#i've never been one to force daily writing

[sparklingchim]

game on | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.2k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warnings: koo gets scolded for sleeping around 🥺, playboy jk <3, hints of a threesome 🫢, oc fights w a laundry machine

summary: jungkook is in desperate need to polish up his playboy image, and naturally, he turns to you for help.

a/n: hii my pretty besties!!!! it's my bday😋 so i wanted to share this silly piece i've been having so much fun writing!!! love uuu n treat urself to smth nice for me today <3 mwah😙

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Jeon Jungkook is a charming man – and he is well aware of the fact. He plays that card effortlessly.

Most of the time, it works in his favour.

But sometimes, it backfires spectacularly and gets him into trouble.

Which is why he stands in front of his fuming manage, who is radiating enough anger to fill the entire office.

The sight isn’t foreign to Jungkook. He wouldn’t say he is used to it, but he has found himself often enough in this situation to recognise the signs of deep trouble.

Not only is Jungkook’s charm complicating things, but the fact that he is famous too.

Sometimes, he uses that as an advantage. Not in an obvious way — never by flaunting his own achievements or demanding special treatment.

That’s not his style.

His name alone carries weight, and he knows how to let it work for him, quietly bending the world to his will... until the world pushes back.

And right now, it’s pushing back hard.

One thing Jeon Jungkook does enjoy about being a pro footballer, though, is the way women obsess over him.

He knows they love him – sees it in the comments they leave on his ig posts, sees it in the DMs flooding his inbox daily, and experiences it firsthand at public events, where hordes of fans scream his name. Jungkook thrives on that attention.

However, something he doesn’t love, and what he was never prepared for, is the media. The way they scrutinise his every move, how his face ends up on every headline anytime he does something remotely noteworthy.

And now, thanks to his latest shenanigan getting caught by the press, here he is. Standing in front of his manager, Taesung, and his PR agent, Jiwoo, eyes downcast, bracing himself for the scolding that’s already begun.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Jungkook.”

His manager speaks in a flat, monotonous voice, void of even the slightest hint of disappointment, as if he’d long since given up expecting anything different.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up the mess you leave behind?”

A sense of guilt creeping up on Jungkook, even though he knows if he were just a regular guy, none of this would matter at all. And he finds it a bit unfair.

But to survive in this business, you can’t complain about unfairness.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Taesung barks.

Jungkook remains silent. He forces himself to.

“If there was more involved than just alcohol-”

“No! Nothing like that,” he denies, his response firm and immediate. “It was just alcohol – and, well, just good vibes because we won the last match, and with the World Cup being next, everyone was just really excited.”

If he had known what kind of trouble a simple, innocent celebration of his team’s win at a club would bring, he would’ve gone straight home yesterday. He would’ve skipped the rounds of drinks, the flashing lights, the loud music, and definitely the attention. But hindsight was useless now.

“Good,” his manager says. “I’m glad you were happy.” Mock sympathy drips from his voice. “Perhaps the last time you are going to be happy this year.”

Jungkook nods, accepting the gravity of the situation. No more clubs, no more parties, no more girls.

At least, not for a while. His reputation had taken a few hits recently, and this latest mess wasn’t helping. He could almost hear the whispers: reckless, irresponsible, unprofessional. The kind of things that could ruin him if he didn’t get a handle on it.

He clenched his jaw. No more distractions. From now on, it was all about the game. He needed to remind everyone why he was Jeon Jungkook — the best on the field, not just the headlines.

“You’re no longer in for the World Cup. You’re out.”

His head snaps up at that. Did he hear that right?

“What?! What do you mean?”

“Myungbo doesn’t want you on the team anymore.” Taesung’s words sound heavy and final.

Jungkook’s heart pounds in his ears.

His world tilts. The room seems to spin, the edges of his vision darkening. This wasn’t just a setback — it was a disaster. The World Cup was everything to him, and now it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The crushing weight of the news settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe. One silly night is all that happened.

He can’t believe that a single photo of him leaving the club with two girls clinging to each arm has cost him his spot on the national football team. He went home with two girls – so what?

But he doesn’t voice his frustration. He knows better than to add fuel to the fire. Speaking his mind now would only escalate the situation and make things worse. Jungkook knows from experience.

He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm. His pulse is still racing, but he takes a deep breath, focusing on controlling his emotions. He has to keep a level head if he’s going to find a way to fix this.

“There has to be a way to fix this.” His eyes move to Jiwoo, his PR agent. “Right?”

His manager fixes him with a stern glare. “Jungkook, remember the promise you gave everyone a few months ago?” Taesung reminds him.

Jungkook cringes. When he made a promise to avoid actions that might damage his reputation, he didn’t think it’d be that serious. He cut back on going out, made the effort to play the role of the “good boy” but really – come on. He can’t maintain that facade for an eternity. Especially after a triumphant victory like yesterday’s.

Taking away his spot on the national football team? He didn’t think that was possible.

“How many more times do we have to fix your problems, because you don’t care enough? How many times do we have to repeat this scenario?”

“I promise I’ll better myself,” he pleads desperately, looking back and forth between his manager and his PR agent. Someone has to believe him, help him.

“Do you genuinely believe this country wants to be represented by a 20-year-old boy, who can’t keep his personal life under control?” Taesung asks, eyebrows deeply pinched together. “This isn’t just about you, Jungkook. It’s about the team, the fans, and the nation. They need a role model, not a scandal waiting to happen.”

“I know. I know.” Jungkook scrambles for something convincing to say, desperate to sway their decision. This can’t be it. He won’t let his career take a hit because of something like this. “But – but this isn’t too bad. This is fixable. I can fix this.” His voice quivers with a desperation he barely recognises as his own. “Jiwoo.” Jungkook turns to her with pleading eyes. “You always know what to do. Please, help me”

“I did propose an idea but-”

“We’re not doing that,” Taesung cuts in. “It’s off the table.”

“What is it?” Jungkook’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. “I’ll do anything. This is – this is everything to me. You have to give me a chance.”

Taesung scoffs. “A chance? As far as I know, you have been given countless chances.”

Sweat coats the back of Jungkook’s neck.

Taesung understands just how much Jungkook has fought to secure his place on the national team. He’s well aware that it’s one of Jungkook’s greatest dreams, a pinnacle of his career that he’s poured countless hours of hard work and sacrifice into. That’s why, each morning, when he wakes up to the latest news of Jungkook’s escapades, he feels a deep sense of disappointment, texting Jungkook with a dejected shake of his head to visit his office first thing in the morning.

When it’s all he wants, like Jungkook claims, why doesn’t he act like it?

“If the head coach won’t give me a chance now, he’ll never do. This is my last opportunity to change his mind, make him rethink. I need to at least try.”

Jiwoo looks at the manager, waiting for his approval. He nods.

“Very simply put: you need a girlfriend,” she says.

For a second, Jungkook is at loss for words.

“A girlfriend? How’s that going to help?” Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. This is not how he thought Jiwoo was going to save him.

“You need a girlfriend to help polish up your image as a player. It’ll make you appear more like a gentleman, softer and nicer. We need to completely shift public perception and counter the negative image they’ve formed about you. It’s all about changing the narrative,” she explains.

“And that is not something we can easily achieve,” Taesung interjects. “Rebranding your entire persona is not feasible at this stage. You’ve been projecting what kind of boy you are to the media for the past two years. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to make a sudden shift look genuine.”

“No! We — I can make it seem real. This is my only chance,” Jungkook insists, his voice gaining a hint of determination. For a moment, breathing feels a bit easier again. “The World Cup is just a month away. That’s enough time to shift public opinion and prove I’m worthy of representing the country on the team.” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he speaks, clinging to the belief that he might not have to bid farewell to his biggest dream after all.

But his manager doesn’t look as hopeful as Jungkook feels.

“How are we going to find a girl who will agree to this? Someone who isn’t an obsessive fan, understands this is purely professional, and can keep quiet? You won’t be able to pull this off.”

“I was actually thinking-” Jiwoo starts, but she’s cut off.

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between them before speaking. “Actually... I think I already have someone in mind.” His voice is more measured now. “That’s not the issue.” Jungkook doesn’t need to think twice.

Taesung sighs while Jiwoo looks at Jungkook apologetically.

“You can’t rebrand your entire persona from a playboy to a lover boy within a month, Jungkook. This is over.” His manager shakes his head, a sense of finality glimmering in his eyes.

One thing that Jungkook forgot to mention is that he is an extremely competitive man, too.

~

“This is ridiculous.”

You kick the laundry machine in frustration, but all you end up doing is yelping and clutching your aching foot.

“That’s the third time this month,” you mutter under your breath. “What did I even spend all that money on if it’s just going to break down whenever it feels like it?”

You shoot a death glare at the machine, teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

“Guess I’ll have to use the public laundromat again,” you sigh, grabbing the overflowing laundry basket filled with your and your roommate's clothes, and heading out of the bathroom with a huff.

On your way to the front door, the doorbell rings.

Please, you think. You were hoping for some quiet, uninterrupted time to deep-clean your dorm on this peaceful Sunday with no one around.

But when you peek through the peephole and see Jungkook standing there, your frustration melts away. You swing the door open, the laundry basket tumbling to the floor beside you in your haste.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “You’re timing is perfect! Can you please fix my laundry machine again? It’s been acting up, and I’m getting frustrated.” You groan annoyed.

Jungkook doesn’t share the same excitement upon seeing you.

You grow smaller and take an indecisive step back.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, noticing the tension in his features. “Did you lose the match yesterday? I couldn’t keep up because I had too much cramming to do last night.”

While studying medicine had always been your dream, the reality is less exciting. Right now, it means sleepless nights and relentless pressure. You know that pursuing this path will offer you many privileges later in life, but you have to suffer first.

“I need your help.”

His dark eyes, usually bright and full of energy, seem clouded with worry, and his hair falls messily over his forehead, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration.

“Are you okay?” You study him closely, scanning his face for any signs of injury. Physically, he seems fine — still tall, muscular, and as fit as ever. But something is clearly off.

“You need to do something for me.”

“I can help,” you reply, your voice soft with concern. ‘But what is it…?”

“Can you be my girlfriend?”

You blink, repeatedly.

“Huh?”

You start giggling when he doesn’t add more. You expect him to clarify or laugh along, but Jungkook stays serious, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his. You look down at them, then back up at his face, utterly bewildered.

“You’re silly, Jungkook. If someone on the team made you do this, tell them you did the punishment and quit acting so weird.”

It’s too early in the morning for Jungkook’s nonsense.

“No, ___, you don’t understand.” He squeezes your hands when he feels you trying to pull them back. “I actually need you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fake date me.”

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead. 

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants. 

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse. 

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit. 

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits. 

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault. 

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim. 

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight. 

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that’s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine. 

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look. 

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes. 

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror. 

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it. 

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face. 

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him. 

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you. 

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said. 

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same. 

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after. 

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle. 

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to. 

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead. 

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills. 

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself. 

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again. 

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands. 

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones. 

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore. 

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it. 

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her. 

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her. 

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved. 

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved. 

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you. 

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them. 

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?” 

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage. 

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe. 

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again. 

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better. 

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years. 

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan. 

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house. 

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves. 

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home. 

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real. 

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up. 

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this. 

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them. 

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better. 

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad. 

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can. 

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real. 

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand. 

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do. 

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying. 

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch. 

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture. 

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself. 

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob. 

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything. 

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway. 

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since. 

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt. 

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse. 

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better. 

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh. 

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive. 

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped. 

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you. 

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy. 

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns. 

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight. 

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you. 

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room. 

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something. 

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him. 

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said. 

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now. 

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face. 

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings. 

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in. 

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.” 

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[lainiespicewrites]

Professor Superman

A/N okay this one's a one-shot I've been working on. I'm kinda nervous because I've never written for Clark. Let me know what you think!!

Summary: Reader is a student of Clarks who gets an internship at the Daily Planet. Clark is proud but his feelings take a turn when he realizes Lois is taking her to Gotham for research. He wants to protect her at all costs.

Warnings: Cursing, attempted kidnapping, smut, oral (female receiving) praise kink, Sex P n V, Unprotected sex, Creampie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stared blankly for a moment, at the door in front of me. My heart was racing as I tried to will my hand to move. I only had to ask a simple question. Yet, I can not bring myself to know on the door. If I didn’t do this. I would likely fail the assignment and the internship. But the man was so smart and intense. I was too intimidated by him. What if I could not speak and only caused myself to look like a fool? I’d surely lose the internship then. 

I took a deep breath looking down at the paper in my hand. I had to do this. This is important. I looked back at the closed office door in front of me. Tentatively, I reached up and tapped my knuckles lightly against the wood. 

“Come in,” A gentle male voice answered my knock. With a shaky breath, I forced a smile on my face and grabbed the handle opening the door. His eyes shifted from his computer as I took a step into his office. A warm smile spread across his face once he recognized me. 

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Kent, I’ve finished my paper and I just wanted to ask if you could look over my revisions?” My voice came out quieter than I’d planned. I often had that problem when speaking to him.

“It’s no bother at all, I’ve been expecting you to drop by. Take a seat, I’d be happy to look it over.” He offered, gesturing to the chair in front of him. Professor Kent teaches a Journalism class at the university. He also works full-time for the Daily Planet paper. He’s incredibly intelligent. Each year he considers a few of his students for an internship with the newspaper. But only one of us could earn that position. I really want it. And currently, I’m one of his top candidates. 

I took a seat across from him trying to calm my nerves as I extended the paper out to him. He met my eyes. “You know, Journalism is more than just writing, and telling a captivating story. It’s about doing things that scare you, doing things that make you uncomfortable to chase down what you want to find.” He looked down at my shaky fingers as he slid the paper from my grip. 

“I understand that you’re nervous. But you have no reason to be. You continue to surprise me with just how far you’ll go with each assignment you turn in. If I were to make the final decision…” He paused looking up to make sure the door was closed, so no one would hear. “The internship would be yours,” he smiled. I blushed. 

“Thank you, Professor Kent. That means a lot.” I relaxed a bit as he leaned forward in his chair and started to read through my article. This article is my final piece. And it’s what will be submitted to the Daily Planet as my entry for the internship. I bit my lip awkwardly, trying desperately not to stare at his face as he read. His fingers tapped on the table as he looked up from the desk. 

“Y/n, This is incredible.” He smiled. My cheeks flushed staring down at my hands in my lap. 

“You don’t have to say that,” I stuttered. 

“I don’t,” He agreed, “But it’s true. I’ve only been teaching on campus for about 5 years but I’ve never had a student as dedicated as you. I’m impressed. I think Ms. Lane will be too.” I nodded, giving him a shy smile. “Are you ready to turn this in?” He asked. I nodded letting out a deep breath.

“Yeah, yes. I think so.” I said. He let out a chuckle. 

“Don’t be nervous. It’s great. I’ll take this in, first thing tomorrow.”  He gave me a gentle smile. 

“Thank you, So much. Professor Kent. I appreciate all you help!” I said as I stood to leave his office. 

“Of course,” he paused. His eyes scanned me for a moment. But I was buzzing with too much nervous energy to notice the way they lingered. “And please call me Clark, I have a feeling we’ll be working together before long.” He winked. My heart pounded in my chest and I felt my cheeks heat up.

“Thank you…Clark.” I smiled. He gave me an approving nod before I turned and left his office. 

The next week was agony.  We had two more classes with Professor….Clark, each time I stayed behind to ask if he’d heard anything. And each time he would give me a sympathetic smile and tell me to “hang in there,” just a little while longer. I should hear soon. He assured me that I was a good writer and that I shouldn’t get discouraged. But I couldn’t help it. Now it was almost 5 pm on Friday, surely if they didn’t call soon I wouldn’t know anything until Monday. 

I paced my apartment phone in hand begging it to ring. But when I checked the time at 5:30 and still, nothing. I gave up. I let out a deep sigh, setting my phone down walking to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. I set the glass on the counter and popped the cork. I filled the glass and almost dropped the bottle. My phone was ringing. I quickly set the bottle down and ran to the living room picking up the phone. I didn’t even check the number before I answered. 

“Hello?” I answered almost out of breath.

“Hello, is this Y/n?” a female voice asked. I nodded but then remembered I was on the phone and quickly found my voice. 

“Yes, Ma’am, it is,” I answered her. She didn’t miss a beat. 

“Great, This is Lois Lane, with the Daily Planet. I understand this is a bit late on a Friday evening but do you have time to meet with me at the office tonight?” my mind raced trying to find the right words.

“Sure, I can be there in 15 minutes. If that’s alright?” I asked her. We agreed on the time and after I thanked her, the call ended.

I very quickly realized I was not in the proper attire for this meeting. I was in running shorts and a hoodie. I tore through my closet trying to find a pair of dress pants that would work. I found a simple white cotton top to pair them with and some flats and ran out the door. I fixed my messy bun in the apartment building's front doors before starting to walk. The Daily Planet’s main office was only a few blocks away.  I got it to the building just in time and made my way inside. 

At the front desk, I introduced myself and was directed up to the 4th floor for my meeting with Lois. I stepped on the elevator and pushed the button for my floor.  I was starting to shake from the nerves. When the doors opened I was met with a familiar face. Standing at a desk a few feet away Clark was standing talking to a woman with auburn hair and kind eyes. They both looked up when the elevator sounded. 

“Y/n,” He smiled. “I’m glad you could make it.” I smiled at him and the woman stood and turned to greet me. 

“Miss Y/n, I’m Lois Lane. It’s nice to meet you.” she offered a kind smile. I shook her hand and she gestured for me to sit with her at her desk. “As you’re aware you and others from Mr. Kent's journalism course at the university have been under review for an internship with the Daily Planet. I would have just called but Clark insisted for you to come into the office.” She chuckled softly. 

I looked up at Clark nervously, he squeezed my shoulder reassuring me. “Y/n,” Lois continued. “The Daily Planet would like to officially offer you the internship starting next week.” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. 

“Thank you, Ms. Lane, I accept that offer. When do I start?” I asked, eagerly. She chuckled softly. 

“I’ll send you an email with all of the details on Monday. You should be able to start with us on Tuesday.” I nodded.  

“Thank you again,” I said. She nodded, giving me a smile. 

“Of course. We’re excited to work with you,” she stood and started to gather her things. “I apologize, I’m not trying to rush you out of here. I’ve got a date this evening I don’t want to be late for. Clark, can you walk her out?” Clark nodded waving to Lois as she already started to head toward the elevator. 

“Of course, I can, sorry for keeping you Lo, have fun tonight.”He winked. Lois rolled her eyes at him.

“Forever the gentleman,” she laughed, “ I’ll see you next week,” she said as the elevator doors closed behind her. 

“I told you we’d be working together soon!” Clark chuckled. I turned to face him but I couldn’t find the words. Without thinking I wrapped my arms around his middle hugging him. He was a bit surprised at first but he returned the hug. 

“Thank you,” I said softly. Remembering myself I pulled away quickly, my face flushed and embarrassed. “I-I’m so sorry, that was incredibly unprofessional. I-” Clark cut off my rambling. 

