, embarrassed immediately. great, now you thought he was some sick perv, which isn’t completely off base, he guessed, but still! it wasn’t like that, he didn’t view you like some machine built only to churn out his kids and cook him dinner! 

“n-no! i mean—you look great like this, b—” 

“i’m just fucking around, love. i thought it was sexy.” you grin, throwing a wink his way. he clicks his tongue at you and huffs at the teasing, even though he’s definitely intrigued by the latter half of your sentence. you arch your brow, waiting for him to ask for clarification. you could see him fighting it in his head before your very eyes. the scrunch of his nose tells you that you’ve won. 

“yeah? what’s that supposed to mean?” he says from his spot in the recliner nearby, always opting to be close to you. you smile knowingly at him, humming in thought mostly for the dramatics. 

“mayhaps i enjoy the idea of you keeping me pregnant…especially if i get spoiled like this every time.” you giggle, shrugging a little bit. “maybe i’ll feel differently after i actually have this one.” you pat your tummy affectionately, and he thinks he may be drooling. you always play so coy, but he can see the way you rub your thighs together and the clouds that darken in your sunshiney eyes. he may be regularly clueless, but the one thing he knows all too well is your body. 

“hm, i think it’s because you’re a sex-crazed maniac now and know pregnancy gets you off the hook.” he deadpans, though his heart is beating rapidly in his chest and in his cock. you call his bluff, rolling your eyes viciously. 

“isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.” you huff, spreading your legs out on the couch in a silent command. he smirks, not at all caring that you caught him. he nods a bit, holding his hands up. 

“got me. i just didn’t know how much i would love this.” he says, the husk in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. your thighs press together when he obeys your body language, rising from his seat and making his way to the couch. he sits at your feet of course, smiling so sweetly. his warm hands gently pry your knees apart, and you wonder if he knows just how seductive the look he gives you is. his chin is angled down, hooded purple eyes singing a siren song that makes your legs fall apart again and your fingers pull at the tie keeping your dress together. he growls at the sight of your exposed body, his hands rubbing trails from your knees to your hips and down your thighs again. “you’re so perfect…can you blame me?” 

you roll your eyes but wear a stupid grin at his praise, shaking your head to his question. you knew better than to be insecure over your changing body, especially with all the extra attention it’s garnered you. truth be told, you had never felt more beautiful, the life growing inside you breathing new life into your own appearance, and your husband never missed an opportunity to make you feel like a goddess amongst mortals. he would never dream of making you uncomfortable or asking you to accommodate him, so he folds himself into the space he has so that his face hovers above your shiny middle. his breath alone makes you moan, a hand flying up to cover your embarrassment. you always react like you’ve never been touched before and choso loves it almost as much as the sight of your round stomach and even rounder mounds above. he brings his thumb over you, wanting to watch you as he draws slow circles over your hardened clit. he hums, a little smile on his face as you jerk and squirm. your hips buck into his mouth instantly with cute whines slipping past your lips as your hands struggle to reach for his collarbone length black hair. he leans up a bit to help you, just the feeling of his rough thumb pad against your need turned you into a mess within seconds. 

“nngh–oh choso, feels so–mmph good already.” you gasp, hands dropping to fondle your aching breasts. he nods and sits up to spit a warm and fat glob on your cunt, his thick thumb dragging it all over your spasming need. the lewdness of his action coupled with the nonchalant way he watches, tongue poking around your hole like nothing ever happened, has your brain spinning without much effort. your hips drive into the relief he offers, chasing your orgasm like you’d never before experienced one—despite the clear proof otherwise. he allows it, never in his life would he keep you from feeling good. he’s honored to be the one who causes those pretty sounds to fill the room, to be the father of the child making your beauty so ethereal, to be the man tongue deep in your perfect pussy. “gonna–ohhhh–” 

your sweet release coats his tongue, his thumb still working you down slowly so he could relish in the face you make from sheer pleasure. he sits back up, a little more comfortable on his knees as he leans over you to give you a sloppy kiss filled with your own essence. he’s had to be much more careful since you’re getting bigger, but he doesn’t mind making sweet love to his beautiful baby mama. you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping his mouth against you while his hands are busy freeing himself from his sweatpants. you gasp into his mouth when you feel his length parting your folds and prodding at your hole. he only nibbles at your lip to tell you that he’ll be gentle, sheathing himself within your wet warmth slowly. you tense around him and relax, sighing happily at the feeling of him rocking into you at a tender pace. he moves his kisses to the sides of your cheeks, your jaw, picking up his speed until he has to sit back up properly to angle himself right. 

“more, you’re not gonna break me daddy.” you pant, hand braced on the ridges of his defined abs. he sighs begrudgingly, only because he’d been repressing the same urge ever since you welcomed him inside. he relents, lifting one of your legs to rest against his hip before driving into you a bit harder. you moan wildly and nod, nearly screaming. “god—just like that.” 

“anything for you mama, s’cute you need it hard, such a good girl letting me get a little rough.” he grunts, squeezing the hold he has on your thigh. you feel so different, still so tight and warm but with a different kind of wetness. he’s a mess too, championing himself with that nickname you bestowed upon him. his strokes are so well-timed, letting you feel every drag of his cock against you, the tip of him nailing the spot you need him most. “so perfect. you gonna let me keep this pretty hole bred?” 

you nod, the words sending you close to your tipping point. you shake your head, too gone to speak to let him know that you were going to cum. you don’t have to tell him though, he can tell from the intense fluttering of your sloppy cunt, and he’s happy to have lasted this long trapped in your clutches. you’re slapping at his stomach, legs shaking around him as you scream again, the sound so primal it sends goosebumps prickling along his skin right before he’s stuffing you full as if you weren’t already carrying his seed. you squeeze down on him, making sure he empties his balls in you. he stays there until he goes soft, and then he slumps against the side of the couch. your giggles make him perk up, his violet eyes cutting over to see you crawling towards him with a mischievous glint to your eyes. he knows he’s right when you swing your leg over his lap, angling him back inside you. 

“don’t worry—just wanna sit on it.” you titter, wrapping your arms around his neck again, pressing your body as close as you could for a hug. he twitches from sensitivity as you lower yourself back over him, but a smile spreads across his face all the same. 

“how many kids can i give you, mama?” he groans in your ear as his arms tighten around your waist securely.

[cottagecheese1]

A angst request where tony stark visiting his little sister reader in the hospital, stage 3 Leukemia cancer. Tony tells her about everything including being ironman and his team. Sister stark! reader gets to meet his team

Nice surprise

a/n- the end was a bit rushed but i am currently going through my drafts

Tony sat at his desk zeroed in on a mission a report that he’s set off to the side for weeks and weeks, not worried about if another shield agent called his phone asking for the mission report like some landlord begging for rent, but that was ok because Tony never really worried about much, the reasoning behind this was because he had pretty much all the money in the world to fix whatever issue that popped up. That was until that one call from the hospital when the doctor said his little sister had Cancer and there was pretty much nothing he could do about it except hope for the best. That was a problem money couldn’t fix, well he tried anyway, paying for all of the treatments known to mankind but still no positive result occurred.

When Tonys mind drifted to the thought of his sick little sister, FRIDAY suddenly came on “Mr. Stark you have a call from doctor Reyes” Tony suddenly shot up from his seat. That was your doctor, did something go wrong? What if something terrible happened to you? Tony took a deep breath and paced around the room.

“Put him on speaker friday.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark”

Suddenly the doctors familiar voice echoed around the room

“Mr. Stark I have good news and bad news about your sister” The doctor spoke firmly but Tony could hear the nervousness in his voice as the doctor spoke.

“Give me the good news first Reyes”

“Good news, we have been seeing improvements from the treatments, and we think if she can fight it off a little longer before she gets to stage four, we might be able to get most of the Cancerous cells out of her body before they spread even more.”

Tony sighed and smiled a little bit, he was glad there was going to be a little light in this situation, so that it would give him hope that the bad news wouldn’t be as bad as he thought it would be.

“I am very relieved to hear that doctor Reyes, and what about the bad news?”

“Unfortunately, your sister has moved on to stage three leukemia cancer, and who knows how long until she gets to stage four, but we were hoping you could come in and visit her. She took the news pretty hard and has asked to see you all day today. I think it would make her day but we do not want to hassle you Mr. Stark, we know you are a busy man.”

As soon as the doctor said that you’ve asked to see him all day, Tony was already halfway putting his jacket on and out the office door, Tony quickly respond with “Thank you doctor Reyes, I will be there in about ten minutes”, once the call ended, Tony practically sprinted out the front doors of the compound, rushing to his car quickly.

When Tony pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, he was able to gather himself again. As many times as he visited you, it was hard, harder than almost everything else he’s ever done or fought, but he had to have hope for you because Tony loved you with his whole heart, you’re some of his only family left, his rock, the one person that stuck beside him when everyone else left. He pretty much couldn’t live without you.

Tony checked into the hospital counter and signed his name on the visitor sheet, and made his way down the hallway, with a teddy bear in hand and since He’s visited you one too many times, he practically knows the hospital like the back of his hand.

Once Tony gets to your room and opens the door slowly, he sees you look at the direction of the door and you shoot up from your bed happily “Tony!! I missed you, what are you doing here?” Tony chuckled and bent down in front of your bed to give you a hug. “Hey kiddo, I just came by to see how you were doing, I missed you” Your mood seemed to drastically change when he said that. “Doctor Reyes told you to come didn’t he..” Tony stopped and sat down in the chair next to your bed and held your hand.

“Yes, yes he did but that does not mean I don’t want to see my favorite little sister, I love you okay?”

You seemed to crack a smile that made Tony's grin light up also “I’m your only little sister”, you responded with a bit of laughter in your voice

“Exactly, and I wouldn’t have it any other way”

Silence seemed to take over the room as you finished up your multitude of questions for your brother, Tony seemed to have one of his own, he then asked “If you would want to do anything in the whole world, what would it be?” you smiled and pretended to have a pondering look on your face then answered “I probably would want to meet the avengers, especially Captain america and Iron man”, Tony perked up and grinned and looked around then back to you.

“Well, would you like to hear a really really awesome secret..but you can’t tell anybody okay?” You looked at your brother intently while he spoke and nodded your head quickly, eyebrows furrowed. “Tell me, tell me, I promise to keep it a secret”, Tony smiled then said

“I’m Iron man..”

You looked at him suspiciously and said “Nuh uh, prove it.”, Tony stood up and pushed a button that summoned the suit onto his body then quickly took it off, looking down at you while your eyes were widened in awestruck he spoke “Do you believe me now?”, you looked at him and questions started to flow out of your mouth.

“Does that mean your friends with the avengers?”

“Have you fought any monster aliens?”

“Do you know Captain America?”

“Have you been to space!?”

Tony laughed and pushed you gently so your back was resting against the bed “Yes, to all of those questions, but-”, Tony got cut off right in the middle of his sentence as a feminine voice interrupted “Um, I am so sorry to interrupt but visiting hours are now closed, if you would be kind enough to make yourself out, thank you”, Tony nodded and went over to your bed to give you a quick peck on your head and whisper something in your ear, and you seemed to nod excitedly at the information spilled to you.

