#women don’t draw armpits like that.

[octahyde]

you can tell the hearts/octa mangaka are gay men from how they draw armpits and also yuutas entire existence

[honestsycrets]

mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it. 

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free. 

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.” 

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--” 

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--” 

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.” 

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face. 

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets. 

“She likes it.” 

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.” 

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar. 

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.” 

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.” 

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,” 

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face. 

“As many as will make you happy.” 

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.” 

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?” 

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for. 

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father. 

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.” 

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."  

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable. 

 Low sperm count his ass. 

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it. 

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.” 

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.” 

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel. 

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them. 

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.” 

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly. 

“Sí, Miggy?” 

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so. 

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that. 

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place. 

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.  

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck. 

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone. 

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day. 

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is. 

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready. 

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.” 

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.” 

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.” 

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck. 

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.” 

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest. 

“Who would come in?” 

“Peter,” you answer. 

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see. 

“The balcony, then.” 

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?” 

“Maybe.” 

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter. 

“Bend over.” 

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now. 

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.” 

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”  

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?” 

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again. 

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back. 

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability. 

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable. 

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach. 

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body. 

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs. 

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days.  “Like… not this.” 

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers. 

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.” 

“Don’t start.” 

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--” 

“Let me guess. She told you.” 

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”  

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe. 

“Are you sure? I know--” 

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.” 

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?” 

He leers. Peter scuttles away. 

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

[lipglossanon]

22 December

Moaner!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pervert Leon, stalker Leon, obscene phone calls, name calling, degradation, masturbation

Black Christmas (1974) homage 💜

not proofread

You wave the cigarette smoke away from your face. Brittany giggles and blows another puff your way, sending your irritation spiking as you stand up from the sofa. 

“You’re such a child,” you sneer at her. “I hope you get cancer.”

“Hey!” She frowns at you, bubbly laughter dropping off. “What a shitty thing to say to someone.”

“But you’re not someone,” you smile sweetly. “You’re just a dumb bitch.”

Before Brittany can move from the couch, the den mother steps in with a haggard face. She’s nearing her 50’s and her days of putting up with hormonal young women are drawing to a close. 

“Now you two, be nice,” she chides, tired eyes moving between you both. “Brittany go pack. Your dad called a few minutes ago saying he’s on his way to pick you up for the airport.”

She stands from the sofa, running a hand through her box blonde hair. “Thank you, Miss Margaret. It’ll be nice to spend the holidays with family, something not all of us have.”

She grins, a nasty showing of her bleached teeth, “Have a lovely holiday, sister.”

“Hope your plane explodes on take off,” you shoot back, listening as Miss Margaret sighs in defeat—both of you watching Brittany disappear around the corner. 

“I wish you girls wouldn’t fight like that. It’s so unbecoming,” she pats her pockets, pulling out a peppermint candy, wrapper crinkling when she opens it.

“Well, if she wouldn’t have screwed me over with that Professor, then I wouldn’t have any issues with her.”

Patting your arm, the den mother makes her way back out of the room. “I know, dear. But thankfully, you’ll have a break from her over the holidays.”

Standing next to the tree in the empty living room, you pinch the bridge of your nose, willing yourself not to get a headache. The shrill ring of the landline cuts into your thoughts like a dull knife. Blowing out a breath, you walk into the foyer and pick up the corded receiver. 

“Hello, Alpha Beta Theta house.”

Loud breathing comes over the line, like they’ve just finished running a marathon. 

“Hello?”

A shuddering groan fills your ear along with a wet squelching noise, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Is—is anyone there?” You clear your throat. 

“Unh, unh,” a masculine voice finally makes a more pronounced noise. “Mmm.”

“You know prank calls can get you in a lot of trouble,” you twist the cord in your fingers, nerves beginning to get the best of you.

A raspy laugh before he speaks. “Bet you have a tight piggy cunt. Little miss uptight bitch.”

Fear and anger burn hot in your chest. “Did Brittany put you up to this? Well, fuck her and fuck you too, you fucking loser.”

You slam the phone down onto the cradle. Clenching your fists at your sides, you want to scream. You want to kick and slap and hit and gouge and—

The shrill ring of the phone has you baring your teeth at it like a feral dog. Snatching it up on the second trill, you bring the receiver up to your face.

“Alpha Beta Theta.”

The words are pulled from your mouth like rotten teeth. 

“Don’t hang up on me again, you cunting whore.” The man hisses at you. “I’ll rape all of your holes and then make more to stuff my cock into.”

Sweat beads on the back of your neck along with your palms and under your armpits. 

“W-who are you?”

He laughs again. “No one. Now stay on the line.”

The wet sound from earlier picks up, only this time it’s louder. He grunts and you suddenly realize what he’s doing. 

Schlick, schlick, schlick. 

It’s insane and disgusting—

and yet—

You clench your thighs, clit achy while you listen to this pervert jerk off. He curses under his breath and it makes your nipples stiffen. Gripping the phone in your hand so tightly the plastic creaks, you breathe in shakily. He must hear it cause his noises pick up speed, the wet slide of what has to be his fist around his cock grows louder still. 

“Wanna stick my face in your fat piggy cunt, lick those pretty piggy lips and suck on your juicy piggy clit.”

Instead of disgust, arousal pools hot and heavy in your core, panties sticking to your wet pussy. He groans brokenly, words bitten off as you listen to him cum on the other side of the call. Your hand begins to cramp from the grip you have on the receiver, making you swap over to the other ear.

Breathing heavily for a few moments, he sighs out a hum. 

“Merry Christmas, cunt.”

Those are his last words as the dial tone blares to life. You sit the phone down and shakily walk back into the living room. Pussy empty and aching, you sink down on the couch cushions. 

“Who was that, dearie?” 

Miss Margaret stands on the other side of the room in the doorway leading to the kitchen. 

“Uh, no one,” you repeat the pervert's answer. “Just a wrong number.” 

“Oh, okay.”

She heads back into the kitchen, leaving you alone with your messy thighs and turbulent thoughts.

[hilda3v3]

🔞18+ minors DNI🔞

🔞WILL BLOCK AGELESS BLOGS🔞

🔞NS/FT BLOG🔞

🔞GROSS AND TABOO KINKS🔞

Losers, sluts, bitches, nerds THAT ARE WOMEN/NBS only. Will block men who interact.

🖤Enter if you dare🖤

My names Mathilda, welcome to my blog.

Identity: Butch lesbian & trans woman

Pronouns: She/her + masc titles like sir or daddy. (don’t call me a boy, or he/him…)

On here I might post some photography, some poetry, some bass playing, some selfies, some stuff about my life, and maybe some training footage. Maybe a sexy pic or two, who knows. Also yearning, lots of yearning.

🖤LESBIANS OF ALL SHAPES AND SIZES🖤WOMEN BUTCHES FEMMES MASCS FEMS ENBIES TRANS GIRLS LESBOYS MAKE MY HEART BEAT FAST😈

Free Palestine, Black Lives Matter, end trans hate. If any of that offends you, then you’re not welcome.

Kinks past the break

please don’t judge 😣

VVV

Stuff not on the bdsm test:

gentle choking, praise, biting, scratching, marks, hair pulling, knives, blood, spit, sweat, scent, voice, power imbalance, blindfolding, oral fixation, fauxcest, impact, cnc, intox, somno, free use, inspection, muscles, smothering, feet, armpits, lesser known cnc roleplay (think ‘dares’, ‘bets’, ‘accidentally’ going to far, ‘lying’ about just the tip), force fem (reluctantly loving it and just shy), clothed stuff (dry humping, stepped on by a boot, lifting a skirt, pulling panties aside, groping under a shirt etc)

Hard no:

peeing on me or them, fauxcest/ageplay being taken too far, scat, farting, raceplay, sissy, misgendering

Specific fantasies:

Genuinely fighting and wrestling for dominance. Against someone much stronger, against someone roughly equal, or against someone much weaker. Every option has sooo much potential 🫠

Pervert Butch who won’t stop grabbing me or kissing me, won’t take no for an answer, picks out easy access clothes for me, stares shamelessly, parades me around their friends and shows off how much of a slut I am by making me show my body, touching me in front of them, letting them use me.

Little who draws crayon drawings of us as stick figures holding hands, calls me daddy, who’s so so sweet, that I punish even though she’s been good all day. who I tie down and fuck relentlessly while they tell me no daddy no.

Teased all day by bratty little sister. Until a bet goes wrong and I’m tied down and teased until I can’t take it anymore and break free. Pinning her down while she begs me for forgiveness and not to. Doing it anyways because “isn’t this what you wanted all along?”

Being asked to talk (or dragged) somewhere private during a party or gathering, so they can force themself on me

Snarling wolf x Little kitty/puppy/bunny/fawn

TEACHER WHO ABUSES OUR SPECIAL TEACHERS PET RELATIONSHIP, ABUSES MY TRUST AND BODY BY USING THEIR POSITION OF AUTHORITY, TELLING ME THEY KNOW I WANT IT AND IGNORING MY PLEAS TO STOP

Domme taking a break from a task by teasing and stimulating me through my clothes, moaning in my ear how much of a slut I am then shoving me aside like trash

[ryuichirou]

Replies

A lot of replies! A bunch about a Florid Prison Warden AU comic from yesterday, a couple about other fandoms, one about antis, a bunch of shippy stuff (Falena/Leona, Lilia/Silver), some spicy stuff etc.

Anonymous asked:

Prison Warden au is back!

Yes!! After almost a year... I am amazed that so many people remember this AU. Thank you...

Anonymous asked:

How long can Floyd possibly hide Riddle in his cell? Also, how did he knock him out to begin with?

Riddle is currently far away from the prison, he was knocked out pretty much for the entirety of Floyd’s escape and has no idea where he is. He is technically in a cell right now... but in a different kind of cell.

Knocking him out wasn’t that difficult, Floyd just went ahead and squeezed him very tightly~ Until Goldfishie fell asleep...

Anonymous asked:

So what will they do to Riddle now?

Anonymous asked:

So Riddle got kidnapped after Floyd escape? Now I wonder what happened.

Well, for now Riddle will stay at an undisclosed location in the middle of nowhere in some dark room, and Floyd will have to take care of him. How the turns have tabled, eh? Now Goldfishie is the one being locked up <3 These two will have a lot of fun during Riddle’s stay! And Riddle is going to end up being traumatised for sure...

But they probably won’t be able to keep him there forever, so who knows what will happen next?

Anonymous asked:

You have made Sukufushi art before??? Omg why was I not aware of this

Hehe yes!! It was ages ago, but I used to draw these two a lot. We didn’t post the majority of my jjk sketches though because we didn’t really post very often back then + didn’t think anyone really wanted to see them, which was kind of true lol

Anonymous asked:

I'm the one who asked about Bobobo.  It's a very silly, nonsensical, random show.  An evil empire is trying to make everyone bald and a man fights them with his armpit and nose hair.  There's also a guy who fights with farts.  It's been awhile since I watched it but I think there were a few serious, dark moments, though most of it's a lead up to a joke.  I wondered if you and Katsu would like it cause the reason I watched Gintama was cause it reminded me of it and iirc you've Gintama

Oh god, so it’s this kind of show (in a good way)!

Dark and heavy moments that are a lead up to a joke is honestly one of my favourite ways to treat comedy+drama, this is why we love Gintama so much (and also Osomatsu-san and also South Park lol). Bobobo really does sound like it has this same vibe.

I don’t know if we’ll watch it anytime soon, but I’ll definitely keep it in mind. Thank you, Anon!

Anonymous asked:

Regarding the sneezing HCs, do you think Malleus will spit fire and roast everything in front of him when he sneezes? Bro has pretty bad control over his magic after all LMAO

YES. THIS IS SUCH A GOOD POINT AND I DIDN’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.

Hoo boy, just imagine Malleus feeling like he is about to sneeze and Lilia running from the other side of the dorm to grab his nose because he knows it never ends well.

Anonymous asked:

About the response talking about antis, yeah it's hard for me to look for fics and fanart because I'll often run into antis...

I feel like part of it might be that they don't look at who a game is for or what genre it is apart from RPG/visual novel/ect, I don't think they know what joseimuke is (and I'm a still lil confused on the target audience of those as well, but I think it's mainly women with a disposable income?) and they think the target audience's age = casts' age, so since the cast is teens, then it's for teens by their logic...even though shows like South Park exist and I ain't showing that to a young kid.

I'd like to give them the benefit of the doubt that they genuinely think they're helping people/doing good things/ect since a lot of them aren't adults, but I can't.  I just can't get that impression from them at all.  The "nicest" I can be towards them is that they're young and dumb and will hopefully grow out of it or they need therapy but can't get it for some reason and this a kind of cry for help

Let’s be honest: if they weren’t dicks about it, no one would even care. We all understand that people don’t like some things, and all of us don’t like certain categories of people in our own fandoms, this is just a human experience. Minding your own business is what matters, and this is what they can’t do.

The majority of them are young and dumb, and a lot of them will grow out of it (or switch their aggression elsewhere because they’ll lost interest in fandom stuff) though. Some won’t, but there always are immature people that are much older... this is where they’re coming from lol

Maybe some of them really do believe that they’re doing the right thing and genuinely don’t know better, but I think for a lot of them finding a convincing enough reason to shit on others is the entire point of fandom experience. So even knowing what joseimuke is won’t stop them, only them losing interest and moving away from these spaces will.

All we can do is shrug and wait... and block people left and right lol

Anonymous asked:

What kind of hentais does Idia read or know of? Does he play eroges? If so what kind?

I think Idia knows every single hentai there is, even if he hadn’t read/watched/played all of them. Alright, maybe not every single one, but quite a lot lol But at the same time, he strikes me as someone who would be into it art-wise and would legit watch porn for the plot. So his favourite eroges are the ones with engaging stories and good character writing... I guess asking for that from a hentai game is a tall order, but Idia would argue and rant about some of his favourite titles if he was told “it’s just porn”. It’s not just porn, it’s an entire experience, the buildup that makes the porn good!

I know a part of me wants to say that he would play “oniichan” kinds of games, but I think he would ironically stay away from those... it feels weird to him somehow... too embarrassing.

He also doesn’t mind really fucked up tropes and scenarios. He could look at a tentacle hypnosis scene or a scene where someone is pushing out an alien egg and say “heh classic”. Truly, the greatest enjoyer of art.

