#why clean room is required

[chemicahs]

The amount of people who don’t know caffeine is a drug is insane. I told my anti-drug adhd coworker who drinks coffee every day “you know that’s a drug right” and she was like :jawdrop: you’re kidding right…. Yeah there’s a reason you “don’t feel good in the morning until you take it” it’s called ADDICTION

[violentviolette]

worst thing ever is when my room is messy so its giving me anxiety and i cant get anything done but also i cant clean the room because im so anxious and cant get anything done. so i just sit in moderate discomfort and distress for 2+ weeks trying to fight the sisyphean task of tidying up my desk

[the-kneesbees]

madame is retiring and i gave her a card that my mom and uncle also signed (they had her like 20 years ago) and I'm so emotional oh my god

[gowns]

Why Kids Aren't Falling in Love With Reading - It's Not Just Screens

A shrinking number of kids are reading widely and voraciously for fun.

The ubiquity and allure of screens surely play a large part in this—most American children have smartphones by the age of 11—as does learning loss during the pandemic. But this isn’t the whole story. A survey just before the pandemic by the National Assessment of Educational Progress showed that the percentages of 9- and 13-year-olds who said they read daily for fun had dropped by double digits since 1984. I recently spoke with educators and librarians about this trend, and they gave many explanations, but one of the most compelling—and depressing—is rooted in how our education system teaches kids to relate to books.

What I remember most about reading in childhood was falling in love with characters and stories; I adored Judy Blume’s Margaret and Beverly Cleary’s Ralph S. Mouse. In New York, where I was in public elementary school in the early ’80s, we did have state assessments that tested reading level and comprehension, but the focus was on reading as many books as possible and engaging emotionally with them as a way to develop the requisite skills. Now the focus on reading analytically seems to be squashing that organic enjoyment. Critical reading is an important skill, especially for a generation bombarded with information, much of it unreliable or deceptive. But this hyperfocus on analysis comes at a steep price: The love of books and storytelling is being lost.

This disregard for story starts as early as elementary school. Take this requirement from the third-grade English-language-arts Common Core standard, used widely across the U.S.: “Determine the meaning of words and phrases as they are used in a text, distinguishing literal from nonliteral language.” There is a fun, easy way to introduce this concept: reading Peggy Parish’s classic, Amelia Bedelia, in which the eponymous maid follows commands such as “Draw the drapes when the sun comes in” by drawing a picture of the curtains. But here’s how one educator experienced in writing Common Core–aligned curricula proposes this be taught: First, teachers introduce the concepts of nonliteral and figurative language. Then, kids read a single paragraph from Amelia Bedelia and answer written questions.

For anyone who knows children, this is the opposite of engaging: The best way to present an abstract idea to kids is by hooking them on a story. “Nonliteral language” becomes a whole lot more interesting and comprehensible, especially to an 8-year-old, when they’ve gotten to laugh at Amelia’s antics first. The process of meeting a character and following them through a series of conflicts is the fun part of reading. Jumping into a paragraph in the middle of a book is about as appealing for most kids as cleaning their room.

But as several educators explained to me, the advent of accountability laws and policies, starting with No Child Left Behind in 2001, and accompanying high-stakes assessments based on standards, be they Common Core or similar state alternatives, has put enormous pressure on instructors to teach to these tests at the expense of best practices. Jennifer LaGarde, who has more than 20 years of experience as a public-school teacher and librarian, described how one such practice—the class read-aloud—invariably resulted in kids asking her for comparable titles. But read-alouds are now imperiled by the need to make sure that kids have mastered all the standards that await them in evaluation, an even more daunting task since the start of the pandemic. ���There’s a whole generation of kids who associate reading with assessment now,” LaGarde said.

By middle school, not only is there even less time for activities such as class read-alouds, but instruction also continues to center heavily on passage analysis, said LaGarde, who taught that age group. A friend recently told me that her child’s middle-school teacher had introduced To Kill a Mockingbird to the class, explaining that they would read it over a number of months—and might not have time to finish it. “How can they not get to the end of To Kill a Mockingbird?” she wondered. I’m right there with her. You can’t teach kids to love reading if you don’t even prioritize making it to a book’s end. The reward comes from the emotional payoff of the story’s climax; kids miss out on this essential feeling if they don’t reach Atticus Finch’s powerful defense of Tom Robinson in the courtroom or never get to solve the mystery of Boo Radley.

... Young people should experience the intrinsic pleasure of taking a narrative journey, making an emotional connection with a character (including ones different from themselves), and wondering what will happen next—then finding out. This is the spell that reading casts. And, like with any magician’s trick, picking a story apart and learning how it’s done before you have experienced its wonder risks destroying the magic.

-- article by katherine marsh, the atlantic (12 foot link, no paywall)

[married-to-google-translater]

Self aware AU: First years reaction when they woke up in your room.

Ace would be really, really excited. He, as your "best friend" would be interested in seeing how you live. Ace would explore all the places while you were gone. And not in such a clean way... He should clean up before you come back

Deuce might die from excessive flushing. He couldn't believe this and would be a little shocked. Deuce wouldn't search your room anyway. He would just sit on the bed and try to come up with a rational explanation for why he would be here.

Sebek would definitely be really upset and really loud about it. He would be excited about this but at the same time worried about how he could fulfill his knightly duties in this world. Sebek would search your room but if you ask about it he would just say he cleaned it.

Epel would be excited to meet you... he knows you like him but wouldn't know why. What if even you just thought he was cute? He might look at places and if you have apples make something of them.

Jack's his tail would wag and he doesn't know how to control it. Jack would try to present how this wouldn't be such a big deal. But that would be very difficult. He's a tsundere lol... Jack would probably just be waiting for you to come back.

Grim would be excited. Now he would finally see how his henchman lives. If you had tuna it would "mysteriously disappear". If you didn't have tuna Grim would require you to buy it. Grim would really act like this was his home and when YOU were staying with HIM.

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

6419 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɪɴꜰᴇʀᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ (ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ). ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ (ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ���ʀᴜᴛʜ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ/ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

It had been a week or two since Y/N first realized she was pregnant. The realization had come as a shock, and though she'd kept it a secret, she had no idea how to tell Jayce. He had been busy with his work, his duties at the academy, and everything in Piltover that required his attention. She had just been trying to find the right moment, but it was harder than she'd anticipated. The news was life-changing, and she didn't want to burden him, even though she knew deep down that he would support her no matter what.

That morning, Y/N had run errands while Jayce stayed at home, catching up on his own work. As always, he had a few things to tidy up around the house — a rare moment where he was actually in their shared space, instead of off in his lab or at the academy. While sorting through some boxes under the bed that hadn't been touched in ages, Jayce kicked one of them over in an attempt to make space. It was one of those old cardboard boxes that Y/N had shoved there on a particularly busy day, not realizing what it contained.

Curious, Jayce pulled the box out from under the bed, his brow furrowing in confusion as he cracked it open. Inside, amidst old papers and forgotten mementos, were the unmistakable signs of something he hadn't expected — a pregnancy test, along with a paper that confirmed the news. Jayce's breath hitched as he stared at the test, eyes scanning the familiar words that he hadn't yet fully processed. The letter was clear, a confirmation that Y/N was indeed pregnant.

His heart raced, and for a long moment, he was paralyzed by the enormity of the situation. How long had she known? Why hadn't she told him? He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not noticing, for not being more aware of what was happening. He had always considered himself a protector, a supporter, but now he felt as though he was falling short.

As he sat there holding the pregnancy test in his hand, he heard the sound of the door opening downstairs. Y/N’s voice floated up the stairs, and Jayce quickly placed the test back in the box, not wanting to overwhelm her.

Y/N walked in, her usual warm smile fading a little when she saw the tense look on his face. “Jayce?” she asked, her tone uncertain as she approached the bedroom door.

He was sitting on the bed, the box still resting beside him. “Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but full of emotion. “We need to talk.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She had no idea what was going on, but she could feel the weight in his words. She closed the door behind her, stepping into the room, her eyes glancing at the box on the bed. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice a little shakier than usual.

Jayce took a deep breath, looking up at her. The look in his eyes was a mixture of love, concern, and something else — something unspoken. He gestured to the box. “I found this... while I was cleaning.”

Y/N’s face turned pale as her gaze followed his hand to the box, and she instinctively felt her stomach churn. She knew what was coming. She hadn't expected him to find out like this.

She swallowed hard, gathering the courage to speak. “Jayce, I... I wanted to tell you,” she began, stepping closer, “but I wasn’t sure how. I didn’t know if it was the right time, and—”

“Y/N…” Jayce interrupted softly, his voice trembling slightly. He stood up and took a step toward her, gently placing his hands on her arms. “You’re pregnant.”

Y/N’s lips trembled as she nodded, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes filled with both fear and hope. “I found out a couple of weeks ago. But I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Jayce stared at her for a moment, the reality of it all sinking in. Then, without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around her like a protective shield, and he kissed the top of her head gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But you don’t have to worry, Y/N. We’re in this together.”

Y/N blinked back tears, her arms wrapping around him in return. She had been so afraid that he wouldn’t be happy, that he wouldn’t understand. But his response was more than she had hoped for.

“I’ve just been... so scared,” she admitted, her voice muffled against his chest. “I didn’t want to burden you. You’ve already got so much going on with everything in Piltover. And I didn’t know if I was ready for this... for a baby.”

Jayce pulled back slightly to look at her, his hands gently cupping her face. His eyes were filled with nothing but reassurance and love. “We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Together. There’s no perfect time for this, but I know one thing — I want to be here for you, and for our baby. And we’ll make this work.”