The next day Tony had made arrangements to make a perfect visiting time and clear all of the other avengers schedules for you to meet them, he knew this would mean a lot to you and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure this was perfect.

Tony got to the hospital with two other cars following him, all the avengers known, packed in three cars and he couldn’t wait to see the smile on your face, Tony then spoke “I’m sorry I had to disturb anyone's plans, but I know this would mean a lot to my sister, she’s just a kid that got handed a rough hand”, Steve responded with a sympathetic look on his face and responded “it’s really no trouble Tony, we’ve all agreed that we would do anything just to make it a little bit better for her” the others around him seemed to nod in agreement “but still, thank you all”, Steve smiled back “anytime Stark”.

While walking into the hospital, and checking into the visitors sheet seemed to take twice as long, Tony knew the look on your face would all be worth it. As they all stood in front of the door to your room he opened it slowly and you popped up quickly.

“Tony! You’re back!”

“I am back, but I have some friends with me also”

You tilted your head, until room people walked through the door and you gasped with a wide grin on your face.

“Thank you Tony! You’re the best big brother ever, I love you so much”

Tony went over to hug you, and all the avengers watched in awe at how loving their boss could be, but soon enough they all sat next to you, ready to answer any questions that you may have had, and they all stayed until visiting time was over, while you were sad they had to leave as they gave you their goodbye hugs. The only person in the room left at the end was Tony, as he came over and sat next to you. You felt your eyes tear up and gave your brother a tight hug then spoke

“Thank you Tony, you really don’t know how much this means to me, I love you”

“I love you even more, but I always want you to know that I would travel the moon and back for you”

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

And that's how you begin to heal (and stop Catnap and Mommy Long Legs from killing each other at the hospital)

You were hurt. Not just emotionally, of course, you were pretty much dead inside for more than ten years at this point, but you were physically what anyone could only describe as "devastated". Your back ached with carrying the grabpack around for the last four days or so, you had broken three bones in your right hand, your arms and legs had almost been torn off at least twice, and, of course, the nasty cut from almost getting impaled.

Frankly, it was a surprise that you didn't just collapse the moment the first ambulance arrived. But if you did, then your newfound kids would have panicked, and the Prototype would have been really, really mad if there was another conflict just when you all thought this nightmare was finally over.

You were gently cradling Poppy in your lap when you saw the ambulance lights in the horizon. You had tried to prepare yourself for this moment since the end of the confrontation with the Prototype, but your heart was still almost breaking out of your body with how fast it was beating. And yet, you kept a calm exterior. Comforted an anxious Dogday, let Bunzo also take shelter in your lap, much to Poppy's dismay, even tried to distract Mommy Long Legs with a joke or two.

The cops arrived first. You had put yourself between them and the group of toys, trembling from head to toe. You didn't exactly know what exactly they were going to do, but Catnap's sudden apparition behind you made some of them shiver.

You calmed down the big feline as you approached the authorities. "These guys were trapped inside the factory", you calmly communicated. "Playtime Co. made them as experiments. They're organic, very hurt, and starving. Please put your guns away unless you want to startle any of those kids".

The man you that approached you had his eyes glued on the group, who, in turn, was staring back. Your thoughts went racing to the idea of Mommy Long Legs deciding to attack them in order to protect you or herself, and you immediately just gave him the bag full of paperwork you had found on your journey. He stared at the first paper, then quickly looked at the others, then simply said:

"What the actual fuck did Playtime got themselves into...?"

"Maybe try to leave a bucket close to you. Some of the things they did won't be good for your stomach".

The cop ignored you. Then the ambulances arrived, and all hell broke lose as your last remains of sanity and calmness fought a war in order to not die from the idea of any of the toys you had just rescued ending up attacking a doctor. You came back to the group, gently begged them to be patient and to please trust the humans dressed up like doctors, and to please remember these ones were there to help, not hurt, and to please stick to each other.

Then a mini huggy tried to bite a nurse. You called out for the little guy, who simply shrugged and approached Kissy Missy, headbonking her and begging to be close to her as the strange humans surrounded you.

An hour and a half later and everyone was at the hospital, trembling and anxious, and you were stuck with Catnap and Mommy Long Legs.

"C'mon, big boy", you called for the feline. "You can do it. Just let the nurse help you!"

Catnap hissed, loud and angrily, at both you and the man with the lotion for burn treatment. Long Legs was sitting close by, eye twitching and a smirk on her face as she watched the two of you.

"Why not?!"

"I can survive. I felt worse", he told you, eyes never leaving the nurse. "Now leave".

"Theo, weren't you the one who told the Prototype it was time for us to live instead of just survive?"

Catnap then looked straight at you, looking very unhappy. The growled again before, finally, offering one of his paws for the nurse.

"Don't try to pull any tricks. I know all of them".

"Like playing dead?", Long Legs chuckled. "Like what you did to me?!"

"And now, look at where we are. I have merely lost part of my ear. You, on the other hand..."

You sighed as Long Legs got up from her chair, hand on her missing arm: "Are you sad because Mommy scared you? Booh, booh, Mommy is so scary, Prototype! Please, help me destroy Mommy!"

"I learned how to hunt. You learned how to throw a tantrum".

"And Mommy never had to call Daddy for help when she was hunting!"

"If you two keep on like this I'll undergo cardiac arrest"

The two toys stopped hissing at each other to instead stare at you with wide eyes. You made a "hmph" sound, pointing at your own bandaged chest in order to further prove the point.

"See? I'm all hurt in there! If you two don't let the nurses and doctors treat you, then I'll be the guy needing treatment".

"No, no, nononono!", Long Legs dramatically gestured a half "X" sign with her single arm, quickly going back to just sitting on her chair instead of being all spread out. "You'll see how much of an excellent patient Mommy is, don't worry! I'll show you a good example!"

"...", said Catnap, growling quietly to himself as the nurse was finally able to treat him. "... I remember you going into disiciplinary confinement more times than I ever did".

"W h a t ?", Long Legs asked.

Catnap stared at the window, tail anxiously twisting. You merely melted in your own chair, staring at the serum next to you as it was slowly trying to make your body feel better again. The nurse kept on with his job, and the TV kept on playing an episode of Pingu.

They even had disciplinary confinement, uh?, you thought, not impressed in the slightest, the memory of having to hold Long Legs in your arms so she would let the doctor examine her passing through your mind.

Catnap and MLL were now staring at the TV, little Pingu entertaining them. Poppy was asleep in another room with Bunzo, Kissy and Huggy, while both Miss Delight and Dogday were undergoing more serious medical procedures for their "conditions". The other toys were being examined, and, if everything went well, would soon return to you. And Prototype was doing his job back at the factory at making sure no one would find the how tos of transforming a person into a toy...

You closed your eyes, feeling true relief for the first time in your life.

Maybe, just maybe, after all of this was said and done, you could all live together as one big family. That was what Poppy suggested, at least, and the other toys seemed happy with the idea. And also maybe, also just maybe...

You could finally feel free from all this guilt

---

Oh, dear, this was harder to write than I thought, but it was a blast! I didn't proofread anything but I'm open for more requests regarding my own take on "Angel saves everyone"! And if you enjoyed this, please check out my commission info - it's all in my pinned post at ! garcavisconde! Thank you! <3

[diejager]

First of all HEYYY I love ur work smmmm I read almost every. single. day. So I have anemia (iron deficiency) and I'm always super cold and pale. Like my body barely produces any heat. Sometimes I don't even realise how cold I actually am like I just look in the mirror and realise my lips are blue and I look like a zombie. So I was wondering if u could do like a Ghost x cold reader like with the blue lips and nails and everything ykkkk?? And to be sum like they end up having to stay in a safe house together cause they're snowed in and the radios don't work or wtvvvvv and the heats brokennnn OMGGG and there's only one bed😭😭😭😭🤌🤌 I would love that sm tbh and again LUV UR WORK

Cw: fluff, humour?, anemia, snowed in, mention of hypothermia, cold, one bed trope, tell me if I missed any.

You hated the cold as much as you hated snow despite how lovely you remembered it was, to feel the soft and cool flakes fall on your face and staring off into the landscape. You couldn’t help feeling some sort of aversion towards the cold when your condition made you nearly vacant of any heat, extremities turning blue or purple if you didn’t regulate your own tempature. But the thing you hated the most, was being stuck and snowed in a safe house without any communication from Laswell and a broken heater. 

At the very least, you had company, sent off to Siberia with Ghost by your side, a man that burned higher than anyone you’d ever met. Perhaps he was the best option out of everyone, someone you got along with and enjoyed his jokes. That left you shivering under many layers of warm blankets, a bundle on the single bed that the safe house had. Oddly enough, it had enough food to feed a team of ten powerful and hungry men for an extended amount of time, space for many to roam around, but it had one single bed in the whole facility. 

Not that it minded you, you were as close to him as you were with the other men, a gentle friendship that often led to idiotic decisions and humourless jokes (more so on his side than yours). You watched him move around the room, securing the windows before he did the same to the rest of the house, checking the locks and insuring that both of you would be safe for the night; and when he was sure everything was secure enough, he climbed into bed, slipping under your pile of blankets. Ghost held you against his chest, an arm under his head and the other around your waist, keeping you close to him to share his heat with you, to relieve you of your shaking and shuddering, and breath coming out in frozen vapour.

“Tell me a joke, Ghost,” you quipped, wanting to take your mind off the numbing cold and your low iron count.

“What does a doctor ask a snowman?” He started after a few seconds of thinking, a lightness in his tone.

“What?” You raised your brows, burying your face into your blanket burrito and squirming until he got tired of it and tightened his hold on you.

“And you say you’ve been erect for 4 hours?” He ended with a low chuckle, laughing at his own joke. He was shamelessly proud of it, apparently.

You blinked owlishly, lips pursed as you mumbled lowly, huffing through your nose with a quick sigh, worming around to stare at Ghost. Even with the mask on, you could see the softened expression through his eyes, his darkened eyes gleaming with mirth and innocent joy.

“That was bad,” you pouted, narrowing your eyes a him.

“Oh? But you laughed,” he grumbled.

“Because it was bad.”

“Yeah, now shut up and sleep.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Welcome To My Masterlist!

My name is Alli and I write sometimes.

Masterlist under the cut

✨Top Gun: Maverick✨

Series:

✨Bradley Bradshaw:

Remember You Even When I Don't: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement. (completed)

The Forgotten Moments: A One Shot Collection: Before he had to remember you, Bradley got to experience the whirlwind that was meeting and falling in love with you (the first time).

All stories in the collection can be read independently, but will precede or coincide with Remember You Even When I Don't.

This Love Came Back to Me: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; truly, you stopped before the two of you could even really begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it. (completed)

One Shots:

✨ Bradley Bradshaw:

A Change to Everything: Marriage wasn’t an option for you. Bradley knew this and had promised you that what you had is and would always be enough for him. A few overpriced rings wouldn’t change that, so long as you promised to love him forever without one. But he buys you one anyway, and despite every promise you made to yourself, you wonder what it would be like if maybe, just maybe, you ever decided to put it on. 