Anonymous asked:

Hello! So I’ve been wondering of all the TWST tops, who’s winning the girth-and-length off?

Personally it could go either for Jack, Rook or Sebek. the Octatrio kind of cheats tho? their merform could pull these off easily.

anyway very curious to hear your thoughts!

Anon, this is such a good answer and I agree with you, even though I did write a post about peen sizes at some point, and I had a bit of a different top3 lol

To us, the winner is Lilia both because we are very committed to this joke + apparently for bats dick-to-body proportions are insane, so I guess there is some meat (heh) to this joke after all.

The second one was Floyd, and I still think the Tweels are one of the hugest, but... Jack and Sebek are absolutely up there, and I think they’ll grow bigger and girthier. They’ll become the biggest ones in a year or two.

I agree that Rook is big, but I think Trey is longer than Rook while still being quite girthy.

I am also 100% sure Yana has a list for this that we will never see...

Anonymous asked:

Firstly, I’m new to your blog and I LOVE YOUR ART AND HCS SO MUCH! They’re beautiful and amazing and it’s incredible seeing a blog being so unabashedly problematic with no shame!

That aside, I’m not sure if you ever talked about him before, but what do you think about Falena. Specifically for Falena/Leona?

I’ve seen some works (all super incredible, of course) of Faleleo stuff in Leona’s perspective, so I was wondering how do you think Falena would be like in the situation he’s loving his little brother a bit too much? We all know Leona’s gonna be a tsun about it but what about niisan?

Anon! First of all, welcome and I hope you enjoy your stay. Second of all, thank you so much for appreciating our stuff and being supportive of our self-indulgent selves! lol

We love Falena/Leona in theory; we haven’t dived into them because we haven’t seen much of Falena + don’t care much for Leona. Still, we are 100% supportive of this ship! Every time we rewatch The Lion King, I get more and more into Mufasa/Scar...

Regarding your question, it’s interesting because I think the default really is to think that it’s Leona who is obsessive over Falena, and Falena might not even have a clue about it (or have a clue but still choose to be a proper future king instead of fooling around with Leona). But it’s entirely possible for him to also be very into Leona, it could even be more fun this way.

I feel like Falena has always been an adoring brother and Leona greatly underestimates just how much Falena loves him. Not only he worries about his future and cares about him (that’s a given), he also is genuinely impressed by his wit and intelligence; I wouldn’t be surprised if Falena talks about Leona all the time lol Maybe he gets as excited as Cheka sometimes, which is endearing at first, but then feels like Falena is um... a bit too much into him...

Falena also feels like someone who would rationalise his feeling by thinking that him being a king and having a wife and a son is one thing, but being with Leona is another thing, their private special thing that could actually still improve things for the entire Kingdom: if Leona is by his side and works together with him, they will be unstoppable. This is something that Falena wants the most... even if it’s just a way to justify his desire to have access to Leona (and his body) all the time. He needs to give Leona some attention, right? He wasn’t able to do it lately, right? This has to change.

I also wouldn’t be surprised if they had a bunch of “iffy” moments when they were younger. A sudden closeness during sparring, a hug that lasted longer than anticipated, a bite that was meant to be playfully teasing but ended up being too sensual and dominating. That tension existed for a very long time, and it only gets stronger with time.

Anonymous asked:

God... I am enraptured by Them. Completely obsessed with those first days Lilia started playing with Silver. You think he went slow with touches and inappropriate kisses, or just one day told him they're doing something new and put his whole dick inside him at once??? Silver couldn't have gotten so good at handling anything without trial and error... Have there been times Lilia overestimated him and left him overwhelmed and SOBBING sobbing, like he had to stop immediately or his kid wouldn't be the same person again kind of overwhelmed. Ughhhh I'm obsessed with them and their awful history

Anon, I am so happy you like these two this much. I feel like this awful history is such an obvious but tasty and amazingly working trope for them, it just works.

I guess it’s fair to say that Lilia went slow with his inappropriate behaviour, I honestly think that Silver didn’t even notice the switch, as if it was never there. He’s always been his father’s cute boy. Of course it’s just the way he remembers things... But he does remember the first time he had Lilia’s whole dick inside him!

But also yes, of course there had been a bunch of times when Lilia got too excited and overdid it with Silver. Even though Lilia did try to pace himself, I think he completely broke Silver all over like 10 times; and sometimes he is amazed that he turned out okay with what he went through. But he got better very fast! A miracle of true love <3

[innominaterifter]

The thought experiment with Siberian.

I like thought experiments, they allow me to look at some things in a new way, to see the blind spots in my view of the world, or notice the existence of stereotypes or automatic ideas about something which I haven't really actively thought about, haven't thought about my perception, my attitude, my vision of it.

Thought experiments allow us to highlight these automatic filled gaps in the picture of the world. This allows us to think about how much the designation on our map of reality is caused by our desire to understand what reality really looks like and how much of this is automatic filling in of blind spots.

So let's move on to the experiment itself. I warn you, there will be spoilers.

Imagine the Siberian from "Worm" in as much detail as you can. Imagine what she looks like. Imagine how she moves. Imagine her next to you.

Do not read further until you visualize it well enough.

Ready? Let's continue.

Now answer yourself two questions.

First, how tall is Siberian in your imagination?

I will answer as I imagined her, but I bet that many of you will have a similar answer.

In my imagination, she is 6′ 1″ - 6′ 5″, something like this.

In canon, she is 5'8".

Question two: Does she have any hair on her body other than hair on her head, eyebrows, and eyelashes?

Do you imagine her with hair in her groin and armpits, hair on her legs, or no hair there at all?

I can speak for myself, I automatically imagined her completely without body hair.

Including because in all the pictures that I saw her is depicted exactly like this. But I think it's not just about the drawings (moreover, the authors of the drawings also took from somewhere the idea of a completely hairless body of Siberian). I think there is a much more general and deep stereotype at work here about the conventional image of the female body.

With height, the mechanism is similar but affects slightly different planes.

Yes, of course, Siberia is a projection and a product of the imagination of its creator, who grew up in the same paradigm and in the same ideas of convention for women's bodies (but nevertheless, in the canon there is no specific indication of this question. If there is, please tell me, I could have missed it).

While I’m thinking about what other options for depicting Siberian can I imagine, besides those that we see in the pictures. There are a couple of ideas of what the vegetation on the body of Siberian might look like and a few ideas of what its coloring might look like that matches the description in the canon but does not copy the arts that I saw.

I don’t know if anyone is interested in my thoughts on this topic, but I wanted to share my thoughts about the character. When creating cosplay, I use the most in-depth approach, although to many, it seems nerdy.

[nerves-nebula]

Your au really does make a difference for me. Not just your au actually. All your art. It makes me happy because it’s beautiful and unique and it connects to me in so many ways. And it manages to make me feel better about myself in new ways I didn’t know it could ALL the time. Like today it was something as small and unnoteworthy as your April design having long armpit hair, bc I’m always getting shit for that even tho it makes me feel more comfortable and just seeing that in a Butch woman’s character design. I don’t know, it makes me feel fluttery and shit. So thanks for that 🫂

YOOO I HAVE LONG ARMPIT HAIR TOO :D AND MY FAMILY GAVE ME A TON OF SHIT ABOUT IT TOO (i mean that and refusing to wear a shirt inside our house in 90 degree weather lol) aAAaAAAA!!!

I am so glad that my love of conventionally maligned features has spread to you! I've always had affection for the monstrous (and i use that word in a wholly positive meaning) body and it's spread to features most people consider unattractive and ugly. partially because I AM monstrous, partially because I politically and morally believe it's important to include, and partially because I would just be so unbelievably bored with the homogeneous standard of beauty most people tend to like.

and a dozen other reasons lmao. including a belief that disgust and adoration are closely linked but THIS ISN'T MY PERSONAL- unless...

NO BUT LIKE WHEN I DESIGN CHARACTERS I TRY TO THINK TO MYSELF, like, what haven't I seen enough of? What would I like to see more? like its my art I can literally draw whatever i want!! aaaAA sorry i'm rambling, I hope I haven't offended you with all this babbling about monstrosity or anything. I get so overwhelmed when I remember the way I feel when I'm presented with something beautiful and thats kind of how i feel about butch women. Like I'm stopped in my tracks.

I'm not religious but sometimes I remember the way I watched nature documentaries growing up and I remember the way I would hold my breath and feel my chest tingle with wonder, like, how BEAUTIFUL. How WONDERFUL that something I could never have imagined exists in the same world as I do?? That's like how I feel with butch women. so called "ugly" people, people who decide to just EXIST even fully aware that they'll get shit about it. how beautiful. how exquisite. one day I want to be just like them.

OK IM BEING WEIRD AGAIN SORRY

[olderthannetfic]

Ohhhhh. Yeah, okay. Thrift stores around here consist of multiple chains that are fucking everywhere and that overflow with our collective bad buying habits. The non-chains tend to be... like... a queer charity where the emphasis is on donating good stuff to them so they can make money for whatever social programs they run. The aim of many of these places, including the chains, is often to provide employment to certain classes of people or to put the profits towards some good cause or to keep clothing out of landfills as much as it is to provide cheap goods to people who need cheap goods. That’s certainly a thing they do, but it’s not the only or even primary purpose.

I think the specific “don’t buy plus size clothes” thing is actually not super widespread but is instead wank about highly specific influencer types. In fact, a lot of it is one specific wank I vaguely recall. It’s the people making galling posts about their hauls and “upcycling” in hideous ways that tend to draw fire, not some rando who bought a few things that were a few sizes too large and then took them in at the waist. It’s the combo of buying a lot, bragging about it, and telling followers to do the same that annoys people so much. The fear is that this will make a bunch of new people pick the stores clean in a way they wouldn’t if they were just doing their normal shopping to replenish their wardrobe.

TBH, as someone who has always shopped heavily at thrift stores because I hate what’s on shelves now, the amount of actually good clothing in the very high ranges is basically zero. If you need those sizes, you’re pretty fucked regardless. There are whole charities around here devoted to providing interview clothing for plus size low income women because it’s that much of a problem.

This is a direct consequence of what’s manufactured and how it’s marketed (at least in the US). My ex was pretty big and liked good clothes. She shopped entirely at those high quality plus size-only online places, and if she was done with something before it was full of holes, she resold it for 80% of sticker price to another fan of the same brands who was hooked into the Facebook resale community. In that world, there’s no such thing as cheap, and nothing ends up at the thrift store.

Based on both shopping experience and seeing what people are holding up in youtube videos, your typical sweater that people are buying to unravel is probably a size large. It might be a long cardigan so there’s plenty of yarn, but the armpit area is not generous. These sweaters aren’t in short supply, nor do they fit people who have trouble finding clothing.

Another difference is that yarn is flexible. X feet of yarn can be made into almost anything. Not so with woven cloth in clothing: what you’re looking for when thrifting is large, uninterrupted pieces. A plus size knitter can absolutely reuse a long-but-tight cardigan’s-worth of yarn to make a plus size sweater. They cannot take the itty bitty scraps of cloth from a size small dress and do much of anything productive with them unless they prefer a patchwork look.

I’m not going to pitch a fit if somebody else does buy the occasional XXXL dress to modify, but yeah, I do think it’s a bit mean to take really quality pieces that are rare and chop them up as though they’re raw fabric. It’s just that that isn’t what’s happening in most cases.

The stuff I would personally tend to leave alone at the thrift shop is stuff above a Large that is like nice business suits, good quality blouses that could go with said suits, fitted dresses out of high quality material that can hold structure, etc. In essence, anything that could be described as “tailored” and that’s not 100% synthetic.

What’s actually at most places I shop in the sizes above L is polyester sack-like horrors, low-quality cotton t-shirts, and stretchy leggings.

But even so, this is more my personal rule. If someone is good enough at sewing to convert a great suit between sizes and they actually need a suit, I don’t think it’s any of my business. The people who deservedly get called out are the ones depleting the good shit for weekly upcycling projects that mostly exist to generate tiktok views.

tl;dr - There’s an issue here, but it’s complex, and it doesn’t really apply to yarn.

I've taken up knitting again! But most of what I've got in my old stash is just the Red Heart stuff I never used before. What are some brands or types of yarn you'd recomend that are a decent balance of price and quality?

--

I usually buy used so I can get snobby yarn at a price I'm willing to pay. So not only are they not economical brands, but a lot of what I'm actually using is long discontinued.

What kinds of yarns do you like? Fiber content? Solid color vs. heathered vs. speckled vs. striped, etc.?

What kinds of projects do you want to do?

--

My personal favorite brand I've worked with lately is Swans Island. They have a bunch of different yarns that are just a delight on the hands. Prices are... well... not the highest I've seen? But that's about the best I can say.

[hansolmates]

common law marriage | 07

banner made by the iconic @dnrequests​ / @dee-ehn​

summary; you and jungkook do the thing you’ve been talking about since haru’s first birthday pairing; dilf!jk x best friend!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, angst, longing, pining, mc is a homebody, unrequited love (or is it?), potential idiots 2 lovers, best friends 2 lovers, mentions of sex, alcohol use, heaving flirting, profanity, a singular daddy joke (or 2) w/c; 2.3k a/n; hello hello! welcome to part 2 of day by day, which is definitely a very different turn from the first, must less angsty hehe. this is a 2 year time skip, so the dynamics of all the relationships have changed a lot, so if the development feels too fast this is why! friendly reminder that if you’re in the taglist, please make sure u have your tags on. enjoy!  [day by day masterpost]

"You're doing everything without a label. This is literally a common law marriage." 

"Not true,” you hiss under your breath, pressing the phone smack against your cheek, “we don’t live together, and we’re not paying each other’s bills, and more importantly, we’re not in love.” 

“Right,” Yoongi whispers dramatically on the line, unconvinced. 

“I saw Jungkook drop off her lunch at work,” you hear Hoseok mutter on the other line, “that’s domestic as hell.” 

“Oh yeah, and did you see her Instagram story?” you roll your eyes, resting your head in your hands as you hear them speak as if they didn’t call you five minutes ago, “she literally took Haru to a ‘Mommy and Daughter Paint n’Sip’.” 

“There was a coupon!” you blurt, letting yourself out of the bathroom stall so you can wash your hands. 

