i know it’s hard to accept compliments as anything other than lies. but when somebody blurts, “you’re beautiful,” take a breath. think of your dog, panting happily and covered in mud. think of your mother in her bathrobe with her hair in tinfoil while the dye sets. think of your best friend with her face streaked with tears and makeup. think of your little brother when he was sick and his face was a red puffy mess. think of how, even then, your heart swelled up with love of them. this is i think where compliments come from: when they look at you, no matter what, they see somebody beautiful, not some body, beautiful.
“Gamora!” Peter calls from somewhere behind her. She turns to see him and Drax on the other side of the bar. “Gamora, Gamora, Gamora!” He keeps shouting her name, even after she’s clearly spotted him, as they make their way up to her, giggling like children.
They have to weave in and out of groups of people, the bar packed mostly with Nova Corps officers, all of them there to celebrate Dey’s birthday. At first Gamora’s not sure why Peter and Drax are acting so giddy, nor what nonsense Peter has managed to get into in the five minutes it took her to grab more drinks from the bar, but she’s sure she’s about to find out.
It becomes obvious once they get nearer and she can properly see their clothing situation.
“Gamora,” Peter says again when they get up to her, still giggling. “Do you notice anything different?”
He gestures between himself and Drax, who bursts out laughing. “Anything different!” he repeats, slapping his leg as though it’s the most amusing thing he’s ever heard.
“Gee, no,” Gamora says dryly, lips twitching. “You’re too subtle.”
“Come on!” Peter grins. “Guess!”
“We swapped pants!” Drax blurts out, which makes Peter laugh again.
“You were supposed to let her guess!”
“She was taking too long,” Drax says unapologetically. “Let’s go see if Rocket can guess!”
“You go,” Peter says, waving him off and smiling dopily at Gamora. Drax shrugs and walks away a bit awkwardly, as Peter’s pants are several sizes too small for him. It’s a wonder they don’t rip.
“Here,” Gamora says, handing Peter his drink, though she’s now thinking he probably doesn’t need any more alcohol.
“Gamora,” he says very seriously, after taking the drink. “I’m wearing Drax’s pants.”
“I noticed,” she tells him. They’re loose on him, hanging lower on his hips than his own pants do, and there’s a large, orange-ish stain on one of the thighs. “Why are you wearing Drax’s pants?”
He bounces a bit in place, clearly excited to tell her. “’Cause he spilled his drink on his, and he said it felt gross and he wished he had another pair,” he says, talking very fast. “So I said it’s too bad you can’t just wear mine, and then I thought: he can wear mine. So we went and I gave him my pants, but then I didn’t have any so he said I could wear his! Are you proud, babe?” he finishes, somewhat breathless.
She furrows her brow. “Because you switched pants with someone?”
“Because I solved the problem,” he says like it’s obvious.
“Not really,” she points out. “The pants are still stained; you just switched who’s wearing them.”
He blinks, looking down as if to check that she’s telling the truth. Then he bursts out laughing again. “Oh my god, you’re right. That’s twice as hilarious. I can’t wait to tell Drax.”
Gamora shakes her head fondly. “Yes, it’s a very funny story, Peter. Now let’s go get you a glass of water.”
She steers him towards the bar, and he drapes an arm across her shoulders as they walk. “And cool, right?” he asks, suddenly sounding a bit more sober.
“Am I cool?”
She glances up at him to see that his previously gleeful expression has fallen into more of a pout. “Of course, Peter. Why?”
He sighs dramatically. “Lately it seems like Groot doesn’t think I’m as cool as he used to, y’know? Like, he used to think I was the coolest guy in the galaxy.” Gamora’s not sure that’s true, but she lets him continue uninterrupted. “Now all he seems to care about are those video games.”
Gamora rubs his side soothingly. She’s pointed out to him many times that Groot is an adolescent now and, according to the parenting books she’s read (which is something she’d never expected to find herself doing) this is a normal phase for him.
That never seems to placate Peter, though.
“You can tell him the pants swap story, then,” she says. “He’ll be very impressed.”
“Yeah, he will be,” he says confidently as they reach the bar and Gamora orders him a water. “Are you impressed?”
She purses her lips and looks him up and down, then says with as straight a face as she can, “To be honest, I’m more impressed by your tight pants.”
He flushes and puffs his chest out with pride. “Do you wanna go get me out of these?” he asks in a conspiratorial whisper.
She rolls her eyes and points to the glass of water the bartender has just set in front of him. “Why don’t you sober up a little first?”
