#twelve labours these balls

[nymphomatique]

gold star student

professor!logan howlett x fem!reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * one bad grade is one too many, so you ask one professor logan howlett, phd. for some extra credit after class. inspired by this art.

cw: reader lowkey has undiagnosed adhd, u want that cookie so effing bad, oral (m & f), praise, some degradation, swearing (it’s logan), shaky power dynamics so it can be considered dub-con, non specific age gap, college aged reader, logan puts stickers on your face while you blow him, face slapping, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!), finger sucking, spitting on the pussy, grey streak logan cause if he ain’t greying im not staying!!!, this is just me being horny idk what else to say i’m sorry yall. 18+ only.

wc: 8k

❤︎ a/n: this was…. a labour of love to say the least. i hate the ending but fuck it we ball. enjoy <3

Ever since you were a child, anything and everything that had to do with academia had been the bane of your existence. Sitting at a desk for eight odd hours in a day wasn’t only grossly unappealing to you, but a mental challenge as well. You had found it hard to grasp onto concepts and new materials as well as the other kids, unable to focus on whatever spiel of the day your teacher went on about and still found yourself struggling in higher education. From kindergarten, to elementary, to middle school, to high school, up until now in your college years, you find that not only has your attention deficit gotten worse, but so has your motivation in academia in general. 

A floater student is what you would consider yourself, showing up to class once in a blue moon, rather busying yourself with doom scrolling in your dormitory or shopping off campus at the mall, only showing up during exam time and barely passing. your prognosis would be one of the many hyperactive disorders, but you never bothered to diagnose yourself officially. In high school, your parents didn’t make a huge deal of your grades, thanking a graceful god out there that you even got your diploma to begin with. At this age however, with tens of thousands of dollars being poured into your tuition, your mother and father have seemed to coil up even tighter in terms of frustration with your nonchalant attitude towards school. 

A report card from your fall semester riddled with C’s and D’s, emboldened and italicized as if to taunt you silently, was the final straw, the cussing you received was enough for a lifetime. At your parents' discretion, before the start of the semester you consulted with your academic advisor in suggestion of a course schedule that wasn’t a twelve hour day, and professors who would accommodate you with in the case of your late assignments and missing homework. 

All classes but one would be easy- you had been told. Your world history class and its professor had been the only one where you had been saddled with a hardball teacher, rate my professor describing one Logan Howlett, teacher of Modern World History in the Context of Classic Literature, as a man with a foul mouth and harsh grading asshole— with an excellent curriculum but horrible grade weighting, as described by your fellow student body, the mandatory attendance and participation accounting for twenty percent of your grade alone pulling a groan from you as your laptop screen stares back at you, the blue light emitting from it seemingly silently taunting you with the course course outline. Get used to looking at my screen. Three hours in an auditorium, every Wednesday and Friday for twelve weeks at nine in the morning with this douchebag.

You mentally prepare yourself for the exhaustion of the upcoming semester, shutting your laptop closed with a huff of annoyance before laying in bed, mentally preparing yourself for this seemingly infamous professor Howlett.

After a rather inadequate night of sleep, a zero sugar monster energy (gotta give in for the sake of your health where you can) and a double shot latte, you feel something that briefly resembles yet still distant from awake, you find yourself struggling to get comfortable in the stiff chairs in your lecture room. You’re glad you tucked yourself away in a seat in the corner, four rows back from the front, embarrassed that your peers are silently mocking your struggle. 

It’s some odd minutes to nine on the dot, and you’re rather proud of yourself for being able to make it minutes early rather than stumbling in twenty minutes late like you’re prone to doing. Face resting on your hand, cheek squishing your right eye closed, your left eye flits around the room to the other people present, and you wonder if anyone else is stuck in your current situation: burnt out student who didn’t have a choice but to take this class at the least convenient time possible, simply for your graduation credits. Unfortunate kismet, you think, if anybody else in this room also had the privilege to have been born with the unlucky gene you possess. 

Your eyes are heavy, the seconds tickering away at the speed of minutes, and you can’t help it when the last open eye you have flutters close. You hum to yourself, relishing at the feeling of finally being able to rest some more. the quiet shuffling of your classmates feet and the soft scrapings of their chairs, clock ticking so quietly that it barely registers in your mind. The ambient noise is like a blanket to you. It’s not more than five minutes, just a micro nap— you tell yourself, counting the seconds of each minute down silently. 45, 44, 43, 42, what minute is this?, 30, 29, 28, so tired, 22, 21, time to sleep…

Your eyes shoot open when you hear the auditorium door slam shut, blinking away softly the sleep in your eyes. your heart sinks for a minute and panic sets in— did you sleep through the whole class? On the first fucking day? You look around, eyes wide, and immediately sigh in relief when you’re greeted with a full hall. Conversely, you see everyone’s attention to the front of the class with materials out, so you trail your eyes to the front of the room and that’s when you see him, finally. Not his face yet, the wide expanse of his back and tail of his coiffed head facing you all instead. Your eyes trail down his body to his feet, clad in a pair of black combat boots, you can’t help but quirk up and eyebrow, bootcut jeans that seem to be worn in well, seemingly like they’re tailored to his long, very legs, then you see his jacket, which now you catch in time to see him taking it off to reveal a black t-shirt underneath and your breath hitches a bit. You can only see his triceps flexing as he maneuvers his jacket off, but you can just tell he’s covered in rippling muscle, his arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, wondering if his face is as captivating as the rest of him. Your eyes flit over to the girl sitting two seats down from you, and you can’t help but smile a little at her expression, teeth chewing her bottom lip and eyes widened slightly and blinking in slow flutters, seemingly thinking the same things about this Professor Logan Howlett as you are; He’s obscenely sexy even though I haven’t even seen his face.

When you focus your attention back to the front, your face warms immediately upon finally seeing his– Professor Howlett’s face and fuck, you feel stupid for even thinking that he wouldn’t be even a fraction of attractive. His hair, oh god his hair, styled as if he just rolled out of bed and ran his hands through it once, maybe twice even, streaked with gray at his temples, peppering down into his sideburns and disappearing in his scruffy beard. His eyes are an enrapturing shade of hazel, almost brown, almost green, you squint a little to see the mix of hues better, cursing yourself for sitting so far away. His nose, button-like yet poses so masculine at the same time. His lips look so soft and kissable, framed perfectly by his facial hair as if it’s screaming at you to kiss there, to taste each other, let your tongues touch and whisper your deepest secrets to one another-

Gravelly and deep, his voice rouses you from your rather indulgent fantasy. “Good morning. Lively bunch this semester,” he quips and a quiet wave of laughter reverberates and echoes around you. Your chest tightens at the sound of his voice and you want to smack yourself silly for it. “Gonna spare you all the pointless introductions n’ ice breaking crap, yeah? We’ll go over the syllabus and get this show on the road.”

He’s curt, forward, doesn’t bite his tongue, you deduce. Not the jackass his reviews seem to pin him as, though it’s only the first class. They didn’t seem to mention how ruggedly handsome he was as well, you think and pull your lips taut as Professor Howlett, continues to read off the syllabus. Two essays, three quizzes, and a final reading comprehension exam. Attendance is mandatory Your eyes quickly flit to the back of your skull as he reads off that point. No makeups. No late work. No excuses. 

You feel your heart hammer in your chest a little, a sense of anxiety bubbling up in you at how much this class demands. It’s nerve wracking, super fucking discouraging to say the least given your track record, but you know you have no other choice but to commit fully and pass this class, so help your parents. You suppose you can find the motivation in a hot professor and at the very least, make an effort to roll out of bed and be presentable on the days you show up to his class. You exhale softly, hearing the shuffling of books and closing laptops to rouse you from your thoughts. 

“And don’t forget, first five chapters of tulip fever for next class,” his voice booms in the auditorium, fighting with the noise of students desperate to leave and head to their next class or back to their rooms. You flit your eyes towards your professor, arms crossed and muscles bulging against his shirt, casually leaned against his desk. His eyes meet yours for a moment and your breath hitches immediately. His brow quirks at you silently and you’re sure you might disintegrate on spot. You feel your face heat up and you break away the eye contact to rush out of the lecture, both exhausted and perpetually embarrassed, not having enough energy to handle feeling both. In your haste, you miss the way Logan's lip quirks up for a split second at you, rushing out the door with Tulip Fever and streaks of grey on your mind. 

You find you can’t keep your modern history professor off the brain since leaving the lecture hall that wednesday, ever so flustered. You thought about his thick arms back at your dorm, and how they might feel wrapped around you in a warm embrace. You thought about those graying temples, and the picture it would paint with his head between your thighs. You thought about him in your humanities class as your professor droned on about morality and its many philosophical perspectives, but you tune her voice out and think of his instead, wondering what it would sound like whispering sweet nothings in your ear. The level of yearning you’ve reached is bound to get you in trouble, hell it’s gotten you in trouble already— completely neglecting to finish the first five chapters of Tulip Fever like Professor Howlett had assigned, losing yourself in the work from your other classes. Friday had snuck up on you and you smacked your forehead for being so forgetful, the beginnings of discourage and a knot forming in your stomach. I’m a failure, I suck at this, I should drop out, I’m such a fucking idiot.

The thought of letting down a man you barely know has you berating yourself even further. You need to get a grip and quickly— he’s your teacher for God's sake. You suck in a breath, finding yourself sat in the same lecture hall your vivid fantasies found themselves being born in, laptop open as you’re frantically reading the Sparknotes summary minutes before class is set to start. Today, you chose a seat in the second row, still far off to the right side. You weren’t sure you could stay coherent with his gaze on you so heavy.  You tell yourself you picked this spot for a better learning experience, closer seats meaning less of a chance you fall prey to your fantasies, but deep down beyond the denial you knew better than to convince yourself of a lie like that. You sat upfront because you wanted to see Professor Howlett better, to pinpoint the hues of his eyes you couldn’t make out yesterday from so far behind. You wanted to trail your eyes up and down his muscular frame, taking snapshots of the hair on his forearms, the freckles on his thick knuckles, the veins trailing his big hands—

“Good morning, everyone,” a gruff voice speaks and you feel a ball of energy sits itself deep in your stomach, it’s him. You've missed the deep baritone of his voice, you realize. “Hope you all read up the chapters, yeah? We’ll be discussing ‘em today, and I am the asshole who picks on students to participate.” There’s a soft wave of grumbles from some, but your panic is quiet and you hope to a God in heaven somewhere that he doesn’t pick you, god knows you barely retained any information from your flash round of Sparknotes earlier.

“Like any book, the first few chapters were mostly exposition, character and scene setting stuff. Tell me, what does Sophia’s marriage and lack of heir signify to us in these times?” Professor Howlett asks, and you immediately avert your gaze to the grooves and scratches in the table in front of you. Please don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, please please please— “Yeah, you,” your head snaps up, heart hammering in your chest when you see him nod his head at some girl, some girl with too much fucking chest out, you spit, her hand raised high and smile plastered across her smug little face. Your brows pull together and you barely contain the urge to roll your eyes at her enthusiasm. 

“Thank you, Professor,” This fucking bi- “I think that- that while Cornelius and Sophia are often representative of the way marriage was a lot of the times something more transactional, her being unable to have a kid being a main problem- shows how a lot of times a marriage with no evidence of, um, consummation, is seen as practically null and void.” Your fist tenses against the desk at her answer.

“Little long winded, but yeah, good job..?” his voice lilts off, and you smile a bit knowing he doesn’t even remember her name. “Oh, um, Amber,” she sputters out. He nods at her response and continues asking questions about the book. You feel a little bad as class progresses, your unprovoked and unwarranted jealousy towards another woman over a man who’s simply an authority figure to you both, no matter how attractive, makes you cringe. What is he doing to you? 

“Good answers, guys. Glad you all did more than skim the book,” Professor Howlett muses, turning his back to face you all as he digs through his briefcase. You take this time to admire how broad his back looks, draped in a black polo shirt today that practically has you drooling. “The rest of you I didn’t pick on today aren’t unscathed unfortunately,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He turns around and presents the stack of papers between his large hands to you all and he smirks, “Pop quiz.” 

A myriad of groans come crashing from all over the lecture hall right down to your ears and you silently join, hands falling down against your desk. You sincerely hope these weren’t going to be graded, praying that Professor Howlett possesses some sense of apologeticness, knowing that the definite zero percent you’d get on this would completely fuck over your overall average for the rest of the semester, subsequently giving your parents ample reason to rip you a fucking brand new one. 

Row by row, he passes a stack of papers for each student to pass down and he stops in front of you, seeing as you so conveniently sat at the end of the second row. “Nervous?” he asks, brow quirked and smug fucking look on his face as you look up at him. You quirk your eyebrow right back at him, “Hardly.” A group of papers fall in front of you and he breathes out a laugh, leaving you to pass papers to the next row. You lied like shit, you were insanely nervous, knowing you hadn’t retained a lick of information from your mini crash course nor the class’ discussion prior.

“No tech, no cheating. You guys know the drill, don’t make me catch you and have to chew you out. Twenty minutes and I’m picking ‘em up.” Logan says, walking down the aisle and back to his desk, his hulking frame leaning against his desk and his arms crossed up against his chest so tight that his biceps practically bulge out of his shirt. Or maybe, he’s just that toned, that any movement, minuscule or major, would have him threatening to rip out of his clothes. You’re practically fighting yourself in your seat, tearing your eyes away from his thick arms and heavy pectorals and down to your paper. 

It’s one page, front and back, ten questions. It wouldn’t be so bad had you actually read the book, considering you can’t even remember the name of the main character in the book. You bite your lip, trying so hard to rack your brain for something that resembles a coherent answer to these questions that will give you at least a 75%, knowing it wouldn’t skew your grade average completely off. What does Maria’s role stand to symbolize in the context of 1600’s Amsterdam?. You clench your  fist so hard around your pen you’re almost amazed that it doesn’t break under the pressure. You didn’t even remember a Maria in the book.

Twenty minutes of writing later, grasping at straws for potential points that would make you feel better than getting a big fat zero on your first quiz in this class, in his class, you’re walking to his desk to place your quiz in a pile with the rest of your peers, just as he’d instructed. You kept your eyes down the entire time, feeling too embarrassed to look at him after that silly excuse for banter you had attempted earlier. Hardly. Yeah fucking right. 

After your quiz, you had been dismissed from class, and you felt the anxiety set in almost immediately. The phone call you had with your parents that weekend over your classes and grades so far only worsened, the stern and subtly implied threat of coming back home to learn at a local college looming silently above you if you didn’t keep your grades up. You had obviously avoided mentioning the pop quiz you had, choosing not to set them ablaze at the mention of the fact that you most definitely failed that pop quiz. The stress of your grades instilled a new found productivity in you, in which you took initiative to read ahead of the assigned chapters and annotate as well as take notes for your modern history class, hoping to be prepared next time he’d ask a question. Your stomach churns at the thought of his praise, Good answer. Very good, kiddo. Like that idea. you imagined he’d say to you. You bite your lip as you study your western civilization notes, maybe he’d even indulge in you, call you his good girl, his good little student, something that Amber would never have above you. 

Monday and Tuesday went by uneventfully, as you completed your labs and started on your assignments when assigned. Tuesday night however, you had been anxious almost, or maybe excited— you weren’t sure, but you did know you wanted to be prepared for this class, to prove to Professor Howlett that you could handle his class, show him that you wouldn’t let him chew you up and spit him out so easily. You took the time before bed on that Tuesday to prepare your books in your bag, organize your notes, and even pick out an outfit, neatly folding it and leaving it on your desk chair. Grades be damned, you were beyond ready to prove everyone wrong, yourself included. 

You sat in the front row again, enraptured in the world of Tulip Fever, but really you would rather focus on Professor Howlett. He was all you thought about these days, especially at night when it was only you and the dark of your dorm to entertain you before bed. You hear a giggle next to you and you snap your head to the direction of the noise. Amber. A deep rumble sounds in front of you, someone clearing their throat. You look forward again and see your professor and your face heats up. “Welcome back to earth, sweetheart,” he muses, humour painted all over his face. Your eyes widen at the pet name he’s given you and you feel like sinking into your seat. “I need you here next time, yeah? Not in that pretty little head of yours,” he says, quiet enough so only you and the front two rows can hear. Your head spins. Pretty. He called you pretty. He continues his lecture like nothing else happened, leaving you dazed at his affection. His eyes flit to you briefly and he smiles, before walking back to the front of the class. 

Little moments like these pepper themselves throughout your lectures with Profess Howlett in between the assignments and lectures and raised hands. You’d catch him looking at the juncture of your breasts sometimes as you wore low cut tops, his lilting voice calling you precious pet names, sweetheart, kiddo, sweets. They all have your face warming. Heated gazes, stolen smiles, one off banter, you were convinced you were being delusional. One particular moment after class where you had asked for details on an assignment had you reeling for days. You went up to him after class to ask your question. His face was insanely close, you could smell the mint off his breath from the gum he was chewing during the lecture, feel his words fan your face, deep rumblings and focused glares as you were only inches away from his face. His lips, oh God his lips… so close, so soft looking, so pink, you had been so caught up in him the entire time. And he had noticed, his fingers coming up to your chip to raise your gaze. He did it wordlessly, eyeing you as you eyed him. His look daring you to say something. Challenge me. I dare you. But you didn’t— you couldn’t, you had tried to focus on something else, his musky woodsy scent, his greying stubble, anything, as he continued to explain your question to you. You walked out of his class that day with jello for legs, replaying the moment in your mind. 

Next class you had seen him he had given the assignments back, adorned with little gold stars on those who had grades higher than a B minus. Your paper had come back to you with an A minu, a little gold star next to your grade. “Boosts morale,” had been Logan’s explanation when a student had asked why the gold star. You smiled. Cute. 

You had felt like you finally found your groove, despite the hiccup you had at the beginning. Your first test of the semester approached, and you weren’t nervous, in fact you showed up to class early, getting a chance to get a good spot and watch Professor Howlett walk in and begin setting up. You had waved, a meek good morning in your own words and he returned a wink back. Your insides tugged at themselves. He had waltzed over to you in your seat, starting up conversation. “Nervous?” he asks, curt and short. You smile, “Hardly,” using your own words once more. “I’m gunning on a gold star. I studied extra hard.” Professor Howlett hums, smile on his face. “I look forward to seeing your work. I enjoy reading it,” he says. He leaves you with those words as he walks back to his desk, more students beginning to pepper in the classroom as the test hour approached. You had been so sure you did excellent on your test, studying for days and days beforehand. So when you got back your test, a C Minus staring back at you with a gut wrenching empty space next to your grade right where a star would be. Tears prick your eyes as you look at the grade, feeling so disappointed in yourself. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

You had promptly stayed behind after class to speak to him, and it seemed like Amber had the same idea, her body close to his as she spoke lowly. She didn’t spare a glance back at you as she spoke to him, hand grazing his bicep as she walked away and past you. Your eyes rolled in your head and you walked up to Professor Howlett next. He’s in the middle of packing up his papers in his bag when you come up to him, and he glances up in acknowledgment before going back to what he’s doing. You breathe out and his brown quirks as he pauses and looks at you. “Yes?” he asks. “I… I would like to see you after class if possible to discuss my grades,” you say, fist curling and uncurling with nerves. ”Tomorrow afternoon come see me at my office,” he says, arms crossing. “Don’t be late. Don’t get your hopes up either,” he quirks. You chew your lip before sighing. “I’ll be there. On time.” 

And true to your word, you showed up promptly and on time. Your heart was hammering in your chest cavity so hard you felt like it would burst through your ribcage. Your lower lip found itself between your teeth, chewing at it tenderly. You had been staring at the mahogany colored door, finished with a shiny golden plaque, L. Howlett, PHD. carved within the surface of the precious metal. His name posed just as intimidating as he did. You’d been standing in front of his door for almost three minutes now, fingers skimming along the hem of your plaid skirt. The accompanying white tanktop and white cardigan hand made your subconscious intentions loud and clear, as some part of you, a delusional part of you, had hoped this school girl-esque get up would grant you some sort of leniency with Professor Howlett as you begged for him to give you a retake, a makeup assignment, something for God’s sake.

Any moment more of hesitancy and you would be late for your two o’clock appointment time, so you bring your knuckles up to the door to knock, twice in succession, when the door swings open in front of you. Your knuckle is almost met with Amber’s face, her shock seeing you just as evident as hers. She doesn’t let it linger however, as she casts a glance over her shoulder and muses a “Bye Professor. Thank you so much, I’ll see you in class Monday,” before looking back forward and right back at you, holding your gaze as she walks right out the door and past you, making sure her shoulder doesn’t miss yours. You scoff. Bitch. 

“Right on time. Come in,” he gestures, refusing to get up from his comfy looking office chair. As you walk around his office you take in the interior briefly. The mahogany furniture, the lingering smell of cigar smoke, evidence of his nasty habit sitting on top of an ashtray on his desk, the glass bar cart, adorned with various bottles of whiskey and gin, and a mini fridge sitting on its bottom shelf— filled with ice and garnish you assume. You eye his book cabinet, shelves stuffed with various literary titles, old and new, classic and contemporary. You find yourself impressed, but you shouldn’t be, his teaching— albeit rough, brutish sometimes even— is a testament to his passion towards books and literature. You smile a little as you sit down in the foam lined chair in front of his desk. You try not to think of who sat in it before you as you feel the residual warmth of it against your thighs. You take in Professor Logan, black t-shirt and dark blue jeans— casual, but damn if he made it look good. You eyed his arms, veiny and bulging out his shirt, before flickering your attention back to his face, framed by those greying temples you oh so loved.