“Uh huh,” Yoongi hums, and you can imagine him playing with his nails, staring blankly into the void, “and pray tell, what are you doing this week for Haru’s birthday?” 

Gritting your teeth, you bark, “I’m at Tokyo Disney.” 

“They’re totally playing house,” Hoseok cries, doubling over in laughter. “Who the fuck goes with their best friend and their family to Disney? Thirteen year old boys, and pretty single women  who are out for some Disney Daddy—” 

Promptly hanging up, you decide to splash your face to wake you up from the long ride. The cool, double-filtered water clears your eyes and washes the oil from your hectic morning. After drying with a spare washcloth in your backpack, you quickly take out your tinted lip balm, trying to add some life to your complexion. 

Your shoulders relax considerably as you get into the motions, spreading the soft pink balm over your lips. Smacking it a few times and nodding appreciatively at the strawberry scent, you take a deep breath and try to erase Yoongi and Hoseok’s call from your mind. 

It isn’t weird to go to Disney with the single father you’re in love with and his daughter, right? 

Three little knocks break you from your reverie, and you plaster a smile and open the bathroom door of your hotel room. 

“Auntie, are you okay?” 

Being called Auntie isn’t as cute as being called Mommy, but it’s for the best. As Haru got older, she recognized that you never slept over or kissed Jungkook like the way she saw other parents do whenever she went out. Jungkook told you it was a rough discussion, but it’s best to draw the line when she can comprehend, otherwise it would get too complicated. 

Your smile soon turns sappy and melty at the sight of Haru in her little outfit. She’s Minnie Mouse-themed today, due to her love of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Since it’s a chilly day, she’s wearing a light pink jacket with white polka dots, paired with a tulle skirt with pink tights underneath. The finishing touch is two matching Mickey and Minnie hair bows, tying off her nubby pigtails. 

“Sorry bub, were you waiting long? You got ready way faster than me, you’re so ready to meet Mickey and Minnie!” 

“And Elsa,” Haru adds pointedly. 

“And Elsa,” you smile, leading her over to sit on her bed. Easily grabbing her by the armpits you throw her on the pile of pillows on your unmade bed. She laughs, her bubbly laughter filling your hotel room as she burrows herself between the cream sheets. “Where’s daddy?” 

“Showering in gramma n’ grandpa’s room,” she supplies helpfully. Her speaking has gotten more concrete since turning three, which is mighty helpful when you need to know what she wants, “but daddy said you had fruit snacks in your backpack, so that’s why he let me in.” 

“Ah,” you nod, “you can go into the front pocket, bubby. Only one packet. You can watch television until daddy’s ready, okay? What do you wanna watch?” 

“Frozen!” 

“There’s this really cute movie called The Parent Trap—” 

“Frozen!” 

“You really don’t want to try something new—?” 

“Frozen 2?”  

Shaking your head, you queue up the movie on Disney+. Even Haru can’t escape the Frozen Fever. Jungkook and you have been trying to introduce her to new kinds of films, and while she’s enticed by many princesses and superheroes, nothing beats the Ice Queen. 

While Haru chews on her snacks and enjoys her movie, you make sure your backpack is filled with all the essentials. The baby wipes, hand sanitizer, water bottles, and pass cards are all in there. Most importantly, the autograph book you bought from the gift shop is there, paired with a fluffy purple pen. Haru can’t read yet, but you thought it would be nice to have the book started while she’s still young. Checking the time on your phone, you hope that you can hit the park early enough so the lines aren’t too long. 

“Good morning, what are my two favorite girls up to?” 

Jungkook steps into the hotel room, freshly showered and ready to go. Jungkook is subtly matching with his daughter in a simple grey sweater with a black Mickey fill-in and black jeans. He’s also come with libations, a pastel blue paper bag with sweet smelling pastries inside. He has two cups in his hand, liquid caffeine made just the way you like it. 

“Daddy, are we leaving?” Haru asks, lips red and sticky from the cherry flavored gummies. 

“In a second, baby. Auntie and I are just going to have our breakfast and then we’ll have fun,” Jungkook says, pulling up the coffee table to set up your little breakfast bar. Taking a plastic knife and setting up the paper bag like a plate, he splits a chocolate croissant between the two of you. 

“Where’s your parents?” you ask casually, popping a buttery piece of croissant in your mouth, “mhm, so flaky.” 

“Spa day,” Jungkook answers shortly, “besides, they wouldn’t want to keep up with us. Haru wants to get as many pictures as she can today with the characters.”  

Jungkook has been planning this trip for months. Your heart softens at the way he regards Haru’s wants and needs for this birthday vacation. After having a banger first birthday party (thanks to you, of course) the second birthday party was far more muted due to both Jungkook and Hana getting a terrible stomach flu. You and his parents stopped by with a small cake and a movie. 

That’s why Jungkook wants to go all out this year. He figured it would be more memorable to have a more intimate celebration, a big vacation with the closest of family members. 

“Isn’t it crazy?” Jungkook says quietly, and so soft that you almost thought he was speaking to himself, “two years ago we talked about going to Disney, and now we’re here. She’s growing up so fast. Life goes by so fast.” 

“So let’s enjoy it while we can,” you squeeze his shoulder, finishing up your food and getting ready to depart. 

Jungkook swipes Haru’s face with a fresh washcloth, and you get on her Minnie-bowed mary jane shoes. Haru can’t wait, jumping up and down on the elevator to pretend she’s floating in space. 

Before you can board the rail train, a hotel employee comes over with a fancy camera. “Family picture?” she asks sweetly. 

You hold up a hand and force a small, polite smile. “Ah, now’s not a good time—” 

“Would you also be able to take a picture with my phone?” Jungkook easily hands the photographer his black iPhone, and throws an arm around you. “C’mon, this will look great in the baby album.” 

Despite all your time with Jungkook, you still feel flushed whenever you’re put in a more than intimate situation. It’s more than physical, but a non-tangible block you always reach whenever people refer to you as a family. You can’t deny that it’s true, you’re an unconventional family. However, you can only imagine what it looks like in other people’s eyes, a picture-perfect young couple having the time of their lives with their beautiful daughter. 

“Pick me up, daddy! Pick me up!” 

Haru immediately climbs up Jungkook’s body, fitting herself between you two. You’re forced to hold up your hand to share half of her weight, as she doesn’t budge herself. Nudging her little cheeks, they press against each of yours like two warm marshmallows. 

“Do the thing Uncle Seokjin taught you,” Jungkook encourages lightly.

You smile when Haru’s hands make a mini heart, dead center between the three of you. Softening, you relax against the Jeon family.  

Jungkook took his turn to use the bathroom after a couple hours of fun, and you told him to meet you and Haru at the carousel. 

You’re more than okay with standing around while Haru pretends she’s riding a dolphin. You sneakily take some candid pictures and take large gulps of water while Haru blows raspberries, pretending she’s underwater. It’s so cute, seeing how the simple things keep Haru so enthralled. When Jungkook didn’t return for the first ride, you immediately got back in line for a second ride.

Circle after circle, you finally notice Jungkook emerging from the nearby bathroom. The urge to wave and call out to Jungkook is on the tip of your tongue, and you almost signal to Haru if not for what Jungkook was doing. 

Or not doing, you’re unsure. 

It took a total of thirty seconds (or three slow, carousel rotations) for Jungkook to go to the neighboring popcorn stand and buy a bucket. He gets the one you’ve been looking at on Instagram, the Tangled one that lights up like the lanterns in the film. 

He only gets to walk two seconds in the direction of the carousel when he’s stopped by the next person in line. It’s a pretty woman in a lavender and pink sundress, blonde hair done in a flowered braid, presumably Disneybounding to be Rapunzel. 

Rotation one, it seems that the woman wants to address that she and Jungkook got matching popcorn buckets. She’s blushing, fair skin pulling pink as she points to his bucket. 

Rotation two, Jungkook is showing something on his hand, holding it up to the air and into the sun. The woman tilts her head, unsure. What kind of conversation is this? 

Rotation three, the woman is squeezing Jungkook’s bicep, attempting to flirt him into a stupor. Classic. 

You smoothly unbuckle Haru from her seatbelt, pulling her down from the light blue dolphin and walking her towards the exit. Instead of going straight to Jungkook however, you and Haru walk up towards one of the available maps, planning your next ride. 

Jungkook and you have gone on dates with other people. According to Jungkook’s mom, it’s sparingly and apparently none of the dates have gone as far as to reach an introduction to Haru. You don’t understand why, 

As for you, you’re terribly hung up on Jungkook and Haru. You don’t know if anyone would understand the desire for you to stay by Haru’s side despite not being an official parent. The small, selfish part of you is also content with being single forever, as long as you have  Jungkook’s friendship by your side. 

While Haru occupies herself with the magical glitter touchscreen of the park map, you turn your head to find Jungkook stepping away from the girl and gesture wildly to you. 

“See?” you hear Jungkook cry exasperatedly, “I told you I have a wife and daughter!”  

A wife and daughter? You look down at Haru, blissfully unaware of her father’s conundrum. Jungkook practically engulfs you, putting his arm around you and pulling you flush against his waist. You look over his body to see the woman who tried so hard to seduce Jungkook, shoulders slumped in defeat. If only she knew. 

“Jungkook,” you deadpan, “you’re a grown-ass man and you’re running away from a pretty woman?”

“Only because she didn’t take the hint,” Jungkook scoffs, practically stuffing his hand into Haru’s open popcorn bucket. It’s much to Haru’s displeasure, and you stifle your giggle as she cries out in horror when he stuffs a handful in his mouth. “Ugh, ‘sides. She wasn’t that pretty, you’re prettier.”  

“I feel a little bad for her,” you pout slightly, trying to tamp down the mirth you feel dancing in your heart. 

“Oh c’mon, the only girls I’m prioritizing this week are you and Haru,” he shakes his head, “and my mom, if she ever decides to leave the spa.” 

“Mm, is that so?” boldly, you sneak a hand up where Jungkook’s arm falls over your shoulder. Your fingers tingle and burn as you lace yours with Jungkook’s, continuing his little ruse flawlessly. “Then go ahead and treat us to some ice cream too, daddy.” You smirk teasingly, pointing your nose up in the air. 

Jungkook narrows his eyes, and his mouth curls into a tricky little grin that has you sweating a bit. You’re tiptoeing, you know. Three years down the line and you’ve gotten a lot bolder with your flirtation attempts. After all, you have nothing to lose. It’s either he subtly ignores you, or? 

“Careful with what you say, honey,” Jungkook’s voice deepens, or maybe it’s the illusion that it’s deepened because of how close he is to your ear, “our daughter could be listening.” 

Your breath hitches when you feel Jungkook’s fingers curl tighter around yours, a rough grip yet soft touch. Biting your lip, you keep your eyes on Jungkook, unable to look away. Is the pretty woman still staring at you, or is he enjoying playing Husband and Wife with you? If Haru was more inquisitive, you’d imagine the both of you would be in for an earful. 

“Gimmie my popcorn!” Haru thankfully squeals, jumping in between you in favor of getting her lantern carrier that’s swinging around Jungkook’s side.

[dancingazaleas]

zeke yeager | pta meeting

i literally don’t know how to shut up about him

also this is all because i saw a drabble of dilf!zeke and it’s been on my mind nonstop

warnings/notes: dilf!zeke, fem!reader, cursing, eventual smut, zeke is a divorced/widowed dad(at 33), reader is 21, cursing, zeke has a mean daughter and a sweet daughter, breeding kink, overstimulation, brief choking, slight degradation, shit one shot i’m sorry

you swear to the lord that zeke’s 11 year old daughter is a menace to society.

she’s brutally honest, just like zeke, and mean. she’s oddly mature for her age, and you think it might have something to do with her late mother. she looks almost nothing like zeke, but she certainly inherited her personality from him. she’s got curly dark brown hair that ends at her armpits and zeke’s grey eyes. she has a button nose along with rosy cheeks, something else she inherited from her mother.

“y’know my daddy only dates you cause you take care of me and aloisia,” isolde says to you as she slips on her school shoes.

you feel your eye twitch as you turn to zeke’s other daughter, aloisia, who’s seven and looks exactly like zeke. she’s got his nose, his hair color, and even eye shape. she’s got hazel eyes and a slim face. she’s as bubbly as they come, always greeting people she passes by on the street, always making friends at the park.

“i’m ready,” she holds up her small hand to you, a silent request for you to hold her hand.

“same,” isolde stands up after she swings her back pack onto her back, brushing off the nonexistent dirt on her navy blue skirt.

“zeke, the girls are ready!!” you shout out, taking aloisia into your arms.

zeke comes stumbling out of his bedroom, a white sleep shirt covering his torso and grey sweatpants.

“you’re going in that,” you raise an eyebrow at his attire, “we’re going to a parent-teacher meeting, not the gym.”

“yeah daddy, my teachers are gonna think you’re a bum or something,” isolde snickers.

“i’ll help your dad, go watch tv for a little bit longer,” you chuckle at zeke’s pout and put down aloisia, who runs to the couch.

isolde takes off her backpack and joins her sister on the couch, putting her feet on the coffee table as aloisia puts on avatar: the last airbender.

“i thought the dress code was casual,” zeke furrows his brows as you take his hand and lead him back into his bedroom.

“it is. sweatpants are not casual, they’re lounge wear,” you snicker as he flops onto the bed while you close the door and go into the closet.

you know zeke’s rolling his eyes at you, judging from his silence. you grab ahold of a white button up with light grey vertical stripes on it, trying to picture your boyfriend in the shirt. you shake your head and put it back on the rack, deciding that the default outfit would be best for now. you take a white button up off the hanger and grab a pair of black dress pants from his dresser. you hand him a pair of black loafers to go along with it and some long black socks that would cover up his ankles, you’re so glad you reminded him that they exist. you throw a black belt next to him as well.

“this is boring.”

“zeke, this is a pta meeting, the whole thing will be boring,” you watch him rid himself of his shirt.

“should i wear a tie?”

“no, you’ll look better with one button undone,” you smile as he struggles to balance correctly when he puts on his pants.

he tucks the shirt inside his pants and slips on the belt with ease. he unbuttons a button before he slips on his socks.

“i thought today was my day off,” he smirks at you while you roll up his cuffs a bit.

you roll your eyes and he slips on his shoes. he doesn’t need to do his hair, it’s just effortlessly neat.