“Soooooooo.” He looks at her as if he’s trying to read her face, which he’s normally good at even while drunk. “Is that a ‘yes?’”
“It’s a ‘maybe later.’ Now drink.”
He grins like he’s won the lottery and picks up his water. “I still got it.”
Gamora smiles indulgently; he’s a dork, but he’s her dork. “Yes, you do.”
If you're comfortable, could we get headcannons for what either Washington or Hercules would do with their SO on Halloween?
boss’ memo : tough decision, making me decide between my two fav boys !! but i flipped a coin (read: asked my friends to pick 1 or 2) and herc won :O
hercules loves haunted houses, though he mostly likes them as a concept as opposed to An Actual Thing
it’s especially terrifying for him when you’re with him. you’d think that having his s/o with him would make him feel braver, right? to keep up the bravado for you? but nope! he’s even more scared because what if the monster gets you?? he practically carries you the entire time that the two of you are there !!
at least he gets an excuse to cling to you, which he’d never pass up? um, ever?
he might sneak a smooch. might.
if you’re not into haunted houses, that’s okay !! if you don’t want any scary things on your halloween night, herc can settle if you play either mario kart or smash bros with him, because in his words, “i get very scary when i’m upset so that should be good enough, right?” (he doesn’t, he just refuses to look at you but cannot stay mad no matter how he tries)
warning, though, he does get loud when he gets excited ! let him know if that’s a problem !!
sorry, did you say you were going to order a halloween costume? sorry, what?!
let him make it for you !! (just give him a bit of time to get it done, of course, but let him make it ! there’s little else that makes hercules happier than seeing you wearing something he’s made)
he’s definitely going to ensure his costume matches yours !
he is all about that day-after-halloween candy!! whether you’re coming with him or not, he’s going to gather the rest of the gang and bolt to the stores
he really likes dum dum lollipops, since they’re one of the few candies he can just pop into his mouth while he works,, so, expect him to slide through the door, holding a sack of candy
(and he’ll share it all with you because he loves you. yep, you can even have the cotton candy flavored ones,,, this is true love.)
if there’s any other candies that you’d like him to get for you, speak now or forever hold your peace.
just joking! he already knows your faves and wants to ensure that you get ‘em !!
aaand if you’re not too into candy? well, he’ll repeatedly ask if you’re “sure? really sure? you’re not fucking with me?” and then proceed to ask if there’s anything else you’d like him to grab for you while he’s out, then
(everyone else will complain to you since herc insisted that they go to the store that was halfway across town because you expressed a mild desire for something and he’d be full of guilt otherwise)
herc isn’t the biggest fan of gory horror movies, but if you’d like to watch ones that don’t involve that much gore and are mostly based around psychological horror, then he’s all for it !
cuddling up to you with a blanket and having you rest your head on his shoulder while he gets to quietly talk about framing and symbolism in the movie always makes him smile !!
hell, I’m stuck on my main nano thing. Let’s just…remember this? Okay,
continuing in that style; warning: you won’t get that much out of this if you
haven’t both read LotR (or at least watched it) AND watched Critical Role.
our story begins on Wilhand Trickfoot’s eleventy-first birthday, which happens
to be his neice Pike’s thirty-third, and thus coming-of-age. To the excitement
of all of the Shire who are invited, and all those who aren’t but will show up
anyway (that is, the rest) there is to be a party of “special magnificence”…
camera may pan first, however, to a simple cart trundling up the rode to
Hobbiton. The cart is simple, but the man who drives it is not: skin naturally
dark with tan, hair darker yet, woven with beads of gold, and purple robes worthy
of a king—if, perhaps, a little worn with travel. And the contents of the cart!
Simple brown boxes, yes, but the clever hobbit children already growing in a
crowd, trailing behind, know what they hide. For they recognize the mark: a
for Gigantic!” they whisper not-so-quietly. “G for Grand!”
prefer ‘Glorious’” the man calls over his shoulder, or so he seems.
you are,” says another hobbit, “is late.” [the movies were very good, okay.]
She stands in a tree by a bend in the road, dark hair streaked with blue, hands
on her hips, a little older than those trailing behind the cart. Just on the
cusp of adulthood. It is, in fact, her birthday.
wizard is never late, Pike Trickfoot,” the glorious driver of the cart says
sternly. But he cannot hide the laughter in his eyes. “Nor is he early. He
arrives precisely when he means to.”
Trickfoot does not bother to hide the laughter. She leaps as it bubbles out,
without a care that she might miss the headboard and hit the fireworks instead.
She does not, of course.