“It’s alright. You earned this. And you’re going to do amazing things here, I’m sure.” He squeezed my shoulder encouragingly. “Let me walk you out.” I nodded and waited while he got his jacket off of his desk chair. We rode down in the elevator together and walked out through the main lobby. “Where’d you park?” He asked, offering to walk me to my car. 

“Oh, um, I walked actually, I live close by,” I told him. Clark looked out the front doors and watched as rain was coming down outside. He frowned. 

“Could I give you a ride? Call me old school but I certainly can’t let you walk home in this rain.” 

I hesitated for a second. He looked back out at the rain and back to me, his eyes full of sincerity. 

“Uh, I mean, it’s really not far,” I argued. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. Just that my head was starting to get kindness and flirtation confused. I already embarrassed myself once with him today.

“It’s pouring rain, Y/n, it's no trouble I promise.” He countered. I gazed back outside. He was right, it had started to pour. I would be soaked just stepping out into it. Let alone walking all the way home. I looked back to Clark and nodded. 

“Okay,” I spoke softly. I watched as Clark pushed the door open and then opened up his umbrella. Of course, he was prepared. I look even more foolish now. 

“Come on,” He smiled. “There’s enough space for both of us under here.” He chuckled. He walked us out to his car and opened my door for me holding the umbrella while I got in so I wouldn’t get wet. 

It was quiet for a moment while he started the car. I had to remind myself again that just because a man is being nice doesn’t mean he’s interested. I looked over at him, his head turned back as he pulled out of the parking spot. I don’t know when I’d developed this little crush on him but it had to stop now. God, he was handsome though. His jaw was sharp, but his eyes were a soft but intense blue. His curls were dark and I found I desperately wanted to know what it felt like to drag my fingers through them. I shook my head. No, he’s my professor. He’s at least 15 years older than me. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. He surely didn’t see me that way. And we work together now. I have to be professional.

I pushed down my thoughts and focused, directing Clark to my apartment building. He paused abruptly when I pointed out the parking lot. He crooked an eyebrow his face completely surprised. 

“No, this is it? Really?” He asked.

“Uh… yeah” I answered hesitantly. Clark let out an awkward chuckle. 

“I’m sorry, It’s just funny. I live in the building too. I’m on the 5th floor.” He said. My brows raised completely shocked. 

“I’m on 3.” I stuttered. 

“I can’t believe we’ve never run into each other.” He laughed dumbfounded. We got out of the car. Clark met me with the umbrella. We took the elevator up together. 

“Have a great evening,” He started “I’ll see you next week,” He smiled. I blushed softly. 

“You too Clark,” I said as the elevator opened to my floor. 

“Oh and if you ever need a ride to work, Just let me know,” he winked. I giggled softly and waved as the doors closed. 

I’m royally fucked. 

I started with the Daily Planet the following Tuesday. I expected that they would have me refill copy machines or make coffee or file documents in the archives. I was shocked when I was given an assignment. It wasn’t in the field. It wasn’t going to be printed. But they told me if I wanted to eventually work for the planet then seeing how I handled personal assignments was key. It was due to Lois at the end of the week. Only 4 days to do research and write the article. I sat at my desk and poured over everything I could get my hands on. It felt a little lonely. My desk was farther away from the main writers and it was a bit smaller. But it would do. Clark and sometimes a few of the others would offer me to join them for lunch during the week but I usually skipped it. This was important. If I wanted to earn respect and make myself a place around here this had to be good. 

On Friday I was once again working at my desk, typing like mad trying to finish and edit my article. 

“You don’t have to work yourself so hard. You’ve already earned your spot you know?” Clark's voice said from somewhere next to me. 

“How many of your students have been hired on at the Planet after the internship Mr Kent?” I asked. He started to protest the question. Then he let out a deep sigh leaning against my desk. 

“Two,” He answered honestly. 

“I may have the internship, but I haven’t earned my place here.I have your respect but I have to earn it with the others,” I replied. He nodded, his eyes connecting with mine.

“Can you at least break for lunch?” He pleaded. 

“I’m going to eat at my desk. I’m almost finished. And this has to be done and on Lois’ desk by 2 pm. She leaves early today.” His eyes were sad but I knew he understood.  

I finished the article. I waited nervously at my desk waiting for Lois to call me over. 

“This is good,” she said when she finally did. “You have work to do,  I want to see how your research improves when you're out on the field. But for just starting, this is great.” She added. I nodded waiting for more. I knew she wasn’t finished. 

“Next week you’ll be coming with me, I’m doing expose research in Gotham, I want you to come to observe and take notes,” she stated. I nodded again. 

“I’ll be there, Thank…”

“Lois, Gotham’s dangerous you can’t take her with you.” Clark interrupted. Lois peered up at him over my shoulder. 

“Clark,” She sighed. “All due respect. You’ve taught her all you can in the classroom. But I’m her teacher now. And the best way to learn research is out in the field hands-on.” She retorted. 

“I’ll be with Lois, I’ll be okay,” I assured him. He wasn’t having it. 

“She won’t learn anything if she gets hurt. The crime rate in Gotham has skyrocketed it isn’t worth the risk. Does Perry know about this?” He asked. Lois scoffed. 

“As a matter of fact, he does. He’s already approved it.” she told him I don’t know what came over me. If I was angry that he was trying to stop me from going when this was my chance to earn my way in. Or if I was angry he thought I was weak. 

“And, I can take care of myself! I don’t need you hovering like I’m so fragile! You may have taught me but I got myself this far, Mr. Kent. We’ll be just fine.” I snapped. Clark stared dumbfounded. His mouth hung open, he was at a loss for words. Actually, everyone was staring. 

“Shows over,” Lois spoke loudly “You can all get back to work,”  she announced. I looked back at her apologetically. 

“Lois, I..” Clark started. She quickly cut him off. 

“Clark, I have to leave, I don’t have time for this. It’s settled she’s going,” She looked back at me, her eyes softer and sympathetic. “I’m out for the day, and you’ve finished your work, If you’d like to go now your welcome, I’ll see you Monday,”  she smiled. I nodded at her giving her a nervous smile. She turned then and walked out. 

“Y/N, please think about this. I don’t want you to get…”  He started. 

“I’m going to go, as well, Mr. Kent… I’ll see you next week.” I stood and walked to my desk grabbing my things. I walked past him to the elevator without another word.

Monday morning I was in the office early. Lois and I met at the office so she could debrief me before we left. She was interviewing with billionaire Bruce Wayne. He had connections all over Gotham, she wanted intel on any possible underground organized crime. I’ll admit it certainly was intense for my first time in the field. But it would be great practice. 

The city of Gotham was not nearly as wicked as Clark made it out to be. Mr. Wayne was amicable. He didn’t want to be there but he respected us so much as we respected him. The next few days we went back. We checked out some of the sources that Bruce had given. We got closer and closer to what she was looking for. Someone was definitely covering up organized crime in Gotham.  

Late Thursday night we were headed back to the car. It was almost 9:30 way past office hours at this point. But as Lois informed me. Good stories don’t live within the time clock. We were about to drive back and head home for the evening. We were only a few blocks away. I heard Lois scream from behind me. I turned back to look and felt myself being pulled backward. Someone had ahold of my arms dragging me off the sidewalk. 

“Let me go!” I demanded. Struggling in the stranger's grip. “Lois!” I called. 

“Shut up, what the hell are you bitches doing here?” a male voice asked. I heard Lois cry for help. I continued to struggle. 

“I’m not telling you anything. Let go of me. Someone HELP.” I screamed. Unable to break loose from the man’s hold. 

“Listen bitch! I told you to…Ungh”  The man grunted he fell back suddenly my arms slipping from his grip. I looked up my eyes going wide. Superman. He’d heard our screams. 

I watched as he took care of Lois’ attacker breaking her free. He spoke softly to her. His face looked almost…stern. She looked at him her eyes deeply apologetic. I couldn't hear what was being said. He patted her shoulder giving her a soft smile after she assured him she was okay. That I did here. 

“And you, are you okay?” He was on his feet now. He landed right in front of me. My eyes met his. They looked so familiar. I nodded. 

“You… saved me. I.. I don’t know how to thank you.” I stuttered. He smiled 

“It’s what I do. I’m just thankful I made it before you were hurt. Now please get home safe.” He added. I nodded still in shock. I felt Lois squeeze my shoulder and we walked back to the car. Superman hovered close watching to make sure we made it. Once we were inside he flew off. 

“Do you… know him?” I asked Lois suddenly. She paused looking at me. 

“We’ve met before. This job can be, dangerous at times. Can you handle that?” She asked. I thought for a moment. Could I? I couldn’t get myself out of this situation. But I didn’t back down either. Finally, I nodded. 

“Yes, I can,” I answered. 

“Good, now let's get home. We both could use some rest.” 

In the office the next day I was typing notes for Lois. I was back and forth at her desk all day. At one point I paused looking over at Clark. He looked exhausted. And stressed. He looked slightly disheveled. He was aggressively tapping at the keys on his keyboard. 

I approached him slowly. 

“Hey, are you alright, you look tired I can get you some coffee if you’d like,” I offered. He shook his head not looking away from his computer. 

“I’m fine Y/n, thank you.” he dismissed me. 

“Oh.. okay, if you need anything let me know,” I added before walking away. Normally I skipped lunch but I had time that day. I walked over to ask Clark to come with me. Again he dismissed me. I felt bad for the way I had treated him last week. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay between us. I stayed late that night typing up notes for Lois. When I shut down my computer, I noticed Clark was the only one still in the office. 

“Clark,” I spoke softly “It’s 5:30  do you need help?” I asked. He shut down his computer then.

“No, I’m just heading out now. Thank you for the offer.” He mumbled. I nodded. I turned and walked to the elevator. I rode down by myself to the first floor letting Clark cool off. If he didn’t want to talk I would give him his space. I walked out through the lobby pausing just inside the doors. Shit. It was raining again. I decided to walk this morning. It wasn’t supposed to rain. I heard the elevator ding and I groaned to myself seeing Clark exit. I gnawed at my lip anxiously, Praying the rain would suddenly let up.

“Hey,” I hear Clark's voice behind me. “Need a ride?” he asked nodding toward the door. 

“Uh… yeah, I walked this morning. Didn’t bring my umbrella. It wasn’t supposed to rain today.”  I answered awkwardly.  Clark opened the door opening his umbrella and just like the first time he took me home, we walked close sharing the protection from the rain. 

The ride home was quiet it was only a few blocks away. But when Clark pulled into the parking lot I could no longer take the silence. 

“Clark. What’s wrong?” I asked. He shook his head. “Don’t, don’t brush me off, what’s bothering you?” He got out of the car, slammed his door shut, and headed inside. I got out quickly running after him the rain immediately soaking me.  “Hey, I was talking to you!” I shouted. 

“Y/n STOP!” He turned around quickly the volume of his voice causing me to shrink back a little. “You wanna know what's bothering me? You. You, putting yourself in harm's way. You, trying so hard to prove yourself that you're being reckless. You almost got hurt because you had to make a point. You, because I can’t stop fucking thinking about you! And I’ve lost sleep all week worrying about your safety.” He stepped closer we were standing in the middle of the parking lot. “Because I couldn't bear the thought of someone even touching you.” my heart was racing his face was inches from mine. I could feel his breath on my face. “I don’t wanna see any bruises on this pretty face.” My breath hitched. 

“Clark,” I whispered. He grabbed my face crashing his lips to mine. I melted against him. The rain still fell hard around us. 

“Your so damn stubborn,” He mumbled between kisses. I wrapped my arms around his neck pulling him closer. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, breathless as I chased his lips for another kiss. He let out a breathy laugh. 

“Don’t be. You’re doing amazing. I knew you would be. Just be more careful.” I nodded. He took my hand pulling me inside. He pressed the elevator button frantically. I giggled. 

“Clark that’s not gonna make it get here any faster.” He chuckled. 

“Damn elevators.” Once inside he pushed the button for his floor and backed me up against the wall. His lips were back on mine, kissing me roughly. “Wanted this for so long.” He groaned. Kissing down my neck. The elevator doors opened. He took my hand again leading me to his apartment. 

He quickly unlocked the door and I followed him inside. I bit my lip waiting for him to make a move. I felt so shy all of a sudden. I wanted this but I was nervous. Clark lifted my chin so my eyes met his. 

“Stop me. If this isn’t what you want stop me, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.” I shook my head. 

“I want you Clark,” I whispered. His lips were on mine again. Sweeter this time. More slow. He felt his hand move down my neck and over my chest softly squeezing my breast. I moaned leaning into the touch. “Clark please,” I whined. He stepped back peeling off his wet shirt. I did the same. We left a trail of wet clothes all the way to the bedroom. Clark laid me down on the bed crawling between my thighs. Kissing them softly. 

“So beautiful.” He groaned before swiping his tongue between my folds. I gasped. He circled my clit with his tongue and then back down dipping it inside me. His groan was feral. 

“Fuck.” I moaned. He worked his tongue in and out of me while I worked my hips against his face. I tangled my fingers in his curls holding him close. His nose rubbed against my clit has he fucked me with his tongue. “m’  gonna.”  I moaned as I came on his tongue. He lapped it all up before pulling away. 

“So good sweetheart.” He kissed up my body, kissing my lips and letting me taste myself. Finally he settled between legs pushing inside of me slowly. He let out a low moan. 

“ So big,” I whimpered. He brushed my hair out of my face kissing me softly. 

“Doing so good for me sweetheart. Almost all the way in. You can take it all baby.” He moaned. With one last push he was fully seated inside me. “You feel amazing baby. Taking me so well.” He cooed letting me adjust. 

“Clark please.” I whined. Begging him to move. He pulled out slowly, until just the tip was inside me and then plunged back in. I let out a loud moan. 

“Feel good sweetheart?” He asked. I nodded. 

“So good, Clark, Fuck, I moaned as he started to thrust into me at a steady pace. He grabbed my hand pinning it to the mattress. He picked up his pace. I felt the knot build in my stomach. 

“You’re getting close aren’t you baby?” he asked. I nodded. Letting out a strangled moan. 

“Please.” I begged. 

“So polite.” he groaned. He pressed his thumb to my clit as he fucked me rubbing in circles. I felt my toes curl and I came hard squeezing him as he fucked me through my orgasm. “Thats it sweetheart. Fuck. Gonna make me. Ungh.” He groaned cumming inside me. We were both breathless laying there for a moment. Clark pulled out slowly. And pulled me into him.

“You okay?” He smiled kissing my cheek. I nodded. 

“Mhmm” I mumbled dreamily. Clark got up and came back with a cloth to clean us both up. Then got back into bed holding me close. 

“Clark?” I asked softly. 

“Hmm?” he hummed. 

“Were you ever gonna tell me… or were you just gonna let me figure it out?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Because no one else knows what happened in Gotham Superman,”  I smirked turning in his arms. 

“How did you…?” He asked. 

“I’ve had a crush on you for a while. I’d know your eyes anywhere.” I said blushing. 

“Hmm,” he chuckled. “You have a crush on me?” He asked. 

“Shut up,” I rolled my eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list!

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[allfearstofallto]

hii! can i make a request?

I've been thinking about angsty things a bit. say if, reader got pregnant, would she hate it? how would scara/childe react? in my opinion, id like to think that scara thinks of this as a way to tie her down to him more, plus its canon he likes kids!! and as for childe i think he'd be very very happy since he has soooo many siblings, (maybe he wants a lot of kids too??)

and..what if reader miscarried? i have this thought of where scara would still be cold to her but give her breaks and more space than usual, but what if reader completely locks herself in and then when he confronts her about it they get into a huge argument, how would scara tackle that, would he resort to abusive tactics and would it increase readers hatred & distance more?

just a brainrot, you dont have to write about it if you're not comfy^_^

This took me so so so long!! I'm so sorry if you were waiting for it!!

I don't typically write for things like pregnancy because it makes me uncomfortable, but I'd be lying if I said I do not absolutely fucking adore angst and hopelessness.

Parasite

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI, Dark Content, Forced marriage, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Mentions of Dub/Non-Con

A week late turned into two. Two turned into a month. A month turned into three. And three turned into unusual cravings for foods that didn't go together. Sickness and vomiting clouded the hours of your mornings. Dread filled your body the second you realized what this was. Stress makes your cycles late, you told yourself, stress makes your entire body change, and this was a stressful situation, but stress wasn't causing this, was it?

Scaramouche could tell the changes in you immediately. As someone who constantly kept tabs on your life, it was only fair to assume that he'd noticed your slight fluctuation in weight and lack of asking for your monthly cloths. When you were called into his office, you felt a hot flash all over your body, you assumed it was fear, but it could've also been nausea.

His office was a place filled with dread. The air in the room was too thick and worst of all, he was there. The room made you feel small, the only good thing about it was that he was usually too focused on his mile high stacks of paperwork. Except today. Today his razor sharp gaze was focused on your trembling form as you bowed to him, his eyes following down, then back up.

“Answer me honestly,” he began, hands planted on the wood in front of him, “Are you with child?”

If you could throw up again, you would. Of course, you knew all this time, but you never wanted to say it. You hoped, just hoped and prayed that maybe if you never acknowledged it, it would all go away. It would all be a bad dream. But it was true. There was something disgusting living inside you. And it was his.

“I believe so, my lord,” the words couldn't even completely fall from your lips before you were a blubbering, sobbing mess of anguish and fear. Despite the fact that you were completely breaking down before him, he had a small smile on his face, like he was proud of what he'd done to you.

“That's good,” he said calmly, wiping away your tears and planting a forced kiss upon your face. His touch felt cold as ice, but his hands against you made you want to melt your skin away.

The reaction to the “good news” was immediate, whether that was good or bad was up in the air, but everything changed. The tight obi of all the kimono you owned would put too much pressure on your budding stomach, new one's were ordered to be ready as you grew more in size. Your diet was changed completely, less of the Inazuma raw delicacies and more lean meat and vegetables. Daily classes of calligraphy and tea ceremonies were switched to resting with your feet up or light stretching, everything to keep you happy and healthy during your pregnancy.

The biggest change was Scaramouche himself. A man filled with so much hatred and disgust, was suddenly being kinder. Or trying to at least. You watch him open his mouth to make a comment, only to shut it again in favor of saying something still rude, but less insulting.

The Scaramouche that believed that he could take your body whenever he pleased was long gone, even though that was what got you in this predicament in the first place. He'd taken to leaving you in the middle of the night and going to the bathroom to sate his urges. He'd come back with cold damp hands and lay next to you, a protective hand over your stomach as he kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you.

The day you saw blood between your legs and felt an aching pain in your stomach was a joyous one indeed. A part of you wanted to scream out in glee, but you didn't want to wake your already on edge husband. The blood that coated your fingers could only mean one thing. One good thing. It was gone. You were free of it. Almost immediately, the dark air that seemed to linger over your body vanished and you let out a sigh of relief.