Y/N couldn’t help but let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her heart was lighter now, the weight of her fears melting away in the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Jayce smiled down at her, his hands still gently holding her face. “You never have to thank me for this, Y/N. We’re in this together — all three of us.”

And in that moment, as the two of them stood together, embracing the new chapter in their lives, Jayce knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them as a family.

VIKTOR

It had been a few months since Viktor and Y/N had that heart-to-heart conversation. It was one of those difficult talks, where emotions were laid bare, raw, and vulnerable. Viktor, ever the stoic, had admitted his deepest fears—his illness, the mutations, and the possibility of passing it on to any future children. Y/N had been hurt at first, but understanding. She supported him fully, respecting his concerns, even though a small part of her longed for the family they could have had together. She never pushed him, knowing how deeply his fears ran.

But Viktor could see how much it pained her. He noticed the quiet longing in her eyes, the way she would sometimes linger on children in the streets of Piltover when they passed by. It tore at him, but he couldn’t shake the dread of what his illness could mean for their future. It was one of those battles inside him that he couldn't win, no matter how hard he tried.

Today, however, Viktor decided to take a short walk. It wasn’t about escaping the conversation—it was more to clear his head. The streets of Piltover were bustling with the usual activity, the gleaming buildings towering above him as the cool air filled his lungs. He walked with a slight limp, the click of his cane echoing in the otherwise busy street, but it was nothing Viktor wasn’t used to. The cane was a constant companion, the reminder of both his strength and his vulnerability.

As he passed a park, he spotted a young boy struggling to tie his shoe laces. The child was hunched over, a prosthetic limb attached to his left leg. The boy’s hands were shaking slightly as he fumbled with the laces, frustration evident on his face. Viktor slowed his pace, watching from a distance. He expected someone to approach the boy, maybe offer some help. But no one did. The people walking past just ignored the boy, too focused on their own lives to stop and lend a hand.

Viktor hesitated, his heart tightening at the sight. He knew all too well what it felt like to be overlooked, to be seen as different or fragile. But there was something in the way the boy carried himself—something in his attitude—that caught Viktor off guard. The boy was struggling, yes, but he wasn’t defeated. His face was determined as he attempted again to tie his laces, gritting his teeth but never backing down. Viktor waited, thinking that maybe the boy’s perseverance would inspire someone else to step forward. But when no one did, Viktor sighed and made his way over.

“Need some help?” Viktor asked softly, his voice gentle, yet there was a certain steadiness in it.

The boy looked up at him, startled but not fearful. His eyes scanned Viktor’s cane before meeting his face. “I got it,” the boy replied confidently, his lips curling into a small grin. “I just need to focus. It’s not so hard, you know?”

Viktor tilted his head, surprised by the boy’s confidence. “No one should have to do everything alone,” Viktor said, taking a step closer. “Sometimes, we all need a little help.”

The boy paused, then nodded, his hands still trembling a little as he finished tying his shoes. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes meeting Viktor’s again. “But it’s not about letting it stop you, right? It’s a hurdle. A hard one, but not impossible.”

Viktor’s heart fluttered at the boy’s words. There was something about the way he viewed his disability—not as a burden, but simply another challenge to overcome—that struck Viktor deep. It was a perspective Viktor hadn’t considered in a long time. For so long, Viktor had feared passing on his illness, his disability, to a child of his own. He had worried that they would see it as something to be pitied, something to be feared. But this boy—this child—had a strength that Viktor hadn’t realized children could have.

“I think you’re right,” Viktor said quietly. “A hurdle is just something to jump over.” He smiled gently at the boy, feeling a shift inside him, a sense of peace that he hadn’t expected.

The boy beamed up at him, clearly proud of his accomplishment. “Exactly! You just have to keep trying, even if it takes a few tries.”

Viktor chuckled softly, his mind racing. For the first time in months, the dread he had carried about his own illness, and what it might mean for a child, started to fade. He realized that with Y/N’s love, with his own understanding and strength, their child could grow up just like this boy—confident, determined, and ready to face whatever life threw their way.

The realization struck him like a wave, and Viktor suddenly felt lighter than he had in a long time. Maybe having a child wasn’t about protecting them from every hardship; maybe it was about teaching them how to face those challenges with grace and strength.

He turned, making his way back home, the cane tapping steadily against the cobblestones as he thought about the future. His steps felt more purposeful now.

When Viktor arrived home, Y/N was sitting on the couch, flipping through a book. She looked up at him with a smile, her warmth filling the room. “Hey, you’re back early,” she said, setting the book down and patting the space next to her on the couch.

Viktor stood still for a moment, staring at the floor, his hand resting on his cane. “Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation from before. About… the future.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, the same knot of worry tightening in her chest. “Viktor, you don’t have to—”

Viktor cut her off, holding up a hand. “I’m ready to try, Lásko. I’m ready to start a family with you.” (Love)

Y/N blinked, her breath catching in her throat. Her mind spun, processing his words. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. “You… you mean it?” Her voice was trembling, full of disbelief and hope.

Viktor’s gaze softened, and he took a slow step toward her. “I’ve seen something today. A boy with the same struggles as me, but he didn’t see it as a burden. He saw it as just another hurdle to overcome. And I realized… our child won’t see it as a curse. With our love, they’ll know how to overcome whatever life gives them. I believe in us."

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she stood up quickly, her breath hitching in her throat. She rushed toward him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. “Oh, Viktor,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Viktor gently placed his cane aside, his arms wrapping around her in return, holding her close. He could feel the weight of the moment, the weight of their decision, and for the first time in a long while, Viktor felt something he hadn’t expected: hope.

Together, they would face the future—one step at a time, just like the boy had shown him.

JAYVIK

The topic of motherhood had always been a sensitive one for Y/N. She had come to terms with her infertility a long time ago, but that didn’t make it any easier to talk about. She hadn’t discussed it much with Jayce or Viktor; it was a topic that hung between them, unspoken, but understood. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children—it was more that she had accepted that being a mother wasn’t in her future. And though she had come to terms with it privately, it didn’t mean the idea of motherhood didn’t tug at her heart from time to time.

Jayce and Viktor knew about her infertility. They had been with her through the difficult conversations, through the quiet moments when she wrestled with her feelings. Both of them had been understanding, supportive, and kind, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel the emptiness at times, especially when the idea of raising a child came up. She had always dreamt of motherhood, of nurturing a little one, but the reality was different. Still, she cherished the love and connection she had with Jayce and Viktor, and that was enough—for now.

One crisp afternoon in Piltover, Y/N found herself walking through the busy streets of the Upper City, a faint breeze carrying the scent of fresh bread and the hum of city life. The grandeur of Piltover was on full display—high towers, merchants selling their wares, and children playing in the streets—but amidst it all, something caught her eye.

Two children, a boy around twelve and a girl of about seven, were weaving through the crowd with startling agility. The younger girl, bubbly and chatty, kept the attention of an unsuspecting shopper while the older boy, quick as a flash, swiped a few coins from the merchant’s stall. Y/N watched, intrigued, as the boy casually stashed the pilfered goods in his coat and slipped away, with the little girl trailing behind him, never once looking guilty.

Y/N’s lips quirked into a smile, admiring their street-smart energy. They moved with the kind of confidence that could only come from years of surviving the rougher edges of the world. It was clear they were looking out for each other, and despite what they were doing, there was something endearing about their partnership. The older boy’s protective nature over the younger girl, his quick thinking, and her carefree chatter—they made quite the team.

She decided to follow them from a distance, curious to see where they were headed. After a few turns and alleyways, they eventually reached a small abandoned building, a makeshift hideout. Y/N hesitated, watching them settle in, clearly alone—no parents, no guardians, just the two of them.

The boy caught her gaze as she stood at a distance. He narrowed his eyes, clearly cautious but not immediately hostile.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice gruff, but his stance more defensive than angry.

Y/N took a few steps closer, raising her hands in a peaceful gesture. “I just wanted to see how you two were doing. I noticed your, uh, skills in the marketplace.”

The girl, who had been picking at something in her hand, looked up with wide eyes and shyly glanced at Y/N. She fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve before speaking in a soft, hesitant voice. “We’re just trying to get by,” she murmured, clearly a little nervous about the encounter, but still unbothered by their situation.

The boy shot her a quick glance, before looking back at Y/N. “We don’t need any help. We’re fine.”

Y/N smiled softly, kneeling to their level. “I’m not here to force anything. I’m just offering food."

The two children exchanged a glance, and after a few moments of hesitation, the boy finally nodded. “Food’s always good.”

Without another word, Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of loaves of bread, some fruit, and a few slices of cheese. The children devoured the food quickly, barely speaking between bites. It was clear they were used to going without, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N found herself coming back to the children regularly. She would bring them food, warm clothes, and the occasional book. Gradually, their wariness of her faded, though they never fully let their guard down. They had learned to survive on their own, and trust wasn’t something they gave easily. But over time, Y/N became more than just a stranger—she became a quiet presence in their lives, offering what little comfort she could.

Y/N knew Piltover was a city of opportunity, but it wasn’t always kind to the ones who didn’t have a place to fit in. The children reminded her of that—young, alone, and scraping by on whatever they could get.

One day, after a particularly long day in the markets, Y/N found herself thinking more about the two kids. There had to be a way to help them—Piltover had more to offer, and they deserved better than a life of pickpocketing and hiding out in abandoned buildings.

The next time she came to visit, she made a decision. She would take them back to her home, introduce them to Jayce and Viktor, and see if they could help these kids build something better for themselves.