It is good to see you again.
Wilhand’s been worrying you wouldn’t make it.”
Party happens. There are wonderful fireworks, including a raging white dragon.
There is dancing, and singing—in no small part from Pike’s friend and companion
Mr. Scanlan Shorthalt, just a few years older than she. Deft of finger and
defter of wit, Scanlan was regarded as a bit of a rogue among the more proper
Shirefolk, but always popular among the “wild” youth. And all agreed he could
play the shawm as fine as you please, and a dab hand at lute and panpipes to
boot. (For all that, Pike is ever-immune to his attempts to woo her, halfway
earnest though they are.)
gives a brilliant speech, and disappeared. He and Gilmore discussed old
adventures, and older treasures. Pike gave chase, s far as Bag End, and
inherited a ring. And, you know, Bag End. All of it. It was quite a lot.
Really, what’s a single piece of jewelry to an entire household?
I start the story again, some seventeen years later? When Pike has lived on in
Bag End, in Hobbiton, with its rolling his and gentle wind nd sun; its happy,
homely folk and their busy farms, rivaled only by their busy gossip…
latest, I hear, is that Miss Sybil Cotton is with child, and will not tell whom
the father is. Some wonder if she even knows. Others, who could be worth
protecting. Hobbits, though overall kind, do love a good gossip.
skip some of the boring bits, shall we? Gilmore reappearing in the dead of
night, slamming the doors and flinging Pike’s ring into the fire. Dark words in
gold, twisted and burning. A danger. A doom. A plan.
preparation. Pike hints that Wilhand’s dragon gold is finally running out, and
sells Bag End—dear Bag End, dear childhood home—to her cousin JB Trickfoot, who
is by far the least troublesome of her less favorable relations. A timid lass,
but not unkind, nor full of avarice (beyond, perhaps, for books, and a healthy,
hobbitly affection for mushrooms.)
accompanies her as far as her “new” home of Crickhollow, but here’s the thing:
Scanlan is a bit of a rogue. At
least, he is chronically curious, and nearly as clever as that, and always
loves great tales and very rarely took no
for an answer. So, that night Gilmore told Pike the legend of the One Ring? He
my have been…listening. At the window. And the book Wilhand had been working on
for years, the true story of his
travels, which he never let anyone but Pike read? Scanlan may have…read that.
Just a little. Just a glimpse! (He had to jump back out the window when he
heard footsteps coming.)
he does know Pike, and it is clear that she is not just preparing to move
houses. She is too sad. And Pike does not get sad like a simple hobbit, with a
good cry and some beer. She gets sad like an elf, wandering the hills and
growing distant, almost ethereal when the light hits her just right. There has
always been something odd about Pike Trickfoot.
thinks of many things, as he lets his best friend lie to him (for a time.) He thinks
of how he has always dreamed of being part of a story: a real one, an important
one, far grander than the little tales and jokes he tells in the taverns each
night. He thinks of how Pike, whom he does love, is going into danger surely
too great for any lone hobbit, and that he would fain even the odds, however
slightly. And he thinks, with some guilt, how he, Scanlan Shorthalt, is really
very nervous of being in Hobbiton, or even the Shire at large, in…oh, nine
months time. Eight, maybe. The longer the stay away, the safer, probably.
not staying here, Scanlan,” Pike says quietly. There is an urge to fidget with
the ring on the chain round her neck, but she knows that is a bad idea, so she
twists her fingers together instead. “I know I made a big to-do about moving
here, but the truth is…”
going to Rivendell,” says Scanlan, and lifts a laden pack from among the
luggage they’ve dumped on the floor. “Don’t worry, so am I.”
they have hidden on the road from Black Riders, who left a chill in the air as
they passed. But still Scanlan grins, if only because Pike looks like he has
hit her with a croquet mallet.)
the Forest, they are nearly buried alive by a curmudgeonly old willow, and get
saved by a bizarre man who calls himself Matt Mercer, wears yellow galoshes and
speaks only in song. His wife is the daughter of a ray of sunlight, with hair
like flickering flames, and when he puts on the Ring he smiles and does not
disappear. [Confession: when
convincing people to read Lord of the Rings, I often give them permission to
skip the Tom Bombadil chapters. Amazing worldbuilding, Tom and the
barrow-wrights alike, but SO useless to the plot.]
is more sensical worldbuilding: he town of Bree is the only one in all
Middle-Earth, so far as the writer(s) of this tale know, where hobbits and big
men live side-by-side, with only as much strife as most neighbors have. The inn
is bustling, and well-ready for folk of both sizes. Pike and Scanlan welcome
the warm beds, and warmer company, as it was another dark, terrifying race to
the ford. All nine Rides in pursuit, their voices fell, their dark hooves
pounding and dark hands reaching, calling—something
in Pike’s throat, or at least around it, calling back—
the hobbits drink in peace, in the warmth of a fire and a crowded, happy inn.