“So?” He trails, redirecting his attention from his desktop to you. You swallow a little and sigh. “Um, I know that you said no… no retakes or anything, and I understand your answer if it’s a hard no,” you say, pausing to look at him to try and assess what he’s thinking, but you’re simply met with a raised brow and crossed arms as he leans back further in his chair. “But I… I was wondering if- Well, my parents, they said that If I have a grade lower than an A on my report card this semester I had to drop out and transfer locally, and I don’t want to make this a pity story but I… It’s only this class where I’m having trouble. And I know what you said but my last test really fucked my average and I-” your nervous ramblings are cut off by him raising his hand. Your lips clamp and you watch him, waiting for his impending words. He makes you sit in the silence and with your words, instead opening his desk drawer, rifling between what sounds like various loose pens and papers before taking a lighter out. Small, sliver, zippo style and engraved with meticulous swirls. He picks up the already cut cigar out the ashtray, placing it between his pink lips, and lights it— two experimental puffs of smoke floating your way and you get dizzy. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks only now, and you try not to roll your eyes and that façade of chivalry. “No,” you shake your head. “Thought so,” he smiles, smug. He puffs from the cigar once more before he places it down on the glass ashtray once again before he speaks up. “As it stands now if you tighten up for the rest of the semester you can pass my class with a B something, which don’t sound too bad to me, sweetheart.” Your gut twists with tension. A B isn’t what you need. You brows furrow and you open your mouth to speak, but he continues. “I would love to help you sweetheart, trust me I would. But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other students who come waltzing in here dressed just like you, begging for an A,” he drawls, picking up his cigar again and slotting it between his lips before he stands up and your breath hitches. “Wh- dressed like me? I didn’t-” you begin, confused at what he’s implying. Your eyes follow his moving figure, his steps taking him around his desk to the side of your chair, conveniently eye level to his groin. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” he asks softly, thumb coming to your chin to direct your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t understand…” you murmur, skin beginning to warm at the rather inappropriate contact and position. Your chest heaves up and down beneath your cardigan and he surely notices letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can put two and two together,” he continues, thumb rubbing softly back and forth against your chin before he drops his hand from you completely. Your eyes drop in sync to his limb, your mind racing a million thoughts a second. But… isn’t this what you wanted? What you needed? What you’ve dreamed of for weeks upon weeks? “Look at me,” he says, stern. And you do. “You listen so well,” he hums and you feel the makings of a fire ignite itself inside you somewhere deep. I’m being good. Good for him. “Kills you inside that you couldn’t get that shiny little sticker, doesn’t it?” he muses, looking down at you with mirth swirling in his eyes. You feel tears spring to your eyes at his words. He sees right through you. It did hurt. All you ever wanted to be was good for him. 

“We can fix that today. Tell you what, you be a good student for me, and I’ll be a good teacher to you, yeah?” he says, taking a puff from his cigar. “Nod your head like a good student.” And you do. Up and down, slowly. Your brain is fuzzy. This surely isn’t happening, is it? It couldn’t be. He walks away and back to his desk, propping his cigar down after asking it. He pushes a pile of papers from his desk, until he finds what he’s looking for. A sticker sheet. What is he…

“C’mere,” Professor Howlett gestures with a finger, simultaneously sitting back on his chair. Your legs are trembling under you as you get up and walk towards his side of the desk. Logan pivots his desk chair to the side as you walk over to him and you find yourself standing between his legs, quiet. “Take that off,” he says, flicking his head towards your cardigan. You let it drop off your shoulder promptly, standing only in your white tank top and plaid skirt. “Kneel,” he says, and you drop immediately. Pathetic. Your hands lay in your laps as you’re sat between his legs on your knees. Your breathing is as laboured as ever. You can’t believe this is happening— something that you spent nights dreaming of. Touching him, tasting him, feeling him. He reaches over to his desk and grabs the sticker sheet of gold stars, a fresh sheet of stars neatly arranged row by row. “You know what to do, don’t you sweetheart?” he asks, palm of his hand running against your face. You nod, reaching forward to the zipper of his dark denim jeans before his palm grabs your hand. “When I ask you somethin’, I want a verbal answer. Y’understand?” he says. Your voice feels caught in your throat. He’s so intense your head is spinning. “Y-yes,” you breathe. “Yes what?” he spits back and your heart hammers. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he hums. He lets go of your hands, taking a sticker off the sheet and placing a small gold star right next to your left eye. Your face heats up at the praise and you almost let out a breath, but you don’t. Your hands go back to undressing Professor Howlett, fingers deft with his button and zipper. He lifts his hips up and helps you shrug his jeans down until they’re sitting on top of his black combat boots, clad only in black briefs. The heavy tent in his pants makes your eyes go wide but you persist, thinking of your grade on the line. With a tug at his boxer band his dick pops up over the elastic, and you pull down until the full sheath of him is bobbing freely. Your eyes widen a little at the sheer size of him, wondering how he could possibly fit inside your mouth let alone your pussy. He was long, eight inches you’d guess just by looking and insanely thick. He was heavy too— the length of him unable to stand up fully, bobbing haphazardly as he twitched from arousal. You looked up at him, and his gaze was steady. Expectant. You sucked in a shallow breath before grabbing his cock, warm to the touch. Your fingers barely touched. You’re hand jerked up once before Professor Howlett was grabbing your wrist, only to spit on his dick, the string of saliva landing on the shaft. “S’better. Go on,” he encourages, and you do— jerking him a little faster now with his spit lubricant, the sound of his slick skin making your pussy feel warm, wet. You jerk him faster, spitting in the palm of your second hand before you join your other, breasts bouncing up and down as you jerk him. Little grunts leave Logan, and it makes your tummy feel warm. You were making him feel— “Good, just like that, yeah. Use your mouth now,” he moans. You felt intimidated by his size, but you persisted still. You wanted to be his good girl.

You look up at him as your mouth opens, coy like a fish, and you wrap your lips around his tip. He inhales a sharp breath and it gives you some encouragement. Be good. Your head drops lower, lower and lower until your mouth his full and his tip is tickling your uvula, and you gag around him, sputtering spit all over him. You pull off his dick to cough and he chuckles at you. “Let’s try again together, yeah?” You nod, “Yes, Sir.” You reposition yourself, back on your knees in front of him. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out, open real wide,” he says, tapping your cheek. It felt soft slap more than a tap however. But still, you open your mouth wide, tongue hanging out. “Juuust like that, yeah…” Logan groans, slapping the warmth of his cock on your tongue. “Breath through the nose,” he says, before putting the length of him in your mouth and pulling your head down on him, fist clenched in your hair. He pulls you down deep, further than you managed to reach alone and you gag, spit everywhere, but he pays you no mind. His curses under his breath before standing up out of his seat, your head craning up as his fist pulls at your nape. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes, thrusting his cock in an out of your mouth. Your throat feels rubbed raw, tears pooling in your eyes but you hold on, hands gripping his thighs. “Take it, fucking take it,” he grunts. His hand disappears before placing a sticker on your spit-covered cheek and you whimper around his cock. Logan’s brows pull together and he laughs. “That turn you on? You like being my good little student? You like sucking off your professor?” he laughs, fucking your face with a deep pace. You muffle a Yes, Sir around him as his spit soaked balls slap against your chin and he laughs. Sticker after sticker covers the expanse of your face, a juxtaposition to your debauched mascara-streaked-spit-covered face.

Your throat is raw, but you’re relishing in the attention, the praise, the intensity of it. “One more mouthful, c’mon,” he grunts, pushing your head down even further down his cock and you squeal around him. Your eyes snap shut, focusing on holding your breath as he brings his dick deep down your throat until your nose is buried in his greying pubes. “So fucking nasty,” he drawls, deep groan leaving his chest. “Take it, be good and take it,” he says breathless, before he’s spitting his cum down your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow his bitter semen. Your eyes wretch open lowly, watch Logan’s face contort in pleasure as he finishes in your throat and you whimper, squeezing his thighs tightly. “Good student,” he coos, pulling his cock from your mouth and it’s a relief that’s long overdue. Your first unobstructed breath is a deep one, and you’re slightly dizzy from the oxygen after having it restricted for so long. You don’t think about it for long before a hand is pulling you up off the floor, and before you know it, lips are on yours, tongue finding tongue. Your eyes close by themselves and you melt into the kiss, Professor Howlett’s lips soft against yours, but kissing you so roughly. Your arms grip his biceps, desperate for something to hold onto, anything to steady yourself with. 

The kiss breaks and your mind feels hazy. Your eyes open and you see Professor Howlett staring back at you, hands roaming your body. “Pr-professor…” you moan out after a particularly hard squeeze at your ass. “Logan, baby,” he says, kissing your lips once in a peck, and again as a sloppy embrace, his tongue swirling in your mouth and you keen into him. His hands pull at the back of your thighs and you jump up in his arms, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. He walks you a few paces, still stuck in an embrace, until he puts on you down on his desk. He breaks the kiss between you two before pulling the front of your tank top down, revealing your breasts to him, nipples pert. He wastes no time kissing and licking your chest, and you throw your head back in a silent moan. He sucks on your nipples for a minute, pinching and toying with your breast until your chest is heaving and nipples are raw. “What a sight for me,” Logan hums, and you feel shy under him like this. “Lean back and spread your legs f’me,” he says low, kneeling as you do as he asks. He’s eye level with your pussy, only covered by your skirt and white panties. He lifts the plaid fabric up and groans, the little wet spot of your pussy a delectable sight. 

Logan leans forward and licks the wet gusset of your panties and you let out a shuddering moan. “P-please, Logan…” you breath, too wound up to wait. He smirks and indulges in you, pliant and needy. He hooks a finger in the crotch of your panties and pulls them to the side, hurrying his face into your wet and waiting pussy. It’s an enrapturing feeling, having him suck and lick and taste your clit and folds like this, groaning into you and he praises you for having such a sweet fuckin’ pussy, baby. He sucks your clit roughly, before pulling back to spit on your pussy, rubbing his nose against your clit before flattening his tongue against your gushing slit once again. The streaks of grey between your thighs sends blood rushing downwards to the center of your arousal and you can’t help but run your hands through his salt and pepper hair. He licks and tongues you until your legs go numb, teasing your orgasm from you time and time again until you’re nearly in tears for him, ready to cum.

 “Please Lo- Sir. Please, Sir. Wanna cum, I’ll be good. Just-” your begging is cut short as two thick fingers push themselves in you and you throw your head back at the stretch. “You’re gonna come for me in a little, sweetheart. Be good for now,” Logan coos, kissing your inner thighs. You’re heaving as he curls and scissors his fingers inside you in a way that feels so unfairly good that tears begin to streak down your face, gold stickers peeling and falling off your damp skin; scattering down on the desk and falling on your chest. “G-gonna… Oh my God, Sir,” you squeal, just about ready to… Until his fingers deftly leave you. Before you can whine about this, Logan’s thick fingers covered in your slick push into your mouth and you groan. “Hush, baby. You’re about to feel real good in a little,” Logan hums, rubbing his cock, now hard again, up and down your wet and sensitive pussy, the head of him hitching your clit so good it hurts. His fingers leave your mouth. “Beg for it.” And you do. You’re a babbling mess under him. “Inside, p-put it inside me, Professor,” you moan, and Logan's resolve snaps, thrusting into you in one fluid movement.

You see stars, no pun intended, at the stretch of him. Your stomach feels full and you shudder, laying back down against the desk. “Tightest, sweetest fucking pussy I ever felt,” Logan coos, fingers pushing back into your mouth. His unoccupied hand grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder and he begins to thrust in and out of you, knocking the wind out of you with every push in and out. Your intermittent moans turn into a symphony of cries as his pace increases and he’s fucking into you at a brutal speed. Your hands are grasped around the wrist of his hand that’s by your mouth, sucking his fingers to soothe the burning part of the pleasure. “That’s it, fucking take it,” he grunts, pushing your leg from around his should back until your knee was touching your shoulder. The new angle made the pleasure unbearable, every movement rubbing against your g-spot. Your eyes begin to close, your body shutting down seemingly as you begin to enter a pleasure comatose, the bubbling pleasure, the fingers in your mouth, it all feels like too much. But Logan doesn’t let you stay in that place for too long, his fingers leaving your mouth to slap your cheek, pulling back down. “I need you right here, know it feels good but I want you with me,” he says breathy, thrusts still never faltering. 

Without his fingers in your mouth your moans are free to be heard, your incoherent babbles of “s’too much,” and “so deep in me, sir,” floating in the air between Logan’s heavy breaths and obscene curses. You’re breasts jump with every thrust in you, your head bouncing up and down from the sheer force of his thrusts. “T-Tell me…” you stutter out, eyes fluttering. “Tell you?” he asks, grinding his hips up and deep, and you’re sure he’s grazing your cervix. You grip his t-shirt and keel. He gets what you mean. “Good girl. My good girl. You’re the best girl. You want another star, don’t you?” he breathes out, a hand moving down to your clit as he thrusts up and out, up and out into you. You whimper, his words and ministration’s overwhelming, “Yes, Sir. M’good. So good. W-want it. Please, can I have it?” you babble. You belly feels warm, and the heat bubbles with every brush at your swollen clit and thrust in your pussy. He lets go of the hand at your knee, spreading you open to grab a sticker from the sticker sheet. “Stick your tongue out f’me,” and you do, overwhelmed with this moment. You’re being good. You’re being good. You’re almost there, keep being good. He spits in your mouth and you moan holding it there and waiting for him to tell you what to do. “Swallow it,” he huffs, thrusts faltering. He’s close, you deduce. I don’t want it to end. Please don’t let it end. You swallow and stick your tongue back out to show him and he groans.

He puts the star sticker on your tongue, and he thrusts in you harder, tweaking at your clit as he does. Your body seizes and you melt into a fit of moans and grunts, and you finally cum, Logan fucking you through it. “Yeah baby, just like that. Kneel for me,” he says, pulling out of you. You lay up off the desk and fall promptly to your knees, watching him jerk himself to orgasm above you with your tongue out, gold star on the middle of your tongue. He grunts with deep Fuck! before warm ropes of cum spray your partially sticker-covered face and tongue. Your eyes close and you hum, relishing in the warmth. Logan wipes the cum from your eyes with his thumb and sticks it in your mouth, and you suck, no questions asked. “Good fucking girl.” 

The moments following are awkward. Logan tucks himself back in his pants, and pulls his jeans up and you’re left laying on the floor, coming down from your ecstasy high. The zip of his jeans breaks the silence and you’re looking up at him, soiled with cum, spit, stickers, tears and mascara. He walks to his bar cart and grabs the cloth hanging off the handle bar, and he hands it to you. You clean yourself up, and when you’re done you find his cardigan in his hands. You fix your tank top back over your breasts and pull the crotch of your panties back into place before grabbing it from him. “Thanks,” you say quietly. “See you in class on Tuesday,” is the last thing he says to you before you leave his office. Stunned.

On Tuesday, he hands you back your test with a new grade, an eighty, and gold sticker placed on it right next to the new grade. He glances at you as you look over your test, and smirks. You read the note he left in red ink on the back of the test, heart beating a little faster once you look back up at him. Good girl. 

send me an ask!

[v3nusxsky]

Hi Mars! I hope your well!<3 I have a request, it's a larissa weems x fem reader where r and larissa do the nasty then r finds out she's pregnant and after r gives birth she struggles with postpartum depression and one day when larissa comes home from work she finds r holding the baby close to her chest and crying so r tells larissa everything and larissa comforts r and then like maybe years later r and larissa has the most stubborn but cute little girl who loves ice cream and teddy bears?. This might be a bit much but I hope you can do it❤️ thank you Mars!🙏I love your fics🙌

Breaking through the darkness

*Authors note~ another instalment of YAMW and the last in the series but honestly I’d love to write one shots for this universe so if you have any ideas on what you’d like to see hit my asks up. And I’ll see y’all in Sinful Souls*

Trigger warnings~ pregnancy giving birth mentions breast feeding an infant postpartum depression hurt and comfort etc Larissa being the most wonderfully loving wife possible

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

Tag list

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Larissa had a few more nightmares at the beginning of your pregnancy, most about failing you and your unborn child. Yet one thing that didn’t change was her insistence that the baby would be a girl. There is absolutely no doubt in the blondes mind on the child’s gender yet you were adamant that you should decide on a name for both genders. Just in case. Your stubborn nature got you to convince, so boy or girl you’d both decided on their name.

Alongside the debate over names and the insane cravings that often found Larissa fluttering from store to store, in and around Jericho, pregnancy only heightened your stubbornness and insistence that you were simply pregnant not disabled and Larissa’s dedication and truthfulness. However, despite all the new hormones and adjustments to your daily lives you were both committed to each other and overcoming every challenge as a pair.

Anticipation grew as you reached six months pregnant, your ability becoming hyper sensitive and uncontrollable. Deciding to wait to find out if you’d have a son or a daughter is what got you through the changes to your body. Nevermore’s students were abuzz with theories and suggestions about the child. A few of the staff members had thrown you and Larissa a baby shower that was modest and gender neutral but beautiful, the gifts being thoughtful and generous mixed with your new levels of hormones had you in tears at the love and care for your unborn child.

Around the last month of your pregnancy you began to fear you’d fail the baby. You obviously want the best for them, but your parents weren’t exactly the best role models and that led to your mind concocting the most distressing nightmares that often woke Larissa by your screams and sobs, to which Larissa would spend hours consoling you despite her long work hours.

By the end of your pregnancy, you were totally over the whole situation. Not only were you carrying the weight of a whole other human but your back hurt all the time, your ankles were the size of beach balls and the Braxton and Hicks contractions were borderline torture. Sleep being hard to come by all contributed to you wanting your baby earth side now. Larissa liked to suggest that perhaps the child was a perfect mix of your stubbornness and her determination was why your due date came and went with no signs of labour. No. In fact it was 8 days later that things got real, just in time for the end of semester holidays.

After twelve hours of relentless contractions, broken sobs and curses to your lover and little sleep did you bring your child into the world with a massive gasp of relief. Hearing their cry of protest brought tears to both of your eyes as the nurses took the child away to clean them off before bringing them back and placing them on your bare chest without revealing. The doctors and nurses fluttering round the room to ensure you and the baby got the best postpartum treatment before coming to congratulate both of the new mothers.

“You did so well sweet girl, so proud of my girl” Larissa murmured pressing sweet kisses to your forehead as you both gazed down lovingly at the content newborn. “Georgina Faye Weems” you murmured happily as your index finger came to trace her little cheek.

“I thought we decided on Ophelia darling” Larissa murmured just basking in her beauty and the knowledge that she was right all along, now she’d be able to hold her girls. “Georgina for your aunt Isa.”

“That’s beautiful sweetheart, Georgina Faye Weems, you are one beautiful little angel, your momma and mommy love you so much. Everyone at Nevermore is going to love her” Larissa pondered choking back the emotion of her daughters name honouring her long lost aunt.

Adjusting to motherhood isn’t as easy as everyone else makes it look, thankfully Larissa could take the time in the holidays to spend time with her perfect little family as you healed from the birth. Larissa happily woke up to settle Georgina using the milk you’d expressed to allow you some sleep. Being in your blissful bubble of love with her and Georgina was utterly perfect, until the start of school popped that bubble. Larissa had your cover arranged, you’d gone over and over the work they’d be teaching and ensured the teacher would have access to all the materials. What you weren’t expecting was for how hard you’d find the day with your newborn alone.

Larissa couldn’t help but notice how irritated you’d become with her when she’d leave her office for the day. The irritation could rival your stubbornness at the earlier days in your relationship with ease. The poor blonde didn’t know what to do to help you through this time. You were taking on the night shifts now but Larissa had no idea how much sleep you were losing just unable to sleep. Then you noticed that you’d lose concentration for simple tasks, household tasks piling up, being unable to calm your fussy daughter and a huge lack of appetite. You’d make something to eat only to feel physically sick when you managed to sit down to eat.

You were crouched down against the wall, your daughter clutched to your chest as she wailed alongside your sobs and pleas for her to quieten. At this point, you were almost ready to tear your hair out, she is a beautiful girl and there’s no denying that but it seems your brain could only convince you that you’d fail her. That you are failing her. She deserved more than you for a mother. If Larissa was here she’d know how to soothe the baby. Despite being the one to carry her for nine months, birth her and being with her all day every day for at least two weeks without the tall shifter, it was like you were a stranger to her.

Georgina’s little cheeks were bright red now as she wailed unhappily, little fists balled up, the louder her cries were the more tears you shed as you absentmindedly rocked back and forth at a loss for what would help. You’d fed changed and cuddled Georgina, yet nothing seemed to settle her. Until Larissa came in to save the day.

“Oh my little flower, what’s wrong sweet girl? What’s the tears for Gina?” Larissa murmured softly coming to take the baby from you, allowing you the chance to stand up and breathe. Only, you couldn’t. Georgina settled down as she snuggled into the blondes chest, seemingly tired herself out from all the crying. Meanwhile you only seemed to curl into a ball and sob harder. “I failed her” and “she hates me” were mumbled over and over again. Only then did all the symptoms make sense to the principal. Postpartum depression. She’d read about it in all the books but seemingly missed all the signs in you. Her lover.

Placing the now sleeping baby into her bassinet Larissa immediately came to wrap you in her arms like you are a precious china doll. “Oh my darling girl, I’m so sorry I failed you my love, how long has it been this way?” She whispered as her hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. “I’m a terrible mom, she hates me. She loves you, what do I do wrong?” You sobbed your heart out on her shoulder, now the feelings started to flow there was absolutely no stopping the flow. And Larissa, being your stable shoulder to cry on, she held you through it all, promising to take some more time off Nevermore, to help you through this every step of the way. With her love and support you managed to heal and feel more like yourself again.

As your daughter grew, her own little personality began to shine through, it is apparent that she is as stubborn as you yet as truthful and gentle as the Principal of Nevermore. Students of Nevermore adored little Gina more than life itself, Enid particularly loved to gift her soft plushy’s and even Wednesday gifted her a small black swan plush teddy to go alongside the white dove Enid had crocheted.

However, Georgina’s favoured teddy happened to be a soft blush pink bear that you had gifted her for her first birthday. That bear never left her side, a special connection for you and your daughter. At a year and a half Georgina discovered Ice cream for the first time. Smearing it all around her face as you giggled with your daughter, Larissa walking unsuspectingly into the ice cream covered one year old. Now covering the bottoms of her mamas work skirt in vanilla ice cream.

Her little aura seemed to grow daily, beautiful twists and twirls of orange, green, lavender and light blue seemed to brighten with every day of her life, a perfect little blend of you and Larissa Weems, who would’ve knew that Larissa had unknowingly grown your family on your anniversary night. Your daughter being three and incredibly beautiful and brilliant would be a brilliant big sister.

Word count ~ 1718

[newlabournewromantics]

ranking new labour ppl in terms of fun evilness

ed balls

andrew rawnsley (loses points for not acc being in new labour technically if he'd only done a stint in the n10 press office he couldve topped this list)

ed miliband (objectively not that evil but more evil than you'd expect given he looked about twelve in 1997)

peston (if you piss ali-c off u know ur in trouble)

usual evil suspects (alastair tony army of blairite spads charlie nick etc)

mcbride (evil but kinda flopped so clearly not evil enough)

everyone else

anji and sue (besties I love them pls hang out w me I am free whenever)

yvette cooper (AAAAAAA <3)

[writing-oof]

PJO Exchange Extras - Part Four

[TW: Kidnapping, Misunderstanding, Prophecy]

[luke castellan, kidnapping a literal seven year old as a literal fourteen year old: this is my only option

twelve year old thalia grace with a steel chair: you sure about that?]

---

"You kidnapped me."

"Yeah."

"You tried to kill me."

Luke swallows roughly. "Yeah."

The water drip, drip, drips out of the leaky pipe, splatting on the concrete like rain.

Percy sniffles, his bright green eyes wide and teary. *"Why?"*

"You were gonna kill *me!"* Luke defends, but it sounds a lot less reasonable when Percy's looking at him like that, curled up in a ball and whining like a kicked puppy. He's also like three feet tall, which definitely doesn't help.