Scaramouche was informed shortly before breakfast that same morning. You relayed the information to a maid, who then told him, whispering the words in his ear so quietly, it sounded like she was speaking gibberish. His face, his expression, changed to one shock, then horror, then pain. You didn't even know he could make such a face, yet there he was with tears in his eyes.

“Wh-what happened?” There was that tone again. The one you were used to. The anger and distaste for you in his voice. He slammed his fist down on the desk, turning his head away from you as his voice became high and breathy, so desperate for answers, “What did I do wrong?”

You stood in his office awkwardly, even this display from a person you hated, this display of agony was hurting you as well. You thought it would be funny. Seeing the man who pulled you from your home and forced you into marriage in pain was supposed to make you happy, but you felt your own chest clenching, felt your hands tremble.

“I-i suppose…I was stressed, my lord,” you muttered, his already labored breaths hitching at those words. The few months you were carrying that thing inside your body, was when he asked for less from you. He expected you to laze around all day and relax. For your body to fall into a daze like trance of naps and delicious food. He wanted happiness for both you and his child that you carried, yet you were still the most stressed you'd ever been in your entire life, knowing that he had something inside you. Something that would continue to fester and grow, until it eventually ate you alive.

He sat back in his office chair dejected, hurt, and empty. Scaramouche's normally sharp, glaring eyes were wide as he stared at the ceiling, body limp as he bit his lip, “Leave me,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. Had it not been for the quietness of the room, you wouldn't have heard him.

Leave him you did, closing the door as silently as possible and not lingering behind. You felt yourself finally stop tensing, telling yourself that all your woes were over, for now. The thing was gone. You were happy. For once, even if unintentionally, you'd won over your captor.

[annwrites]

sons & daughters. aemond | driftmark outtake.

— pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

— type: outtake from this series

— summary: aemond reunites with you at driftmark after your family's swift departure from the red keep.

— tw: underage—you have been warned.

— word count: 2,319

— tagging list: @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld @callsignwidow @emilynissangtr

— a/n: yes, i felt weird & a tad uncomfy writing the underage scene, but this is the first time i've really given context to their relationship when they were children.

"I would perform my duty," Aemond states, looking at you over his shoulder. "If mother had only betrothed us."

You part from your siblings, walking down stone steps, hot tears running down your cheeks. You've barely had a moment free of them since father...since Harwin died.

Your mother does not want you, nor your siblings, to speak of it. So you are forced to instead sequester yourself away to lonesome corners, or to your chambers to grieve with no one to comfort you.

You do not even have Aemond to lean on now. Not since your mother also forced your family out of the Red Keep and onto a lonely island instead.

You will never call it home.

He had stared at you through the service—your uncle—the look on his face unreadable. So you had kept your eyes downcast, shifting on your feet, fighting back fresh tears as Vaemond gave his niece her eulogy. A eulogy which had eventually turned into vicious insinuations, which served only to make your stomach twist nervously.

Everything seems wrong now.

You've never felt so alone before.

You walk down a few more steps, looking behind you, and when you see that you are out of everyone's line-of-sight, you double over, sobbing into your hands.

Aemond parts from his siblings in search of you.

You've yet to speak a word to him.

The two of you have been exchanging letters since you'd left home, so he'd been most-assured that being reunited here would finally bring him the vision he's been dreaming of daily of you running into his arms once again.

Instead, you'd stared dead-eyed and lifelessly as Lady Laena's casket was lowered into the sea, like you had gone away somewhere else within yourself. And once the service was through, you'd disappeared from the crowded throngs of people gathered round.

He weaves between bodies, glancing this way and that, looking for one particularly comely face, until he reaches a set of steps leading downward and he hears a familiar, quiet cry.

He steps down them, finding you curled into yourself, shaking and crying, so much so that you gasp for air, choking on your own tears.

"Niece," he calls softly.

Your head jerks in his direction and his heart sinks when he takes in your blotchy tear-stricken face.

You quickly wipe at your cheeks with your palms. "Aemond—"

"Uncle," he says, correcting you, taking a seat beside you.

He then pulls you into his arms, wrapping his green velvet cloak around your shoulders. "It's alright. You can cry if you wish. It's just us."

Your chin wobbles and then you turn into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as sobs wrack through your body.

He is silent for a moment, rubbing his hand against your back.

"I'm sorry...about Ser Harwin."

You begin to cry impossibly harder, confirming for him the source of your despair.

"I miss you," he whispers.

You wrap your arms around his middle and he presses a soft kiss to your long brown hair.

"I am...glad we're here together. Even given the circumstances."

You nod softly, hiccupping. "Me too."

He rests his cheek atop your head, closing his eyes, feeling—for the first time since your sudden absence from the one place you are meant to call home—at peace. "I've enjoyed our letters. Hearing from you, that is. It makes you seem not so far away at times."

You press yourself to his chest.

"I hate Dragonstone," you state. "I want to go home."

He tightens his arms around you. "I want that as well."

A beat of silence.

"We should be together. We're supposed to be."

There's a soft knock at your door and you set down your porcelain doll, padding over to it. "Who...who's there?"

"Uncle Aemond," comes a quiet reply.

Just then, a lock slides free and you slowly open the door just a crack. "What're you doing?"

He glances behind you. "Can I come in? I thought...you might be lonely."

You consider for a moment, then nod, opening the door wider, allowing him entrance.

You lock it once more behind you as you turn to him. "Did anyone see—"

"They never do," he says, coming back toward you, taking your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours.

You rear back, stumbling. "Aemond—"

"Uncle," he insists. "It's been...weeks. And we...we miss each other. I thought you'd want to."

You blink at him for just a moment, tugging nervously at the sleeves on your nightgown. "I just don't want to get in trouble. We've never...been here before. It's not like the Red Keep where we had hiding places. And the passages."

He glances around, then settles his eyes on your wardrobe, nodding to it. "If someone comes, I'll hide in there."

He looks back to you.

And then you smile softly, nodding. "Okay."

Aemond's fingers slip clumsily between your legs and he looks to you, his hand trembling as you stare up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Does...does that feel good?" He asks, his voice wavering with unsurety.

You nod, gripping the hem of your nightgown that's bunched up around your naked waist.

He nods just once in return, continuing.

You whimper quietly and his eyes flit to the door. "We...we have to be quiet, Y/N."

"I know," you whisper.

Your body jerks, then settles again and you begin to pant softly. "I...think I'm...almost. I think..."

He leans down, pressing a brief kiss to your lips, his heart hammering away in his chest.

You close your eyes then, concentrating.

He watches your features twitch and your brows furrow, your hips lifting to meet his hand. "I'm—" he pauses. "I'm glad we could. One last time. Are...are you?"

You nod. "Yes."

When you're finally overcome with that wonderful feeling neither of you has a name for yet, it's with you biting your lip and Aemond staring at the door, terrified at any moment the two of you may be caught. Even if the lock is in-place.

Part of him hopes for it, however. If you were, his mother and yours—his father, the King—would have no choice but to betroth you then. To make his beloved niece his for forever.

You glance down to Aemond's trousers, then back to him.

He blushes madly. "I...well, something happened when we were..."

You blush as well. "Oh."

It's happened before—him doing that in his pants without you even touching him. Neither of you are sure if it's normal, but he always seems embarrassed by it, so you don't dwell on it, either.

He lies back, resting his head atop a feather pillow.

You curl against his side, resting a small hand atop his chest, which he takes in one of his own.

"I love you," he whispers. "My niece."

You smile, closing your eyes, feeling content for the first time since leaving King's Landing. "I love you, too, Uncle Aemond."

When you wake, it's dark and you're alone in bed, Aemond's side now empty and cold.

You rise with bleary eyes, yawning, wanting to go in search of him.

He wouldn't have gone back to his chambers, would he? He'd told you he would stay. This was to be your one night together to talk and laugh and enjoy each other's company before being ripped apart again.

You shrug on a small robe, padding over to the door, trying to remember which way he'd said his room was.

Until you see people rushing past you in a frenzy.

And then one of your mother's handmaids spots you. "Princess," she says, voice breathless. "Come, your household has been summoned to the Great Hall."

She takes your hand in hers, leading you that way.

"Where's momma?" You ask quietly. "What's happening?"

"All will be well, Princess," is all the reply she gives.

You wish Aemond were here. You're sure he would know. He always knows. About everything.

There is much commotion when you enter the Great Hall—many familiar faces present: Queen Alicent, your grandsire, Ser Otto, Ser Criston, as well as your brothers.

Your brothers...who have blood on them and seem...frightened. You begin to scan the room in a panic then, and it is only when Queen Alicent steps to the side that you see.

And you let out a scream, many heads turning in your direction, Aemond's own shooting up—only one eye focusing on you.

Tears stream down your cheeks and you cup your hands over your mouth as you head toward him—your feet moving all on their own—until a hand pulls you back.

You look behind you to the Princess Rhaenys, and she merely wraps that same hand around your shoulder, holding you in-place.

"Aemond," you say between sobs and he merely stares back at you without a word.

Your eyes flit to his mother and she meets your gaze briefly before shaking her head, turning back to her son.

You stand behind your mother, clutching at her skirts, trembling violently, watching as blood oozes from her wrist and onto the floor.

"M-m-mama," you say quietly and Jace wraps an arm around your shoulders, shooshing you.

And then Aemond interrupts the tense silence.

"Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye...but I gained a dragon."

You let out a quiet sob, shrugging off your brother's arm, going to step away from your mother, until Aemond gives a small shake of his head and your steps falter.

He stands, taking his own mother's hand, their household exiting the room.

You stare after him, feeling empty.

You seat yourself on the balcony outside, a war raging in your young, tired mind.

You do not know who you should be more upset with.

Luke for taking Aemond's eye—or perhaps he, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena altogether for attacking him to begin with.

Aemond for calling you and your siblings bastards. He...he's told you more times than you can count that he loves you. Why would he say such things, then? Even if they are true, he's never used it against you to hurt you before.

But he himself had been hurt. So, mayhaps, that is why. He was merely lashing out. Understandably so.

Queen Alicent for harming mama. But she was angry. Her son has now been permanently disfigured. Mama would do the same for any of you.

This was not how the night was meant to be. Aemond had promised that come the morn, the two of you would break your fasts together, and then give each other a kiss goodbye.

And now...everything is ruined.

You look up then, watching as Vhagar circles the sky above, and you continue to think of him.

Aemond had, for so long, when you were much younger, seemed larger than life to you. He was older, a prince, your uncle. He seemed to know everything when you were little. You'd often toddle around, trailing after him, holding his hand, babbling incoherent nonsense before you knew how to speak, but every word he spoke to you? It was like magic.

His name had been among some of your first words. A shortened version, perhaps—'mend'—but his name, nonetheless.

You might've screamed like an utter brat at the top of your lungs once or twice when you had gone to his chambers as a little girl, when met at the doorway by his Queen Mother telling you he was busy with his lessons and could not have company at the moment. He'd been the only thing in all the world you'd ever pitched a fit or misbehaved over.

As soon as he heard you wailing for him, however, he always came—your sour demeanor quickly changing to that of smiles and giggles.

So him having claimed the largest dragon in all the world? She was meant for him to have.

And to be punished for it, and in such a terrible way... You blame yourself.

If you had been there when your siblings and cousins went to seek vengeance for him rightfully claiming her...you could've stopped things, you're sure.

What you don't know is that Aemond had left you to sleep, simply because he wanted you to have your rest and to be safe incase his plan with Vhagar...did not go accordingly. If you were ever caused harm due to his actions, he'd never forgive himself.

But if he did manage to claim her, he'd wanted to surprise you in the morn by sailing through the skies with you—listening as you laughed and screamed excitedly in his arms. As he promised you that once he was older and bigger, he would take you away, and the two of you would become husband and wife.

You would no longer have to play pretend at it then.

When will he learn...fairytales only ever exist in books.

Aemond looks behind him—behind Vhagar—as Driftmark grows smaller in the distance and he fills with regret.

He should've met you halfway in the Great Hall. Should've wrapped his arms around you. Should've...should've damned himself further by telling them all what he'd done with you as they slept.

He's sure that with so many bearing witness to such testimonies there would be no other way about it then. Your father would betroth the two of you in an instant—his mother's wishes finally overridden.

But he'd held his tongue, stayed his hand, because she'd suffered enough already—had risked all to find recompense on his behalf as she sliced into your mother's skin with that blade.

He will write to you as soon as he reaches home. Will reassure you of his love for you. Of how he thinks of naught else except you now.

But he does not know, nor you, that such correspondences...will never reach your wanting hands.

Nor yours his.

[the-sinister-story-teller]

Alastor Headcanons!

Mentions: No specific gender for the reader, smut below the cut, gore Character(s): Alastor A/N: I would like to say I've been looking forward to doing hazbin hotel headcanons. The characters are just so fun to write about!!

SFW:

He was very oblivious to any sort of flirting tactics (heavy or not) at the start, and any form of way you'd ask him out, he'd force you to 'define'.

He didn't admit he had feelings for you at first, but it showed whenever he made a joke to you. It would never be about you and it was never rude.

You receive compliments nearly DAILY from him. The compliments being about your outfit, hair(?), eyes, ect.

He isn't big on PDA. At. ALL. Especially if it's in front of people he knows well or doesn't know. The guy does have an image to upkeep-

He's tried so hard to not only own your soul, but control you. He's very possessive over you.

Constantly, you're being asked where you're going, what you're doing, when you'll be doing it, ect.

He enforces a very specific rule: You, are not to use ANY electronic device around him. Partly because of Vox, but also just because he doesn't like them.

NSFW:

You've definitely had to dom in bed fo the first beginning half. Not because he's inexperienced, because he's not, but because he was nervous to actually do the deed.

Once he got the hang of it however, he started out as gentle before becoming more sadistic during it all. Of course, with your consent.

He doesn't mind trying new kinks. He's definitely more drawn to just regular sex, and isn't fond of using toys or kinks. However, he does make sure your content, so he does try new things out occasionally.

He isn't one for overstimulation, but likes seeing you writhe in pleasure beneath him.

KING OF ORAL- WHAT MARVELOUS THINGS HIS TONGUE CAN DO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN!!

Pet his ears or tail and you'll have him melting in your hand like putty.

Despite him not having many kinks, he does dirty talk you a lot. That, and he also sweet talks you when it's more of a gentle mood than a vigorous one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: It isn't much, however, I hope you all enjoy this! I might start doing headcanons like this, just so it's easier for me!

[goldustwomun]

all of me wants all of you (s.b.)

pairing: sirius black x younger potter!reader

summary: something about your relationship with sirius black had never sit quite right with you, and now that he's back after two years of travelling the world, you're beginning to think that you'll soon find out what'll happens if the two of you finally fall over the edge of whatever precipice you've been teetering close to all these years. plus, you've got to work with him all summer, so what's the worst that could happen?

warnings: angst so much angst, some healing as well, hugs from a concerned mother, more angst, more angst, fluff?, actual communication omg, do you ever meet someone's eyes and just one look from them has you breaking down and bawling, yeah :) , not proofread but i'll do it in the morning!!

wc: 3.3k+

note: i've been on some sort of writing kick so enjoy these daily updates D: anyway can y'all tell i'm MISSING my mum. only four more weeks though! x

pt i. / pt ii. / pt iii.

You were elbow deep in a sink of dirty dishes, your Mum towelling dry the plates next to you, when you finally came out and said it.

“Am I a disappointment, Mum?”

She froze right there, arms poised and plate hovering mid-air. It was only a second later when she recovered, gently placing the dish on the counter when she turned to look at you. Her head was titled in that concerned way of hers, and you’re not sure what it was about the look in her eyes – of hurt and worry and love – but the tears started flowing right then and there.

“Oh, my love, how could you ever think that?” she questioned, tugging you into her arms, not caring about the water from your hands or the tears from your eyes soaking her new cotton dress. She smelled of chamomile tea and custard creams and home. And as much as you thought you hated her sometimes; her reassurance was what you needed most when the world seemed out to get you.

“You could never disappoint me or Da’, you know that.” She pulled back, forcing you to look up into her eyes, noticing the shimmer across her own irises. “Tell me you know that my sweetest girl.”

“I—” and your voice broke but you kept going— “I don’t know if I do.” With a deep breath you tried to explain it all. “It just seems like everyone hates me sometimes. And I guess it, I’m difficult, I know that I am, but sometimes—I mean, a lot of the time, really, it feels like I can’t control it. When I argue and bicker and stomp away in a tantrum. It’s these feelings—I have so many, and I never know what to do with them, and it’s like drowning in indecision and I always make the wrong choice.”

“I know, love, I know,” she soothed, pulling you back in and smoothing her palm across your hair. You melted into her embrace like you hadn’t since you were ten years old. “You’re so much like me, you know? I swear, hear it every time we’re out with our friends. And when I was your age, I felt that way too. Lost and overwhelmed and like I wasn’t enough.”

“So, what did you do—to get rid of those feelings, I mean?” you asked, already dreading her answer.

“I didn’t. And you shouldn’t want to, either.” You almost lifted your head to argue but stopped yourself before you could. “Your emotions and feelings and thoughts and dreams—they make you who you are. Of course, it’s important to acknowledge the root of the ones that pester you the most and try to understand why they have such a hold over you. And maybe it’s my fault, really, for not saying it more, but we are so so proud of you.”

“I think you say it more to James and Sirius than you do to me,” you pointed out, a slight bite to your words but not enough to sting.

“James is, well, James. I can’t deny that he’s occasionally—” you raised your eyebrow incredulously at that and she responded with an amused eyeroll— “struggled with his classes and getting it together, so it seemed important to guide him in the right direction with praises. Sirius, on the other hand—well, we’re all he has. We just wanted him to feel loved.”

You nodded, understanding, but not sure how you fit into all of this. “Then you, my love. When you were younger you were always naturally good at things. I never understood where you got that from cause it certainly wasn’t from me. You put little effort into things and excelled, so maybe I got used to the idea that I knew you’d always be alright even if I didn’t say anything. But that’s my fault, I shouldn’t have withheld my pride out of laziness.”

“I don’t think you’re lazy, Mum,” you urged, but she hushed you with that stern voice of hers.

“I’m sure you don’t but shush because I won’t admit it again,” she scolded, her voice entirely mocking and somewhere between those tears, you managed a smile. “Your Da’ and I always knew you’d go on to do brilliant things. You’re intelligent, and passionate, and those muggle kids of yours adore you. You’re shaping their lives in ways you can’t even know, and they’re lucky to have you, just like I am, my sweet girl.”

She leaned forward, placing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“And do you hate that I live at home still?”

She reeled back, both shocked and confused. “of course not. We love having you here! It’s entirely selfish, really. Got to convert James’ old room into a study, as well as keep you around for the company and to help with chores. If anything, I don’t want you to move out,” she explained, serious. “Really, if you had more natural light in your room, we would’ve helped you to a new place the second you graduated from Hogwarts.”

You barked out a laugh at that, entirely believing her. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m wanted, or whatever.” You could feel your cheeks flaring at the thought of saying it out loud, but you ignored the feeling to relish in your Mum’s embrace a little while longer.