When Y/N walked into the study later that afternoon, she was followed by the two children, who were a little more apprehensive than usual but still carrying themselves with a quiet sense of pride.

“Jayce, Viktor,” Y/N called out as she stepped inside, smiling warmly at the two men. “I’d like you to meet Mia,” she said, gesturing to the younger girl, “and Luka,” she nodded at the older boy. “They’ve been on their own for a while. I’ve been bringing them food and making sure they’re alright, but I think Piltover might be the place for them.”

Jayce and Viktor looked up from their work, both of them pausing as they sized up the two children. Viktor raised an eyebrow, his analytical gaze taking in the situation, while Jayce’s face softened with concern.

“They’ve been through a lot,” Jayce commented, his voice gentle.

Y/N nodded. “They’ve got a lot of potential. They just need a little guidance. I think, with some help, they could really thrive here.”

Viktor stood from his chair, walking toward the children. He regarded them for a moment before speaking. “You’ve been through more than most adults would care to face. But if you’re willing to learn, Piltover has room for you.”

Luka, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up. “And if we don’t want to?” he asked, his voice filled with defiance but not hostility.

Y/N crouched down to meet his eyes. “You’ll always have a choice. But I’m offering you a chance to build something better. Not for me, but for yourselves.”

Jayce offered his hand to Luka, who looked at it for a long moment before taking it, Mia following suit, though she was still a bit shy. Their hands were small, but their grip was firm, as if they were already beginning to understand the power of what they were being offered.

As Y/N stood back up, a sense of fulfillment washed over her. She had always wondered what motherhood might feel like, but now she understood—family wasn’t just about blood. It was about love, care, and making space for those who needed it most.

In that moment, with Jayce and Viktor by her side, she felt like they were building something together—something more than just a future for them, but for these children, too. And for the first time in a long while, she believed that family, in all its forms, was within reach.

VANDER

The past few months had been an emotional rollercoaster for Y/N and Vander. It was a topic that weighed heavily on both of them—one they had discussed openly and at length. The decision had been made to try for a child, but time and again, they found themselves coming up empty. The disappointment stung harder with each failed attempt, and each time, it seemed to take more from Y/N than she was willing to admit.

Vander, ever the strong and steady presence in their home, tried to offer comfort, his hand on her back or holding hers tightly in quiet moments, but even his unwavering support couldn't quell the sadness that began to weigh heavily on her heart. With each passing try, Y/N found herself retreating further into herself. She hated feeling this way, especially when there were so many children who needed love and care, but the dream of having their own kept lingering.

Vi and Claggor, of course, understood more than Y/N often gave them credit for. They had seen the way she had been quietly grieving, though she tried to hide it. It was clear that Y/N and Vander had wanted this, and though the children were young and maybe couldn’t fully comprehend the specifics, they could sense the tension.

Mylo, ever the oblivious one, simply couldn’t understand why Y/N seemed so upset. “Why’s she so sad, Vander?” Mylo asked one day, genuinely perplexed.

Vander paused for a moment, his heart aching as he looked down at his son. He knew Mylo wasn’t trying to be insensitive—he was just a child. "Sometimes, Mylo," he began softly, kneeling down to meet his son's eyes, "people want something that they can’t have, and it makes them sad."

"But she’s not sad because of us, is she?" Mylo asked, brows furrowed, still trying to wrap his head around it.

Vander smiled gently, his expression a mix of warmth and sadness. “No, son. Never because of you."

Meanwhile, Powder, ever the innocent and curious soul, had started to pick up on the shift in Y/N’s mood. She noticed how her mother figure’s smiles seemed more forced lately, how she spent more time staring out the window, looking distant. One afternoon, as Vander was sitting by the fire, Powder shuffled over to him, her small brow furrowed in concern.

“Vander,” she began, her voice small and unsure, “why is mama so sad all the time?”

Vander’s heart twisted at the question. He had been doing his best to shield the children from the weight of the situation, but Powder’s innocence had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things. He looked down at her, trying to find the right words.

“Well, Powder,” Vander started, his voice soft and steady, “sometimes people feel sad because they’re hoping for something, and it doesn’t happen the way they want it to.”

Powder tilted her head, trying to understand. “Is it because of us?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry. “Did we do something wrong?”

Vander quickly shook his head, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that sometimes, things take time. And sometimes, people just need a little while to feel better.”

Powder nodded slowly, not fully understanding but still trusting Vander’s words. She looked up at him, her big eyes filled with concern for the woman she loved so much. “Will she be okay?” she asked quietly.

Vander smiled gently, his heart aching for her innocence. “She’ll be okay, Powder. We’ll make sure of it.”

Powder stood there for a moment, her gaze lingering on the doorway where Y/N had been standing earlier. Then, as if an idea suddenly struck her, she reached up and hugged Vander tightly, her tiny arms wrapping around him with all the love she could give.

Vander held her close, feeling the weight of his own heart as he promised silently that he would do everything in his power to make sure Y/N found happiness again.

And then, the fifth time came.

Y/N had reached a place of quiet acceptance. After their last attempt, she and Vander had finally come to terms with what life had given them. They still had each other, and their love for the children they already cared for was enough to fill their hearts. They had made the choice to focus their love on the kids they had—Vi, Claggor, Mylo, and Powder—and make sure they had everything they needed. It was a quiet but powerful decision, one that gave them peace.

But life, as it often did, surprised them.

It was early one morning when Y/N felt the familiar nausea creeping up her throat. She dismissed it at first, thinking it was just another random bout of illness, but as the morning went on, it became harder to ignore. She ran to the bathroom, her heart pounding in her chest, and the moment she stood over the sink, she knew.

After taking the test, she sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the results in shock. It wasn’t just a glimmer of hope—it was real. The small blue line on the stick confirmed it. She was pregnant.

Her hands trembled as she stood up, the test still in her hand. She didn’t know how long she stood there, the weight of it sinking in, but eventually, she walked slowly to where Vander was, a mixture of disbelief and joy written all over her face.

"Vander," she called softly, her voice catching in her throat.

He turned from the window where he’d been looking out, the soft morning light playing across his face. He saw the look on her face and immediately felt a wave of concern rush through him. “Love? What is it?”

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she handed him the test, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Vander looked at it, his hands steady as he examined it, then slowly looked up at Y/N. His expression softened, a mixture of shock and something deeper in his gaze. “Are you... are you sure?”

Y/N smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek as she nodded. "Yes. I’m sure."

And in that moment, everything changed.

Vander crossed the room, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace. “I’m so happy,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “We’re going to be parents again. I didn’t think it was ever going to happen...”

Y/N hugged him back, her chest tight with the overwhelming sense of joy and relief. “Neither did I,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “But we’re going to be okay.”

Later that day, when the children came running into the room to greet their parents, they immediately sensed the change in the air. Vi looked at Y/N with a knowing expression, her arms open wide for a hug, while Claggor stood beside her, looking up curiously at Vander. Powder beamed, as if she somehow already knew what had happened.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Vi asked, her voice gentle. She could see the shift in her mother’s demeanour. Y/N just nodded, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled.

“I’m more than okay, Vi,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We’re going to have a baby."

Claggor’s eyes widened, and Mylo jumped up and down, excitedly. “A baby! That’s awesome!”

Vander looked down at Powder, who was staring up at him with wide eyes. She grinned, her excitement uncontainable. “Does this mean I’m going to have a little brother or sister?” she asked.

Y/N laughed softly, wiping away a tear. “Yes, Powder. You are.”

As Vander and Y/N exchanged a soft smile, surrounded by their children, a new chapter began for their family. One filled with hope, love, and the promise of a future that was theirs to shape. It wasn’t just the start of their journey into parenthood—it was the beginning of something even bigger. Something they had built together, with the love and strength of their family.

SILCO / JINX

The dimly lit office felt unusually still as you walked in, your footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. The weight of the pregnancy test in your hand felt heavier with every step you took toward Silco’s desk. You placed it down gently in front of him, your fingers lingering on the edge as if unsure how to break the silence that stretched between you.

Silco was sitting in his usual spot, his gaze fixed on the papers before him. His sharp eyes flickered up at the sound of the test being placed on the desk, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. He didn’t need to ask what it was. His expression shifted, unreadable, as he slowly reached forward and picked it up, his fingers brushing against the plastic.

You stood still, your stomach tied in knots, watching him closely. Silco’s gaze was locked on the test, his lips pressed together as he processed the moment, his usual calm and control slipping into something else—a flicker of uncertainty that he quickly masked.

"Pregnant?" His voice was steady, though there was a sharpness beneath it, a controlled tension that spoke to the gravity of the situation.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you spoke, your voice quiet but firm. "Yes."

The silence stretched again, heavy, filled with the weight of his thoughts. He placed the test back on the desk, his eyes not leaving it as if trying to make sense of the new reality that had just been dropped before him.

"I wasn’t expecting this," he finally said, his voice still calm, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper. "This changes everything."

You could feel your pulse quicken as you shifted, unsure of what to say next. "I didn’t expect it either," you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "I don’t know what to do, Silco. Can we even give them a life here in Zaun? Can I even give them a life with everything we’ve built?"

For a long moment, Silco remained silent, his eyes moving from the test to you. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, his posture thoughtful yet still unreadable.

"You know how I feel about children," he said, his tone quieter than usual. "They’re a vulnerability, a weakness. I never planned for this."

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your own feelings reflected in your voice. "I used to think I didn’t want children either," you confessed, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of the desk. "I thought it wasn’t in me. But... I think maybe it’s different now."