"I was *not!"* Percy argues, his tiny hands balling into angry fists. "I wouldn't kill my friends, even if you *are* a stinky jerk!"

Luke scowls. "I'm not your friend," he spits like a venous snake, like a pit scorpion.

It's effective, if the immediate onflow of tears means anything. Percy shakes and shudders, going from a few stray tears to downright sobbing into his knees. Luke feels his mouth go dry, as the position they're in really sinks in.

He just kidnapped a kid, a kid who grows up to have mind control powers strong enough to get him to *stab* himself to death, if his visions are right.

---

Luke makes sure to stand far away enough that Percy couldn't even hit him if he wanted to, just in case, his face totally flat.

"Why would I be your friend?" Luke asks, a little curious. It's the one thing he hasn't been able to figure out. Maybe that's what the mind control powers are for? Maybe Percy just wants people to be his friends and then, once they are, he makes them kill themselves for him.

He's heard of gods doing crazier things for stupider reasons, and he doesn't doubt that demigods could be just as powerful and derranged. Even ones as little as Percy.

"What?" Percy asks bitterly, scowling up at Luke from where he's curled up in the corner of the mattress.

"Earlier, when we were fighting," Luke says, trying to stay casual and scary sounding. Scary sounding for a kidnapper, at least. "You said you wouldn't try to kill me because I was your friend."

"I was wrong," Percy snaps, but he really sounds more like a whiny little kid than a powerful demigod. "You're not my friend! You're just an jackass."

"Seven year olds can't say jackass," Luke says automatically, though he has no idea why. He doesn't think he's ever even talked to a seven year old before Percy, let alone one he'd tell not to say 'jackass.'

"They can too!" Percy says, scowling harder. Then, shouting so loud Luke flinches back, "Jackass! Jackass! Jackass, jackass, jackass!"

"Stop it!" Luke shouts, his heart thrumming to life and his hands shaking a bit at his sides, but Percy just gets louder.

"Luke's a jackass!" Percy shouts, standing up now and waving his free hand at Luke in wild gestures, his other wrist straining against chain tying him to the pipes. "Luke's a big ugly jackass!"

"Cut it out!" Luke screams, taking an angry step forward.

Percy flinches back, his mouth snapping shut like a mouse trap, and the room is eerily quiet save for their laboured breathing.

---

"What?" Thalia asks, her face twising like she's bitten into a lemon. "Percy didn't kill you."

"No, I know," Luke says bitterly, "I killed myself *for* him."

"Well, mostly I think it was to stop Kronos from taking over the world," Thalia says with a laugh. Luke frowns, the name like blood between his teeth.

"Kronos doesn't want to take over the world," Luke protests immediately and Thalia suddenly goes very, very still.

"Luke," she asks, her face flat and careful, "where's Percy?"

[writerben01]

Anon hate, Part 2

This morning I woke up to a bad comment without substance. I obviously deleted it. It’s not useful to respond to anonymous comments and the writer of them will not even see the response. But the annoying thing about anon hate is that it does make me want to respond. So let me just respond to the parts that jumped out to me here, for catharsis and entertainment.

For context, this is about my guilty pleasure fanfic Konoha Celestial Forge (KCF), which is a writing challenge where the main character randomly gets additional powers after I’ve written an x amount of words.

    […] this fic would be much more interesting if it were a SI instead of an OC.

I’m flattered you think I’m so interesting.

But really, the hubris to come into the comment section and complain about the basic premise and genre of the story. Hey Stephen King, IT would have been so much more interesting if it was a comedy; you already have the clown and goofy characters.

A self-insert story is characterized by a meta view on the Naruto universe. It’s someone who knows about earth morality and sometimes Naruto canon, using both to fundamentally change the Naruto world. These stories can be fun, but they are not the story I wanted to tell.

I wanted an OC. I wanted someone who was born into Naruto, thinks the Naruto universe is mostly normal, slowly getting introduced to all the alien perspectives that the Celestial Forge powers bring with it. It’s been fun to discover spells and go ‘ah yes, a ninja technique that is slightly strange’. Runic enchantment: ‘Forbidden Seals’. Creating Imps from pure magic: ‘I must have signed a summoning contract’.

As always, if you think a more interesting story could be told by changing the premise, feel free to write it.

I’m always open to suggestions and creative ideas. But you need to start with a ‘yes and’ instead of a ‘no because’.

    Finally…Why is it that authors always have to cripple MCs? There is such a thing a being average. Rather than being the best in his ninja class or an academy dropout incapable of even using chakra, why can’t he just be an average student ?

Urgh, it’s so annoying that we have to follow Goku. Why can’t we watch an average person in Dragon Ball Z? Why do we have to concentrate so much on the Z-fighters?! Why must we follow Naruto, the weakest Academy student, become Hokage? Kiba is far more average. Why couldn’t the series have been about him?

Some people are average, you know?!

The main character of KCF is weak, because he was given a gift of unlimited potential. It’s more interesting (to me) to see the weakest person get stronger than it is to see an average person getting stronger. Writing is often about extremes. Don’t have a single misunderstanding that ruins a date, have a dozen of them. More isn’t always better, but drama does require that we lean into emotions and ideas.

Like, this take is idiotic and reveals a complete lack of media literacy. Are you a child? In that case I’m probably being too mean. But the recent Twitter discourse about Starship Troopers shows that adults are capable of incomprehension of the most basic aspects beyond the obvious.

We can have average people in stories, having average lives and doing average things. Sure. There are great stories that do this. But it’s a trope as old as time to have the stable boy become the hero. To have the peasant become prince. To have Cinderella become the queen. In a story about low to high, let’s start as low as possible.

    It becomes tiresome when so many fics make their MCs the worst ever.

Then avoid them.

Are you trapped somewhere being forced to read tiresome fanfics in the same vein as Mystery Science Theater 3000? Do you need help? Do we need to call the police for you?

    I mean, this MC was getting tired doing normal chores. He sounds like he has less physical capability than humans in our world much less humans in Naruto.

He is a twelve year old that is spending his days doing heavy physical labour. He is tired because he’s pushing his body to its limits without breaks, knowing that anything else will leave him broke and then dead. So yes, when he’s doing chores he is spending energy he doesn’t have.

Like, obviously.

How much clearer do I have to be that he is in a bad position? That this is a symptom of a broken society where there is no recourse for disinherited children but to sell themselves into minimum-wage servitude? That he is mostly treated like an adult even though he has the body of a 12 year old? When we meet his boss, we find out he’s a kind man that is using these jobs to keep kids from being in a worse position. That implies he wouldn’t mind if Ginyoku slowed down enough that his body could handle it. The boss is not the one forcing this on the main character, but the main character’s pride is making him feel like a failure because he isn’t as productive as any of the adults.

Have you met any 12 year olds in our universe working for 60 hours a week in construction? Because that’s the comparison you ought to make. Do you think they’re a bundle of energy when they get home?

Even if he’s unable to use chakra (like Lee), humans in that world are superhuman. They naturally recover and can do much more than baseline humans.

I consider myself an avid Naruto fan, but I have never seen this presented as fact. We see that ninja can survive things that others can’t, recover more quickly and are generally stronger than could normally be expected. But we never see normal civilians exhibit any of these traits. Lee can’t shape chakra, but he seems to harness the chakra anyway to become a great martial artist. That is part of why releasing the 8 gates (and the chakra that comes with it) make Lee stronger. And only that after someone shows him how to train like that.

My main character starts out much more like a civilian than a ninja like Lee. Not just incapable of shaping chakra, but also incapable of directing it to strengthen his punches or make his body more durable. I am comfortable with the interpretation of the Naruto universe that civilians aren’t any more sturdy than anyone else.

And if you’re not? Tough titties.

    It just felt like pointless nerfing to me. What’s next? He’s going to lose an arm and an eye? And forced to create bionic parts?

Gasp! Imagine a character in Naruto losing an eye.

Imagine characters in Naruto losing their arms.

This is the kind of moment where I wasn’t planning on making my main character lose a limb, but boy am I tempted now out of sheer spite.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the kind of story where a ninja called ‘Anon’ slices off his arm, after which we’ll spend a full arch trying to get revenge with many monologues about the evils of the Anon responsible for making the main character armless, until we finally find Anon kidnapped in a spaceship forced to read through horribly competent fiction that goes right over their head.

Kinda wish it was now, though. Maybe for an Omake.

Closing:

This fanfic is based on Brockton’s Celestial Forge, which is a 2 million word slow-burn (still ongoing). I don’t know how far I’ll get in writing this. I have 85k words at the moment. But I do know that to keep this experience fun, and to achieve the maximum potential of a strengthening protagonist, we need to wallow in his current weakness.

There is a fight with a chuunin coming. The main character won’t stand a chance.

These scenes are needed, so that we can compare and contrast when later in the story he is making mince meat of jounin.

I feel like this makes a good story. And if you’re going to go into my comment section to lecture about what I should have done to make a good story, at the very least include some argumentation and proper analysis instead of just a rant about a current trend you don’t like. Maybe next time I won’t have to delete your comment and I can just respond to it in civil conversation.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Almost everything is on AO3 under Daughterofthesea ✨

Nessian:

Promise ACOSF/ACOFAS fix-it fic (Complete) I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV

Just Give Me Tonight Cassian works through his feelings for a mortal Nesta. Set mid-ACOMAF. (Complete) I, II

The Grand Tour Cassian once dreamed of showing Nesta the world. Now he can. Just Give Me Tonight spin-off. (Complete) I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII

Overture After seeing her dance, Cassian fills the symphonia with Nesta's favourite songs. (Complete)

Carynthian Cassian watches Nesta through a mirror during the Blood Rite) (Complete) I, II

Dance, Let it Be Set post ACOSF, there's only one thing that will take Nesta's mind off the horrors of the Blood Rite and Feyre's labour. (Complete)

Hold You Till Forever Cassian made Nesta a promise on the battlefield. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Nesta goes searching for him to make him a promise of her own, having realised a few things in their brush with death (Complete)

Semper Eadem Elizabethan AU. It’s 1575 and Nesta Archeron, lady-in-waiting and favourite of Queen Elizabeth I is trying to forget the bastard nobleman who, eight months ago, stole her heart and left. Now, at a pageant thrown in the queen’s honour, Cassian is back and trying to win Nesta round— but there’s no way she’s going to let him off easy. (Complete) i, ii, iii, iv, v

Through the Dark When the ravens attack the library, Cassian suppresses every violent instinct he has in order to give Nesta what she needs. (Complete)

The Bargain People whisper about the god that lives in the forest, that grants wishes to the desolate and the desperate, but when Nesta Archeron takes it upon herself to enter the forest and ask the god to save her family, she gets much more than she bargained for. (Complete)

Heirs to Empty Thrones In the absence of the king, Nesta finds herself carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and there's only one knight in the world that can take her mind off it. Medieval AU. (Complete)

How The Light Attaches to a Change of Heart It’s been three years since Rhys demanded Nesta move to the House of Wind or be exiled to the human lands. That day, she walked away and never looked back, choosing a new life for herself on the continent. But something’s not right, and when she returns to Velaris for Elain’s birthday, she figures out what she was missing all along. (In progress)

A Final Poison Kiss Delivered Gently Nesta Archeron is a renowned and ruthless fae warrior, but she gets far more than she bargained for when, in the midst of battle, she finds herself up against the most fearsome General. Retelling of the Achilles/Penthesilea myth. (Complete? Maybe? Maybe not?)

How Could You Think, Darling, I’d Scare So Easily? Set post-acofas and pre-acosf. Each night Cassian sits on the roof of the building across the street from Nesta’s apartment, waiting for a light in her window. (Complete)

Should’ve Worshipped Her Sooner Cassian can't sleep because he's too busy simping over Nesta. A drabble partially inspired by Hozier's Take Me To Church.

If You’re Lost, Just Look For Me When Cassian is called away to Illyria for a whole week, Nesta finds her mate has left her something behind - several somethings, in the form of letters hidden throughout the House of Wind. Set post-ACOSF. (Complete)

Nevermind Twelve months to the day since she and Elain were thrown in the Cauldron, Nesta finds herself at one of Feyre’s dinner parties, trying to wrestle with an entire year’s worth of grief— until Cassian holds out a hand. (Complete)

Who Am I, That I Should Get To Hold You? When Elain throws a ball to celebrate her recent engagement to Greysen, there's nothing she wants more than for Feyre to attend. To keep the newly-Made Feyre safe beneath the wall, the General of the Night Court is resolved to attend too, planning only to observe the party from a distance. But when the irascible Nesta Archeron makes her entrance, Cassian's resolve crumbles and over the course of a single dance, he finds out that perhaps Nesta was always destined to be so much more than he bargained for. ACOMAF AU. (Complete)

My Hand Was The One You Reached For In the midst of war, Nesta Archeron bandages an injured General's wrist, and as Cassian lets Nesta tend to his wound, he realises there's not a thing in the world that could make him pull away. (ACOWAR fix-it). (Complete)

Who Could Ask to be Unbroken or be Brave Again? In the years since Nesta had was thrown into the Cauldron by the King of Hybern, she thought she'd done enough healing. But as Solstice rolls around again, she finds herself struggling with the weight of fae customs and the fact that she's never really found a place for herself in her sister's court. Determined not to let herself ruin her mate's favourite holiday, Nesta struggles through her third Solstice above the wall… but will this year be the year that Cassian steps up at last? (Complete) I, II, III.

I Would’ve Died For Your Sins After the argument on the streets of Velaris, Nesta used the bargain to send Cassian away. But she hadn't worded her request carefully enough, and after Mor winnows her to Illyria, Cassian bends the rules to show up on Emerie's doorstep and beg Nesta to forgive him. But even despite how much she loves him… Nesta doesn't think it's a good idea to open the door and let him in. (Complete)

Hold Me Like A Knife After a decisive battle forges a peace treaty between the king of the West Saxons and the leader of the viking horde, Anglo-Saxon Nesta Archeron is brought north for the first time in her life when the king’s court travels to Jorvik. She should be terrified, and yet quickly she discovers that there are some things about the heathens that she can’t help but be drawn to… especially when a chance encounter brings her face to face with one viking in particular. (In progress) I, II

Begged & Borrowed Time Stuck in a loveless marriage, Nesta meets Cassian at entirely the wrong time. ACOMAF AU. (In progress) Prologue, I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, IXX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XXIV, XXV, XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII,

Nezriel

A Liar, A Fool Cassian pulled away from Nesta's touch, but when she fled, Azriel followed. ACOWAR fix-it) (Complete)

A Part of Me That Will Never be Mine It's Solstice Eve, and in the wake of Cassian's Solstice gift to Mor, Nesta flees the town house, but instead of Cassian walking her home, it's Azriel. (Complete)

A Taste of the Divine Returning from a mission, the Night Court’s spymaster arrives back in Velaris in need of a stiff drink above all else, but after seeking out Velaris’ seediest tavern, Azriel gets more than what he bargained for when he finds Nesta inside. Post-ACOWAR, pre-ACOSF. 

Nessriel

The Light I Need Set mid-ACOSF, Cassian finally notices Nesta's aversion to fires. Wanting nothing more than to help the woman he loves, he turns to the brother who he knows has faced similar trauma in the part. Soft three-part Nessriel fic. (Complete) (I, II, III)

Neris

The Gold in the Flame (Burns Brighter Now) Nesta had always been too sharp for their liking-- for her sister and Rhysand's Inner Circle. But during the Solstice celebrations at the Hewn City, Nesta dances with Eris in Feyre's place and learns that, perhaps, being sharp isn't always a bad thing. (For Nesta Week 2023 day 2: sharp). (Complete)

Elucien

A Rose Without a Thorn Growing tired of all the barriers between them, Elain finally snaps during one of Lucien’s visits to the River House. Set post-acosf.

Gwynriel

That one little snowball fight fic I wrote that doesn't have a title

[glimmerglanger]

If you feel like doing more HotR, could you do a Christmas (or any other family event) scene? I had a thought of Ben having a huge family Christmas for the first time in his life and it made me feel some type of way

