#but i have to. i have to try. i have to do my best. even if my best is much much lower than 99.9% of the population

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ 🐦‍⬛ mon amour / sylus x reader

synopsis; you knew that sylus could speak several languages. what you didn't take into account though, is how lethal he sounds flirting with you in the most romantic language in the world.

🍎 pomme's notes - putting my french knowledge to use.. translation for the words sylus uses at the end!!

⋆ 1.1k words / fluff & suggestive at the end / fem reader / 2nd person

your cheeks were burning, and the man in front of you was smirking, making you feel even more infuriated. how could he get even sexier?!

"that's enough, sylus", you huff out.

how did you get here? great question.

you were lounging on the settee in his office and reading a book when he picked up a call in a foreign language — one you recognized as french. sylus spoke several languages, and you knew that, but you weren't aware he was that fluent. oh, and sexy sounding, but he didn't need to know that yet. 

when he hung up, you cleared your throat, catching his attention. looking up from his papers, he stares at you with his habitual laid-back expression. judging from your barely hidden smile though, he can guess you're after something. sylus stands up and walks around his desk to face you better, choosing to lean against it rather than invade the space where you're seated for once.

“something's the matter, sweetie?”

you hum, your smile widening. you never thought your intro to french class in high school would come in handy, but it turns out life is full of surprises.

“i didn't know you spoke french, monsieur sylus.”

ah, your curiosity stemmed from the foreign language at the tip of his tongue. sylus laughed softly, taking a step in your direction. he'd spoken various languages around you, mostly in business contexts, and never failed to observe how your eyes twinkled at the words coming out of his mouth. however, this was the first time you had commented on it, and he was going to use that to his advantage. standing in front of you now, his gaze flickered to your lips. was he trying to pull a reaction out of you?

“i do, mon ange. interested in hearing more? you know that i'd indulge you if you asked.”

hearing him calling you his angel in french did some things to your stomach, you'll give him that — feeling the heat rise in your face, you quickly explain how you took some french in high school. in response, he leans back and raises his hand to his chin, as if pondering something, and judging from the smirk growing on his face, it can't be good for you.

“perhaps we should converse a bit to refresh your knowledge, shall we, doll? i'll even use simple words.”

oh. that was more tame than you thought, seems like he decided not to tease the blush on your cheeks. you nod, and give him your best attempt at a greeting, to which he chuckles a bit — probably from your rusty pronunciation. he responds patiently and corrects any pronunciation mistakes you make. this was sweet, no hidden motives, which surprised you.

well, that was an error in your judgment, it seems, because he most definitely did have ulterior motives. 

now leaning back down and caging your body between the seat and himself, sylus cleared his throat a bit, aiming to impress you with his smooth french. it was the language of romance after all, wasn't it? and what a fool would he be if he didn't romance you.

“my turn to show off, mon amour.”

oh fuck. you were doomed.

“what to tell you, hm? oh, i know. je t'aime, je t'adore, mon cœur.”

your heart was beating concerningly fast at the sudden love declarations. did he have no shame? the answer was a resounding no, judging from how he was invading your space and relishing in your bated breaths and flushed cheeks.

“tu es rouge, mon amour. quelque chose te gêne? tell me all about it, mon ange.”

pushing weakly against his shoulders, you looked away from his intense gaze. if you kept looking into his eyes, you were most definitely going to melt from the inside out at how attractive he was.

and sylus knew that — of course he did, he could read you like a damn open book, and right now, you were putty in his hands. who knew flirting with you in french would have that effect? he did, most likely.

“sylus, you're being unfair.”

finally gathering your courage, you glared at him and tried your damnedest to look angry. although you don't think it looked very intimidating because of the red cheeks and all, but that was just a hunch. i mean, what could you even do in this situation? you were faced with an insanely gorgeous man, a well-read and clever one at that — who wouldn't swoon? but this was unfair. come on, throwing all those cute pet names at you with his smooth voice, in french, was a calculated move, one planned with your demise in mind.

and were you gonna go down without a fight? absolutely not. whether you'd win or not was debatable, though.

so you did the only thing that seemed rational. the only thing that had a chance at shutting him up and sparing you from the (very attractive, might i add) french love declaration sylus was spouting.

grabbing onto his shirt, you pull him in for a kiss, just a quick peck to shock him enough into stopping. but while his eyes widened in shock, it was not enough to stop him from teasing you.

what was it again about you winning the fight? yeah, no. sylus wasn't known as the relentless conqueror for nothing — and as he deepened the kiss, you would quickly find out that the language wasn't the only thing he knew that was french.

french kissing, too.

you yelped into his mouth when he bit your lower lip, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth while he was at it. cupping your cheeks, you could feel yourself melt into him and his stupidly good kisses. his hands started moving down, roaming over your body, as if trying to commit it to memory — though he likely already had from previous nights spent together. you started feeling light-headed from the intensity of it all and pushed him away, desperately trying to catch your breath. 

and infuriatingly enough, the smug look on his face could not be erased. could you really blame him, though? sylus was looking at the most beautiful person he'd ever have the chance to encounter, flushed and staring up at him with desire plastered over her face — all of it after he showed off his intellectual and physical prowess. he was a man, after all, a very, very proud and greedy one at that.

“you know, kitten, if you take off your clothes, i could draw you like a french girl. we could go three for three when it comes to french things.”

that pulled you out of the hazy state he put you in, slipping from his grasp and running out the door with a vicious blush on your face still — all while he laughed at how cute you looked flustered.

sylus was gonna be the death of you one day. you had to make sure he never learned you also picked up on some spanish, lest he tries to introduce you to spanish passion through physical means or something.

🍎 pomme's final notes - BEEP BEEP!! pomme translator at your service

"je t'aime, je t'adore, mon cœur." - i love you, i adore you, my heart

"tu es rouge, mon amour. quelque chose te gêne? tell me all about it, mon ange." - you're red, my love. something bothering you? tell me all about it, my angel.

i had a lot of fun with this one hehe..

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: what your future in-laws will think of you

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will tell you the opinions of your future parents-in-law about you. I hope you enjoy this reading!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Patreon Masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

Pile 1:

Your parents-in-law will think you are an absolute dear. Your future spouse might have brought a partner home before (most likely just one) and they just completely disapproved of her. If you ever decide to pry your mother-in-law will just say that she wasn’t a good fit and you won’t hear anything further about it, but what happened with her isn’t really any of your concern or something to worry about. Your parents-in-law will really like you; finding you kind, intelligent, very pretty and just an overall joy. You might be shy at first when meeting them but that’s something they find incredibly cute and adorable, it will even enlarge their likeliness for you. Your mother-in-law will be very happy with you; you are someone who gets along with her personality very well, something she doesn’t often get in her own family. So having someone to finally connect with is absolutely lovely.

extended reading

Pile 2:

Your future in-laws will have to get used to you at first. There might be a language barrier there or a cultural barrier. Whatever it is when you walked through the door you weren’t what your parents-in-law were expecting. This isn’t something bad, they just have to get used to the matter. You will most likely be incredibly nervous as well, having done some research in hopes of connecting with them better. Especially your father-in-law will be able to see that you do your best and that you try to do as much as you can. He will appreciate that very much and approve of you very quickly; trying to talk to you and communicate with you as much as he can as well. He will make you feel welcome, and eventually convince your mother-in-law that you are someone to keep in the family. Someone nice, loving, and good for their child.

extended reading

Pile 3:

Your parents-in-law will like you but not be the most welcoming and close people. This isn’t because they don’t like you personally, they’re just not the most social and loving people out there. They find communication hard and sometimes unnecessary. They like spending time with their family every once in a while but it’s completely fine if not much is talked about. There is going to be one parent who is more social and open than the other, the one who you will most likely visit for most of the time. Your partner will have warned you beforehand that their parents aren’t super warm people, but it will sometimes make you a bit insecure about their opinion of you. The thing is, they do like you and believe you to be a good fit for their kid, and that is all that they really want. If you make their child happy and vice versa they are okay with you.

extended reading

[bueckers555]

JEALOUSY — paige bueckers x reader

summary: in which, you and paige have a strict friends with benefits deal. so, why the hell do you feel some typa way seeing her hugged up on someone else?

warnings: smut (w like a LITTLE plot? idek anymore), fingering, spitting (? ho idk)

authors note. this is so bad but idk im lowkey running out of ideas IM NOT CREATIVE so i hope this doesn’t sound repetitive?

You wanted nothing more than to go home and forget everything.

The diner was loud as hell��UConn girls packed around a long, sticky table, plates of fries and half-eaten burgers scattered everywhere, the air thick with grease and laughter.

Paige was at the far end, her blonde hair loose, her hoodie slung over the back of her chair, manspread and leaned back like she owned the damn place. She was leaning in close to Azzi—too close—her best friend, her teammate, her fuckin’ shadow lately.

Azzi said something, her curls bouncing as she laughed, and Paige’s hand brushed her arm—light, casual, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.

It shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did, but suddenly you wanted to jump across the table and get them far apart from each other.

You forced yourself to stare at your flat Coke, your fries cold, your stomach twisting—jealousy, green and ugly, clawing up your throat.

You and Paige had been fucking around for a while now. Your little friends with benefits deal had been a good idea at first. No strings, no feelings. No jealousy.

That was the deal—had been since the first time she fucked you in her dorm, her hands all over you, her moans in your ear, no feelings, just sex.