Silco studied you in silence, his gaze unwavering. His features softened slightly as he absorbed your words. "If this is something you want, if you think it’s right, then I won’t stand in your way. We’ll figure it out." He sighed deeply, his voice steady, though there was something almost compassionate in it that you rarely heard. "But we both know the risks. How easily everything could change."

You nodded, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on your chest. "I know. I just don’t know what it would look like... how it would change things between us."

His expression softened further, and he leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours with an understanding that made your heart skip a beat. "We don’t have to figure it all out now. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. We’ll face it together."

The words lingered in the air, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of certainty. The future, though uncertain, didn’t seem as daunting with him by your side.

The air between you and Silco was thick with unspoken words when a shuffle from the hallway broke the moment. A muffled voice, familiar and filled with unease, echoed through the room. Your heart sank as you realized Jinx had been listening outside. She knew something was off, and she was about to confront you both.

The door creaked open, and Jinx stepped inside, her usual manic energy subdued by the confusion in her eyes. Her gaze immediately flickered to the desk, where the pregnancy test lay, its presence now casting a heavy shadow over the room. The colour drained from her face as she processed what she was seeing, and her eyes flickered between you and Silco, realization quickly settling in.

"Y-You're pregnant?" she repeated, her voice small, barely above a whisper. Her gaze flickered to the test on the desk, and then back to you, her face contorting in an expression that was a mix of confusion, fear, and something deeper—hurt.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. You knew what this meant for Jinx. She was no stranger to being pushed aside, forgotten, and replaced. Her unpredictable nature often led to misunderstandings, but the one thing you both shared was a bond, a strange and unspoken connection. The idea that she might think this would mean the end of that bond broke something inside you.

Jinx took a step back, her hands trembling as they fidgeted with the edges of her shirt. Her voice wavered, the insecurity leaking through her usual bravado. "I—I don’t... I don’t know what this means," she stammered, her eyes flickering between you and Silco, her words faltering. "You won’t need me anymore, right? I mean, you... You’ll have the baby now. You’ll have your family, and... I won’t matter anymore."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she quickly blinked them away, a brittle smile forcing its way onto her lips. "It’s fine," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I’ll just... I'll just go. It’s okay. I’ll stay out of the way. You don’t have to worry about me anymore."

A cold knot of guilt formed in your chest, and you moved toward her, reaching out to steady her. "Jinx, no. You’ll never be in the way. This—this has nothing to do with you being pushed aside." Your voice cracked slightly, but you fought to steady it. "I don’t want you to think you’re being replaced. You're not."

Jinx shook her head, her lips curling into a bitter smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s always been that way, though, hasn’t it? People come, people go. You and Silco... you’ll have everything you need now. You don’t need someone like me. I’ll just mess things up." Her voice was barely above a whisper, as though she was trying to convince herself of the lie she was telling.

Silco, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and patience, leaned forward, his voice cutting through the heavy air. "Jinx," he said, his tone more measured than before, yet carrying an undeniable firmness. "You think we would let you slip away so easily? You think you can just vanish because of something like this?"

Jinx didn’t meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on the ground as if she were afraid to hear what he was about to say.

Silco’s voice softened slightly, though still strong, like a quiet force. "You’re part of this—our lives. You’re not going anywhere, Jinx. You’re not a burden, and you’re certainly not going to be forgotten."

You stepped closer, placing a hand gently on Jinx’s shoulder, trying to convey the steadiness you wanted her to feel. "I don’t know what the future holds," you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "But I do know that you’re a part of it. I don’t want to lose you. Neither of us does."

Jinx’s breathing hitched, and for a moment, it seemed like she might finally let the wall she’d built up come crumbling down. She glanced up at you, her wide eyes searching yours, as if she were waiting for a sign that this wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t just some cruel joke.

"You’re sure?" Jinx asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her vulnerability laid bare. "You’re sure you don’t want to... forget about me?" She swallowed hard, her usual bravado replaced by the uncertainty that had been lurking beneath all along.

You nodded firmly, your hand tightening on her shoulder. "I’m sure, Jinx. You’re not a mistake. You’re not a burden. You’re family."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and Jinx stood there, her body tense as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then, slowly, her face softened, and the rawness in her eyes faded just a little. She looked at Silco, and then back at you, as though trying to reconcile the fractured pieces of herself that she had kept hidden away for so long.

After a moment, she cast a glance at the pregnancy test again, her voice still uncertain but with a touch of curiosity. "I don’t really know about this kid thing," she muttered, her words soft but full of confusion. "But... I can teach them stuff, right? Like... how to make cool things blow up?"

You laughed softly, the tension beginning to ease as Jinx’s mischievous spark returned. "Of course, Jinx," you said, offering her a reassuring smile. "You’ll be the best big sibling ever."

"Just... don't make the kid your partner in crime right away, alright?" Silco says, his tone unexpectedly gentle.

Jinx’s eyes lit up, her mischievous grin returning in full force. "Oh, no promises, Silco."

And in that moment, the storm seemed to pass. The air between you all lightened, and though the future was uncertain, you knew that you would face it together. As a family. No matter what.

[tbaluver]

teachers pet

pairing: professor!rafayel x college student!reader wc. 1.4k cw: MDNI p in v a/n: he's so yumm. this is inspo from his anecdotes! warning: explicit and sexual content below. this is intended for mature audiences. both are consenting adults and this fic does not condone sexual relations with your teachers in real life. this is all purely fiction. any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

you dreaded the idea of taking your last class for college. it was your final semester before transfering over to the Hunter’s academy and your last required class just had to be an art class.

you appreciate the arts but seriously? were you going to paint the wanderers before finishing them off? you later changed your mind about this class until your professor was painting your insides white.

-

rafayel was mesmerized as he watched your tight little cunt swallow his cock whole. the position where he has you bent over has him hitting your spot each time he pushes forward. with each hard thrust you knew you weren’t going to last long, again.

he holds onto your shoulder as he keeps one of his hands on the top of your ass, letting you rock back and forth in his shallow thrusts. the stretch makes you tremble, slick with want. you find your old nail scratches etched into his desk, now adding new ones in this position he’s placed you in.

“so cute,” he praises, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes half lidded. “how can my cutie have such filthy thoughts about me?”

you don’t know how long you’ll last. with the way he was praising you, calling you his, and him rubbing your clit again to make you reach an earth shattering high. you were so close and he can tell. your walls were so desperate to milk dry. all you can feel is how he stretches you to perfection, your mouth drooling from the absolute pleasure he was giving you.

your orgasm slams into you and your vision whitens, clenching around him as he fucks you through it.

“so good to me,” he pants, “my favorite and best student.” he sighs against your neck, sending goosebumps to your skin. he gently takes ahold of you by the neck, angling you for a tender but for a slightly messy kiss while his hands rub the side of your ass.

he helps you clean the mess between your thighs with his handkerchief as you fix the top of your shirt. he gently helps you slide on your panties, guiding your leg over the entrance, then the other, before placing a tender kiss on the inner part of your thigh.

“try and focus today cutie, don’t wanna go rough on you tonight.” he tilts his head and winks, patting your thigh that you’re good to go before any students see.

-

you were known as the model student in this class. always the first to arrive and always looking the best. many of your peers don’t know how you do it and why but truly your motivation was him.

your art could no where compete with his so you always found yourself reaching his help, hoping for his attention- not that you cared much for the projects. it was him you wanted, his touch, his gaze, the thrill of being near him was almost electrifying.

his presence was impossible to ignore. his hand covers yours as he helps guide your brush. his chest pressed gently against your back and his steady breath on the back of your neck made your heart race.

thankfully the canvas you had was large enough to cover both of you. no one could see the way his lips brushed against your ear as he murmured small praises and the way his fingertips lingered on your skin longer than necessary. they couldn’t see the way his hand slipped off your waist as he left you to do your work.

“class is almost over. make sure to clean up your stations and you’re free to go.” he says in a deeper tone, one that he never used much to you whenever you two were alone.

the hum of class chatter, the shuffle of footsteps as students packed up and cleaned their stations, filled the room. one by one, they all trickled out, only a few remained.

as you gathered your things, your eyes found his across the room. his gaze locked with yours and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

neither of you looked away. his nebula eyes followed you and you could feel the weight of his stare as you made your way to the door. you let your gaze linger for a moment before you stepped out of the room, knowing he was still watching until your figure completely disappeared from his sight.

-

a trail of your clothes and his litter in his room to his bed.

“fuuuuck, cutie, - hah. fuck you’re so fucking wet for me,” he lets out a moan that comes from deep in his chest. he takes a couple more breaths, clenching his eyes close and finds solitude in the crook of your neck. his palms could basically leave his handprints on your ass where he’s squeezing so tight.

he thrusts into you deeply, matching your rhythm while you clamp down on his cock. your body seizes as your orgasm washes over your body and continues fucking you through it, trying to find his own.

you hear him whine and continue to let him have your way with you while you grab onto him. he can’t control the sounds that come out of him as he lets out such soft and pretty sounds in your ears. you know he’s getting closer and closer until you feel his cum flooding inside of you.

he continues thrusting inside of you, taking advantage of your hot walls squeezing down on him. he catches his breath with his head still down and you can feel his breath on your chest as you stroke the back of his head.

“raf?” you asked soflty, your hands intertwining with his soft locks. “are you alright?”

he lifts his head away from your neck, his eyes refocusing on you again. a mischievous smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, his hands find your back and draw you down with him, the plush of his mattress catching you both. the unexpected movement earns a surprised yelp from you.