“time to go,” you scurry to the front door with the girls following behind you.

“he doesn’t look homeless anymore,” isolde notes when zeke follows you all out of the door.

“not funny,” he huffs while he locks the door behind him and the girls get into the black SUV zeke drives.

you help aloisia buckle herself up in the car seat and then slip into the passenger’s seat next to zeke. he’s grumbling something about ‘uncle eren’ and ‘getting the girls’ as he turns the car on.

————

you try to ignore the women ogling zeke as you all walk down the school hallway. you send isolde off to her class since her meeting is after aloisia’s.

“i hope you’ve been good,” you say to aloisia, who’s holding both your’s and zeke’s hands.

“i have! ms greene says i’m one of the best,” she gloats, and you hope for zeke’s sake that ms greene isn’t bluffing.

you three walk into the second grade classroom, which is empty because you reserved the appointment, only to find the teacher isn’t in there. it only seems to make aloisia more excited as she tugs you and zeke towards the class wall with a bunch of pictures of it.

“look, look!!” she jumps as she points at her’s, “they said to draw our family and she said i did a good job!!”

the picture is a messily drawn family portrait of zeke, isolde, and aloisia.

“you drew (name) very pretty,” zeke smiles at you when you snap your head back to look at the picture in closer detail.

there you are, stick figure holding hands with zeke’s and aloisia with isolde on zeke’s other side. you never expected to be on aloisia’s family portrait, you’d barely been in her life for two years and weren’t exactly motherly. you’re a struggling college student that she occasionally sees crying at the kitchen table with zeke comforting you from behind. she, on very rare occasions, sees you come home, absolutely plastered, with a sober zeke leading you to his room. you’re the woman that wakes her up when you cry on the couch late at night. you were, admittedly, okay with not being seen as their mom.

it wasn’t your place, for so many reasons. one, you didn’t exactly act as a role model. two, you could never replace her mother and would never try. three, zeke never referred to you as such. you’d only ever act like their mother whenever you were in certain situations. but that didn’t mean you didn’t want them to see you as a maternal figure.

it made you want to cry, but luckily you didn’t. you just smile at the picture and pat aloisia’s head in approval.

“you did do a very good job,” you smile down at her and before you can give her a hug, you notice a woman walking into the room.

“oh, you must be zeke yeager, aloisia’s dad! i’m ms greene,” her face flushes while she holds out her hand for him to shake.

“yea, that’s me. it’s nice to meet you,” he shakes her hand.

she turns to you, “oh my goodness, i didn’t know aloisia and isolde had an older sister!”

“no, she’s my girlfriend of two years,” zeke chuckles uncomfortably.

“i’m (name), nice to meet you,” you wave your hand, “i’m just here to keep an eye on aloisia while you two talk.”

zeke and her go to a table in the corner of the room and aloisia drags you towards a bookshelf.

thirty minutes of aloisia rambling about her favorite book go by seemingly quick, and you watch as she cheers when her classmates walk into the room. zeke’s walking towards you, holding a thumbs up with a cocky smile, for whatever reason.

you kiss aloisia goodbye, who doesn’t seem too fazed, and head towards isolde’s classroom. you hold hands with zeke while swinging them back and forth while he repeats everything the teacher’s said to him.

“i can’t believe my little girl’s at a third grade reading level,” he exclaims, “that vocabulary studying did wonders!!”

“you should thank me since i was the one who studied with her cause she asked about my assignments for class,” you taunt and laugh when zeke pulls you closer by the shoulder.

that’s how the two of you walk into isolde’s classroom. she’s sitting at a table with her teacher, miss dunst, and fidgeting with her thumbs anxiously. she’s covering half of her face with her hair. with the one eye you can see it looks puffy and her cheeks are red, as if she’d been crying.

it has both you and zeke rushing to sit down on both side of her, zeke asking miss dunst what happened while you tend to isolde.

“hey, why are you crying,” you’re squatting by her chair and you reach to brush the hair out of her face.

when you see her other eye, you gasp out at the black eye starting to form on her eye.

“oh my god, zeke, look at her face!!”

“that is what i wanted to speak about with you. isolde has been getting bullied by some of her classmates. today, a little girl hit her after isolde defended herself while they argued,” the poor woman looks sad watching you and zeke check isolde for more wounds.

“why has she been bullied? she’s not mentioned this to me or (name),” zeke asks while examining her eye more closely.

“well, during the first day of school, isolde introduced herself and told the class about her family. she mentioned you, mr yeager, and her sister. the kids asked about her mother before i could stop them and she was honest with them and said that she had passed. she then said that she still, in a way, had a mother. your girlfriend, mr yeager.

“i asked her occupation, to which isolde said a college student. the kids got loud but i managed to quiet them down, and i thought it was the end of that. after that, her classmates started to pick on her verbally about your age gap and her late mother. i didn’t find out about it until this morning when isolde was hit,” miss dunst frowns as she explains.

before zeke could open his mouth, you speak up, “i’m the girlfriend, (name). i am hoping that these children will be punished accordingly and that their parents be notified. if this has really been going on all year like you say, then at this point their parents should be involved.”

“of course! i’m giving all of their parents a call after classes today. the little girl who hit her is sitting down with the principal right now, so she should be safe if you two would like her to stay at school.”

“give us a moment,” you smile kindly, which she returns, and walks to her desk to give you ‘privacy’.

“isolde, why didn’t you tell your daddy or i about what was going on,” you ask while she hugs zeke.

she peeks her head out of his chest, “didn’t want to seem weak.”

“why would you be worried about that,” zeke asks.

“after mom died, you were always so sad and stressed. i thought that if i was strong, you would be happier,” she explains shakily.

“isolde, look at me,” you put a hand on her knee, “you were six years old when your mommy died. six year olds shouldn’t know how to accurately take care of themselves, it’s why your daddy was there. i’m sure your daddy appreciated the effort, but i promise you that all he wanted you to be was his happy little girl. you don’t need to be strong at 11 years old, and you don’t need to be strong all the time. like you said, your daddy was sad when your mom died. it didn’t make him weak, it made him a person. and that’s what you are; a person. a little person.”

she sniffles and nods at you, “people can’t do everything by themselves. i’m sorry if we made it feel like you couldn’t tell us, and it’s totally understandable that you felt that way.”

zeke hums in agreement, “we love you, baby. so much.”

“love you too,” she mumbles with a small smile.

“do you want to stay at school,” zeke asks, he didn’t want to force her into a situation where she didn’t want to be.

“i have a math test later, don’t wanna miss it,” she sighs, now looking up at you.

“(name)...?”

you tilt your head while you wait for her answer.

“i’m sorry i’ve been so mean to you. everyone was making fun of me and called it weird, so i guess i wanted to believe that too,” your heart warms whenever she looks away shyly.

great, now zeke’s horny from seeing you act motherly.

————

ever since you and zeke had stepped off school campus, one of his hands was always touching you. it didn’t matter where, zeke was shameless.

even as you unlock the door to the his house, he has his chest pressed against your back and his arms wrapped around your waist. his lips are kissing softly at your neck and his hands are shamelessly groping at your boobs.

“zeke, what is up with you,” you laugh whenever you open the door, kicking off your shoes immediately.

“horny,” he admits, swiftly following after you and locking the door behind himself.

“what about this morning made you horny,” you ask shyly while you sit on the couch.

zeke’s buttons are halfway undone and his belt is somewhere on the floor. he squeezes in behind you, once again pressing his chest against your back.

“acting maternal, i guess,” his beard tickles the back of your neck as he kisses it.

“is this why you told isolde it was okay if she wanted to stay at school,” you snicker at his fingers pulling your shirt over your head.

“why else,” he scoffs, “my only day off in a while and i’m horny. sounds like a deal.”

you whimper whenever he starts biting at your neck and when his large hands slip under your bra.

“zeke, if we’re gonna do it on the couch, can i at least lay on my back,” you ask while zeke unclips your bra.

without a word, he’s thrown you onto the couch on your back and climbing on top of you seconds later. your hands quickly unbutton the rest of his shirt, pushing it halfway off of his body.

zeke throws the shirt onto the floor and kisses you, hands running up and down your torso. he pulls away to kiss and suck at your neck while his hands grope at your tits. you’re stuck between laughing and moaning at zeke’s beard dragging against your neck.

his mouth trails down to your tits, mouth attaching to your left tit while he continues to grope your right one. you let out a moan whenever he tweaks your nipple with his right hand and bites softly at your left nipple.

he pulls away from your chest, tugging off your pants and panties in frustration. it leaves you laughing and assisting him. whenever your pants do come off, he throws them to the ground and spreads your legs.

“zeke, they’re not opening too far, we’re on a couch,” you note, but soon stand corrected as zeke grabs your ankle and puts it on the back of the couch.

“nevermind,” you snicker at his cocky smirk, as if he’d done something amazing.

your other leg hangs off the couch, leaving you spread open for zeke. zeke spreads open your glistening folds with thumbs and gives a mindful lick up to your clit. after realizing that his beard is not rubbing against you uncomfortably, he dives in like it’s a pool, which he thinks it is because of how wet you are.

his mouth his sucking on your clit vigorously, as if he were a man starved. you’re moaning wantonly as he suddenly ups the speed. how did he even go that fast, you have no clue, but either way you enjoy it. your back in arching off of the couch and your toes are curling as zeke starts bringing you closer to an orgasm.

“zeke!! i’m... i’m gonna come,” you tug at his hair as your legs start to convulse and close around his head.

he only goes faster, and you wonder to yourself if zeke is powered by batteries or something. but the thought is quickly shut off whenever you finally orgasm, moaning out in ecstasy and throwing your head back against the couch cushions.

zeke slows down his pace, helping you ride through your orgasm. he pulls away whenever you’ve calmed down, fingers immediately pressing at your tight entrance.

“zeke... i-i’m too sensitive,” your complaint goes ignored as two of zeke’s fingers are suddenly inside of you.

“don’t care, deal with it,” he huffs as his fingers stretch you out.

with his other hand, his thumb is rubbing at your puffy clit at the same time of his fingers curling inside of you. your hips buck up with a mewl and zeke chuckles at the sight. unlike last time, he’s moving his tantalizingly slow.

his fingers curl once more, rubbing against the spongy part inside of you sweetly. you buck your hips up again at the contact and curl your toes whenever zeke starts abusing that spot with overwhelming speed. curling his fingers against the spot each time he pistons his fingers in and out of you.

“zeke!!” you come again while moaning his name and he can feel his cock twitch in his pants.

zeke chuckles when he pulls his fingers out, spreading them apart to watch your juices stick together in strings. he plops the fingers in his own mouth, rubbing his other hand up and down your quivering thigh as he pulls away from your sloppy cunt.

he pulls his fingers out of his mouth with an obnoxious ‘pop’ and pulls off his pants and boxers at the same time. he groans at his cock hitting against his lower stomach.

you stare at zeke’s cock. the tip is flushed with a bashful pink and his hair is trimmed nicely against his groin. he’s more girth than he is length, a whopping 6.5 inches, which is something he absolutely gets arrogant about.

“hurry,” you huff while watching zeke fist his cock.

“nah, you gotta beg for it, baby,” the corner of his mouth tugs upwards as he watches you wipe away your tears from the previous orgasm.

“zeke,” you whine and wiggle your hips, “please please please give me your cock. need it so bad.”

he hums thoughtfully, and it already gives you his answer.

“please... i want it so bad, need to be fucked by you,” you pout but perk up at his dismissive shrugging.

“since you want it so bad,” he’s laughing while he puts his right hand on your pelvis and his other on his shaft to enter you.

you gasp at the feeling of him pushing inside of you, grabbing for his, now, free hand. when you catch his hand, you guide it to your bruised neck for him to grasp on. he’s chuckling once again, fingers lightly squeezing against your throat as he continues to push himself in.

he groans whenever he bottoms out, letting go of your neck to grab at your plush thighs. he pushes the towards your chest and thrusts into you shallowly after he spits on his cock buried in your pussy. he hits you deeper than he would’ve before, that much is obvious by your moans raising octaves when he starts to thrust roughly.

your hands reach up to grab the back of his thighs to pull him closer to you than before. he’s groaning at the feeling of your pussy squeezing onto him each time he pulls out and thrusts back into you.

“fuck... zeke!!” you cry and throat your head back.

“fuck,” he grunts, “you’re so fuckin’ tight. even after how much i fuck this pretty little cunt each week.”

his words make you whimper and squeeze your grip on his thighs, making crescent moons into the skin.

“i’m gonna come... i’m gonna come again,” you pant out, back already starting to arch, “come with me please..!”

he speeds up his thrusts, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass getting increasingly louder as he does so.

“you wanna come with me so badly,” he asks tauntingly while you nod.

“god, zeke, please,” you try to ignore the saliva and tears on your face as you continue to scream out for zeke.

“i’ll give my sweet girl my cum since she asked so nicely,” he’s biting his lip whenever he feels his orgasm getting closer.

“yes! yes! please,” you sound so desperate as your orgasm gets closer, “zeke, please, fuck a baby into me, please..!”

zeke almost comes right then at your pleas, but ends up stilling and adjusting his stance to thrust into you more efficiently. the sudden stop makes you whine but it’s soon interrupted with a gasp as he jackhammers into you harder and faster than before.

“fuckin’ whore, wanting me to fuck a baby into you. to make you a mom. since you asked so nicely, i’ll oblige,” he berates.

“you me to fuck a baby into you? make you a mom?” it has you nodding frantically.

zeke continues to degrade you as you’re orgasm comes rushing towards you, fingers now clawing at his thighs as a signal.

zeke thrusts into you two more times before the two of you manage to orgasm simultaneously. his jackhammering slows into a grind, helping the two of you ride out the euphoria you’ve both just went through.

you whimper whenever he pulls out, uncomfortable at the sudden emptiness in you. he watches his cum start to dribble out of you, telling you to keep your legs up. he scurries off to find a paper towel or something to wipe it up with before it falls onto the couch. you shiver whenever you feel a wet cloth wipe away the dribbling cum.

he’s wiping down your chest and neck as well with a clean side of it after you put your legs down. he carries you off into his bathroom, sitting you on the counter while he readies the shower.