What Goes Around (Comes Around): Bradley didn’t do relationships, and neither did you. The arrangement you had worked perfectly for ten years, getting together whenever your paths crossed. But after the two of you were stationed permanently on the same squad, suddenly what you have isn’t quite enough for him anymore. It’s not until a close call in the air that he finally gathers the courage to admit it. 

To Make a House a Home: House hunting in California was proving to be a challenge. Leave it to Bradley to manage to pull off the biggest surprise you’ve ever gotten. 

The Art of Subtlety: You were quiet, almost shy, but Bradley suspected there was more to you than meets the eye. When Jake claims that it’s impossible for a woman to successfully fake an orgasm, you prove him wrong (while proving Bradley absolutely right) right there in the middle of the Hard Deck. With his world tilted on its axis at your little display, he’s left wondering: why are you so good at faking it, and how would you really sound if he’s the one bringing you pleasure?

Dancing in the Dark: Bradley was never one for clubs. Flashing lights, dance remixes of the same four songs, and overpriced watered down drinks just weren’t his thing. But you had begged him so prettily to go with you that he couldn’t help but agree. It was exactly as bad as he thought it was going to be, but when he saw how irresistible you looked on the dance floor, he decided to get his revenge in a way that left both of you satisfied but wanting more. 

Clandestine Meetings: Bradley was coming home today. Six weeks on a no-contact deployment, stuck on a carrier in the middle of some non disclosed body of water, and he’s finally coming home. Normally, you’d be bursting at the seams with happy excitement. But the two of you had left things in an...interesting place. When he’s finally standing in front of you, you can tell by his cold and dark eyes that he remembers, too. But he’s had six weeks to think of exactly how you can earn his forgiveness, and you’re all too willing to do anything it takes. 

Keep It Undercover: You and Bradley had shared a few beautiful weeks together, years after first meeting. You had been content with leaving it as a beautiful, delicious memory; something that could have been, if the stars would have aligned. Only now he was stationed in Fightertown permanently, and while he didn’t know what exactly that meant for the two of you long term, he knew what he wanted. He didn’t care about your age or that you outranked him. After all, he had always liked his girls a little bit older. 

The Over/Under: Your friends insisted that the best way to get over someone was by getting under someone else. But you had been over your ex for a long time before you ever signed the papers, and you had no intention on hooking up with anyone. Then an attractive man with a mustache that really shouldn't look as good as it does catches your eye, and you suddenly forgot why you were hesitant in the first place.

✨Javy Machado:

I Don't Love You Like I Used To: After so many years with you, Javy Machado doesn't love you like he used to. He loves you so much more. For roosterforme's #love is in the air tgm Writing Challenge!

The Double Negative Effect: Javy knows deep down after he goes into G-LOC that he’s not going to be selected for the mission. He goes to a bar on his own to drink away some of his sorrows, and while he’s there, he meets someone who is having just as rough of a time as he is. Misery loves company, and together, they cancel out the bad day the other is having, replacing it with a night they’ll remember for all the right reasons. 

And I Want To Make Her Mine: Javy thought it was too good to be true when he saw you, the girl he had crushed on for almost a year, standing in the Hard Deck. But there you were, looking just as beautiful as you always had. He thought maybe he’d finally get his chance with you after all this time. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one whose attention you caught.

Merry Christmas Mishaps: Christmas looked a little different this year, and Javy knew you were having a hard time adjusting to it. You were used to the lights and the hustle and - God help him, the snow - that came with where you had called home for so long. You had given all that up to move to California to be with him, and he decided that if he couldn’t get you back on the east coast for the holiday, maybe he could improvise and start making new traditions here together, with a few surprises along the way. 

The Great Escape: All you wanted on your wedding day was some time alone with your new husband. Luckily for you, Javy was more than game to make an escape and has just the hiding place in mind.

An Aviation Special: You had always wanted to experience Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but when it starts to go sideways thanks to your travel companions, you fear the whole trip, maybe even the whole city, has been ruined for you. But then a handsome stranger swoops in when some drunk idiot gets too handsy, and your night takes an unexpected turn for the better.

The Plus One: You couldn’t believe he was here. He had told you he would be, over and over again, but part of you had convinced yourself it was too good to be true. There was no way a man as perfect as Javy Machado would be so into you after you spent one night together, months ago, that he’d fly out to be your date to a wedding for people he’d never met before. Yet here he was, looking as good as a dream. By the end of the night you knew one thing for certain: a weekend with him would never be enough.

✨Javy Machado x Natasha Trace (Navy):

Repeated Offenses: Javy wasn’t sure what the mission was that called them back to Top Gun, but he knew if he was there, Phoenix would be too. He seeks her out that first night, knowing that it would be the same game between them as it always was. One of them was bound to get burned one of these days, but luckily for him, he’s never been afraid of playing with fire. 

✨Jake Seresin:

Flight Suit Aphrodisiac: There was something about seeing Jake in his flight suit that got to you every single time. It had always been attractive, sure, but nowadays it was like something of an aphrodisiac. It didn’t matter what you were doing or where you were; when you saw him in it, you had to have him.

Twin Fire Signs: When the majority of your squad intentionally leaves you drunk and alone at a bar, you resign yourself to finding your own way home and dealing with your wounded pride in peace. But then your phone rings, the name of the last person you expected to be calling you on a Friday night flashing on your screen. You know you shouldn’t answer, but too much tequila has never led to great decisions. 

Cowboy Resolutions: New Year’s Eve at the Hard Deck with all of your friends was a tradition, one that you loved and held close to your heart. When you and your husband decide to slip away from the crowd for a late night stroll on the beach right before midnight, you realize that neither of you had the purest of intentions when it came to wanting to get away. 

A Verbal Agreement: You hated Jake Seresin. Truly, you did. Or at least you strongly disliked him. But as it was, he did something for you that no other man could, and it kept you coming back for more. 

✨Jake Seresin x Natasha Trace (Hannix):

Hell Bent, Heaven Sent: Truthfully, Jake didn’t like anything that she made him feel. Annoyed. Inferior. Submissive. But she also made his heart speed up and his palms sweat and despite everything he felt better when she was with him. Natasha Trace made him question everything about himself.

Alli's TGM Mix & Match Blurb Party Masterlist

*I do not give permission to copy/steal, translate, or publish elsewhere*

[inkdrinkerworld]

Miguel prompts you say?? could i request "just...come here." pretty pls and ty xxxx

of course you can!! miguel and reader aren't together yet but they flirt with each other enough to make him okay with physical touch

it's hard being the self-proclaimed keeper of the multi-verse. miguel hasn't had it easy in a long time, so when he has missions like today, your heart breaks for him.

imagine your world exploded because you just wanted a shot at a normal life, being thee world's first anomaly and then the multi-verse gets torn open and you get stuck with the job.

a job that just keeps getting more and more stressful. you'd be barking orders and afraid to get close to people too.

its why you don't hold any of what he does against him- you're not sure if you'd do much better in his position.

this mission had been one for mainly the elites- miguel, peter b, jess, pavitr and hobie- but it still wasn't easy. not by a long shot.

they were all a bit banged up but back in their own dimensions and when lyla popped up in miguel's 'office' - affectionately monikered 'the spide-hole' you'd learnt how bad he was.

"it didn't go smoothly. he's a lot banged up- like a lot. and he's grouchy."

you don't have time to ask anything because the door opens and reveals miguel who looks worse than you could imagine.

his chin is busted, lip is bloody, his eye is blackened and he has a limp. you know all the bruises will be gone in a few hours, yours do the same thing, but this is miguel- he doesn't come back from missions like this.

his hand comes crashing in with a desk and he flips it over despite his pain. "stupid fucking anomalies. tonto desgarro en el multiverso que sigue empeorando."

it's then that he notices you, in a chair near his command centre and a couple holographic screens up displaying the stuff you were working on.

"i can leave if you want to be-" you start but he grumbles,

"no." he hisses as he throws his body into one of the seats, holding his side and you frown.

"do you want me to get the thing?" 'the thing' being his rapture injections. you feel awful asking, but maybe he needs it so damn his aversion to talking about it if that's the case.

"no." it's firm and final but it's still got a little strain to it.

"miguel, you need something. i can get margo or one of the spider-doctors or somebody. as a matter of fact," you pick up your things and make for the door, "i'm going to get somebody."

you don't get too far though. his hand circles your wrist and you stop.

his touch is warm and even though it feels nice you'd rather him be in good health along with it. "miguel," you start and he shakes his head.

"just," he sighs, throwing his head back, eyes closed as he faces the ceiling. his lips move in what you think is a silent prayer. "just, come here." he tugs you closer till you stand in front of him.

"miguel, i can't make you better." he doesn't listen though, instead he lets his hands get distracted with the sleeve cuffs of your suit.

"you're doing it right now," you shake your head and thread your fingers in his hair. "just stay with me, for ten minutes."

[strangersteddierthings]

My Default's Self-Destruct (Oh, I'm Not Used to Normal)

@nburkhardt, this ones for you, since you've been so excited and patient! Title from Jillian Rossi's Not Used to Normal.

-

There is a doctor in his room, explaining the extent of his injuries to him and his uncle but Eddie quit listening when the doctor had started with it's our recommendation that he not start back on the scent blocker until-. Whatever the doc had to say after that was more for Wayne's benefit than his own, anyway. Eddie turns his face away from Uncle Wayne and the doc and stares at the wall.

Eddie knows he's a freak.

He never had an option to be anything else.

He was born wrong, a thing his dad would remind him of every time he was deep in his cups and feeling angry or bitter. Which is to say, he'd heard it every day until he was fourteen and, with his mom long gone and his dad's new prison sentence, he was shipped off to Hawkins, Indiana to live with his uncle.

It gave him a choice for the first time in his life.

It was salvation.

No one here knew a damn thing about him except what he wanted them to know. He got to curate his image exactly how he wanted it.

Loud, bold, mean, scary.

Anything that kept people at a distance because he wanted them to be. That's not to say he didn't let people get close. That he didn't have friends. He does.

He founded Hellfire sophomore year and made acquaintances with fellow nerds and geeks. Some stuck around, genuinely seemed to like him and he them, so he got some real friends out of it. Jeff, Frankie, and Gareth.

The only three people in the world who knew about him because he'd chosen to tell them.

But now with this doctor not wanting him to get back on his scent blockers as soon as possible, the whole town's going to know how much of a freak he really is.

His gut twists thinking about how Erica, Lucas, Max, Dustin, Nancy, Robin, and Steve already know. They have to know. Why else are they not here? There's no way they don't by now. Scent blockers need to be taken every day to work effectively. Missing a day every now and then is fine when Eddie knows he's not going to leave home or if it's just the guys he'd be seeing.

But he's missed sixteen days because today is April 7th, and he'd spent most of the prior three days fading in and out of consciousness trying to claw his way out of a coma. Now he's fully alert and aware. He'd woken up alone, but it wasn't long after that his uncle showed up, apparently summoned by a nurse.

"-ddie. Eddie, you still awake?" Wayne's voice is gentle in a way it never usually it. It makes Eddie want to pretend to be asleep.

"Yeah."

"The doc just left."

Eddie doesn't respond verbally. but he does turn his head back to look at Wayne instead of the wall.