But a stranger sits in a dark corner, and Pike cannot help but glance their way
from time to time.
that’s a Ranger,” says the innkeeper, Laina, when Pike flags her down to ask
(and for another mug of ale.) “Minxie, that one goes by. She’s alright.”
they mostly keep to themselves, Rangers,” says Laina. “Strange folk. One time…”
loses track of the innkeep’s anecdote, because Scanlan has clambered onto a
table and begun to play songs many minutes ago. That is fine—they are trying to
be incognito, but even the dark forces of the world could not stop Scanlan from
preforming for an audience, and Pike loves him for it. What was not fine is
that now he has started to tell tales, which mostly meant gossip—and that, with
the event so recent, meant Wilhand’s mysterious disappearance at his own
me,” says Pike, and dashes over to vault onto the table beside him. She pitches
her voice to carry. “Good folk of the Greyskull Keep! I must thank you for your
hospitality! Rest assured, when I finish my book, Bree will be well-accounted
for as a town most welcoming, and most bestowed—and bestowing!—with great food,
and ale, and company!”
raises her mug, toasting the now-cheering crowd.
said, I think it might be time my companion and I retired for night, for
tomorrow will be another busy day of—”
someone jostles the table. Maybe a crowd of tipsy, sloppy cheers left too much
ale for to slip on. Maybe Pike has had a mug too many herself, and has lost her
darker forces conspire. As she falls, Pike’s hand goes to her pocket, and as
she hits the floor (really a very little fall) her finger slips just so, and the world fills with fog. Voices and shapes all
muffled, though they are all exclaiming.
crawls frantically out of the crowd, to the nearest corner and secure table
under which to hide, and yanks the Ring off her finger.
sooner has she stowed it once more beneath her shirt, than a big man’s hand
grabs her by the scruff of her shirt and yanks her up. A big woman’s
actually—Pike finds herself staring up, in mute terror, at the mysterious
Ranger. Her face is still in shadow, but Pike can see sharp eyes, and a sword
at her belt.
are foolish, and not safe here even if you were wise,” says Minxie. “I will
meet you in your room, and we will talk.”
Three contestants were featured on the first episode, including you. In the last five minutes, there was a draw to see who would give birth during the after-show. The contestant after you was drawn. She was brought back onstage. She was hesitant at first, but the promise of money and other benefits won her over. Not to mention that, with her children birthed, she wouldn’t be indentured to the studio. For a moment, you were envious that her time under such awful conditions was cut short. But you quickly changed your mind when you watched her get injected with another substance. Her belly swelled and she screamed in horror and pain. Her water broke, nearly causing her to collapse into the chair. Her feet were placed in the stirrups, exposing her to the entire crowd. The host prodded at her entrance with his fingers, telling her that it was too soon for her to push. She cried out in pain, the contractions unbearable. You turned away from the show, one of the employees showing you to the room where you would be staying.
The room was nicer than you expected. The bed seemed comfortable and there was a television and room service at your disposal. But some equipment in the corner of the room caught your eye. You didn’t recognize half of it, but you knew there was an ultrasound machine. They would probably spend the spare time during the after-show updating the viewers at home on the other failed contestants. The girl giving birth was still screaming and crying. You shuddered, trying not to think about it. You would be in the same situation, eventually, but you weren’t sure if it was better to wait or to get it over with. You would just have to wait until the next episode to see if you were chosen to give birth. With every week, your chances of being selected grew smaller.
The door closed. The employee had disappeared while you were deep in thought. You turned, wondering if you could walk around and get your bearings, only to see the lock on the door. It was facing the wrong way. You wouldn’t be able to leave, but anyone would be able to get in. You tensed. It was probably to keep you from running off or trying to give birth during the after-show. You were stuck until you were freed from your contract. Even then, they were planning on dragging you back into the game for the season finale.
You sat down on the bed, trying to get comfortable despite your swollen belly. With so many children, your womb was already quite stuffed. You couldn’t imagine what you would look like when they were all fully grown. You had to sit with your legs spread in order to give it room. You were bound to have a doctor come by eventually to see your progress. You would have to ask them how far along you were.
