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not-neverland06 · 4 months ago

Note

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.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

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

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allllium ♡

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #the worst logan x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #anon

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superbat-love · 11 months ago

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Imagine people saying “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Superman?” and Clark nearly has a heart attack. He thinks his days as Clark Kent are numbered because Lex Luthor is standing right there and he wouldn’t put it past the guy to get him fired from his job and make his civilian life miserable. Then Bruce Wayne answers that he gets that all the time and Clark almost spits out his drink.

Luthor is rolling his eyes and wonders why this Daily Planet reporter standing beside them is so excited about the possibility of Bruce being Superman. As if this himbo Brucie is capable of tying his shoelaces together, much less save the people of Metropolis. The man would probably fold faster than a napkin if Luthor did as much as flick him with a plastic spoon.

Clark quickly recovers from his blunder and remarks that it must be annoying to get mistaken for the superhero so often. Bruce tells him that he usually gets called that in the bedroom and asks if Clark wants to confirm it later, Luthor is daydreaming about kryptonite spoons and Clark is rethinking his choice of drink for the night.

#secret identities #dc headcanon #dc fanfic #drabble #text post #dc #superbat #superman x batman #batman x superman #batman/superman #superman/batman #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne #lex luthor #brucie wayne

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erinwantstowrite · 3 months ago

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will peter be like an older brother to miles in lof ?

absolutely he is

there's about an 11 year difference between them (Miles is 14, Peter is 25), so it's a lot more like the older brother type of relationship that Peter has with Tim (despite Tim being his uncle). Peter has mentored(ish) other young heroes by this point (mostly in the Bats' universe) but since Miles is another Spider-Man, Peter takes up most of the responsibility in making sure Miles is safe and teaching him the ropes. That's HIS sassy child genius, thank you, and he's not a sidekick, he's Spider-Man.

He was also adamant that Miles tell his parents immediately, and gets along great with Rio and Jeff.

Which is HILARIOUS to me because at this point in time, Peter has built up a persona for the public eye just like the Bats did. In Rio and Jeff's eyes, they're gobsmacked that the clumsy, scatterbrained, and "scaredy-cat" kid that Tony Stark adopted a while ago is Spider-Man. (Technically, none of this is a lie. Because Peter is a terrible liar unless it's For the Jokes, and often comes across this way even if he hadn't meant to.) They're wondering how he pulled that off since he's the same age as Spider-Man, who is known to be an Avenger, and associates in the same circles as Peter. It helps that Peter and Spider-Man have been in a social media war, and that Peter works at the Daily Bugle that is known for disliking Spider-Man. Peter's been taking lessons for years atp to keep his identity safe. Which is also bonus points to Peter, because the two can tell that secret identities mean everything to him, but he told them who he was in a heartbeat (literally the very first thing he did when he found Miles).

In other words: Peter was ecstatic to become a teacher for his own matching superhero kid and it's one of the most important bonds in his life. That's his baby brother now!!

#erinwantstowrite #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #leap of faith ao3 #peter parker #leap of faith catch me if you can #leap of faith #miles morales #peter parker is a GOOD mentor #a great one even #he takes that shit so seriously despite it looking like he's always just telling jokes from an outside perspective #you know those folders you go home with when you're a kid #the ones where your teacher puts stickers and talks about how your day/week went and your homework #peter has one of those that's really just a journal written to make it look like miles is taking after school classes with him at SI #and miles has to give it to his parents to look over #“You got three gold stars today!”#“yeah 'cause i didn't get blown up :)”#“that's my boy!”#rio was like “wtaf” at first but she quickly was like “oh so if anyone is gonna help miles stay alive it's this kid”#thank you for the ask!

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ro-is-struggling · 10 months ago

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Breakfast In Bed || Clark Kent x Reader

Based on THIS and THIS requests

Summary: Being married to a superhero was bound to have some tough times, you knew that well when you accepted Clark's marriage proposal. However, the last few months were becoming too difficult for you as he was having trouble balancing his daily life and his responsibilities as Superman. Intentional or not, he was neglecting you and you were getting tired of waking up alone every morning. But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Clark surprises you with breakfast in bed and a talk that reminds you why you love him so much.

Warnings: a little angst, but mostly fluff, fem!reader

English is not my first language

Word count: 1800

Notes: I don’t know why but I always have the need to write Clark like the most romantic and adorable man in the world, so enjoy! Consider this as my valentine gift to you

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You knew your relationship with Clark would be complicated from the moment you learned about his special abilities. You always knew he was far from ordinary, you just thought his greatness had more mundane roots —his kindness, his empathy, the way he cared about everyone and how he always surprised you by remembering even the smallest details, all the normal things that made you fall in love with him. You'd be lying if you said you weren't surprised to learn the truth, but it also explained a lot —the way he sometimes seemed to be able to be on two sides at the same time, his incredible strength and great sense of hearing. It made you worry about the kinds of dangers he faced every day as Superman, but it also made you love him even more. So you decided that you would stay by his side knowing full well that your relationship would be far from normal.

Through it all, you managed to make things work. Clark was very good at keeping his identity secret to protect you. And you were great at pretending that his long absences didn't bother you, making him feel better when he was late for your anniversary dinner after a year of marriage. To be honest, it wasn't always that terrible. You did have plenty of moments of blissful intimacy, away from the outside world and the dangers it presented. And it was wonderful. You loved spending quality time with your husband, even if it was just sitting in silence working to meet some deadline for work. Just knowing he was there with you was enough to make you feel happy, loved.