"There's a boy down in the lobby. Been tryin' ta visit every day but, well," Wayne trails off with a one shoulder shrug, which seems the easier way to sum up all the events that place while he was in a coma. Wayne apparently making a fuss when the hospital finally got a hold of him and he'd come into Eddie's room to find his unconscious body handcuffed to the bed. No one's been around to explain the how or why to Eddie, but supposedly ten days after Eddie should have died, three days before he awoke for the first time, the "real" murderer was found and died in a gunfight with the police. Eddie's been pardoned, by some miracle.

"Why wasn't he allowed to visit?" Eddie asks, even as he dreads the answer.

"No visitor for murder suspects except family," Wayne says.

"Okay. But I was proven innocent six days ago."

"I know. This last week's been me. I told the staff no one but me could see ya until ya were awake enough to name 'em. Didn't know if that boy who led the manhunt was gonna try and get in, or send someone else after ya."

Warmth floods through Eddie then, both affection for his uncle and a hope that, maybe, no one's been here because they haven't been allowed to be. Maybe they don't- maybe they'll give him a chance even though he's a genetic freak of nature.

"Is it Dustin Henderson?"

"Nah, ain't him. He's been by as much as his ma will allow, though. Sits down there with the first boy."

If it's not Dustin then- "Steve?"

Wayne gives a one-sided grin before saying, "Steve Harrington Sir, if you wanna full name him."

That gets a laugh from Eddie. Wayne hates to be called sir, and he spent a full year calling Jeff 'Just Jeff Sir' when Jeff had made the mistake of correcting Eddie's introduction ("And this here, is Jeffery") while trying to be polite ("Please, it's just Jeff, sir."). Seems like Steve made the same mistake.

"Oh, fuck, don't make me laugh," Eddie wheezes, more from pain than laughter and Wayne looks only a little guilty for causing him pain. "But, uh, yeah. Steve's a-okay."

"Alright. I'll go let the nurse know. Anyone else you wan' ta come see ya?"

"Wait," Eddie says quickly, swallowing thickly. He has to know. "Do- have they... said anything? About me?"

"About you? What- oh," Wayne says. "Did they not know?"

Eddie shakes his head. "No. Not- I didn't tell them, but I haven't had a scent blocker since the first day of spring break. They have to know, right? Everyone always knows."

"Do you want me to ask before gettin' them approved to visit?" Wayne asks, softly and sincere and it makes Eddie's eyes water. He closes them to prevent the tears.

"No. It's fine. Better to, uhh, get this over with. Learn if this will change anything, y'know?"

"And you wanna start with Steve Harrington Sir? He's an alpha, ain't he?"

"Don't act like you don't already know. Everyone and their mother talks about how alpha he smells. I heard about Steve and his alpha scent before I'd even met the dude."

"Well, no need to be so uppity about it," Wayne grouses.

"Sorry. Guess I'm just... not in the mood to joke about this. People don't- they change how they treat me, once they know."

"Just Jeff didn't, nor Gareth or Frankie."

"Yeah, but they were my friends first. I- they saved my life but that doesn't make us friends."

Wayne shakes his head. "You tell that to the boy sittin' in the lobby right now waitin' to see ya."

That's right. The hope that has bloomed earlier. If they did know, they were still around. Either because they are his friends and they care, or they have... questions, possibly. Still, "You'll be in here? When he comes in?"

"I won't leave unless you ask me to," Wayne assures and then he's gone. Out the door, to retrieve Steve.

Jesus Christ, this is fucked. Eddie feels so anxious and scared and he shouldn't. He's never been afraid before. Just. Fed up with how people treat him. How they scrunch their noses when they smell him. When they look at the whole of him and realize there's something wrong with him and their expression changes to either pity or disgust.

Wayne's gone just long enough for Eddie to regret his decision but then it's too late. The first person to enter his room is Steve, followed closely why Wayne.

"Eddie!" Steve says, and Eddie is confused. Steve sounds... awed? A bit breathless like he's witnessed a miracle.

"Hey Steve," Eddie manages to squeak out and that's all the permission Steve seems to need. He crosses the room quickly, dragging a second chair from the corner with him to the opposite side of the bed from where Wayne has taken up station.

"Fuck, Eddie, we didn't know if you'd- but you did. You're awake," Steve says, even as he's trying to sniff the air. Probably trying to get a read on Eddie's own scent, and therefore his own emotional state. When Steve doesn't find what he's looking for, his brows furrow into confusion, and he looks so fucking adorable with his face scrunched like that. He's glad Steve can't smell that on him, at least.

"I'm awake," Eddie says.

Steve nods, but his confused face doesn't fade. Instead he sniffs the room more loudly, thoroughly. He looks to Wayne, then back to Eddie. He does that a few times before settling on Eddie.

Eddie sighs heavily. "Go ahead. Ask."

"What? Oh, uh, nothing to ask, I guess. Just thought Wayne would have scented you by now, but I don't smell him on you."

"Yeah. Wayne's nose barely works, so no point in that."

"A fact I'm thankful for every time you'd finally drag out the days old dishes from your room," Wayne quips.

"Hey!" Eddie shoots him a wounded look as his face gets hot. Low blow, old man, he thinks.

"Oh. Do you... not get isolation sickness? Is that rude to ask?" Steve asks.

"I don't get isolation sickness anymore, not since long before you were even born," Wayne answers. He's still hovering by the door, expecting to be dismissed by Eddie probably, since Steve's not- since Steve doesn't seem to- Eddie doesn't know. Is he too nice to ask out right? Too disturbed by it to even bring it up?

"And, uh, isolation sickness could never effect me," Eddie says, biting the bullet, looking at a wrinkle on his blanket instead of at Steve.

"What?" Steve sounds startled by the answer, as if he can't understand. Maybe he doesn't.

"I can't get isolation sickness."

"That doesn't- everyone but childr-" Steve cuts himself off, and Eddie hears more sniffing before his startled by Steve grabbing his arm. He looks up quickly, and sees Wayne move closer from the corner of his eye, as Steve shoves his nose into Eddie's wrist and takes a deep breath. A sound between a whimper and a whine comes from Steve. "But you- What?"

"Steve."

"Eddie, I don't understand?"

Eddie looks to Wayne, who raises his brows as if to ask want me to tell him? He almost nods, but this is going to be the first of many conversations, and he might as well get the practice in. "Steve. You can only get isolation sickness after your secondary gender develops. I can't. 'Cause I don't have a secondary gender."

Steve blinks at him. Then blinks some more. He opens his mouth, then closes it and blinks even more. "I- how- what? It hasn't developed yet?"

Eddie groans in frustration. "No, Steve. It won't develop ever. I don't have one, I won't have one! No scent gland will ever grow, no second puberty as my body changes to be able to send and receive emotional signals, no bonding gland to establish pack or mate!"

"Wha-"

"Don't! What aren't you getting? I'm a genetic fucking freak of nature who can't ever bond with pack or a mate because I don't have a secondary gender!"

Steve jerks back at Eddie's sudden outburst, "Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't- I wasn't trying to, uhh, offend."

Eddie scoffs and looks away. He wants to roll onto his side, put his back to Steve and block him out. Offend. Eddie's not offended. He's- fuck, he's sad and scared and angry. Because he spent a week flirting freely with Steve, who'd started to flirt back and now it's all back to just being a fantasy in Eddie's mind.

Steve's an alpha. Even if... even if he ever might have entertained the idea of being with Eddie, that's going to be gone now. Alpha's want omega's. They'll settle for a beta, sure, but that's what it is. Settling.

And Eddie's not even that.

He's nothing. No secondary gender, no place in society, he'll always smell like a goddamn child to everyone else. He knows how this goes. Until he's back on the scent blockers, which just make him smell like chemicals, they're going to treat him like a child, or like a pariah.

"Eddie-" Steve says, quiet.

Whatever it is, Eddie doesn't want to hear it. "I'm tired. I hurt. Please leave."

Eddie stares at a spot on the wall as Wayne escorts Steve from his room. He doesn't let himself cry until after counting to thirty in his head once the door's closed.

@i-less-than-three-you @afewproblems @skepsiss

[crookedkingdomruinedme]

my mother wasn't the first to cry when I was born.

Of course, I didn't know this, but it's a small anecdote my parents love telling me. Even though I tore her open, my mother never shed a tear. No, it was my dad that cried when he held me.

"Full-on sobbing," my mom told me, laughing the entire time. "Your father has always been a crybaby." My dad never refuted this, just smiling like he could never imagine not crying.

Now I wonder who it was that cried first, my mom or my dad, when faced with the remains of my body, lifeless and broken beyond repair- like a ragdoll that got used one too many times.

Maa, they broke my hips, crushed my glasses so they stuck into my eyes, walked all over me with their boots, tortured me for their pleasure and had their way with my body, then strangled me to death. Left me there on full display to rot. But can you still call me your pari one more time?

Paa, they used me because I was a girl. Had I been a boy they would have killed me but kept my dignity, but unfortunately, I'm not a boy, so did that mean I am not deserving of even a dignified death? nine to ten of them Paa, I couldn't even see most of them- can you still call me meri bachi once more?

I don't know what I did wrong, Maa, I only ever listened to your words. I couldn't stand what they were doing in that building. Paa, I've always been your brave girl, the one who couldn't stand injustice. Do you wish I had stayed quiet on this? Do you think I may have survived if I acted like I didn't see?

I promise I didn't do anything wrong Paa, I never meant any harm. I swear I didn't tempt them Maa, I had my kurta and my doctor's coat.

My stethoscope broke Maa. My doctor's coat is red now.

Please forgive me.

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 1 - Sharp pain of greif

master list

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I ca

Synopsis: An old farm set on a couple hundred acres of land, surrounded by forest and wildlands. Lucy Maclean is now the new owner of her childhood home, much to her family’s dismay and anger. The land doesn’t feel the same without her Granddaddy around, the woods seem darker and much more vast. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s alone in the middle of nowhere for the first time in her life. Her great uncle Harris has stepped up to help her learn the ropes of the business, which is bigger than Lucy ever imagined. 

Her neighbor Cooper Howard, is happy to meet a new face in the area. Bonding over their shared grief and strife to make ends meet as the world is changing. Their worlds are shaken when Lucy’s home is vandalized, and secrets that were supposed to be buried forever begin to emerge from the woods.  Horror, mystery, and drama all rolled into one. There is something in the woods.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Eventually: Older Man/Younger Woman, Horror themes, long form fic,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Grandpa Tim passed yesterday, as much as Lucy wanted to say it was peaceful, it wasn’t. The man had always been tough as nails, but cancer was tougher. Though Lucy had fought hard to keep him comfortable, there was only so much the Doctors could do. His hand gripping hers as he gasped for breath, feeling his heart rate speed up as his body tried to fight it. But he had signed a DNR, there was no going back. So Lucy sat there with tears in her eyes as she watched the man who had raised her slip away. One of the nurses hugged her and told her she was brave. Brave for letting him go, for letting him finally be at peace. Lucy stayed as they loaded him up onto a stretcher to be taken to the funeral home. Remembering the disappointment on his face when they told him he wouldn’t be a viable organ donor. The cancer had spread too fast and too far for anything to be usedable. It was a final sting, knowing that his body wouldn’t even be able to help others. 