Ohhhh, that’s such a cute and sweet idea. I ended up not going for Christmas, because the idea of a Thanksgiving meal occurred to me and wouldn’t let go. This is SO DOMESTIC. Codywan with a lot of family feels.

~~~~~

Ben had tried to cook a meal on Thanksgiving precisely once in his life, while in college and sharing an apartment with Quin. They’d attempted to cook a turkey in their oven, promising to handle the stuffing and potatoes, as well. Luminara and Bant were each supposed to bring other dishes, he could no longer recall exactly what.

None of them had succeeded.

Some of the resulting food had been, at least, edible. Much of it had not.

They’d eaten stale cereal with milk while sitting around and watching a football game, instead.

It was a good memory, in the end. Something they laughed about together. And Ben had never tried to cook anything like that, again. Qui-Gon had never been interested in such things growing up. He said it always ended up being a waste, and that true thankfulness had nothing to do with cooking too much food or overeating.

And so, really, Ben wasn’t expecting anything when he woke up on the last Thursday in November, tucked in close to Cody in the new bed they’d bought a month ago, tired of trying to wedge into Cody’s little twin.

Technically, he mostly noted Thanksgiving because it meant he didn’t have to work and could, allegedly, sleep in. But Cody was always up early. Cattle didn’t take holidays, after all, and Ben was generally up when Cody rose, after sharing a bed with him for a few months, and so he was sitting at the table in the pre-dawn light when Cody put a cup of tea in front of him and said, “Eat a big breakfast this morning, we won’t eat again until late.”

“Hm?” Ben asked, tilting his face up, and got a kiss in answer.

“I’ll be back,” Cody said, brushing a kiss to his forehead, as well, before zipping up his coat and disappearing through the door. “You finish waking up.”

Ben nodded, drank his tea, and pulled out his books to make some headway on his final paper; not due for weeks yet, but it was a huge project. By the time Cody came back, cold clinging to him, he’d gotten most of his work done and grinned, standing to pull Cody into a hug, murmuring, “How about you let me warm you up properly, hm?”

Cody grinned against his mouth, slid his cold hands up under Ben’s shirt, and said, “Later. We’ll warm each other up. Come on, get dressed. We’re about to start the cooking.”

And it was only then that Ben really, truly, recalled that most people around the country did something for the holiday. “Ah,” he said, with a little grimace, thinking about the delicious food that Jango and Val managed to produce on a regular basis, “I really can’t cook.”

Cody snorted, thumbs brushing over his skin, and said, “We know. That’s alright. Anyone can cut up vegetables. Come on.”

Which was how Ben ended up standing in the kitchen in the main house, which had been cleared of all chairs, the counters and table stacked with meat, vegetables, and large metal baskets.

“Here,” Cody said, nudging Ben between Wooley and Echo, “just cut whatever mom tells you to chop. I have to go check the pit.”

“The pit?” Ben asked, but Cody was already heading out the back door. Echo was involved in an animated conversation with Fives, and Wooley was humming along to whatever music playing through his earbuds, and so Ben just shrugged, took the yams he was handed, and started peeling and chopping them.

The parade was playing on repeat in the other room, the television turned so that everyone working around the table could kind of see it, and Ben fell to talking with Boba and Ahsoka - also contributing by chopping vegetables - as Val and Jango did something with what appeared to be a bunch of chicken over by the counters.

It wasn’t until Fox - and Ben had only met the man the night before - brought over a basket lined with aluminum foil and started putting the vegetables in, that Ben thought to ask, “What are we cooking, anyway?”

Fox blinked across at him. Despite having only met in person the previous day, Ben felt like he knew Fox well enough. They’d spoken often throughout his court cases, after all.

“Dinner,” Fox said.

“It’s a hāngi,” Boba said, tossing yams into the basket. “Mom and dad only do them for special occasions. You missed the one in July. Just put the vegetables in, you’ll see, it’s really good.”

And that was that. Ben helped load up the vegetables, and carried one of the baskets out through the back door when instructed, over to what appeared to be a pit, well back from the house.

Cody and Wolf - who had also flown in the night before - were standing over the pit, which was radiating heat, leaning on shovels. A large pile of ash sat to one side, and Cody’s pants were covered with it. Jango and Val reached the pit first, and Ben watched as baskets were lowered in, one after another, meat first followed by the vegetables.

Cody covered the food with blankets before he and Wolf grabbed up their shovels again and started burying the whole thing.

Ben lingered to watch, smiling when Cody finished and stepped over to kiss him sweetly. “Now what?” Ben asked, since he’d just watched them bury dinner.

“Now it cooks for a few hours,” Cody said, nuzzling back against his jaw. Cody no longer felt cold, but he’d been, apparently, standing by a fire pit and doing manual labour. “And then we eat it.”

“No,” Fives said, bounding up and pushing Cody’s shoulders before continuing on, “now we play football.”

Cody rolled his eyes and said, “That, too.” His expression grew more serious as he looked Ben up and down. “You don’t have to play.”

“I think there’ll be an uneven number of players, if I do,” Ben pointed out. It seemed handy, having twelve children if you wanted even teams for sporting events.

“Nah,” Rex said, arriving at a jog, “Ahsoka’s playing, so you have to, otherwise we’re a man down.”

Which was, he supposed, how they all ended up down in the field where Ahsoka still did the dog training classes, though the obstacles had all been cleared away, giving them lots of open space. The brothers agreed, after only a little arguing, that Fox and Wolf should get to be captains, to welcome them home, and the oldest set of twins quickly picked teams.

And Ben only realized that Cody thought he didn’t know how to play when Cody tugged him to one side - they were on the same team, which Boba had thought was hilarious - and said, “Just have fun, alright? We don’t play tackle anymore, and it isn’t a big deal who wins or loses.”

Ben stifled the smile that tried to curl across his lips at Cody - quite possibly one of the most competitive people he’d ever met - claiming that it didn’t matter who won or lost. He just nodded and said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And, when he got the ball, two plays into the game, he scrambled back, looked down field, and nailed Crys a few feet away from the line they’d designated the end zone. Crys caught the ball, shouted, laughing, dodged past Ponds, and took the two necessary steps before getting jumped on by half his brothers and buried.

Ben laughed, well back down the field, blood pumping fast with a swell of pleasure, and Cody grabbed him by his shoulders, turning him and pulling him into a kiss. “You!” Cody said, after a beat, pulling away from him. “You can--”

“Throw a football?” Ben suggested, kissing him again, briefly. “Indeed I can. Not as well as I could in highschool, but--”

Cody kissed him again, laughing against his mouth, and only quit when his brothers all gathered around to heckle them, insisting on getting back to the game. They chased one another around the field, grabbing for the rags tucked into belts, tossing the ball around, until Ben felt breathless and delighted, until Jango hollered for them from back towards the house.

Cody took his hand on the way back up the lane and led him around to the back of the house as many of the rest of his brothers flooded inside. Cody, Fox, Wolf, and Rex seemed to be on, well, unburying duty.

Ben watched them work for a moment, turning as Val stepped up to his side, offering him a beer, asking, “Good game?”

“Seemed to be,” Ben said, nodding his thanks and taking a long drink. It was cold, which felt good after all the activity. Despite the chilly temperatures, he was sweating all down his back, even with his coat thrown to one side.

“Good,” she said, and nudged him, “come inside and get cleaned up for dinner. Then you can come back and watch Cody, if you want.”

He snorted a laugh and followed her, scrubbing his hands clean over the kitchen sink, watching Cody through the window over the counter, listening to the family bicker about setting the table behind him and--

Swallowing, thickly, as his throat got tight all at once. He took the opportunity to splash water across his face, drying his skin even as cheers started going up, the brothers outside pulling the first of the baskets from the pit.

Ben shook himself and went to help out, bringing food inside, watching Val and Jango start dividing things up among all the different plates set around. It felt kind of like getting caught in a whirlwind of delicious smells and laughing people, all of it sorting itself out in the end with them clustered around the table, chairs all pressed together, wedged so close that Ben wondered, for a beat, if Cody were about to end up in his lap.

He didn’t, but it was a near thing.

The food smelled delicious, savory aromas filling up the room, chicken and some darker meat on his plate beside sweet potatoes, potatoes, cabbage, and what he thought might be pumpkin. The family talked and yelled and laughed through the meal, and Ben just...absorbed it, sat in the middle of it all and took it in, even as they finished and even as everyone pitched in to clean up.

“You’re quiet,” Cody said, much later, when all the work was done and they were back in their space, Ben toweling off his hair after a shower that he’d desperately needed.

“Mm?” Ben asked, tossing the towel into the hamper and shivering when Cody caught his hips, tugging him over to the bed, pressing a kiss low on his stomach.

“Today too much?” Cody asked, looking up at him, expression concerned, his hair still wet as well, curling up more from the moisture.

“No,” Ben said, leaning into his touch and threading his fingers back through Cody’s hair. He smiled, just a little, feeling his chest aching with an overabundance of contentment. “No,” he repeated, and sighed when Cody kissed his stomach again, “It was just enough.”

[paolobrand]

PRINCE PAOLO's 2022 CHRISTMAS SPEECH “The Sexy Sheikh’s Sportwashed Balls ⚽️⚽️” ** ⚠️ Warning: Prince Paolo is an Absolute Monarch. Any argument will result in a Boxing Day Bath in the Sheriff of Nottingham’s iron forgeries ⚠️ ** My Dear Subjects, Your Royal Family would like to wish you a very Merry Christmas and an Unhappy New Year🎄 After the sad loss of our beloved Aunt Lizzie 😢 (oh well 🤷‍♂️), I’m delighted to pronounce myself Emperor of Everything 💯 I do love to phase out the ptarmigan on my vast Highland moors, especially as that’s where I phased out another old bird in September 👑 (Ed: Noooo! Cut! Cut!💥) So, the year in review! We LOVE Putin’s world-leading warmongering & depravity, Zelenskyy’s kill count, Albanese’s great win and our Mugabe-style inflation. What a year 🤩 In between guillotining my former friends, there was still time to practice brain 🧠 surgery on my enemies’ heads, work on my Canoe Armada 🛶 toy set, golf ⛳️ the links, chill on my Highland ⛰ estates, enjoy Twitter 🖥 tirades, ramble on my grouse 🦆 moors, plot dastardly deeds with banana 🍌 republics, all while exercising my right hand daily 🍆💦 Burp! 🍷🥂🍾 12 DAYS OF SHIT 💩 MAS On the only day of Christmas my true love sent to me… * Twelve Donald Trump crime scenes 🦸‍♀️ * Eleven Lionesses a-winning 🦁 * Ten per cent % inflation daily 📈 * Nine sportwashing Qatari emirs ⚽️ * Eight Boris to Zelenskyy zips 🚊 * Seven pockets of taxpayers cash 💰 * Six sheikhs making sweet love 🍑 * Five Messi penalties 🥅 * Glory to Ukraine! 🇺🇦 * Oh! Gareth! Southgate! 🤩 * Where’s Jeremy Corbyn? 🎅 * £400k Rishi Swimming Pool-nak 🏊‍♂️ * Four-ty five days of Truss 😂 * Three fools voting a-Tory 🗳 * Two Truss-outliving lettuces 🥬 * Soggy sprout Starmer 🥦 * One Trussonomic collapse 📉 * A large Labour lead 🌹 * And no more Putin…oh wait... (Ed: Cut!) 😡 How time flies! Time to hunt those captured spies! My hounds 🐕 are foaming at the mouth dreaming of tasty traitor meat! 🥩 Tally ho, it’s back to the princely port I go, woo hoo 🍷🎄 Burrrrp! Hic! 🍺 Now go drink and bugger your stablehands merrily all! 💙💚💛💜❤️ #christmas #merrychristmas #happychristmas (at Balmoral) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmmtjXSokDN/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[johobi]

A Lycan Dignity

Word count: 4k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: rough, penetrative werewolf sex, pregnancy sex, blood consumption, biting, knotting, squirting, very strong dom/sub dynamic, extremely graphic sexual description lol, impreg kink, baby bump worship, masturbation, giant COCK, i mean huge, tiny amount of angst

A/N: This was commissioned by the wonderful @divine-bangtan​ in exchange for a Black Lives Matter donation! I really hope you enjoy it!

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

Sympathetic to the plight of the werewolves your kind have culled to near-extinction, life as a human informant has never been one of safety. However, when you catch the eye of an alpha, your situation only grows more perilous.

After many months of unremitting use, your once solid bed frame had become a rickety, wretched old thing. Its joints ground like those of a horse bound for the knackery. Weeks ago, you thought it near total collapse. Since then, however - though it protested any and all movement - it had remained intact. Because, no longer did you and Jungkook breed with the impassioned fervour you once did. No, these days your bed hosted only the most lacklustre of sex; the sort you never imagined needing endure when you tied yourself to him. After all, Jungkook was an oversexed, testosterone-burdened manbeast with a twelve inch cock and a negligible refractory period. So why was it now so scant? So underwhelming? 

According to him, it was necessary. 

Ugh.

Oh, how you longed for the days and nights Jungkook would run you all the way through, bending you this way and that to offload himself for the third, consecutive time. How he would grow and grow and grow, locking into place in the depths of your cunt and soothe you all the while.

Being that you were now five months pregnant, however, you were the only one ballooning. God, you missed his knot. Missed the intensity with which he once bedded you. Missed the—

“Does that feel okay?”

“It’s fine.”

Presently, Jungkook mounted you with the shallowest of thrusts, barely wetting half his length. The bed swayed beneath you, tapping the wall to the rhythm of his gently rolling hips. Before you’d grown big, it had clapped the cabin’s pine like thunder, and splintered where it struck. Today you clutched a pillow for comfort as Jungkook rocked you into a drowsy stupor.

It was so quiet that his breathing carried across you. It, too, was shallow - hardly laboured - and sometimes there came an occasional grunt of effort. Or perhaps of pleasure? It was difficult to distinguish to what extent the act satisfied Jungkook when he restrained himself so. By the furrow in his brow, it appeared more akin to torture. It certainly was for you. Your libido had grown unruly during gestation, and nothing much gratified you. 

Nothing but your aforementioned, well-endowed mate. Only he could alleviate the nagging ache.

So it was to your utter dismay when Jungkook deemed you too large for such boisterous intercourse, and insisted you be handled like some delicate bijou. It was preposterous! You were tough enough to withstand a decade’s duty in the militia’s vanguard! A few extra inches of cock weren’t like to break you.

In the end, despite two full days of moody back-and-forth on the matter, he tempered your lovemaking significantly. And though your post-coital canoodling was as much to your joy and satisfaction as it ever was, you found the preceding act painfully lacking. Actually, literally painful. Pregnancy was quite intolerable. 

You challenged Jungkook on several, fruitless occasions thereafter. But his constant dismissals would not deter you. Especially not today, when the entirety of you quivered for satiation, and he had been drip-feeding you cock for the past twenty-odd minutes. It was maddening. The path to climax was a sleet-sodden slope that you could never hope to climb.

"Jungkook, please, enter me fully. There’s no need for such caution. I know it hurts you to hold back." And me. “How many times must I assure you that I’m not as fragile as you think me?" You grimaced at the headboard as Jungkook probed your entrance with middling impetus. His girth was such that your cunt begged and fluttered to receive it deeper, distressed by the gaping space that went unfilled.

“Hmph.”

Jungkook’s considerable weight descended,  blanketing your back to secure your compliance. With his breath at your ear, he interwove your fingers and exerted pressure enough to bow you to the blanket. Your ass, however, remained high and accessible; as submissive a posture there was. By the devilish chuckle that blew across your cheek, Jungkook already thought himself the victor of this quarrel. "And how many times must I ask you not to challenge me? I know my own strength." It was difficult to rebuke him when his lips skirted your ear so. So soft and wet and careful in their pressure.

"And I know your strength just as well. I have been on the receiving end of it for months before th-this—ah!" Pain suffused your neck where Jungkook’s mouth lingered. He curled his lip at your continued defiance. Out of the corner of your eye, his fangs bore a red glaze. 

Mayhaps it was a warning, but it only served to embolden you. 

"Nothing you could do would harm the pups. Please, Jungkook. I'm begging you." He liked being begged. Liked when you relinquished your power and station entirely. Because, outside your bedchambers, you were as important and respected as he. That he liked, too. 

Your particularly bullish nature meant that Jungkook relished your surrender. Especially in the aftermath of contentious discussions. There had been many an occasion where Jungkook’s red-blooded urges almost jeopardised tactical assemblies, because he simply could not ignore them. Particularly the meetings where you butted heads on some divisive detail or another. The tension grew so stark during these exchanges that it cowed the other attendants into silence. You would exchange little else, thereon, but sultry glares, and Jungkook would orbit you in inappropriate proximity, breathing down your neck and rubbing you where others could not see. The sex after those meetings was singularly wild.

Jungkook attested often to his being a tethered beast, but you were the one with the leash. “Please. Put it all the way in,” you snivelled. “Alpha.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched at your urging; you felt him on your back, chest broad and feverish. He did not perspire out of exertion but sheer sexual frustration. It was obvious by the weight with which his balls hung; you spied them between your legs when you looked beneath. "Please, alpha. Take me completely." 

Furtively, you grinned. Jungkook was an astute man. However, he was also a simple, dick-driven creature. 

“Argh!”

A snarl seared your ear, drawing gooseflesh in its wake. You tilted your head to behold him; to enthrall him with lust-lidded eyes. But it was you who was captivated. Jungkook would never be anything less than breathtakingly handsome. The type women ripped costly bodices for. He was rugged; as hewn in the jaw as he was in body, and with eyes so honest you could be sup from his soul. Your mouth hung in open appreciation of his masculine beauty. Jungkook’s hips stuttered, then, as you drunk one another in. A fleeting slip, but enough to propel him deeper for a crucial moment. The repercussions manifested immediately. Your eyes rolled in their sockets and out came a harrowing groan. The entirety of your body tautened as your cunt did, grasping at his elusive length as it again withdrew. "Ugh. Jungkook!"

"Cease your attempts to seduce me, woman," Jungkook menaced, butting aside your head and raking his fangs along the angle of your jaw. "Your charms will not work." His tongue laved wherever they grazed, his hands surrendering your hips only to snake beneath and caress your rotund belly. So tender was he in his touches, that your cunt pulled with desire. Jungkook splayed his fingertips, cradling your circumference as best he could in his calloused palms. He muttered something soft and indiscernible about our children as he admired you, your provocation momentarily forgotten.

His cheek came by yours, then, rounded nose drifting to your temple to huff in your pregnant scent. According to him, you’d become overwhelmingly, wonderfully fragrant. Such that he would pine if denied it too long. 

Chamomile. 

That was what you effused while with child.

Jungkook’s favourite tea.

The headbutt that came next would reasonably incapacitate the average person; indeed, it was so strong that your knees rattled on their hinges. But Jungkook went unscathed, nuzzling a path through your tangled hair, air whooshing through his nostrils as he scented you. "God, you are beautiful. So round, so full. And utterly mine," Jungkook murmured, teetering on the fringes of abandon. He continued his ardent groping with a whine.

Had he really sabotaged his own restraint? 

How funny that his undoing was his own. Positively hilarious. 

That was, until you felt his cock sink deliberately deeper. Jungkook groaned as you did, though you were far more shameless in your desperation. “Oh, God—!”

"Fuck!" The curse word unravelled into a low, ungodly growl.

"Yes, Jungkook. More—" Your hands scrabbled for purchase on his backside, but it soon retreated out of reach as he again withdrew. "Godfuckingdamnit! What must I do to convince you? Please, do it again. I can take it!"

"I will not. It’s too much a risk. What happened was—was entirely unintentional, and I won’t allow it to happen again." He stated it with resolve, but his hips stuttered traitorously, heeding not him but the wolf within him. A rush of breath buffeted your shoulders and then Jungkook's nose was again in your nest of hair, inhaling himself to his senses. "That is the end of it," he murmured on exhale, seemingly sobered. "Now, let us continue." Penetration resumed at its previous, underwhelming pace, maddening you to your very marrow.

"Fine." A growl of your own grew in your chest. "Then I will not submit to you today."

When you dared look Jungkook’s way, the sheer displeasure buckling his features very nearly undid your determination. His brows hung gravely over his eyes, obscuring their usual, gentle glimmer with a severity that stirred your wanton pussy. "You will. You will always submit to me. I am your alpha," Jungkook stated with a snap of his teeth, seeking to subdue you with his hefty physique.

Oh, you absolutely would and should submit but it was imperative you defy him now or you would never see satiety.

With something of such import in the balance, you heaved yourself onto your elbows and then your hands, quaking beneath the werewolf that hung plastered to your back. As you rose, as you straightened your spine in defiance and denied Jungkook your submission, the growl behind you grew in outrage. His cock stalled at your opening, tip still between your folds.

“Not today.”

Jungkook's lips curled back along his gums, a slight tremor to his tautened jaw. Two, prominent fangs confronted you in the candlelight, your skin prickling where they'd countless times pierced. His authority was difficult to oppose when the mere visage of this apex predator was enough to buckle your knees and sodden your cunt. "You're a baffling woman. I've dominated you on hundreds of splendid occasions, and today is the day you defy me? Must I subjugate you again, my sweet?"

As much as you yearned to present him your sopping hole, it would be another five months of unrealised desire if you did. 

To hell with that.

“Come, now. Show me how ready you are to receive me.” Jungkook sought to bow you with nips and kisses, but you would not be bowed. Not this time. When this much became clear, he peeled himself from your back and his cock from your hole. Oh, no. No, this wouldn't do.

"If you will not obey me then you will not receive me at all," he snorted, as enraged and engorged as a hung bull. Truly, he was a marvel that you could not tear your desirous eyes from. Not when he knelt there so, in all his strapping, virile glory. You whined for what you were cruelly denied. Jungkook interpreted your meaning well. "It is your own fault." He vented frustration through his flaring nostrils. "Present yourself to me or I will simply finish all over you."

Your cunt pulsed in anguish and joy. What a dream it would be if he painted you, cock in hand and strangling it of cum. If his sac throbbed with each ejaculation as it fell across your body, hot and sticky. If his lips were bitten bloody and his eyes crinkled closed.

God.

Yes, it would be beautiful. But it would afford you nothing in the end but your own, spiritless fingers to finish with. Jungkook had been so keen a lover that you could not even recall the last time you masturbated. And you weren’t about to start now, as unquenchable as you were. 

So, you persisted. Prayed that your ruse might finally bear fruit. It all culminated with this: "I won't. How about you I take you, so that I may seek my own pleasure? Get on your back. Offer your belly up to me, wolf, so I may sit on you."

In a lightning's flash Jungkook was atop you, one muscular forearm looping your hips and the other strong across your chest, claws toying with the malleable flesh of your swollen breasts. His weight suffocated you once more, but you did not resist when he sought to manoeuvre you into submission. Not when, in the ferocity of his outrage did he then stuff you full with his entire cock, plunging to your depths in one, fluid thrust. It took your breath away. Deprived you of your vision. For a moment, nothing but blood raged in your ears as you fully comprehended just how in want you were. "Oh, G-Gods."

A scramble of depraved utterances streamed from Jungkook's mouth as he handled you as he truly wished. With just the one, greedy hand he bullied your swaying breasts, squeezing them as if to strain you of milk. Every vulgar grope, every pull of your nipples manifested violently in your cunt, throttling Jungkook's monstrous cock in arrhythmic convulsions. "I-Is it truly safe?" He posed it to you as a throaty moan, his other hand charting the flesh of your inner thighs and skimming them like a potter might wet clay. As his thumbs brushed the apex between, willingly and desperately you split your legs further apart, elevating your backside for his inspection. The mere act of yielding to Jungkook sensitised you to him tenfold. Though you were not werekind, his influence was such in its potency that it affected you all the same. A familiar, innate desire to pleasure him overcame you. And as you submitted to him now, nothing thrilled you more than the whines of appreciation that kissed your ears as his full length stretched you silly. Jungkook murmured again; lower and in earnest. "____. Is it truly safe?"

"It is. A thousand times I've said it." As you spoke he shifted within you, and the world shifted too. The gratification was profuse. "The babes will come to no harm," you sang, sliding along the base of his girthy cock. "And neither will I. No, I need this. And so do you."

"I won't deny that." Was all he said before he pinned you like a ravenous beast its beaten prey, hips snapping, momentum rippling through you. Each drive of his pelvis bombarded your cunt with his weighty, bloated balls as he dove in deep. They struck you like a rider’s crop, again and again, until you were sore and splendidly puffy. “Fuck, you’re so deep. I forgot how far back you go. God, you’re made for me. My perfect, pretty little bitch.” Jungkook was quickly carnal. Every phrase concluded in a wolfish whine. 