The problem you had now was that he was spending less and less time at home. He came home late every night, exhausted after a long day at work —both as Clark at the Daily Planet and as Superman helping people in danger. And in the mornings you were lucky if you got to have breakfast together. He always tried to make time for you, to spend a romantic evening at a nice restaurant or curl up on the couch to watch a movie, but somehow work always got in the way. If it wasn't Perry calling him to cover an urgent story for the paper, it was a person in danger crying out for Superman.

It was frustrating because you felt you couldn't say no. Clark would always ask your opinion before doing anything, looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes while assuring you that if you said no, he would stay where he was. But how could you say no when a child in danger cried for their hero or a tragic accident required his presence? There was no way your conscience would let you live with that decision.

You knew his work was important. Both inside and outside the newspaper, he helped people. People in vulnerable situations, people in danger, people who needed to be heard. It was truly noble of him and you admired him for his determination to make the world a better place. That was the biggest reason why you didn't say anything, but the truth was that you missed him.

You missed coming home from work and finding him waiting for you, asking you how your day had been the moment you walked through the front door. You missed going to sleep next to him at night after spending hours sharing work stories over dinner. You missed the warmth of his body wrapping around you in the cold mornings and hearing his voice raspy with sleep wishing you good morning when he still had his eyes closed. In the last few weeks you were lucky if he made it to dinner. Going to sleep alone and waking up alone in the mornings had become your routine. And you hated it.

That morning was no exception. When you opened your eyes you found the left side of the bed empty. Your arms clung tighter to Clark's pillow, inhaling his scent to make you feel less lonely. It was supposed to be his day off, but you wouldn't be surprised if Perry had called him last minute or some catastrophe had gotten him out of bed early. You had barely seen him last night. Clark had arrived late when you were already asleep and you only managed to mumble his name in the dark and hug him when he lay down next to you, and now he wasn't next to you when you woke up either. The day had barely begun and you already wanted it to end.

Letting out a long sigh, you decided it would be best to get up and do something to distract your mind. Clark wasn't there and it wasn't going to do your mental health any good to stay in bed crying all morning. So you dragged your feet lazily to the bathroom, going about your morning routine before leaving the room to prepare breakfast.

Only the moment you opened the door you were assaulted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. You frowned in confusion, wondering if perhaps you had mistakenly left the coffee maker running all night. However, when you entered the kitchen you discovered that it was no mistake. Standing in front of the stove was Clark, flipping pancakes and cutting up some fruit while humming to himself.

You couldn't help but smile as you watched him move. He still had his pajama pants on and his hair was a mess. You took advantage of the fact that his back was turned to you to admire him silently as a warm and fuzzy feeling spread through you. The sadness disappeared from your system as you watched him carefully stack the pancakes, taking his time to decorate them with little pieces of fruit just the way you liked. He looked adorable, bent over the counter as he arranged breakfast on a tray, ready to be taken to bed. You wanted to run over and hug him, but before you could move from the doorway Clark turned, finally sensing your presence.

"What are you doing there? You're supposed to be sleeping." he said and you could swear he sounded disappointed to see you there. "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

You walked into the kitchen. Just a couple of steps and you were in front of him, wrapping your arms around his naked torso and resting your head on his chest as you hugged him. Clark reciprocated right away, planting a kiss on the top of your head as he breathed in the scent of your hair.

"I'm sorry," you pouted, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. "We can go back to bed if you want."

Clark answered you with a kiss, his lips caressing yours gently. It was a quick kiss, but it still managed to take your breath away.

"What's the occasion?" You asked as you broke away, stealing a strawberry from the pancakes and popping it into your mouth. It wasn't your anniversary or your birthday and it wasn't Valentine's Day, so you wondered what had prompted Clark to make such a gesture to you.

"I wanted to apologize... I know I haven't been around much and I know it's not easy for you, even though you are too nice to tell me."

"Clark..." You wanted to intervene, but he silenced you by resting his index finger on your lips.

"I need you to know that you're important to me, more important than anything else." Clark slid his hand up to your cheek, his fingers caressing your skin gently. He gave you a warm smile, losing himself for a moment in the bright light of your eyes. "Do you remember what I told you the day I asked you to marry me? I said with these powers I could see the beauty of the universe, the flowers blooming on the other side of the planet or dying stars exploding in brilliant light thousands of miles away, and yet, the day I meet you I knew I had to be with you because for the first time in my life the only thing in the universe worth looking at was right there in front of me. That is still true. It will always be true, angel."

"Damn it, smallville!" You let out a giggle, feeling the tears building up in your eyes as you remembered that day —one of the happiest days of your life. You hated the way he always knew exactly what to say to make you feel better, it made being mad at him really hard.

Clark smiled at you, his blue eyes shining with love in them as he gently wiped away a tear that had escaped and rolled down your cheek. "You're the most important thing in my life and I'm sorry I haven't been showing it these past months. I promise you I'll be better in the future. I'll try harder to make this work, to make us work."

"I know this is hard for you too, baby." You said, letting your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest. You knew Clark wasn't neglecting you on purpose. You knew it hurt him as much as it hurt you to be away or to miss a date you had been planning for a long time. Balancing his normal life and his superhero life had always been one of his biggest challenges.