“Oh, yeah—whatever,” she teased, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from your face. “You could never disappoint me.”

All you could do was nod before your face dropped with apprehension. “What—what is it, love?” she asked, concerned herself.

“Well, you see, you say that now but I did something kind of dumb…” you trailed off, unable to confess just yet.

“What did you—you didn’t murder someone, did you? Because I love you but I don’t think I could manage Azkaban with those arthritis flare ups I’ve been getting.”

“What--! Mum, no, I didn’t—how could I? How could you think I’d be capable of murder?!” and really it had been the longest you’d gone without absolutely belting at someone.

“You are quite easily irritated,” she reasoned.

“If people stopped being so irritating—” you stopped, taking a deep breath, before confessing— “No, it’s both better and worse.”

“Go on,” she encouraged, but even she didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“I kissed Sirius.”

And it was like crickets between the two of you. Not a scolding shout or a cry of horror or—

“Okay… and is that it?” she asked bluntly.

“What do you mean ‘is that it?’. It’s wild, unbelievable, otherworldly, even!” you sputtered, not quite comprehending the calm with which she was speaking.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, love. It’s not a good look,” and she pushed you out of the way to continue scrubbing at the dirty dishes, ignoring your stunned frame.

“Aren’t you going to ask me ‘why’?” you pushed, peering over her shoulder to check she was very much alive and breathing and not pranking you with a bit of some sort.

“I don’t need to, I know why,” she answered simply. You balked, tugging her shoulder back so she halted her movements and turned to face you.

“And what might that ‘why’ be?”

“It’s simple, really. You love him, you’ve always loved him. Since you were five and he pushed James into the dirt for stealing your copy of that Tiger, Wizard, and Cabinet’ book.”

You couldn’t help the way your hand slapped against your face right then, from exhaustion or exasperation, you weren’t sure. “It’s the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Mum,” you groaned.

“That definitely doesn’t sound right,” she pouted. “Anyway, he got the book back from James and you were so pleased you came up to me and said ‘Mummy, I think Sirius isn’t so bad after all, can we keep him?’. And when I explained the laws around owning human beings, you huffed and hid under the dining room table all day until you fell asleep.”

“Well, that does sound like me…”

“Of course, it sounds like you. I’m your mother,” she chided. “You didn’t start pretending to hate Sirius until you were about ten or eleven and he got that first girlfriend of his. What was her name—Lacey? Macey?”

“Stacey,” you chewed out, only to realise the anger with which you spoke her name despite never having known her. “Oh—”

“’Oh’ indeed. And what did you say to young Sirius after this kiss?” she pried, entirely engrossed in the story now as she rested her hip against the damp counter.

“I might’ve—you know---”

“No! you didn’t!” she burst out, already knowing exactly what you were going to say.

“I did, Mum, I did,” you moaned, pathetic and questioning if there was any way to rectify the situation, you’d found yourself in.

“Well, I can’t help you with that, love. You’re on your own, kid,” she explained, wiping her hands clean before sending you off (you weren’t entirely sure where, exactly) with a pat on your back.

If you were anyone else, you would’ve taken such an encouraging conversation and somewhat-healed trauma of your childhood as a sign to go speak with Sirius.

But no, lucky for you, you were you.

He hadn’t shown up to work all week, using the flu as an excuse. So when James and Lily invited you over for a small gathering— “Really, James, two parties in one month? What kind of home are you raising my nephew in!”—you hadn’t thought much of it, or him.

“Do let me know if I’ve got this correct– you’ve decided to host a fourth of July party despite not being American, or, now that I think about it further, ever having been to America?” you questioned, genuinely worrying for Lily’s sanity as she rocked a bumbling Harry on her lap, cheeks painted with red, white and blue stars.

“Well, when you put it like that,” James groused, pouting, arms folded against his chest despite being the adult that he was.

“How else would you put it, James?” you argued, exasperated.

Lily perked up at the sound of a potential fight and silenced the two of you with a single look. If anyone was made to be a mother, it had to be Lily. She was compassionate and kind and gentle, as much as she could scare you with a simple glance, she could soothe all your worries as well.

“Look, I just needed an excuse to have a beer, and what better excuse is there than this! The holiday of beers—” I thought that was St. Paddy’s “—Hush! Otherwise, I’d have to wait for someone’s birthday or, what’s the next holiday–? Halloween? That’s ages away.”

You smirked at his odd logic. “Obviously it doesn’t necessarily have to be very Americana or whatever. Red, white and blue– just close your eyes and pretend it’s the beloved Union Jack instead!”

The gathering wasn’t as big as the last one, and you recognised the few familiar faces as Lily and James’ closest friends: Remus, Marlene, Mary, Peter, Sirius—

Sirius? Your head whipped back in a double take, watching as he pulled Remus into a hug ‘hello’ right by the garden gate. He hadn’t noticed you, not yet, but it didn’t take long for his gaze to fixate right on you. You couldn’t read his face, not having ever quite mastered the skill, but this time especially, he looked dazed and withdrawn.

Even his smiled seemed tight, like he didn’t quite mean it, and your heart plummeted at the thought that you’d done that to him.

“I’ll be right back,” you offered, distracted, to James as he preoccupied himself with squeezing Harry’s chubby fist.

Sirius had gone straight inside, probably headed for the kitchen, and you followed suit, wondering what it was about your brother’s house that had the two of you both rushing to and avoiding confrontation.

You found him right where you had expected—peering into the dimly lit fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer.

“Sirius,” you said, announcing your presence as you let the door click shut behind you. Luckily, no one else was inside the house, rather taking in the one day of sunlight and light breeze in an otherwise damp English spring.

You watched as his shoulders tensed instantly, and you just knew he wanted to be anywhere else but there, with you, at that moment, but he turned to face you anyway.

“How can I help, Potter?” he asked, keeping his cards close to his chest still.

“Can we talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now,” he pointed out, brow raised as he took a deep gulp of his drink, cringing at the taste.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” you pushed back, inching a step forward.

 “No, I don’t know what you mean,” he replied smoothly, seemingly untouched by the implication behind your words.

“You’re such a prick sometimes, Sirius.”

“And you’ve only just noticed? My, didn’t take you as slow, Potter,” he noted, mockingly, and you flinched at his casual cruelty.

“Don’t do that,” you scolded.

“Do what?” he fought back, “Speak my mind? Seems like you’re the only one allowed to do that around here, and when anyone dares contest, well, all hell breaks loose.”

“You’re not speaking your mind, though,” you argued.

“Ah, and you know my mind so well, do you?” The annoying thing about Sirius, amongst many other things, was that he knew how to get under your skin. Had perfected the craft after years of verbal combat with you. So his words poked and prodded at your soft underbelly with ease as he brandished his hurt around like a swordsman with a too-heavy sword.

“Maybe not entirely, but when it comes to us, I think I know enough.” He stayed silent after that, hesitant, as if waiting for you to make the first move. “The other day, when we kissed—” and you knew you were getting hotter because something, some feeling, flickered behind his irises “—I said it was a mistake—”

“—I know, love. I was there,” he scowled. “No need to remind a man of his failings.”

“Just— let me finish!” You inhaled, slow, before continuing. “I said it was a mistake when, in fact, I felt the opposite. It’s just—it’s you and I, Sirius, and when it comes to us, I might know, inside, what I mean and feel and intend to show but when it comes to the actual ‘doing’ part of it all, I always seem to mess up. So, when I said it was a mistake, what I really meant was—”

And it was his turn to cut you off with his mouth, only this time it was sweet and yearning and apologetic as opposed to the fire and passion and lust that had guided the two of you the last time you’d found yourself in his hold.

His mouth slid over your own, careful and inquisitive, whilst his palms cradled your face, as if you’d slip out of his grasp if he moved even an inch in the wrong direction.

It was lovely, really.

As much as you wished for him to keep going, to keeping kissing you like he might yearn for you too (though you wouldn’t be saying those three words for a while), you were horribly aware of the fact that Lily, or worse, your brother, might walk in at any moment.

So, Sirius didn’t allow himself to get carried away with you, not yet at least, and instead he pulled away with a content sigh, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb as if to memorise it by feel alone.

“Is that our thing then? Kisses in the form of sneak-attacks?” you mused, vibrating and giddy and utterly pleased.

“Could be, if you want?” and it seemed like he was still entranced with your mouth to properly reply in any meaningful manner.

“Sirius,” you pleaded, urging him to look at you, properly. He tore his gaze away from your lips, finally, and the way his face split into a grin had those fucking butterflies returning, tenfold. “Are you okay?”

“I will be once I take you to mine and do that all over again, only, a little less clothed and a lot more horizontal” he promised, the cheek of his you had come to endearing having return after his previous sulking.

“You’re a menace,” you groaned as he buried his smirking face into the crook of your neck, holding you tight to him before his grip relaxed and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you right there.

“I know, and I’m only joking—well, if you want me to be joking, I will be. But I’m fine—I swear it. It just seems surreal, us, like this,” he explained.

“I get that, it is a bit odd, but I’ve realised you need to contextualise those weird, new feelings and not let them control you, at least, not if they’re ‘bad’ or whatever,” you offered clumsily, trying, in your own way, to relay the same advice your Mum had.

He snorted in response, and you smacked his back from where your arms were wrapped around him. “You sound like your Mum.”

“Mm, that is my Mum. Only, she said it better, and more concise, and in that Mum-way that just makes sense.”

“Ah, well that makes a bit more sense.” He pulled back for a moment, not letting you out of the circle of his arms yet. “We should talk about this a little more, shouldn’t we?”

You nodded, sighing as you moved away from him to get a hold of your thoughts once more. “I think, for me at least, I conflated anger with my feelings for you because I wasn’t exactly sure how to handle them, and deep down, I worried you’d reject me, so it seemed easier to argue with you than—”

“--this,” he finished for you, and he must’ve read the agreement on your face because he bobbed his head in response. “It makes sense, really, and it’s about the same for me, only, there was the whole issue of James and, I mean, I’m older—”

“—by a few years,” you maintained, scowling, and he wanted to kiss you for it.

“Yes, love, but a few years means different things depending on how old you are. We’ve never really been in the same phase of life until now, so I don’t think I wanted it—nor would it have been appropriate, really—until a year or two ago. By then, it seemed too late, so I just kept—”

“—bickering.”

“Yeah, bickering. Arguing. Biting back. It was the safer option.” And everything he said made sense, it was all entirely reasonable, but you still mourned the time lost to not being entirely honest with each other.

“But there’s no point worrying over that now, not when we can’t do anything about it,” he reasoned, noting the faraway look in your eyes and centring you back, there, with him.

“We should get back to the party,” you whispered, fearing what would happen when the two of you left the safety on the kitchen, flooded still with gold and a certain stillness that had you aching for this moment to be forever.

“Yeah, love, let’s go back,” he answered, just as quiet, nudging his head toward the door. Just as your hand came up to turn the doorknob, Sirius’ palm came up in front of you, halting your movements. He stood, still, behind you, and close as ever. You could feel every breath he took, and that damn cologne you’d started missing in the bookstore as well. “Don’t worry about us, love, we’ll be fine,” he assured you.

You answered by turning the knob and making your way back towards the garden. Sirius followed from behind, and when you stepped through the backdoor, you realised how little had changed since you’d gone inside, but also just how much had changed, as well.

as always, please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this <3

[scekrex]

Ok, but no one talks about the fact Adam was literally MADE to reproduce. I know for a FACT he cums buckets and no one can convince me he doesn’t have the biggest sensitive balls in the show😤 I want to overstimulated him while telling him what a good boy he is. so bad 😭😭

P.S love your Writing!!

Oh nah bc HE DOES cum buckets and his balls are SO FUCKING SENSITIVE I fucking love you for this request so here ya fucking go!!

But I still want more, don't know what I'm after

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, anal sex, sub!Adam, dom!Reader, praise kink, overstimulation

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” the first man moaned loudly as his hands gripped your hair firmly, forcing you to move your head back and forth at a quick pace. Your eyes were on his face, drinking in every little emotion the first man had on display, his mask was somewhere on the floor, just like his clothes. His eyes were shut and he was visibly enjoying himself, the brunette was kind enough to let you hear how much he was enjoying himself. “Best fucking head- shit- I've ever got,” he mumbled mindlessly and you slapped his hip bone harshly, drawing another moan from him.

To you it was quite entertaining that the taller male thought he was in charge when really he wasn't. Yes, he was controlling the pace and yes, he was thrusting inside your mouth, but was he in control? No. Because you simply allowed him to use you, you had given him permission, had even offered it to him - oh how Adam was so clueless how that decision would backfire on him.

The brunette was sitting on the edge of your shared bed, you in-between his legs, sucking him off, giving him ‘the best head he ever got’. Your hands were sliding up and down his inner thighs, whenever your fingers got even close to the brunette's balls he started to shiver - a spot so sensitive yet so tempting for you to touch, to explore. It's not like you've never touched his balls, or licked them, but it wasn't something you were doing daily, simply because they were so sensitive.

Adam's fingers in your hair tightened and his breathing became harder, louder. He opened his eyes a little to look down at you, to watch you swallow his dick - the first human dick that had ever been created. And oh fuck the image of his erection disappearing inside your mouth did things to him, good things, the best things even. “Close,” was the only warning you got before the first man picked up the pace yet again and it only took him a moment longer to actually fulfill his promise and come undone in your mouth.

It wasn't physically possible to swallow it all, not for you and not for another mortal soul. It was simply too much, yet you were always eager to try your best and drink as much as you were able to. However your best was far from drinking it all - so fucking far away from it. Adam's fucked out eyes watched as his cum leaked from the corner of your mouth, he watched the white liquid staining your lips, your chin, fuck, even your cheeks. It was everywhere, inside your body, on your skin, on his skin - some of it dripped on the floor and you knew it would be a bitch to clean that shit up later. Because for now you had other plans.

You kept moving your head through his orgasm, which resulted in a lot of his own cum dripping down his shaft, onto his balls. And who were you to leave your partner all dirty covered in their own fluids, right? So you pulled your head back, Adam's still hard dick slipped from your lips and hit his stomach. You quickly grabbed his legs, yanked them upwards and placed them onto your shoulders, the first man was quick to cross his shins behind your head so that they wouldn't slip and fall. The sudden shift of position and the lack of energy due to his post orgasm haze caused Adam to fall onto his back with a quiet moan. Good.

You were swift to lean in again, your tongue pressed itself against Adam's dick as if it were providing the air that filled your lungs - the reality wasn't as far off as it may have seemed. After all it was his seed filling your stomach. His dick was clean in no time and while you licked and teased it, you felt it slowly going soft underneath your tongue - Lord have mercy with this man because he was not ready for what was about to come. Because the brunette lifted his upper body a little - only the slightest bit - and made grabby hands at you, expecting you to get up off your knees and give him the cuddles he always desired after sex. But you weren't done with him just yet so you ignored his silent request for physical touch and licked down his shaft until your tongue met his balls.

A violent shiver went through his body and you heard how the first man inhaled sharply at the sudden and clearly unexpected contact. “Fuck, no, please,” he whined quietly, the pleaed was muffled by his own hand that he had lifted to bite into. Another request you ignored - if the brunette wanted you to truly stop he'd use the safe word you had agreed on. Unless that was the case, you were good to keep going. At first you just licked the ejaculate off of the sensitive skin, one of your hands held onto his hips, preventing him from thrusting his hips, the other was squeezing his thigh. Adam drew you in closer with his legs, and you chuckled softly at his reaction, “You’re such a good boy for me, you know that?” And while Adam desperately tried to hide it, you heard the whimper that fell from his lips at your praise. “Too much,” he cried out as your lips wrapped around his balls and sucked them inside your mouth - the first man thought he was gonna die from the overwhelming pleasure that flooded his body.

His nails dug into the sheets as his body tensed up and he felt his dick harden again, the tight heat that surrounded his testicles felt heavenly and like his personal fall to hell at the same time - he knew he wanted more despite his body telling him otherwise. “Please,” he mumbled, a whine of your name followed as he pressed the back of his head against the mattress, desperately trying to buck his hips, but you had pinned him down good. “You sound so pretty when you beg for me, baby,” you hummed, your lips stretched into a wicked smile that bittered your sweet words. “My handsome angelic baby,” you mumbled against the sensitive skin of his nuts and Adam flinched a little at the vibration that sent through his lower body parts. “Being so fucking good for me.” And Adam found himself nodding violently in agreement, huffing out excited, “Yes, your good boy.”

The brunette tossed his head from side to side, trying to get used to the unusual amount of pleasure that fueled his body, his dick was fully erected again, throbbing for attention in the most painful way and yet Adam was too lost in desire and lust to do something about it. He wanted more. More praises, more touches, more friction, more love. And yet his body screamed at him that what he had was already too much, that he wouldn't be able to handle more. Adam's hands moved from the sheets to your hair again, pushing you away while also trying to get you closer, to get more. And you let him.

Overstimulating the first man wasn't something he was used to - you weren't even sure if that was something you could get used to in the first place. But over stimulation was so rarely done that he had no chance to even deal with it properly - usually the both of you were too fucked out for it, too spent so that all you were able to do was wrap your wings around each other and fall asleep covered in soft feathers. The golden feathers of his wings tickled your hand that was holding down his hips but you simply ignored that, you were too focused on pleasuring the brunette. And then the hand that had been squeezing his thigh softly wrapped around Adam's dick and he was done. The first man covered himself in his own cum as he moaned your name on the top of his lungs. The white liquid was quick to run down his sides, staining the once pure feathers of his wings and the sheets underneath them. The pain that had been throbbing through his dick was gone and so was the desire for more, exhaustion wrapped Adam in a tight blanket and you watched as he almost immediately closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

“You look absolutely stunning, Adam,” you hummed as you got up, your knees made a cracking sound at that - fuck next time you definitely needed a pillow to kneel on. You climbed onto the bed next to him. “Shut the fuck up ‘n’ c’mere,” he simply mumbled, his voice was hoarse, probably from screaming and moaning for you, as he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you flush against his chest to bury his face in your hair and inhale your scent. “You’re fucking dirty,” you complained but Adam just gave you a tired hum, rolled you two over while wrapping you up in his wings, “Don’t fucking care, just wanna sleep.”

[chaostroberry1]

Haii can you do a hcs of the Greek brothers (Zeus included but it's fine if you don't want to) to their S/O who is a mortal from the modern era?? I rllyy like your writing especially the Apollo's one ^^

Ofc! I'm sorry for the long wait 🙇‍♀️ I've been eating and rotting in my bed for a while. I dont really know about what you are requesting, there's only very little description. So I'll try my best ^^

RoR Greek bros with modern mortal s/o

Zues

- Mf is old as hell, literally. He'd be asking you all sorts of crap and wonder about the technology you have. He already knows about it, but he does like to stare and wonder what you do all day in that little rectangular piece of technology.

- He also tries to find ways to make you immortal, cus duh, he really likes you. But I think he'd be interested in cute little farm games online when you show him the stuff that you can do on your phone.