When the door to your room opened, you woke up. You looked around, realizing that you must have fallen asleep at some point. The television was still on, playing some late night commercial. Judging by the quiet in the studio, the other contestant had finished giving birth. You wondered what had happened to her, only to see someone move toward your bed. It was the host of the show. He smiled, still so cheerful despite what he had done to three girls in an hour. Did he know that you hadn’t signed up for such a thing? Maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe he enjoyed taking advantage of those desperate for money.
“How are you, my darling first contestant?” He stood next to the bed, glancing down to your stomach. You had forgotten that he had taken your clothes before. You glanced around, seeing no wardrobe or closet. You were to remain naked, then. Figured. It would be easier for the employees to have a go at you.
You hesitated, unsure of what to say, “I’m…fine.”
“Good,” He grinned, “You were quite unlucky. The full twenty-one.”
You wanted to snap at him and say that, if the rules and questions weren’t so ridiculous, you wouldn’t have such a burden. But the words caught in your throat as he got onto the bed. You tried to move to the headboard, but his hand caught your knee. He pulled gently, causing you to fall back against the mattress. You winced at the feeling of your belly moving and the weight on your body, only to squirm as you felt him unzip his pants.
“Stop,” You pushed against his shoulders, only for him to grab your wrists and pin you down, “You can’t do this-“
“By agreeing to be on this show, you’ve signed yourself over to the studio completely until your time here is done,” He was still smiling, which only sent a shiver up your spine, “Or did you not read the fine print? I know, anything following a dollar sign is much more important, but contracts are a dangerous thing.”
He entered you, forcing a cry from your lips. You turned your head and shut your eyes, wanting to be anywhere else than pregnant with twenty-one and getting another fucked into you. You kept still, refusing to make things easy or pleasurable for him. You hoped that he would lose interest if you were too much effort to keep.
“Ah,” He noticed your expression, “Do you think you’re going to get impregnated again? Don’t worry, the drug’s worn off. We can’t add any more to you after the show’s over. The crowd is expecting twenty-one. They would be confused if there were more. But disappointed? Not really. They’ve already taken quite a liking to you.”
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to talk to him like he wasn’t hitting your cervix and pushing your deeper into the mattress. Ragged gasps left you. Your body was betraying you.
“Have you thought about the children that you’re carrying? We collected quite a bit from the employees here at the studio, as well as from our corporate sponsors. We even decided to have a donation process for the audience. They gladly contributed to the serum that was pumped into your lovely body,” His hands left your wrists, smoothing his palms over your stomach, “I can’t wait to see how much you’ll grow. We make sure that every contestant will give birth before the season finale. You have a several weeks, though the process might take less than that. If you’re chosen for the after-show, you won’t even have to wait for nature to take its course.”
The door opened again, revealing one of the camera operators. You had seen him when you were strapped into the chair. He sighed, brushing his hair from his eyes, “I swear if one more person yells into my earpiece, I’m quitting.”
The host’s paced slowed, “You’ve just signed on. You won’t find a better job with television the way it is.”
The cameraman sighed, “Don’t remind me.”
“Do you want me to finish up here?”
“Nah, I just need a quick fix before I drive home,” He got onto the bed, removing himself from his pants. He grabbed your hair, pulling your face closer to his hips.
You shook your head, but he pried your jaw open and forced himself into your mouth. You groaned in protest, which only enticed him further. You tried to push him away, but the host pinned you down once more. Your eyes watered as you tried to find a balance between breathing and nearly gagging on his cock. You stared up at him, but quickly averted your gaze as his eyes widened and he twitched in your mouth. Clearly eye contact made things better for him. You still hoped that they would lose interest. If not now, then later.
By the time they both seemed close, your jaw was sore and your hips ached. You had grown desperate, both in mind and body. You looked up at the cameraman, sealing your lips around him rather than just keeping your mouth open. You had tried getting the host closer to his release, but he held your hips down to keep you from squirming. He was in charge, even if you were working toward the same goal. You whimpered, thighs quivering as you found your own release. You tried to breathe through it, but were instead forced to wait as the cameraman groaned and pulled your closer. You watched him, his hands still gripping your hair tightly as you swallowed several times. He relaxed, freeing himself from your mouth with a wet pop. He cleaned himself up and left the room. Warmth pooled inside of you, causing you to stiffen. But your womb didn’t swell with another child. The host had been telling the truth. He composed himself, casting you another bright smile and charming wave before leaving you alone.
You stayed there for a moment, shifting slightly in an attempt to relax your jaw and legs. You climbed under the blankets, too tired to worry about the mess and the bitter taste in your mouth.