"I know you love me and I know you care about me, you don't have to doubt that. I knew things were going to be difficult sometimes the day I said yes. I understand how important being Superman is to you, it is who you are and I love you for that too. I just... miss you sometimes, but I'm sure we're going to find a way to work this out. We always do."

"I swear if I could love you more I would explode." Clark smiled at you before taking your face in his hands again and pressing his lips together. You couldn't help but smile into the kiss, feeling that familiar warmth fill you inside. It was the comforting warmth of love, of the happiness it gave you to be in Clark's arms after so much loneliness.

That was the Clark you missed so much. The loving husband who wrapped his arms around you and kissed you until his lips were tired. The one who showered you with compliments until you were flustered. The one who didn't hesitate to show you how much he loved you with sweet words or cute details. It had been so long since you had the chance to be alone like that, sharing such an intimate moment, that you almost forgot how good it felt when Clark kissed you or how safe you felt when he put his arms around you. It was a beautiful feeling that you could only describe as the touch of true love. You never wanted to forget it, you were willing to do anything not to lose it.

"I love you too." You murmured against Clark's lips, giving him a quick peck before pulling away from him. "Now, about that breakfast..."

Clark let out a chuckle. "Go back to bed, I'll be there in a second."

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x female reader #clark kent fluff #clark kent angst #superman x reader #superman x female reader #superman fluff #superman angst #henry cavill x reader

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

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Miguel Having A Crush On You Would Include…

Warnings: Implications of Smut, Obsessive Miguel, Possessive Miguel, Implied Yandere Miguel, Miguel in Love, Vampire Marking, Marking (Kind Of), Fluff, Typical Crush Behaviour, Petnames/Nicknames, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Him being absolutely OBSESSED with you.

Literally completely feral, down bad, infatuated, etc.

Initially, when he realised he’d started liking you in a romantic sense, he tried pushing you away; tried drowning his feelings in work, missions, Hell – even resolving petty spats between the Spiderpeople at the base. Anything to exorcise this rising feeling of butterflies in his chest whenever you were around. Vulnerability.

However, you were persistent.

You’d bring him lunch whenever you knew it would be a long day in the office for him, telling him that “Even the best superhero needs a sandwich every now and then!”

And by God were your sandwiches phenomenal.

Though he’d never admit it, his heart would skip a beat whenever the door to his office opened, knowing that it could be you paying him a visit with your delectable lunchables, or even just to check in on him. Make him feel special in ways nobody else had or could in years.

Eventually, this turned into a daily affair; one Miguel would watch the clock for, wait for. Long for.

Miguel also tried hiding his feelings when you brought him hand-crafted, love-filled desserts that he just couldn’t bring himself to ignore or throw away. Or, when Miles offered to take them off his hands, let anyone else have.

Eventually, there isn’t a day that goes by where you aren’t with him in some capacity. And it shows.

Whenever you’re late, even only by a few minutes, Miguel can feel his heart spike, asking Lyla where you are, if she can track you, etc.

“Sounds like you liiiike (Y/N)~” Lyla gives Miguel a knowing smile.

Miguel just grunts, ignores her. Though, he can feel the corners of his lips turning up, and hides them behind a well-placed hand, rubbing his temples.

Soft glances whenever you’re in the room, all his attention turning to you and you alone.

He just loves to stare at you. You’re so beautiful that he can’t understand why nobody else passing you has to stitch their dropped jaw back onto their face.

Then again, he is grateful. The fury that bubbles inside him whenever he catches someone glancing at you, gaze lustful, is all-consuming, enough to make his teeth grind, his eyes bleed a light rouge hue, piercing. He makes sure they’ll never cross paths with you again.

Gradually, your warmth and kindness thaws his walls, and, once the floodgates are open, neither you nor he can predict the dark ocean that is to flood your lives.

He doesn’t mean to throw himself full-force into his feelings, but after being so guarded for so long, he just can’t help it.

Becomes overly-concerned with every facet of your life. More so than he already was.

Constantly trying to find out information about you, though being stumped as to how to do so without arousing your suspicion.

Asks Lyla to track you, see what you’re doing, who you’re with, their relation to you.

However, she begins to deny Miguel such luxuries, telling him to “Grow a pair and ask (Y/N) yourself!”

When he realises Lyla is steadfast in her resolve, he does so. Reluctantly.

Though, once he starts, he finds it difficult to stop.

“Where are you going after work?”, “Are you going out tonight with anyone?”, “Who?”

Eventually, you just look up at him, seemingly oblivious to his growing desperation, and say: “Gosh, Miguel, you’re starting to sound like you’re my boyfriend or something!”

His heart stops. His throat dries and he just looks at you, eyes wide.

One second passes. Then two. Then–

“Oh– uh– yeah... I mean, not that that’s weird, right? Unless you think it is weird, then–”

Lyla has to step in and save him from himself, telling him he has ‘urgent business’ in one of the other wings of the facility.

His suit suddenly feels too tight and too hot beneath the collar whenever he has to speak with you alone.

And tight in��other places when his mind wanders to the more intimate aspects of your hypothetical relationship.

Miguel likes to rationalise this as him preparing how best to please you when the time, inevitably, comes for him to claim you, make you his. At least, this staves off the post-nut clarity (guilt) just a little longer when he’s pursuing a release, blasphemous images of you running through his mind.