It worked up until now, watching her grin at Azzi, her voice low and flirty, her eyes flicking to her like you didn’t exist. You knew you couldn’t say shit—couldn’t storm over, couldn’t claim her—and that might’ve just pissed you off even more.

“Yo, you good?” KK voice broke you out of your trance, elbowing you, her brows furrowed as she shoved a fry in her mouth. “You’re quiet as fuck.”

“Yeah, just—hot in here,” you mumbled, your voice tight, shoving your chair back, the legs scraping loud against the floor. “Gonna hit the bathroom.” You didn’t wait for a reply—stood fast, your shorts riding up, your tank clinging to your skin, your heart pounding as you weaved through the diner, past the jukebox, the buzzing neon signs, ‘til you hit the grimy bathroom door—pushing it open, the door clicking behind you.

The sink was cold under your hands, the mirror smudged, your reflection a mess—cheeks flushed, eyes dark, jealousy eating you alive.

You splashed water on your face, your breath shaky, trying to cool off, trying to shove down the stupid fuckin’ feelings you weren’t supposed to have. The door creaked—fuck—and you spun, Paige slipping in and locking the door behind her, her white tee riding up a bit, her grey sweats hanging loosely on her hips, her eyes low and locked on you, that smirk tugging her lips—cocky, knowing.

“Caught you,” she said, her voice low, rough, stepping closer, the door clicking shut behind her, the diner noise muffled. “You’re all pissy—what’s up?” Her hand brushed your hip—light, teasing—her head tilting, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder, her scent hitting you—sweat, vanilla, her.

You laughed—bitter, sharp—shoving her hand off, your chest tight. “Fuck off, Paige,” you snapped, your voice trembling, stepping back ‘til your ass hit the sink. “Go back to your new lil play thing. See if I care.” Jealousy spilled out—raw, messy—you couldn’t stop it even if you desperately wanted to. And you did.

Her smirk faded, her eyes narrowing—dark, hungry—grabbing your wrists, pinning them to the sink, her body pressing yours, her thigh shoving between your legs—hard, sudden—your pussy grinding against her through your shorts, wet heat flaring.

“Play thing? That how it is?” she murmured, her voice gravelly, her lips close—not kissing, just breathing you in. “You’re my fuckin’ girl—Azzi’s just a friend.”

You tried your best not to roll your eyes. You failed.

“You jealous? That’s cute, ma—turns me on.” Her thigh flexed, rubbing your cunt, your moan slipping out—soft, desperate—her grin growing, filthy.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, your voice weak, your hands tugging at her shirt, pulling her closer even as you cursed her, your pussy soaking—folds slick—your no-strings rule cracking, jealousy fueling the heat. “You don’t get to flirt then fuck me like it’s nothing”

“Nah?” she questioned with an arched brow, her voice thick, yanking your tank up fast—your tits bouncing free, nipples hard—her hands cupping them, squeezing rough, her thumbs flicking, your back arching.

“Feels like I can.” her murmur made goosebumps rise on your skin.

She shoved your shorts down, your cunt dripping—glistening—her fingers plunging in—two, deep—your cum leaking, your moan loud, bouncing off the tiles.

“Paige—shit—” you gasped, your voice wrecked, your hands clawing her shoulders—nails digging—her fingers pumping—hard, fast—your pussy clenching, wet and messy, her other hand gripping your ass—spreading you. “Fuck—this jealous pussy’s so wet—mine, huh?”

“Fuck—yes—yours—” you groaned, your voice breaking, your cunt spasming, cum flooding her fingers—sticky, hot—dripping down her wrist, splattering the floor, your thighs shaking, clit throbbing as she fucked you through it—nasty, relentless—her breath huffing, her eyes locked on yours—wild, possessive.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” she muttered, pulling out—fast—spinning you, your stomach on the sink, your ass up, your pussy dripping—wet, begging—her hand smacking your cheek—sharp, loud—your skin stinging, your cunt clenching, her fingers sliding back in—three now—stretching you wide, fucking deep, the sink rattling, her other hand yanking your hair—hard—her lips at your ear, growling, “Still jealous? Or you gonna cum for me again?”

“Paige—God—please—” you sobbed, your face a mess, her breath hot on your neck, her teeth biting your shoulder—hard, possessive, breaking skin.

Your folds felt fucked raw, pulsing, her fingers ruthless—slamming, curling, her thumb pressing, pinching your clit—nasty, fast—her spit hitting your pussy—wet, messy—her moans loud, her dominance peaking, fucking you like she owned you.

“Take it—fuckin’ take it,” she groaned, her voice rough, her fingers pumping—wild, sloppy—your pussy gushing, cum flooding her hand, splattering the sink, your thighs trembling, clit swollen, her jealousy kink flaring, her top energy unhinged. “Cum—now,”

Your body shook—cum gushing���hot, wet—soaking her fingers, her wrist, the floor, your thighs shaking, ass bouncing, your vision blurring as she fucked you through it—hard, nasty—her own cum leaking, dripping down your leg, her moan loud—real—her body tensing, shuddering, her fingers slowing, her breath ragged, her grip softening, possessive.

“Fuck—Paige—” you panted, your voice weak, your pussy still twitching—wet, raw—your hands gripping the sink, her body slumped against you, her chest heaving, her lips brushing your neck—sloppy, warm—her breath sticky, her cum on you, yours on her.

“Still mad?” she muttered, her voice hoarse, her fingers sliding out—slow, teasing—her cum-coated hand smearing your thigh, her grin faint, cocky, her dominance still buzzing. “You’re my fuckin’ girl—no strings, but mine.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your voice thick, your pussy still dripping, your head spinning, the diner noise faint outside—teammates laughing, oblivious—the bathroom a mess, jealousy burned out in the heat of her, the no-strings rule bent but not broken, just fucked into place.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men React To An Unexpected Pregnancy

AN: Pregnant reader. Not the boys. That genre is currently unexplored on this blog but not for long 🤭👺

Pairing: LaDS boys x Fem reader

Ingredients: 75% fluff, 25% angst.

My Fav: Rafayel's (new segment because I want to discuss which ones I liked best when writing)

Xavier:

You pass out during a mission. That’s how you find out. In the Hunter Association’s medical ward, you stare at the positive report in stunned silence.

The nausea hadn’t just been Xavier’s cooking.

How even…? You sit there, frozen, until he walks in, finding you pale and unmoving.

A child.

He leans against the wall, the report in his hand. God.

He had vanished the day he found out. Left you bitterly alone. But you didn’t need him, you could raise the child on your own. If Xavier was too weak to accept the truth, so be it.

But he returns. You don’t know where he went, only that when he comes back, he is broken.

"I couldn't change it." He falls to his knees. "The world remains unchanged," he repeats, voice hollow.

The destruction he had accepted, the grief he had worn like armor, now, it becomes unbearable. Because for the first time, he isn’t sure if he can ever manage to save it for his child.

Rafayel:

He dreams of it. Strange dreams.

He’s not one to obsess over omens, but even he, in his eternal wisdom, cannot decipher what a colony of seals playing with marbles is supposed to mean.

Then, one afternoon, he dreams of a baby seal. It coos at him, glumphing closer, making infant-like noises.

And in the dream, he bends down to pet it. Only for you to pick it up instead.

He jolts awake. Hands immediately over his stomach. Breath unsteady. No...not him...it was you. You picked the seal, that meant-

Then he stumbles out of bed, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to find you.

Drives like a madman. He counts the days. Two months. He counts the signs.

His heart refuses to slow down.

Barging into the Hunter’s Association, he’s chased by guards, by an exasperated receptionist, but none of it matters.

When he finds you, he grips your shoulders, searching your face. How could he have missed it?

By the tides, he was a fool.

And then—he feels it. A whisper, warm and murmuring, like the gentle pull of the waves.

A half-formed yawn, ringing softly in his mind.

The presence of his child.

Now all he has to do is tell you.

Zayne:

You watch Zayne eat dinner, half-listening as he talks about his day. He absentmindedly bites into another baby carrot.

Not just baby carrots, baby corn, baby potatoes, those tiny tomatoes.

"How’s dinner, Zayne?" you ask, feigning nonchalance.

He nods, smiling. "It’s good. Very healthy."

"Notice anything?"

He hums in thought. "You’re trying Italian cuisine these days." He places his hand over yours, gentle. "But you don’t have to cook if you’re tired after work."

He’s too kind to mention the small incident with the oven last week. To be fair, the bun in the oven analogy is a classic.

A week. A whole week of hints, and still, he hasn’t caught on.

Sighing, you give up on subtlety. "Darling, did you visit the pediatrics ward today?" you ask, pushing food around your plate.

"I didn’t have time. Had to miss the volunteering event for surgery."

You grin. Taking his hand, you guide it over your stomach. "Well, luckily for you, we’ll have one right here soon."

His mouth hangs open. Eyes darting between you and your stomach before his fingers brush over the nonexistent bump.

"Really? Are we—"

"Yes, you dummy!" You pull him into a hug. "I’ve been trying to tell you for days."

For a man obsessed with your health, he somehow had been ignorant of the biggest of surprises. Unplanned or not, you were going to give him the longest late night shift of his life.

Sylus:

The timing could have been better, he muses, wiping blood off his cheek.

But he had been too lax.