-----

The funeral was big, with everyone within ten counties coming over to say farewell to their favorite farmer. Tim had lived here his whole life and was born on the property where he raised his kids and grandbabies. His wife, Lucy’s Grandma, Shirley was buried in the same plot he would be now. Shirley had died six years ago after undergoing a complicated heart surgery. Now they could be back together again. It was one thing Tim had talked about the most as he neared his final days, how excited he was to see Shirley again. He often pondered if he would wake up in heaven and if she would look as pretty as the day she met him. Or maybe she looked as beautiful as the day she passed. 

Tears flowed all around, Tim was as big as life. He was always the first to help. Wildfire? He'd be there with his tanker trailer, pump, and hoses. Cow with a calf stuck?  He knew how to move the calf just right to get them out. Farmer got hurt? He was there with his tractor to make sure the work still got done. The school needs sponsorship? He'd be the first to give his dollar. He was a salt of the earth man. Tim was from this earth. As he was raised down into his grave, Lucy pulled out a mason jar of dark black earth. He had told her exactly where to go to get it. A little bit from the garden that Shirley had loved, a little bit from around where his favorite animals were buried, and a little from the first piece of land he had ever worked into a field. He wanted to make sure that a piece of the land he loved would be buried with him. 

Lucy could barely hold back the sob as she opened the jar and carefully sprinkled it on top of his grave. Others joined in, some had flowers, and others had their own dirt. A bundle of dried wheat, some oats, canola oil, and a pair of cow ear tags. As the items dropped the feeling of finality swept over Lucy. He was really gone. The man who had supported her through everything over the last twenty-five years was now in a box. Surrounded by the things and people he loved. On his right the love of his life Shirley, and on the left the two sons he had to bury before him. One was Lucy’s Dad, his headstone is where she went, placing another small jar of dirt beside it. Tears ran down her cheeks as she said how much she missed him, and that he needed to give Grandpa a big hug for her. 

—-

“I am not sure why there is even a discussion happening.” Shrilled Henry, the last-born son of Tim MacLean. He was a fidgety bird-like man who had been all too happy to get off the shit-hole farm. His words. 

“I am the only son, so clearly it should go to me,” Henry pipped, examining his perfect nail beds.

“Why would you think Dad would want you to have the farm? You haven't been here since Mom died.” Katie scolded. A favorite daughter, but still a middle child. She was a petite woman who had married a chicken farmer down south, she wasn't frequent to the farm but she always had made sure to phone once a week.

“Katie, you don't got much to say,” Theresa quipped, she was the eldest of six kids. She was three times divorced and spent most of her time in Europe. “You got your own farm and your own land.”

“Never said I wanted the land, Theresa,” Katie bit back at her older sister. “Just figured it should go to someone who could use it.”

“Who says I wouldn't use it?” Henry joined in, “I know plenty of people who would be happy to help.”

“Oh yeah, I am sure your closet of boy toys could be persuaded to help.” Theresa sneered, making Martha, Henry's wife, gasp.

“How dare you!” Martha gasps clutching at her purse.

“Don't you start, Theresa!” Henry added, grabbing his wife's hands and glaring at Theresa.

A roar began in the small waiting room. People arguing and yelling, and a magazine went flying. Lucy tried to tuck herself away from the madness. She was the only Grandkid there and the ‘adults’ were losing it.

“Alright.” A big man in overalls and a brown shirt stood up. Great uncle Harris MacLean, Tim's second youngest brother. The man was imposing and loud, and easily commanded the room. Making sure everyone settled back in their chairs without more damage. 

“What would your father think of all of you? Damn shame. Fighting over what isn't even yours.”  Harris came over and put a comforting hand on Lucy’s shoulder. 

“None of you were here when your Dad got sick. Didn’t hold his hand when he passed. When he asked for your Mama. But y'all sure show up looking for another handout.” Harris sat down beside Lucy. “Pretty sure the will has all the answers.”

The couples and their lawyers murmured between themselves.  Eyes glaring at each other from across the room, the coffee table scatters different papers.

“You doing alright Lucy?” Harris asked, glaring at his relatives, his voice low enough that only she could hear him. 

Lucy shrugged, “Was hoping it would be smoother.” Hoping was one thing, it was another to have this many MacLean's in one room.

“Thought your Mom would have come down.” Harris let out a huff, watching all his shifty relatives closely. 

“She's busy in Mexico with her latest fling.” Lucy sighs shifting uncomfortably in her seat, why were waiting room chairs always so uncomfortable? 

“Of course she is. Oh, Rosealy, you were never much for settling down.” Harris sighed, big hands rubbing against his dirty jeans. Margie would be pissed to know he showed up at the lawyers in stained clothes.

A striking man walked into the room, he was wearing a pinstripe grey suit that matched his silver hair. He was all long legs and a lean figure, the suit made him look imposing. Looking at the room taking in the rag-tag bunch and disheveled coffee table.  

“I am guessing you all are the Maclean family?” He says, a faint hint of British accent tinging his voice. 

“Yes that would be us,” Henry chirped, his eyes wandering over the man. 

The man let out a sigh, “Well I suppose if you are all here, we will read the will. I'm positive we do not have any other space-” He glanced around, “For everyone.” 

Lucy stood up and handed the man a folded envelope. The man opened it and read it through before reading it out loud. 

“Here is the Last Will and Testament of Tim Louise MacLean, of Rosewood, I make this will being in sound mind and body.” The man continued, going through the document quickly. “I leave an account to each of my five grandchildren held in trust till they turn eighteen. To my last daughter Lucy Rose MacLean, I leave all my property, and worldly possessions, as well as give her exclusive access to my accounts. To the rest of my children, I ask that you remember that you never had a want in this world. From schooling to houses, and though I love you into entirety. Lucy was my first grandchild, and my last child to raise, the one who loved the farm more than me or Shirley ever could. She will be the one to make any decision regarding the property and finances. “ 

Lucy’s mouth had fallen open as the room had erupted in an outcry. Her heart pounded in her chest at the realization that Grandpa had left everything to her. She watched as Tim’s kids stood and demanded that the will be read again. That their lawyers would have to read it, Henry going so far as to say he would contest it in court. 

“If everyone would please be quiet,” The man in the suit hollered, loud enough to be heard over the commotion. The room fell silent as they all turned to look at him. “I understand this can be hard news for everyone. But this will was originally formed a decade ago, it has been updated yearly. Including 6 months before Mr. MacLean’s diagnosis. I can assure you that he was of sound mind, it was notarized and signed by three separate witnesses.” 

Henry was sitting with his arms crossed, Theresa looked close to tears, Katie was bright red, and Great Uncle Harris just looked amused. 

“You are all within your legal rights to try and take this to court. But, I can assure you no judge in the area would not dismiss this case outright.” He made sure to look at each of them in the eye.

“As for Ms. Lucy MacLean. I have a large amount of paperwork to go over with you. As well as an appointment with the bank.” His green eyes locked on to Lucy’s.

“May I bring my Uncle Harris with me?” Lucy asked, her hands tight fists in her lap.

“Yes, of course, love.” The lawyer said, before turning on his heel and walking down a hallway.

----

It took three weeks to finalize everything, Henry had gone to the court, and he had tried several times, unsuccessfully to get the will reexamined. At the same time, Lucy was engulfed by phone calls, emails, and more. Most of these were tenants of Tim wanting to sort leasing arrangements, others were about moving cattle to new grazing homes. Lucy was never more grateful for her Uncle Harris, he had known most of these men and women. Was able to handle the negotiations and fill Lucy in on what she needed to do regarding cattle, seeding, planting, and more. There was also opening up the house again. When Tim had gone into hospice,  Lucy, Margie, and Harris had taken time to go through things. Tim had not had many worldly possessions, a fire had taken most of that less than five years before. But things like a new mattress, power hooked up, gas running, and the wood stove inspected all needed to be done. 

Lucy sat in the middle of a mostly empty house. She had decided at the last minute to leave her job as an x-ray tech and move to the farm. It wasn’t ideal, but she also had come into a fair sum of money. Her Grandpa had been a smart man and a frugal one too. He had kept most of his and Shirley’s money tucked away in investment accounts that had built a neat little sum of cash. Shirley had always wanted to travel once they had retired, so she had also stashed money away as well. It hurt Lucy’s heart knowing that they had never gotten to do that. 

But now it was in her hands, sort of kinda, she had leaned heavily on her Uncle Harris. He was so incredibly kind and made sure she never felt stupid about the millions of questions she asked. The first year they were leasing almost everything, the hundred head of cows Grandpa still had would be taken care of by Cooper, a neighbor down the way. Lucy had given herself two years to get herself sorted and get more acquainted with the workings of the farm. 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t known how to do things, she could run a tractor, cut down trees, med fences; she knew how to preg check cows and what to look for when tilling a lot. But the business end of things was a whole different ball game and she was diving headlong into it.

The trailer was doublewide, the living room had a couch and lazy boy, and the kitchen had a table with 4 chairs. The walls were mostly bare except where Lucy had put her artwork. She had also moved a handful of bookshelves in and her desk. It was surprisingly roomy and beat her eighties-era apartment she had lived in for the last five years. She had slid the desk and table together spreading out all the different pieces of paperwork, along with a large map of where all Grandpa’s property was. Her property, she corrected herself. It was hers now, somehow. Where she lived she was surrounded by almost 200 acres of forested land backed onto parkland. Besides the garden beds, barn, and shop it was wild land. It was one thing that Grandpa had asked to stay the same. That the land around the property be left untouched by man or machine, she planned to keep it that way. Even when several large logging companies had called knocking, for Lucy her grandfather's words meant everything.

A knock on the front door woke her from her musing. She also needed to go get a couple of dogs, not just for company; but also so she knew if someone was coming down the long drive. She walked over to the front door, steeling herself to be met with another person wanting to buy or hunt on the land. Opening it she was surprised to see a man standing there in a cowboy hat, fitted jeans, and button-up shirt. Scruffy face with a day’s worth of stubble, bright hazel eyes, and a blinding smile.

“Good afternoon,” The man said with a nod, “I’ve come over to introduce myself -’

“If you’re looking for hunting, logging, buying, grazing, or leasing, I am not interested,” Lucy said curtly, she really didn’t have a lot of time to dally. 

“Oh no,” The man said, holding up a large hand, “I am the neighbor down the road with your Granddad’s cows. And a friend of your Uncle Harris’. He said that you’d moved in just down from me, so figured it was only neighborly to come say hello.”

Lucy’s shoulders sagged a bit, she had gotten so used to people wanting something from her she had forgotten that most folks out here were friendly.

“I am so sorry,” Lucy sighed, “It’s been a tough month. Been a lot of folks wanting a piece of what’s not theirs.”

The man nodded, “I can only imagine. Not many people have morals these days. If there is a buck to be made they’ll take it. My name’s Cooper.” 

He extended a hand, and Lucy took it and gave him a firm handshake. “Lucy, I am Tim’s Granddaughter.”

“Pleasure to meet yah,” Cooper said with the same grin. “Tim was a good man and talked very highly of his last daughter. You meant the world to him.”