A good example of this occurs almost nightly, with Miguel thoroughly loving a pillow clad in a shirt he’d lent you once, your scent still woven, though faded, into the fabric.

Many nights, his face is pressed to the cotton of that shirt, muffling his lips and his moans as his teeth sink into your temporary body, extending, marking, hand moving fervently beneath the bed sheets, your name the chant of many a spell of ardour.

You might mistake that red glow on his cheeks for the illumination of the console screens, but anyone who looks close enough knows better.

He loves showing you around the facility. Especially when your eyes light up and you remark how intelligent he is for “Doing this all on your own,”

Any compliment from you makes his heart thrum and his cheeks burn with the urge to smile. And, if it’s only you in his company, he does so.

Maybe even give you a nervous laugh.

You’re the only one he feels comfortable with showing emotion to.

He hopes that his displays aren’t lost on you; that you know him well enough to know that every smile, every laugh, is for you and you only.

And he is determined to, one day, make that smile of yours for him. And only him.

But, for now, he will content himself with daydreams and night ventures into territory not yet known, all the while possessing a seat beside you, being a shoulder for you to cry on, an ear into which you may pour your worries, a hero on whom you can always depend in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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thebibliosphere · 1 year ago

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In case you were wondering how deep down the Batfam fixation hole I am, it's something I've actually been talking about in therapy a lot.

Not like, in a worried way, more just when my therapist asks me what I'm doing in my downtime, my answer always used to be either "sleeping" or "I don't have downtime. I have too much work to do."

Now my answer is "playing my Batman game" or "watching Batman show/reading comics/writing unhinged Batman x Muppet fanfic."

And my therapist is delighted. She's fucking ecstatic. She's like, "You have interests again!" and I'm like !!!! Because here's the thing.

Almost dying in 2019 kinda irrevocably fucked up my brain, like, a lot. Like a lot, a lot. And I've been grieving over that for the last few years as well as recovering from the physical aspects of it. And to cope with it, I threw myself into work even though I wasn't physically or mentally well enough, and that made everything worse, and well, if you've been here, you know.

My brain has not been kind to me for a long time. It still isn't. But I do the work. I do multiple types of therapy a week. I piece myself back together on the daily and try to remember what it means to be human and not just this numb static void that sometimes sounds like shrieking if you listen too closely.

And then randomly, a few months ago a friend bought me Gotham Knights on Steam, and it was like a light turned back on. The engine that'd been refusing to turn over for years suddenly sputtered back to life, and something in my brain went, "Hey, I remember this... this is fun?"

And then I started tentatively searching the tags here on Tumblr, and yeah, actually. I remember this. I remember enjoying this. I can dip my toes into this. This is safe. This is a childhood interest from Before the almost-dying-trauma. And besides, it won't get in the way of my work. This isn't going to consume me. Nothing consumes me like it used to. I'm too broken for that.

Except, haha, jokes on me because, for some fucking reason, Brucie fucking Wayne and his gaggle of chaotic crime-fighting children is what reached into my brain, picked up my trauma, and started shaking it loose like a category 7 earthquake.

I actually laughed about that with my therapist a few weeks ago. Of all characters, of all pieces of media, it's Batman that's helping me process a significant chunk of my emotional trauma in a healthy way.

The most emotionally constipated vigilante in superhero existence, and I'm weeping like a child every time I get an achievement in Gotham Knights, and it says some bullshit like this:

ID: a purple steam achievement icon that says: He'd Be So Proud Of You. Reach the maximum level as any member of the Batman Family. 6.3% of players have this achievement. /end ID.

(for context, Batman is dead in this game, and you are playing as his emotionally devastated children trying to keep it together. Wailing, gnashing, crying, throwing up etc, etc.)

And my therapist, who has sat with me through EMDR sessions and a multitude of other shit designed to rewire your brain, just shrugs and says, "Sometimes we need to externalize our emotions through safe media. For you, right now, that safety is Batman having a relationship with the Muppets."

And like... okay, yeah. I'll take the win on that one.

#personal #batfam #emotional trauma #death mention #emotional damage #batmuppet

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ckret2 · 5 months ago

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Chapter 72 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen.

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe).

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(so how we feeling today on thisisnotawebsitedotcom day? good? everyone feeling good? we all having fun?)#(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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itsasilentreader · 3 months ago

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ᯓ★ 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ― 𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: idol!Hyunjin x GN!reader, established relationship

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: Fluff, suggestive

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1.2k — 9 𝙢𝙞𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙

𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: suggestive at the end, mentions of drinking alcohol

𝘼/𝙉: This was my first request for Hyunjin! Jisung's version is coming soon. Hopefully you'll like it! :)

⤷ 𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘺.

⋮ 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗛𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗻'𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 | 𝗝𝗶𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗴'𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁

When Hyunjin opened the door to your shared apartment, the smell of different spices hit him first. A little bit confused, he took off his shoes and put down his stuff before walking further into the apartment. He could hear your daily Spotify playlist playing over the speakers in the living room. His feet carried him through the apartment in search of you.

Hyunjin had a long day at work and couldn’t wait to feel your arms wrap around him while he took you into his embrace. He had to stay in the studio a few hours longer than expected because the songs they were working on were not really coming along as they had hoped. Chan tried his best to get it done as fast as possible, but he’s no superhero with superpowers. Sometimes it takes a little bit more work and time to get things done.