The season crawled onward. You realized that there were only three days of the week that you needed to worry about. The other four, for the most part, you could spend however you pleased. But the night of the newest episode, as well as the day before and after, were the days that employees showed up at the studio. You were given lingerie to wear, though it always featured easy access to your most desired areas.
The day before broadcasting was the middle ground. There were several meetings, which you often overheard as some advertising agent or anyone else in a suit came into your room and used you. You had quickly given up on modesty. You weren’t desperate for any of them, but it made them leave faster if you helped them along. Whenever someone walked in, you merely took the position they wanted and spread your legs. You had tried fighting several times when you were tired or not in the mood, but it usually ended up with security pinning you down. Once the employee was done with you, however, the security guards decided they all wanted a turn. Even the women had uses for you. It turned out that several of the employees had given birth to children recently. The first had unceremoniously walked in while you were beneath one of the gaffers with her baby in her arms. She had a meeting to get to, so she placed her baby on your chest and walked off. You tried calling after her, but she either didn’t hear you or ignored you. You guessed that it was the latter. The baby, squirming on top of you, quickly latched onto your breast. You winced, humiliated as you were milked and fucked throughout the day.
The day after broadcasting was relaxed. It seemed that those who came into your room were just as focused on your pleasure as their own. You overheard one of them mentioning that they wanted to keep you relaxed to prevent anything from happening to the babies you were carrying. You always wanted to mention that pregnant sex, especially when you weren’t willing, wasn’t exactly the most relaxed environment, but you decided to stay quiet. Some of them spent hours with you, bringing you to orgasm several times before finally entering you. You ended up being dizzy with pleasure and exhausted by the time everyone left the studio.
Broadcasting day, however, was always the worst. You dreaded it every week. You were never sure what was going to happen. You were always worried that you would be selected to give birth during the after-show. You spent the entire day on edge. Everything was so hectic. Most of the time, you were pulled every which way by the employees trying to get a quickie before they came back from commercial.
Your belly had grown to a ridiculous size. You were bigger than any pregnant woman you had ever seen. Your back ached whenever you weren’t lying on your size. It was nearly impossible to get comfortable to sleep. Employees that wanted your services often had you on your knees with your hands on the headboard. You didn’t have enough room for your belly, otherwise. Others kept you on your side and lifted one of your legs. You spent most of your time gasping and moaning, your hands on your stomach in an attempt to stop the flurry of kicking that was sparked by every bout of sex. Your breasts leaked milk constantly, much to the relief of the employees no longer wanting to take the time to breastfeed their children.
This time, you were brought out of your room by one of the show’s producers. At first, you were worried that you had been selected for the after-show. It was the week before the season finale. You didn’t have much time left. Instead, he kept you backstage. He pushed you toward one of the tables filled with headsets and other supplies for the employees. Your stomach rested on the table’s surface. The producer bent you over as much as your stomach would allow before pulling your hips back toward him. He entered you roughly. You braced yourself against the table, wincing as the babies inside of you started kicking. They had grown substantially during the show’s season and had become quite irritable. They likely didn’t have enough room as they would have wanted, but the intrusion of someone getting between your legs always made them act up. You didn’t bother trying to soothe them. You couldn’t reach some of their kicks and they were rarely calm anymore.
There was another girl backstage. You could see her through some gaps in the equipment. Judging by her flat stomach, she was new. You wanted to warn her, to show her what had happened to you during the game, but the producer’s grip on your hips and his thrusting kept you pinned to the table. You looked away as she was taken to the stage, shivering as you felt warmth pool inside of you. The producer stepped back, leaving you feeling empty. You tried to get away from the table and go back to your room, only for another employee to notice you were free. You gasped as they grabbed your arms, spreading you wide as they pushed themselves inside of you. You could tell it was one of the security guards by the vest against your back.
You were occupied by various employees through the entire after-show and the week following it. You couldn’t imagine how many children you would be carrying if you had been impregnated each and every time someone buried themselves between your thighs. Since they hadn’t pulled you back on stage, you hadn’t been selected for the after-show. You hadn’t seen the other contestants, but you were undoubtedly the largest. Everyone else was in earlier stages of pregnancy. You were massive and ready to pop at any moment. You had hoped that they would go easier on you because of your state, but it only made them more ravenous.
Just as someone else removed themselves from your body, you felt a twinge of pain in your womb. You placed a hand over your swollen belly, only to cry out as the pressure became worse.
“Damn it,” The employee on top of you muttered, “Hey, security!”