Not that it mattered. Everything was under control.

"Clean up," he orders, snapping his fingers. Shadows slither forward, dragging the remains of his enemies into the abyss.

The news of a child had changed things. He had let fate play its part for too long. Now, it was his turn.

Whatever slow-moving scheme he had let linger, ended now.

There was no way in hell he was letting you go on any mission while carrying his child.

Aether Core be damned. EVER be damned to NEVER. He would wipe them out if he had to.

For now, though, he had other priorities.

Leaving you safe at home, he finishes this last errand. Your only battle at the moment is morning sickness which, much to his surprise, isn’t just limited to mornings.

He wipes his hands clean, heading for his bike.

One last stop. You wanted pickles.

He smiles, revving the engine. Soon, only cars.

And then, he’s gone, speeding into the night, back to you. Back to his family. To cuddle the little dragon who gives you unrivaled heartburn and kicks like a menace at 18 weeks.

Caleb:

He knew.

Some would say he saw it coming, but just because he kept track of your cycle didn’t mean he could predict your ovulation exactly.

He was just…good at math.

Mental math.

And taking you to a convenience store for cough drops, right next to the pregnancy tests, had been pure coincidence.

Not that he totally snuck a glance at you eyeing them. And if he excused himself to grab a snack right then? Also not planned.

You hand him the test. "I think I’m pregnant."

He goes through all the expressions shock, surprise, joy, tears. So dramatic that it fools no one.

Seriously, he’s atrocious at being subtle about it.

Instantly proposes. Shotgun wedding because the baby will need a family.

Grins like a madman when it turns out to be twins.

Secretly, he’s very, very proud.

Heavens, he thinks smugly, I really am amazing at math.

[folkwhoreberry]

Hiii!!!! Can you do a Charles Leclerc x reader fic maybe during F1 75 Charles and reader who’s maybe a public figure were sitting at the same table. Either as a wag or ambassador (or both?) and when the host (i forgot his name) makes that joke about his fiancée and him thinking about Charles when they’re together but what if instead of him saying he thinks about Charles, he says he thinks about reader and Charles does something about it?

Not really sure about this but I’m interested in however you’d write it if you do!

Get Your Hands Off My Woman

charles leclerc x reader

or... the one where everyone had to keep their eyes off you

word count : 812

warning : jealous charles, prick jack, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : miss possesive by tate mcrae

🍹🎹

sitting at the f1 75 gala, you’re trying your best to keep a low profile, though it’s proving difficult given the company at your table. between the bright lights of the cameras and the chatter of the other guests, you’re grateful to be here as a plus one, supporting charles, rather than for your own public persona. you glance at him beside you, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft smile when he notices you looking. his hand rests on your knee under the table, a small gesture of affection that helps ground you in the chaos.

the night has been flowing smoothly, until jack whitehall, the evening’s host, takes the stage. his jokes have been light and funny so far, poking fun at drivers and their teams, and everyone is enjoying themselves. but then, jack’s attention shifts toward your table, and a mischievous smile creeps onto his face.

“ah, the beautiful people,” jack begins, eyes flicking over you and charles. “and speaking of beauty, charles, mate, you’re one of the lucky ones, aren’t you?”

charles laughs softly, though you notice a slight shift in his posture, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your knee. you smile politely, trying to prepare yourself for whatever jack might say next.

“but I have to be honest, every time my fiancée and I are, you know, in bed, I can’t help but think about someone else. someone much, much better looking.”

the crowd titters with laughter, charles raises an eyebrow, and you feel your cheeks flush. surely he’s not going where you think he is.

“yeah, charles,” jack continues, smirking, “I’m talking about your girl.”

the room bursts into laughter, but all you can hear is the ringing in your ears. you tense up, unsure whether to laugh it off or let your irritation show. charles’ jaw tightens next to you, his hand now gripping your knee firmly, a sign that he’s not as amused as everyone else seems to be.

jack is still laughing when charles shifts beside you, and before you know it, he’s standing up, speaking into the microphone that’s connected to the camera which is filing his reaction closely.

“you know,” charles says, his voice calm but firm, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about her like that.”

the room falls quiet almost instantly, the air thick with tension. your heart is racing now, the attention of the entire room shifting toward your table. you glance at charles, surprised but touched by his protective tone.

jack stammers, clearly caught off guard. “oh, uh, no harm meant, mate. just a joke.”

“I understand,” charles replies, still composed, though there’s an edge to his voice now, “but she’s not part of the joke.”

there’s an awkward pause as the tension lingers in the room, and you can feel eyes on you from all directions. but charles doesn’t back down, his hand still resting protectively on your knee, thumb stroking gently now as if to reassure you.

jack tries to recover, offering a sheepish grin. “right, right. my bad, my bad. lovely couple, by the way. very jealous.”

the crowd chuckles, the atmosphere starting to ease back into something more relaxed, though you can still feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you. you glance at charles, and he gives you a small smile, his eyes softening as they meet yours.

when the attention finally shifts away from your table, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. charles leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “are you okay?”

you nod, though you can’t help but feel a little flustered by the whole exchange. “yeah,” you whisper back, “I’m fine.”

charles’ fingers gently squeeze your knee, his expression still serious as he looks at you. “I don’t like when people talk about you like that.”

“I know,” you say softly, touched by his protectiveness, “but you didn’t have to say anything.”

“of course I did,” he replies, his voice low but firm. “you deserve respect.”

his words send a warmth spreading through your chest, and you feel yourself relax a little, leaning into his side. he presses a soft kiss to your temple, the gesture both sweet and reassuring.

“thank you,” you murmur, resting your hand on his thigh under the table.

he doesn’t say anything, but the way he looks at you, the way his hand remains steady and comforting on your knee, says enough. he may be a world-class driver, someone who thrives under pressure on the track, but moments like this remind you just how deeply he cares - about you, about protecting you, even from a simple joke.

as the night continues, the buzz of conversation and laughter resumes around you, but in the quiet space between you and charles, everything feels just a little bit lighter.

————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : jack whitehall slander is slandering and I’m HERE for it. proud hater since he made that joke about one direction in f1 75!!!

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: The Hideout

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: some times Paige can be a lot to handle and she know it

🏷️: @yailtsv , @sitawita , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535

Pt.2

Pt.3

I love Paige. I really do. She’s the best girlfriend in the world. But when she and KK get in the same room? It’s like a tornado of chaos.

Their energy bounces off each other like a never-ending ping-pong match of noise—laughing, yelling, vocal stimming, making random noises for no reason other than they can. It’s fun to watch… until it isn’t. Until it gets overwhelming. Until I start feeling like my brain is melting from the inside out.

And right now, they’re on TikTok Live together.

Loud. Clowning. Doing everything but keeping the volume at a level fit for human ears.

I can already feel my head getting heavy, my breathing uneven. If I stay in here too long, I’m going to crash, and they’re not even close to being done.

Yeah, I need an escape.

Quietly, I slide off the couch and out of Paige’s room, leaving her and KK to their chaos. They don’t even notice me leaving. I love them, but that’s fine with me.

I head straight for the one place I know will be peaceful: Caroline’s room.

Her door is slightly cracked, and when I push it open, she’s already lying in bed, scrolling on her phone. Azzi is sitting at the desk, laser-focused on her laptop, probably taking one of her many online exams.

Caroline glances up, taking one look at me before smirking. “Lemme guess—Paige and KK?”

“Obviously.” I sigh dramatically, shutting the door behind me. “I need a safe haven.”

Azzi hums without looking away from her screen. “You always come here when they’re too loud.”

“Because it’s quiet.” I flop onto Caroline’s bed, sighing into the comforter. “And because Caroline lets me watch The Vampire Diaries with her.”

Caroline laughs, clicking the remote. “You lucky I was just about to start an episode. Get under the covers, babe.”

I don’t hesitate, immediately snuggling into the blanket as she starts the episode. The Vampire Diaries plays softly in the background, a perfect contrast to the noise I just escaped from.

Azzi, still focused on her test, speaks without turning around. “Paige is gonna notice you’re missing in, like, five minutes.”

I groan. “Yeah, but that’s a five-minute head start. Let me have this.”

Caroline chuckles and pats my head. “If she comes looking for you, we’ll protect you.”

I smile, appreciating the solidarity. I know Paige doesn’t mean any harm, but when she’s with KK, it’s like she forgets the rest of the world exists. She gets so caught up in their antics that she doesn’t realize how overwhelming it is until it’s too late.

And sure enough, just as Azzi predicted, five minutes later, we hear Paige’s voice echoing from down the hall.

“Babe?”

I tense immediately.

Caroline grabs the remote and turns the volume down, while Azzi finally looks up from her laptop.

Paige’s footsteps get closer.

“Y/N?” Her voice is a mix of confusion and mild concern. “Where’d you go?”

I look at Caroline with wide eyes. “Help.”

She grins. “Get under the blanket.”

Without hesitation, I throw the blanket over my head just as the door swings open.

Azzi, quick on her feet, takes it a step further by getting up and sitting on top of me through the blanket.

Paige peeks inside, frowning. “Have either of you seen—”

Caroline, the best wingman, smoothly interrupts. “Hey, Paige. What’s up?”

Azzi, still sitting on me, casually leans against Caroline, resting her head on her shoulder. “We’re cuddling,” she adds, trying to sound nonchalant.