Normally, Hyunjin didn’t mind working a few hours longer than planned. That was before he met you, though. Before he met you, he often felt lonely. Sometimes it wasn’t a bad feeling, knowing he could be home as late as he wanted without having to consider anyone else with whom he shared his private life. At other times, he longed for the touch of a partner. He longed for intimate touches but also quick, fleeting ones—kissing his partner goodbye before leaving for work, coming home to cuddle in the late hours of the night, moonlight peeking through the bedroom window.

He found all of that when he met you, and he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

The tension and stress of the long workday began to settle in the muscles of his shoulders and neck. He could use a massage, preferably from you while you left soft kisses on his skin in between, he thought.

As he approached the kitchen, he could hear you humming along with the music. A soft smile graced his face as he stopped to just listen to you. You hadn’t heard him come in yet and were still focused on preparing Hyunjin’s favorite home-cooked meal. Cutting up the ingredients, you added them to the pan on the stove before seasoning everything just right.

Hyunjin watched you work for a few minutes before making himself known. Hearing his footsteps approaching, you let out a small yelp, placing a hand over your heart. “Oh my god, you scared me for a second, Hyune.” His face showed amusement at your reaction. “I didn’t hear you come in. I’m making your favorite meal, though.” You set down the cutlery and wiped your hands with a kitchen towel.

“I figured, but I didn’t want to disturb you. I love to watch you cook.” He took you in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him. By the way he leaned into you, you could feel how tired he was. “Long day?”

You felt him nod against you, still holding you close. “So busy, it’s stressful.” You peeked at his face and saw tiredness etched across his features. Giving him a soft peck on the lips, you stepped out of his arms and turned your attention back to the food on the stove, stirring it. Hyunjin came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your frame again, resting his head on your shoulder to watch as you cooked. You hummed along to the music once more, and Hyunjin soaked in the moment. Coming home to you cooking his favorite meal and taking care of him after such a long day was one of the best things in his life.

He absolutely loved his idol life, his career, and all the opportunities he’d had since debuting, but nothing beat this feeling with you—coming home to you, holding you, loving you, and being loved by you. He thanked the gods for the day when he bumped into you after you walked out of the coffee shop. Your drink had spilled all over you, and you were ready to get angry at the person who’d caused the mess. When you looked up, it felt like time stood still for a moment. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on, and you almost wanted to apologize for him bumping into you.

Hyunjin felt the same spark when your eyes met, and his breath caught in his throat. Even with your drink spilled all over your white shirt —which was totally his fault— you still looked gorgeous. Eventually, he made it up to you by buying you a new drink. You two started talking and haven’t stopped to this day.

“Go sit down, baby. I’ll pour you a glass of wine and finish up cooking.” Hyunjin let out a soft sigh as you turned around to get him a glass. He smiled to himself and headed to the bedroom to change. After returning to the living room, he saw a glass of red wine on the coffee table and noticed his favorite movie was already starting on the TV.

“What would I do without them,” he whispered to himself. He settled down on the couch, in his favorite spot, and took a sip of the wine. Finally relaxing, he thought, turning his attention to the TV. After a few minutes, he felt your hands on his shoulders. Softly, you began to massage his tense muscles, and he let his head fall back, closing his eyes. Your hands felt like heaven.

You continued the massage in silence, with the sounds of the TV and your playlist in the background. “Do you want to talk about your day?” you asked after a minute. A sigh left his lips, and he opened his eyes to look up at you. “Nothing special, we just needed to finish this song. It was just a long day.” You nodded and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’ll get two plates, and we can eat in front of the TV. Don’t move, mister.” Hyunjin chuckled, already missing your touch as you went back into the kitchen.

He heard you rummaging around, and after a few minutes, you reappeared with two plates. Sitting down next to him, you handed him his. You ate in comfortable silence, watching the movie you’d put on for him. After dinner, you quickly cleaned the plates and loaded the dishwasher. Hyunjin tried to help, but you motioned for him to stay seated and relax.

“You’re the best, you know that?” he said as you came back with more wine. You sat down and poured him another glass. “You work so hard. I thought I’d surprise you with your favorite meal. It’s the least I could do.”

You smiled softly at him and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. His hand came up to hold yours, and he left a small kiss on the back of your hand. Even though the gesture was small, it still gave you butterflies. Setting down your glass, you turned to him. “Are you fully relaxed now?” He nodded. “I think so. Thank you for taking care of me, baby.”

“Always.” You leaned closer and gave him a soft kiss. “I thought about running you a hot bath, and maybe I can join you?” Hyunjin hummed in agreement and kissed you again. “I think that’s a great idea. Afterward, I can properly thank you for taking care of me.” He pulled back with a smirk on his lips. You saw his gaze darken slightly and nodded, your hands running up his chest before resting at the nape of his neck. Leaning in for another kiss, you whispered seductively, “I think I love that proposal.”

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁

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coyotes-rules-of-change · 6 months ago

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Part 3: Christopher

The long awaited continuation of my first series—I’m assuming… If you missed the first parts, please feel free to enjoy Part 1: Kellen and Part 2: Adam before you continue on with Christopher. In terms of content warnings, Kellen is still quite rough and aggressive, but it seems as though the new and improved Adam has helped the raging jock tone it down a bit.