“i love you, my little conch,” he mutters under his breath, unsure if you heard it. both of you were still hazy from what just happened a couple seconds ago.

your fingers trail absentmindedly over the locket around his neck, fiddling with the cool metal. his hands cover yours, gently guiding it away from the chain and refocusing your attention back to him.

“i love you too,” you murmur, “but...why won’t you tell me who’s in this locket?” you tilt your head innocently as you rest your head against his chest cutely.

he chuckles quietly, “i’ll tell you soon, kay?”

you pout and you struggle to hide the frustration on your face. the relationship between you two had always been there but it had to be kept a secret from the public. you both knew the stakes and if anybody found out, you we’re both in deep trouble.

you know he’s not married but the curiosity gnaws at you that he never discusses much of his life and his past with you.

he could tell this was bothering you so he pulled you closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “don’t worryy about it too much, cutie. you’re the only person on my mind.” he reassures and he figures you were okay once you nuzzle deeper into his warmth.

his arms tighten around you, pulling you close and he knows how exhausted you are. you slowly drift away and your body melts into his as sleep finally claims you. he holds you tight, feeling your body relax against his and finally he allows himself to simply be here with you. no one else to worry about, just you and him alone in your own world.

as you sleep, he stays awake. his fingers play with the chain of the locket as his thoughts wander. this relationship was never supposed to happen. he never intended for it to go this far but the moment he saw you on the first day, he couldn’t resist.

with a quiet sigh, he opens the locket and there it is. a picture of you from your past life that he cherishes so deeply. he doesn't know how to tell you about it and he doesn’t know if he’ll even tell you about it. he can’t bear losing you again, not when he has you this close. he closes the locket, holding you closer. but right now he has you in his arms again and that’s all that truly matters. his beloved bride.

[megwritesriddles]

Sweetest Nectar ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Being at Hogwarts at university-level had it's perks, such as unsupervised days in the greenhouse with Neville. Reader finds herself in an unfortunate position thanks to a flower in the greenhouse and Neville has to figure out how to help while being a gentleman and preserving their friendship.

Tags: Sex pollen, Mildly dubious consent, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected sex, Begging, Friends to lovers, Minor yearning, HogwartsUniversity!AU, Post-war/Eighth year, Virgin!Neville (he just is, I don't make the rules), Too much backstory, Sentient Hogwarts, Silly fluffy ending.

Word count: 11.1k

all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: Can you see why I've been gone so long??? This had zero business being 11k words but I'm a chronic overexplainer so here we are!! Skip the first 9 paragraphs if you don't care about any worldbuilding. Continuing my 'Neville gets muscular as he gets older' agenda as per. The last line is so dumb... Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

P.S. this is technically day 23 of my kinktober but it's january so lets not talk about that

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Hogwarts worked in mysterious ways, with its own indecipherable motives. This much had always been true but was especially recognised lately. Once rebuild efforts had concluded after the war, Professor McGonagall, like every headmaster before her, bar Severus Snape, had sent out invitations to recent graduates to join the Higher Education program, a two-year program that would prepare its students to become a professor in any chosen field, subject to meeting entry requirements of the course. Demand for this program was higher than it ever had been, so many recent Hogwarts graduates felt like they had missed so much time at Hogwarts, that they were willing to come back on the program just to make up for lost time. At first, McGonnagal thought of shutting the whole thing down or at least raising entry requirements for joiners; there wasn’t exactly enough room in the designated Higher Education quarters for all the applicants. And though the regular student population had dwindled significantly over the course of the war (best not thought about too hard), it seemed wrong to try and room adults with 15-year-olds just to fit everyone in. The night before she intended to send out the letters of amendment to the required marks, McGonagall felt bizarrely compelled to go on a stroll around the castle, feeling drawn down a route she didn't often find herself going. There, she found a brand new door, behind which were brand new living quarters, just big enough for all the applicants. Although she should have been relieved, McGonagall was initially rather frustrated by this. Why now did the blasted old castle decide it could build, when nearly all summer long volunteers had been slaving away to restore the castle? The windows glittered as if to wink at her, she decided that the daft old thing must have liked the attention. McGonagall found herself relieved, she too felt that the recent graduates were not ready for the career world quite yet, having had not only their final year of study lost to the war, but the years before that tarnished by looming threats and incompetent bumblers. Also, there was an urgent need for qualified teachers of magic, so the more the merrier, even if most of them would only use it as a springboard into something else. 

You had always been a shoo-in either way, although you never got to sit your NEWTs, the honourary grades you were given were stellar, supported by fantastic results in your OWLs and overall fantastic conduct in class. The blemishes on your record from the Carrow's note-taking were wiped, leaving your record squeaky clean. You received your acceptance letter and list of supplies and felt like you were eleven again. Everyone was required to specialise in a subject, and while you'd had a couple in which you had adequate grades which you might have chosen, you went for Herbology in the end, as it was something you loved.  In all honesty, you liked Professor Sprout the best and were eager to train under her. 

As soon as you received your letter, you wrote to Neville. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be studying under Professor Sprout alongside you, despite not even knowing if he had applied to the program initially. He quickly confirmed this suspicion when he wrote back to you, saying he had a sneaky feeling about you as well. The two of you had become fast friends in the sixth year, both being in Advanced Herbology. You'd known each other a little here and there before that, but in this class, your friendship truly formed. The class was very small, as the interest in Advanced Herbology was low, most careers only required a decent grade in standard Herbology, so even those with interest had to prioritise other things for the sake of their future, such as Potions or Charms. There were only the two of you and a pair of Slytherin girls who, despite seeming genuinely very passionate about the subject, refused to converse with the two of you and whispered amongst themselves all the time. This was fine with both of you, as you had each other, taking time to study together, walking to and from class, and working efficiently during any pair work. The two of you had been ripped apart during the war, you had to steer clear of Hogwarts for your safety, and Neville, being intensely monitored by the Carrows at the time, refused to write to you and risk revealing your location to them, so you had been out of contact for quite a while. You wrote to him again on his birthday and had been corresponding a little since, but things felt slightly stunted. You hadn't seen each other in so long and Neville was never the best when it came to socialising. 

Arriving at Hogwarts once again had been intensely bittersweet. So many good and bad memories to try and process all at once, it felt overwhelming. You'd had to step outside during the sorting but found yourself far from alone out there. So many people were broken. You apprehensively made your way over to Hermione and said hello. She pulled you into a tight hug, as you hadn't seen her for a long time either. You listened as she explained about Harry and Ron, that they didn't want to go into teaching, and though she'd explained over and over that most people that do the program don't end up teaching, they'd still refused to come. Trying to make the most of it, she tells you it'll be nice to spend time with other friends for once and you nod along. She is somehow specialising in three subjects, she'd wanted to do more of course, but it hadn't been allowed. Trust Hermione to work herself to the bone happily. You'd made it to your room later that night, a private room with an en-suite, which felt awfully fancy for Hogwarts, and settled in. Being back was an odd feeling, you could see the cracks in the stone everywhere you looked, there was pain everywhere, yet so much good to try and find.

To your complete relief, when you started your first day in the Greenhouses, things fell back into place with Neville instantly. At first, you'd greeted him with a hug, which had been awkward as he hadn't been expecting it, but very pleasant once he figured out what was going on. Soon after this though, as Professor Sprout set you her first task (to prepare some plants for her third years), things were back to as they were, perfect. You worked together well, talking and laughing easily, and though occasionally the chat went sour and the mood fell, this was happening with everyone lately, a byproduct of the war, there was so little to talk about that wasn't tarnished that it was a wonder the two of you were able to laugh as much as you were. Neither of the two girls from advanced Herbology were there, and although this initially saddened you both, you conceded that there could be many reasons for it. There weren’t many Slytherin returners, there never had been, but after the war especially, the turnout was pathetic. Most Slytherins avoided their peers after the war for fear of ostracism, which was fair as people had some pretty bad opinions on them but sad because there were several Slytherins who hadn’t been on the wrong side of history who were still facing hostility. 

The course was a lot of independent study of assigned texts and essay-writing, but all day on a Tuesday and half a day on a Thursday, the two of you were in the smaller greenhouse behind the ones for teaching, working on various projects, which also sometimes required your attention out of teaching hours. This greenhouse was set aside initially for research purposes at Sprout’s predecessor's request, but now was being used to train those in the higher education program. Despite this greenhouse being smaller than the two nearer the grounds, it was still fairly large and complex. Upon entering, you came into a little cloakroom, where you would have to don your aprons and gloves before entering, with a sink in the corner for washing up when leaving and entering. The next room was the main growing area, growing various plants that weren’t dangerous but were still perhaps best kept out of the reach of the younger students. There was a long wooden workbench in the middle of the room for potting and taking notes and whatever else you might need to do. Off of the opposite end of this room, there were three doors, one that led to a small room which was always kept humid and at tropical temperatures, one which was always kept cool and dry and one lockable room in which more dangerous plants were kept, such as venomous tentacula or fanged geraniums, only to be accessed with Professor Sprout supervising. 

Professor Sprout would only tutor the two of you on Thursday, so with the exception of the first few weeks, the two of you were entirely alone from 9 am to 4 pm on a Tuesday. Although it sounded a little salacious when you told friends, the truth was that most Tuesdays you were both too busy for anything to happen. Not that anything would of course, but certain assumptions were made when people heard you were alone together for hours with what they assumed was an easy subject. Mostly your days were full of tending to the plants, having to frequently refer to your notes for how each should be cared for (how much water? what temperature should the water be? do they require singing to?), observing any plants that were the subjects of your essays and preparing plants so they would be safe for lessons with younger year groups. 