Lucy gave a half-hearted smile, it still felt so wrong that her Grandpa was gone. “Do you want to come in? I can make some coffee?”

“Oh, I will take a raincheck on that. Gotta go check on our newest heifers, see who all needs taggin’ and whatnot.” He said a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Want to come?”

Lucy looked back at the table full of papers, “I am gonna have to pass today,” She could see some disappointment flicker across his features. “But let me give you my number,”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he dug into his jeans for his phone, the two of you exchanging numbers. 

“Just in case, umm, you need help with the cows” Lucy felt a bit flustered, “Never know.”

The man smiled and tipped his hat to her, “I will see you around Lucy.”

part 2

** If you enjoyed the fic let me know!

** Want to be on the tag list let me know

** Yes this is fic number 3 please don't yell at me. I've had this one sitting for a while. Will mostly likely be updating this one once/twice a week along with all the others.. I DON'T NEED SLEEP. Sleep is for the dead.

[insuke69]

Scars that make you who you are.

☆ Hobie x FTM trans reader

Transphobia will be blocked <33

★Warnings: Angst, kissing, cursing, body dysmorphia, misgendering mentioned

☆ Rating: 13+

★Symposis: You’re feeling self conscious about your surgery scars, but luckily you have Hobie to help you through it.

☆ 827 Words, Drabble nibble.

You transitioned a while back, hell, most people in your life didn’t really know that you’re trans besides friends who knew you pre-transition and your family, and of course your partner, Hobie, knows too.

You’ve managed to save enough money to be able to afford your top surgery and finally stop wearing binders all the time! You’re comfortable in your own skin for the first time in a while, you finally no longer feel like the boy who had to wear dresses because he was stuck in a feminine body. You were living your life no longer being deadnamed and no longer being referred to with ‘she/her’.

You had your top surgery and had the beautifully flat chest you deserved, yet two crescent lines where the stitches stayed. You remember researching and looking through so many websites stating that it usually takes over six months for the insisions to heal, but thankfully the doctor elaborated, saying that the scars will stay for at least a year, so you knew you had to deal with it.

Besides that, you felt.. Not good. You knew you were lucky to finally have what so many other people wish to afford at all, you finally got rid of those pesky breasts that wouldn’t leave you alone since you were ten. But here you were: shirtless in the mirror with your hands ghosting over your chest.

It’s been a few months, around six months, you’re all healed and aren’t that sore anymore, but your stitches still hurt like if the needle and thread were just stabbed into your sensitive flesh. It already is taking so long for you to heal at all, how the scars have to heal before you can even think about being shirtless comfortably at all? And what about Hobie? What if he isn’t willing to wait with you? Or if-

“Oi, Love, Have you seen my-” Hobie just opened the bathroom door, since you two live together and his gaze was averted towards the sink for what he was looking for, but he paused and looked at your expression before murmuring “ring..”

You look over at him and hesitantly cross your arms over your chest. You haven’t really been topless in front of Hobie since before the surgery, either because you had bandages around you most of the time, or because you didn’t feel confident enough in front of him no matter what the scenario was..

“You alrigh’?” He asked as he walked over to you and settled his hands on your shoulders from behind, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror in front of you two.

His warm hands sooth your skin on your shoulders, relaxing the tense muscles that laid below your flesh. “Nothing, Nothing, just.. I don’t know, my scars feel shitty.”

Hobie’s gaze softened and wrapped his arms around your torso with his hands easing over yours, “Yeah? Why? Does i’ hur’?”

“No, I don’t like them right now, the stitches are healed at least, but they look so shitty.”

As you spoke, Hobie began ghosting gentle kisses on your shoulders and back of your neck, his hands easing yours to relax and to loosen your hold so he could see the remnants of your surgery.

“No way, You’ve go’a be fuckin’ wit’ me.” He murmured almost jokingly as his hands went to your waist and rested on your abdomen from behind, “You’re so handsome, so perfect- tits or nah, scars and all.” You felt his warm breath and lip piercing flush against the side of your neck below your ear. 

His lips closed over your skin and began kissing and sucking your sweet and soft flesh, littering purple bruises on their wake.

You chuckle and tilt your head to the side to give him more access to you, “Sure. Yeah, You’re willing to wait over a year for them to even start to fade?” You asked sarcastically which made Hobie stop kissing your neck and frown at you through the mirror.

His hold hardened and he spun you so you were now facing him and placing a hand on your lower jaw in order to make you look up at him, “I’m willing to wait decades for you just to be able t’see your smile, You won’ be rid of me until I see you adore that boy in the mirror.” 

You smiled at his words, feeling like a warmth in them is sending pure love into your heart, probably because of the pure adoration in his eyes, or the blatant truth he’s saying. Fully confident in himself and reassurance.

He smiles at you before leaning down and kissing your lips, holding you by the hips as he pulled you up onto the bathroom counter. You reciprocate with your same passion while wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Now c’mon, let me adore my man.” Hobie cooed as he eased his hands over your thighs and glide to your knees to spread them.

_____________________

Stopping it right before the smut like a true writer <3

[quietwingsinthesky]

okay going to bed fr now BUT. have a little gifty gift before i go. doctor/master kissys. stupid idiot whose plans fail so tremendously that he got on the doctor’s side by accident and is being seduced to goodness with smooching.

So his timing was a little off. These things happen.

He had a ten year long margin for error, and he’s kicking himself now for not getting it over with sooner. He’d wanted it to really get under the Doctor’s skin. For his own good, or her own good, as it stands/will stand. His future self letting the Doctor keep her on a short leash is embarrassing, but at least the Master has other things to look forward to in that body. The outfit alone had him envious from the minute he’d laid eyes on it.

It’s even better in person. He just wishes that ‘in person’ had come a few hours later. Now, he’s stuck here listening to the Doctor reunite with his poor human pet.

His future self won’t take her eyes off of him. He knows himself too well.

And now, Bill is telling the Doctor that he helped her. That he kept her safe. The Master rolls his eyes. His future self—Oh, she called herself something new. The Mistress. Missy. He likes that. He might steal it for an alias before he regenerates.—raises her eyebrow and catches on immediately to his true intentions. They’d been halfway to the conversion theatre before the Doctor had swung the doors wide open and interrupted everything.

The Doctor turns from Bill to look at the Master. Around him, the Master can see Bill smiling, relieved. The Master scowls before meeting the Doctor’s eyes.

They’re wide, and soft, and surprised.

“You don’t think-“ the Master starts, with disgust, because he absolutely did not help Bill out of the kindness of his hearts, he had a scheme, he had-

The Doctor is moving. The Master straightens, but he doesn’t have a chance to move before there are hands clasping his face. He freezes up, unprepared for what follows. The Doctor kisses him like an meteor. From nowhere, it falls on him, and he can’t escape. Doesn’t try to, when the Doctor’s mouth is warm against his own, unknown to him. He’s had the Doctor’s kisses before but never from these lips. And not at all for a very long time. Like a crack widening, he’s hungry for it, starving, grasping at the Doctor in turn to get more, more, more.

The Doctor pulls back first and too soon. The Master is still hungry. He has to drag himself back to the present moment. He forces his eyes open again, unaware of when they’d shut. The Doctor strokes his face once with his thumbs before letting him go.

Missy’s mouth is pursed in something that’s half pouting, half laughter. The Master tries to think of something to say and can only exhale, gaze jumping from Missy to the Doctor and back again.

“That’s new,” he finally manages. It’s still far too breathy. Embarrassing, to be undone so thoroughly and so easily. “Do you do that now?” The Doctor looks away from him. Bill’s mouth has turned into a perfect ‘O’ the way it does when she’s completely shocked. So, maybe he doesn’t.

“Only for us,” Missy preens.

Or maybe he does.

The Master licks his lips. He was… There was a plan. At some point. He tries to recall it and instead uis mind replays the pressure of the Doctor’s mouth and how perfectly his hands fit around the Master’s face.

Plan. Plan. Plan. Something about Cybermen?

….Could he get another kiss like that somehow?

The Doctor is launching into a pitter-patter of a speech about finding out what’s going on inside this hospital. Or maybe about fixing Bill. The Master isn’t really paying attention. He licks his lips again. The Doctor’s taste is fading.

“So,” Missy’s voice drops conspiratorially low as she leans in close, though her eyes are on the Doctor now, “any new thoughts about our future?”

He makes a few shapes with his mouth. The words that are supposed to fit them don’t come.

“If you want him to do it again, you should really play along,” Missy suggests, “and be close to him when he’s figured something clever out. Not that I’m letting you take the next one.” He narrows his eyes at Missy. She grins, a show of teeth. Good to know he’s not entirely defanged in the future.

A future that is… more appealing than it was five minutes ago. He’s still not sold, but he could be… convinced.

[abigfatbug]

snowballing addictive chain pregnancy that gives you no time to lose any weight and has incrementally more drastic, irreversible effects from an endless barrage of pregnancy + lactation hormones...

(going full mask off shamelessly horny with this one, you've been warned)

Thinking you're relatively safe at first, being *glad* you're not stuck with the combo of being short *and* stick-thin anymore, and having actually *wanted* the newfound curves.

Feeling reasonably confident that you just naturally won't gain too much further than this.

After all, you start your first pregnancy at just 19. You've never been anything *close* to fat before, your metabolism's fresh and sharp, and besides, it's so hard to fit enough extra food in your stomach and keep it down when the babies take up so much space, anyway...

And your first three pregnancies end up being only two singletons and a set of twins, all relatively normal, maybe even a bit small in birth weight. It's nothing *that* crazy, you figure.

But then you're knocked up for the fourth time in only three years, and something's shifting...

With all the back-to-back, your body is being *forced* to get used to this, and never given time to go back to that "old normal".

It's only a singleton this time, and yet this time you feel like you eat more than ever, more easily than ever. The innocuous singleton takes the extra womb elasticity you've developed, the extra nutrition you consume, along with all the excess pregnancy-promoting hormones coursing through you, and becomes your first whopper, comparatively speaking, being born 12 pounds.

You're proud, if a little shocked you had it in you, and think nothing of it, or of how this officially bumped you up to "chubby" and not just "thick" or "curvy". You're so used to seeing yourself swollen already. Desensitization has already set in.

By the time you've crammed eight pregnancies into six and a half years, you're too deeply distracted and exhausted by the double whammy of child-rearing and gestating to notice this is officially getting weird.

Five kids is already sixteen now. After that singleton, your kids have never dipped back below 9 pounds each, even though now, you always have at *least* twins.

You don't take any fertility supplements. You're just unknowingly picking up a strong tendency to hyperovulate, thanks to years of your hormones being out of whack, on top of the natural higher odds for repeat pregnancies to be multiples.

Your entire body chemistry and abdominal cavity's shifted and adjusted itself to the point it no longer matters how pregnant you are, you never have much trouble indulging every craving that crosses your mind. Your stomach has far more stretch and resilience than before, and has long since been forced to get used to the ups and downs. Morning sickness seems to be something you simply outgrew. You don't even bother to wonder if maybe you shouldn't be so indulgent. You're a parent of sixteen, of course you deserve to be nice to yourself whenever you can.