Kellen wasn't sure what had happened with Adam. He knew two realities: one where Adam was an insufferable nerd who was Kellen's submissive ticket out of academic probation. But now Adam was an insatiable twink who got off on Kellen's abusive nature, and now Adam has become an almost addictive part of Kellen's life. Kellen had always been unwaveringly straight, but now he continued to use Adam's ass as a routine receptacle for his pent-up aggression. Instead of Kellen bullying the nerdy Adam into completing his schoolwork, Adam seemed to feed on Kellen's demeanor, controlling every rough and raging moment of their daily fuck sessions. It clearly drove Adam's prude of a roommate crazy, leaving the poor Ben rapidly departing his several accidental intrusions with an unmistakable look of shame.

But Adam's sexual hold over Kellen left his primary motivation unmet. Kellen needed another way to boost his grade. Lucky for him, nerds were everywhere; he just had to select one. Kellen scanned the dining hall. He considered a business major sitting in a booth. The kid, Kenneth, made a habit of dressing professionally and was always down for a deal, but Kellen needed to be sure his geeky clothes could guarantee good grades. It dawned on him that he could use Adam's roommate, Ben. It would be gloriously sadistic, and Ben was actively failing to hide the fact that he'd noticed Kellen across the hall and was nervously attempting to blend in. That did seem like a fun idea to Kellen, but a new victim crossed his path.

The D&D club had just finished its lunch meeting, and one of the hapless members walked right in front of the jock. D&D, comic books; the perfect nerd just walked right in front of him and out the dining hall doors, unaware of the follower he'd managed to pick up.

Kellen paced his stalking to ensure he caught his new grunt in the dormitory stairwell. "Hey, nerd..."

Christopher barely had any chance to react before being shoved against the wall. Comic books spilled across the ground, and the pudgy fanboy stared up at the menacing jock with an imposing figure matching those of the superheroes on the covers of the comics now plastered on the floor. But instead of heroic deeds, these muscles worked to intimidate and scare.

"Do you enjoy math, nerd?" Kellen's stare bore into the poor bookworm.

"Well... uh, no, not re—" Christopher barely managed to stutter out his response before Kellen barrelled on.

"No, you don't get it, do you. You enjoy math, dweeb."

Again, Kellen doesn't wait around for Christopher's stuttered response. "Wait, but I don't think—"

"This is my math homework." Kellen holds up a few papers. "This is due tomorrow. You can meet me tomorrow morning, nine o'clock, in the locker room at the school gym. It had better be done."

Kellen releases Christopher and turns to go, but against his better judgment, Christopher talks back to his departing bully.

"But wait! I already have my own homework! And I have a class at 8:30! I can't meet you at—"

Again, Christopher is interrupted, finding himself slammed up against the banister.

"You see these muscles, right?" Kellen didn't wait for a response. "You don't have to read your little comic books to know that I can fuck you up. You'll be there. Tomorrow. At nine."

Kellen turns to go, and Christopher slumps to the ground. This time he's wise enough to stay silent as the asshole jock strides out the stairwell door.

——————

The whole encounter in the staircase baffled Christopher as much as it terrified him. He wasn't sure why he'd been selected for this daunting task but was pretty sure the stupid athlete saw the comic books and thought he was bookish and nerdy. He really wasn't; quite frankly, he was good at math, but it wasn't anything he considered fun. Why do jocks like him think a love of comic books translated into unlimited intellect and a life of devotion to school work? Life is not the Big Bang Theory—in fact, Christopher had a few failing grades of his own, but the jock selected him. What could he do about it?

Christopher was worried about being able to complete the assignment until he actually looked it over and realized he'd covered this stuff in high school. Unfortunately, tomorrow's "assignment" turned out to be a backlog of nearly a week of work. Frankly, this guy was dumb if he made it into college without being able to pass high school-level assignments. It also wasn't until Christopher was finished and he went to write the name in at the top of the assignments that he realized he didn't even know the guy's name—yup, this guy is pretty fucking stupid.

As Christopher drifted off to sleep—later than expected due to the added work—it dawned on him this might not be the last time he'd have to do this. He wished he didn't have to worry about the dumb jock's work. It was that moron's mess to get out of, not his.

——————

The following day, Christopher decided to head to the meeting point early. He suspected the jock wouldn't react kindly if he were late. Ten minutes early, Christopher and his Spiderman graphic tee walked in the gym doors at the school rec center. Only then did he realize how out of place he'd be. It was clear from his short stature and paunchy frame that he'd never walked through those doors in two years as a student here. It took a good half a minute before he realized he'd stopped the moment he'd walked through the door. Regaining his motor function, he awkwardly walks up to the unattended counter. After waiting a few eternal moments, a huge black guy enters through a back door.

"Can I help you?" the man asks dryly.

Yet again, Christopher can only stutter. Only this time, it's because he's starstruck and intimidated, staring at a man with the broad frame of a superhero. In front of him was Kyle, the front desk worker, but in his mind, Christopher was staring up at a man who looked more like M'Baku from the MCU.

Growing frustrated, Kyle tries to get something out of the mute kid in front of him. "Can I help you?"

"I... uh... well, I—uh..." Finally, Christopher managed to muster a thought. "I need to go in..."

Kyle looked inconvenienced. "Are you a student?"

"Uh... yeah."

"Just swipe your I.D., kid."