It’s a Tuesday like any other. Neville is carefully planting some seeds across the workbench from where you’re delicately pruning a particularly active flitterbloom bush, setting the clippings aside to send to the potions department later. One of Neville’s research subjects is observing what methods of growth acceleration work the best and cause the least damage to the plants they’re applied to. He has been planting, growing and replanting dittany over and over for weeks now, but was still gathering more data as he came across more and more methods to test, and each had to be tested several times over to rule out external factors. 

Your research was on the merits and drawbacks of pruning, and which plants took best and worst to the practice. Pruning was useful as it allowed more ingredients to be obtained from individual plants for potioneering purposes, but generally was thought to be harmful to the overall health of the plant. You were attempting to write a definitive list of which of the 25 most common plants used in potions could be pruned and which couldn’t, which to your surprise had hardly been researched before as the belief of its harmfulness had permeated the field since 1870 and most Herbologists had steered clear of it since. Your research seemed to be proving it wasn’t nearly as harmful as thought.

The two of you chat idly as Neville uses a pipette to apply various growth potions to the soil of his newly planted seeds and you carefully measure the regrowth of a stem of the flitterbloom bush that you pruned a few weeks ago, struggling as the stem swayed about. 

“I can’t believe Hermione talked Ron and Harry into actually joining the course next term,” Neville hums, extracting exactly 5 millilitres of potion from a bottle with his pipette. You scoff. 

“For real this time? They keep saying that yet nothing ever comes of it,” you shake your head, scribbling down your measurement on the parchment beside you.

“Yes, really, two new rooms have appeared in the boys' dorms with their names on them, if Hogwarts knows, it must really be happening,” his tongue sticks out slightly between his teeth as he concentrates on dropping the liquid right in the middle of the little pot. Not wanting to throw his research, you wait until he’s done to reply.

“Perhaps Harry and Ron don’t even know it themselves,” you joke, making Neville chuckle. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the castle decided it for them,” he carefully pushes the cork back into the top of the potion bottle. “The castle is quite odd lately, perhaps it has whatever its equivalent of brain damage is from the war, it’s acting much more blatantly,”

“How so?” you tilt your head in his direction, soothing your finger over the agitated stem that you just had to hold taut for measuring. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories of people getting stuck in rooms with the people they like, doors literally disappearing until they confess or otherwise!”  Neville laughs, carefully moving his pots back to their designated spot on the windowsill. With his back turned, you can’t help but glance at the door despite yourself, wondering if it’s still there. It is. You quickly avert your eyes from the door as he turns back toward you. “It’s why there’s suddenly all these couples popping up, sure the castle has always been a little cheeky, but never so obvious before, it all started with the higher education wing appearing overnight and it’s seemingly been madness since,” he shakes his head, picking up another batch of pots containing little sprouts at various heights that he has to measure. 

“It’s sweet how many people have liked each other and not even known… has it always been people who like each other stuck together?” you ask, stroking your quill, feeling the soft tufts beneath your fingers. 

“As far as I’ve heard, each time it’s happened it’s ended well,” Neville shrugs, rifling through his bag for his measuring tape. You glance at the door again, seeing it still there. Unrequited, you figure, that door will stay right where it is. 

“I wonder where the brain of the castle is if it even has such a thing… it is sentient in some ways, so there must be an equivalent right?” you ponder as he loudly removes his books from his bag and thuds them onto the workbench. 

“The room of requirement? For some reason that comes to mind… a fire in your brain can’t be good,” he chuckles, his voice slightly strained as he peers under the table for the offending measuring tape.

“You can borrow mine,” you suggest softly as he comes up with nothing. 

“No it’s fine, you need it,” he waves his hand dismissively, standing up from his stool. “I’ll fetch mine from my room, I’m fairly certain I know exactly where it is on my desk, can’t believe I forgot it again,” he grumbles the last part to himself. “Be back in 15, watch my plants,” he smiles, although you can tell from his sheepish look that he’s embarrassed to have forgotten something yet again. Luckily, you could head back to fetch things at any time at your level, no longer having to ask to go to the toilet or anything like that. There was no one here to ask. You smile back, watching as he enters the cloakroom. A few moments later, you see his heavily blurred figure heading up the hill through the heavily rippled glass of the greenhouse windows. In the newfound quiet, you return to your work, hearing only the spray of simulated rain in the tropical growing room. 

Finally finished with the flitterbloom, you stand to retrieve your next plant, a valerian bush, for pruning. As you move to stand and step forward, you feel an odd pressure at your ankle. Stepping forward anyway, you realise too late that your foot is hooked on a support between the legs of your stool, sending both you and the stool off balance and toppling over toward the room-length counter that holds all the various plants. Reflexively, your body twists and your arms come up to shield your head as you thud loudly into the solid wood surface, causing a choir of wobbling pots, luckily with no ensuing crash of broken terracotta, you had to count your blessings somewhere. A dull pain throbs through your body, starting from the side that crashed against the counter. Thud! A yelp rips from you as the stool, still twined with your leg, falls onto your thigh. Luckily, it is only light and will leave a small bruise at most, your side colliding with the counter on the other hand…. You shut your eyes tight, feeling utterly embarrassed about what just happened despite being alone. You weren’t normally this clumsy and you were sure you looked a mess, an undignified heap on the floor, too shocked to stand up or even open your eyes yet. In the permeating silence, you sit on the cold stone floor and try not to cry, from the shock more than the pain. 

A violent sneeze overtakes your body, the action of it hurting your side. You sniff and cough, dust seemingly surrounding you. You must have jostled some old dusty plants that hadn’t been touched in a while when you collided with the surface. Surrendering to the coughs and sniffs that wracked through your pained body, you wait it out until the dust subsides, grabbing your bruised side as you double over with violent sneezes and sputters. Finally, a deep breath of clean air, you sag against the counter and try to gather yourself now you can breathe properly once more.

“It was exactly where I thought it was…” The door from the cloakroom creaks open in the silence as Neville enters, clutching his measuring tape. “I can be so scatterbrained,” he huffs, his eyes sweeping the room at the height he expects you to be. In embarrassment your eyes squeeze tighter, not wanting him to see the mess you’d gotten yourself into. Upon not seeing you, he glances around for any evidence you might be in one of the back rooms, though not thinking of a reason you would be. 

“Down here,” you squeak, your voice hoarse from coughing. The words itch your throat and you splutter slightly once more as he rounds the workbench and spots you on the ground. You give a sheepish smile, finally having opened your eyes. It’s painfully obvious from your stool-adorned leg what happened, you just hope he doesn’t think any less of you. He shouldn’t, he has a reputation for being clumsy himself, but you can’t help but worry. “I fell,” you rasp pathetically. 

“Are you alright?” he surges toward you and kneels, immediately examining your head for any bumps, rubbing over your scalp gently. The action makes your cheeks heat up, but you try to ignore it. 

“I’m okay, I landed on my side,” you reply as he carefully removes the stool from around your leg and stands it back up beside the workbench. His arms wrap around you and he carefully lifts you to stand, you yelp as the movement stretches your side and he shushes you gently. 

“It’s alright, there we go… just—,” he holds you steady until you’re stable on your feet. When he lets go of you, it feels oddly painful deep in your stomach, but you brush that off. 

“Thank you,” you whisper shyly. 

“Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” he asks, bringing his hand up to feel your skull once more, worrying over whether you might have been badly injured. You lean slightly into his hand without meaning to.

“No I promise, it was just my side and my thigh,” you insist, inwardly wishing he’d brush his hand against those spots to check them. For a moment his hand moves like he might, but he stops himself. 

“If you’re sure,” he inspects you once more, hovering behind you as you sit back down on the stool, trying to brush past this whole incident. “Can I grab your plant for you?” he offers. “Which were you going for?” you want to complain, but his eyes are wide and earnest and you know he wants to help.

“The valerian… and could you pop the flitterbloom back for me?” you request, hesitantly testing the tender skin where the stool collided with your thigh, wincing at the throb of pain that followed your touch. Neville dutifully returns the flitterbloom to the counter, then places the valerian bush before you. Behind you, you hear him gently pushing some of the pots that had moved when you smashed into the counter back into place. You flush and keep your head down, pretending to inspect the valerian bush but not being able to focus. Your brain feels a little fogged up, you assume from the shock of the fall. Not wanting to alarm Neville in any way, you grab your tape measure and pretend to measure the leaf regrowth. He quietly moves around the workbench, bringing his pots over to your side of the bench and sitting down beside you to resume his work, his brows furrowed in concern for you. “Really, I’m okay,” you chuckle, but the weakness of your voice does little to reassure him.

“It’s better if I sit here, just in case something happens,” he says, more firmly than he usually says anything. That side of him was new since the war, this ability to stick up for himself in smaller situations. He’d always known how to stick up for the greater good, but little things like this, he would allow himself to be walked all over, too scared of losing a friend. Now that he has more confidence, he’s not so afraid to dispute his nearest and dearest, knowing you’re unlikely to end your friendship with him over this. And if you did, it would be weird and not his fault anyway. The tone of voice is also on the newer side and it stirs something in your belly.