He rutted you with the vigour of his first heat, feverish and erratic, jamming you to your limits with his colossal cock. His tip kissed your cervix on repeat, greasing your insides with pre-cum as he ploughed apart your unyielding walls. He leaked it so liberally now, so profusely that it dribbled from around him. All the while you yelped up a din beneath him, fully engrossed in your deference to him. You glimpsed night sky in the bedsheets, spatterings of stars combusting before your very eyes. They fell as tears, streaking your cheeks wet with relief.

"Yes, yes—that's it. Oh, you feel so good, my love. S-So good." Jungkook pistoned into you with expert precision, sweeping across your g-spot with every frenzied pass. A glorious ache tugged at your navel as he did so, wringing your insides like a sopping sponge. And, oh, how you were sopping. Vulgarly so. Jungkook juiced your cunt each time he crammed you full, soaking the space between you. It lacquered his abdomen 'til he shined in the lowlight. Gods, he was gorgeous, you could not help but glimpse him past your shoulder, to observe him as he split you apart, his eyes sharp and expression fraught. Your cunt heaved at the sight and sensation of him, and spurred him on.

"You were right. So right." Jungkook's tongue flicked around his gaping mouth, touching on his teeth in concentration. His eyes remained fixed to the site of your messy joining, tracking the drag and draw of his throbbing cock. "You can take anything. You're so strong. So beautiful," he whispered between uneven breaths, adhering himself to your arching back and resuming his earlier, intimate ministrations. As his lower half rippled and rammed you, his upper half cocooned you in comfort, gifting touches so soft they could be whispers.

You sensed it before it came. Hot breath tickled your nape for the briefest moment and then, there it was, sharp and soothing, a bite as familiar as his tender kiss; the bite that affirmed your initial bonding. It no longer induced pain, only a midsummer's welcome warmth. This first bite was the gentlest; Jungkook reasserting his claim. But then he withdrew, and struck again, and again, latching onto your nape for purchase as he pounded himself into your cunt to eke mewls from you.

"Ngh, fuck, it's happening too soon." Jungkook sounded utterly bereft. He did not, however, slow his incessant pace. His zeal had displaced you so far up the bed that the headboard clattered against your cheek. Discomfort was an irrelevant notion when you were having the life fucked into you, however. "I should withdraw."

"No!" It was practically a scream. "Knot me. Please, it's been too long. I need it, I need all of you," you burbled, tears afresh in your eyes. You were so close. Something momentous accumulated in your abdomen; teased glimpses of divine completion.

"Fuck!" Jungkook's hands roved your underside in woeful abandon, gripping at you like he might yet reestablish restraint. Clearly he could not, for his next move was to indulge in the blood that trickled freely from your neck. His long, rough tongue lapped you clean of his excesses, and his lips made sweet reparation. "I want—" A wet, solemn kiss. "I w-want—" A quick, furious thrust between your legs. "I want to fill you to the brim."

"Yes, do it, alpha. Please, please." Your whining rivalled that of the den's neediest pups. "I'm strong, like you said. I can take it. There is nothing more I've wanted these past months than that. Please knot me, Jungkook." As incentive you pitched your backside higher, clenching both orifices for his appreciation. Jungkook observed the gesture keenly, his cock jumping to a stall within you.

“Sh-shit—”

With surprising composure, he cupped the back of your head and tilted you toward him. Your cheekbones brushed in passing, and the tips of your noses pressed close. He sifted your eyes for sincerity before pressing his lips to yours in a long, torrid kiss that conveyed all that you needed from him. As you parted, Jungkook's tongue lingered long enough to draw strings. And then he grinned. "Alright. As you deferred to me so readily." His pace quickened, escalating into a frenzy of cunt-cleaving thrusts that drove ruthlessly along your upper wall. "I shall oblige you."

"Oh God—" The reservoir within you burgeoned suddenly, pulsed behind your cunt for release. And as you felt the dam begin to fracture, Jungkook's fingers found your clit amidst your plastered folds. One, establishing touch was all it took to undo you. As the base of his cock began to thicken, a river of fluid rushed around it as you finally, joyously climaxed, eyes half-lidded and sightless as you ascended. Euphoria tinged your every atom and daubed the world white. You convulsed on end and with alarming force, your pussy gulping down Jungkook's rapidly ballooning cock. The stretch of him stung wonderfully, pushed apart your seizing hole without care for your capacity.

"F-Fuck." Jungkook faltered upon witnessing the ferocity with which you gushed. It soaked what little remained dry of his thighs, clinging to their definition. You gasped and moaned beneath him, dizzied by orgasm, your mouth agape and cheek crushed flat to the headboard. His vascular forearms shook to support him as he hurtled toward completion. "You needed all of me, hm?" Jungkook panted, drunk on lust and wild with power. He gloated over you like the primeval beast he was, fangs bared and liberated by instinct. "Your slippery little cunt missed this, didn't it?"

You mustered little more than a gurgle as he continued to ravage your boneless body, fucking through your spasming cunt until he himself began to twitch. "Sh-Shit, fuck," he exclaimed on high, head thrown back and knot taking root. Though you were spent and without much sense, Jungkook's sudden, violent expulsion shot new life through you. Together you groaned, until he began baying, grinding his turgid cock as far as his knot would allow, frustrated by its impediment. Possessed by ferality, Jungkook nipped desperate pleas into your bruised shoulders, grunting with each subsequent spurt he emptied into you. Though he could no longer snap his hips, they nonetheless dug into you as he milked himself of residue. “God. Shit. I—” Monosyllabic cusses continued to fall from him as he prised himself from your limp body. Without a moment’s reprieve he maneuvered himself to his knees so as to better inspect your expanding belly, his hands roaming your bulging expanses. "Yes." It was almost a hiss. "You are perfect. So full of me and mine."

"Indeed, I am." You cast him a struggling smile. When Jungkook returned it, it revitalised you. Your smile grew into a grin. "And what a lucky woman I am."

"Come, let us make you more comfortable," Jungkook muttered with a touch to your dampened cheek. Historically his knots did not always abate in a timely manner. Knowing this, Jungkook clutched you to his chest, adjusting you so as not to tug at your joining, nor disturb your swollen belly. Ever so gently he steered you onto your side, his sweat-slick body clinging to your back. His knot throbbed pleasantly within, interlocking you indefinitely. And you did not object, because this was when you felt most at peace, most loved, most protected. His arms cradled you, encircled your precious load, and all the while he washed you of perspiration and blood. No week went by where your neck and shoulders were not a spectrum of colour due to Jungkook's oral attention.

You did not object to that either.

"Thank you, Jungkook. I really needed that. I genuinely shed tears," you giggled, your breasts askew around his forearm. It tensed and pulled you closer.

"So did I." A growl laced his chuckle. "But I would never harm you or the pups to satisfy my own selfish desires. Forgive me my obstinacy, but I had to be sure."

"I understand. And we are safe. We're the safest with you, my love."

Jungkook suspended his rigorous bathing of you to kiss the crown of your head. "You are. Nothing shall befall you while I still breathe.

For a dreadful moment, your ongoing predicament punctured the post-coital glow. But you resolved not to let it. No, it could wait until tomorrow. In the here and now, you did not have to fret whether Jungkook would return home tomorrow. Whether his dinner would grow cold and your bed perennially so.

No.

In this moment, he was here, as were you. One bonded pair and their six, synchronous heartbeats.

Just a quick note to elaborate on the reader’s pregnancy, as I appreciate not everyone will have read these asks.

1) She is pregnant with four boys.

2) They develop in utero as wolves, and are born in that form too - therefore they are quite a bit smaller than human babies. So she isn’t particularly overburdened. A few months after birth they will begin popping in and out of both forms until they learn to control it.

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

[angstyaches]

The Strong One

I accidentally posted a reply to this ask too soon (instead of saving it as a draft as I’d planned) but here is what Mushroom Anon said:

ngl your self indulgent fics are some of your best ones. okay so my request was : a generally stoic and strong character getting sick from emotions? like from a panic attack or anxiety? their s/o is worried because ???? what happened?? turns out they’ve been having a Really Stressful Week TM and proceed to get pampered and loved. For felix and elliot. omg also how about : a little outsider shot of the two of them here pov ryan and nancy. thanks! 🍄

Post Thicker Than Blood Arc (i.e. after Felix comes back from visiting his mother’s nursing home etc.) And dude, I LOVED the Ryan/Nancy POV idea, holy shit. Thank you so much for that addition!!

CW: secrecy, bickering, panic attack, emeto, mention of (past) deaths.

___

“Good morning, darling,” Felix chirped as he entered the kitchen. Elliott was sitting at the marble countertop, one hand propping up his chin while the other tapped away at his laptop keyboard. Felix wasn’t sure what Elliott was working on these days – and he tended to get huffy and defensive when asked – so Felix made a grand gesture of cupping a hand around his eye while walking past. Look, darling, I’m not looking!

“Morning?” Elliott glanced down at his watch, tilting the laptop screen so that it was almost halfway shut, despite Felix making it obvious that he wasn’t looking. “It’s basically the afternoon.”

“Hmm?” Felix took hold of Elliott’s wrist, tilting his head to read the time. “No, it’s still the morning for seven more minutes and twelve more seconds.”

Elliott grunted. “Oh. Well. You got me.”

Felix chewed his lip, his feathers a bit ruffled by Elliott’s tone. He glanced through the kitchen towards the sitting room. “Where is everyone?”

“I think Nan dragged Ryan to the farmer’s market.”

“No!” Felix gasped. “I wanted to go, too.”

“Should’ve woken up earlier then, huh? Maybe joined me on a morning run?”

A grin spread across Felix’s face, his natural response to Elliott’s attempts to mould him into a morning person. It hadn’t happened in the last seven years, so it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

He leaned his head against Elliott’s shoulder, even though his hair was still dripping wet from his shower. “I love it when you nag me. You in the mood for a drop of coffee?”

“No, Fee, I’m fine.” Elliott tugged the laptop screen even lower, as though he thought Felix was trying to peek.

Felix looked up, a bit startled by the solemn tone of Elliott’s voice, and confused by just how protective he was being on his screen. His partner looked down at him, still the taller of the two while sitting on the island stools. His eyes portrayed an uneasy darkness that made Felix frown.

“Is…” Felix’s heart skipped a beat. “Is everything alright, darling?”

Elliott blinked. “Yes. Why?”

“I – you just seem…”

One of Elliott’s eyebrows arched.

“… Tense,” Felix grimaced.

“Tense?” Elliott repeated dully. “Well, excuse me. Not all of us had fifteen hours of sleep.”

“Huh. Okay.” Felix pursed his lips and padded unhappily across the white tiles, towards the coffee maker. He felt silly. He could usually handle Elliott’s teasing and such, but something about the way he was acting felt strange. It was like something had shifted between them.

Felix felt his heart sink as he scooped coffee grounds into the machine, his motions slowing.

It had been three weeks since Felix had returned to the Aldridge’s townhouse, after spending a few weeks up north and visiting his mother in her nursing home. Beyond his first few days back, Elliott hadn’t questioned him too much about what had happened up there, so Felix had assumed – hoped – that he’d decided to put it all behind them. But there was a chance he had changed his mind since then, right?  

Felix blinked, realising he’d spilled grounds on the glistening white countertop. He barely cared. He turned around. “Elli?”

“What?” Elliott had lifted the laptop screen again, still sitting stiffly as he navigated some screen that Felix wasn’t allowed to see.

“Are – are you still angry with me?” There was a tiny hitch in Felix’s voice, which he couldn’t help. He didn’t want to take Elliott’s mood and make it all about himself, but the thought of Elliott quietly holding onto resentment made Felix’s stomach hurt.

Elliott let out a rasping sigh and slapped the lid of his computer shut. Felix jumped on the spot, watching with wide eyes as Elliott dropped his head into his hands where he sat. Felix was overcome with worry, sure, but for a tenth of a second, all he wanted to do was check that Elliott hadn’t broken his laptop and lost whatever secret project he was working on.

“Darling?” Felix laid down the coffee scoop and wrung his hands. “If – if this is about anything that we talked about, I would want you to tell me.”

“No.” The word was murmured so softly that Felix barely heard it. Elliott let out a shaky, audible breath, his face still hidden in his hands. “No, boo, you – you and I are fine.”

“You – I’m sorry, you keep using that word. Fine…”

“You and I,” Elliott huffed, “are perfect, Fee.”

That should have been reassuring, but Felix still had that sinking sensation in his chest. Elliott’s shoulders rocked forward slightly, like he was trying to curl into a ball where he was seated.

At least this time, Felix didn’t have to hesitate in coming to Elliott’s side. “Elli,” he sighed, sliding his arms around Elliott’s waist, resting his forehead on his back. “Talk to me.”

“I…” Elliott started off shakily, gulping so hard that Felix heard it from where he was positioned behind him. “I-I don’t…”

As he waited for Elliott to find the words, Felix gently moved a hand up and down over his ribs, hoping the contact was soothing and not stifling. Elliott’s chest was rising and falling way too quickly for Felix’s liking. He decided he should probably back off and give his partner space to breathe, but as soon as he started to move, Elliott grabbed one of his hands and tugged it towards his chest again.

“You have something, now, or someone who… who can tie you to your old life.” The words vibrated within his chest and his back as he choked them out.

Felix frowned and lifted his head, looking up at the back of Elliott’s. The taller boy’s dark hair was scooped into a messy bun. The ends were knotted and ratty. It hadn’t been cut in so long. “Darling, I don’t want to be tied to that life. I want to be tied to this life, with you.”

“I know, I know, but it got me thinking about the people I used to know, and how…” Elliott shuddered in Felix’s grip. “How they would all... I knew it was a long shot, but I tried finding some names online, but we – Jesus, most of us didn’t even have full names, we were just trying to survive –”

“Darling,” Felix whispered, at a complete loss for anything more substantial to say.

“I mean –” A dark tremble of laughter broke through Elliott’s voice. He swivelled the stool, stepping down and taking a few steps across the tiles. “It’s pointless to even look for them, right? What are the odds any of my old friends also happened to end up becoming immortal vampires, huh?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Rhetorical question, boo.”

“Sorry.” Felix followed a few steps behind Elliott as he went to the kitchen window. It didn’t even seem like he was looking at anything in particular, but simply exposing his retinas to the light from outside.

“Elli?” Felix said quietly.

Elliott glanced at him, just for a moment. His eyes were dark and wet, his lips trembling as he gradually lost the battle against full-on hyperventilation. He shook his head violently, gaze wandering aimlessly again. “I don’t – I don’t feel right. What’s wr… What’s wrong with me, Fee?”

“Darling, try to slow your breathing.”

Elliott slammed his palms down either side of the kitchen sink, his shoulders buckling forward under the pressure of the gasps and heaves racking his body. “Felix, what’s wrong with me?”

“You’re panicking,” Felix said, shocking himself with how calm he sounded. He closed the last few paces between them, unable to resist being next to Elliott while he was in this state. “I’m right here, alright? I’m going to touch your back, Elli, but – but please, tell me if it’s not okay…”

“Don’t,” Elliott gasped, shaking his head violently. His mouth bobbed open as he lowered his shoulders even further, eyes widening. “G-going to –”

A moment before Elliott started dry heaving, Felix realised what was happening, and obediently took his hand back. As a rule, Elliott detested being touched when he was sick, and Felix had learned to stop fighting that a long, long time ago.

Felix flinched at how violently sick Elliott suddenly was. His head was practically in the sink at one point, his body buckling under the intense convulsions. It was impossible to distinguish between the laboured breathing and the dry heaving, but every sound and every lurch made Felix’s heart twist a little tighter in his chest.

“Darling, I’m sorry,” Felix choked out. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise you had all of this going on inside you.”

Elliott whimpered at that, attempting to lift his head a little higher. “Fee, I just –” He was immediately interrupted by a wet belch, and a clear stream of saliva that he needed to spit away from his lips into the sink. “You just got back, I w-want – wanted things to be normal… for you.”

“Elli,” Felix whined. He couldn’t believe what was happening here. Elliott was trying not to cry as he spoke, and Felix almost lost it too, though he did his best to keep a hold of things. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but he had a feeling he knew exactly what Elliott meant by ‘normal’. He meant the normalcy where Felix could be a mess and Elliott was forced to be the strong one.

He watched as Elliott brought his elbows down gently in front of the sink, letting his head drop against them as the nausea finally seemed to past. He trembled and sighed deeply, seemingly in resignation.

Felix cleared his throat softly. “May I touch you?”

A very quiet chuckle emerged from Elliott’s buried face. “You may.”

Felix rested a hand gently on Elliott’s back, introducing the slightest amount of motion so that his fingertips grazed over a small portion of his spine. He lowered his forehead to Elliott’s shoulder again, this time with very little weight behind it. He needed Elliott to know he wasn’t leaning on him, but that he was there for him.

And he was capable of being the strong one sometimes.

___

“You know, there was a time where you would have helped me bring the bags in from the car,” Nancy sulked. Her arms were outstretched and wrapped around half a dozen bags from different vendors which were pressed against her chest.

“It is not my fault that you insist on buying so much,” Ryan said calmly, following her wife to the doorstep with her hands in her pockets. “For example, you did not need to purchase onions from three different stalls.”

“I told you; they’re different varieties!”

Ryan sighed as she opened the front door and stood back to let her wife into the front hallway of the townhouse. “An onion is an onion, love.”

“Felix,” Nancy grumbled, turning as she walked and narrowing her eyes at Ryan. “Felix will back me up. Felix! Felix, sweetheart!” she called towards the stairs.

The response from within the house was a muted sshhh, which sounded much closer than the upstairs bedrooms. Nancy frowned, meeting Ryan’s gaze for a moment as she closed the front door. Ryan made a beeline towards the kitchen and Nancy followed, dragging her feet slightly on the tiles as she struggled with her bags. She paused by the kitchen island to deposit all of them, watching as Ryan rounded the far corner and stared at what was happening on the sofa.

“Oh, sweethearts, what’s happened?” Nancy gasped, rushing over to stand next to Ryan.

Felix was sitting – almost upright – at one end of the sofa, white Elliott curled up next to him, his head resting in the smaller boy’s lap.

“Is… Is he asleep?” Nancy whispered.

Felix nodded silently. His poor eyes were red and a little puffy as he glanced back and forth between his two foster mothers.

“Anything we can do?” Ryan asked in a low voice, slipping her hands into the pockets of her slacks again. Nancy couldn’t help but pout; oh, sure, you’ll ask them if there’s anything they need you to do, but you won’t help me carry a couple of bags into the house.

A weak smile tugged at Felix’s exhausted expression, and he shook his head. His fingers drifted over Elliott’s head, brushing back a thin strand of his dark hair. Nancy once again couldn’t help herself, this time pursing her lips and wondering how long it had been since Elliott had cut his hair.

“Everything’s okay,” Felix murmured softly. “I’ve got him.”

[leejungchans]

— coming clean.

word count: 2k

warning(s): mentions of anxiety, swearing

set in early january 2021 after the events of our first snow

notes: all the conversations and text messages here are in korean!!

summary: juliet goes to hongjoong for advice after making her relationship with dino official.

juliet’s masterlist | ask game

Juliet forces herself to take several deep breaths at the familiar door leading to Hongjoong’s studio. She’s been hanging outside in the hallway for the past ten minutes ever since she finished practising for their upcoming comeback, not being able to bring herself to knock as she knew exactly why she was still here at this hour.

Come on, Baek Minyoung. It’s just Hongjoong, he won’t be mad. You have to do this. He’ll help you.

She brings her fist up only to falter at the last second. If anyone passed by now, they’d definitely question why she’s standing ominously still with her fist suspended in the air.

To say that Juliet is dreading the imminent conversation would be a gross understatement. She even doubted if it was a good idea coming to Hongjoong first instead of telling all eight members at once. She hates keeping secrets from them, who know her as well as, if not more than, her family, and could definitely tell if she was hiding something.

But the thought of having this conversation with everyone felt so daunting, and she had hoped that if she spoke with the leader first she could ease herself into telling the others.

It isn’t that she’s afraid of them—no, that isn’t it at all. All nine of them value honesty and communication above everything else, and they’ve each came clean to one another about many things many times prior to today. So she wasn’t scared of them, but their reaction and very likely, their disappointment.

She doesn’t feel mentally prepared enough, it’s like giving a class presentation when you know nothing about the material, or jumping out a plane without checking if you have a parachute on. The anxiety is building within her, causing her chest to constrict and her breathing to become harsher and laboured. Her nails dug into her palm as her fist clenched more and more with every second.

Chan knew she was doing this tonight because she texted him earlier with the promise that she’d call him as soon as it was over, and he in turn assured her that he would be there waiting for her call no matter the hour. She tried to imagine his voice telling her to take deep breaths while forcing herself to uncurl her fist.

Is it possible to feel your heartbeat in your ear? Because that’s fucking happening.

She doesn’t how long she’s been at this when her hand, as though moving on its own accord, raps at the frosted glass. Upon realising what she had done, Juliet quickly lowers her arm so it rests at her side, heart now beating even more rapidly because holy shit what have I done I wasn’t ready yet why did I knock whatthefuckwhatthefuck—

“Come in!”

Good fucking job, Juliet.

Releasing a heavy sigh, the girl cracks open the door and sticks her head in, meeting the concerned gaze of Hongjoong who rakes a tired hand through his hair, the exhaustion that seems to settle permanently in his features when he’s working is unmistakable.

It always pains her to see him like this. Juliet thinks he works too hard—not that working hard is a bad thing necessarily, but it’s no secret that Hongjoong can sometimes give too much to the point where he neglects himself.

Of course, she’s not the first person who’s said something about it to him, because she’s definitely overheard Seonghwa lightly scolding the leader for not taking care of himself more. And she knows Hongjoong is trying, so she tries not to bring it up as much to avoid placing more burden on his shoulders.

The irony of this sentiment is not lost on Juliet, because she is very well aware that what she is about to confess to him is most certainly going to be another cause of worry. She hates it—knowing that she’s the reason why someone is upset or stressed. But she also knows that telling him is the right (and inevitable) thing to do.

“Minyoung-ah, you’re still here? It’s—” Hongjoong spins around in his chair to glance at his phone screen—“it’s almost one. I thought you went home already,” he says disapprovingly. “You should be sleeping by now.”

Juliet bites down on her tongue to prevent herself from making a “well, you’re still working too” comment, and instead hands him the cup of takeaway coffee she’s been holding onto all this time with a sheepish smile. “I got you coffee?”

He sighs but takes the cup nonetheless while she makes herself comfortable on the spare office chair. “I thought you hated bringing me coffee.”

“Only because it would make you stay up even later and I don’t want to keep enabling your bad sleeping habits.”

“Yet you still do it. Bribing me, perhaps? What is it this time?”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “You say that like I’m the problem child in the family,” she pouts before sobering up. “I don’t know if you’d call it a bribe, but...um...I came here for advice because I thought you’d be the best person to go to.”

Hongjoong knows that look on her face better than anyone else, instantly recognising that whatever she has on her mind is serious.

“Okay, one sec,” he says, turning around to click a few buttons on his software before facing her once more. “What’s wrong? I’m all ears.”

“Will you be mad?”

Hongjoong sighs again, hand reaching out to give the maknae’s a few gentle pats on the head. “You know I could never be mad at you.”

Juliet holds out her pinky finger. “Promise?” she asks, prompting a snort from him.

“What are we, twelve?” he says teasingly, though he humours her anyways and interlaces his pinky with hers.

“Only on a scale of one to ten.”

This makes Hongjoong cackle, and he can’t help but admire how she manages to stay witty despite being clearly nervous about something. “Fine, you win. But seriously, is everything okay?”

Here goes nothing.

“Uh...well...you know how Chan and I went out last week?”

“I recall it, yes. What about it?”

“I—he—um...” That fear and nervous she was feeling earlier returns with full force. She might’ve had a chance to run away when she was still in the hallway, but she doubts that she can bolt out of the studio to avoid having this conversation.

Hongjoong places a hand on hers which are starting to shake. “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he says softly, “I can’t guarantee that I’ll react the way you want me to, but I’ll always hear you out.”

A tiny sniffle. “That’s not very reassuring.”

He chuckles. “Maybe not, but just take some deep breaths, okay? We’re here to support each other, this is a safe space to talk about anything.”