The guard standing by the door entered the room. He insisted that he was appointed to look after you due to how far along your pregnancy was, but he usually pinned you onto the mattress when you weren’t busy with someone else, “Yes?”
“She might be going into labor,” He shoved you into the guard’s arms, “You know what to do.”
At first, you thought that they would call for a doctor and see if you were really in labor. Instead, the guard moved over to the equipment in the corner of the room. You tried to get up off of the bed, but your belly weighed you down. You were barely sitting up when the guard came back to the bed. He was holding handcuffs and something you had never seen before. You screamed, trying to get away from him, but you were slower than he was. He fastened your wrists to the headboard as the other employee disappeared, likely to inform the higher ups of your condition.
He set the other object onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He removed his tie, gagging you to keep you from screaming again. The muscles of your womb clamped down harder than the last time. You shrieked, but it was muffled by the cloth between your teeth.
The guard entered your swiftly. You groaned, legs quivering in response to how much he filled you. If sex took some of the pain away, then you would be more open to his advances. His hands moved to the back of your thighs, pushing your legs back until they were on either side of your swollen belly. He inched deeper, rubbing against your cervix. You pulled against the handcuffs, the sensation driving you to a fast and rough orgasm. But the pain didn’t fade. It was only getting worse. You squirmed, trying to free yourself, but the metal was strong and he was holding you too tightly. You were pinned beneath the weight of your twenty-one children, which rocked back and forth with each of the guard’s thrusts.
His pace grew faster as he stopped to rub a hand over your belly. The babies were kicking in response to the sex, agitated by the movement. He then squeezed your breasts, which were leaking milk onto your body and dripping onto the bed. He forced himself deeper, harder, in search of his release. When he found it, you were on the verge of your own. But he withdrew, leaving you on the edge of bliss. The emptiness along with another contraction made tears well up in your eyes. You turned your head away, struggling to escape as you cried out in pain.
“This was a bad time for this happen,” He admitted, grabbing the object he had left on the bed, “The after-show isn’t for another day. They thought you would have lasted longer, at least until the season finale, but you’re going into labor early. You can’t give birth off the air, so we’ll have to put it off until tomorrow.”
You stared at him incredulously. Put off labor? How could they possibly hope to do that? He slipped your legs through something, but you couldn’t see due to your belly being in the way. Something prodded against your entrance. You tensed, thinking that he was going to fuck you again, but the thing moving into you was much larger than any man that had taken advantage of you during the season. It filled you to the brim. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel your walls twitch around it. It met your cervix, pressing into it until your back arched in discomfort. The bands were tightened around your thighs, keeping the object in place. Each time you shifted made the thing inside of you move, bring either pleasure or discomfort with it. The guard continued to position and tighten the fabric on your body. It framed your stomach and put just enough pressure on your breasts to keep them leaking. He reached underneath you to latch the final piece.
Surprisingly, he released you from the handcuffs. You immediately pulled his tie from your mouth and sat up. You looked to see just what he had put on you. It looked like some sort of bondage. You tried pulling it from your body, but everything was attached to the back. You couldn’t reach it, no matter how much you tried. The guard went back to the equipment, grabbing something white on a band.
You shrank back, shaking your head, “No, get away from me.”
He sighed, “I should have kept the cuffs on. If you don’t wear this, the higher ups are going to have a problem. If they can’t track how the child furthest down is doing, you’ll be forced to wait until the after-show. If something happens and there’s a problem, they might edit the programming and let you get it over with.”
You faltered. You didn’t want to wait if you didn’t have to. You wanted your contract to be over and to leave the studio for good. You just wanted to go to some small town and pray that you would never be recognized for your part in the show. You forced yourself to relax, letting the guard put the band around your stomach. He moved it around your lower belly where you couldn’t reach. Suddenly the sound of a rapid heartbeat came from the small white machine on the band. You stiffened. You had no sort of maternal instinct, you just wanted it to be over. You didn’t even know what happened to the children that you would birth. Would they force you to take them and mother them, or would they do something else with them?
The guard withdrew, “Good luck. With twenty-one, you’ll probably need it.”
As he left and shut the door, another contraction made you wince. You swore under your breath, only for the pressure in your womb to change. It felt like something had broken. You reached down, trying to pull the object from your body, but the straps were fastened too tightly. It wouldn’t budge. Your muscles clamped down again. You screamed. The pain was unbearable. You knew that your water had broken, but there was nowhere for anything to go. Your birth canal was so stuffed that not even liquid could get through, let alone the first child. You looked to the clock on the wall, hoping that the after-show wouldn’t be too far away.