- he asks you to buy him a gadget, which you do so. but man, he sucks ass at it. You find him trying to figure out how to use it. Holding it upside down, pressing on all sorts of buttons until you have to lend me some help.

- he's also fond of the slangs and way you talk. He often uses your words too. Like "Lmfao!" Or "LOL!!"

- he wants to learn more about modern society, and everything there is to learn about. Until he found out about google. Mf now keeps on asking the stupidest questions, and even calls his brother's on facetime, just to talk to them about the stupidest shit.

- he'd laugh so loud when it comes to you telling him jokes from your TikTok brainrots and all.

- you talk to him about all the newest things happening, and all. And drama. But I think he's more interested in learning new words.

Adamas

- yes he does use the slangs too. I bet he'd randomly gangsta talk outta nowhere and make the most out of pocket statements.

- give him some love, he's just having fun especially after all the stuff he went through.

- I know damn well he makes yo mama jokes, no matter how old that stuff be. He's older than you bro, he's been alive for a very long time. So you better teach him more to mama jokes.

- your fashion sense was interesting, he wanna dress cool too. So he's gonna force you to show him clothes that he'd like to wear, and he'd pick the edgiest ones. 😭

- he often gets annoyed at how you're always on your phone and not paying attention to him, which makes him wonder what's so good about it.

- you gave him a gadget, which he now likes to watch anime in, or sports probably. Basically anything interesting.

Hades

- he finds you very endearing, and loves you very much. He'd find a way to turn you immortal so that he can care for you forever.

- yes he installed wifi in his place so that you could stay happy, and do whatever the hell you do on your gadgets.

- Bet you bought a TV and watched anime there with him, or maybe TV series or shows. Could even be horror movies. He loves to cuddle up with you whenever you guys watch a horror movie, cus he knows that he'll be the one to protect you when you get scared or tired.

- when you gave him a gadget, he didn't know what to use it for, but you said that he could chat with other people no matter where they at. And even store photos of whatever he wanted.

- it truly amazed him how far humanity had evolved. Now he can just search up anything he had questions about, or facetime his brother's, or buy something for you.

- he likes to listen to songs he finds, and now he's never really bored like he used to be. Maybe gadgets weren't so bad. He knows how to limit himself, and that's why he tries to limit it fro you too. He doesn't want your eyes to hurt, and wants you to get rest.

- there's so many things he wants to learn from you. And how humans do their daily thing. It's amusing to watch.

Poseidon

- Bro he really loves you a lot, he just doesn't show it. But it definitely caught his attention seeing the odd way you talked or acted.

- when you introduced him to a gadget, he just shook it off, not wanting to get into pathetic little things like that, but you insisted. So now there he was.

- he really thought that humans were babied. The fact that they all gotten so lazy over the centuries gave him the ick.

- but he did find some helpful words to use whenever it came to describing stuff. But that's till doesn't help with anything. Like y'all have google, you don't need to waste your time studying when you can just do a quick search and boom, all the answers are there.

- you guys had online shopping, you didn't need to use your legs to do some work when you could just order online. And so much more. Humanity was babied. Everyone was pathetic in his eyes.

- but, you were an exception. Cus he liked you lots.

- I believe that over time, he'd catch himself talking like you, like "it gives me the ick." 💀

- he's such a bitch, but it's ok. Cus it's Poseidon.

[tuliptired]

Ello! Hope Im not a bother, but i was hoping to make a one-shot request? I looked around and it looks like you are still taking requests as of the moment, very sorry if I missed something.

Anyways, if its not too much trouble, could you write Egon Spengler x Baker Y/N? I think that would be a fun dynamic!

If thats not to your liking, what about Egon x Shy Y/N?

Love your works, I check the ghostbusters tag daily to see if youve written anything new. Thank you so much, love ya have a great day and night!!!

How Sweet It Is (To be Loved by You)

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Baker!GN!Reader

It's never too much trouble...no idea if I've used this gif before

did yall hear about the SNL biopic btw oh my gahh...

Better formatting on Ao3! (italics)

Your relationship started with a cupcake. As the story goes, told lovingly by your now mutual friends, there was a bust at a retirement home, and one of the caregivers insisted on sending the boys home with a treat in addition to the hefty bill. Demanded, actually, practically shoving a metal tin full of pastry into Egon’s hands as he attempted to discreetly sneak away.

“Jackpot,” Peter leaned over, happily surprised as nimble fingers opened the lid. The smell of sugary sweets wafted through the car, prompting Winston to extend his hand to the backseat, palm soon full of muffin. Egon was patient, letting everyone take something for themselves, before finally deciding on a blue-iced chocolate cupcake, sweet tooth waiting to be satisfied.

“Where’d this come from?” Ray, Peter, and Winston stood in the kitchen, confused at the spread of different colored boxes and containers. Upon further inspection, they were full of even more cupcakes, each the same blue iced chocolate flavor. Egon sat with his hands folded on the countertop, unfazed at their reactions to his display like any true man of science would be.

He made a tick mark on a long list of names, clipboard somewhere in the organized, delicious chaos. “If you must know, I’m testing every bakery in the area to find the one I ate that evening. I’ve yet to find it.”

Ray shrugged, taking note of just how many locations he had procured food from. “Not the weirdest thing you’ve done for a result,” he admitted.

“Good food’ll do that to you,” Winston laughed, Peter reaching over to gauge how mad Egon would get if he tried to take a sample from one of his possible matches.

Egon didn’t look up, flipping to the next page. “Go ahead, those are the rejects. They'd end up in the trash, anyway.”

Peter peeled away the paper, going through the motions of ripping the bottom of the cake and placing it over the top of the frosting. “Rejects.” he parroted plainly. “What’re you gonna do when you find the right store? Stand in the window?”

He glared up at him above his glasses. “No, I’ll buy a half dozen and go on with my day,” he unfolded a wax lined box, “so if you could leave me to my research?” Research being, going down a line of cupcakes. They each exchanged glances, before filing out. Egon could be just as tenacious as everyone else, when he felt like it.

Except, that tenacity wavered in the face of unfamiliarity. The only reason Egon was willing to go in your bakery to begin with is because the others had forced him. “Don’t be a baby,” as Venkman had put it. He finally found the match, in fact he had found it a few days ago. But he took a glance at the bustling establishment on the day in which he set out on his own, and got cold feet. Especially when he accidentally locked eyes with the smiling artisan while he just stood in the window.

His friends had managed to shove him towards the counter without a second thought. The same person he’d seen through the tall window was behind the counter now, greeting them all kindly. The bandana you had used to keep your hair in check must’ve been failing to do its job, evident by the flour near your temple, caught in a few strands. Egon’s fingers twitched.

Peter flicked him on the lower back when he failed to respond like a typical customer, making Egon come-to and clear his throat. “May I get a half dozen chocolate?” he asked robotically.

“You may,” you grinned at his grammar, “but, chocolate what?”

Egon’s ability to speak stopped short at his misstep, unable to let out anything but unintelligible stammers, and Egon never stammers. “Cupcakes, please,” Ray spoke up for him, catching wind.  

You nodded, moving to the display rack to place his order in a smaller, blue box. Peter wasn’t content with how smoothly this interaction was going as he watched on with a bored expression. “Funny story, actually,” he caught your attention through the framework.

You laughed at how it made him look like he was in a horizontal jail cell. “Yeah?”

Peter raised Egon’s stiff arm for him at the elbow. “We walk in one night and catch Egon with at least 20 different cupcakes, trying to find yours ‘cause he missed it so much.” he regaled.

He may have caught you blushing. Were you blushing? He shouldn’t stare at business owners when they were just trying to work. “Well,” you started folding the corners of the parcel, “assuming you liked them- and you guys are pretty important to the city…” You held them out to him with two hands. “Just take them. No charge.”

Egon felt like there was smoke rising from the top of his head, or the espresso machine, as he shuffled out, and you leaned over the counter to call after him: “Come back anytime, for whatever! On the house!” 

The rest happened slowly, but surely, and you enjoyed it thoroughly. On an earlier morning, you and your pubescent employee were handling the typical rush you got around breakfast. Between prepping, a small burn from the oven, packing orders, ringing people up, and a quick trip to the corner-grocery for more milk, you finally had a spare minute to breathe, both hands pressing into the counter.

A blur of beige and a trail of smog put an end to your mini-relaxation, and you hurried over to the door. “Stantz! Spengler!” you beckoned before they could turn the corner.

Like children, they found their way to your storefront, though Egon looked rather apprehensive with a used trap dangling from his gloved fist. “Good morning, guys,” you urged them inside, “did you eat yet?”

“We really should get going.” Egon said after Ray greeted you. Most of the sickly smell from the trap was left outside, and it was too covered up by the scent of sugar and warmth that everyone but you swore clung to the bakery for you to worry about it driving away customers.

You ignored his protests, crossing behind the counter. “Eat in the morning or you’ll crash in the afternoon,” you started pouring two cups of hot coffee.

“There’s no need-” you interrupted with a hand. “We’re fine,” he continued anyway.

Ray’s stomach betrayed his friend’s wishes. “Something small wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Listen to your friend, Egon.” you warned, adding a bit of whipped cream to both cups to literally sweeten the deal. “You need to eat.”

He frowned, but you didn’t care much. “We have a Class lll in our hands, now is hardly the time for-” you cut him off again, stuffing his mouth with a blueberry danish. As he annoyedly chewed, you procured a paper bag from the back, wrapping his hand around the handle.

“Too bad I already packed for everyone,” you patted his knuckles when he acquiesced, catching sight of what was inside with a small smile. “You’re crabby when you’re hungry.”

Egon opened his mouth to respond, but the contraption in his left hand started beeping. Are they supposed to beep? You’d never seen them do so before. It seemed as if the two experts themselves hadn’t either. 

You stood on your toes to give him a parting kiss, Ray grabbing both paper cups in the meantime before you could start shooing them out. “Go, go- don’t let that thing loose in here. And swing by later, okay?”

He followed your lips when you pulled away, but the ominous beeping drove him to the door and down the street. You sighed to yourself, already missing him. None of the regulars in your store seemed to pay any mind to the local celebrities- or the weapons they had strapped to themselves, as Egon floated in and out during different parts of his day at least once a week.

Egon knocked on the glass door, soft light and music slipping through as he got your attention. When you let him in, the distinct whiff of cookies enveloped him like the warm temperature of your little shop. It was his favorite part of visiting you, apart from actually getting to see you. “How was today?” he spoke over the soft jazz that you apologetically turned down.

“Better,” you were about to run a Crisco covered hand through the front of your hair before you stopped yourself, “better.” Egon only then noticed how many cookies you had managed to make for having only closed an hour ago. “I have more in the oven,” you said from the back wall with the smaller front oven while you hurriedly took out a hot tray with a mitt and put a cool one in.

It wasn’t just cookies, but brownies, sweetbreads, and cinnamon rolls. “Are you…restocking?”

You laughed, a quarter manically and another quarter incredulously, and started to peel cooked pastry off of baking sheets. “If anything, we have too much stock.” you paused your fervor, frowning at your display case’s abundance. “I’ll send you home with some- give them to your clients or eat them or something.” 

You were barely done shutting the sliding glass when you popped up, clapping your hands once and frankly startling him. “Pies! I know what I need to make now! I’ll make some pies and maybe a cake and we can head home.” Before you could disappear into the kitchen, he stepped in your way, two soothing hands on your shoulders.

“You’re stress baking.” 

Egon couldn’t hide his amusement at your familiar despondent expression, as if you were coming down from a high. “Was it that obvious?”

“Somewhat,” he stroked up and down your arm, steering you to the stool you kept tucked away behind the register and pulling up a chair for himself on the other side. “What’s wrong?”

He enjoyed the chairs you had because of their structural variety, and the fact they didn’t make him feel like a giant. 

You slumped your head into your since-dried hands, groaning out of frustration. “It’s just the season, I guess. A ton of people come by, bringing their dumb boyfriends-” you paused, realizing what you said, “no offense.”

“None taken.”

“-And they come looking at our stuff to see if we’re good enough for, like, baby showers and weddings and all that.”

A car passed by on the street, definitely above the city’s speed limit for a business area. “I assume that’s a good thing?”

“It’s great,” you sat up, “we want people to pick us. But it means everything has to look great, and we have to get ready for half a million custom orders.”

That would be a partial reason for the sudden uptick in inventory, combined with the pressure to make a good first impression. But you were working so aimlessly hard that you looked crazed, all by yourself. “Your employees aren’t willing to help?” Egon questioned.

You stood, addressing the heaps of different cookies, the only creation of yours without a home. “They are. But they’re kids- I can’t work them that hard. It’s probably illegal, too. They won’t be around for the next couple of days anyway.”

He could sympathize with your plight- backed into a seasonal corner that business owners just had to get used to. “I’m sorry,” Egon offered, “I’m not as skilled in your trade, but is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

You smiled your first genuine smile since he arrived. “There is, actually,” your tone was excited as you moved to the freezer, “just let me finish these and I’ll fill you in.”

Egon would’ve stopped you from continuing to try to work, but he relaxed when you brought out pre-prepared bags of icing and miscellaneous confectionaries, knowing that decoration was the more relaxing aspect of the art. 

He both sat in comfortable quiet as you put all your focus into icing, piping, and arranging.  It was pleasant, knowing that you had something so ardent that you cared so deeply about, even if it was dismissed as a mere hobby while you were close to collapsing to exhaustion in the bakery you financed on your own. It was a mix of career and craft- one of the many reasons he had grown to give you his utmost respect.

You were eventually done, making the task of embellishing countless treats look effortless. You handed him a cookie, which he gladly took. “I need you to be honest,” you counted on his affinity for sweets. He took a bite, surveying the dessert after the initial pleasure your baking always brought him.

“Raspberry compote,” Egon took a second, “and coffee icing.”

“Good job!” you scribbled something down on a spare slip of paper after springing the register drawer open. “Rating?”

“10/10”

“Honest.”

“That is my honesty. But if you wanted the unweighted scale, 7/10. The two flavors balance each other very well.”

You passed him another, which he promptly ate without being asked to. “On the crumbly side. Is that intentional?”

A nod. “A little less butter than usual. Old ladies tend to like those.”

He put a hand on his chin contemplatively. “6/10- marmalade. A softer version would get a higher placement, it would be a shame to lose interest from those who don’t fit the demographic.”

You copied down what he said, seemingly happy with any sort of feedback. “And here I thought I’d have to help you cross the street.”

The night went on like that for a while, and Egon grinned to himself at the parallels he had only just noticed- another mix of career and craft, now inquiry and indulgence. You looked like a proper scientist- or, a food scientist, scrawling down notes and numbers that he’s sure only you would be able to decode. He felt the corners of his face dimple in a familiar smile while he watched you- something he’d found himself doing much, much more.

“What?” you raised an eyebrow, suspicious of his joy.

“Nothing,” Egon excused himself, “you just look incredibly nice.”

 You squeezed the hand that he rested on the counter, silently appreciative. “Thanks- for that, and for helping me out. Let me get you home before you barf.”

He’d learned to live with the indecencies, helping you tidy up the best he could without breaching the system of organization you had. When you returned from the back with your personal things, he let you loop your arm around his for the semi-short journey home.

Egon only let you go so you could lock the door, and he stared at your back for the entire time that you did. “If I were having a baby shower, I’d come here.”

There were practically stars in your eyes. “Really?” 

“Really.” You planted a gratuitous kiss to the side of his face, before setting off towards his apartment.

Over the course of a few days, your boyfriend showed up earlier in order to take you into work, and keep you company as you tried to quell the impending anxiety. When regulars faded out and new faces came in- possible clients, you assured him with a non convincing tone that he had a job, too. If your ego was bigger, you’d be bragging about the compliments and inquiries your store got, not to mention the referrals to friends regarding special upcoming events. But, entrepreneurship had taught you to be humble, so you were resigned to spilling it all over a phone call to the firehouse.

One morning, you forced Egon out before anyone could arrive, asserting that he had a day off and he should find a way to relax. He asserted that this was how he relaxed, but you had a key to the front door and he didn’t, so that solved that. 

Not long after he was gone, you were hastily punching his number in, bouncing on your heels and out of breath.

“Hello?"

“Rich girl- eloping- needs a wedding cake- lots of money,” you forced out like you were out of air, already seeing dollar signs in tandem with the minutes you were losing. “But I have a crazy favor to ask.”

Very soon, “OPEN” was flipped to “CLOSED (sorry)” and you put on your serious business apron. Egon stood behind you, unsure of what to do as you jumped from here to there, double checking that you had absolutely everything you needed.

You only stopped when you realized that he wasn’t in the proper attire. “C’mon, Spengler,” you chastised him while cinching the strings of a smock around his waist.

“Game plan,” you led him to the back where all the industrial sized equipment was, “three tiers, green and pink, white cake. She gave me creative freedom, so I’m kinda flying blind.”

Egon’s eyes were on you as you laid out a few large bowls. “Have you ever…made a wedding cake on such short notice? I assumed they take days.”

“They do! And they’re the one thing I swore to never sell!” He looked disappointed in you, but you weren’t fazed, grabbing both of his hands. “$1,500,” Egon’s eyes widen as you continued, “think of what that could buy.”

He pushed up the bridge of his glasses like a flustered schoolboy. “That’s…a lot of copper wiring.”

“So many new mixers! And without the down payment! That’s why we need to start while we already have the time.”

Realistically, it was more of you starting everything while Egon was subjected to measuring or throwing away eggshells. But, you eventually gave him bigger responsibilities, as there was no way you’d be done in time for the impromptu-wedding if you worked one-by-one. 

You turned from what you were doing after instructing him to mix the batter for the top layer, being met with his bare forearms, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“What?” Egon noticed your commotion halting. “Am I overmixing?” 

You didn’t answer, still staring at his toned arms. He should help out more often- your stand mixer cutting out on you must’ve been a blessing in disguise. Your blatant ogling was cut short when he stopped his ministrations, resting the whisk against the lip of the bowl.

“Don’t get distracted.” He tried to sound condemnatory, but it was hard to feel scolded when the scholar had on one of your teenaged employee’s spare pink bibs around his front and he was almost bent over the edge of the counter space in the midst of his focus.

You could breathe a little easier when the timer went off for the tiniest layer’s completion in the biggest oven. You took the searing pan out carefully, and your worry spiked again when you saw how dark the unfrosted dessert was along the top. You went through a list of things that might’ve gone wrong-  was the oven at the right temperature? Setting? You definitely let it bake for the right time. It wasn’t until you saw a pair of little cylinders, tucked away in the havoc, that you put two and two together.

“Which one of these did you use?”

Egon looked like a mix of confused and concerned. “This one, baking soda.”

That’s how he got put out your kitchen for a considerable amount of time, until he knocked at the round window separating you both.

“Are you sorry?”

A pause. “Not anymore than I was 20 minutes ago.”

“I’m locking the door.”

He was allowed back in after a long and rehearsed apology. Soon, all tiers were baked, except for the base, and you were aching all over. The whole cake process never got any less demanding on you.