“i can’t believe you said that,” he raises a questioning eyebrow at you while he checks the water’s temperature.

“i wouldn’t mind having your kid,” you shrug and watch him put two towels on the counter next to you.

“i might just give you one, don’t say that,” he jokes as he starts to hug you.

“‘m okay with that,” you sigh and lean into his touch, enjoying his warmth.

“you’re stupid,” he snorts and kisses at your shoulder.

“only for you,” you snuggle your head into his neck with a giggle.

“i love you,” he sighs.

“i love you. enough to have your kids.”

maybe in a few hours when you weren’t bathing in the afterglow, zeke would bring it up to you.

[samuclit]

warnings: miya atsumu x female!reader, you guys are fwbs, 1.2K words of fluff and little smut, vaginal fingering, boob sucking and uh how do I tag this, lol.

wrote this last night when my boob hurts like shit because I’m on my period and I was really horny, take care of your boobs ladies because atsumu won’t be there to take care of yours. Read the article here!

"My boob hurts" you say, left hand clutching at your right boob, pressing your warm palms with extra pressure at your fingers to ease the pain. 

Atsumu, your. What do we call him. 

Your sex partner, company at lonely nights, sometimes lunch buddy when work gets overbearing and sometimes your grocery runner when you got too lazy to put on your bras and better-looking pants to buy a box of cereal, yours and Atsumu favourite.

It should be just you enjoying that cereal but Atsumu, who's enjoying the sexcapade, as he jokingly said one time when he wants to be inches deep buried inside you, said that the cereal wasn't too bad when soaked with the right type of milk. So you have to share it with him as long as he helps you with stuff you might need help with.

One of the help is probably comfort for a work-obsessed woman in her early 20s when she felt a bit lonely. You, it's you who we're talking about. 

"What was that?" Atsumu, whose face is buried in the pillow he claimed was his now, result of visiting too frequently for the 'sexcapade', is now pulled up to face you.

You side-eyed and saw him smirking like a piece of shit he always is because he loves to tease you and flirt with you despite the boundaries he set on his own, not that you disagree but sometimes, you take it as a challenge that will make you say 'fuck' when steps are at disarray. 

"I said my boob hurts." You glared at him now. Expecting him to tackle you and have him drape his whole naked body on you by now. 

"You're on your period?" Atsumu asked, face now covered in concern.

"Um no, I finished a week ago, probably the ovulation or something." You whimpered at the growing pain near your armpit, hand sliding under your shirt, well, his shirt, to massage and fondle it on your own, releasing a little moan you hoped he might notice just so he can get a hint. 

"Let me check." You closed your eyes to wait for his pretty setter fingers to trail on your abdomen, his favourite non-sexual thing to do just to make you laugh on one of your sad days.

His hand didn't come at all, and you opened your eyes to see him scrolling the Internet, presumably to have answers to his and your question.

Why do women's boobs hurt?

You scoffed and smacked at his biceps, but still managed to heave a small giggle at his question all while sliding close to his warm body, pressing your side at him while bending your legs to brush your toes at his calves.

"You could have typed 'is it normal for a woman's chest to hurt' instead of saying boobs like a pervert, you dumbass!" You quote unquote so he could get the message.

"I do not have women's boobs, and mine doesn't hurt. Just helping you, princess." 

Atsumu gasped when he saw an article from Healthline.

"Ah look, an article from Healthline, your favourite old hag magazine site." Atsumu teased, his giggles resonating too loud all the way to your eardrums and the erratic beating of your chest, the pain in your right boob slowly subsiding. 

"This old hag magazine site saved your clumsy ass when you bruised your head the other day." You retorted, head still inclined to read the article he clicked. 

"Whatever, I know first-aid better than you. Ah look there's a lot of causes." Atsumu mocked you, using his sexy fingers to pinch at your cheeks, earning a loud 'ouch' from you.

"Hm, it said here 'hormonal fluctuations, you might have the pain either 2 or 3 days before your menstruation or the entire time during your cycle' yeah. Other causes might be puberty, pregnancy and menopause" Atsumu read.

You paused.

"You're...not pregnant are you?" Atsumu turned to his side to look at your surprised face, expecting a quick answer from you.

"No. I don't— I don't think so?" Atsumu pushed his arms on the bed to lift himself up and you turned your body so you could lay down properly.

"Did you check? We haven't had protected sex for a long time so I'm just curious." Atsumu seated himself properly on the bed, one of his hands finally reached to your abdomen under the double-barrier that is your huge comforter and his shirt to draw shapes and do belly rubs.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not...I don't have early symptoms….and I'm very strict with my pills, mind you." you sighed, hands reaching for your locks to brush your own hair for reassurance. 

"Okay, I believe in you" Atsumu smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear. His fingers travelled to your jawlines, to your reddening cheeks, to the sore lips you had after the earlier makeout session on your couch. 

Atsumu finally hovered above you, hands grasping at every detail of your beautiful face, slowly trailing down to your hips. 

"Your boob still hurts?" You giggled at his smile. 

"It hurts less than before. I think it's just being dramatic, needing some attention perhaps."

You sucked in an air when his expression darkens, changed to the familiar animalistic side of Atsumu that could make you scream in pleasure.

"I'll give it the attention it wants then" Atsumu pulled the comforter in a haste and undressed you, desperate to see you naked. 

Atsumu and his, rather respectful demeanors to not delve in too quickly is what made you clung to him, never wanting to let go.

"Are you sure it's okay?" Atsumu asked and you nodded eagerly. Atsumu kissed you, both of your hands pinned to the bed, trapping you under his large muscular body. 

It turned hot in a second, his lips neglected yours to prioritise the situation at hand, his hands, now that he let go of one of your hands so he could fondle and tweak your left nipples while sucking on the right boob, the root problem.

Though, you would call it a blessing.

"Ngh— Atsu...please just fuck me" you gasped in small breath, feeling your folds getting wet by his hot body venturing yours.

Atsumu didn't waste time to descend his wandering fingers to explore your caverns, hitting right to the spot that he knows will make you cum quickly. 

He's practically making out with your nipple, pulling slightly to gain a reaction and sometimes pressing on your clit with his rough thumb to earn another wanton scream out of your mouth. 

His finger went inside and out and your hands scrambled to grip at his biceps to steady yourself, legs dipping your bed before you reach your peak, cumming on his fingers.

Atsumu plopped at your side and you creeped your way inside his hold, as you usually did when the sex ended. 

"Your boob hurts and then it leads to me fingering you huh?" You hid your face in his chest, blushing at the earlier activity you did. Atsumu giggled and rubbed at your back while he hugs you. 

"Tomorrow morning my dick will hurt, so you better think of a way to make it feel better when you sleep, hm?" You glared at him.

"Yes sir, I will. Goodnight Atsumu, my head hurts, by the way". You put a finger to his face.

Atsumu kissed your forehead and lulls you to sleep. "Goodnight princess" you heard his snores right after.

You won't mind if your boobs hurt in the future, Atsumu and a Healthline article would help solve your problem

[a-gnosis]

With no offense whatsoever, and considering you're trying to be authentic, why do you draw so much body hair? Weren't the ancient Greeks known for connecting hairlessness to perfection? I imagine that their gods would be more or less the same

You are right that in ancient Greece a beautiful woman was not supposed to be hairy. There is a scene in Aristophanes' Thesmophoriazusae where a man, who is dressing up like a woman in order to spy on women during the Thesmophoria, has his pubic hair removed (which by the way was totally unnecessary since he was not going to be naked and if he had been, his male genitals would have revealed him anyway). Pubic hair removal thus seems to be associated with women. If I have understood things correctly, hairlessness was seen as desirable in women and maybe young men, but grown men were supposed to have beards and body hair, otherwise they could be accused of being effeminate (at least in Athens).

My aim is not to make everything in the comics historically accurate. Rather, I'm trying to create a good blend between the ancient and the modern. Sometimes my interpretations of the gods have a quite modern mindset, adjusted for my modern audience (like Persephone questioning society's obsession with fertility and childbirth, and wishing for a life with sexual fulfillment but without motherhood). But at the same time I also want this fantasy world to feel like ancient Greece and I try to stay somewhat true to how the gods were perceived in myth and cult.

I personally find body hair appealing (on both men and women). I don't shave myself and when I was a teenager I would have loved to see a female character with hairy legs and armpits who still was considered desirable (though people were thankfully not quite as hysterical about body hair when I grew up during the 1990's as they are today). That's why I have given some of my characters body hair, despite the ancient Greek ideas of masculine and feminine beauty. I have seen many different interpretations of Persephone, with different skin color and body type, but I think it is quite telling that I have never seen another Persephone with hairy legs and armpits (I'm sure SOMEONE ELSE must have done it, but I haven't seen it).

(I want to add, though, that to shave or not of course is a personal choice and that I don't look down on people who feel more comfortable removing some or all of their body hair. It's only when you feel like you HAVE to do it because it's expected that it becomes a problem.)

[ghostdrew22]

Can I request a draco x reader where they just stay together all day even tho its a school day so they just like skip school all day and then one of their friends catch them? It probably sounds confusing but I LOVE YOUR WRITING

Where Words Fall Short || Draco Malfoy

So I changed it into a teacher catching them instead, I hope it still suits your fancy. Thank you so much for this request, I had quite a nice time writing it <3

Requested: Yes Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader Warnings: mentions of mental illness? Idk what I should be warning you against in this one tbh so if you find anything then let me know <3 Summary: Draco is having a hard morning so Y/N keeps him company and they ditch lessons.

WORDS : 2114

~~~

Growing up, Draco continuously watched as a curtain was drawn above the topic of mental health in his household. What should’ve been long, informative discussions about his withstanding family history and hereditary struggles with mental health, was broken down into, “Your father just gets a bit overwhelmed sometimes”, and “Your mother is a woman, and as women do, she often gets erratic until she tires herself out.”

None of it was true, of course, just excuses used to try and avoid the problem. But it wasn’t discussed. Not when Narcissa would sleep for days on end, or when Lucius was hospitalised, and especially not when Draco began to display symptoms similar to his parents. The family healer was called in, Draco was diagnosed and medicated, and it was discussed no further. Because words were just not the Malfoy way.

You’d long become accustomed to his habits when he wasn’t feeling well, he’d told you himself about his struggles, and you’d adjusted quickly enough. Now you know, just by the sight of him, when he’s having a rough day. As hard as Draco tries to follow in his parent’s footsteps and draw a veil on his suffering, he just can’t bring himself to do it when you’re around. You make him feel safe.

You read the watch on your wrist, 8.10am, and sigh when you notice that Draco’s still not in the Great Hall for breakfast. Draco prides himself on being organised and punctual, so when he’s even five minutes late to breakfast you know that he’s having one of those days and he might just not get out of bed.

“He’s just running late this morning, I watched him walk to the showers.” Crabbe says beside you as he notices worry etch its way onto your features. You nod and smile at him.

“Thanks Crabbe.”  You respond before grabbing the empty plate on your other side and filling it up with Draco’s favourites.

It’s another ten minutes before Draco finally walks into the Great Hall, and you feel your heart wrench at the sight of him- hair still wet from showering, faint bags beneath his eyes and a solemn look painting his face- he looks exhausted. You smile at him when he settles into the space beside you and he smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

He interlocks your fingers together as he sits down and you slide the plate of food toward him. He kisses the back of your hand as a thank you and you nod before turning back to your own food. On mornings like this conversation is sparse- it’s like a useless chore that you can both afford to forget- and you both resort to actions as a means of conversation.

Normally, words would be spent on endless declarations of love, confirmations of support, queries of comfort and insurmountable pleas to just sit in silence together. But now, now with this routine and understanding that sits comfortably on the border of your relationship, words no longer need to transpire between you both in order for there to be a mutual understanding of what you both need.

Most kisses are ‘I love you’ or ‘thank you’, but every so often when Draco paints every square inch of your face in adoration with his lips, then he’s telling you that you’re beautiful, that every piece of you is just another reason for him to fall deeper into love with you. Hugs are usually him begging for attention, trying discreetly to drag you away from whatever it is that you’re doing and bring you down to his dorm with him for cuddles.

But Draco’s preferred method of communication on days like this, is squeezing your hand. Information by hand squeeze increases in degree; one is ‘I’m fine, just tired’, two is ‘I’m probably going to disappear halfway through the day for some alone time’, and three is ‘Please spend the day with me’.

So when you feel that familiar pressure against your hand come in waves of three that morning, you know that he’s having a particularly bad day. You turn to him and nod, and this time when he smiles at you, it actually does reach his eyes.

~~~

When the first lesson of the day is underway, Muggle Studies, you and Draco are lying in his bed in his shared dormitory. There’s a risk of one his roommates coming back to collect a forgotten book or leftover homework, but it matters little when the two of you are spaced out in the small world of your own invention. You’re running your hands through his hair as his head sits comfortably on your chest, and his fingers are running up and down your other arm in an effort to keep him occupied.

The two of you spend the next few hours like that, just lying in his bed in silence as Draco thinks himself into oblivion and you try to calm him down. It doesn’t work though, and at some point you grow frustrated at the amount of tension that he’s built up in this shoulders, and demand that he gets up.

“Why?” He asks with furrowed eyebrows as he lifts his head off of your chest.

“Do you trust me?” He nods, and you smile. “Good, then come on.”

You pull him behind you quietly as the two of you roam the castle and head toward the Astronomy Tower- trying desperately not to arouse suspicion and get caught skipping lessons just as the day is ending.

When you reach the top and see that the sun is shining faintly, a satisfied sigh escapes your lips. All that cold and darkness in the dungeons wasn’t good for Draco and you’d lugged him all the way up here for some sunshine. You know that it won’t really fix anything that’s bothering him, but at least the Vitamin D might lift his spirits a little bit or help him to relax a tad more.

You sit on the ground and pull Draco down to sit beside you. He drops his head against your shoulder and pulls the back of your hand up to his lips, Thank you, is what the action says and you smile at the small acknowledgement. You lean your own head against his that’s resting on your shoulder and he shuts his eyes in content as you pull out the book that you’d brought up to read.

“Should I read to you?” You ask and he nods very softly, so you do as he asks and begin to read the novel out loud.