You sit side by side working on your respective projects. Well, Neville is working, you’re more just going through the motions while your mind hovers elsewhere, not allowing you to focus on what you’re meant to be doing. Maybe you were concussed… but you hadn’t hit your head during the fall, so what was wrong? You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart which still seems to be beating slightly fast. Slowly but surely, your body starts to feel a little warm. You glance to make sure the door to the tropical room hasn't opened as your cardigan starts to feel a little stuffy. No matter where you look in the room, you can’t find any source of excess heat. A puff of breath breaches your lips, you’re growing uncomfortable now, the heat only seems to rise and rise. With great unnecessary difficulty, you wrestle yourself free of your cardigan, throwing the wretched thing on the ground beside you with a grunt. Neville gives you a confused look, but not yet seeing anything obviously wrong with you, returns to his measurements. There is relief from the warmth that was engulfing you, but only for ten minutes at most, as soon you are sweltering once more. An awful voice at the back of your head tries to convince you to throw off all of your clothes, but you keep it together, merely squirming in your seat, rubbing your thighs together to try and quell the growing ache in your belly that your mind isn’t quite registering yet. In a last-ditch effort, you sip some water from your lukewarm water bottle, the relief it provides is even shorter than before. Your head whips around now, searching fruitlessly once more for the source of this despicable heat, but finds nothing. Neville is unfazed beside you, still wearing his sweater and looking perfectly comfortable. The only thing you can think of is that Neville must be radiating the heat, as nothing else could explain your sudden discomfort. You reach your hand out toward him, trying to gauge if it gets warmer the closer it gets to his side. This finally catches his attention and when he looks up, he’s met with your flushed clammy face and dilated pupils.

“Whoa! Is everything alright?” he sputtered, leaning back slightly as if worried you’re contagious. This upsets you and you let out an unseemly whine.

“I’m hot,” you huff, pushing your hair back from your face to get more cool air on your skin. “Really hot,” Neville’s eyes brush over you for a moment as he considers just how hot you are, before promptly snapping himself out of it.

“You do look a little… feverish,” he agrees, reaching out and touching the back of his hand to your forehead. You lean forward into the touch, moaning softly. Your skin is burning and slightly tacky with sweat, which makes Neville frown deeply. How could you have suddenly developed such a terrible fever? He pulls his hand back, but you immediately whine and claw at his arm to pull his hand back. Too baffled to protest, he lets you pull his hand to your cheek and watches you lean against it happily. He gently runs his thumb over your cheekbone before catching himself. “Are you alright?” he enquires once more, keeping his voice soothing.

“Don’t stop touching me,” you pout, looking up at him through your lashes with a look that is wholly inappropriate for an academic premises. He swallows.

“Wha-what?” he stammers, watching as you nuzzle against his hand.

“It helps the heat… don’t stop,” you whimper, reaching out to try and pull him closer by his sweater, but not being strong or focused enough to do it. This failure pulls another whine from you. Neville’s mind reels completely and he has to look away from you to compose himself, though he keeps your cheek cradled in his palm. What was going on with you? Were you ill? His eyes find the spot where he’d found you on the floor just earlier in his attempts to avoid the sultry unexplainable look you were giving him. “I need you to touch me,” you mewl, making him shiver.

“I’m not sure that’s–” he cuts himself off when his eyes land on the plant on the counter above where you fell. Lamprocapnos libidinosus, also known as the dripping heart, a magical relative of the bleeding heart flower in the muggle world. A common ingredient in lust potions and aphrodisiacs, highly dangerous in the wrong hands due to the potent amorous effects of its spores. Neville vaguely remembers Professor Sprout's warnings that one of the PhD students was being allowed to grow it for research and to steer completely clear of it. A warning he’s sure you would have headed if you hadn’t been tumbling toward it. Even from afar, he notices a couple of burst spore pods. “Oh no…” he mumbles to himself, dropping his hand from your cheek. You immediately protest but he stops you short. “When you fell… you didn’t happen to breathe in any dust, did you?” his voice shakes slightly, this cannot be happening to you. He always thought they shouldn’t have the plant growing in this greenhouse, even if only experienced herbologists were allowed in. Accidents happened as he knew all too well, and now his vague fears had become a biting reality.

“Yeah, why?” your voice is soft and sweet as you paw at him, trying to get him to hug you, or presumably something more. Neville flushes brightly and shoots upright, making a mad dash for his textbooks, still on the workbench from when he’d been searching through his bag. You wail at his absence, feeling the heat that had reduced to a low simmer return to a full boil. “Please…” you sob at him, not even knowing why you want what you want. “Just hold me, comfort me,” The look in your eye has him breaking, and if he remembers what little he’s read about the plant, you must be rather uncomfortable right now. He returns to your side and allows you to cling to his arm, bumping your head into his shoulder like a loving cat, while he frantically searches for the information he needs to help you. After several panicked flick-throughs, he locates the page.

Lamprocapnos libidinosus; also known as the Dripping Heart or the Flower of Lust.

At the top of the page is information entirely useless to this cause, the best season to plant, how much light is needed, etcetera, but finally Neville finds what he’s looking for under the ‘uses’ section. It’s tough to focus on reading when you’re practically trying to get under his sweater with him, pushing the knit material slightly up his side, your fingertips brushing his abdomen and making him jolt. He pushes your hand away but pulls you into a hug to silence your outcries, which you’re more than happy to sink into. He’s hugged you plenty of times so he pretends this is perfectly normal as he wills his brain to digest what's in front of him on the page. It’s hard to keep this pretending up as he can hear you sniffing him and moaning deeply at the smell of his shower gel, mixed with just a hint of sweat, which in this state only fuels your arousal, acting as a pheromone, worsening your need.

He skims the section frantically. Inhalation of the spores will lead to overwhelming feelings of lust even in small doses, however, the dose may affect who this lust is directed toward. Smaller doses will only worsen lust toward people already lusted after by the infected person, while larger doses will cause these feelings of lust to latch onto whoever is around, no matter prior relationships. The infected person will pursue their object of affection at any cost, they will be unable to focus on anything but the lust that has overtaken them. These feelings of lust, if left untreated, can cause extreme discomfort in the infected person, high fevers, intense symptoms of arousal (such as fluid secretions), shivers, brain fog and other symptoms varying by person and dose. The only way to cure the infected person of these symptoms and return them to full faculties is to have them reach climax.

It seems that you have chosen him as the object of your affections. Neville looks down at you as you hug him tight, continuously trying to slip your hand beneath his jumper. Out of selfish curiosity, he heads for the plant to try and determine how large of a dose you got and whether you may have already experienced feelings of lust toward him before the effects of the plant. When he moves away, you practically sob.

“Please don’t!” you wail, diving for him and into his arms once more. For now, you seemed to be mostly content just being held in his arms, and it’s clear you find it painful when separated from him for even a moment, so Neville has to relent. He delicately lifts you, and although having you wrap your legs around his hips hadn’t been a part of his plan, he supposes it does help keep you steady. He blushes brightly as he walks over to inspect the flower. He’s never held anyone like this, so intimately. Your skirt rides up where your legs wrap around him and he has to tear his eyes away before his thoughts become too inappropriate. You like the sight as much as he does. “You’re so strong,” you purr in his ear, your voice much lower than normal. He shivers and you feel it, the knowledge you’re having some effect on him overtakes your lust-addled brain. 

“Th-thank you, I’ve been exercising a lot since the war,” he mumbles, counting all the burst pods on the plant. He counts five, but he’s not sure if that’s considered a large dose or not. Probably, but the pods do look rather small.

“Mmm, it’s so hot…” you purr, trying to wriggle against him. Neville’s face turns red and he practically drops you, but holds you steady so you don’t fall once more once your feet touch the ground.

“Don’t say stuff like that!” he yelps.

“It’s true,” you pout. “I need you,” you try to hop up into his arms again but he holds you firmly on the ground, practically shaking. Really, this should’ve been a dream come true for him, he’d had feelings for you practically since the day the two of you met, but he felt disgusted with himself for every wave of excitement that passed over him. You were burning up, your cheeks brightly flushed, a deep ache at the pit of your belly and an ever-growing wetness in your underwear. All you could think about was how it might feel to have Neville soothing the fire inside you with deep strong thrusts, you moan aloud, if you focus enough you can almost feel it. “I bet you’re big, I bet you’d fill me up so well,” you murmur, looking up at him seductively.

“I- Merlin…” Now Neville feels overheated, he tries to push you away a little but you aren’t letting him. The image of filling you up won’t leave his head no matter how much he commands it to. It doesn’t help that you’re now trying your best to reach his jaw to kiss it. 

“Please…” you beg once more. “I need it so badly…” his resistance crumbles for a moment and his hands drop from your sides, allowing you to rush forward and attach your lips to his jaw. His eyes slip shut and he whimpers as you hold him close and lavish his neck and jaw with attention. His arms wrap around you, hands gently skimming your back as you continue to pepper him with kisses. “Please,” you whisper against his skin, your hand dropping to the buckle of his belt. The feeling of you tugging at his belt makes his eyes shoot open. He realises in a sudden flood of shame what he’s allowed you to do. You’ll hate him for this once you’re back to normal. He grabs your shoulders harshly and pushes you away. You squeak as he sits you on one of the stools, your eyes filling with tears at the rejection. You’d been so close to what you needed, and now with this newfound distance from him, you were in pain once more, a horrible throb in your stomach. 