Egon must’ve seen how you stretched your arm across your chest before you tried to continue on anything. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’ll be fine- just sore.” you answered truthfully, before slightly jumping at the feeling of hands wrapping around your middle.

“Take a break,” he herded you to a folding chair you kept in there- the only chair. You were slotted in between his knees, thoroughly confused. He only got like this every blue moon.

It did feel great to be off your feet for a second, despite your cushy sneakers. “What’re you getting at?” 

His strong hands made work of your tense biceps. “Nothing lascivious. I just think you should save your energy for the important part,” you stifled a noise at his doctoral tone and the way his thumbs kneaded at the space in between your shoulder blades, “and you’ve been working very hard.”

“Baking makes you a freak,” you scoffed, but hedonistically let him continue to dote on you.

Soon it was time to keep moving, attractive masseuse or otherwise. You put Egon in charge of coloring the buttercream while you ran out to the store for the second time in only a few days, making a mental note to use some of the bride-to-be’s payment to keep a consistent supply of the little things.

When you returned, though, it wasn’t as you had expected. You picked up the metal bowl full of neon icing incredulously. “I said green, not snot!”

“I made green,” he didn’t budge, not seeing how gaudy this would look in the middle of a reception hall.

You pushed a finger in between his brows. “You’re such a guy,” you remarked, regardless of your own gender, as you hassled him out of the way. “Watch.” 

With a bit of red, the bright green dulled into a paler color, fit for a wedding. “Can I trust you with pink?” you asked as if he was a child.

Egon’s expression was unreadable. “No promises.”

Half of the green was shoveled into piping bags when he was finished, presenting the baby pink mixture to you like a project would be presented to a teacher. “That’s better,” you started, taking the bowl while he kept the spatula. You’d assumed that Egon was going to wash it or scrape off the excess or something, but your eyes squeezed shut as something cold and tacky hit your nose.

Frosting, pink frosting. His audacity. You took the green spatula, getting him back on the cheek. That led to him getting you back on the forehead, ear, chin, and eventually some strays ended up in the corner of your mouth, which he was more than happy to take care of. Baking really made him a freak, you thought. You probably shouldn’t be kissing over someone’s wedding memorabilia, but you shortly noticed that was the icing for each tier and its decoration. You lost an hour cleaning and starting from scratch on the buttercream, steering clear of each other in a respective corner each.

You had another hour to eat a late dinner while each tier chilled in the freezer, setting the white icing you painstakingly leveled to their surface area. When you returned, it was time for the assembly, the second most dreaded process. “I’m scared,” you confessed, just about to push down the first dowel.

Egon got eye level with the top, squinting. “You’re just about perfect.”

Your nerves got the better of you. “How can you tell?” 

“I calculated.”

He was to keep calculating until all three cakes were secure on each other, bringing on the actually grueling part: decoration. You could design anything easily, after years of practice on your skills and ability to freehand- but a wedding cake was just so intimidating. That was part of the reason you vowed to never try again, how easy failure was staring you down in the form of little white fondant flowers. Egon let you take the reins on this, disappearing from your narrow field of vision. You honed in your knowledge of swirls, mini roses, and the drape style that was still in fashion among traditional couples. You were bent in all sorts of ways to make sure every bit of sugar that left the tip of the plastic bag came out perfect, for a perfect pair of newlyweds. Or newlyweds with perfect pocketbooks.

Time got away from you when the final detail was placed, and you stepped away like it was a bomb. “Is it done? Are we done?” you looked for confirmation. “How does it look?”

Egon’s torso stopped you from running off somewhere. “It looks perfect.”

The giant thing was stowed away to wait until you were scheduled to drop it off the next morning, and a weight was taken off your chest. You let the faucet run over materials, mind somewhere else with the rush of running water.

“It’s so sweet when it’s all done,” you spoke up, scrubbing crusted batter off of a tin, “weddings feel so magical.” 

You thought back to the agreement you made with your boyfriend of a handful of years: nix a big ceremony, celebrate with friends when the time felt right. The time always felt right to you; you’d drag him to the courthouse at the drop of a hat. Perhaps there was an even right-er time out there, written somewhere in your future.

Egon wiped down all the surfaces. “I agree.” he voiced from across the counter, taking a pause. “You’re not…angry with me? For taking as long as I am?”

You laughed at that, drying your hands. You crossed over to him, a hand on his chest. “Not at all. I trust you.” He had ditched the tie at some point after you had to make a new batch of icing. “If you’re offering…”

“Give me some more time to make it special.”

You brushed away some of his hair that had come loose in the heat of your scullery. “How much more time?” your voice was soft.

Egon thought about it for a moment. “What’s 5 more years?” He laughed heartily at the groan you let out, resting his head on yours.

“Really?” your voice broke over the phone. “I’m sorry…I’ve never- I don’t know,” you forced yourself to take a shallow breath, “I’ll work on getting your deposit back.”

You didn’t know what to think or feel when you ended the call, but thoughts of wasted hours, materials, lost profit, all flooded your mind as you attempted to calm yourself. You rested your head underneath where the phone was mounted on the wall, rubbing at your temples to sedate an oncoming headache.

“What happened?” Egon asked at your back, with you again in the early morning as he scored another day off. You didn’t turn to face him, trying your best to blink back embarrassing tears.

“She canceled. We made the cake for nothing- there’s no wedding, I-” 

Egon was on a knee, in the middle of your homely bakery. Your frustration evolved into pure confusion. “What’re you-”

There was a blue, velvet box in his hands with a glinting band inside of it. Before he could get a word out, you were on the floor too, tears free flowing. “You can’t do this now,” you clutched the fabric of his pants when he moved to hold you. “I look horrible.”

His free hand dried your tears, though more would keep on appearing in their wake. “I’m sorry this is so overdue.”

Your hands gently held onto his jaw to know this was real. “When was the right time?” 

“A long, long time ago. I just needed to find a way to make it special.” He looked hesitant before continuing, “I hope you don’t mind having made your own wedding cake.”

You blinked. “You’re the worst!” you joked exasperatedly, falling with him into a hug on the floors you were happy you mopped. “That was all you?”

“Why do you suppose her down payment was a multiple of 18?”

“They didn’t.” 

“Consider it a group gift, I suppose.” Egon smiled underneath you. You sat in the giddy silence of two people, soon to be wed, when he gingerly asked the question

“Will you?”

Your boyfriend- fiancé, went through so much trouble to make the moment one you could look back on happily. Who could refuse?

“I will.”

[maxwell-mtv]

Maxwell_MTV's Store Swap AU for SDV!

[I've been working a lot as always, so it's been hard to write. But... I guess the stars are aligning because one of my fave artists and mutuals ( @vilochkaaa ) posted their own Store Swap AU art today (WHICH IS SUPER COOL YOU SHOULD CHECK IT IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT ALREADY!!!) and I was also planning on posting my own Store Swap AU stuff today that I've been working on...

I hope everyone enjoys! I've put my extra braincells into spicing this up. Written stuff is below the cut... I was allowed to cook and I made the best meal I could for all you wonderful folks out there lol]

Morris: You ever feel like you're doing better in another life?

The general idea:

In this universe, Pierre finds success after a long career as a professional boxer and manages to somehow use his fame to open a chain of convenience stores after he retires. This, of course, competes directly with Joja and while it’s not enough to drive them completely out of business, it manages to split business fairly evenly between the two.

While Pierre reaps the daily grind of those beneath him as the CEO of what is simplified to being called “Pierre’s”, someone else finds himself settling into a small town to try and live out his own dreams of running a store.

Morris:

While Pierre is living the dream, Morris has been put through the wringer. 

With the success of “Pierre’s”, many JojaMarts were forced to shut down as a result.

Morris was on a fast track to his first promotion to be a manager when his store had to shut down no thanks to “Pierre’s” success in that part of the city.

With the store shutting down, many were laid off (only current management got to relocate to other stores) so Morris became ✨unemployed✨.

While Morris began with quite the rising confidence as he gained notoriety in his store, him being laid off brought all that to a crashing halt.

So, with a new sense of humility given his circumstances, he gathers what he can and searches for a new path in life.

He finds himself in a small town by the seaside, a village, really, with how small the populace was. 

But during his time soaking in the calming charm of Pelican Town, he notices an issue with the locals.

All of them needed to take a day’s trip to the city to purchase their groceries for the week. A huge inconvenience for those who needed small, simple necessities like bread or toilet paper. And when it came to purchasing from the locals, many farmers were out of seasonal stock by the time the locals needed them.

So Morris takes the initiative and opens up what he calls “Morris’s Market” in the semi-vacant building next to the clinic.

Semi-vacant, only because of the public access to Yoba’s altar.

Morris runs a successful business, feeling himself renewed as he gains a positive reputation amongst the locals. 

But still there’s this feeling deep inside of him as though something had gone astray in his story. Like something in his fate had been tampered with to have stolen his dreams from him.

But thanks to time, he finds himself proud and content with his small success as a small businessman.

That is, until someone decides to break ground in his small town, which leads him to a dizzying disparaging of his confidence once again.

Morris, in a desperate plea to keep what he has, often finds himself praying in front of the altar beneath his home. Although he’s never been religious, he doesn’t think he can take another blow to his ego. At the end of the day, when numbers are crunched and sales are charted, he doesn’t see himself doing anything but this.

It is evident that in this universe, unlike canon, Morris is more humble and anxious. Where his insecurities were buried deep beneath the corporate mask JojaMart had given him in canon, he has nothing but his more organic self to offer to a fairly organic town. Polite, tired all the time, and just doing his best…  

Pierre:

After his famous career as a boxer comes to an honorable end, he retires and uses his fortune to start a business. With the charms of what is reminiscent of a small business, Pierre’s General Store (later simplified to “Pierre’s” for better mass marketing) goes toe-to-toe with Joja’s long time success as the better box store.

Competing with a conglomerate like Joja isn’t easy, but “Pierre’s” values that are taken straight from the founder himself aid in toppling them to a mere equal competitor.

"A family business from humble beginnings with the drive to give back to the farmers who give them their produce to sell."

It feels like a more country version of a Trader Joe’s. And (not to intentionally out my current geography) competes against Joja like Meijers does with a Kroger. 

On vaster scale, it’s like Walmart/Sam's Club against Costco…

Hard to explain but that’s the general vibes of “Pierre’s.”

After a little vacation to Pelican Town with his wife and daughter, he decides to take on a capital expenditure which challenges the very competence of his title as a CEO.

Seeing that the only store these people in the middle of the Valley were confined to were either his stores in the city or a “pathetic excuse of a general store” (his words, not mine), he has a little talk with the Mayor.

Breaking ground in Pelican Town was easy, a convenient plot of land was just over the bridge from where "Morris’s Market" was and so customers would be a breeze to snatch up.

Despite what his advisors warned him against, Pierre ignores all odds and sets his eyes on the prize. Not even JojaMart could do what he was about to do, and that would catapult him from just an equal competitor to the top dog. 

It was easy enough to draw a crowd, but there was a growing issue with his store just barely breaking even each week. It seemed that though the town flocked to him for most things, the majority tended to stick with “Morris’s Market” in the name of loyalty. I mean, it wasn’t like his prices were much better than Morris’s store anyways since he aimed for both profit and quality. 

As he contemplated it each morning as he hit the gym, the problem became all too clear to him. It wasn’t his prices or the quality of products, rather it was the sense of community amongst the town.

I mean, just look how they all gathered every month (sometimes more!) in that old, barely functional Community Center to hold meetings, plan festivities, hold celebrations, and just socialize and bond!

If only there was someway he could break that and shatter that sense of loyalty they had in the name of supporting their fellow townie.

It would be a shame, really… if someone were to report that sad, beaten building to the proper authorities for an inspection. Without the Mayor knowing of it, he might be able to convince them that the building wasn't just “well loved” as the Mayor put it and was hardly still up to code, if at all.

If only he could prove it wasn’t up to code…

Damn his advisors, damn his wife, and damn everyone in this "hick town". He will succeed at all costs… even if he loses his charms along the way. 

Pierre uses his charms as an admittedly still good looking man. If you ignore the small crook in his nose from it being broken too many times before, you’d see why his wife still stayed with him despite her seeming too sweet and meek for his own good. 

It would be easy, if he laid it on thick, to sway the town amongst a tragedy to lean on him in some regard. Just a little wink, an offer of setting up events every month outside his store. Hey, maybe if he could drive Morris’s store out of business he could buy that storefront from him and use it as the new gathering place. It seemed fitting seeing as half the town gathered there every Sunday for Yoba’s altar anyways.

It’s too bad his daughter puts a dent in his plans though… She never did outgrow that rebellious phase…

Pierre works out often in this universe, having the time and freedom to make his own schedule as CEO. He treats his family well enough, although he’s never home long enough to let them see the monster he’s let himself become. But his daughter can see glimpses in the way he talks to her and her mother that he’s not the same father he had once been. It’s like something changed in him along the way to make him worse than he’d been before…

Having never lost a match in his career, only when it was planned for ticket sales, Pierre has an inflated ego which blinds him to his own faults. In his eyes, this is the life he’s always been destined for. To be on the top of the world and determined to never fall from grace.

His daughter, on the other hand, would say otherwise. She often has a similar epiphany as Morris. Where an existential feeling of dread consumes her and deep down, despite her fairly privileged life, she knows this was not what she was destined for.

(I'd like to think Pierre just doesn't bother with the "no-homo" stuff and constantly flirts with Morris in this AU just to rile him up and throw him off his game. Especially when they get into fights about ethics and business and blah blah typical enemies to still enemies but also lovers stuff.)

[mj-iza-writer]

Hi it's me I replied to your post. In that whumpee doesn't even want to try to escape, they are completely subservient. If you could write somthing where they are initially disaobidient but whumper has special interest in them, breaks them and makes them like this. I'd love to see that.

Hello, your wish is my demand. 😊

The door slammed open.

"Everyone up and at the front of your cell. Whumper wishes to examine all of you", a guard ordered.

Whumpee sighed, but didn't budge. They didn't care for Whumper. In fact, they absolutely despised them.

Whumpee heard footsteps approach their cell.

"Did you not hear the order. Get up and to the front for inspection', a guard slammed on the bars.

"No, not for that trash", Whumpee frowned, "never."

"Hmm, never you say?", Whumper approached, "that one, take them to isolation."

"Yes sir."

Whumpee was stripped and bound in chains. Their arms were pulled taught. Most embarrassing of all they were forced to kneel.

Whumpee glared at the door until it opened.

"You'll learn today", Whumper came in and set their things down.

"Go fuck yourself", Whumpee yelled.

"So disobedient. You will be fun to play with, and when you break, you will be even better."

Whumpee spat at the floor.

"So brave for someone at my mercy", Whumper grabbed Whumpee's face and examined them.

Whumpee groaned as their head was moved roughly.

"You'll do nicely", Whumper chuckled.

"Nicely for what exactly?", Whumpee's eyes followed Whumper until they stood behind them.

"I've been quite bored upstairs lately. I figured since I have a basement full of prisoners, why not turn one of them into a pain slave to play with", Whumper chuckled gleefully, "you will want to get away from me so much, but you will be so far gone that the thought of getting away from me scares you. You will be unwillingly loyal, and you'll both love it and hate it."

"Never", Whumpee muttered through quivering lips.

"We'll see my dear", Whumper chuckled as they punched Whumpee for the first time.

Whumpee gasped and fell forward. Their muscles and joints now screamed at this position.

"I'll be back tomorrow", Whumper whispered threateningly.

"Why did you want me?", Whumpee shook as they tried to sit up and elleviate the pain.

"The others are all dead inside. They are waiting for the inevitable moment of me killing them. You still have a drive to survive. Even when I do break you... you will continue to have that drive to survive. You will do whatever just to live. Your defiance will be your undoing."

Whumpee looked down, "never", they grumbled.

"We'll see", Whumper chuckled as they left.

The week continued.

Whumpee received daily beatings from Whumper or a guard... or both.

They were not given much to any food, and water was scarce.

Whumper came in.

"Please water", Whumpee looked at them with hopeful eyes.

"Beg for it. Let me see how desperate you are for my care. A good pain slave will take as much pain and discomfort their master gives them just in hopes their master will love them. How much do you want me to give you water?", Whumper smiled.

Whumpee turned their head away, "nev..."

Whumper started to leave, shaking their head.

"Wait please", Whumpee lunged forward, "please please water.... I'm so thirsty."

Whumper turned with an evil grin.

Whumpee sighed, this was what Whumper wanted, and they stepped right into it.

"Please may I have water?", Whumpee begged.

"Yes you may", Whumper pulled out a bottle from their belongings, "was that so hard?"

Whumpee chugged the water as Whumper tilted it for them.

Whumpee almost whined when the bottle was pulled away. They tried to follow it and keep their mouth on it. They wanted more.

"Still thirsty?", Whumper sighed.

"Y-yes", Whumpee eyed the bottle.

"You can have more, but first.... beg me to hit you", Whumper squeezed Whumpee's cheeks.

"Do what?", Whumpee whispered in shock.

"A good pain slave wants their master to be happy and relaxed. They should always want to help take their master's anger", Whumper spoke happily, "beg me to hit you."

"Uhm, I don't.... I don't know if I'm ready to do that", Whumpee whispered.

"So you're not saying never?", Whumper questioned.

"No, I'm just not ready to ask to be hit", Whumpee looked at the floor.

"Okay, I'll take that as a win", Whumper turned to leave.

"Wait water... please", Whumpee's voice cracked.

"I suppose you know what to do to get it", Whumper frowned.

Whumpee looked away.

"I'll check back in tomorrow", Whumper left.

"The-they're winning", Whumpee whispered to themself, "will it be as bad as I think it will be. I can't do this much longer."

Whumper came back the next day.

"I brought ice cold water and even a warm meal to sweeten the deal", Whumper smiled at Whumpee.

Whumpee was close to crumbling. They had been in that same position since this all started.

"Please", Whumpee whispered, "do whatever you want with me. Please can I lay down or at least move."

"Hmm, anything?", Whumper grinned.

"Yes anything, hurt me if you must, I can't stay in this position any more... please", Whumpee pleaded.

"Well you drive a hard bargain", Whumper chuckled, "I knew you'd give."

"Please my legs are killing me", Whumpee pleaded again, "my arms....."

"Hush", Whumper slapped Whumpee's face.

Whumpee shook.

"Beg me to hurt you", Whumper grinned.

"Please hurt me, take out all of your anger on me. Show no mercy", Whumpee sobbed, "just please let me move my body", Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut in preparation for impact.

They were startled when a gentle hand cupped their face.

"Now was that so hard", Whumper cooed.

"I won't hurt you, not yet. You won't always be hurt by me, I promise", Whumper reached to unlock Whumpee, "this room will remain your special room, as you please me you may receive rewards. If you do not please me...", Whumper paused.

"More punishment", Whumpee whispered.

"You learn so quickly", Whumper cooed.

Whumpee was left in the room. They were allowed the food and water. They quickly finished.

It was until then that they realized the door to their room was left partially open.

"It's a trap", they whispered, but still inched closer.

They peaked out and looked up and down the hall.