It’s mundane, sure, but Draco thinks that he could spend the rest of his life like this. When words have always failed him, you’ve been there to pick up pieces of his unsaid ministrations. Most people, if not all the people in his life, have always found his failure to conjure up words and describe his feelings, annoying. But not you, never you, you have always loved the way he tries so hard to show you his love instead of tell it to you. Whenever he feels torn apart, like a rag doll being tugged on both arms, you somehow manage to remind him that he’s made of skin and bone, not cloth and plastic. It’s you that reminds him he’s worth something, even when he feels as though he’s worth nothing.

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?” You respond absent-mindedly as you turn your head slowly away from the pages and toward Draco. When you catch a glimpse of his contorted features, concern washes over you. “What’s wrong? Do you want to go back inside?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head softly and smiles at you. “I just want to chat, is that okay?”

“Well… I was enjoying this book…” You tease and laugh when you see that he’s not amused. “I’m kidding, am’ all yours love.” You peck him on the lips quickly before closing your book and putting it aside.

He sighs, “I’ve been thinking-”

“Oh, that’s never good.” You immediately respond and he narrows his eyes at you which makes you laugh, “Okay, I’ll stop now.”

“You’re lucky I love you.” He says with a roll of his eyes, and a small smile, before he takes a deep breath and continues. “I’m going off my meds.”

You take a moment to digest what he’s said before nodding slowly, “Oh…”

“Oh…?” He raises his eyebrows in anticipation, worried that you won’t support his decision. “Are you mad?”

You’re taken aback by his question and turn to face him in confusion. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, mother was furious when I told her.”

“Okay, but your mother is notorious for having the emotional range of a green bean,” Draco, albeit begrudgingly, laughs at your comment with a shake of his head, “What? Am I wrong?” You ask with a laugh as well.

“You’re not wrong but that’s not the point. You’re bloody rude!” He tries to stop laughing but it’s not working and soon enough the two of you are rolling around on the ground, crying your eyes out in laughter.

After a good three minutes has passed the two of you have finally calmed down and the serious atmosphere has returned. “I’m not mad Draco, I could never be mad at you.”

“You were mad that time I tried to force a Ravenclaw to do my Muggle Studies research for me.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone and you shove him lightly.

“That was because you were harassing that innocent child!” You exclaim with another giggle, “I’ve never been mad at you for doing something that involves only you.”

“What about when I dyed all my pubic hair-“

“I told you never to speak of that.” You cut him off sternly before he can continue and a naughty smile appears on his lips at the memory.

“That was funny, admit it.”

“We were on vacation with my parents! Do you understand how awkward the conversation we had, after the swimming pool, was? They were so concerned about the fact that I’d brought home a boy with blue armpit hair!” You exclaim with wide eyes and Draco bursts into laughter again. “You’re such an arsehole.” You grumble out with a pout and he pecks you with a smile.

“You love me though.”

“I do… I really do.” You respond genuinely as you stare at him in admiration. Even on his worst days, when exhaustion wears his face like a mask and words fall short from his lips, he’s still the love of your life and nothing can change that. “I’m really proud of you, for making a decision like that.”

“Thank you.” He sighs and you can tell how much this has been bothering him over the past few days, if not weeks, by the way his shoulders finally relax. “I just don’t think they’re doing what they’re meant to. I don’t feel any better.”

“Mhmm.” You nod at him to continue as you take his hand in your own.

“I don’t feel worse either though, I feel the same. It’s been a year and I feel the absolute bloody same.”

“What are you going to do instead?”

“Whatever else the healer recommends.” He shrugs, “If she’s got nothing else that will work then I don’t know.”

“Well… I’m here for you, always.”

“I know.”

And it’s true, he does know, sure as he knows that he’s a Slytherin. There aren’t many things and people that Draco relies on, the fear of them letting him down always a barrier, but you he puts his absolute faith in. Because when words fall short to describe the amount of love that he has for you, and the amount of love that you have for him, there will always be actions and you two will always have each other.

You take your hands and cup his face in them before peppering kisses all over his face. He giggles under your touch, an effect that you’ve always had on him and he hates, but you make no move to stop until every corner has been graced with feel of your lips. It’s every word that you could possibly say to him, every sentence that could hold the weight of your adoration, because sometimes, words just fall short.

“Y/N-“ He begins when you finally pull away, wanting to tell you that he loves you, but you cut him off with a dopey smile.

“I know.”

The two of you lie down against the cold, hard gravel- fingers intertwined as you both shut your eyes and bask in the soft rays of sunlight. It’s almost perfect.

Until.

“Mr Malfoy, Ms L/N.” A voice drawls.

“Shit.” You mumble when you remember that it’s Wednesday- Astronomy.

<~>

Did I impulsively write this after declaring I’m going on a week’s hiatus to move? Yes. Did I put off packing for this? Yes. Do I have any regrets? Nope.

anyway,

love you all,

jean <3

[subbe93]

Day 1: The Roulette of Destiny part 1.

Rating: For everyone

Prompt: First meeting

Genre: Arranged marriage AU

A/N: I planned to write a one-shot about arranged marriage, but sadly I and one-shots don't always see eye to eye, so... it became a much bigger project D: I have pretty much written it already (and the ending which I love), but let's see if I get out more than this xD

Still, I hope you enjoy :3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She stared at her teacup without really seeing anything. Morning’s first sun rays made Tokyo so beautiful, so fresh, and even though she knew that beautiful scenario from the hotel’s highest restaurant should make her morning better, somehow, she couldn’t care. Today it didn't impress her. She started to doubt if her plan to make herself in a better mood would even succeed. Gorgeous breakfast on the first-rate restaurant and some shopping was her plan to forget the bomb her parents dropped last night, but at this point, it hasn't worked out, and somehow she wondered if even shopping would make difference.

Yet Ran didn’t want to go home. Not yet. Right now, she was so angry with her parents, and even thinking of them made her mood drop more even though she was sure that it couldn’t be even possible. She wasn’t ready to forgive them, not yet. Okay, the reasonable side of her knew that she was the only one who was in this war and she knew she couldn’t win it. She had lost this fight as soon as she has started it. She should just accept her faith. Yet the hotheaded side of her made sure that she would do everything much harder for her parents than it should be. It would be her silent rebellion against them.

Ran leaned with her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands. God, if her best friend would have been home… Ran would have called her, told her everything and maybe stayed there night or two. Maybe things would have been better soon. But no. Sonoko was visiting her boyfriend's place which was… was… Hah, Ran couldn’t even remember where Makoto-kun lived. And like she even cared. At least not now.

Ran felt how her eyes started to make tears. God, she was so envious! Sonoko got to choose who to date, who to marry…

Why God hated her so much? What she has done wrong to deserve this?

“Excuse me… Can I join?”

Ran raised her head. Beside the table stood a young man who was dressed in a white blouse, blue tie, which was a little slack, and dark grey trousers. He has dark brown hair, serious blue eyes, and a gently little smile on his lips. He held a coffee cup in his right hand and in his armpit, he held a rolled newspaper. Or that what it’s looked like to Ran. On his other hand, he held a dark grey jacket.

Somehow Ran felt like she has seen that man somewhere before, yet she couldn’t remember, where or who he would be. Maybe it was her imagination?

“Oh”, she said after realising that this man was still waiting for her answer. She glanced at her teacup and breakfast which she hasn’t touched. “Mm, actually, I… I…”

“Please?” the man interrupted her. Ran raised her gaze to him and saw how that man glanced to the restaurant’s doorway. Ran almost looked that way herself, but the man turned to her before she did. “I promise, I won’t bother you.”

Ran looked at the man who just showed her a bright smile like trying to convince her that she should let him. Ran wasn’t sure what was going on, because she was pretty sure that usually random people wouldn’t join other’s tables, not when there were still free tables. And if it was for a view of the city, this wasn’t the only table close to the windows.

But why would she care?

“Well, if you want to”, she said and sway her hand towards the free spot in front of her. “Be my guest, I guess.”

“Thank you”, he answered. Ran followed how that young man put his coffee cup and newspaper on the table before setting his grey suit jacket on the chair’s back. Then he sat down. He met her gaze and smiled before took his newspaper and opened it in front of him to read it.

Ran sloped her head a little. She found it a little amused that someone still read the newspaper, at least someone who looked young enough to have a smartphone. Or at least to her, he didn’t look much older than her, but at the same time, she knew that sometimes people age differently. Maybe he was just a lucky one and looked younger than he really was?

Somewhere behind her she heard loud voices.

“Are you sure he isn’t here?”

Ran turned her head. She saw two young women standing in the restaurant’s doorway talking to the waitress. Another one looked around like searching for something or someone when the other just looked desperate and almost prayed to the waitress to tell her something. “Come on, he’s Kudo-sama! I’m pretty sure he came here!”

Kudo-sama?

“Like I said before, he’s not here”, the waitress said loud and clear, and Ran saw how she has enough of those two. “And now, if you two excuse me, if you’re not going to eat here, could you leave, please? You have disturbed our customers enough.”

“But we need to meet him…”

“And I’m going to call guards if you’re not leaving now.”

Two women looked at the waitress like she had offended them, but they left, though making sure that everyone would hear how the waitress hadn’t been respected them at all. Ran shook her head. She couldn’t believe how some people could behave like that. And who is this Kudo-sama? Probably some kind of celebrity, was her guess.

She turned around and saw how the young man in front of her has lowered his newspaper enough to see over it what was going on. His gaze met hers. He showed to her a little smile.

“Do you know what that was about?” she asked out of curiosity. “Who is this Kudo-sama?”

Those blue eyes stared at her for a moment, like measuring her for something. Ran wasn’t sure why though. Then man just shrugged his shoulders before severed on the left side of the newspaper to get his coffee cup. “I have no idea”, he answered and took a sip of his coffee. After putting the cup back on the table, he continued: “Probably some wannabe celebrity or something.”

Ran smiled. “You almost make it sound like you are jealous.”

The man laughed dryly and looked at her. “And be chased by women who would be selfish enough not to care who they disturb or hurt to get their idol’s attention?” He glanced in the doorway before raised his newspaper to continue to read it. “No thank you.”

Ran smiled shortly, yet she didn’t take her gaze away from the man who has hidden behind the newspaper. Well, he has just said the truth. Even though Ran sometimes dreamed that she would be a celebrity, she wouldn’t want any of her admirers to be rude to others. But maybe that was one thing that can’t evade. Every people were different, and like that man had said, some people would be selfish enough to do anything just to get their idol’s attention. It was sad but true.

But truth to be told, when Ran looked at that man who was so interested to know what happens in the world, she could imagine that that man could be something bigger than he told her. He was handsome and nice. He has manners. And if his words were true and not just something that he decided to say just to make an impression, he would be fair. Or she could be totally wrong about him...

But then, how many celebrities would come to the hotel’s restaurant to eat breakfast in the suit? She wouldn’t. If she would be a big name, she would try to get dressed like anyone else. Suits are something better and would draw attention. They would be recognized sooner or later. So maybe he was just some businessman. Maybe he was here to make some contracts or having meetings. That was the only reason why anyone would dress in the suit in the mornings.

“Can’t take your eyes off me?”

Ran blushed and leaned backward. The man lowered his newspaper enough to met her gaze. He smiled and his eyes glimmered mischievously.

She wasn’t sure if she liked him or not.

“Pretty full of yourself”, she answered trying to hide her shame of getting caught for staring. “How can you tell from behind that newspaper that I stared at you and not someone behind you?”

The man smiled and closed his newspaper. “Oh, don’t we all feel it when someone is staring at us?” he asked while folding the newspaper and lied it on the table. Then he gave to her his full attention. “And how much you want to bet that behind me is no one?”

Ran let her gaze wandering behind him even though she knew better than him that there was no one.

“Fine”, she said in the end. “Are you some kind of mind-reader?”

He laughed. “Not at all”, he answered. “I just happen to pay attention to my surrounding.”

“Why?” she asked. “Are you hiding from someone?”

The man shook his head and took his coffee cup. Somehow his cheerfulness melted a little when he looked at his cup. “Well, not exactly someone… Maybe more like something. Though it’s useless”, he answered and took a sip on his cup. Ran stared at how he put down his cup and leaned against the table. “But enough of me, miss. How about you?”

“About me?”

“Yup”, he answered. Blue eyes wandered to her plate and teacup. “Your tea is cooled down because it doesn’t steam anymore. And you haven’t eaten anything from your plate. It seems like it's your first, though it’s a different story if you took a new plate after first was empty, still, you haven’t touched that, so…” He looked at her eyes. “I believe there is something bothering you.”

Ran felt impressed, yet a little annoyed. Why that random man was so curious? It wasn’t his problem what Ran did or didn’t, and any of this wasn’t his business!

“What is this? Some kind of interrogation?” she asked defensively.

“No”, he answered and leaned backward. “Usually, people don’t have an appetite when something bothers them.”

“Really?” she asked dryly and looked at his cup. “Then why haven’t you got anything to eat? You are here to eat breakfast like other of us, right?”

The man looked at the buffet. “Well, I’m not hungry”, he said and showed a gloomy smile to her. “Like I said, I’m here to trying to hide from my problems. And because of them, I’m not hungry.” He lowered his gaze at his cup. “Well, I thought I would feel better after a cup of coffee, but truth to be told, either this coffee is terrible or it’s just me why it doesn’t taste as good as I hoped.”

Ran felt pretty bad for being mean to the man. Something bothered him, and she was just annoying… And yet, it wasn’t his fault that Ran has a bad day.

“I’m sorry”, she said and lowered her gaze back to the teacup. “I shouldn’t have…”

“No, it’s okay”, a man answered lightly. “I shouldn’t have tried to pry.”

He moved and Ran raised her eyes to see that man was about to leave. She felt something squeeze her throat. Was he leaving because she was mean to him?

“I just… I just have a bad day”, she said fast. The man stopped and looked at her. “I mean…” Ran moved her eyes off him and looked at the city from the window. “My parents, they decided without me that I should marry someone. I mean…. like…” She kept a little break, trying not to start cry again. “They arranged my marriage.”

There, she has said it. Out loud. To someone else… And to someone who she didn’t even know.