But you had over twenty-four hours until the show. You would be forced to wait.
You just sound like Klaroliners in the Originals s1 to s3... Always rant why your ship is better, how not matter what happens you won, blah blah. Even now you're the ones begging for a mention and that TO writers don't erase canon just like they did with Klaroline canon. Since you like quantity before quality, technically both ships have the same 3 seasons of development, just that Klaroline has a break of almost 4 seasons. Enemies to lovers is the slowest trope, Cami just born to be Klaus li
You sound bothered. I don’t recall anyone asking you to poke your salty nose into the klamille tag and read my post. And no babe, I prefer quality over quantity, it just so happens that Klamille have both.
We’re asking for more klamille in the final season to tie everything together. Is that a crime? Have I hurt your feelings by this? Kcers been whining for a story for years, khers whined about how they “needed to talk” and then when they did they complained it wasn’t enough. That’s what shippers do. They request for more, because there’s no such thing as too much.
Enemies to lovers is not a klaroline trope. Their trope is abuser and victim to one night stand. And Klamille DID have the slowest burn of Klaus’ ships, since he hopped into bed with all the women a season later.
Anons about Hinata interventions: First, I think you need to rewatch or reread a bit. Naruto had kind of lost his "one on one" with Pein. And do you hear yourself? You're the one who deflected about the scene being unnecessary to not face up the fact that Kishi's writing put everyone else in the same position as Hinata by owerpowering Pein, but you'd only blame Hinata. To randomwhorcrux, I don't care if more people hate on Hinata, I don't care about her, I just hate sexists.
Holy shit mate READ what people say. He was pushed into a corner that part could have just been not written or written differently. Naruto didn’t win BC of hinata he won bc of the kyubi that could have been achieved differently. @randomwhorcrux what’s this person even saying 😩
Can I have a hug from Yuya? I'm feeling really dysphoric on these trying nights
((Hey anon I’m sorry you’re feelin’ this way and i really wish i could help you out. But I’m sure you can do this. I know personally it can get tough sometimes, but hopefully it won’t be like this forever. I hope you’re doing better soon))
You'd feel like you're with someone who just won the lottery when you tell him about the big news. He would do a crazy dance to express his joy, and brag about it to his friends and how he'll be the best father ever. Of course, he start a little of the water works when you let him place a hand on your belly.
Upon hearing the news, he would be a little excited and a little nervous to be a father. He would spend his time reading up on babies, pregnancy, etc. and even watch videos with you. Albeit being too early, he would immediately want to discuss the name of the child and would ask if you guys could go shopping for supplies.
At first, he wouldn't believe you and keep on telling you to quit joking around. When you show him the proof, however, he wouldn't be able to wipe the smile off his face and will try to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall.
He would be really nervous, considering part of him would tell him that he's still not ready, but another part of him would be happy to be fathering your child, so he would man up and assure you that he would be with you every step of the way.
The first thing he'd feel is confusion, since he thinks that you're trying to play a prank on him, but once he sees that you're truly serious, he would turn away from you. Thinking he doesn't want it, you'd be very upset, but you'll start smiling once you hear sniffles and see him harshly wiping his face from joy.
Being a father would be a dream for him, so he would immediately tell all his friends the news, pick you up and swing you around a little before he takes your hands in his and give a heart-felt, tear-jerker speech about how happy you've made him.
As soon as you break the news to him, he wouldn't be able to stop laughing and smiling. He'll jump around, shout, and hug you really tight because he would be super overjoyed. Once he's calm, he'd ask if he could rub your belly a little and "talk" to the baby.
It wouldn't show on his face, but he would be really surprised and might even blurt out "are you sure it's mine?". Of course, it would upset you that he said that, but he'll try to clear it up and tell you that he always wanted a child, then offer you a small smile.
He'd find out first before you do. He would notice the change in your appetite, disposition, and personality. He would force you to take the test just to be sure, and when it's proven that you are indeed carrying his child, he would tear up a little and hug you tightly, thanking God for the little miracle you brought him.
I’m heading off to sleep now. I won’t be awake during the performance, since it’s taking place at 2 am in my country. And also I’ve been awake for 20 hours now which is a big deal for me because I’m a sleep lover and enthusiast. What is more, I decided not to be online until I get to listen to reputation. If I won’t post till tomorrow evening it means I was slayed by the album herself and I’m lying dead on my bedroom floor (please, call the police then). Goodnight and have an awesome reputation release day. ❤