Kyle returned to the back room, leaving Christopher in his awkward haze. It was for the best. Had the interaction lasted any longer, Christopher might have found himself attempting the Wakandan salute to fill the tension. And that would not have been beneficial... or appropriate.

Christopher walked to the row of turnstiles, slowly pushing through after swiping his card. Then he looked up. Christopher found himself surrounded by physiques ripped from the covers of his comics. This was getting more challenging. Frozen just beyond the turnstile, he realizes he might like the comic books for more than just their storylines. Presented with the real-life muscular forms of his favorite heroes in every corner of the school gym, he realized he was getting a little hard. Another scan of the room, and he jolts, realizing his nerves since entering the building had burned through a lot of his early start. He needed to be in the locker room in just one more minute... Fortunately, a steady bustle through another door allowed him to figure out where to go. Unfortunately, he had to walk across the long room packed with sweaty athletes. Christopher locked his gaze on the door and sped through, using every ounce of effort to ignore everything around him until he pushed into the locker room.

Like the gym behind him, the locker room also bore a smattering of athletic physiques... but he should have remembered what the locker room was for. Every muscle was on display: pecs, abs, biceps, thighs, calves, more. He was lucky that—at least for the moment—none of the jocks in the locker room were actively changing their underwear. The panorama before him left him genuinely paralyzed. Right on cue, the bully from the stairwell came around a corner into the view of his latest victim.

Kellen sported nothing more than a towel and a sly grin. The physique he had on display was just like Captain America, but Christopher knew he was nothing like the upstanding model citizen from the comics. Nonetheless, Christopher was flushed. The muscular form in front of him made him harder than he'd ever been despite the sheer terror coursing through him.

Kellen just leaned in and grabbed the papers Christopher held in his hand. He looked it over. "This looks right, not that I'd know. I'd better get good grades or else..." Kellen flexed a bicep. "I'll have to teach you a lesson."

Christopher just gulped.

"Here's my phone." Kellen hands over his phone with an empty contact pulled up. "Put in your number. If I text you, you respond. If I tell you to meet me, you show up—on time. So far, you're doing great."

Christopher still stands frozen and mute but manages to take the phone and enter his number.

"Here's your next round of work. I have my class at three so we'll need to meet before then. You have a lot to do in the next few hours. Good thing you skipped class, right?"

"I— I— I—..." Christopher knows he won't be able to pull off such a tight turnaround, but his brain is overloaded. He can only stutter.

Kellen turns to go, but then turns back and gets out his phone. "Oh wait, I almost forgot." He opens up his camera app and snaps a selfie. One where the camera is placed low, around his waistline, aiming up the grooves of his abs and capturing his cocky smirk just beyond his hard pecs. "Let me send this to you. I'm gonna need a contact photo, right?" He hits send and walks away. Christopher feels the text alert buzz in his pocket. He regains his composure and blazes out of the rec center at top speed.

——————

Kellen figured the nerd that interested in comic books would flush at the sight of all those jocks in the locker room. The little weakling couldn't even speak! Frankly, it couldn't have gone better. At noon, he decided he'd send his summons to the little ant.

Meet me at 2. Dining hall

He was met with a few seconds of the three dots (...) before the nerd replied.

We should just meet at the gym again

In literally any other instance, he'd punish this kind of insubordination. But if this little dweeb wants to head back to that locker room, Kellen was more than happy to make that work.

Sure, bro, see you there

——————

Kellen arrived twenty minutes early. He disrobed and posted up in the shower, where he could see over the top of the curtain once the nerd showed up. He thought he'd rattle the little fatty with a full view of his naked body since his shirtless torso already turned the little guy into a temporary statue. The anticipation burned through the remaining minutes until two o'clock came... and then went.

2:05. Kellen is getting frustrated. But then again, he looked forward to the beat-down he'd get to deliver his insubordinate slogger.

2:10, and Kellen was about to end his time in the shower stall, reaching for the knob to shut off the water, but just then—

"Yo, Kellen! You here, bro?"

Probably just one of his dumbass teammates. "Over here, bro."

Kellen turned off the water so he could grab a towel before the other voice could get to the shower stalls. He's in the middle of drying off when—in an instant, out of nowhere, a bulky form appears behind him. It's all so out of the blue, but Kellen processes the sudden contact from behind in quick fragments... A compression shirt covering hard muscle pressed against his back; his waist gripped by strong calloused hands; A pair of gym shorts restraining a thick cock teasing his ass; an exhale brushing across the skin of his neck as the one standing behind him moves in for a kiss... Desire welling up inside him as he takes in the man behind him—

And in another instant, Kellen pushes away and whips around. He's face to face with... who is that? He'd never seen this jock in his locker room before. Kellen was about to come unhinged at the initiation of the homoerotic violation. "Who the fuck—"

But the new jock cuts in with a far more casual tone, "Whoa, Kellen, bro! I'm sorry I startled you."

Kellen's still blazing on in his rage, "What the hell was that?!"

The jock just grins and moves in towards Kellen, peeling off his Spiderman compression shirt, "I thought we were meeting in the locker room at 2, bro."

And then, acting just an impulse faster than Kellen's straight defensive rage, the new guy has his hand on Kellen's cock. Sparks jolt through his psyche, allowing the homophobic hostility to be overcome by hunger and desire. The feeling swells, and Kellen's world shifts. Christopher, the pudgy comic book nerd he'd met yesterday, was Chris the jock, Chris, his best bro.