“I mean… I… I have always dreamed that I find someone who would love me and go on dates and we would move together, he would propose to me, we would get married and all that…” Ran was happy that she couldn’t see her reflection from the window. Must be a pitiful sight. “But now, instead, my parents have decided without me that I need to get married as soon as possible! I mean… Why didn’t they say anything about it earlier? I… I… I don’t know if I could have done anything differently, but at least I would have had more time to be okay with this. Or really tried to find someone in my life! All this time I thought that I can decide who I marry, plan my own weddings and all but out of nowhere they just took that liberty from me! Why? Because this is best for me! I’m at my best age to make family and all. So what?!” She felt anger and frustration came back to her. “I’m just twenty! I have still plenty of time! Why my happiness isn’t important to them? Do they think I can’t ever find anyone? Do they think I’m going to be happy with someone who I don’t even know? And how they can know if that person is kind to me? He can be a monster, who just want to use me, and…”

Out of nowhere, she realized that she has ranted all this time and hasn’t got any answer. She turned her eyes back where the man has stood a moment ago. He was still here. Blue eyes stared at her and… He smiled cheerfully?

“What?!” she shouted before giving any other thoughts of anything. Why she even thought that man could understand her distress? It seemed that it would have been better if she would have let him go away earlier. “Yeah, I know, I’m pitiful and childish, selfish person who just has dreams and I wanted to make them true, but instead someone took them from me without asking, and you dare to laugh?”

“Hey, I’m not laughing, just smiling…”

“Yeah, and why is that? Because I’m just childish? Because I don’t want to get married to some random guy…”

“No, it’s not that…”

“Then what it is?!” Ran shouted. She stared at his eyes feeling angry. Oh, how much she just wanted to stand up and kick that man’s sorry ass for laughing at her, for…

“Oh, come on, don’t cry.”

“What?” she asked just before she felt something soft on her cheek. Tears. She hasn’t even noticed that she was crying… A white handkerchief appears in her sight. The man was offering it to her.

She looked at him for a second before took a handkerchief from him, though a little ruder than she maybe should have.

“I wasn’t smiling for your misery”, he said, and she heard him moving something, but she didn’t look. She just took a napkin and dried her eyes and cheeks. “I can understand how you feel…”

Ran laughed dryly and turned to him. He had moved his chair closer to her. “Well, it didn’t look like it”, she said with a cold voice. “I wouldn’t laugh at someone about this if I would know how it feels.”

The man glared at her. “Are you going to let me explain before judging?”

She snorted. “Not sure if I want to hear your explanations.”

“Well, wanted or not, I smiled because I’m in the same situation.”

Ran stopped everything. Then she laid down the napkin and met his serious gaze.

“I smiled because I listened to you and…” It was his turn to let out a dry laugh. “Well, I have been thinking some of those things since yesterday evening. I have been angry and disappointed of my parents that I also forgot that in the end, it isn’t so uncommon that parents arrange their children’s marriage.”

“It isn’t?” Ran asked with a little confusion. “I haven’t heard…”

Man smiled. “Well, were you ready to tell happily to everyone that your parents chose your future husband without asking your opinion?”

“Well, I wasn’t…”

“In my line of work, I have heard too many people to being together because of arranged marriage. And it’s coming out only if it’s the ultimate must. So, I believe no one wants to tell anyone if they don’t have to, and that’s the reason why many people think they are only ones.”

“But… why?”

Man shrugged. “My guesses are as good as yours”, he answered and leaned with his left arm on the table. Ran felt his warm skin against her hand. “Because parents have been friends and decided a long time ago that if their children haven’t married at a certain age, they can have each other. Because some parents don’t have enough money to provide for their child and they want them to marry someone who can. Because of making sure they got wealthy spouses. Because of some opportunities.” He shook his head. “There are too many reasons, and since it’s not illegal…”

“Though I think it should be”, Ran snorted.

“Well, I think so too.”

They changed smiles. Ran wasn’t sure what to think of this all. Well, even though her parents have said that it was best for her, she believed that money was the reason. Even though she has believed that they got enough money to survive, it could be possible that they didn’t. Maybe that was the reason why they decided that Ran should marry someone.

“So… What was your reason?”

Man didn’t raise his gaze on her. “Because of my parents... No, because my mother is impatient”, he answered. “After high school, she just asked why I don’t have a girlfriend, and I just said that I haven’t found anyone interesting. So, I was all by myself, mostly working. Then my parents came to visit some weeks ago and she was still so confused that I didn’t have anyone, so without asking from me, I believe she took reins on her hands.”

Ran laughed. “Pretty hard to believe that you don’t have a girlfriend already.”

He met her eyes, looking a little confused. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Well, handsome man like you…” Then she stopped with horror. Did she really say that out loud? She looked at the man who first looked more confused before he started to smile. "No, I mean... I... You know... I didn't mean it... like... that, you know?" she tried to save herself.

"Do I?" he asked.

"Well, you know, I mean that..." The man started to laugh and Ran stopped and looked at him with confusion before she realised that he was just making fun of her. "You idiot, forget what I said earlier! I understand pretty good why no one wants you!" Yet a smile came to her lips too. Somehow she felt a little lighter than earlier even though she wasn't ready to forgive her parents. But still, this was better than nothing. Maybe this was all she needed? To talk to someone who would understand.

Then her phone started to ring. She took it out and felt how her good mood was fading away. It was her mother.

“Not going to answer?”

“It’s mom”, she answered and put the phone on the table, just muting it. “I… I just don’t want to talk to her yet.” She sighed. “Though I know I should probably go back to home and live with this miserable faith, but… I don’t want to.”

The man leaned back and crossed his arms. “Then, what would you like to do?”

Ran gazed out of the window. The day was beautiful, yet the sight of Tokyo made her somehow feel… sad? She knew she has two months before weddings, yet she told herself that the time would go too fast for her. Would she learn to live with this? Could she ever walk the street of the city without feeling anxious, sad, lonely? Could she go anywhere in Tokyo without counting days at the weddings?

She felt like she would love to go somewhere. Somewhere where she could just forget everything and enjoy her life. Yet she didn’t know where. She wouldn't have enough money to travel too far, nor have any friends whose place she could stay overnight.

“I don’t know”, she answered honestly. “I just thought that I would love to leave Tokyo for a day or two. Going somewhere where I don’t have to remember these problems. Run away from everything.”

He didn’t say anything, and maybe Ran didn’t even wait for an answer. What could he say in this situation anyway?

Her phone started to ring again. Her mother. She probably should just face the reality and answer her.

“Before you answer”, his voice interrupted Ran who was just taking her phone in her hand, “what about we run away together?”

“What?” Ran asked and looked at him like she hasn't heard him right. Well, she was sure that she had heard it wrong, but he looked at her so seriously that she doubted it.

“Let’s run away together”, he repeated and smiled. “Why not? We both wanted to go somewhere else. So why not go together?”

Ran just stared at him. What was he suggesting? There were so many problems with that idea, and she wasn’t even sure where to start.

So, she laughed. “As much I like the idea, do you know how many problems there are?” She shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Humour me”, he said as he fixed his posture on the chair. Ran couldn’t believe how carefree that man could be.

“Why would you want to go with me?” she asked. “You just don’t know me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he answered. Then he shrugged. “Maybe I want to know you.”

“I’m going to be married.”

“As do I.”

Ran shook her head. This didn't go anywhere. “But I don’t know who you are or anything else”, she said. “I don’t even know your name…”

“I’m Shinichi.”

“Ran.” Only then Ran realized what she has done, and almost immediately she just wanted to slap herself on the cheek. Idiot! She was too easy.

“Ran”, he said like tasting her name. “I like it.”

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not”, she protested even though she felt her cheeks to say otherwise. “Why should I trust you to go anywhere with you? How do I know if you just… if you… What do you really want from me? Why me?”

Shinichi smiled. “Ah, you’re a woman of reason. I like it”, he said. “Well, you are right. I could just try to get you somewhere and do bad things. But… well, I can’t give anything else than my word of it that I’m not here to hurt you or do anything else to you.” He kept a little break like thinking what to say next. “I’m just… We are in the same situation, aren’t we? I don’t want to go home yet, though I don’t know where else to go. I don’t have many friends, and even if I would, I’m not sure if I want to be with them, because I don’t believe they could understand what I’m going through right now.”

“But you said earlier that anyone could be in the same situation, they just don’t say it out loud…” She shrugged. “Maybe they can understand.”

He looked away and for a moment Ran thought it was it. That he had given up.

“Do you have… someone?” He looked at her again. “Someone who you want to talk about this and who would understand?”

“Yes, I… I…” Ran has thought that answer would have been clear. Sonoko. She was her best friend, she could tell her everything and she would understand. And yet, right now Sonoko was the one who had a boyfriend, who enjoyed her life and was going to marry him one day. So even if Sonoko would understand her, how about Ran? Ran knew she shouldn’t, yet she was jealous of Sonoko. She got something Ran didn’t, and even though she was happy for her best friend, could she still not be chagrined because of it?

“You…?”

“But still, I can’t go with you”, she continued skipping his question. “I have to go back, because… I… I don’t dare to leave my parents in a bad situation because of me.”

“I didn’t say we are going to stay anywhere for a long time”, he said. “Maybe day or two? Just some take off from everything, nothing more.”

“And…” Ran felt like she wouldn’t like to say it out loud, but if that would be key to decline this, then so be it. “And I don’t actually have money for traveling.” She laughed nervously and looked around her. “For me eating breakfast here is a luxury, and I can’t do things like this too often…”

“Don’t worry about it”, he said. “I can pay for this trip.”

“No, you can’t”, Ran laughed, but seeing how serious Shinichi was, she let her smile fade. “You can’t have enough money for both of us…”

He shrugged. “I have done work too long and not really having anything where to spend them, so… why not?”

“But you’re going to get married and have a family”, Ran objected. “Shouldn’t you save for it?”

Shinichi raised his eyebrow. “Well, I would still be working, so I don’t see any problem here.”

Ran just stared at him. “Sorry for being bold, but what on earth are you doing for a living?”

“Let’s just say I’m kinda entrepreneur.”

“Entrepreneur?” Ran repeated still trying to understand how. “Is that some family business or…”

“Just me”, he answered. Shinichi started to smile when he saw Ran’s suspicious gaze. “And no, I’m not selling drugs or anything like that. Actually, I’m kinda working against things like that.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Then how…”

“I just started to make a name for myself in high school”, he answered. “So, when I started, people knew me. That’s it.” And before Ran had time to ask more, he leaned forward. “So, how about a trip, you and me? I’ll pay. You just keep me company and enjoy.”

Ran stared at those blue eyes which glimmered with enthusiasm. As nice as the offer sounded, she knew she shouldn’t accept it. And even though it was the right thing to do, it made her feel bad already. Though she wasn’t sure why. It felt like she should say yes, go with this stranger…

“I’m sorry, I can’t”, she said finally and turned her gaze away. "I just... can't."

Yeah, this was the right thing to do.

He didn’t answer right away, and Ran didn’t dare to look at him. Maybe she was afraid that he would be sad about her answer. Or maybe angry?

“Well, it’s okay”, he answered quietly. Then she heard how he stood up and moved the chair in its own place on the other side of the table. Only then Ran raised her gaze to follow how he took his jacket on his arm and then turned to her. He smiled, though it wasn’t as bright it has been. Somehow it made Ran’s heart sink a little.

“Thank you for the company”, he said and bowed for her. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ran.”

Ran wanted to answer him. She wanted to apologize that she couldn’t accept his offer. She wanted to say that she was happy to meet him too, that he had made her day a little better, yet nothing came out of her mouth. In the end, she just smiled at him with a sad expression and let him go without saying anything.

It’s all right, she told herself. He was a stranger. Even though he was nice, who knew what he would have done to her after they were left. Even though he has good intentions, who knew where it would have led her. And even if he just wanted company for his trip, maybe he could ask one of his friends…

But if it was okay, why she felt so terrible? Why she was sad about doing the right thing? Why…

Her phone started to ring again. Third time. The caller was the same as before. She took the phone in her hand, yet she didn’t answer it. She knew she should, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to face reality, not yet.

She looked out of the window. Maybe she could send her mom a message, saying that she wasn’t ready to talk to her or her father. That she would come home later, after some shopping. Yeah, shopping sounded good. Maybe she would feel better after walking from shop to shop, seeing all the beautiful clothes, make-ups, and everything, buying something nice for herself…

Why doesn’t it made her feel any better?

She stood up, took her handbag, and walked as fast as she could out of the restaurant. She called an elevator, but since both of them were too slow for her, she decided to take the stairs. And she moved as fast as she could, floor after another. And then she got to the first floor, and for a moment she scolded herself for being an idiot before she saw him. He stood at the reception, and Ran’s guess was that he was paying, though she didn't know that he had stayed here. Well, it didn’t matter to her.

So, she walked towards him.

“Thank you for staying, hope we see you again!”

“Thank you”, Shinichi answered and turned around to leave. Then he froze in front of her.

She smiled carefully while squeezing her handbag’s strap nervously. “Hey.”

He answered her smile. “Hey.”

Ran felt how her heart was racing in her chest. “I wonder… Is your offer still available?”

Chapter 2

[maldreathezora]

Breast Cancer: A Tale of Two Titties

By Faith April LaFazia

The story starts when I was nine years old.

I got my first period. 

My mother was sad for me. I was so young, the pad felt like a tail in my pants. I was sure everyone could see it poking out. I changed from my usual sweatpants to jeans that year, which were more concealing.

For the first part of fifth grade, I went to a charter school where the closest bathroom to my classroom was the nurse’s office. I kept having to ask my male teacher to go to the nurse. He sometimes questioned why, and I couldn’t find the courage to tell him I was on my period. Once, the nurse’s office was out of pads and I had to wear a full pad for several hours. I cried all the way home that day, feeling disgusting. I wouldn’t learn to wear tampons for a few years.

Soon I was twelve, and as my breasts grew I hid them under my shirt with a sports bra, an undershirt, a large t-shirt, and finally a vest. Even in the summer. 

Despite my best efforts to ignore them, my breasts kept growing. 

Soon I was as big as my eldest sister. The attention this drew from men on the street was ridiculous. I would get honked at, yelled at (“Bitch! Whore!”). People mistook me at thirteen for an eighteen-year old. I was devastated and depressed and I began to stay inside and play video games all day.

When I outgrew my sports bras, my mother took me to buy some bigger ones. When we were in the dressing room, I took off my layers and my size D cups fell out. My mother said, “Faith!” in such a tone I was ashamed. I had hid my breasts well, even to my mother.