Paige raises an eyebrow. “… You’re cuddling?”

“Yeah,” Caroline nods. “Bonding moment, for the scissor sisters.”

Paige glances at Azzi suspiciously. “And you just so happened to start cuddling the second I came looking for Y/N?”

Azzi shrugs. “Coincidence.”

I hold my breath under the blanket, praying she buys it.

Paige looks around the room, her eyes narrowing. She’s suspicious, but Azzi is still sitting directly on top of me, and Caroline is playing it cool.

Paige sighs. “Alright, well, tell my actual girlfriend to come back when she’s done hiding.”

Azzi smirks. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t press further. She shakes her head and leaves, closing the door behind her.

I exhale the second I hear her footsteps disappear down the hall.

Azzi finally moves, letting me breathe again. Caroline laughs, pulling the blanket down to reveal my relieved face.

“That was close.”

Azzi stretches, flopping onto the bed next to us. “She’ll get over it.”

Caroline nods. “Now, let’s finish The Vampire Diaries before she comes back.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Between the soft background noise, the warmth of the blankets, and the security of knowing Paige won’t be back for a while, my body finally relaxes.

It doesn’t take long before my eyes start feeling heavy.

And before I know it, I drift off to sleep.

⸻

The next morning, I wake up to the sun peeking through the blinds.

I’m still sandwiched between Azzi and Caroline, the three of us curled up under the covers like a pack of hibernating bears.

It’s comfortable. Warm.

Then I realize something.

I sit up groggily, rubbing my eyes. “Wait… where’s Paige?”

Caroline stretches, yawning. “I think she saw us sleeping and just let us be.”

Azzi hums in agreement. “She didn’t come back.”

Guilt tugs at my chest.

Paige must have gone back to her room and slept alone.

I swing my legs out of bed. “I should go find her.”

Azzi smirks. “Make sure she’s not too mad.”

Caroline pats my back encouragingly. “Good luck, soldier.”

I roll my eyes playfully and slip out of the room, heading down the hall.

When I step into Paige’s room, she’s still lying in bed, scrolling on her phone. She looks up when she sees me, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, look who finally decided to come back.”

I walk over, climbing into bed beside her. “You could’ve woken me up.”

She shrugs. “Figured you needed the sleep.”

I bite my lip, feeling bad. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you. You and KK were just… a lot last night.”

Paige sighs, pulling me into her arms. “Yeah, I know. KK hypes me up too much. I didn’t even realize I was overwhelming you.”

I nuzzle into her chest, appreciating the warmth. “It’s okay. I just needed a break.”

She kisses the top of my head. “Next time, just tell me, babe. You don’t have to run away.”

I smile. “Even if you and KK are on Live?”

She groans dramatically. “Even then.”

I chuckle, snuggling closer. “Deal.”

Paige holds me tighter, and for the first time in hours, I feel completely at peace.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[cocomuffy]

oh my gooooodddd

i don't know if this is bad tumblr etiquette (how have i been on here a year and still not know ;-;) but i NEED to yap about my baby willow okay??? and this post makes me think of her so hard.

tw for death, violence, grooming, and abuse (if i need to add more tags, please let me know!)

when she was young, she had such a big heart. she was helping grannies across the street since she knew how to cross the street. she tried to learn how to cook to help her dad, even if it sucked so bad that he barely ever asked her to.

and then she loses her best friend and brother figure, freddie, when that monster attacks them. she has to put him out of his misery, like he was begging her to, with her own hands and she still has that big heart. but now, it's bleeding.

but life goes on. she makes a little memorial to freddie, but she never tells anyone how his life really ended. she has to go on. she makes new friends. she gets a boyfriend.

then that boyfriend just starts to see her as a body. she realizes that she (15) was being manipulated by him (17) and she finds out that he was cheating on her. and that's another blow to her heart, which just keeps bleeding. she can't control it.

and then the battle of manhattan happens and she has to go through the pain of losing more people that were close to her. she gets closer to the people that she has.

she finds out her dad is dead when she goes to visit and finds someone new in his house. she has to call around to try and find any information on what happened to him. he was in a car accident, and since they had no other family to tell her, she was never told.

then her current brother figure is cursed. and she will do anything. her heart can't take another death, not another person close to her. she throws herself into the depths of tartarus on a stupid bet. she was playing with a god. she loses an eye, she breaks a leg irreparably. she spends months in the infirmary and the hospital and she needs a service dog and canes and crutches...

and her heart is still bleeding.

she goes to get her dog, and the place they're at reminds her of when her and her dad went to get a dog when she was little. she has to hold back tears.

she sees hyacinths growing in the window of the demeter cabin. they remind her of what freddie told her that he hoped he was reincarnated as. she stays inside for the rest of the day.

she can't find her shoes but she *has* to go outside right now. the sensation of the cobbles on her feet makes her think of the glass sand of tartarus. she has to hold back until she gets in the house.

the nightly bonfire which used to be so fun for her now makes her feel like she's entrapped by the smoke and the heat and that she needs to run far away, even if, rationally, she knows that she's safe.

sorry had to yap about willow grove i love her so much

Forget about torturing your blorbos, putting them through the ringer. I'm putting my blorbo in perfectly ordinary, pleasant situations. Their tortured personality will cause them anguish anyway, making an absolutely mundane scene into the most dramatic, agony filled affair as though the world is ending and it's all their fault

[mymoshangthoughts]

okay so ive seen the theme of linguang-jun trying to wife-steal airplane away from mobei jun a few times and that's oki and all BUT MIGHT I SUGGEST MY CURRENT BRAINWORM AS AN ALTERNATIVE

mobei jun wife-stealing shang qinghua from linguang jun.

it's purely a political move. mobei jun doesnt even know this guy, or if he does, he hasn't really fallen for airplane's charms yet. it's just this rodent man that his uncle is marrying and mobei-jun is in the middle of undercutting his uncle's political power and wife-stealing is just basically the next logical step for him

he doesnt actually consider what it means to wife-steal a guy, okay. he wasnt thinking that far ahead. he thought maybe a bit about papapa or heirs or that sort of shit, cuz that stuff is obvious. but he never really considered what it would be like to suddenly have this man living with him and sleeping in bed with him and waking up together every morning and talking at him nonstop and writing his insane porn and scheming for him and just... he never thought for one minute what it would be like to have a husband and he is at a complete loss lmfao

meanwhile airplane is like "meh i traded one loveless marriage with a random ice demon for another loveless marriage with a different ice demon, im not exactly losing sleep over this shit. besides, i wound up with the hotter one" (either an au without transmigration orrr where mobei jun was a kinda forgettable background character or even just "look he was my fav character but that doesnt mean i wanted to marry the guy lmfao i just think this type of personality is cool in fiction" REGARDLESS airplane isnt simping yet, he's just living his life lolol)

but yes, i want mobei jun to wife-steal the hell out of shang qinghua and to be utterly baffled when his husband is now just so much more than he expected. i want mobei jun to go a full arc of "omg im falling in love with my husband and i dont know how to feel about that". i want shang qinghua to just be a delightful gremlin who's rolling with the punches and living his best life "look i get to be queen of the north regardless, im living the dream life guys. DO YOU GUYS KNOW HOW FULL MY COFFERS ARE???". but also shang qinghua being hella good and capable and causing mobei jun to sit here like "wait did he just fix my entire palace in his spare time....... and now he's eating melon seeds and scratching his ass I DONT KNOW HOW TO COPE BUT NOW IM HORNY GRIPPING KNEE AND UNCLE WHAT THE FUCK"

linguang jun who spent exactly enough time with shang qinghua to know that marrying the rat would be hellish is just like "ngl, p happy he got bride-napped lmfao". look, linguang jun isnt into rodents. thats mobei jun's kink oki

[emptymanuscript]

I would like to add... it's also, necessarily, forcing people to choose whether to conform to a particular definition of their gender identity and sexuality, that you came up with instead of them, so it may not be accurate, OR to out themselves which they may not be ready for.

My first introduction to the LGBTQ community was pretty much literal erasure.

A person who had previously identified as a Lesbian (Cis wasn't a common term at the time), was now trying out dating a boy - me, which I'll come back to - and they literally ignored and shunned her, like she wasn't even there. From inches away. If she spoke, they did not respond. If they spoke, they pointedly looked in any direction but hers.

These people had literally been friends of hers for years, but merely showing up while trying out dating a guy - we had been kinda dating for maybe two months-ish at that point - was treated as utter betrayal and turned her into a pariah. They literally cut her out of their lives with instant finality, because dating me made her "straight."

Which completely erases the category of bisexual.

Which also completely ignores me.

At the time, yes, I was quite insistent that I was a straight male. No question. But they also never asked. They didn't care. That I was there and have facial hair was all that mattered.

It took me years to simply admit that I was bi myself. And some of that time was absolutely because that initial experience made me want to have zero identity in common with those people who kicked her to the curb without an ounce of visible hesitation or second thought because "straights" were evil. Because it was exactly their definition or the highway. And Bisexuality, which years of being with a woman versus a couple of months being with a man couldn't possibly mean.

And I think it kind of troubles me even more now that I'm struggling with my basic identity issues, which force the question of whether or not she picked a guy because she is bi or if some part of her was already figuring out back then what I'm working on now, that maybe I was just the next girl but wasn't ready to cope with that yet. I'm barely able to cope with just the possibility now.