It takes a minute or so for Juliet to compose herself before she decides that it’s pointless to beat around the bush. “He...he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

Hongjoong nods. If her confession shocked him, he’s doing a good job not showing it. “And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Juliet echoes in disbelief, “that’s all you have to say?”

The rapper shrugs. “I mean, I think we all know you two were going to get together officially sooner or later, so I can’t say I’m surprised or anything.”

“Are you disappointed?” she asks lightly, trying not to give away how nervous she is and how devastated she’d be if he was. “Mad?”

“No,” the response comes immediately. “If anything, I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me. You’re an adult, you can make decisions for yourself, and I think it goes without saying that we all trust you with such a decision, and that you’ve thought about it comprehensively before coming to it. Also, you’re allowed to have a personal life, no one has the right to hold it against you.”

Juliet’s eyebrows knit so closely together that they almost form a single line. “But...I promised you guys back then that I’d be careful and wait.”

“Hasn’t it almost been a full year since you met?” Hongjoong asks rhetorically. “I think you two waited long enough.”

A tear escapes her eye. “I just don’t want to get you guys in trouble because of something wrong I did,” she says quietly.

The leader wordlessly grabs a tissue from his desk to dab away the tears that flow down her cheeks. “It’s not wrong to want to have a relationship, Minyoung-ah,” he says, still wiping away the droplets. “I know it can seem otherwise in this industry, but it’s true. If something happens, we’ll deal with it then and we’ll get through it, like we have with anything else.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Nine makes one team, right?”

Juliet cracks a small smile, which Hongjoong returns with one of his own. “Right.”

“Have you told the others yet?”

“No,” she admits, “I thought I might get too overwhelmed breaking the news to all eight of you at the same time, but I’ll tell them tomorrow morning because I think some of them will probably already be asleep by the time I get home.”

Hongjoong nods. “Okay, good. What about the company?”

She stays quiet for a few seconds, weighing her options for what seems like the hundredth time that week. “I think I’ll tell them,” she finally says. “I’d rather them find out about us from me than from a tabloid.”

“I agree,” he concurs, “it shows that you trust them enough to let them know and that you’re not hiding something from them.” Hongjoong pauses, as though debating on whether to say what he’s thinking of. “Are you worried that they might say no?”

“Of course, but...if that happens...I’ll just see what I can do.”

“If they tell you to break it off, the eight of us will cover for you,” Hongjoong suggests cheekily.

Juliet giggles. “I’ll hold you to that, because I like Chan too much to break it off like that.”

The leader makes a face. “Okay, gross, you did not have to say that. A simple ‘thanks!’ would’ve sufficed, you know.”

“Don’t make me throw this snotty ball of tissue at you.”

Hongjoong snorts before his features soften. “Feel better?” he asks gently as he watches the girl dab away any remaining moisture from her waterline.

“Much,” Juliet smiles gratefully, feeling as though a significant weight has been lifted off her chest. “Thanks for talking this out with me.”

He ruffles her hair, prompting her to swat his hands away. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. You two have my blessing.”

“Sure, like I need it,” Juliet says sarcastically, though she can’t help the blush that spreads across her cheeks.

“Yah! I practically raised you with Seonghwa!”

“Okay, okay,” Juliet concedes, wrapping her arms around Hongjoong’s neck to hug him. “Thanks again,” she whispers.

The boy pats her on the head. “Hurry up and go home.”

“Don’t work too late, understand?”

Hongjoong playfully salutes her. “Yes, ma’am. I’m almost done anyways.”

“Nice try, but I’ll spare you the lecture this time.”

“Thank you, O Mighty One, you are as merciful as you are beautiful.”

Juliet cackles at the exasperation dripping from Hongjoong’s tone before giving him a final hug and leaving the studio with a quiet click! of the door shutting.

For a few minutes, she stays there to watch him through the door, and though his figure is blurry and unclear from the frosted glass, it’s not hard to spot that he’s already resuming his work, back hunched over the desk and head occasionally darting up to look at the computer screen. She can only hope that he’ll keep his promise and get some rest soon.

As Juliet walks to the car park where her manager is waiting, Hongjoong’s heartfelt words echo over and over in her head. Feeling much lighter from relief, gratitude and hope, she pulls out her phone to send two messages.

TO: channie 🦖💕

[01:23] hongjoongie-oppa says he gives us his blessing ㅋㅋㅋ ❤️

TO: Nine Makes One Team

[01:24] minus hongjoong-oppa because i just talked with him, can the rest of us have a quick family meeting tomorrow morning please? there’s something i need to tell you guys...

a/n: hongjoong bestest bestest bestest boy ;-; hehe let me know what you think of this update!! we stan people who actively, honestly and healthily communicate with each other!! communication really is so important in any relationship and that’s something i had to learn the hard way.

i’m also debating on whether i should write one of the others’ reactions when juliet tells them but i also think it’d be pretty similar to this one (ie. they’d all be really supportive of their relationship even if they were slightly worried for them), so i don’t want to repeat any content but let me know if you want to see that or anything else (eg. more dino/juliet or ateez/juliet moments)!! 💕

please do consider leaving feedback whether it’s a reblog, a reply or an ask, it would mean the absolute world to me 🥺 thank you for reading and i hope you’re having a good day 💕 remember you can always chat with me through my asks and i’m here for you!!

[scoopsgf]

for a prompt peter meets the rouge avengers and they witness irondad at it's finest

It’s half past two in the morning when Peter’s ears perk at the sound of an old-fashioned, peppy ringtone.

He looks around in search of it. There’s Tony passed out at his workbench, face dangerously close to a slice of plated cold pizza; DUM-E is rolling around a few feet away chasing after a crumpled ball of paper Peter had tossed over his shoulder; there are tools scattered everywhere and blueprints and a whiteboard covered in equations.

But no phone.

Peter slips off his stool. He walks toward the sound, slowly, cautiously, and by the time he thinks he’s located the source the ringing stops.

Peter stares at Tony’s discarded running jacket. Throwing him a quick glance over his shoulder just to make sure the older man is still asleep, he reaches into the pocket and pulls out an old flip phone.

“What,” he deadpans, to absolutely no one.

Tony Stark, the former CEO of the world’s largest tech conglomerate. Tony Stark, creator of the most powerful mechanical weapon—sorry, prosthetic—of all time…

Is carrying around a dinky Nokia from 2009.

A Nokia which promptly starts ringing again (very loudly). “Shit!” Peter swears, jumping. On instinct he answers it. “Hello? What? Hello?”

“Tony?”

Peter glances at Tony again. He bites his lip. “Tony is unfortunately unavailable at the moment. I’m his… personal assistant. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Oh, uh,” there’s some muffled muttering on the other end, like the caller is relaying Peter’s words back to someone else, and then, “I uh—it’s kind of an emergency. Would you mind asking him if he’s got a minute to talk?”

And by now, Peter’s totally put the pieces together: crappy old phone, the voice—he is absolutely 100% having a real life conversation with Steve Rogers.

Again.

Peter doesn’t exactly know the full story between Tony and Steve. He just knows that whenever anyone brings up Rogers, Tony’s face darkens and he clams up.

Squinting at Tony, he asks, “Are you sure you need to talk to him?”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t have called otherwise.”

“But if you had, maybe, some other form of assistance? Say a web-slinging vigilante from Queens?”

There’s a pause.

Steve says, “Hey, kid,” with a smile in his voice.

“Hey Brooklyn,” Peter returns. “Long time, no speak.”

“Yeah, well, you know. So you’re working for Tony now?”

“I wouldn’t call it working so much as slave labour.”

A laugh. “Somehow I doubt that. What’s he doing?”

“Sleeping—which, y’know, he barely gets enough of as it is. So what’s the situation?”

-

“Nice disguise.”

Natasha Romanoff looks up from the paper kid’s menu she’d been studying. Her eyebrow, dyed blonde, is raised. “I was worried it’d be too effective.”

“You do realise Buzzfeed publishes weekly articles that are literally just blurry photos of you and the other rogues followed by a bunch of keysmashes?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter slides into the booth opposite her. “So you’re here to what, feel me out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve already done that.” She sets the menu down. “I was already in the area. We’re both waiting for the ride.”

Peter nods. He looks out the window while she studies his face. He’d had no choice but to forego the mask seeing as his suit is still under repairs back in the lab. FRIDAY had said it wouldn’t be fixed until morning.

Natasha kicks his foot. “Why do you look younger than I remember?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “But hey, since we’re playing Q&A, why’d you stab Tony in the back?”

“I didn’t stab him in the back,” Romanoff argues. “I just… the Avengers are my family—”

“Tony’s part of the Avengers—”

“Tony has a support system. Steve is nothing without us—and I say that with love. Without his team he’d just be a sad old man stuck in time.”

“But now with you and your amazing makeover skills, he’s at least caught up to the seventies with that beard.”

She kicks him again. “Shut up. I don’t have to explain my reasoning to a kid.”

“So why are you?”

Romanoff squints and leans forward. “Why are you here?”

“Because if Tony knew that you needed help, he’d stop at nothing to save you no matter how much he hated your guts—which he doesn’t, by the way, he’s just really hurt—even if it meant putting his own life in danger. I don’t want that.” Peter shrugs. “Plus you were pretty cool last time and I thought we could be, I don’t know, friends or something. Whatever, it’s stupid.”

Her lip quirks up. “It’s not stupid.”

“Really? So you’ll be my spider buddy?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Think of a better name first and then we’ll see.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but right at that moment the door to the Taco Bell chimes and Steve Rogers walks in.

“Oh wow,” Peter whispers. “The beard really does work for him.”

“Right?” She grabs his arm. “Come on, little spinner.”

—

Steve is not at all pleased at how young Peter is.

“I dropped a jet rail on a kid,” he proclaims for the upteenth time, knuckles white around the steering wheel.

“Yeah, a kid that can lift fifteen tons on a bad day,” Peter snaps back, a little irritated now. He finishes strapping on the kevlar gear Natasha had provided him with. It’s bulkier than what he’s used to, but better than no protection at all.

“I dropped a jet rail on a kid.”

Natasha reaches out. “Steve—”

“I DROPPED A JET RAIL ON A KID!”

“I’m FINE!” Peter shouts back, the only one in the van besides Barnes that doesn’t flinch.

“You’re eight!” Steve retorts. “You don’t even know what fine is!”

Peter closes his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Steve, he’s enhanced,” Natasha reminds him, the only voice of reason. “Tony never would have brought him if he didn’t think Parker could handle it—”

Peter’s eyes snap back open. “How do you know my last name?”

“What did I say about how I’d already felt you out?”

“That sounds… so much worse than the way you mean it.”

“See?” Natasha pats Steve’s arm. “He’s already making dirty jokes. He’s fine.”

Steve is silent for a few seconds. Then he shakes his head. “We have to take him back.”

“What?!” Peter demands. “No! You need my help!”

“I need Tony’s help!”

“I can literally do anything Tony can,” Peter proclaims, and then pauses. “Probably.”

“That’s real reassuring,” Wilson pipes up from a few feet over.

“No one asked you,” Romanoff hisses.

Wilson rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, Steve’s got a point. Look at this little twink. Have you seen him? He’s like two feet big.”

“I’m literally sitting right here,” Peter says. “And I wasn’t kidding when I said I can lift fifteen tons.”

“No,” Steve decides. “You’re too small.”

“Oh, are you shitting me?!” Barnes explodes. “Steve, you were a five foot tall asthmatic when you enlisted!”

“That was a different time!”

“It’s just a little stealth mission,” Barnes says. “The kid can pin my arm down. Even you can’t do that.”

Steve frowns. “You can pin his arm down?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “I’ll say it one more time: fifteen tons.”

Another pause.

“Fine,” Steve says. “Fine, Jesus Christ. But if he dies—”

“You’ll blame yourself like you always do,” Natasha finishes for him with a dry look.

Rogers sighs. “Yeah. Probably.”

—

Tony jolts awake at precisely four AM.

The first thing he sees is pizza.

It’s two inches from his face and disgustingly congealed. He pushes it away as he raises his head, and then notices a second thing: Peter is gone.

“Um… FRIDAY?”

“Yes Boss?”

“Where’s the kid?”

“He left approximately two and a half hours ago on urgent business.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. That stinks. Like, a lot. “Urgent business? He’s twelve.”

“I was only able to catch his half of the phone conversation—”

“Oh, well then just trace the call or whatever.”

“I’m afraid the phone he used isn’t advanced enough for that.”

Tony stiffens. He doesn’t want to look, but turns around anyway, eyeing his jacket. Slowly he grabs it and feels around in the pockets. “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?”

“What do you think?! The phone! The little rectangular piece of garbage Rogers FedExed to me with the worst apology note of all time!”

“Oh, that.”

Tony freezes. His eyes close briefly. Then they seek out the nearest of FRIDAY’s cameras. “You didn’t wake me up, darling.”

“No,” she replies, almost sheepish.

“Whyever not?”

“Peter and I both agreed that the best thing for you would be for you to sleep as long as possible—”

“I don’t CARE what’s best for ME!”

He takes a minute to fume. Then he starts moving. “Is he wearing his watch?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Fantastic, showstopping, incredible,” Tony slaps the housing unit on his chest. “Open the pod bay doors, would you?”

—

Peter is kind of kicking ass.

Like, not to brag or anything, but he’s taken down six HYDRA agents so far and for once hasn’t had to ask for help. He’s holding his own.

Maybe it’s something to do with being part of a whole unit. They move around each other, they fight as one; there’s a boost to the normal amount of adrenaline Peter feels in the midst of a fight. He knows that if he gets kneed in the chest and goes down for a second, Barnes is gonna swoop in and break a jaw with his metal arm. Likewise, Wilson knows that if he gets thrown back into the wall with that weird glowy laser gun, Peter is gonna web the HYDRA soldier up and subdue the threat.

It’s… kind of awesome.

They’ve split up, for the most part. Maximoff, Rogers, and Romanoff are working through the east wing while Peter, Barnes, and Wilson slowly carve their way through the west.

“Could use a little bit of backup,” Wanda says through the comms, in a rasping, out of breath voice.

Peter taps his ear. “Where are you?”

“Second floor, third room,” she reports.

Peter doesn’t waste any time. He shoots a web for the roof of the atrium and swings across the wide open space that separates the two halves of the building. He’d calculated the distance just right and hurtles straight into Wanda’s attacker.

“Thanks,” she huffs.

Peter shrugs, wiping Dilapidated Building Dust off of his suit. “Hey, no problem.”

“You know, they’re all hypocrites.”

Peter pauses. “What?”

“I was nineteen when we went to Germany. My powers just happened to be more convenient for their needs.”

“I, uh—oh.”

She slips past him. “I’m not saying they’re not good people. I’m just saying that when it comes to winning, sometimes morality goes out the window. In that way… Sometimes I think Stark might have had the right of it.”

Before he can really process that, Peter reaches out and grabs her wrist. She scowls. “What?”

“Two agents, twenty feet away and gaining.”

“How can you tell?”

“Heartbeats.”

To his surprise, she grins. “I’m not going to lie, that would come in handy a lot with the work we do.”

“Well, you know where to find me. Wanna trip em Suite Life style?”

“What?”

“Nothing, just follow my lead.”

—

When Rogers’ fist collides with the last agent in the base, and Peter and Romanoff have extracted all of the information she needed off of HYDRA’s underground databases, Wilson says, “Do your thing, Wanda.”

She nods. “Everyone clear out.”

Peter doesn’t question it too much. He follows Barnes’ lead outside. The base, disguised as a factory, is in the middle of the Jersey woods—so there’s no one around to watch Wanda’s hands glow red and for the building to collapse inward.

“Cool,” Peter breathes.

“Destroying buildings can be fun when it’s on purpose,” Wanda tells him, somewhat bitterly.

Peter frowns. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Tell that to Stark.”

“He doesn’t think—”

“Tell me what?”

Peter’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t want to turn around, but he does anyway; slowly so as to delay his inevitable demise. Tony is hovering about feet behind them all with his faceplate down.

“Oh,” he says stupidly. “Hey.”

The plate lifts.

Tony does not look happy.

“Hello.”

“It’s uh… fancy seeing you here?”

“Oh, don’t try to be cute with me.” Tony drops down onto the ground. “How about you save me the heart attack by telling me what in God’s name you’re doing out in the middle of nowhere at four in the fucking morning—and you left with them of all people when I specifically asked you not to!”

Peter opens his mouth. Then he closes it and averts his eyes. “They needed… help.”

“Oh, they needed help,” Tony shakes his head. “You need help. Psychiatric help.”

“Hey, lay off the kid man,” Wilson pipes up. “He was just—”

“Excuse me?” Tony puts a hand to his ear. “What? I must be mishearing, it sounded like you were butting into a conversation that has nothing to do with you by defending the poor decision making of a sixteen year old kid who has a math test in four hours!”

Peter blinks. He’d forgotten about that. “Okay, you’ve got a point there—however, I’d like to present to the jury evidence piece six-hundred and five: my completely uninjured body!”

Tony opens his mouth. Then it snaps shut again. Opens again; “Just wait until Aunt May hears about this.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Are you crazy?! She’ll kill us both!”

Tony hesitates. “You might have a point—but that doesn’t change the fact that this was incredibly reckless and stupid! You can’t just run off willynilly without even informing your parents—”

“Willynilly?” Peter interrupts, instead of PARENTS?!

“Enough! You’re grounded!”

Natasha steps forward. “Tony—”

“From what,” Peter challenges, ignoring her.

Tony sputters. “Uh, your suit, Karen, TV, that board game—”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what Dungeons and Dragons is called.”

“The name of the game is irrelevant,” Tony snaps. “Two weeks. Maybe three if you piss me off any more on the way home.”

“Don’t tell me you expect me to like, latch onto your suit.”

“And put you in more danger?! Fuck no! Happy’s waiting in the SUV.”

Peter sighs. He turns to the others. “Well, it’s been fun. Thanks.”

Steve Rogers blinks. “Uh, yeah. You did good, kid.”

Tony holds up a hand as Peter tries to pass him. He’s squinting at Steve, but seems to decide he doesn’t want to speak to the other man. He zeroes in on Natasha. “He did good?”

“Damn good,” she replies. “We could use him.”

Tony throws his head back and laughs. “Fucking hilarious! Think again! I swear to God, if I catch any of you heathens near my kid again and you’ll be dead before my feet hit the ground. Kid, go to the car.”

“Tony—”

“No. Car.”

—

“What the hell, Rogers.”

“Tony—”

“No! This is not the part where you speak.” Tony takes a second to remember to breathe because his heart is still pounding and there’s red on the edges of his vision. “I meant what I said. Stay away from my kid.”

“Tony, he’s stronger than you’re giving him credit for—”

“Nope! Nope! No!” Tony blasts off before he has to listen to any more.

—

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Peter meets Happy’s eyes through the rear view mirror. Glaring, he slowly buckles his seatbelt.

“That’s more like it. So, did you have fun?”

Peter slouches. “Am I even allowed to say yes?”

“No.” Happy shrugs. “But hey, if it’s any consolation—”

Peter never gets his consolation; the car door swings open and Tony slips inside. Before he can even get a word in, he’s being pulled into Tony’s arms. The older man’s heart is hammering against his chest.

“Kid—”

“I’m sorry,” Peter blurts. “Really. I know I shouldn’t have gone, I just… I wanted to help.”

“I know.”

He breathes out. “They didn’t mean to—”

“Leave them out of it.”

“But I went along with it—”

“Peter,” Tony says, and then sighs. “Just… that can’t happen again, okay? Promise me?”

Peter wishes he meant it when he says, “Yeah, I-I promise.”

The drive home is quiet, but Tony lets Peter fall asleep on his shoulder, and when they get back to New York they stop at his school so he’s not late for his test.

And everyone sees who’s in the car when Peter gets out.

Kind of makes up for being grounded, if you ask him.

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Unedited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Thirty-One : The One With the End

Warnings: Child Birth

Word Count: 3293

    Lily let out a breathy sigh as she sat up in her bed that morning. Her breathing was laboured from her crying the night before, and eyes felt swollen and puffy. A feeling she'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks. When she became coherent, a new feeling of dread fell over her shoulders. It was her birthday.

The knock on her door only solidified that.

Hunter pushed open the door, and walked in with Rose with a plate of blueberry pancakes and orange juice. Butter and icing sugar coated the sweet breakfast and Lily smiled brightly as she opened her arms for her son. The boy ran forward and tackled his mom, hugging her tightly and wishing her a happy birthday, before rolling to the end of the bed with Joey.

Rose waddled forward and smiled, tilting her head as she placed the tray down, eyes scanning her sisters face, "You alright Lily?"

The older sister pursed her lips, forcing a fake smile on her face, "No one likes getting older."

Rose nodded slightly, taking a seat on the other end of the bed beside Joey and Hunter. The three sat in silence as Lily began eating. Lily wasn't really sure what to say to them. Birthdays were never really a big thing for her. She went all out for Hunter, but never enjoyed them herself. She preferred to just go on with her day like it was nothing. It was easier than having all of that attention on her for the whole day. Agreeing to the dinner tonight was more so for Gen's sake than her own. It would put her best friend at ease. So Rose was staying home with Hunter while Lily went to the cafe and spent a few hours with her best friend.

"Can I style you today?" Rose grinned, wiggling her eyebrows at her sister, hands resting on her swollen stomach.

"...Do I?" Lily chuckled, sipping her drink, "Will I end up walking out of the house looking like I own 57% of a company?"

"No. But it'll get you out of those sweats," she grinned, "Plus it's your birthday present. I bought you clothing. Don't worry, it still fits you're 'don't talk to me I'm a ball of anxiety' style."

"I do not dress like that!" Lily laughed, scoffing halfway through.

Hunter turned his attention to his mom, raising his eyebrows, "Mom. I'm twelve, and I know that's your style."

"Ha!" Rose laughed, standing to her feet, "Looks like our little man's gonna follow in his aunt's footsteps and go into fashion."

"No." Hunter stated, turning his attention back to Hunter, "I wanna join the military like Bucky."

Lily choked on her drink, the orange liquid staining her grey pyjama top. Her mind went blank as she placed the cup down, staring at her unbothered son. Rose above him was wide eyed and stunned at the sudden confession. Lily wasn't even sure how to process the information. She never would have thought about Hunter doing something like that, let alone following in the footsteps of his mothers ex-boyfriend. But she figured it made sense, he looked up to Bucky more than Lily could fathom.

"When did you decide that?" Lily managed, wiping her mouth with a napkin, facing her son.

"After hearing Bucky's stories on my birthday," Hunter shrugged, scratching Joey's ears, "And I fully decided when he went on the mission before you and him broke up."

Rose stared at Lily's shell shocked face. Lily could barely peel her eyes off of the back of her son's head. He was so nonchalant about it all that Lily felt a shiver of fear slide down her spine. This seemed like such a casual topic for Hunter, all while it shredded the last bit of Lily's heart that was intact after the end of her last relationship. She didn't know if this was something that Hunter was truly serious about, or if this was his weird way of trying to get his mom back together with the supersoldier.

"Okay buddy why don't you go get dressed okay?" Rose hummed, shooing the twelve year old from the room with the dog following suit.

The moment the door shut behind the boy, and his footsteps were far enough away, Lily broke once again. Her tears fell down her cheeks rapidly as her heart grew heavy and lead like in her chest. Rose struggled onto the bed and tugged her sister close, letting the elder cry into her shoulder. Letting all of those broken pieces shatter into something unfixable.

The only one able to fix it too far from her reach.

-----

Lily stared at herself in the mirror. She wasn't used to wearing dark colours, Rose knew this. However, Lily now stood in front of her bathroom mirror in a black knee length tennis skirt, with a black and white striped sweater tucked into it. It wasn't something she was used to. She only really reached out from her comfort style when her and Bucky got further into their relationship. She took a guess that Rose knew this, and used it as leverage to get her sister to finally grow from the shell of who she was.

"I feel like I look like a sore thumb." Lily muttered to herself, running her hands down the front of the skirt, readjusting it at the hips.

"I heard that!" Rose called out.

"Then stop listening!" Lily replied, turning her head back to the mirror.

Running a hand through her golden hair, Lily tilted her head. She didn't hate the outfit, she just wasn't used to it. But she supposed it was her 34th birthday, she could experiment with fashion a little. Besides, it was only her and Gen for dinner and a bunch of strangers that still occupied the cafe. It's not like anyone would give her a second glance. Touching up her lipstick, Lily turned and walked from the room, smiling tightly at her sister.

"You look great, Lil." Rose nodded, wincing slightly.

"You okay?" Lily asked, walking forward and placing a hand on her sister's nine month pregnant stomach.

"Yeah yeah I'm fine, he's just a bit of a kicker recently." Rose chuckled, standing to her feet and walking from the room, Lily trailing her.

"I can stay home if you need me to, Rose. I don't mind." Lily insisted, following her younger sister closely behind.