After ten years of this, you've recklessly managed to squeeze *thirteen* pregnancies into that timeframe.

The doctors don't know what to say. You're something of a medical mystery at this point. Much like how someone with extreme morbid obesity can actually be worse off from the strain of losing it, it's feared that the same may apply to your continual state of insatiable pregnancy.

You've popped out forty-one kids by now. At this point, you only ever seem to get pregnant with *litters*. All but one of the last five batches have been at least quadruplets. Your latest go around was a surprise set of almost freakishly big septuplets, misindentified as sextuplets thanks to all the blubber you've piled on.

Your breasts have become utterly out of control, each obviously bigger than your head and often difficult for you to even see past as you lie in bed. They get sore at the drop of a hat without several milkings a day. Your body's accidentally become stimulated to over-lactate, just as it hyper-ovulates worse than ever. And the demand of both making milk and growing oversized fetuses means that now, you only ever seem to have the worst, most fattening sorts of cravings.

Lately, your body seems determined to never let a single infant be born under 13 pounds, and it seems to *know* this is impossible to do on an even *remotely* clean diet.

Meat. Carbs. Sugar. Grease. *Quantity*. You don't just want it, you *need it* around the clock. You feel *awful* when you haven't been pigging out enough. Medical wisdom dictates that you should feel awful regardless... But honestly, as long as you get food and aren't asked to move around much anymore, you actually feel *much* too good to bring yourself to *stop*. And through raging hormones and stubborn, reckless indulgences, you seem to have accidentally ruined your stomach's ability to ever even actually *tell* you when you're full.

Once you've officially racked up fifteen years of this, and find yourself already in the midst of your twentieth pregnancy, bringing with it God-knows-how-big nonuplets to round out the ranks from eighty-three to a solid ninety-two hungry mouths to feed.

The last batch of the same had a "runt" who still managed 15 pounds, and a giant who'd somehow hit 24 and a half.

The media went into a frenzy at the realization this was the hugest newborn *ever*, despite having to contend with *eight* rivals for food and space.

It likely has something to do with how your much-abused stomach not only doesn't know what "full" means anymore, it's also forgotten how to stop telling you you're "hungry". The best you can do is reducing it to an incessant but tolerable peckishness, requiring nigh-endless snacking on pizza, ice cream, brownies, and cheeseburgers to achieve, interspersed with being tube-fed a thick, vitamin-fortified shake, recently reformulated to include heavy cream and butter.

After all, your health paradoxically *plummets* if you're not constantly overfed now, your body genuinely relying on gluttony to sustain its unnatural state of over-fertility.

And just not getting knocked up again simply isn't in the cards. There's no more stopping. No more changing your mind. It's as if your soft, heaving blubberbound form simply doesn't know "how" to go back to normal. Pregnancy *is* its normal, now. You genuinely feared for your life when they tried to keep your spouse from knocking you up, only to soon inexplicably recover when it was allowed, against all logic. You're thankful for your spouse's creativty, along with the reinforced, adjustable bariatric bed and the systems of ceiling-mounted pulleys and slings the medical team devised, or it would've been fundamentally impossible.

On a good day, you can churn out nine, closer to nine and a half gallons of milk now. They note that nowadays, it's oddly rich and thick, too, no doubt because of some strange new hormonal imbalance of yours, brought on by your confused body being constantly screamed at to provide more than it was ever meant to. In turn, it forces your body to demand yet *more* sustenance to fuel its needless, wasteful decadence, keeping you further trapped in your endless, distended, engorged cycle of excess.

In contrast, your children seem surprisingly normal and unassuming as they mature. That is, until everyone from about the eighth pregnancy onwards...

Nobody's *precisely* sure what it is, but essentially, some mumbo-jumbo mismash of altered epigenetics, hormones, nutrients, and natal environment seems to have permanent knock-on effects, from that point on.

*You* were almost flat as a board before all this began. So it goes for some of your eldest daughters. But then... before you know it, at a certain point, the rest all end up with at *least* a set of mildly absurd, unwieldy K-cups by the time they hit 18.

*You* were a waifish thing, desperately wishing you could *gain* a bit of weight, at that age.

After that nebulous tipping point in birth order, you end up with overgrown, strapping sons and curvaceous, voluminous daughters who've grown up to find that they practically can't even *look* at a cupcake if they'd like to stay below 250, or even 300, apiece.

Neither you or your husband were ever particularly strong, and yet, when some of these sons get fed up with being bullied for being from an "oversized family of freaks", and start hitting the gym, they head off to college amidst swarms of rumors that they *must* be on some potent cocktail of growth hormones and steroids.

What else would explain all three being massive, virile, studs, each built like refrigerators, at least 350 pounds apiece and standing at no less than 6'8 each?

And when the first daughter within this odd category trips up and gets pregnant, betrayed by a mix of a bubbly personality with an uncommonly high libido and a rather worrying natural resistance to birth control...

Nobody can say they're too shocked when despite her almost lifelong plumpness, she begins showing extremely early. Or when they discover it's going to be *sextuplets*, or that her already uncommonly intense appetite now includes *ravenous* cravings for the unhealthiest, greasiest foods she can find. It's not at all surprising when her milk comes in so early and so aggressively, or when her newly expanded diet rapidly adds even *more* padding on top of all the lush, creamy softness that she'd spent her whole life utterly incapable of shifting.

Nobody can be surprised when the same keeps happening to her sisters. When they keep failing to keep their legs closed, and keep failing to say no to unchecked hedonism, one by one. When even a couple of her supposedly thin, small-chested, "normal" older sisters get a bit careless, have kids a bit too close together, and start to descend into the same cycle that gripped you.

All because of your hedonism, your stubbornness, your obsessions and indulgences, you irrevocably altered and awakened something within not just yourself, but your *future bloodline*.

And the only question is...

Might these changes be even *further* amplified, as the generations carry on?

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Part 3

Chapter 4: Doctor's Visit

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 2.2k

As soon as the doors to the clinic were open, Ace was dragging you inside. He even wore a shirt without you having to remind you. He was that desperate to get you in.

You couldn’t blame him. Neither of you had gotten much sleep. When you finally managed to doze off, you were haunted by horrific dreams. It was almost better to be awake and sleep deprived. But when you were awake, you were also nauseous. Both states of being were about equally as miserable. 

Ace hadn’t slept well either. You knew he was anxious to be on an island. He wanted to be out at sea, chasing down Teach. And you couldn’t blame him. Justice had to be dealt and you were keeping him tied down, waiting for the clinic to open their doors. 

The doctor took you quickly, though they made Ace wait in the lobby. It made you nervous to be separated from him, but it would be easier to talk about your actual concerns this way. 

You gave a false name and age to the worker, not wanting your records to be found by anyone. Then they took your weight and blood pressure, which they noted was a bit high. That would be reason for concern, if you weren’t in the process of tracking down your uncle’s killer.  

“My name is Ali,” the young nurse said. “What brings you in today.?”

“Quite frankly,” you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “I think I’m pregnant.”

“Oh!” Ali said, her eyes widening in shock.

“The guy out in the lobby doesn’t know yet. I just wanted to get a test to be certain before I told him.”

“Of course.” Ali nodded and began writing some information down on her sheet. “I’ll order some labs for you, and take some blood. Should I bring him back or leave him out there?”

You sighed in relief. This girl really was a godsend. She knew exactly what you needed. 

“Can you bring him back?” you asked. “That would be great.”

She went and gathered Ace, who you referred to as Axel in front of the staff, and then began to prepare for a blood sample. As she tried to take your blood, you realized you had forgotten to give her very important information. 

“Oh!” You pulled away from the incoming needle, startling the nurse. “I’m sorry, I just forgot to tell you- I have a devil fruit power. Logia type.”

“Oh dear,” Ali said, quickly pulling away her needle. “I totally forgot to ask you that question as a part of the screening. Here-” she handed you a bracelet that had green stone and an adjustable leather cord. “If you’ll just put that on, we can get started.”

When you put it on, you hardly felt different. You felt a little more solid than you usually did, but that was about it.

“What is this?” you asked, examining the bracelet around your wrist. 

“Sea prism,” the nurse said. You felt Ace stiffen beside you. Sea prism usually meant bad things for pirates, but you trusted this woman.

 “It’s an extremely weakened version of it, so it just negates your abilities without physically weakening you. You’ll need it if-” she paused, her eyes flitting over to Ace. “Well, we can talk about the uses for it later.”

She easily stuck the needle in and drew out a few vials of blood, and then sent them off to the lab. “We’ll have results in about ten to twenty minutes. Just hang tight, okay?”

You gave her a tense smile. “Thanks.”

Ace looked pale and sick. You couldn’t blame him. Usually when people were this kind, it was a trap. Every bone in your body was telling you to flee. But you couldn’t run away this time. You had to wait for the results. 

“Are you going to die?” Ace whispered. “I know I said you could go first, but I didn’t mean this soon.”

“I’m not going to die, Ace,” you said. “Let’s just wait for the results, okay?”

You didn’t have to wait long, thankfully. Ali had worked some kind of laboratory magic, and came back in less than ten minutes. 

When the door opened, Ace’s hand interlaced in yours and he held onto it tightly, as if you were his only anchor for survival. 

Ali gave you a big grin as she shut the door, looking at the two of you with pure joy on her face. “I believe some congratulations are in order!”

“Congratulations?” Ace asked, confusion written all over his face. 

You wanted to puke. You were right. And now Ace was about to find out. 

“All of the bloodwork came back normal,” Ali confirmed. “Except for the pregnancy test. That came back positive.”

You gripped Ace’s hand tighter than you thought possible, but Ace was still processing her words. 

“Pregnancy test?” He looked at you, his eyes wide with fear. “You’re pregnant?”

“It looks like she’s about done with her first trimester!” Ali squeaked, her excitement palpable in the room. You wished you could feel the same. 

“Ali-” you cleared your throat, trying to maintain your composure. “Can we have a minute?”

“Oh!” Ali’s face flushed with pink. “Of course. Let me give you some privacy to talk about this, and then we can go over everything you need to know.”

Ace was still staring at you, unbelieving and unaccepting. You flinched slightly as the door shut, waiting for Ace to say something. Anything. 

“How long?” Ace demanded. “How long have you known?”

“Last night,” you admitted. “The no-moon made me realize.”

“We were so careful!”

You sighed. “The onsen.”

Ace’s eyes got wide. “Fuck,” he hissed. “I forgot about that.”

“I swear I didn’t know before last night,” you promised. 

“I believe you,” Ace said. “You were too stubborn about that no-moon.”

You gave a nervous laugh that quickly died, leaving the room wrapped in an eerie silence. 

“What do we do?” you whispered, tears filling your eyes. Now that it was real, it all felt so scary. 

“What do you mean? We’re having a baby!” Ace laughed, a toothy smile emerging from his previously concerned face. “I thought you were dying, but this is great news in comparison!”

“But-” you paused to wipe away your tears. “You said you didn’t want kids.”

He put a hand atop your stomach, staring down at where your child was growing. “I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind?”

“Yep.” He gave another soft smile, staring at your stomach with complete love and infatuation. “We’re gonna be better parents than even Pops. Think we can do that?”