And you see what that means.

It means that that particular LGBTQ community, in a deeply aware, very urban area, evicted her in part because I wasn't emotionally ready to deal with my identity, let alone to come out.

That should have been my community, even by their own estimations and definitions. I'm sure they would have said, if I had been able to be out at that time, that they were my allies. But because I'm still not ready to really be out, or whatever, and wasn't ready to even admit I had even ever had those thoughts at all back then.

At best, I was separated from the community. More accurately, a wedge was driven between me and the community that I probably needed that was so deep a cut that I'm still struggling with it.

Worse, it placed that same equation's blame on me, the "straight guy," to do the same thing to her. It drove her out of the community that she already had, that she had helped form into the shape it was by her previous participation, because she dared to so much as TRY dating a "guy." Which was literally ALL they knew about me. I don't think they even knew my name. They didn't care. A+ at friendships victim blaming.

Hot take but I really do think that some of y’all need to consider how/why/when/how often you’re making fun of straight people for being straight

I do it too, I’m not going to pretend I don’t make jokes about the hets, or the down with cis bus, or whatever

But I recently befriended a cis, straight dude and I have watched him be dismissed, degraded, and unambiguously insulted for the perceived ���crime” of being straight — all in queer environments where he is allegedly “completely welcome” and surrounded by “friends”

This guy is not a toxic person! But I have seen him be made to feel so small and like his comfort and safety in those spaces are conditional on his silence and acceptance of being treated like a human dunk zone, and I think that some of y’all have had so much shit from straight/cis people that the second you feel like you’ve got an inch, you want to luxuriate in the perceived catharsis of bullying someone who— actually —doesn’t deserve it

And until he very, very carefully mentioned to me in private that it makes him feel bad, I didn’t even clock that I was involved in doing that, that it had become so instinctive for me to make casual jokes like that, and that— well meaning or otherwise —I had been contributing to an environment that made someone I really really like feel like shit

So, I dunno, I think maybe some of y’all should think about that too

[httpswritings]

This might be such a silly idea, but it’s inspired by your recent lil blurb hehe! Ale and reader doing their silly “sorry I have a gf” game, and reader using it to blatantly fish for compliments. She’s likes soooo what’s this girlfriend of yours like then? Pretty? Good kisser? 👀

not a silly idea at all, I enjoyed writing it, thank you for your request! <33

Pretty Girl

alexia putellas x reader — Alexia's texts are in green and Reader's texts are in blue

“Please, tell me you don't have a girlfriend because I'll be heartbroken.”

Alexia smiled when she got your text. Once again, you were roleplaying in Alexia's messages and she always liked to play along.

Initially, when she first started to get those types of messages, she didn't really know what to say, but as you kept doing it, Alexia got bolder and followed you along very well.

“Sorry for breaking your heart, then, because I actually do. And I'm very happy about it.”

“I’m a competitive woman, so competing against your girl will be easy.”

“Oh no. No one comes close to her beauty, her intelligence, her sense of humour.”

“You seem quite sure about that… But you don't really know me, do you? I can make you laugh a lot, maybe even more times than her. I bet you're already smiling while talking to me.”

“It's not only about making me laugh. What about the kisses? She is the best at making me melt with just a quick peck.”

“Is she good at kissing?”

“The best.”

“The best one you've kissed…yet, I get it. It's a shame I can't show you what I’d like to do to those lips of yours. They just look so good to try… not even one kiss? :p”

“Nope. My lips are reserved for my pretty girl, so is the rest of me.”

“Oh… pretty girl??? What's so pretty about her that makes her unbeatable in the competition for your love”

“I could talk about her beauty for ages. Her eyes are the most precious creation that can lighten up every part of the universe. Her lips look always so fluffy and so kissable, I always get lost in them biting them. The touch of her skin against mine makes me shiver because every part of her is just so unique. Sometimes I have to make myself look away from her because I can get quite intense, or that's how I feel, but if it was because of me, I’d spend every second of my life admiring her.”

It took you some minutes to answer back because Alexia had left you speechless, and she was enjoying it.

“What? Are you giving up on competing against my girlfriend?”

“I thought you didn't want me to?”

“And I don't. Just wondering if you were that competitive, like you said.”

“You've described your girlfriend so well I might try to steal her from you… I was interested in you but I think I'm going straight to her.”

“That's not very nice of you because she's actually very in love with me, luckily. Good luck with that! 👋🏻”

[sodapoppp]

˚୨୧ 𝗷𝗼𝗲𝗹 𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿 ⋆｡˚ ⋆

a list of my favorite joel miller fan-fictions ༊*·˚

౨ৎ getting the poison out by @cum-a-calla

"in which you’ve been acting up all fucking day and Joel has to put you back in your place with a punishment tailored to fit the crime."

౨ৎ ride by @beardedjoel

"you try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him"

౨ৎ just this once by @punkshort

"After yet another argument with your dad, his buddy across the street is there to help make you feel better."

౨ৎ ain't right by @celiababy

"You have a major (borderline obsessive) crush on Joel, and you're on a mission to fuck him."

౨ৎ rotten by @alltheirdamn

"Joel decides to surprise you with something nice, but you're not in the mood. He's quick to fix your attitude, and put you in your place."

౨ৎ an old toy by @ilikemenolderthanmyfather

"Joel gets kidnapped and used like a toy, and best of all, he gets the save a hoarse ride a cowboy treatment."

౨ৎ bigger in texas by @gutsby

"Joel won't fit."

౨ৎ i know who you are (series) by @punkshort

"A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way."

౨ৎ made of ice by @starlitscars

"One stormy night in the safety of Wyoming, it occurs to Joel that even though life has turned his heart into a slab of ice, there's a soft, melting spot buried deep inside... Only reserved for you."

౨ৎ stiff by @gutsby

"At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in."

౨ৎ independent contractor by @lady-djarin

౨ৎ fine line by @paulyenvol6

"Very angsty and lots of dom!Joel with daddy vibes and subby reader."

౨ৎ shaping you by @joelswhcre

"joel miller teaches you pottery, but his hands are more interested in molding you than the clay. slow, teasing, and messy in all the best ways."

౨ৎ sleepless nights by @preciosapascal

"another sleepless night in jackson for both you and your neighbour Joel."

౨ৎ hunger by @joelswhcre

"you wake to the weight of joel miller between your thighs, hungry and aching to claim you. he’s been patient, but now? now he’s going to take."

౨ৎ keeps you up all night by @joelswhcre

"joel wakes up hard, again. and there’s no way he’s letting you sleep through it."

౨ৎ world's worst chauffer by @ilikeevilblondes

"Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping."

౨ৎ texan tensions by @pedroscowgirl

"Your dad's buddy learns you how to play the guitar"

౨ৎ breaststroke by @ilikeevilblondes

"Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips."

౨ৎ i will not ask and neither should you by @cherry-coloureddfunk

"you should have hated him"

౨ৎ drabble by @daryltwdixon

"angsty Joel thinking he doesn't deserve you"

౨ৎ somehwere only we know by @josephquinnswhore

"joel has been the only constant in your life since you’ve been at Jackson. But you don’t know if you deserve him despite his persistent efforts."

౨ৎ borrowed time by @aurorawritestoescape

"Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul."

౨ৎ how the cookie crumbles by @egcdeath

"when you come back home to austin to help your sister with her bakery, you end up in an arrangement with your high school crush that ends up being far more than you bargained for. "

౨ৎ a glimpse of heaven by @ozarkthedog

"joel secretly watches you shower."

౨ৎ damp, dirty, his by @pascalispimp

"Joel’s been through a lot, but mysteriously damp flannels? That’s a new one. When he sneaks home to investigate, but what he finds is far filthier than he imagined. His housemate’s got a thing for his shirts… and from the way she’s moaning into one, she’s got a thing for him too. And Joel’s got every intention of making it worse."

౨ৎ dream scape by @joelswhcre

"it’s just a dream—you’re sure of it. because there’s no way joel, your best friend’s dad, is actually between your legs, making you fall apart on his tongue. right?"

౨ৎ give up by @talaok

"Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun."

◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡

-> as i was curating this i realized most of it is smut... i promise ya'll i do not have a problem

-soda

[goldfades]

if you’re still open to requests!

can we get another joe being protective over pregnant wife???

yessss, it's my current fav trope. hope you enjoy!

It happened once. One time. And now, Joe was acting like you were made of glass.

You’d felt a little off that morning—not sick, not dizzy, just off. The kind of feeling you could shake off with a little fresh air and some movement. So, naturally, you did what any normal person would do: you got up, made breakfast, and started tackling the mountain of laundry that had been piling up.

Joe had already left for practice, so he wasn’t there to side-eye you every time you stood up too fast or to mutter a “Babe, just sit down,” like you were being reckless by existing. And honestly? You kind of liked the quiet. The ability to do something for yourself without feeling like you were being shadowed.

And then, the world tilted.

One second, you were standing at the sink, rinsing out a glass. The next, everything in your vision blurred, and your legs went weak, and before you could even process what was happening, the floor was rushing up to meet you.

You didn’t fully pass out—not really. It was more of a slow collapse, like your body was shutting down in increments. You were dimly aware of your knees hitting the tile first, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering somewhere near the stove. The coolness of the floor against your cheek.

And then, nothing.