"I'm fine Lily, really," Rose sighed, easing herself down the stairs, "He's just kicking. I know the difference between labour and kicking."

"I said that too, and gave birth later that day." Lily further pushed, placing her hand on her sister's shoulder as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"No. Lily, you're going out. It's your birthday," Rose sighed, handing her sister's purse to her, "Now go. Hunter knows how to dial 911 if in some freak case I end up going into labour. It's 7:30, you know Gen hates it when people are late."

"No she do- "

"Go!"

-----

Lily sighed as she stepped out of her car, embracing the warm and slightly muggy air of the city. As much as she adored the smell of the grass and the noises of kids playing, Lily always had a soft spot for the hustle of the city and the sounds that came with it. She had lived in the thick of it for a bit with Gen, and she enjoyed it. But knew that it would become too overwhelming for her if she stayed too long. Hence her desire to be out in the suburbs with her own individual space.

Paying at the meter, Lily locked her car. She ducked and dodged around pedestrians as she walked towards the cafe that beckoned her forward. Her hand rested on the iron door handle and she pulled it back, beaming at the comforting smell of coffee and croissants. Taking a quick survey of her surroundings, Lily walked forward towards the back of the cafe. Where she could only assume Gen was slaving over an oven working on a meal for her and Lily.

"Well if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're cooking for a family of seven." Lily chuckled as she walked further into the kitchen.

"Good lord!" Gen exclaimed, dropping her spoon, "Announce yourself when you walk in here Lily!" She chuckled, turning and walking towards her.

"You just looked so focused." Lily teased, wrapping her arms around her best friend.

"Happy Birthday hun." Gen smiled, pulling back and pressing a kiss to the blondes flushed cheek.

"Thanks love, now can we eat? I'm starving." Lily teased, turning and walking back out onto the slightly crowded cafe floor.

The blonde found her seat in a booth just adjacent from the kitchen, and slid in. One of the servers brought her over a cup of coffee and left the pot, wishing her a happy birthday before she scurried off to help the other customers. Lily pursed her lips as she watched the young girl hurry around, a round bump protruding from her stomach and stretching at her apron. With a tight smile, Lily took a sip of her coffee.

"Okay I've got something to confess," Gen sighed as she walked out with the two dinners in her hands, "a certain group of people called and reserved a booth here tonight."

Lily raised her eyes to meet her best friends as the latter slid into the booth across from the blonde, "...what certain group?"

"Before you lose it on me, Elijah took the reservation not me," Gen added quickly, raising her hands in defense after putting Lily's chicken parm in front of her, "but it may be the group your ex-boyfriend is a part of."

Lily dropped her fork onto the table and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Are you kidding me? Gen you told me this would be a peaceful and nice dinner, just the two of us."

"I know I know I know!" Gen sighed, twirling her own pasta on her fork, "There's nothing I can do. I put them at the booth farthest from her though so, don't worry. There's no chance you'll run into your robot ex."

-----

Liar.

Turns out, Gen, being her forgetful self, put the Avengers at the table directly across from their booth. Leaving Lily in the direct eyeline of Bucky or whoever decided to sit on the far side of the table. Either way, it wasn't a good placement. And of course, right when they sat down, Gen realized her mistake and stared at Lily with wide and apologetic eyes.

Only to receive the dirtiest glare from Lily.

"I could have sworn that I put them on the other side of the cafe, in a booth." Gen sighed, feigning innocence as she returned her attention back to the food in front of her.

"You also said it was the Avengers. Not just Sam, Steve, and Bucky." Lily hissed, sipping her coffee and staring down her best friend, "What are you playing at, Genevive?"

"Tomato tomato," Gen sighed, waving her hand, "It's not like they're going to come talk to us. No one has been in contact with them in a month. Not since you broke the terminator's heart."

Lily dropped her fork again and raised her eyebrows at the brunette, "Really?"

"Oh relax. Now I'm going to check on your cake in the back. Don't go flirting with Captain America while I'm gone." She teased, standing from her seat and walking towards the back.

Rolling her eyes, Lily pushed her plate away from her and focused solely on her coffee. She tried with every part of her to avoid turning her gaze towards the hushed voices of the three Avengers who were sat a mere few meters away from her. However, even the strongest wills can bend. She dared a glance, dark eyes lifting from the strong liquid in her cup to just get the slightest peek at what he looked like.

She regretted it instantly.

Lily instantly locked eyes with his steel blue ones. Heavy eye bags that matched her own weighing down those once bright and lively eyes that Lily had fallen in love with. His beard was overgrown and hair too long and unkept. His entire face was fallen and solemn, as though he lost all life in him the day she told him to leave. His frame was fallen and thinner than she remembered.

He looked equivalent to her.

Shallow breaths, sunken shoulders. Troubled eyes and heavy thoughts. She had caused that. Lily's breath caught in her throat as she placed her cup down, tearing her eyes from his. Without a second thought, she stood from her seat. He followed suit. The cafe seemed to fall silent as the two stood at the same time, both daring the other to come closer. But Lily didn't intend to speak with him. Instead, she walked past him with her chin up. Right towards the bathroom opposite of the kitchen.

The steps grew quicker as she got closer, before slamming the door shut without a second thought. She placed her hands on the sides of the marble sink, attempting to catch her breath. The cool feeling on her hands brought some relief, but not much. The blonde lifted her head to stare herself down in the mirror. Her eyes seemed hollow and cheeks fell inward. She had lost a part of herself the day he left. After she told him to. It was her doing. She pushed him away and refused to talk about her feelings.

She destroyed both of them.

Fixing up her makeup and attempting to recenter herself, Lily felt every bit of dread fall on her like a blanket. If she had talked to him, told him her fears, her anxieties, this could have been avoided. They could have still been together, a pairing that worked so well it baffled Lily. He would still be in her arms, safe and away from the danger. She would have still been the girl he greeted with a kiss when she came home from work. But no. Instead, they were husks of people missing the other half of themselves.

Turning on her heels, Lily opened the bathroom door. Only to come face to face with the man who had plagued her thoughts for over a month now.

"Hi." He said softly, voice deep and gravely.

"Hi." She replied, heart picking up as she stood in front of the door, letting it tap against her back gently.

"Happy Birthday." Bucky whispered, taking a box out of his jacket and reaching forward, handing it to her.

"Thanks." She replied, voice equally as weak as she took the box, staring at him with confusion.

"Open it."

Lily nodded, her hands shaking as she went to open the leather case. She wasn't sure what he was playing at. If he was just being a nice person, if this was a hurtful prank, or hell, if he was trying to get her back. She wasn't sure. It all rested on the leather box that she held in her hands. But the moment was cut short when he phone vibrated in her pocket.

She whipped it out, ignoring the thud of her wallet on the floor. She'd pick it up after the call. Sliding her phone up, Lily answered her sister's call. But she didn't get to speak before she was running out of the cafe at Rose's three panic filled words.

"My water broke."

-----

Lily wasn't aware she could drive as fast as she did. Hunter had called an ambulance and the two had already made it to the hospital when Lily pulled up. Without a second thought, she tore through the entrance and stopped at the front desk, chest heaving and face red.

"My sister's giving birth. Rose Osborne. Came in with a little boy. My name's Dr. Lily Osborne. I work in the children's wing." The blonde stuttered, breath still trying to catch up with her voice.

"Right this way, Doctor." The nurse nodded, leading Lily through the doors and towards the maternity wing.

Lily followed hastily after the nurse, only picking up the pace when she saw Hunter sitting outside of a room. She ran forward and wrapped her arms tightly around the boy, pulling him tightly into her chest. Her breathing relaxed as she kissed the top of his head, bending down to be his height as she gave him a tight but warm smile.

"You did great buddy, now I'm gonna go help Auntie Rose bring you your cousin." She whispered, kissing his forehead before turning and walking into the room.

-----

Three hours. Lily held Rose's hand tightly for three hours as the latter officially became a mother to a healthy baby boy. Three hours later, Lily had a large bruise on the back of her hand from the sheer grip of her sister. Three hours later, the father of said child showed up. On the phone though, with his new girlfriend.

He didn't get far. Lily refused to allow him in the room until Rose was ready. And he didn't put up a fight, showing just how willing he was to truly become a father to the young boy that was swaddled in his mothers arms.

"Do we have a name for the little guy?" The nurse cooed as she walked back in the room, smiling at Hunter, who sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the baby boy in Rose's arms.

"Leo." Rose sighed breathlessly, "Leo Logan Osborne."

Lily smiled and kissed Rose's head before excusing herself from the room. Feeling a bit more relaxed, she slid into a seat and pulled out the leather box that Bucky had given her. She flipped it a few times in her hands, before pulling the trigger and opening the lid. Her heart hammered heavily against her chest as she pulled out the bracelet, smiling softly at the charms that he had already put on it.

Pancakes. Coffee. And a dog.

Clasping it around her wrist, Lily nodded to herself. Agreeing with herself that she would call him tomorrow, when everything was a bit more relaxed. Or more so, when she was less anxious about speaking with him again.

Peaking into the room, Lily smiled at Hunter curled into his aunt's side, staring longingly at the young boy in Rose's arms. Shutting the door softly, Lily turned towards the wall and walked towards the cafeteria, her own stomach rumbling. She could only imagine Rose's hunger. As she walked forward, something pulled her deep within to walk faster. So she did. Her feet moved faster as she rushed for a spot in line, staring up at the options.

After ordering and paying, Lily found herself coming face to face with a large chest in front of her. With the same intoxicating scent she had come to love over the last few months. She shut her eyes, before forcing her neck upwards, a tight smile on her lips as she met eyes.

"You left your wallet." He stated softly, reaching out with the leather item.

Lily pursed her lips once more and nodded, taking the wallet and sliding it into her pocket as she met his eyes once more. His eyes stared down at the bracelet on her wrist, and she grinned at the blush that formed on his cheek.

"Thank you." Lily whispered, "For the bracelet as well."

"It's my pleasure," Bucky commented, reaching his hand up and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, "What'd you get?" he said, earning a deep chuckle from her as she leaned into his touch before answering.

"Blueberry pancakes."

[fallen-in-dreams]

Chasing A Dream

Links: FF.net & AO3. Pairing: Sakura/Kakashi. Summary:  Her mother always told her to follow her dreams. In this case, her dream happened to have silver hair, mismatched eyes, and a smile that took her breath away. And she was determined to follow him all the way, even if he decided to break her heart. KakaSaku AU. Status: Complete.

Enjoy. ^_^

.:.

Sorry I have to leave so abruptly, Daddy. I’ll come back as soon as I can, okay? I know you’re disappointed in me. I wasn’t trying to shame you. I love you. I love you both. I’ll see you soon. Tell mama I’m fine. I always know my way home. - Love, Sakura.

.

Sakura Haruno walked for half a mile to get to the service area where she knew that drivers congregated before leaving Wajima. She did her best to dress like a foreigner and not show her Roma origins—nomads (Sanka) were considered as un-Japanese as any foreigner (Gaijin). She wouldn’t win the sympathetic ride with a stranger wearing her usual bodice and scarf.

She decided on a simple shirt and her nice jeans; they fit comfortably and hugged her well. It was cold out, even in the middle of the day, so she brought a heavy coat; one that was still easy to wear with her travelling backpack.

Her goal was to hitchhike her way to Tokyo. Depending on traffic and how long it would take to get a ride, the trip would take about seven hours. It would be expensive if done with public transportation; she had to save what little money she had for those things once she actually got to her destination.

To him.

And she was unfamiliar with the more typical ways of travelling through Japan. This was her last option; she had put this off long enough. For the first time since the last time she’d seen him, she wasn’t running from her problems; rather, meeting them head on. Before her father got it into his head to ruin things with that famous temper of his. Images of silver hair and mesmerising, mismatched eyes, invaded her thoughts unbidden and she sighed deeply before looking around contemplatively.

Service areas like this all over Japan made hitchhiking that much easier. Cars, trucks, motorcycles—there was a plethora of drivers to choose from. Sakura had hitched before—her first time had been when a second cousin went into labour. The pinkette was twelve years old at the time, and her parents were nowhere to be seen, so she’d had to make her way to the hospital on her own. It was easy, safe, and fun, really.

If you were careful.

A girl on her own was an easy target for perverts and predators, but Sakura always made sure to go with families or women; she was a good judge of character, so that elderly man had been a smart choice, regardless. But she wasn’t a weakling; she knew how to handle herself. Anyone who tried something with her would get a twisted arm and a swift kick to the shins or balls. Whichever one tickled her fancy.

This place was perfect; away from the expressway and most people here were headed in the same direction.

A few minutes into her perusal, a teenage girl waved at her and Sakura waved back. She looked to be with her parents. They had a Suzuki and ample room. She approached them with her sign; it read ‘Osaka’.

Sakura put on her best friendly smile and fake accent. “Konnichiwa.”

“You going to Osaka?”

The pinkette nodded silently, remembering that while it was uncommon for Japanese people to hitchhike there were no laws against it; it was just best to appear to need help, like a foreigner rather than a local.

“You speak Japanese?”

Maybe it was her hair, but she was often treated like a foreigner no matter what she said or did; she didn’t understand it. But she always just went with it. The key was to look as harmless and friendly as possible.

“Hai.”

The girl conferred with her parents and then came running back over to Sakura and threw her arms around her. “You look like you are a good person. We can take you as far as Toyama, okay?”

“Hai.”

“Okay!”

The girl talked Sakura’s ear off the whole time, going on about her family vacation and how she loved Winter so much.

So bloody much.

But Sakura kept her smile on and upon disembarking at a service area near the Toyama train station, felt compelled to show her appreciation. She bowed deeply. “Doumo. Arigato.”

Alone again, she sighed nervously.

One ride down.

Shifting the weight of her backpack out of nervous habit, she ambled her way through the crowd of vehicles, glancing at the faces of the drivers and any passengers they might have. She was looking for the concerned face, the curious face; the honest face.

Found three.

It was a couple and their six-year-old boy, wearing matching outfits, looking like they were heading for the Alps. They accepted her quickly, saying how they didn’t want to leave her here on her own, and looking so vulnerable.

“There are some sickos these days,” the mother muttered, while the father nodded in agreement.

They seemed sane to Sakura.

“We’re going to Myoko,” the little boy said excitedly, the moment the pinkette climbed into their Subaru.

Sakura humoured him, listening to him talk about all the skiing he was going to do, and that he had to go to some boring wedding instead of the night-time Onsen. He was really cute, and she found herself feeling wistful and nervous, thinking about what awaited her at her destination. So much so that she gave in when he pestered her about where she was going. She told him almost everything...

“Sayōnara, Sakura-chan! And good luck!”

Left again at a service area, Sakura quickly got to work scoping out the people and their vehicles again. The next car she got belonged to another group of friends, middle-aged women on their way to some kind of religious retreat. She listened to their excited chatter in polite silence but was glad to be on the move again.

Next ride.

It was like riding a bike now; her instinct didn’t fail her as her eyes zeroed in on five people who looked around her age, almost twenty. They turned out to be college students on holiday and could take her all the way to Tokyo—their ultimate destination was Yokohama, where apparently, they all had family.

They were so boisterous and so energetic that it was contagious. Sakura found herself laughing for the first time in months. It made her temporarily forget her imminent problems. They were so warm, she found herself drawn to them. A loud blond guy in particular, seemed to just radiate kindness, and the banter between him and the raven-haired guy she assumed was his best friend, was the highlight of the trip.

When they made it to her drop off point, she was disappointed.

The blonde girl took her elbow and stopped her from leaving dejectedly. “You need money for the bullet train? They’re faster and will be safer this time of night.”

Sakura shook her head as they suggested giving her the money. “I couldn’t–”

“You can.”

“We insist. Go get your man!”

A wad of cash was shoved in her hands and bouts of cheers from the group followed her as she walked away, and Sakura blushed heavily. That little boy with the concerned parents had opened a floodgate and she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut! This was highly unusual behaviour. Did everyone around here give money to strangers?

That had been a particularly rowdy group of college students, she decided naively. Definitely out of the norm.

Best to just accept the money and get on the train.

Sakura waved back at them and made her way in the direction they’d indicated. Tokyo was a very odd place. There was a bus station nearby, and the train station was lit up and dazzled her. She strained her neck looking around; its services also included commercial centres for shopping, dining, and entertainment. Everything was so big and lively! She spent a few minutes just gaping like a tourist before remembering why she was here.

Sakura steeled herself and took the directions the students had given her to the correct station and line.

She bought her ticket from the vending machine and passed through the Fare Gate, rushing to get onto the locomotive. She just wanted to get this part over with. The Tokaido line would take her directly to her destination.

Sakura pulled out a piece of paper as she took her backpack off and sat down next to it in her seat. All she had was an address, and vague directions; she’d gotten it from her father’s own journals. She read it silently, committing it to memory. This was it. This was what she’d been dreading and anticipating. When she would finally see him again.

Sighing, she settled into the seat and stared out the window, her eyes taking in the beautiful landscape as the Shinkansen Bullet Train started moving. It was this kind of view that she loved most about travel. Having been a part of her family performance group her whole life, she was no stranger to moving around. Japan was truly the most hospitable and exciting country; even when they did stick to the Ura-Nihon (the backside of Japan).

And it was that lifestyle that had gotten her into her current predicament.

She remembered it like it was yesterday.

.:.

Gypsies, tramps, and thieves: dealings with those unwanted was not something most businessmen would risk. That was why just talking to Kizashi Haruno was considered on par with black market dealings. Moving things across prefecture borders via Roma who performed shows for a living supposedly came with all the mystique of illegal dealings but with none of the danger of dealing with the Yakuza.

It was the preferred choice for shady men who were too cowardly to deal with the real crime syndicate.

And Sakura was both repulsed and intrigued by her father’s dealings. Every client had their own story to tell, though, and she was a sponge for information. Every negotiation and patented deal were slightly different to the last, but they were all conducted the same; in brisk, formal manners with no-nonsense chit-chat and a back-and-forth debate that seemed redundant.

Eager to listen in, she always took the initiative to pour the tea for her father and his clients when they met in his tent. They paid her no mind as they continued to talk business—after all, what would a little girl know about the price of illegal dried meat or black-market liqueurs? She learned a lot from listening in but could only linger for so long.

Several months after her eighteenth birthday, a new business associate of her father’s caught her eye; and this man did seem to be bothered by her presence during their talks. He was so no-nonsense that Sakura imagined he’d have her standing to attention and saluting if he’d wanted to, but he also greeted her father with a smile that seemed genuine (a twinkle in his eyes) and a handshake that didn’t look designed as some macho display of dominance.

It took her breath away.

He was… different from the others. And his visits lasted longer; her father seemed to like him more and more every time they sat to talk business. And when Sakura poured the man’s tea he said, “thank-you” when none of the others would even look at her, probably thinking her some simple serving girl. When she froze in shock for a few seconds, he raised an eyebrow at her and waited for her to move away before taking a sip from his drink. When she didn’t leave the room immediately, his gaze would flicker to her curiously.

She often felt his mismatched eyes on her as she left the room. He didn’t dare to stare at her in any disrespectful way with her father in the room—he definitely wasn’t as ignorant or creepy as her father’s other clients. She had no idea why he was there because, instead of paying attention to what he was saying, she would be focused on his voice. And he would stop talking once he realised, she was listening in.

His curious looks turned into intense stares and she would give him a shy smile before exiting the tent. It was an interesting back and forth—kind of like flirting. Sakura had never flirted before, so she wasn’t sure if she was doing it right. Her father had been in talks for a few weeks in order to marry her to the son of a friend (a well-placed man in their Roma clan), so she was expected to avoid boys, sex, and the like. But Kakashi Hatake was responding to her awkward flirting, catching her eye when her father was distracted, giving her a dark, penetrating look when she was doing chores and he was passing by with Kizashi leading the way out (or in) to their encampment.

He wanted her.

And she had to admit, it felt good to be on the receiving end of his obvious need, though she considered him a gentleman, since to the casual observer, he seemed to treat her well enough; his smiles were innocent and his choice of honorifics when addressing her were appropriate for their non-relationship status. He was just a business acquaintance of her father’s and nothing more.

At least, that was what she thought. She was soon to be betrothed, after all.

But she couldn’t help imagining her life however, if Kakashi made a claim for her and took her away to live with him. She fantasised that he would save her from her boring life; she loved her family, but Sakura craved more. She had no idea what his life was like, but she wanted it. The sexual tension between them would not go away; a sense of both trepidation and anticipation filled her being. Sakura knew it would be frowned upon, that her father would rage, but she wanted him too.

Didn’t men usually make the first move in these situations? She’d heard they did.

Maybe he was just biding his time?

On what was apparently his last dealing with her father, Kakashi found himself in a pickle; his ride home had abandoned him, and her father insisted on letting him hitch with them, as they were headed in the same direction, come morning. His mind was made up and that was the end of things. Kakashi Hatake gave a grateful smile, his eyes twinkling when they met green and Sakura blushed under his gaze, her own smile eliciting another one of his dark, penetrating stares. She could feel a heat building up inside her as he licked his lips and exhaled deeply.

“Sakura?”

Her mother’s voice snapped her out of her reverie and Sakura dutifully left to help her, with whatever she needed. It was almost dinner time.

Supper was a nightmare. Sakura rubbed her thighs together, trying to hide her obvious interest the entire time. Luckily, only Kakashi noticed.

That night, long after her parents had gone to bed, Sakura Haruno lost her virginity.

He’d come to her tent, knelt down in front of her, parted her legs, and taken his time introducing her to sex. It had lasted for hours. And he spent most of the night inside her before slinking back to his own tent after she’d fallen asleep. When she woke, the only proof he’d been there were the indent from his head on one of her pillows, the foreign soreness between her legs, and the smell of sex that still lingered in the air.

She was profoundly disappointed.

And he’d seemed to have gotten what he wanted, acting normally on the rest of their trip, giving only a minute longing glance in her direction to show her she hadn’t imagined it before leaving their caravan behind.

“He’s such a nice man,” her mother said, watching him go. “And so handsome,” she added, fanning herself. “We should have him over more often.”

Sakura swallowed back a sob and forced herself to pretend everything was all right, so she could go back to her normal, boring life. But three months later, a discovery upended her life, and everything changed.

 .:.

“Forty-Six, forty-seven...” Sakura counted off the numbers as she made her way through the hallway. Kakashi Hatake lived in a luxury high-rise building with a view of the waterfront as well as a park. She wondered idly how many of his illicit dealings paid for this place. He had to be no normal smuggler to afford a place like this; it was far out of her reach, even if she were to drain her father of the combined intake from his clients.

She stopped at the correct number and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

This is it.

Yep. All she had to do was ring that bell and wait.

And wait impatiently.

Is he even home?

She’d heard the bell ring through the apartment from her position but there was no other noise inside.

The passing maid gave her a strange look, adding more to Sakura’s embarrassment; reminding her she wasn’t dressed to match the décor. She sighed, undid the buckles on her backpack and slid down the door to sit to wait for him to turn up. It wasn’t the middle of the night—just barely ten o’clock—so surely, he wasn’t fast asleep yet?