"Should I get them?", a guard looked at Whumper while they watched a screen. A camera had been hidden inside the room.

"Let's see what they do. They won't get far if they do run", Whumper watched as Whumpee knelt down outside of the door, "I'm curious what they are up to."

Whumpee looked back inside of their room, the chains had been left out.

"Just like they said I want to escape, but I'm too scared to try", Whumpee hung their head in defeat and went back into their room.

"They are where I want them", Whumper stated happily, "let my real fun begin."

Notice by MJ: this has nothing to do with pain slaves in the BDSM community. Please do not take this as a guide for that community.

[lakesbian]

ok the post i was going to make after i woke up. the reason why i've been rooting 4 sy and jessie becoming A Thing for the large recent duration of my twig read is that i liked how the dynamic was being established between them in a way that could clearly lead into a functional romance where other relationships sy has couldn't.

at one point, sy notes that he couldn't imagine a world where he was able to spend a full uninterrupted day with lillian (His Actual Girlfriend at the time) without either ruining it by upsetting her or becoming exhausted from putting effort into not upsetting her & having a terrible time himself. with jessie, after she runs away to tynewear for sy, the main point of their dynamic that wildbow hammers in over and over again is that she's someone who can spend months alone with sy and hold her ground both intellectually and emotionally without her starting to loathe him, her becoming exhausted from effort, or him becoming exhausted from effort.

and as for the reason as to Why that is. it's partially because perfect memory is very useful for interacting with sy on a daily basis, but it's also in large part because she has an Anti Sy Bullshit Field sort of personality. it's really endearing dynamic writing how she's obviously in love with him, and it never once causes her to budge where she wants to take a stand. i really fucking like the scene where she's talking to noreen to earn her cooperation after sy being a manipulative ass didn't work, and she outright agrees w noreen that a lot of the time she doesn't like sy either, with the implicit "but" (because her dialogue pattern prior had been a series of "buts" like "he's the darkest bastard i know, but he makes me laugh") being "but i love him."

and i can actually see why sy's earned that love during the tynewear arcs despite not always being very likable--when he does things like grip her by the cheeks and force her to say "okay" to being saved from the plague where anyone else would have left her for dead, it's completely understandable how she loves him despite (and sometimes because of) the fact that he frequently does shit that makes her threaten to beat him with an umbrella. i was rooting 4 them because the book was repeatedly intentionally stating that sy clearly needs a partner who's naturally enough of an intelligent hardass to be resistant to his bullshit while still caring for him deeply and enjoying his company, and jessie obviously met those criteria.

and like. this Is stated explicitly. right before the book shits itself in this department, sy horrendously upsets lillian during the "i don't like the me that says yes to sy" scene, and jessie 1. accurately bluntly explains to sy why he's on unequal footing with lillian in a way that's deeply unfair to lillian and 2. accurately implies that She is someone who would be compatible with and fair for sy to date.

where the problem comes in is that after this, sy absconds for no reason and goes on the inane slogging adventure of arc 14, while jessie is forced to be the one who chases after him, the one who apologizes and makes up for the absolutely atrocious way sy treated her over both the possibility and the outright suggestion of them dating, and the one who bends over backwards to nervously pose her transitioning as a solution to the Irreparable Friendship Ruining Gap of her being attracted to sy while they're both boys. he doesn't even become interested in her afterwards, he's not interested in her yet at the point in the story where i'm at like 15 chapters after her transition! the unrequited love is still there, it's just that it's somehow infinitely more tolerable for him if it's not coming from a boy. (sylvester lambsbridge trans-positive homophobe: very funny choice, not a good one.) yes, it's made clear that she would really genuinely like to transition for a number of other reasons as well, but it's a scene that's part of a series of scenes where, instead of getting to play the interesting hardass that calls sy out on how absolutely fucked it is that he literally intentionally mentally infantilized himself to shoot the possibility of acknowledging a boy having feelings for him in the foot--the hardass that expects him to have the faintest ounce of accountability to both her and lillian--she just. bends over backwards to accommodate and apologize and repair things with him, without him having to put in any meaningful effort despite being the one who caused the fight he ran away over in the first place.

and then after that. even after she slips a memory and becomes afraid of literally fucking dying within the next three days. she's STILL just fucking politely intermittently hoping that Maybe something will happen if sy, but no problem at all if not, she doesn't want to force anything! like i just feel bad for her at this point man. it does not feel good to watch, and it definitely does not feel coherent with what was established about her character & why she's a good match for sy previously. and i think the reason it doesn't feel coherent is that wildbow was not properly grasping why sy's treatment of her was hurtful, and he wasn't properly imagining the level of culpability sy would need to accept and act to amend in order for the dynamic to not be off-kilter and deeply unfair to jessie. like, it feels like the perspective twig is implicitly espousing is that just the mere act of sy being able to stand in the same room as jessie without getting awkward about her unrequited feelings IF and only IF she's not a boy is something involving commendable compromise and not below the literal fucking bare minimum of being able to stand in the same room as jessie without getting awkward about her unrequited feelings even if she was a boy. i find it more and more uncomfortable the longer i stew on it. i don't like it. complete fumble of their resolution of their fight and now everything after it feels tainted by that.

[treacletartlett]

vulnerability

for the struggling girlies with anxiety♡

there's no one who you can really open up to, who you can talk about the most personal things with, but harry, he seems to be able to read you like an open book. he shows you how to make yourself feel good without guilt, he shows you how to be vulnerable with yourself and other people.

sorry guys this ended up being much longer than anticipated, I enjoyed writing this so much!

includes sexual content!

You and Harry are not actually friends, but sharing a friend group and house forced you to be friendly acquaintances, and when passing each other in the halls you greet each other with a simple greeting.

secretly, there has always been a kind of attraction you held for him, his charm, his good looks, but you never spoke about it with anyone since it didn't seem like anything past friendly attraction. unfortunately, that quickly grew into something you’d rather not speak about.

you didn't experience such feelings often, but when you did, they weren't as intense as you felt with him, which was something you struggled with a lot. you didn't enjoy the things your friends loved, or when someone tried to get it on with you your body didn't react as you wanted it to, even if it's just for wanting to know that you could feel the same as the others.

during breakfast time, you were sitting with your friends as usual. though what were unusual was that you had joined them a bit later than the rest.

you were that type of person who arrives earlier than the rest and is always on time.

your friend, neville, who was as oblivious as they come and nicely sitting next to hermione granger, who was Harry's best friend, looked at you with confusion while asking "where were you at? you're never this late to breakfast, I was almost worried."

the rough start of the morning did nothing to ease this situation.

trying to act casual, you scooped some egg and other foods on your plate, not paying attention to what you were piling your plate with. a faint pinkish tint rising on your cheeks.

“nothing, just slept late.” You mumbled loud enough for them to hear.

“I dont think that’s true,” Hermione spoke softly, that look on her face indicating she knows something suspicious was going. “you slept and woke up at the same time as me.”

hermione really knew how to put someone on the spot. while uneasily trying to make something up, Harry, who was sitting two places to Hermione's right, spoke up while holding the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.

“that doesn't matter, more importantly, Ginny, you're going to the quidditch tryouts, aren't you?” successfully steering the conversation away from you, you felt grateful for the minor save. you looked at him for a second, smiling slightly before focussing on something else.

“Yes, I'm trying out for chaser, then I have an excuse to push people.” Ginny said, but you weren’t really listening, your mind wandering.

"I'm sure you'll do great, alongside Ron of course, anyone else going? are you?" he asked you, suddenly interested. you weren't actually sure if you wanted to try out, never having been on the team yourself, but you loved quidditch, and did want to be, but with Harry as captain this year, you weren't sure how focussed you could be.

"oh well, I'm not sure. I've thought about it, but I don't know." you replied sheepishly. the lack of confidence in your voice has always had a way to embarrass you, even after such a long time. you were never able to grow into your own skin much, even after having seen all your friends grow up and get that self-confidence you lacked.

"I've seen you fly, y/n, you really should try-out! you're an amazing flyer." Ron said, which shocked you slightly, unknowing to his seeing you fly before-which you did with your friends often, late in the night- and the fact that he just praised your skills, has plastered a smile on your face and lifted some of your self-consciousness.

Harry nodded, seemingly agreeing with Ron. "yea, you definitely should, Ron and I were impressed with you! we're surprised you haven't tried out before."

your face reddened even more, and you hoped you weren't the same shade as a tomato, being put on the spot. you were really bad at getting compliments, scared you would come off as rude or arrogant by how you reply to them, so you did what you thought you should and smiled, and told them a small thank you to which they both smiled back at before resuming their conversation with Ginny, and the rest of the Gryffindors.

after breakfast, you and your friends left for classes, but the way Harry complimented you hasn't been able to leave your mind, making you lose focus for the majority of the day.

when classes ended you decided to split off from your friends a walk your own way, needing some space to clear your mind. your footsteps echoed and you grazed the wall, slightly leaning right against it. there was such a peaceful silence that it made you doze off. you weren’t paying attention to anything or anyone around, but it wasn’t needed since there weren’t anyone but you in the corridor.

Or so you thought. a small grunt escaped your mouth, the impact of walking into a wall hit you hard. but, as it turns out it wasn’t a wall. it was a someone. steadying yourself you looked up at the person you just walked into.

Harry Potter turned around and chuckled when he saw you. “You okay?" he asked, while he tried to hold in his laugh

it wasn't a hard hit as it would've been if you walked into an actual wall, but it still shocked you slightly. because of quidditch, he’s grown quite muscular, not too much, but just enough to make his back feel firm to the touch.

“Oh, right, yea sorry about that, wasn’t paying attention.” You mumbled, a faintly blushing.

“I noticed,” he chuckled. "don't worry about it, I didn't pay attention either. where were you off to?" his quick change in subject startled you, but when you collected your thoughts you croaked out your answer. "just walking around, wasn't thinking of a specific place."

He nodded, in thought, as if he carefully constructed his next question in his mind. "why were you actually late this morning? it didn't seem like anything particular, but when I saw Hermione's face, I knew she was suspicious, and most of her suspicions are justified."

this was the last thing you expected him to ask you, after he led the conversation this morning elsewhere. your face heated up in a second, reliving the memories of you this morning. you weren't sure how to reply, knowing you weren't the best of liars, and harry seemed to catch on to this rather quickly. was this the time to be honest? to tell the person you've experienced a different feeling with than the handful others you thought more than once about? it would be weird, and damn random. you and Harry weren't even real friends, this was something you wouldn't even tell your closest friends.

"well, uh, nothing. it was nothing. I was only late once, it happens. anyway I should get going." you tried to hurry off, staying casual, but it didn't work. as you walked past him, he followed you, and it seemed like he was going to stop at any given moment.

"you know, I'm not trying to embarrass you or anything, I'm just curious since your face reddened a bit when neville asked, and we haven't really spoken before, so because you're going to be on the quidditch team I thought we should try and maybe get to know each other, even if it's just a bit? anyway, whatever it is, I know it isn't nothing, and while I'm mostly someone who doesn't push, I'm also very curious, also to know you a bit, so whatever it is, don't worry, I won't find it weird or anything."

after he stopped rambling, silence filled the hall while you tried to articulate a convincing excuse. you weren't sure what he would think, and after his speech, you tried to focus on anything but his remark that you'll be on the team, when you haven't even clarified if you're trying-out. after pondering, and dragging it out for as long as you can, you stumbled a bit over your words before you managed to just throw everything out, for some reason forgetting all the reasons why you didn't want to tell him anything in the first place. he looked at you with such a look that for some reason made you think he wouldn't be caught off guard by what you were about to say.

you flushed bright red, your body having a hobby of showing your embarrassment which you've always cursed your genes for. "well, I'm not sure. so I- I think there is something wrong, or I don't know, with me. This is probably really weird, so yea," he shook his head in disagreement. "I was just- you know, I was, I don't know. I've never experienced those feelings before, even though everyone around me has, and well, you know, I also haven't had intense feelings for anyone until recently and it's really weird, I'm not sure what to do with them, so I did what everyone does and woke up early after I- after I had a-," you stopped talking for a second. "a dream, about, well, someone I think, and I thought 'I just have to try' because I wanted my body to react normally like everyone talks about, but I felt really weird and I hate discussing stuff like this, so it didn't really work out and after I felt really uncomfortable and dirty, or something, that I did that. I don't know why I won't just enjoy it like everybody else, but I guess my body just won't change or turn normal or something."

after you finished your sentence and caught your breath, you realised you rambled on to Harry for a solid second. embarrassment and disbelieve clouded your head, but Harry just listened to you talk and seemed interested in what you had to say. you could almost see the wheels turn in his head, forming a reply to your story. nerves settled low in your stomach and doubt clouded your thoughts, afraid you overshared or made him feel weird, but when he spoke, he spoke with such interest and care you suddenly forgot every worry you had.

"y/n, just because you don't experience things like others doesn't mean you can't give love to yourself. there is nothing wrong with you, or your body. just because it's deemed 'the ordinary' doesn't tell you that you have to experience it the same way as others." he stepped closer, "you don't have to 'overcome' it, because there is nothing strange about those mental barriers you set, you just have to understand what your body is telling you, without feeling disgusted. it's nature." his words felt like a caress against your back, the soft tone of his whisper a hug around you. they reassured you, settled the doubts you've had for so long a fraction, which is a fraction more than anyone has ever.

you weren't sure how to reply, this whole conversation feeling weird to you, but when you looked at him he seemed at ease. it wasn't new though, your friends loved to talk about it, and even though you didn't, you didn't want anyone to know about your 'abnormality'.

"so who's the person anyway, the one you were talking about." he asked. you looked at him, confused, not expecting him to ask that either.

"what?" you asked, absentmindedly. "you know, the person you had feelings for." you tensed. he obviously didn't know it was him, and you weren't about to tell him. "well, I-, I don't know." it was a feeble attempt, but it didn't work, obvious by Harry who started laughing.

"that was a really sad excuse, sorry." he said when he caught his breath. "it's okay, I promise I won't tell anyone." he looked eager to know, to know which person managed to activate your sex drive for the first, and probably last, time in your life. having spilled so much, you were at a loss for words. slight panic overtook you as you stayed silent, trying to come up with something.

Harry kept looking at you patiently. it was visible he really wanted to know, but he tried to hide it while you looked for something to say. the corridor almost came to an end, giving way for the grounds outside. it wasn't cold per se, but it wasn't pure sunshine either.

it was perfect.

you gave up trying to find an excuse to say that would convince him otherwise, and kept silence, hoping he'll magically forget he's asked you anything. it was pathetic, but maybe it would work.

"it isn't going to work." he spoke.

well, it was worth trying.

"you can't ignore me, or your feelings. maybe I can help you. whoever it is, I won't judge, I won't even reply, if you don't want me to." he stopped walking, standing in front of you when you two just passed a large tree. he had this puppy dog eye look, and silently begged to know the answer.

you weren't really sure why he wanted to know so bad, but for some reason it felt good knowing he wanted to know something like that, so personal. nevertheless, it was hard trying to maintain secrecy while he's looking at you like that.

"what if it were someone you knew really well?" you asked softly, slightly hinting at who it could be. you felt anxious as you avoided looking at him, your head bowed to the ground, suddenly interested in the green of the grass.

it was quiet, there seemed to be no one outside except for you two, which was highly unusual, since it's always packing with this weather, but you guessed the universe was at your side, granting you full privacy with Harry.

"then that would be just fine." he answered. his voice was calm and gentle, unlike your hoarse whisper. you wanted him to suddenly know without having to tell him, it would be much easier.

"someone you wouldn't expect, that you knew better than anyone else?" your eyes met his, awkwardly. you hoped he would just get the hint, you'll both ignore this conversation, and act like nothing happened while still being on good terms.

that seemed like the perfect scenario, right?

he stepped closer, not close enough to kiss your shoes, but enough to see the green of his eyes and feel his body heat warm you up like a fire.

"then I wouldn't mind at at," he smiled slightly, melting your heart immediately. "y/n, let me help you."

what did that mean? help you? did he understand, and choose to ignore, or he just didn't, and was pushing you to tell him? you didn't know how to reply, the silence was loud in your head.

"it's okay, I promise. just trust me, it's gonna be okay." he said when you kept silent. it seemed as if he mistook your confusion for dread of what he meant, but this was awkward enough, so you kept silent, praying in your head for this conversation to end, or for the earth to swallow you and never spit you out. they both seemed like good solutions for now.

you realised you probably looked stupid, or rude, just staying silent and ignoring Harry like this, but it was difficult trying to come up with a good reply. but you tried, needing the misery to end.

"can we just forget all this?" mid-whisper, you heard how cliche and pathetic you sounded, feeling betrayed by your inner mind voice, which sounded perfectly fine saying this line in your head.

about to turn away, your head down, Harry seemed to understand how you feel. how, when you two didn't even talk on a daily basis, did he seem to understand you so deeply when even the people closest to you can't? you get it, maybe because you've told him things you haven't told anyone else, or because his eyes are so bright it feels like they are seeing through your mind. or because to him, you're such an open book, you're feelings are just so normal, he understands more than he's ever understood before, which interests him.

"you don't have to walk away, y/n. you don't have to understand everything at once. let me help you this time, and after you can figure it out, okay? just, come with me, and I'll be there, and I won't forget, because I want to show you I understand." he took your hand in his, signalling for you to follow.

though you are grateful he didn't make you have to answer, even though his words settled in your stomach, wrapped around your head and blinded you with something you can't put a name to.

but you did, you did follow him all the way to his bed, in silence, where it was empty and just the two of you.

you felt trepidation about what was going to happen. it clicked in your head, all the talk about loving yourself and helping you. it was scary, just because you weren't sure how you and your body would react to his hands all over your skin, when you so desperately wanted to enjoy it.

the door closed, the walls radiated silence, which bounced off of every solid thing right into your eardrum, deafening you with the loudness of it. your heartbeat felt faster than before, the skin of your hand scorching hot where he held it. his eyes burned to the back of your head, seemingly unmasking everything under the veil constructed to keep your thoughts and emotions at bay.

you tried to hide it all, the subtle excitement, the dread, worry, all the fear, the inexperience. you hoped what he planned wasn't to unmask all of it, because that means being even more vulnerable with him than you've already been.

"y/n," he called softly, your name coming from his mouth like a sweet melody, it awakened something inside of you only the soft voice of him could. it was gentle, but reassuring.

you looked at him, your full attention turned to him and this moment.

"tell me when it's too much." he caressed your cheek softly, instantly creating a hot flush on my skin. "okay?" he pushed.

you nodded, your mind too lost to form legible sentences. you couldn't think, couldn't speak, even if you wanted to. you couldn't move, unless he helped you. you didn't want it to be too much, you hoped it would be just enough.

you knew Harry, you knew he knew what you needed.

"tell me what you're feeling," he leaned his forehead against yours, pulling you even closer.

the soft heat radiating off of him was different than your friends explained, everything was so much different than your friends explained.