You weren’t sure how long you were out—maybe seconds, maybe minutes. But by the time you came to, your phone was vibrating somewhere nearby, and your stomach churned with the kind of nausea that made everything feel unsteady.

Joe.

You barely had time to register his name on the screen before your fingers fumbled to answer.

“Hey, babe,” you started, trying to sound normal, trying to swallow down the shakiness in your voice.

But Joe knew you too well.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. Maybe if you downplayed it, he wouldn’t freak out. Maybe if you just kept your voice light—

“I, uh—” You swallowed. “I think I just got a little dizzy.”

Silence. Then, a sharp inhale.

“Where are you?”

You tried to push yourself up, but the second you lifted your head, your stomach lurched violently.

“Still in the kitchen.”

More silence. Then, his voice, low and clipped.

“I’m coming home.”

You barely had time to protest before the line went dead.

Joe made it home in record time. You’d managed to pull yourself up onto one of the chairs by the counter, sipping on a glass of water and doing your best to convince yourself that you were fine.

You weren’t fine, though.

Because by the time Joe burst through the door—eyes wild, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths—you realized just how bad you must have looked.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just strode across the room and knelt in front of you, his hands already reaching out, already checking. One palm on your forehead, then sliding down to cup your jaw. His fingers brushed against your wrist, pressing gently, feeling your pulse.

“Jesus,” he muttered, barely audible.

“I’m okay,” you tried, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Joe’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he just stared at you, like he was trying to convince himself of that. Then, without another word, he hooked his arms under your legs and lifted you.

“Joe—”

“Not arguing,” he bit out, carrying you straight to the couch. “Not now.”

He didn’t let you move for the rest of the day. He got you water, a snack, a blanket—every time you so much as shifted, his eyes flicked toward you like he was afraid you were about to collapse all over again.

And that was before the doctor confirmed it was just a simple drop in blood sugar. One fainting spell. One time.

But for Joe? It was enough.

That had been weeks ago. And if you thought he was protective before, it was nothing compared to now.

Joe no longer just watched you—he monitored you. If you so much as leaned over to pick something up, he was already there, lifting it for you. If you tried to cook, he’d suddenly appear behind you, taking the spatula out of your hands and steering you toward the couch with an exasperated look.

“Just sit down, babe.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”

Joe hadn’t laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances.”

And true to his word, he didn’t.

No more carrying groceries inside. No more standing too long. No more doing… anything, really. You’d been officially benched by Joe Burrow, and there was no getting around it.

“Joe, seriously, I can fold laundry.”

“Nope.”

“I can put my shoes on without help.”

“Not risking it.”

“I’m literally fine.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

It was sweet. Infuriating, but sweet. Because underneath all the stubbornness, the hovering, the sheer over-protectiveness of it all—he was scared.

Joe had never been one to panic. He was calm under pressure, steady even when things were crumbling around him. But this? You? That was different.

So you let him fuss. You let him help. You let him hover, even when it drove you crazy, because you knew—this was how he showed love.

And when he tucked you against his side at night, hand splayed protectively over your belly, you didn’t complain at all.

Because honestly? There was nowhere safer in the world than right there.

Joe thought he had it all figured out.

The plan was simple: keep you off your feet, make sure you were eating regularly, and under no circumstances let you lift a damn thing. He was taking this whole "pregnant and fainting once means you're never allowed to do anything again" thing very seriously.

At first, you’d gone along with it, mostly because you knew it gave him peace of mind. Joe was a worrier, but he wasn’t the type to voice it—he just did. If something needed fixing, he fixed it. If something needed protecting, he protected it. And right now, the thing that needed both of those things was you.

But after a few days of being treated like a delicate flower in a glass case, you were bored out of your mind.

Joe had taken over everything—cooking, cleaning, running errands, even making sure you had a constant supply of pillows and blankets when you were curled up on the couch. At first, it was sweet. Then, it was suffocating.

Because you? You liked being useful. You liked moving, doing, handling things yourself. And now, thanks to one fainting spell, Joe had basically put you on a permanent time-out.

"Joe, I'm fine."

He didn’t even look up from whatever he was stirring in the pan. "Uh-huh."

You sighed. "You don’t have to do everything, you know."

"I know." He turned, gave you a look. "But I am."

And that was that.

For the next few days, you found yourself in the most mind-numbing routine—wake up, eat whatever Joe set in front of you, sit down, be still, don’t do anything. It felt like some kind of medieval bed rest punishment. You were so close to losing it when Joe finally noticed.

You must have sighed too dramatically or groaned a little too loudly while scrolling aimlessly on your phone because Joe—bless his football-playing, overprotective heart—finally sighed, sat down beside you, and handed you his card.

His card.

The Black Amex. The no-limit Amex. The "please take my money and spend it however you want" Amex.

You stared at it. Then at him.

"What's this?"

Joe just shrugged. "You're miserable."

"And?"

"And I don't like you miserable."

You blinked.

"So you're… bribing me?"

He grinned, leaning back against the couch. "No, I'm giving you an activity." He tapped the card against your palm. "Baby stuff. Buy all the baby stuff. Go crazy. Get whatever you want."

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't be handing you my card if I wasn't."

You held it up between two fingers, inspecting it like it was gold. And to be fair, it might as well have been. You’d been dying to start shopping for the baby, but between Joe’s schedule and your current house arrest, it hadn’t really happened yet.

Until now.

"You said anything?" you asked, already smirking.

Joe nodded. "Anything."

"No budget?"

He let out a soft laugh. "No budget."

Oh. Oh, he fucked up.

It started small. A cute onesie here, a stroller there. You were reasonable at first—practical. A crib, a bassinet, a car seat. The things you’d obviously need.

But then? Then, it spiraled.

Because the deeper you got into the world of baby shopping, the more you realized just how much there was to buy.

Did your baby need a wipe warmer that looked like it was made for royalty? No. Did you buy it anyway? Absolutely.

Did your baby need a $500 luxury baby lounger imported from Europe? No. Was it already in your cart? Yes.

Every time you thought, "Okay, this is enough," you’d stumble across something even cuter, even better, even more unnecessary but absolutely essential.

Joe had no idea what he’d just unleashed.

The first time he really noticed was when the emails started.

He was sitting at the kitchen counter, going through his phone, when he let out a low whistle.

"Babe."

You hummed, still scrolling.

"Babe, did you—did you order a stroller that costs as much as a small car?"

You didn’t even look up. "It has all-terrain wheels."

Joe blinked. "Are we… are we taking the baby off-roading?"

You shrugged.

Joe just shook his head, scrolling through email after email of order confirmations.

"Okay, what about the designer baby clothes? And—Jesus—why are there three different cribs?"

Now you looked up. "Options, Joe."

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. But the thing was? He didn’t care about the money. It wasn’t about that. It was about you—because for the first time in days, you were back to normal.

He knew you. He knew the way your mind worked, how you thrived on having something to do, something to handle. He’d seen how restless you’d been, how bored out of your mind you’d gotten after just a few days of being forced to sit still. And now? Now you were lit up.

Your fingers flew across your phone screen, your eyes bright as you clicked through page after page, adding things to your cart with zero hesitation.

Joe couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you this happy.

And that? That made it all worth it.

"Alright, babe," he finally said, setting his phone down. "Go ahead. Drain my card."

You grinned. "Oh, I already have."

And for the first time since your fainting spell, Joe finally, finally felt at ease.

[justateenworkinglifeout]

Going over a year without suicidal thoughts brings a lot of awakenings. I am lovable, people can like me, although now I guess I have to plan for the future I never thought I could make it to. 13 year old me never gave a thought into high school classes, but now I'm being told to start thinking about what I want to do for college... It's so crazy to think that I've made it farther than I ever thought I would. And there's still more to look forward to. If you told 13 year old me that she makes it past 15, she'd probably break down at the thought of having to live that long. What she wouldn't think about is all the good things that have happened since.

I remember leaving my middle school for the last time, the best feeling ever. I remember going to summer camp. I remember going to my high school orientation and feeling hopeful for once. I remember the crash soon into the school year, yes, but I also remember how that led to the first moment of me feeling fully loved and accepted by my peers. I remember being comforted through a panic attack in the hallway at the Halloween dance. I remember my first audition at this school, I remember when I didn't get in. I remember trying again the next time and seeing my name on the cast email. I remember getting to be closer to all the people I had been admiring from afar all year. I remember all the fun outings, and the sleepovers, and the silly conversations that I get to have every morning. If 13 year old me knew I grew up, she'd think I'm still miserable. But now, even through the hardest times, I am loved and cared for.

Keep living yall. Things can work out.

Being like. Post-suicidal is so strange. Like hiiiii everybody im new I spent a good chunk of my life languishing and have like 3 or 4 lived experiences. But now I'm ready to fuck and party or whatever. Can we be friends. Im so happy to be here. Can we be friends

[rewiringtoheal]

My Soul Aches For Your Touch

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with a spouse can be challenging, especially when children and mundane tasks take up so much of the day. Sometimes you have to do something drastic in order to shake things up.

warnings: 18+, minor DNI, Reader has a penis, smut.

A/N: This one is a labor of love, nervous to release it into the world but happy it's complete. First time writing anything like this. I tried my best.