Speaking of sleeping; Sakura drifted off so quickly she didn’t remember falling asleep when a hand was gently shaking her awake. It seemed all her worry had exhausted her more than she’d realised.

“Sakura?”

That familiar voice had her freezing instantaneously, then slowly looking up into the mismatched eyes of her lover. That thought made her blush, but she fought it down. He knew better than to ask if her father was aware, she’d camped out in front of Kakashi’s door; what they had, what they’d shared, no-one else could know.

The energy between them shifted; it had always been electric.

As he stared at Sakura, Kakashi couldn’t help but think that everything was about to change.

He sighed, rubbed his left eye tiredly, and helped the girl up, off the floor. She was exactly as he remembered, except that she wore normal clothes instead of the bodice that had flared at her breasts, giving him an ample view of her goods. He smirked inwardly, remembering rubbing his hands over those very supple goods not three months ago.

Was that why she was here? He was confused. He cleared his throat.

“Do come in.” He unlocked the door and swung it open to let Sakura into his apartment, taking note of her sudden and obvious nerves, not to mention that she had a death grip on her backpack. “Please take your shoes off. The maids here are vicious if they catch even a whiff of the outside on these hardwood floors.”

Sakura nodded and looked around for a shoe rack.

“Here.”

Kakashi led her off to the side to place her things.

“Do you want some tea?” He might as well play the good host, considering her father had always been gracious to him.

“N-no.” Uh... “Yes,” she amended after shivering.

“What kind?”

“Hot.”

He didn’t bother pointing out to her that tea came in hundreds of flavours and was always “hot”. Well, all the tea he’d bother drinking, anyway. He busied himself in the kitchen, instead. “Make yourself at home!”

Sakura carefully placed her shoes on the rack and shrugged off her coat. Her hand went to her stomach and she felt mild panic; this was why she was here, but it was terrifying. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds of Kakashi moving about in his kitchen, preparing their tea.

I can do this.

Gingerly, she made her way into the kitchen, too nervous to take in the large and gorgeous apartment he owned. It had never occurred to her that he wasn’t single… but now the question tormented her brain. The idea that she’d slept with someone’s spouse, that she had trekked across the country to see him and was laying her pregnancy problems on someone who was spoken for… she suddenly felt cheap.

Sakura stopped a foot from the kitchen and glanced back at the living room, eyes darting about and looking for clues of a girlfriend or wife. There were none. But she wasn’t going to stop panicking until she knew for sure. Taking a deep breath, she entered the kitchen, laid her coat on one of the kitchen stools, her eyes on the back of Kakashi’s head as he whistled along with the kettle.

When he turned to face her, she felt her insides squirm in nervous anticipation; but the kitchen island bench was high enough to hide her small protruding belly. He smiled that award-winning smile.

“I’ll just be a minute, you can wait in the serving room if you want, then we can talk about what brought you to my humble abode, yeah?”

She wasn’t sure how to interpret that hopeful look on his face, but she nodded, waiting for him to turn back to the tea before slipping out into the other room like he suggested.

Oh gods.

Her nerves had just skyrocketed.

Sakura studied the pictures on the opposite wall to the tatami mat, entwining her fingers as she attempted to simmer her nerves. None of the people in the photos looked like his “other half” so to speak; there were people in business suits and an elderly couple in several that looked like Kakashi’s parents. The one that stood out was a photo of Kakashi and two others—a guy and girl, but the way those two were holding each other, she figured she didn’t have anything to worry about.

I hope.

She spun around quickly as Kakashi entered the serving room, like she’d been caught reading his dirty magazines or something. He wasn’t looking directly at her as he moved to place the tea try on the low table in the centre of the room. He looked up and her breath hitched.

“Oh, you took the coat off? I turned the thermostat up, so you don’t have to keep that heavy jacket on–” He paused. “Uh, Sakura?”

His eyes fell to her stomach and widened. “W-what?”

His eyes roamed over her shirt; with the coat out of the way, he could suddenly and terrifyingly understand why she’d come all this way on her own.

“Hai, Kakashi, it’s yours,” she said, to break the silence.

That made it easier. She was showing already, but it was mostly still just bloating; she’d deliberately worn a tighter shirt and cosy jeans to show it off. After taking off her coat, her baby bump was difficult to miss. To the casual observer, she didn’t look pregnant until she’d removed the coat.

Kakashi continued to gape at her.

“Kakashi?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, quickly recovering his speaking ability. “It’s just... a shock.”

She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry too. But I didn’t know how else to tell you. Daddy...”

She trailed off and he understood. Kizashi was going to kill him. It didn’t matter that he needed the Hatake business right now, his daughter had been defiled and impregnated. No decent father would just let that go. And Kizashi was as decent a father as Kakashi had ever seen. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where the older man wouldn’t yell at him and call him every name under the sun for this.

He swallowed heavily.

“Where does he think you are right now?”

“Not at home.”

He chuckled humourlessly. “I suppose so. Uh,” he motioned to the tea. “Don’t want to waste my hospitality, right?”

She nodded and sat down; he ran a distracted hand through his odd hair and sighed, moving to pour her tea for her, before allowing her to pour his. They sat in silence, across from each other, avoiding eye contact and just enjoying the rich flavour of the tea he’d chosen. She wanted to ask what flavour it was but was feeling too nervous to start idle chatter. She was as nervous as he was, looking everywhere but at Kakashi as she delicately sipped at her tea. When they were both done and the silence dragged on, Sakura was beginning to worry he was going to send her on her way with little but a “I’m too old to have a kid” or some such nonsense.

She cleared her throat, her eyes lowering to her hands, sitting in her lap and twiddling like a schoolgirl. The fear and dread came rushing back when Kakashi seemingly had nothing to say and she didn’t know how to start the topic of what to do now. Her fidgety hands moved from her lap to her knees, back to her lap, and then finally to the serving table. She splayed her hands out, faced down, frowning at them.

Sakura only had to wait a few more minutes after her fidgeting stopped before the father of her unborn child finally broke the silence, causing her to look up at him, now fixated on his mismatched eyes.

“I don’t regret it,” he said slowly. “I…” He held a hand over his face in an attempt to cover his blush, but the look on her face told him he was busted. Kakashi chuckled, resting the hand on hers, instead. He rubbed his thumb over her hand. “It was amazing. You were amazing.”

It was her turn to blush.

“What I’m trying to say is...” He sighed. “I... don’t regret it.” He chuckled at his own expense again. “I’m not really helping, am I?”

She smiled. Sakura appreciated what he was clearly trying to say. She had him tongue tied, apparently. It was a good feeling, surprisingly. It meant she wasn’t just a notch on his belt—she wasn’t forgettable and unwanted. She cleared her throat again.

“Where do we go from here?” She asked, her voice trembling. She was scared of the answer, but also… not. It was strange.

Kakashi ran a hand through his hair—he did that when he was both nervous and unsettled, she’d noticed. Or at least, she gathered so. He wasn’t the most open person, that much was obvious.

“I–”

Whatever Kakashi was going to suggest was drowned out by a loud, abrupt serious of knocks on his front door. Whoever it was wasn’t bothering with the doorbell and sound irate and impatient.

Sakura paled immediately. Her father might’ve put two and two together, somehow… she’d told her friends where she was going. But the caravan answered to her father, so if he really wanted to squeeze information out of them...

Oh my god.

“Hatake!”

Yep, that was Kizashi Haruno’s angry voice.

Kakashi and Sakura stared mutely at each other. They both knew that the longer they took to answer it, the more hell there’d be to pay.

“Kakashi I swear, if you don’t open this damn door–”

Kakashi quickly strode over and swung the door open before Kizashi could finish that sentence.

“Daddy?” Sakura squeaked, standing up.

Her father’s eyes dropped to her protruding stomach as her hand fell to it instinctively. For a moment, it looked like the wind had been knocked out of him; then his face screwed up and he shoved his way inside, leaving Kakashi to close the door in an attempt at some kind of privacy.

Kizashi spun around and growled audibly, his eyes narrowed in on his business partner.

This was it. Sakura knew what was coming.

Kizashi Haruno was infamous for his temper, and when he was at his most angry, her father was a rambler.

His hands flailed and gesticulated as he ranted. “Kakashi, you bastard! What the hell did you think you were doing with my daughter!? She’s soon to be betrothed, not the concubine of a low life porn smuggler!”

Sakura’s eyes widened at this piece of information.

“She’s supposed to lay with her husband, not some one-off, out-dated lady’s man! She deserves better! She deserves more respect than this! To think that Mebuki thought you were a good guy. What the hell is wrong with you, Hatake? I don’t care that you’re a staunch bachelor, you will do right by my baby girl and marry her before it’s too late! And don’t you dare try to blame my little girl for your midlife boner. Take some goddamn, fucking responsibility!”

Silence met this proclamation, but the air was still rife with the tension created by Kizashi’s anger. He huffed and attempted to calm himself; he wasn’t normally a violent man, but he really wanted to punch Kakashi’s lights out. But there was no way he would stoop to that level in front of his little girl. He would deal with that urge later.

Kakashi, for his part, looked thoroughly shamed. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair (again), and nodded toward his future father in law.

Meanwhile, Sakura’s heart was racing. When the hell had this escalated to marriage? The logical part of her brain knew she could no longer marry that son of a friend within their Roma clan, but to marry Kakashi… Well, it wasn’t a horrible idea. But her brain had yet to plan ahead that far, so she was gobsmacked by her father’s insistence; not to mention Kakashi’s strangely immediate acquiescence to this demand.

“Sakura!”

“Daddy?”

Kakashi took the hint and stepped into the kitchen to give them privacy, a little too fast for Sakura’s liking.

Kizashi sighed, one hand falling to her stomach as he kissed her forehead. “What am I going to do with both of you?”

“Daddy, I—”

“It’s my fault. You felt you couldn’t talk to me. Did he… uh, take you against your—”

“No, daddy,” Sakura said, clasping his hand that was still on her stomach. “I wanted it.” She blushed as he glared up at the ceiling. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I got your letter.” He sighed as her face dropped. “I just want what’s best for you and I’ve failed you. Now you’re trapped with Mr. King of Black Market Erotica. Nothing immoral,” he assured her when she scrunched up her face in disgust. He sighed again. “Hatake! Get your arse out here!”

Kakashi did as he was told and waited until Kizashi had finished ranting at him again before seeing her father out. “I’ll be in touch for preparations,” her father said, before the door closed.

“Well, that went well,” she chuckled nervously.

They stood in silence again. It felt like she’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes. But as Sakura rubbed her stomach, and Kakashi couldn’t help but watch the motion carefully, she thought maybe that was okay. The father of her baby was no spring chicken. She smiled and he stepped over to her cautiously, placing a hand on her stomach.

Those mismatched eyes of his stared down at her and her breath caught in her throat as they twinkled, and he smiled. He was so beautiful. She suddenly couldn’t wait to see what their child would inherit from him. Sakura stood on her toes, held his face in both hands, and kissed him. He responded immediately; every inch of her body hummed, reminding her of their night together. Of their connection.

“I’ll do good by you, Sakura. I promise,” he said, once they were forced to stop in order to breathe.

And she believed him.

.:.

[doctorslippery]

Something bad is happening in Kansas. A strange meteor fell from the sky and the government has sent you to sort it out. A yellow brick highway leads between cornfields towards a distant green glow on the horizon.

This is a depth mechanic. Take a step into the zone by rolling d6 on each table and adding 2 for each step you've already taken. Keep going until you destroy the Super-Wizard. Or you could put it on a grid and treat it as a squarecrawl, it's up to you.

LANDMARK

Big white cross on the top of a hill. Crows circling overhead. Grants a blessing to anyone who's willing to kneel before it and commit their soul to Jesus Christ.

Gas station. Wizened old man with shotgun behind the counter. He'll sell you snacks and potions if you can convince him you're not a thief or a jayhawker.

Old-fashioned wooden grain elevator. The inside smells of sweet corn. Mutilated, rat-chewed bodies hang by necks from rafters. SLAVER written on walls in blood.

Row of oil derricks. Guarded by a creaky, rust-riddled mechanical man. The slightest disturbance to the pumps will cause an explosive gusher that spews crude oil everywhere.

Abandoned farmhouse. Haunted by spooky ghosts. In barn, covered by tarpaulin, strange machine of coiled glass that can project people into the Phantom Zone.

Corn maze. Grows new walls to trap sinners. Scarecrow men lurk in the corn. Farm princess trapped in the longhorn minotaur's central lair - only her kiss can slay the beast.

Wagon train. Pilgrims terrified of "Injuns", have circled their wagons to protect against surprise attack. On their way to ask the Super-Wizard to help them get to Oregon.

Cheap motel. Clan of desperate bank robbers hiding out in room one through four. Innocent travelling salesman in room five. Pimpled teen on counter reading comic books.

Revival meeting. Big white tent. Preacher baptising converts in a tin tub and inducting them into the Army of Gilead. Wants you to join and won't take no for an answer.

Baseball field. Overgrown. Mechanical men play ball, their rusty joints squeaking, in front of the empty stands. Score a home run off the batter and he'll spit out a prize.

Railway station. Glum hobos dwell in forgotton freight train, its wheels rusted to the track. Manic mechanical station-master insists on taking your ticket.

Sculpture garden. Grotesque scrap-metal caricatures of celebrities and politicians. Owner has declared himself the Kansas antipope and wears a tinfoil mitre.

Applebee's. In every way a fully-functioning, completely regular Applebee's. No trick whatsoever. Try the shrimp 'n' parmesan sirloin or the double-glazed baby-back ribs.

Bible museum. Sleepy tame dinosaurs inhabit a life-size model of the Temple of Solomon. Friendly pastor explains how God created them to show that evolution is a lie.

Saloon bar. Piano stops as you walk in. Whiskey-sodden desperadoes slump against the bar. Football plays on TV in the corner. High-stakes poker game going on upstairs.

Wal-Mart. Libertarian management policies have led to a civil war raging between the aisles, with every department ruthlessly competing for your business.

Meatpacking plant. Blood-smeared mechanical men herd screaming cows across the factory floor, slaughter them and extract their organs for use in Super-Wizardry.

Clockwork factory. Mechanical men labouring tirelessly to produce more of their own. Interlopers have their brains chopped out and used in grotesque experiments.

The Perfect City of the Super-Wizard. Lobotomised suburbanites with gleaming, drool-slick smiles shuffle between rows of identical green houses, watched by mechanical police.

The Atomic Fortress of the Super-Wizard. Citadel of green crystal, home to a legion of mechanical men. Grew from a seed in a crashed alien spaceship.

ENCOUNTER

Looming grey tornado, slowly rolling towards you. Cows and houses orbiting around it. Psychic baby with giant brain levitating serenely in the eye.

Jayhawkers from the Army of Gilead. Men in red trousers and floppy hats, armed with rifles and broadswords, hunting down pagans and industralists in the name of Free Kansas.

Satanist serial killer with mask made of human skin and swastikas carved down his arms, armed with an iron sickle, preparing to chop you up. Surprisingly stealthy for such a big guy.

Phalanx of mechanical men, armed with axes, out looking for human brains to extract and return to the Atomic Fortress so the Super-Wizard can make more of them.

Cynical teen genius with a laser gun. Perfectly bald. Cannot be restrained from denying the existence of God. Obsessively tinkers with every machine they can find.

Longhorn minotaur. Hideously overmuscled from bovine growth hormone. Twelve-foot hornspan makes doors difficult. Wants to bring you back to the corn maze and eat you.

Pack of masked harlequins with blood-stained teeth and wheels for hands and feet. Act like rabid wolves. Scarily quick on flat ground, but have difficulty turning.

Red-haired boy reporter looking for the story of a lifetime. Excitable. Prone to ludicrous bad luck but is never actually seriously hurt. Constantly needs rescuing though.

Stone-faced war preacher and band of jayhawkers looking for recruits for a military raid on the Atomic Fortress, intending to abolish the Wizard and all his sinful works.

Woman in aviator goggles and diaphanous white robes. Claims to be the rainbow's daughter, fallen out of the sky. Can only eat the purest dewdrops and is therefore slowly starving.

Shaggy-haired sasquatch in a battered top hat, wielding an enchanted magnet that compels people to love him. Depressed. Seeking someone more deserving to give the magnet to.

Robotic flesh-eating worm with the head of Hillary Clinton. Wants to take your guns, raise your taxes, drink the blood of aborted children and convert Kansas to Islamic communism.

Flock of yellow-fanged baboons with vulture wings, in comical blue jackets. Vicious, but crave discipline. Looking for a witch to govern them and keep their mischievous impulses in check.

Giant hungry tiger. Wants to kill and eat some big fat babies, but can't, because she's born again in Jesus Christ and very active in the pro-life movement. Won't stop talking about it.

Barber-surgeon with tuberculosis and a huge bushy moustache, looking for tooth-pulling work. Expert gunfighter but won't admit it, since he keeps getting challenged to duels.

Obese purple leech-mouthed parasite man that drains energy by touch, getting fatter and stronger as it goes. Leaves behind a trail of smouldering skeletons. Scared of eggs.

Four-faced brass helicopter heads kept in air by impractical Da Vinci corkscrews. Loudly announce their intention to devour you. Easily distracted by philosophical riddles.

Reverse-talking bizarro clones of the PCs with chalky white skin and inverted systems of morality. Want to do exactly the opposite of whatever the PCs want to do.

The Green Guardian. Secret weapon of the Super-Wizard. Muscled adonis in acrobat's tights with magnificent emerald beard and moustache. Impossibly strong, naive, refuses to kill.

The Super-Wizard. Toymaker in a checked waistcoat with pockets full of marvels. Pretends to grant wishes with holograms. Planning to conquer the world with mechanical men.

[whitherliliesbloom]

Memoirs #2: Reunion

She never once left his mind

Words: 1,443 | Rating: G | Alphinaud X WOL

A year in the grand scheme of the ever spinning world means nothing. It’s far too short a time to him, whose ambitions and goals reached as far up as the stars. He can recall so much that has happened within the span of a year in Eorzea, yet all the same, it passed by so quickly that the memories of his arrival in Gridania felt like it had been a mere week ago. 

Yet staring up at the eternally blinding shimmers of light that pierced through a thin layer of clouds, with not even the comfort of her always reassuring words and touch to ease him, a single year has never more felt like an eternity to him as it did now.

There is nobody there he could speak to, or rather anybody that could ever feasibly fill the void in his heart.

The aching is ever more apparent in the silence, as his mind torments him with memories of her.

Busying himself with work can only do so much to ease the pain until he'd inevitably be driven away. How cruel an irony it was that the kindness of those he'd been helping would refuse his labour out of worry for his wellbeing that he'd be at his most troubled and wary.

He's very much unlike his sister . During the few and far between trips either of them would take to visit the other, there was not a single time that the name of the Warrior of Light had not left Alisaie's lips. Lamenting her unceremoniously leaving the lalafellin girl quite literally in the middle of a wartorn battlefield, or the unintentional mention of what the hero would do if faced with the same kind of troubles as they did. That was how Alisaie chose to cope with her worries and the inconsolable regret for abandoning a dear friend.

Her name however had rarely ever been said in his voice - and if ever, spoken in a thin, hushed tone that was barely louder than a whisper.

Because the mere utterance of that name may become his undoing, is far more likely to tear him apart than even the isolation and his lonely fight against the impenetrable city of Eulmore.

Someone calls his name, and their presence barely registers, but he manages to pull his attention away from that mangled haze of longing to look back over his shoulder. 

A ronso of blue fur is beckoning to him, and for some reason Alphinaud can tell his voice is chirpier than usual.

"Have you need of me, my friend?" The young man turns fully now, gesturing a greeting with a lift of his hand as he barely manages to make out a smile on his earlier frowning lips.

"Aye. Well, not exactly. Someone's lookin' for ya."

'Someone', he says. That alone is enough to pique his interest. It's not often that he specifically gets visitors looking for him. And if it were Alisaie, the ronso would have said so.

"Someone from Eulmore, I reckon?" He garners a guess, and the other male quickly shakes his head.

"No, no. It's.. a dwarf. Without a helm."

For a moment, Alphinaud's mind draws a blank. He pulls up an image of a dwarf within his mind, and is hit by another wave of confusion.

Why would one of the First's most reclusive race of people come looking for him?

He's seen a few dwarves who dared leave their village during his time in the First, certainly.. and was even lucky enough to make conversation with them, though not more times than he can count on one hand.

But something's odd. Something that doesn't immediately jump out at him until he's tried to piece the second piece of information he was given.

He's met dwarves. But he's never met one without their helmet and beard. Unless...

"Seemed like they knew you,so i wasn't too suspicious. Had pretty long white hair not unlike yours."

It's impossible not to jump to conclusions, not when majority of his time has been spent lost in thought of her.

He's met many a pint-sized people without their helm, at least where he's from. From home.

They aren't called dwarves in the source. They are Lalafells. Unrestricted by the burden of tradition, he's met a good number of both the shrewd and the kindest of Lalafells in his time. And none more kind than the one who would haunt his dreams for the past twelve months. Every night. Without fail.

White hair. Oh, how he's wanted to run his fingers through her hair for so long. How he longed to hear her voice.

Without even a hint of doubt, Alphinaud steps forward, unknowingly clenching his fists as he speaks out as if in demand.

"Where is she?"

Satisfied that the boy now seemed to know who this mysterious visitor is, and more than anything, seemed eager at the chance to meet them, Eybor gestures backwards.

"I asked 'em to meet ya at the Leaky Keel. Now go."

His order wasn't exactly necessary, for as soon as he'd uttered the name of that tavern, his feet had carried him far from the satisfied gaze of the Ronso. Walking to Stilltide has never felt more like a hike than it did now.

Alphinaud's method of keeping calm while nervous isn't exactly unknown, at least to those closest to him. And if his sister were here, no doubt she'd be teasing him about the tension in his brows, and the knot rapidly building up in his throat that he has to swallow down more than a handful of times. That is, if she weren't sprinting her way to meet their guest of honor too.

But despite all the jittery excitement bubbling within his chest, there was that uncertainty and fear that this may just be some kind of elaborate lucid dream.

What if he'd mistaken? What if it were somebody else? Perhaps he'd heard Eybor wrong, and his unconscious desperation to see the Warrior of Light had somehow clogged his eardrums and hazed his senses.

He's bombarded with a myriad of conflicting emotions, and it almost forces his knees to give way.

The only thing keeping him going forward being his distant dream of reuniting with her.

Alphinaud pushes open the door to the Leaky Keel a tad too hard than usual, though the the lady behind the counter seemed to not even take notice to his presence.

Something is tugging at the side of his head, a raging urge to look deeper inside the tavern for the source of that unmistakable presence. But his fear keeps his neck locked in position.

"And how is business today, mistress Theva?"

He prays she doesn't hear how his voice shook as he spoke, prays that she doesn't see his fingers shake despite his efforts to keep himself calm.

She's always been the best at reading his tells.

The bar mistress turns around with a welcoming smile, and though he'd attempted to keep his greeting strictly between them in a poor attempt at ignorance of the special guest sitting at the far end of the tavern, she's quick to force him to finally face his inner fear.

"Look, i have a new customer."

If he could stop time now, he would. He'd pray dearly to the twelve to grant him this desperate wish, to hear his plea if they would not listen to any of his other prayers.

Beneath the cool facade that was his unflappable expression, he was an utter mess, groveling on what little hope he's been presented with.

For what else is there he could do? What else can he do other than to let his love tear away at his aching heart?

He wouldn't have it any other way.

He finally turns, blue eyes settled on the woman who practically throws herself off the barstool.

"Alphinaud."

He doesn't know when his vision turned blurry, or when the ball in his throat had built up so large it almost causes him to choke.

He'd rehearsed their reunion more times than he'd like to admit, practiced what he wanted to say on the day they would undoubtedly meet again. Even if it was an eternity away, he'd still keep repeating that same sappy, perhaps a tad self-confident speech within his head.

But the moment he sees her large violet eyes gazing up at him, and the tugging of her thin little lips upwards to form the most gentle smile, he completely fails to remember the script he'd written for himself for the past three hundred days.

"'Tis good to see you again, Illya."