"tell me what you want," his lips were so close, almost close enough to feel, to taste. he pulled you even closer, you were inches apart. one hand holding your face, the other feather light on your back, almost as if he's scared to hurt you by holding you too firmly. his lips got closer, and closer, until they made the lightest contact with yours.

they were soft, and tender, and even though it was only a second, a second of his lips on yours, you felt every touch of him, you felt something that made you need him even more, that made you want his lips for even just a second longer.

then, he backed you against the bed, making you lay down and pulling him on top of you, maintaining eye contact. his hands found their way to your shirt, pausing before pulling it up.

"tell me everything." his gentle tone pulled at your heart. reason left you completely, and there was no way you would ever want to stop this moment.

"may I take this off?" he questioned, so serious, but patient, and so gentle. it made you feel so safe and cared for, so comfortable in a way you didn't think possible with anyone else.

you nodded. "yes," breathless, exhilarated, assured.

you didn't think about your insecurities anymore, or your friends, or even why and how this happened. nothing is flying around in your mind anymore except for Harry, and his bright green eyes, looking adoringly at you, while his gentle hands lifted your shirt, slowly pulling it off of you.

then, his fingers went to your pants, unbuttoning, and pulling down the zipper, taking them off of you completely.

you were left in your panties, almost completely naked in contrary to Harry, who was still fully, clothed. it was unnerving, but also exciting. knowing you were actually anticipating him taking off his clothes made you feel good.

"Harry," you called.

"yes, baby?" baby. one word. four letters. the absolute most ordinary and widely used nickname for a significant other, but still, when he called you that, in that tone, it made you want him to repeat it alongside your name for hours on end.

"aren't you going to take it off?" you asked, softly.

"I will, baby. right now." he took your hand, leading it to the hem of his shirt, helping you lift it off him. slowly, his torso was exposed. light abs began peeking from underneath, soft, roughened, pale skin, scars that littered all over his body. he was truly beautiful.

you knew he had endured a lot since he was a little boy, but for some reason you didn't think it would stay with him permanently in physical form. still, for some reason you find his scars and stories beautiful.

he was perfect in an imperfect way. his ribs were sticking out slightly, his nipples were a gorgeous pink, his neck tight and leading to a sharp and hot jawline.

you weren't sure if Harry was anxious about his appearance, but either way, you were grateful that he trusted you with this.

he, his knees on either side of you, sat upright, looking at you as if expecting a comment. a speck of dread mixed with curiosity in his eyes. with every second you stayed silent, his anxiousness worsened, probably thinking you don't find him beautiful, but in truth, you just didn't know how to express your thoughts and emotions.

"harry," you sat upright, resting on your hands. "you're even more beautiful than I imagined you'd be."

a blush spread on his cheeks, looking down. it looked like he wasn't someone who is used to getting compliments, but you hoped he knew how many people saw his beauty.

"t-thank you." he managed to reply, his face pink, looking grateful and sincerely grateful.

your hands found the button of his pants, unbuttoning them while looking at him, smiling. he took your hands in his while helping you get him out of his trousers. when his zipper was undone, you pulled them down a bit before he stood up to take it off completely, leaving you both in only your underwear.

he climbed back on top of you, brushing the hair out of your face, while his hand took yours and travelled down, and down, over your breasts and nipples until they were at your panties.

they were wet already, a huge spot of moisture visible, but for some reason you weren't embarrassed, you only felt more and more turned on.

"y/n," he breathed, looking at your panties with approval, and longing. he led your fingers inside your underwear, holding your fingers against your clit, eliciting a soft moan to escape.

"God, I love hearing those sounds, you sound angelic." he said, while moving your fingers up and down your slit, the first time you actually enjoyed touching yourself.

he let go of your hand. "keep going," he said, when you stopped moving them. he pulled your panties to the side and admired you completely. "baby, you're so beautiful." and in one second he attached his lips to your nipples, sucking and licking and teasing them until they were red peaks, switching from the one to the other.

"oh, Harry." sounds you've never heard yourself make were coming out of you in strings. Harry knew how to work your body so well, it almost felt he was made for you.

"keep touching yourself," he paused teasing your breasts, and left wet trails of kisses up your neck up until he reached your lips, where he hovered above them. "I want to hear you coming by fingering yourself."

his words shocked you slightly, expecting him to do it for you, but the you remembered him telling you he would help you, now getting the full meaning of the message.

"Harry, I can't..." you trailed off, and stopped moving your fingers, even though it felt great.

he lifted you slightly by your hips to make you sit against the headboard, spreading your knees, exposing you to him completely, the ruined wet piece of cloth pushed to the side. you were breathing heavily, anticipating anything.

"I know you can, I'll help, show me baby." he replied, whispering the last part, which only felt fitting.

so you did, you circled your clit while keeping your eyes on harry. he took your hand in his and guided you towards your release. he was on his knees in front of you, close enough you could almost taste him, which you craved in this moment of vulnerability.

you pushed your middle finger in your entrance, going deeper and deeper until your finger is completely buried. at first it felt uncomfortable, but after adjusting, it was something not like any other feeling. your slickness lessened the friction, heightening the pleasure. Harry's hand brushed your hair away from your face, holding it while moving his thumb in a gentle manner.

"I know, you can do this baby, you're doing so good." he kept whispering praises to you while watching you finger yourself, his hand releasing yours to play with your clit.

the pleasure was immense, being extra sensitive because of the time passed not having been turned on while touching. Harry wasn't even inside of you and you already understood what all your friends were gassed about.

you increased your pace, desperately chasing that release. harry watched so intently how you pleasured yourself, his fingers working your clit so well. you felt close to the edge, the tension inside of you building up quickly, coming and going in fast waves.

Harry noticed, and began kissing you intently, and when his hand went down to your nipple and began pinching it slightly, your first ever orgasm crashed into you with the force of a bomb, making your jaw drop as you cried out for Harry.

your legs were trembling, and that feeling deep in your stomach kept intensifying by every motion of Harry's finger on your clit.

you stopped moving your finger, needing a break from the intensity. arching your back slightly as you came down, Harry laid you down completely. "you were so good y/n, so good." spreading you open further, lowering his boxers and tossing them off completely.

"I know, take your time baby, I'll wait. you were so so good." he kept whispering praises to you while rubbing your face in an endearing matter.

for a second you felt disgust by what you just did climb up your throat and cloud your mind, feeling shocked by how you acted, but soon all those thoughts got crushed by the man in front of you.

being hit with the aftershocks from what you just endured, you didn't fully comprehend the situation. it was mind blowing, and you couldn't wait to discover what committing fully was going to feel like.

when he was holding himself up by his hands that were beside your head, it hit you all of a sudden, Harry was completely naked. when you looked down your breath got caught, and you needed a second to comprehend the sight in front of you.

you didn't think it was possible, but he was even more beautiful. he was so hard it almost looked painful. veins travelled the length until it reached his sensitive pink tip that had a leak of precum spilling out. he seemed nervous for your reaction, but he hadn't need to be. he was perfect.

"please, Harry." you moaned, desperate to feel him inside of you, despite knowing it will hurt.

Harry got the hint and lined himself up by your entrance. "Are you sure?" he asked before entering you.

you nodded immediately "jus- just be gentle okay?" you replied, nerves starting to gather in your stomach. his endearing look soothed them a bit though.

"of course baby, don't worry, I know it will hurt but only a bit okay?" he kissed the top of your head, then your lips, his hands, which were holding him up, now running down the length of your body, over your breasts, all the way to your thighs, rubbing up and down them. he was almost completely on top of you, saving his weight while he was on his knees, making sure not to crush you.

he held himself against you, watching you intently for you reaction while he was pushing himself in slowly, making sure to take the time for you to adjust every few inches.

it was no doubt Harry was big, especially for his built. he was long and thick, and despite him being tall and lanky, he managed to get himself a magnificent physique a lot of girls swoon over.

you loved that you got to see him like this.

at the halfway mark, you had to take a couple of seconds to adjust, subconsciously clenching and unclenching around him. pain and pleasure mixed together in a perfect fusion.

"oh, Harry." your back arched slightly, your nipples getting the friction from Harry's chest above you, his hands everywhere on your body, it was great, all of it, even if the pain overrode the pleasure in some instances, at the end it felt greater than anything you've ever felt before.

Harry's moans were something like you've never heard before. he groaned and whispered you praises, his words and sounds settling deep in your core and heart.

when you managed to relax, he began moving. at first slowly, but gradually quickening his pace.

the bed creaked, the headboard banging against the wall, but at this moment you didn't care if someone could hear, in this moment it was only you and Harry.

he moaned less, and definitely quieter than you, but somehow they were still the only thing you heard. the way his face scrunched everytime he bottomed out, or the way his hair fell in his face or the beads of sweat that was trickling down his forehead. everything about him in this moment was like nothing ever before. his hands held your hips down, flexing with every thrust. he bit his lip, seemingly trying to control himself.

"Oh God, y/n-" he kept repeating your name over and over again, and the way it sounded in that voice made your melt every time he said it. his lips found your neck and started kissing and biting and teasing the skin until you were a crying mess more than you already were.

you were screaming, crying, moaning so loud you were sure people could hear you, but you didn't care. no one made you feel like him, you deserved complete freedom during your first time.

the feel of him sliding in and out of you with least amount of friction caused by your slickness was otherworldly. the sounds of his thrusts and your wetness were definitely something you didn't expect to love to hear so much.

"you're so wet baby, you feel that- you hear that? is that what I do to you?" he kept rambling, right next to your ear.

it was hard to hear him talk so softly when the sounds of him pounding into you were so loud, but you loved hearing him talk to you like that, as if he's trying to connect with you while fucking you mercilessly.

"Harry, I- I'm close, I think." it was feeble, at best.

this was different than fingering yourself. a giant wave of pleasure rocked through you so intensely you cried out. it was too much and not enough all at once.

"let go baby, come on. it's okay, I want to hear you falling apart on my dick." his words raised goosebumps all over your skin, making butterflies flutter all around in your stomach.

his pace increased considerably, pulling out completely then thrusting into you with great force. tears sped down your face, looking completely ruined, accurate to what you're feeling.

it hurt, but in such a good way you didn't want it to end. you gripped his back hard enough to leave marks, but that seemed to drive him even more, holding you down hard enough to bruise, he drove into you with such force you were sure to hit your head if he wasn't holding you. your legs were spread widely, heightening the feeling even more, he let go of your hips, grabbing your knees and holding them up, exposing you completely, making him hit a whole different spot that left your jaw hanging.

it all happened so fast, your orgasm hit into you so violently you shook and screamed so loud Harry held his hand on your mouth.

"Baby, you're so good, you're doing so good, keep screaming, I love hearing you like this." he kept praising, holding one of your knees up while his other hand was on your mouth.

"Harry, oh, please," you kept moaning, for everything and nothing at all. it felt extraordinary, you understood the hype around sex completely, and never wanted this to end.

"I'm so close y/n, please let me come. so, so close." he said, even though you didn't ask for permission, he did, and for some reason, that turned you on even more.

"come Harry, go on." you kissed him, and in a second he came undone. you clenched around him, holding him tightly to you while he cried out, riding out his high as his pace became sloppy and his breathing uneven.

he held onto you while driving in and out of you messily. his cum filled you entirely, warming up your insides. it felt like it would never end, this endless pleasure you were both stuck in, Harry, still spilling inside of you, holding you so close waiting to be finished before he could hold you.

eventually he did, and collapsed lightly on top of you, cuddling you while you both caught your breaths and came down.

he pulled out and rested his hands on your sides, turning you so you were laying on his chest, he kissed the top of your head and pulled the covers on top of you, holding you tightly against him.

you stayed like this for a while, just sitting in a comfortable silence, basking in the endearing feeling of him against you. it felt surreal, everything about this felt surreal, and you wanted to cherish the moment for as long as possible.

after a while of comforting silence Harry spoke up, breaking the spell. "how was that?" he asked, rubbing the hair from your face so you could look up at him. "was I any good?" he blushed slightly while asking.

"Harry, I don't think I know how to explain it," you paused, trying to think of something that would be close to what you felt. "you were beyond amazing, and I don't know how to show you how grateful I am to you."

Harry seemed speechless for a couple second before he recovered and gathered his thoughts. "that's really, n-nice, I'm glad, thank you, really.I'm so proud of you. you were great, baby." and he kissed you again, then you both sat in comfortable silence again.

and for the first time you were able to feel like any other, and being vulnerable with Harry was better than anything would have been in a different situation. you loved it.

a/n: hey guys, it's been a while. I've been busy but now since it's summer break I'll *hopefully* be able to update more frequently. this may be a bit rusty, but I hoped you enjoyed it nonetheless!

I also want to say, I definitely know my previous work isn't that great, considering I'm not an actual studied author and English isn't my first language, but I write for fun and all, so I hope you will still like my work despite the many flaws! if anyone has requests/ something to say, don't be scared! I love reading you guys' messages:).

check out my Wattpad...

[just-an-assbutt]

just follow up on your last post about charles and max, i've always found the narrative weird (and I think it's because oftentimes people who write max only see him on race weekends). in reality, max has even been described as quite shy off track but once he's comfortable, like in videos with daniel or the redbull crew, you can see he literally loves pleasing people and being funny. like the way he waits for every joke to land and watches people react. even in the cool down room you can always see him waiting for a chance to talk to people and he's always extra happy when they want to discuss stuff. he seems like a major people pleaser to me off the track and someone's who eager to go along with things. again, not claiming this is reality but just based on what we get to see

I totally agree with this! Specially since I was once one of those people. I first started watching only the races and, frankly, the only thing I cared about was just watching them race. But my dad is a huge F1 nerd (and loves to gossip) so he kind of ended up forcing me to learn about them outside of the track to gossip with me and that made me like Max a little more.

I used to dislike Max, because “race Max” is usually an asshole, he talks horrible to GP, complains a lot and is a bit too cocky. And Charles is the contrary, he doesn’t talk back to Xavi (even if he should), spends most of his time trying to solve things instead of complaining and is pretty humble. So I liked Charles more and Max less. Then my dad, a Lewis fan, started sending me memes daily and slowly I started to learn a little about the drivers off the track. I had always been a Vettel fan (still am) and then started to like Lewis a lot. But, of course, most of the things my dad sent me were against Max. It took me some personal effort to go and try to find things about him that weren’t negative. That’s when I started liking him more. Once you look at Max not high on adrenaline, you get to see a totally different person. Like you say Annon, he is shy and likes to ramble a lot to people, he waits eagerly for his jokes to land and closes off when he’s uncomfortable.

Charles is usually a person that makes him feel comfortable enough to ramble his heart out, the usual victim of Maxplaining. And you can see how important is for Max to tell Charles things. He runs from wherever he is to where Charles is just to talk to Charles, and you can always see Charles ready to be there and listen to him for an hour while Max lets it all out. I remember a cool down room this year that it’s a great example of that. Max was closed off, no idea why because his race hasn’t been that bad, Checo was there and even through he tried to make Max open up he couldn’t. I believe that Checo and Max are on great terms, but Max needs a pretty specific environment to be friendly and open with people he’s not too close to. Anyways, Charles walked in and saw that Checo was unsuccessfully trying to make Max talk a little bit and decided to help out. He remembered that Max complained about the wind during the race, so he brought that up. It got Max going instantly, his face and posture changed and he started rambling none stop about the wind and the effect it had on the car, like Charles didn’t know two things about aerodynamics. Checo smiled and stood there, listening to Max talk and he shared a little look with Charles, like he was thanking him. Even Charles knows how much Max loves to tell him things.

(Yes guys, keep sending asks and I’ll keep rambling, I’m like Max, I can never stop talking about F1).

[overandundertarot]

How can you release this anger?

Recently, I've come to the realisation that I hold quite a lot of pent up anger without even knowing how to release it. I think this reading could be helpful to people who may be in a similar position, or just experiencing pent up emotions and are unsure how they could release this or start that process of transforming those emotions, if they want to.

Piles 1-4(left to right)

Pile 1

Cards; 6 of wands, Knight of swords.

Believe in yourself pile one! There is self doubt here, and pride brought about by trying to conceal insecurity. Act on your thoughts. A lot of this anger is towards yourself. I feel like you are perfectionists, and you dont like when you are not perfect according to your standards. Well, there's nothing you can do about that. You either have to develop yourself till you feel you're perfect enough( which will take quite a while and you may never reach your lofty aspirations for yourself) or take action now on whatever it is you want to do. I'm getting that it's not even related to the material world, but your personality or creative interests. You may feel like you are not the person that you should be, but instead of practicing any self development activities, you just spend alot of time having self deprecating thoughts. You may not be where you want to be, but that does not mean that you can never get there. Appreciate yourself for what you have and what you can do and allow yourself to indulge in your hobbies/ interests with less judgement.

Pile 2

Cards; The Sun, 2 of Swords, Page of Pentacles.

In any case pile 2, youre not supposed to be making a decison right now. Good things and opportunities are coming to you now but its overwhelming. I think that is where this anger is coming from, because you can't allow yourself to fully enjoy the present moment and be connected to your spirituality. So you are angered because you have a lot but it is still not enough. You have to force yourself to enjoy what you have right now pile 2, because all of the planning and deciding and moving forward is being used as a distraction. Of course, take this with a grain of salt and don't put your life on hold to try and attempt this. Start small, think about things in your daily life and what use they provide for you, do you appreciate them enough? Be in the present moment and appreciate what you have worked for. Some of you are also angered by the fact that you might not be able to find a direction in life. It will come in time; try to be connected with your desires and intentions so when the opportunity arises, you can make a decision that will trully make you happy.

Pile 3

Cards; The Emperor reversed, King of cups.

Your anger may stem from the fact that you may have never fit into society, particularly that you may have been too sensitive for other peoples tastes. Some of you may be a part of the lgbtq community as well. The way you express yourself garnered much criticism and you may care about issues that society doesn't like to face such as animal rights, environmentalism and child abuse. Emotional issues, childhood trauma. A lot of the people in this pile have heavily feminine energy, regardless of their gender. The way for pile 3 to release their anger would be to develop ways of managing their emotions. Unfortunately, the world is unlikely to change but we can find ways to regulate our emotions and work through our traumas so that we can be less affected by the harshness of society. Also, try to channel your anger and pain into creative pursuits such as writing, and even consuming more media concerning these issues that affect you. It may help you feel seen and understood.

Pile 4

Cards; The Tower reversed, Justice.

Pile 4 you have been resisting change for a while. By not allowing it to crumble, you have become a prisoner of the tower. Your anger is brought about by you not allowing yourself to feel your emotions fully. You're not letting go of something that happened in the past, or you're trying to keep a steady hold on your life right now, but it's failing. You can't control everything. To release this anger, accept what happened and move on. Take responsibility for your actions, what happened was a result of past actions and you can't change those. You either accept what happened, move on and try to create a better future for yourself, or stay in that tower and torment yourself forever. That sounded a bit dramatic but the messages coming through are quite firm, whatever happened you have to accept it and move on.

***

Thank you for participating in this Pick a Card reading!

I hope it gave you some insight for your situation. Please dont hesistate to give any feedback you may have regarding this reading!