Natasha stared at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her had softened quite significantly with the domestic life she has been leading. Long gone were the days of powerful thighs and toned arms from countless hours spent in the training room. She knows she still looks beautiful, shapely even but she can’t help scrutinizing the ways in which she has changed. Not just physical changes but the emotional ones as well. The once unphased Black Widow now a mother and wife who wears her heart on her sleeve. She was barely on the cusp of 35 yet she sometimes felt like a has-been stuck in the same boring routine; having traded in saving the world for morning school drop offs. 

Don’t get her wrong, she loves her life. She has everything she had ever dreamed of and never truly dared to hope for. The most amazing spouse and two children who mean the absolute world to her. The changes that have been made to her mind and body over time are a testament to them. And the prolonged feeling of being loved and safe; they have instilled within her. But there was something missing in this wonderful life that left her feeling unfulfilled. A silent yearning to feel desirable again.

She needed a change of pace, desperately. Nothing too drastic, just something to knock her out of the rut she’s been in. If she is honest with herself, she wants to feel like her younger self used to; powerful and untouchable. A world renowned spy with a sexual prowess that rivaled none; making men and women alike beg for a chance to warm her bed.

Which is why despite her nerves she has decided to go through with this tonight. 

She finishes styling her signature auburn curls, the soft waves cascade down her back and shoulders, framing her face in a way that brings attention to supple lips coated in a subtle pink lipstick. She went a bit lighter on the mascara and eyeliner as well, wanting her natural features to shine through, and the green of her eyes had definitely become the star of the show. She smirks, trying to emulate the confidence that used to be second nature to her. 

Before the feelings of embarrassment could take root and she lost the will to continue this facade, she turned on her heels and strode into her closet, determined to find an outfit that would turn heads tonight. She wanted something that showed off her sex appeal; which she knew she still possessed. It just wasn’t something she flaunted anymore. 

She wanted something that was sexy yet sophisticated, settling on an understated black dress and a pair of matching pumps. The light pink lingerie set she had underneath would be quite the surprise for whoever would be finding themselves in her bed. She hopes the discovery makes their heart race. 

She felt a flicker of guilt twist in her stomach at the sensual thought, or perhaps just her nerves continuing to act up. Natasha compartmentalizes those thoughts away as she dresses quickly. It was sister’s night this evening and Yelena’s girlfriend’s family was hosting a bit of a soiree. And her goal for the evening was quite different to her baby sisters.

She took one last glance at herself, making sure she looked put together. She smirked again, this time she truly felt like her old self. For the first time in a long time she felt sexy and emboldened; it was a nice feeling. She turned to leave the walk-in closet, pausing at the entryway, her eyes briefly catching sight of her spouse's dirty boxers haphazardly thrown into their laundry basket. They’re covered in crocodiles with little sunglasses on them. The sight makes her heart pang with sorrow as she fiddles with her wedding ring, taking a deep breath she wiggles the ring until it slides off her finger, before placing it in her jewelry box.   

The front gate alarm pings, signaling that Yelena and Kate have arrived. She shakes the anxious thoughts from her mind not wanting to think about this any longer; steeling her resolve she makes her way out to her ride.

xXx  

You were in desperate need of a thrill. The life you had was one you coveted but the mundane activities that were expected of you everyday had grown rather dull. You knew that doing the same old things wouldn’t get you the results you wanted so you decided to shake things up. Instead of heading straight home after a long day of work, you decided to take up your client's invitation to her fancy soiree. 

After greeting Eleanor Bishop with a warm hello, you head straight toward the bar, asking for an old fashioned with an orange twist. You take a slow deep drink, enjoying the first initial burning sensation that hits the back of your throat. Gently, leaning against the bar you allow the alcohol to settle into your system and just bask in the ease at which it puts your mind. 

You let your eyes sweep across the room looking for a woman that peaks your interest. You knew you weren’t going home alone tonight; a beautiful woman warming your bed may just be the key to shaking up the monotony. You take note of several gorgeous women, some twirling around the dance floor and some chatting amongst peers, when a shimmering waterfall of red caught your eye. 

Your eyes zero in on her, she’s mingling with a group of socialites, an heiress in her own right perhaps. Not an outlandish guess with how she carries herself and the beauty that radiates from her. She’s made to be the center of attention and you can tell she revels in it. It’s not long before the belle of the ball is asked to dance. Some tall aristocrat; he’s handsome you suppose if you're into that sort of thing.  

You take another swig of your drink, allowing yourself to watch her move across the ballroom. The embodiment of grace as she dances.

You were mesmerized by the woman, and there was no way that pretentious asshole was going to be the one taking her home. Her fiery mane shimmered underneath the ballroom lights, the soft curls bouncing with every graceful movement. The black dress she was wearing had your mouth watering; every movement allowed you to see delicious amounts of ivory skin. Her curves were on full display; the thought of sinking your teeth into that voluptuous backside had you weak in the knees. And that damn smirk she’s wearing almost does you in; you swear she’s taunting you.

You want to worship every inch of her. It’s what she deserves being that damn fine. And you know for a fact that this yuppie won’t get on his knees for her.

You shoot back the rest of your drink, before setting down the empty glass, and making your way towards them.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, would you mind if I cut in?” You say almost breathless.

She’s even more gorgeous up close. 

xXx

She had seen you walk in a while ago, the warm greetings exchanged with Eleanor Bishop and the casual way you were leaning against the bar aroused her curiosity. And the form fitted black suit you were wearing aroused more than that. You looked dashing to say the least. 

She felt your gaze linger on her as she socialized, it exhilarated her to be watched in such a shameless manner. You did nothing to hide the desire, lighting up your eyes, your intentions quite clear. 

She smirked before accepting an invitation to dance from a rather stiff businessman, wondering just how far she would have to push you for you to be the one asking. Never taking into account that you would interrupt them. It was bold of you and she was pleased with your actions. 

With your offer accepted the nameless man left without making a scene; just slight disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t even feel a hint of remorse as you took her in your arms. 

She felt a shiver run up her spine as you took command of the dance. Leading her around the ballroom with a finesse that comes with years of practice. 

The two of you moved through the dance with a sensual grace, your bodies flowing together seamlessly, the passionate embrace amplifying the flirtatious atmosphere.

The warmth of your body, the smell of your cologne, and your hungry gaze had Natasha burning with desire. She hadn’t been this turned on in quite some time. 

As the dance was coming to a close she decided she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of your company any longer. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

You nodded without hesitation, grabbing her hand with tenderness as you led her out of the ballroom. She waved to Yelena before they got too far away, letting her sister know where she was headed. The blonde was grinning ear to ear. 

xXx

The car ride to their final destination was taking entirely too long. She was enchanted by the way your tongue darted out to lick your lips and the subtle bouncing of your left leg. It was one of the only indications she had that you were just as impatient as she was. The other clue she had to go off of was the generous outline of a semi-erect penis making itself visible in those deliciously tight pants of yours. She needed the fire burning between her legs to be satiated this instant. The hand caressing Natasha’s inner thigh was not helping matters.

“Pull over.”

“Sweetheart, we’re almost there.”

She didn’t care. All she cared about was the deep ache she knew could only be satisfied by your cock. As need and lust consumed her; every rational thought left her mind. 

She grabbed the hand resting on her thigh, slowly dragging it up to stroke against soft pink panties, the groan you released let her know you could feel how wet she was. 

“Pull the damn car over, now”

“Fucking hell, you’re already so worked up babe.” You husk, as you pull over onto the side of the road, safely parking. 

Natasha slides into your lap in a hast, “You have no idea.” 

xXx

You situate the seat so she’s comfortable, before pulling that tantalizing mouth of hers into an earth shattering kiss. She whimpers as your assault on her mouth turns frantic; wanting nothing more than to consume her. Delicate hands weave their fingers through your hair, as you work to undo the zipper on the back of her dress. You break away from the kiss briefly to peel it down Natasha’s arms, and to pull the black material down her body to pool around her waist. Fuck, the lacey pink bra covering her breasts makes your cock throb with need. 

Your eyes watch goosebumps erupt on Natasha’s heaving chest; as her flushed skin adjusts to the cool air. She tilts your head up, kissing you hard and desperate. Your tongues massaging one anothers in tandem, every once in a while pausing to suck and swirl your tongues into the caverns of each other's mouths.  

Your arms slip around her sides, fingers caressing the smooth skin of Natasha’s back before unclasping her bra and shimming it down her arms. Discarding it without care as your lips leave that additive mouth of hers to kiss along her jaw. She squirms in your lap, as you nip and lick your way down the line of her throat, leaving a trail of red marks in your wake. 

You pull back and admire the intoxicating woman before you. Those gorgeous emerald eyes that bewitched you from across the ballroom are now blown black with a carnal hunger and her lips are kiss swollen. That lovely shade of pink lipstick is smeared down her chin. And her neck is painted in your love-bites and saliva. She looks wrecked. You could come at the sight alone. 

“Are you going to stare at me all night or are you finally going to touch me?” 

She looks pleased by your admiration, despite what her words may otherwise imply.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been touching you but I promise you’re going to be able to feel me everywhere in a second.”

The pair of soft full breasts attached to this divine being are too tempting to ignore any longer. Your lips descend on her right breast with utter devotion, your tongue flicking over a pretty pink peak; coaxing it taut. Before pulling her nipple into your mouth and suckling. 