Christopher loved the tales of heroism and hope found in the pages published by Marvel and DC of those—often in peak physical shape—using their stature, both physical and otherwise, for good. It was a world where those who looked just like his bullies were the best of humanity... well, humanity and the broader universe.... well, the broader universe and the multiverse... And maybe, as he became all too aware of that morning meeting that unknown asshole jock who shoved him against the wall in a stairwell—maybe, he enjoyed those big muscular men beyond their presence in the plot lines.

The new version of Chris loved superheroes, too, growing up as the MCU took hold and bloomed into a cultural cornerstone. He watched multiple A-list stars debut as new hero after new hero, unveiling muscle they'd gained just for the role. Through high school, the fanatic teen had taken up weight lifting—at first, just to be close to the novice jocks and then realizing some hard work would earn him a coveted form of his own. By the time he'd reached college, he'd set his sights on a career path as a sports physician and trainer, allowing him to interact with muscle daily. And the marvel-worthy body he'd built for himself meant he walked among jocks and their sculpted forms as an equal. They even recognized his heroic obsession by referring to him as "the fifth Chris"—after Evans, Hemsworth, Pratt, and Pine.

However, Chris's obsession with muscle was more than personal and professional. He had several of his bros on the hook for routine sessions for worship, wanking and other forms of general pleasure. Some of them justified it as straight bros being straight bros, and others were more emotionally invested. Chris didn't care either way as long as it was muscle and pleasure. "Muscle and pleasure" were all Chris cared about and his entire reality revolved around those things.

But Kellen's reality was split in two. He was waiting in the shower to intimidate Christopher with his physique and sense of shamelessness for his own enjoyment and, frankly, to indulge his penchant for psychological torture. But now, he remembers heading for the showers, knowing Chris would join him, and they could jack each other off before heading out to the workout floor to lift. Christopher's first visit to the locker room that morning was just another morning for Chris; Kellen's exhibitionism was matched and escalated by Chris until they were making out against the lockers. At the same time, their hands ran across their brawny frames. That photo Kellen sent to Christopher—the first thing he'd sent the flabby wimp—was just one of many suggestive photos frequently exchanged between him and Chris. And that first meeting with Christopher was just one of many times he and Chris had fucked in the stairwell. In this case, Chris had pinned him against the banister while he thrust his thick cock powerfully into Kellen's muscled ass, but they traded off who topped and who bottomed regularly. But of course, that's where they'd end up after Chris coyly walked past him in the dining hall while making sure to give his jock cock a firm squeeze. Kellen knew that was the sign that he should follow Chris to one of their secret spots.

Kellen could still remember the plump comic enthusiast he'd known for just over a day, but his head rolled back as the pleasure of his best bro's grip on his cock overtook him. He could also remember how straight he was; years of locker room shenanigans in high school and college all followed up with the obligatory "no homo" tag. Now those same homoerotic displays from Kellen's high school days were received differently in the college locker room when another freshman jock met the provocative pageant with his own brash acts. The daily game of gay chicken between bros inevitably gave way to overt sexual acts. Kellen was still straight, but he now had two former nerds whose routine fuck sessions he craved. Adam was a fixed booty call who thrived off his aggression, but Chris was now woven into his college memory as a constant presence in nearly every workout. And he extracted and reciprocated every one of Kellen's provocative and vulgar impulses until they worked themselves up into a sexual frenzy.

He knew it was the first time he'd done this, but his impulse followed the lead of nearly two years of memories this new reality had bestowed—he reached into Christopher's gym shorts and pulled the meaty shaft out of its confines. The jocks moved in closer, their pecs and abs coming together, one hand exploring, groping, rubbing, caressing the hard muscle, the other moving up and down the rod of the other bro. Lips meet, lusts rise, and breath grows heavy. Chris' thoughts are overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand running across his bro's wet skin, feeling the firm muscle underneath. The pleasure of his fingers tracing the familiar contours of his bro's body mixed with the bliss of Kellen's firm stroking up and down his cock. He loved how much Kellen loved showing off. He loved Kellen's attention to detail as he honed his physique. And most of all, he loved that Kellen loved his MCU body just as much as he did.

Kellen moans and tightens his grip. Chris moans and tweaks a nipple. Kellen's hand drifts south and gropes Chris' ballsack. Chris playfully bites Kellen's lip. The moaning and groaning swell, and jock seed shoots upwards, landing on two sets of abs.

"Mmmph…" Kellen just moans in his post-nut bliss, leaning back against the wall.

"Yeah, that was good, wasn't it, bro?" Chris changed the subject. "I gotta know. You find a nerd to get your grades up?"

The question jolts him out of the haze. Whatever this… curse was he was dealing with, that inquiry was laden with irony and insult. Resentfully, he responds with a pointed "No."

Chris didn't seem to notice. "I'm gonna go lift." He uses Kellen's towel to wipe off the cum on his chest before he slips his Spiderman compression tee back on, "I wanna shoot a thirst trap later to show off these gains to the comic book nerds on my TikTok."

Kellen was left leaning against the wall, stewing, reminded of his unfulfilled objective. Yet again, he was feeling pent-up, restless, angry, engaged— He texted Adam.

In 5 minutes, your ass is mine

And, of course, Adam replied:

OMG Yaaasss Daddy!!!🍆🍆🍆

#male tf #nerd to jock #gay #himbo transformation

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