You laughed, choking out a sob as well. “I thought you said pirates-”

He cut your words off with his lips; a kiss that was long and deep, and all of your doubt was instantly replaced with love. 

He finally pulled away from your lips, pressing his forehead against yours. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

You gave him a tearful smile and nodded in agreement. “Okay,” you whispered. 

“I really thought you were going to die,” Ace whispered. “This is nothing compared to that.”

Ace couldn’t stop staring at your belly, that goofy grin still widespread across his face. He was still staring when Ali knocked on the door a few minutes later, and came back in. 

“How are we feeling?” she asked, her eyes glancing between you and Ace. 

“Great!” Ace was cheerful and enthusiastic as he spoke to Ali, but he kept his hand protectively over you. 

“Awesome!” Ali said, turning back to you. “There’s a lot of information we need to go over, but the most important is that bracelet. It’s yours now. Keep it on unless you need to use your devil fruit powers.”

“Wait, what? Why?” you asked, looking at the sea prism bracelet. 

“Logia users are at the highest risk of a failed pregnancy. Your body goes through extreme changes and isn’t even always solid sometimes. You may be able to handle those changes like it’s nothing, but a baby can’t.

“We recommend you keep your ability usage down to around 15 minutes over an hour span between months two through four. I’m guessing your body has been having some weird reactions over the past few weeks? The pregnancy would be the reason for it. Keeping that bracelet on should help negate those adverse effects, as well as clear up any major nausea and major sickness you’ve been having.”

“Wow,” you whispered. “I had no idea. That makes so much sense.”

“Between months five and nine,” Ali continued on, handing Ace a pamphlet. “We recommend no ability usage at all unless absolutely imperative circumstances. It’s very dangerous to the baby for the mother to use powers during that time. That bracelet will be your absolute best friend over the next few months. I hope you like green!”

You gave a light laugh as you continued to stare at the bracelet, but you could feel dread bubbling up inside you. If you couldn’t use your powers, you weren’t sure how much help you would be at any time over the next few months, for Ace or for your family. 

“I’m sure you’re worried about losing the bracelet,” Ali said, misunderstanding your unease. “We’ll give you a bag with two more in it, just in case one breaks or gets lost. And you can always come back to this clinic or any clinic on the Grand Line, most of them have a form of this in stock.”

“What about the baby?” Ace asked. “You said months two through four she should only be using her devil fruit powers 15 minutes an hour, but we’re on month three. Is there anything to be worried about?”

“We’ll do a routine checkup,” Ali said, turning to look at you. “But months two through four are more for the mother's sake. Preparing you to not be reliant on your powers as well as keeping the sickness at bay.”

You gave a nod, but your hand reached out to find Ace’s again. This was too much information. There was no way you would remember it all. He gripped your hand reassuringly, giving you an encouraging squeeze every now and then as Ali rambled through more specific deatils. 

She went over hundreds of other pieces of information, each thing coming with its own pamphlet or handout. Where to get checkups, how to get proper nutrition, things to look out for and things that were completely normal. It was overwhelming, and by the end of it, your head was spinning. 

The two of you walked out of the clinic, hands full of vitamins, appointment schedules, and the results of a healthy baby. It felt like an eternity ago that Thatch had died, and you wanted to cry remembering he was gone. How had you already forgotten so quickly?

As you and Ace walked back to the boat, you passed a board full of bounty posters. 

“Hey!” Ace called you back to the board. “Our bounties went up.”

You scowled. “We didn’t even do anything!”

He gave you a wicked grin. “They probably assumed the masterminds were involved in the embargo Thatch did the other week.”

His face fell at the mention of his fellow commander. It was clear that he had forgotten too. You walked back to the board, trying not to think about it too hard. Now was not the time for sadness. It was time for revenge. 

“What are they now?” You scanned the board, looking for your bounty poster. Both you and Ace had gotten updated photos after the Marine Ball incident, and it took a second to find them. 

“You’re at 550 million!?” you whispered, thoroughly impressed. Six months ago he hadn’t even been at a million, and now he was over halfway to a billion. 

“And you’re 790 million,” Ace smirked, nudging you playfully. “Look at you go.”

You rolled your eyes. “The Navy only sees Newgate.”

Ace pulled down your poster and shoved it in his pocket, and he stared at the board again, his mouth hanging wide open. 

“What?” you asked, looking where your poster had been. 

A straw hat. Not just any straw hat. Uncle Red’s old straw hat. The one he had promised to you years and years ago. 

“Hey!” you shouted. “I know that hat!”

“You know that hat?” Ace yelled back, his enthusiasm growing. “I know that kid! That’s Luffy!”

“Luffy?!” You looked back at the poster. Monkey D. Luffy. Ace’s little brother. 

You looked at him. “You’re telling me that your little brother stole my hat? Your family just keeps stealing all the stuff that was promised to me!”

He laughed at your joke, and you found yourself laughing along too. It had been a long time since you had thought about your promised position in a bitter way, and an even longer time since you had thought about that hat. 

“We should go see him,” Ace offered wistfully. “I was browsing the papers while you were with the nurse. Sounds like Teach was heading back to Paradise to form a crew.”

“Man, it’s been forever since I’ve been to Paradise.” You pulled down Luffy’s bounty poster, examining it as you walked. “You know Luffy already has a higher bounty than you did a few months ago, right?”

Ace groaned and shook his head. “The Navy is different with rookies now than they used to be. They don’t underestimate them anymore.”

“Or maybe he’s just stronger,” you said, sending him a cheesy grin as he rolled his eyes. 

“Come on.” He snatched Luffy’s poster out of your hand, but gingerly folded it up and placed it in his pocket. “We’ve got a pirate to find.”

--

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[nyctophiliq]

✮ ┆ KEEPING UP APPEARANCES. deadlock

CONTENT WARNINGS.               18+ only, minors dni. NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; trans girl! reader, public sex, teasing, outdoor sex, hand job, clothed sex, not proofread | ~1,2k words A/N.               reuploading this because i accidentally took it down LMAOO

the idea of getting out of the closed metal corridors of the protocol first seemed a horrible idea because of the rapidly growing number of missions that needed to be taken care of. but once you dropped unconscious during a simple staff meeting sage advised you to take a couple of days off to try and relax. seeing your determination to not follow the doctor’s orders, iselin went ahead and suggested something simple like a picnic so both of you could take time off.

“i’d hate to be a killjoy, but what is all this?” you laugh as you see the platter of food that iselin was taking out of the wooden picnic basket and placing on the red-white checkered blanket. she looks up at you, in the midst of taking your drinks out with a small and excited smile, a little of her teeth showing before she bites her lip and ushers you with her hand to sit down.

“some norwegian food, I’m not the best cook but we never have time to try something new so this could be it!” she says, pointing at all the little plates with two bigger servings of food. there were many things, sandwiches, fish, some kind of balls, and even a container of desert-looking deliciousness.

you straighten your skirt out, carefully sitting down next to deadlock who takes the clingwrap off of the plates and offers the food to you one by one, telling you about the stories behind them between bites. by the end of it, you can’t say you regret breaking out of the cold

iselin’s head rested on your shoulder, legs crossed as she listened to you talk about how delicious the food that she prepared for you was. you were so focused on going on and on about the new tastes that you didn’t notice the blonde's hand comfortably resting on your thigh, confidently climbing up under your skirt little by little.

it took another ten minutes until you noticed her hand creeping, fingers brushing against the skin as she slowly pulled your skirt up. trying to pay no attention to it you kept your cool, but your breath hitched, and your words became shaky as the thoughts of iselin's hand palming you plagued your mind.

you give her a glance, a sort of warning, but more of a scared look when her fingertips graze over your panties, just above the hem of your black skirt that had ridden up higher than expected, and your eyes widen when you feel her touch you through your underwear. but your eyes immediately snapped back at the sight of her smirking, her face inching closer to yours until her lips glide across the shell of your ear.

“be a good girl and be quiet, okay kjære?” she whispers, her hot breath combined with her teasing rubs making the thin material covering you feel suffocating, especially the nice underwear that you put on.

"iselin, please..." you breathe, barely able to just reach out to grab her arm, trying to make her move her hand or just stop this public torture she has put you under. "i need you,"

"hmm, while outside with all these people who might see?" you look around as she says it, watching as a few people pass by in the distance but also noting that it is getting a bit dark, the sun hiding behind a giant cloud. the chances of getting caught still riled you up, but it get you hotter to think about the chances lowering with the shades covering you.

"mm, isn't that what you were l-looking for when you forced me outside?"

"what a clever girl." you sighed pleasantly at the praise, a small giggle leaving you but soon cut off as iselin's hand finally found your aching cock under your panties, giving it a few experimental pumps. you watched your girlfriend's hand move under your skirt with your breath stuck in your throat, fingers balling up into a fist as the small shocks of pleasure ran down your body.

iselin loved every moment, the way your hips jerked into her hand, feeling your precum dribble down between her hand and your skin. not to mention how excited she got over the bare thought of how much you will struggle keeping quiet, having to hold your breath, choke on your own sounds, and trying to fight back against her when you were just a matter of a stroke or two away from coming.

"how eager." deadlock gently whispered into your ear before nibbling on your lobe.

"s-shut up..." you said softly under your breath, cheeks hot.

the blonde snickered before rubbing her thumb around your tip causing you to suck in a shaky breath through your teeth. "i just thought it was cute." she said simply before moving her hand back, wrapping her soft fingers back around you.

you shiver, biting onto your lower lip as iselin continues. she knew exactly how to get you to cum quickly, what the right speed was, and what the exact spot was where you were the most sensitive. your breathing was labored, your other hand gripping the edge of the blanket tightly and sweat dripped down from your forehead.

she knows exactly what buttons to push, and she presses them all without hesitation, causing you to let out an audible moan. she moves your hair back so that she can kiss the side of your neck, leaving a few sloppy kisses behind.

"this is my favorite part." she murmurs into your skin. "the moments where you don't know what will happen but know that i will do anything for you." you could practically taste the smug smile on her voice as you hear it. with this she picks up her pace, a still steady but faster rhythm of stroking your shaft, making sure to press her thumb a little harder against the underside of your dick, putting extra pressure of your pulsing vein.

the greedy attention that you receive is one you cannot bear anymore, coming with little pathetic groans while choking on your breath, trying not to be loud. your whole body arching upwards, your dick pouring ropes of cum into iselin's hand and your panties. the blonde giving it some last caresses, milking you for everything you had before releasing your spent cock and wiping her hand first with the inside of your skirt, then the corner of the blanket.

you collapse against deadlock, exhausted and panting heavily. you tried to catch your breath before looking up at her. iselin's face was contorted into a mix of amusement, pride, and satisfaction. her now clean hand came up, cupping your cheek before leaning down and kissing you sweetly. "let's go home." she cooed before letting out a sigh of relief and standing up, offering you her hands as she tried to help you stand up. "are you alright?" she asks with a smirk, pulling on your hand. you nod, but despite taking her hand not pushing yourself up when she pulls on your hand. she laughs, still admiring your glowing features, and suggests that you gather yourself in a teasing tone. with a little groan, you agree and just enjoy the lingering bliss.