So continued my obsession with video games. I played Wind Waker for the first time and fell in love with Ganondorf. He didn’t hunch like most villains; he stood up stick-straight. I started to stand up straight, too, though it hurt. This probably saved my back from hurting worse later on.

Be careful what you wish for.

My breasts went from a D cup to an E cup, from there to an F. They swallowed my hands if I put them beneath my breasts. I grew to an H cup, and finding comfortable bras (or even uncomfortable ones) in that size was, as many are surprised to learn, difficult. The price was high, too, the average bra costing from $70 to $100. Being big cost money.

From the time I was a teenager to my young adult life I picked the pimples on my breasts obsessively, I hated my breasts so much; in my mind it was like getting revenge on them. Soon they were pockmarked with scars. I would put them in a bowl of ice water to try to shrink them. I started to hope I’d get breast cancer so I could take them off. 

At fourteen I found a marble-sized lump in my left breast. I was terrified of cancer and checked my breasts during every shower from then on. Luckily this lump went away after a few days. 

I had a boyfriend off and on for a few years, and he was mainly in love with my breasts. Luckily we didn’t stay together long. 

When I was 23 I visited a plastic surgeon to talk about breast reduction. But as soon as I saw the word “Necrosis” on the list of side effects, I knew it wasn’t for me. A turning point came after that; I spent $80 on a well-built sports bra, and began to jog, giving the finger to anyone who catcalled me, or honked at me. 

I had a few boyfriends after that, but nothing stuck until Alex, who loved me for me. 

After my 25th birthday, I found another lump in my left breast. It was the size and shape of a peach pit, hot to the touch, and painful. I went to a surgeon, Dr. Miller, and asked him to tell me if it was cancer. He took a sonogram of the lump and decided since I was so young, and the lump was hot and painful, that it was a cyst or an infection. He put me on antibiotics, which did nothing. He then went on vacation for three weeks, during which time the “cyst” grew to the size of a mango seed, and caused me much pain. The skin above it was pockmarked. Finally when he was back I asked him for a biopsy. He balked, but I demanded it. 

He gave me the biospy. The thick needle he stuck into my breast found a lump so hard and compact it could hardly suck up the sample. I knew then it had to be cancer, since a watery cyst would pop.

I remember driving out to a graphic design office to apply for a job, but they didn’t seem interested in my interview. Which was just as well, when the biopsy results got back. 

When I found out, I was alone. I saw the results of the biopsy online in my patient portal. “Carcinoma of the breast.” My mind went blank; I finished what I was working on as if on autopilot. I texted my husband at work to tell him. I’m sure he didn’t get any work done for the rest of the day. When he got home he held my hand and said we would get through it. (And we did. And we are.)

When I told my mother, she cried and held me. She wished it was her instead of me. 

Dr. Miller wanted to cut off my left breast right away. I could feel the cancer spreading in my left armpit, but I didn’t question him. But when Dr. Siddique, my oncologist, heard what Dr. Miller wanted to do, he stepped in and said no. First we need to shrink the tumor, he said. 

I felt anger. I was so angry at Dr. Miller for letting my “cyst” get so big. I cried and punched a pillow, imagining it was his face. Unfortunately I had to go under his knife to have a mediport put in. I begrudgingly allowed him. 

So I was put on four strange-named chemotherapies which took eight hours the first day to administer. They had to wait an hour after each to make sure I wasn’t allergic to it. There was a brilliant lightning storm that day and I had a view over the pond from the cancer center. 

After that the infusions took four hours each, once every three weeks, for five months. They made me sick, but I wallowed through.

At last I was free from chemotherapy. 

I decided I wanted to have both breasts removed and chose Dr. Dickson Witmer, a wonderful surgeon who had done mastectomies on women all over the Eastern Shore. I showed her a drawing of what I wanted to look like, and she said, “That’s almost exactly how you’ll look.” She seemed impressed. So I was satisfied. 

I was not worried all the way up to the surgery. It took four hours to wait because she was saving the life of someone who’d been shot outside the hospital. When she put her head in to check on me, she looked happy and confident. I knew I could put myself into her hands. 

“Deep breaths, sweetie,” she said as the anesthesia mask came down on my face. 

I awoke after the surgery, still in the surgical room. I lifted my head and looked down at my now-flat chest, strung with wires and tubes. I must’ve smiled as I thought, “That looks just right,” before lying my head down and sleeping with great satisfaction. 

After a rest in the hospital, I was about to go home when I began to cry. I was crying because the two-hour ride home would be painful, and I knew it. A well-meaning nurse knelt to put a hand on my knee, crying herself, and reassured me, “Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re still a woman.”

My tears changed to laughter. 

And that’s the story of how I gained and lost my breasts and found my happiness. 

[anna-pixie]

Hello !!! Can I have Geralt x reader? Reader has been so caught up in her work that they forget to eat. They get extremely lightheaded and stumble a little. Geralt steadies them and he is worried (and mad) when he finds out they forgot to eat. While he is making food they faint and land (luckily) on something soft. When he's done, he comes back , at first he thinks that they're just laying down but he kinda freaks out when he realizes that reader is unconscious????? THANK YOU

i am SO sorry this took so long, i’ve had the worst writers block recently! 🥺

i really liked writing this request and if you like it i would love to turn this into a little series maybe!

request: reader has been so caught up in work they forget to eat. geralt is worried (and mad) while he is making food they faint and land on something soft, he freaks out when he realises they are unconscious.

pairings: geralt x reader

warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive tones

****

To say Geralt was over-protective of you would be a vast understatement. You’d met more or less a year ago, when he pretty much saved your life. You had just been kicked out by your father, for refusing to marry the fat, greasy suitor he had decided was worthy of your hand. A life on the streets doing whatever you please would be better than being married to a disgusting hog, right? Well, kind of. The harsh reality of living on the streets slapped you in the face like a bolt of lightning.

You were growing wearier by the day, coming closer and closer to facing your final option other than starving to death. Prostitution. You knew it would keep you going, but you’d seen the way those horrible men would manhandle and devour the painted ladies.

You met Geralt the night you almost gave in. You sat in the back room, glaring at your painted face with tears pricking your eyes. The lady of the brother called your name, a shriek in her voice as she commanded you to come down. She had a client ready for you.

Long story short, that client was Geralt. He took you up to his room for the night, taken aback when you started crying hysterically when he approached you. You had expected him to hit you, tell you to stop being a bitch or even just force himself on you there. Instead he ran you a bath, left you to calm down and then took you under his wing, whisking you away on Roach for a life on the road.

You like to think that was the Gods smiling down on you, meeting Geralt was the best thing that ever happened to you. Of course, life on the road was no breeze. Your new life was filled with monsters, hunger, travel and death. But you wouldn’t change it for anything.

The past few days had been particularly tough, you had been camped out in the forest while Geralt came and went, going after a particularly nasty wraith. You had been alone for the last day, and you were too afraid to venture out of your tent alone with the exception of relieving yourself, so food had not been at the top of your priority list.

However, now that you’ve started the long walk to the nearest town, you realise how stupid you had been. Your head is spinning and you feel slightly delirious, your stomach screaming at you to feed it. Luckily Geralt is a few paces ahead of you with Roach, and the sound of a nearby stream drowns out any of the rather embarrassing noises your stomach is making.

You stop a while later, and Geralt makes sure you drink a hearty amount of water from the stream. He leans against Roach and watches you, your cheeks flushing as you slurp the water.

“Do I have something on my face?” You’re paranoid now, he won’t stop looking.

“You’re about to.”

“W...what?” You barely have any time to question before he is striding up to you, grasping your face and planting his lips on yours. You relax, smiling into the kiss as he takes his time to savour you.

Geralt is not your boyfriend by any means. Sure, you kiss occasionally. Sometimes he can’t seem to help himself, but you draw that up to just needing a bit of female attention on the road. You never let him go further though, as you know that will bring unwanted feelings. You see the way Geralt is with women, a different one in every town - sometimes even more than one. You don’t want to become that to him, just another body to have his way with. So you stick to kissing. And, oh Gods is he good at it.

You hit his chest lightly, blinking quickly as you stumble to the side slightly. Your vision blurs suddenly and you place your hand on Geralt’s large arm, trying to steady yourself.

“Y/N? Y/N!” He shakes you lightly, looking down at you with furrowed brows as you start to regain your vision.

You shake your head a little, plastering a smile on your face, “Sorry. I don’t know what happened there. I felt a bit faint…”

“You practically passed out, Y/N. Gods, you didn’t have any breakfast today, is that why? What did you eat yesterday?”

“Umm…” You stall, trying to think of a way to tell Geralt that you in fact haven’t eaten, “Nothing…” You regret telling him almost immediately as his face drops, his eyes going dark. You know how angry he gets when you don’t take care of yourself, and you guess that’s why he feels like he has to do it for you.

“Fuck…” He groans, dragging the word out as he walks towards Roach, grumbling quietly to himself. He takes the reins and brings the confused horse over to you, “Normally I wouldn’t let more than one person ride Roach but I can’t risk you passing out and falling off if I’m not on there with you.”

He grabs you quickly underneath the armpits and you shriek in surprise as he lifts you onto the horse with ease. You whisper an apology as your fingernails lightly scratch Roach’s neck. He climbs up after you and you blush at how close his body is. You can feel everything, you’re practically sitting on his lip. You ignore the unladylike thoughts swirling in your brain and focus on staying awake for the rest of the ride to town.

“How long left?”

“Shouldn’t be long. Blaviken is not too far but… obviously… we need to travel a few towns over.”

“Aah. Okay.”

You make idle chat for the rest of the way, though it is mainly you chatting about any old thought that pops into your head, and Geralt grumbling along. At some point he had wrapped his arms around your waist, one resting on your thigh and the other on your waist. Gods, is he trying to make this hard for you?

The rest of the ride isn’t too bad, your vision spots in and out of black a few times but you try not to bother Geralt with this information. You spend your time brushing your fingers lightly through Roache’s main, trying not to distract her too much. You let out a sigh of relief when you finally reach the next town, probably looking like a mage out of her mind as you grin sleepily as you pass people by.

You stumble a bit as Geralt lifts you off of Roach, but deflect his concerned glance with a wry smile, telling him your leg was dead from being idle for so long. Wow, you’ve gotten so good at lying. You leave him to sort Roach out in the nearby stables while you wander inside the warm tavern, scrunching your nose at the inviting scent of sweat wafting around the room. Your transaction with the owner is quick, you’re used to it now after months on the road. You place an order for meat with all the trimmings, knowing you had a bit of coin left over from being camped out for a few days.

“Sorry, love, we ain’t got no meat left. I can rustle you up some potatoes if you’re desperate.”

You sigh, biting your lip as you eye the man near you devouring his piece of meat, your stomach groaning desperately. Alas, you smile kindly at her and assure her that it’s fine, you’ll just take the room for now.

You smile, shaking your head once more as you enter the room, realising that you’ve been given a double bed to share. You will never admit this to Geralt, but you secretly love it when you have to share a bed. You had never been one to enjoy physical touch a lot, but the way Geralt’s large arms would hold you in his sleep, gripping you tightly like he’s scared you’ll leave, well it just makes your heart melt.

Sitting on the bed, you focus on trying to stay awake whilst you wait for Geralt. This is in vain, however, because your head starts spinning almost instantly. You whisper a quick ‘fuck’ before all you can see is darkness, falling down onto the bed with your back facing the door.

Geralt smiles as he spies you on the bed when he enters the room a few minutes later, assuming you’re napping. It had been a long day after all. He starts to run a bath for you, a sort of tradition between the two of you since the night you met. As he listens to the running water, he sits at the small table in the corner of his room, his legs spread as his hulking form takes over the small wooden chair.

“Come on, you.” He nudges you slightly once he has finished preparing your bath. Usually when he wakes you from a nap you groan, mumble and drool before glaring at him angrily. Not this time, though. You don’t move at all, and Geralt starts to panic quickly as he remembers the events of earlier that day. He turns you over, your unconscious body lolling like a ragdoll in his strong arms. He shuts his eyes with a groan, realising he is going to have to shock you awake.

You wake with a squeal, thinking for a second you might be drowning. Your vision is bleary for a few seconds as you try to gather your surroundings, only calming down when you hear Geralt’s low, soothing voice talking you through things.

“You can’t scare me like that, Y/N.” Geralt is holding your face now, brushing a strand of wet hair out of your face. You realise he must have dumped some ice water on you to wake you up.

“I thought tough old Geralt of Rivia wasn’t scared of anything?” You tease weakly, closing your eyes once more as a wave of fatigue slams over you. He slaps your face lightly, ensuring you don’t pass out again. You meet his eyes once more, slightly shocked at the sheer seriousness of his expression.

“Not when it comes to you. You’re the only thing that keeps me going in this world, Y/N. You have to understand that I might not always be here. I need to know that you can take care of yourself, okay? For me.”

You tilt your head so that you’re leaning further into Geralt’s hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek. He leans forward, kissing your forehead quickly as he gets up.

“Where are you going?”

“I bumped into Jaskier earlier, he’s passing through this town with his newest whore. I sent him to get us some meat. We’re not sleeping until you’ve eaten. Got it?” Sometimes you like to tease Geralt, just to get a reaction from him. This was not one of those times. You look at him through your lashes.

“Got it.”

Jaskier is as happy as ever, humming a tune whilst the three of you dig into your food. You try to remain ladylike as you eat but can’t help scoffing down the hearty chunk of meat you were served.

“You should’ve seen Geralt before, Y/N.” Jaskier cackles, shrieking suddenly when Geralt serves a swift kick to his shin.

“What do you mean?” You eye Geralt suspiciously, placing your hand on his thigh so that Jaskier can explain without the fear of being kicked again.

“I was enjoying my… company… downstairs, shall we say. Then all of a sudden this buffoon comes running down the stairs, shouting about a jug of cold water. So of course I followed him, and all I could see before he kicked me out of the room was him pacing around - I kid you not, Y/N, he was praying to the Gods - and then he chucked the jug of water on you.” You can’t help but giggle at Jaskier’s dramatic retelling of the events, awwing slightly when you see Geralt’s bashful face.

Turns out even emotionless Witcher’s can freak out when something they care about is in danger.