She arches into you with a breathless moan, offering more of herself up to you with fervor. As you show equal amounts of attention to each breast your hands caress Natasha’s sides, slowly making their way to her backside. You drag the dress up her hips and expose her center, sliding her panties to the side, your fingers slip through damp curls with ease to massage her clit. 

Natasha shudders from the contact, intuitively grinding her hips into your fingers. She revels in the friction for a little while, feeling the pressure begin to build, and knowing that she needs you inside of her right now. Her hands slide down to your belt buckle, yanking it open, you lift your hips up allowing her to drag your slacks and boxers down in one foul swoop. Her fingers wrap around your thickness with enthusiasm; her hand stroking in a firm but gentle caress.

“Hmm, fuck. I need you so bad.” You groan, thrusting into her hand. 

“Me too, baby. I need you inside me.” Natasha mewls.

Natasha slows her movements, grabbing your tie pulling you into a passionate kiss, her hips lifting up and with your guidance sinks down onto your cock. 

Her back grows taut, needing to take a minute to adjust to the feeling of being so full, before she starts rolling her hips. You grip her backside and begin to thrust up into her. She chants your name as you pick up the pace. Natasha matches your rhythm with vigor, her breath labored as she slams down onto you.

Natasha’s hands find purchase on your shoulders, her fingers crumpling the fabric of your suit jacket as she slides up and down against you. You can’t believe you bothered to get it pressed when this is the only way it should be worn; rumpled and covered in her slick. She rests her forehead against yours, panting into your mouth as your lower halves move in tandem. 

She is so tight and so incredibly warm. You continue to pump into her, her slick wet heat engulfing you as you feel the walls of her core beginning to flutter. With determination, you shove your hand between your gyrating bodies, your thumb sliding through soaked folds to massage her clit. 

You feel her inner walls clamp around you before she lets out a cry of your name, her nails sink into the back of your head and neck as she comes hard against you. The intense stimulation is too much for you to bear as you follow her over the edge with a grunt. 

She continues to keep you close as her breathing begins to mellow out, you sprinkle every inch of bare skin available to you with kisses as she begins to untangle herself from you. Natasha chuckles as she takes in your appearance, your expensive suit is wrinkled beyond repair and your skin is coated in a sheen of sweat. It fills her with a deep sense of satisfaction to have done such a number on you. 

Her eyes flick down between her legs, catching sight of the barely visible waistband of your black boxers, straining against your muscular thighs. They are too dull for her taste. 

“You know the suit was so sexy on you but I have to say I am not a fan of these underwear.” Natasha says, gaze returning to you and it’s full of mischief. 

You look up at her and grin, “Well the next time we fulfill one of our fantasies I promise I’ll buy a new pair of quirky animal boxers. Maybe some polar bears or something.”

She laughed and bit her lip, “Oh, I appreciate the consideration, Detka…” she trails off, lost in thought for a second, “Now tell me more about these fantasies of yours.”

You reach down grasping her left arm, pulling her hand up landing playful nips to the tips of her fingers. “Oh sweetheart, I’ve got so many fantasies revolving around you. Some new ones involving that damn lingerie set. You look so fucking sexy in pink.”

You note the subtle mood shift, the sadness and vulnerability now in Natasha’s eyes, it makes your heart weep.

“Yeah?” She asks tone so hopeful

You knew that the two of you had been stuck in a rut as of late, the monotony of family life not leaving much room for the two of you to nurture your relationship; emotional or sexual. There was a strict schedule for everything concerning the kids and with the long hours you worked, it left a lot of your marriage up in the air. Only really having time for quickies in the shower or watching a movie together at the end of the day. That is if your kids didn’t interrupt the two of you. 

When you were young the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other and you know that love changes over time. This however was different and unacceptable to you. Natasha was the love of your life, the sexiest woman in the world in your eyes and the fact that she no longer knew that was gut wrenching. As you look up into her eyes, seeing all the love, hope and desire for you there, you know from this moment on you would do anything to make her feel like the strong, sexy and courageous woman you know her to be.

And after tonight, you know that the fire that burns between you two is still there. All it needs is a little coaxing to ignite it and you were damn sure going to keep that fire fed from now on.

You lift your hand up to caress her cheek, “Natasha, I know our relationship has fallen to the wayside a bit since the kids were born but sweetheart you are still so damn sexy to me. I love you so fucking much. And I am so sorry for letting it get this bad.” 

“I love you too, baby. Please don’t put all of this on you. I know I haven’t been making our marriage a priority either…I’m sorry for that.” Natasha kisses the corner of your mouth. “It’s a relief that after all this time you still think I’m sexy.” She chuckles, gesturing to herself with contempt. “I know I don’t look like I used too.”

“The fact that you don’t believe that your fucking gorgeous and that I crave you like a person in hell craves ice water is on me.” You implore her to see the truth in your words. “I am going to do everything I can to make us a priority again. I'm done always putting the kids first. You deserve to be loved and fucked to your hearts content.” Your voice holds conviction. 

Natasha yanks on your tie pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “Well in that case…maybe we can take advantage of the kids staying with your mom tonight. You can show me just how much you crave me, baby.” 

“That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.” You help Natasha slide back over into the passenger seat, and get your clothes in order. “That being said, when we get home Mrs. Y/L you're putting your wedding ring back on.” You send her a playful glare, as you restart the car. “If I ever see that finger bare again…there will be consequences.”

Natasha giggles, “Consequences huh?...mhmm.. I’d like to experience that but…” She winks at you. “It was definitely a bit of a risk I took, I'll admit. I won’t be taking it again. Now drive, baby.”

It was an exhilarating night for the both of you. And as you head down the road toward your shared home, it feels like the beginning of a brand new adventure. 

[luv-lock]

Thinking about what the invincible variants were thinking when they see the mainstream alien!reader... Now think about what the variants talking about their respective alien!reader when they were stuck in the wasteland dimension (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

Oh, this is good. Imagine all the different Invincible variants stuck in that wasteland dimension, looking at each other, realizing just how different their relationships with their respective alien readers are. Some of them probably think they got the best version. Others? Yeah… not so much. For the sake of it let's pretend main Mark is there too.

When They See the Mainstream Alien Reader

The first thing they all notice? She’s normal. Well, as normal as a Qu can be. She’s protective, strong, and yeah, a little terrifying when it comes to keeping Mark safe, but she’s not trying to conquer planets, not committing genocide, and definitely not treating Mark like a glorified blood bag or a means to an end. She actually cares about him.

Sinister Mark? He’s looking at her like she’s an alien in a way he’s never seen before. “Wait, she doesn’t eat people?” He doesn’t get it. How is she not constantly dripping in blood? How does she not rule over something? More importantly, how does this Mark have all his limbs intact?

Viltrumite Mark? He just stares because, honestly, he can’t even imagine a version of his wife who isn’t sick and frail. His version can barely keep her eyes open half the time, and here’s this one, standing beside her Mark, fully awake and looking healthy. He hates how much that pisses him off.

Mohawk Mark? He just laughs. “Oh, so you actually like her? That’s cute.” His Y/n only cares about herself, so the idea of one actually prioritizing Mark is just hilarious to him. He calls it pathetic, but deep down, he wonders what it’s like to have a partner who gives a shit.

When They Talk About Their Own Alien Readers

Eventually, when they’re stuck in the wasteland long enough, they start talking. And the more they talk, the more they realize… some of them are in absolute hell.

Normal Mark (Mainstream)

"So, uh… you guys don’t have this? Y’know, a wife who actually cares about you?"

He’s confused. How did he get the best version of her? Why are all their relationships so weird? His Y/n follows him everywhere, sure, but she doesn’t treat him like shit, doesn’t use him, and she’s a great mom.

The more he listens to them, the more he realizes just how insane their versions are.

He starts feeling lucky. Really lucky.

Sinister Mark

"Yeah, no, I don’t want yours. I like mine just the way she is."

He adores his version. Is it toxic? Absolutely. Do they kill together? Yes. Do they sometimes eat people together? Also yes.

He doesn’t understand how anyone could be satisfied with a Qu who isn’t a complete monster.

He’s also lowkey judging Viltrumite Mark. “Dude, you have her locked up? She’s your prisoner? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Viltrumite Mark

"You wouldn’t understand. She’s fragile. She needs me."

He acts like he’s got everything under control, but the more he listens to how alive everyone else’s versions are, the more he starts questioning things.

He convinces himself that his Y/n being weak is a good thing. That it makes her special.

But there’s a part of him that wonders what it would be like to have a version of her that wasn’t always sick, that didn’t need to be locked away.

Mohawk Mark

"Bro, mine’s just in it for the sex. She doesn’t even remember my name half the time."

He thinks it’s hilarious. Everyone else is talking about how they have some kind of relationship with their Y/n, meanwhile, he’s just out here dealing with the most selfish version possible.

He doesn’t care, though. He enjoys himself. He gets what he wants, and so does she.

But after hearing everyone else talk, a small part of him wonders what it would be like to actually have a real connection. Not just physical, but actual affection. He’d never admit it, though.

How the Conversation Ends

By the end of it, Normal Mark is sitting there like, "Damn. I really won, huh?" Meanwhile, Viltrumite Mark is trying to convince himself he’s happy, Sinister Mark is fully convinced he has the best version of all time, and Mohawk Mark is just vibing, pretending he’s fine.

Honestly, if they ever got out of that wasteland, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them started questioning their entire existence.

[anemonet]

Technoblade....