“Listen to me,” he breathes shakily. “We can’t do this, you’ll regret it as soon as it’s over,”

“No, I–”

“You’re not in your right mind, you don’t know what you actually want,” he asserts again, reminding himself more than anything. He takes a deep breath and thinks. The only way to cure you according to the textbook was for you to reach climax. In colloquial stories about the plant, he’d always heard that orgasm would have to be reached with the help of another person, but the book didn’t stipulate this, maybe this was the answer. You could do it alone. His cheeks were flushed bright red as he opened his mouth once more. “What you need to do is… er… I’m going to take you into the cloakroom, alright?” he swallows, cautiously pulling you up from the stool onto your feet. You would need to sit somewhere to do this presumably and sitting on the stool or the workbench in here could lead to falling and disaster all over again. The best place he could think of was the bench in the cloakroom where people could sit to remove their shoes. You would have the wall to lean against and wouldn’t be sitting on the cold stone floor. Beneath you, he lays out a towel and then helps you to sit down on top of it. The towel was intended to make you more comfortable, but he considers with a blush that it might be necessary for other reasons also. He clears his throat. “Now, you have to… er… get yourself… uhm…” he can’t seem to make himself say the words. With a soft tug at his sleeve, you pull him to kneel between your legs, your faces nearly level given how much height he has on you. 

Before he can stop you, you kiss him. His brain stops functioning for a moment, all he can do is wrap his arms around you and kiss back, so intoxicated by the way your lips move against his. He didn’t have much experience with kissing, but there was no doubt this was the best kiss of his life. You moan against his mouth and it sets all his nerve-endings alight, making him push even closer to you in desperation. For you, the kiss is a sweet relief, cool water washing over your overheated body, but even so, you need more. There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs, a horrible feeling of emptiness that you know only Neville could fill. Trying to urge him on, you brush your tongue against his lips, hoping for entry. You’re allowed in for one tantalising moment before he pulls away with a start when your tongues graze against each other. The whine that rips from your throat is downright pathetic, but you don’t have the faculties to care at that moment. You look at him through your lashes, watching as he fights to regain his composure, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Never in his life has he felt as weak as in this moment, rendered so malleable by his desire for you. The two of you are friends. How will you react when you come back to normal and discover he let you kiss him in this state? That he’s allowed his selfishness to get in the way of what’s right? He jumps to his feet, ignoring your cries and protests as much as it pains him to do so.

“Look, the textbook says that the only way to cure you of this is… a uh… a climax,” he blushes and chokes on the words slightly. “I’m going to keep watch outside that nobody comes in, all you have to do is… you know…”

“Get myself off?” you supply in a sultry voice. 

“Yes, exactly,” he clears his throat, turning to leave you alone.

“Nev, please… I need your help… I don’t want to do it alone,” you plead, your voice soft and needy.  

“No, you can do it alo– oh… wow,” he exhales heavily as his eyes reach you once more. In an effort to persuade him, you’d pulled up the hem of your skirt and spread your legs, revealing your thighs and your soaked panties to him. The cold air makes you shiver but doesn’t actually cool you down in the slightest. It takes a great deal of strength to keep Neville from lunging himself at you. You look positively delicious, the wetness of your panties allowing him an outline of your most intimate areas, the skin of your thighs soft and plump and enticing. If he was even a slightly feebler man, he’d already be on his knees, devouring you through the thin, damp fabric. Just imagining how you might taste has him weak in the knees. “Oh Merlin…” he breathes, feeling his erection, which has been slightly present for the last half-hour or so, straining painfully against the zip of his jeans. The needy seductive look on your face almost breaks him, he takes a step toward you, causing you to light up, before he stops himself and just stares. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, unable to help himself. He watches you squirm in response. 

“Please, I need you,” you beg, unbuttoning your shirt as he observes. The garment falls to the ground, leaving you in your plain bra. Neville doesn’t seem to mind how simple the garment is in the slightest, his breath hitching as you reveal yourself.

“I really shouldn’t” he tries again, but he cannot rip his eyes from your body.

“I can’t do it alone, I feel so empty,” you whimper, spreading your legs further. “Please, fill me, I need your cock,” Neville nearly faints at those words, at the pleading way you say them, at how desired you’re making him feel. His legs carry him forward before his brain can catch up and he sits beside you on the bench. His brain finally does catch up just in time to stop you from sitting in his lap.

“Maybe I can help a little, but we can’t… I can’t uh… I can’t ‘fill’ you,” he gives in, despite knowing he probably shouldn’t. He had heard many times that another person was needed to reverse the effects of the Dripping Heart, so it was likely he did have to help, given the fact you hardly seemed satisfied with the idea of getting off alone. He could still be as much of a gentleman about it as possible. He knew the both of you had limited sexual experience, he himself was a virgin and though he wasn’t sure about you, he would guess you were in the same boat or had only had one partner before. With both of you having so little experience, he didn’t want to go all the way, as for you it would likely be regrettable. You plead with him softly, trying to climb into his lap still, despite his strong arms holding you at bay. Each plea weakens his resolve and he knows you know it because you’re babbling now.

“Please, please Nev, I need you inside me, to fuck me, I’ve never needed anything so badly, please, I know you want me too,” he deserved a medal for being able to resist you for this long, most other boys would have given in the second the girl of their dreams said something even remotely flirty, but he was somehow just barely resisting your pleas to have sex with him.

“Sit down,” he implores you, and you quickly obey, batting your lashes at him. “I’m going to help you, okay? But you need to stay still and just… take what I give you, don’t ask for more, okay?” These words seem to excite you, you squirm and nod, eagerly allowing him to spread your legs. His shaking hand rests on your bare thigh for a moment as he takes a few composing breaths. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, it was something he had dreamed of incessantly, but now it felt like it could ruin his life if he wasn’t careful. You tug softly at his arm, trying to get his hand where you want it, bucking against the air.

“Please…” you sob, clenching around nothing as you look at his large hand against your thigh. He shushes you gently.

“I’m about to, just give me a second,” he stammers, trying to sort through his brain for any information he has on how to do this. He averts his eyes, figuring you wouldn’t have wanted him to see you so intimately, even if the damp fabric of your panties had already given him a pretty good look. Slowly, he places his hand on the apex of your thigh, shivering at the damp warmth he can feel radiating from your core. You mewl. Despite the pain in his neck from the position, he keeps his eyes locked on the wall behind you, pointedly ignoring how arousing the sounds you made were. Gathering his courage, he carefully slips the tips of his fingers past the fabric of your underwear and groans aloud at how wet you are. Your nectar gathers on his fingers and for a moment he just gently swipes them up and down to gather as much as possible, hearing your desperate moans as you lean your head on his shoulder. He never knew a woman could be this wet, and sure perhaps the flower was exacerbating it, but the thought still had him unendingly aroused. The angle wasn’t quite right, so he removed his hand, whining in unison with you at the separation. Your essence dripping down his fingers was like a siren song, trying to lure him to lick his fingers clean and finally get a taste of you. How could he ever explain that to you later? To his infinite regret, he doesn’t bring them to his mouth, sliding his hand into your panties once more, now from the top. This angle works a lot better, your hips immediately buck as his fingers slide over your clit.

“There, please, right there,” you beg, and he’s glad for the advice. A little unsure but determined (no point backing out now, at least he might be able to cure you), he relocates the spot that makes you shiver and whine. Your reaction tells you exactly when he’s found the little bundle of nerves once more and he takes a deep breath, before gently beginning to circle his fingers around it. It’s something he remembers hearing in the common room, and it seems it was good advice as soon you’re panting in his ear like a dog in heat, mewling his name softly. He can’t believe the noises you’re making, the sinful way you’re saying his name, it’s like perfect torture, it takes a lot out of him not to look. “Yes, fuck… Nev…” you whine, feeling the syrupy pleasure coursing through your body. “Yes, yes! More!” 

“More?” he croaks, unsure what you mean by that. As a guess, he tries circling faster, and though you definitely seem to like it, your hips canting up into his touch, he can feel you shaking your head against his shoulder.

“Need you inside,” you cry, making his cock twitch in his jeans.

“We- we can’t do- that,” he stutters, although he’s never wanted to more in his life. He wholeheartedly agrees with your pained sob in response, but he knows it’s for the best. “How about… er… my fingers? Inside?” he gulps, flustered that he’s even in a situation where he can ask such a thing. 

“O-okay,” you whimper. Neville fumbles around for a moment, trying to figure out where to put his fingers. It would be much easier if he could see what he was doing, but he’s already decided he shouldn’t. The fact that he touched you will no doubt be mortifying enough once you’re back to normal. With a little guidance from you, he very slowly and cautiously presses two fingers into you, making you gasp in pleasure. You’re wet and warm and tight around his fingers and he practically drools imagining how you might feel around his cock, almost cumming on the spot just thinking about it. Merlin, he was such a pathetic virgin, maybe he should be taking the chance and losing his virginity now, but it just doesn’t feel right when he doesn’t know how you’ll feel about it afterwards. He presses his forehead to the cool wall to calm himself down and prevent him from looking at how you took his fingers in, withdrawing them just slightly and then pressing them back in. The sound that comes from you makes Neville’s heart skip, so lewd and sinful and full of ecstasy. He wants desperately to kiss you, but he knows he shouldn’t. 

At your renewed pleading, he starts up a steady pace, thrusting his fingers in and out the way he wished he could with his cock, feeling filthy for even thinking it. The wet sound that each thrust made, accompanied by your wanton moans makes him feel like he’s the one who has been infected by the flower, so crazed with desire. Could there have been some pollen on you that he inhaled when he helped you up? It didn’t seem impossible, but he was also a young man, they weren’t exactly notorious for being level-headed when it came to sex. You lean heavily against him, gasping against his shoulder at each press of his fingers, the coil in your belly twisting tighter than it ever had before. You mumble incoherent pleas and he simply shushes you, not trusting himself not to give in to you if you keep talking. 

“Thumb,” you breathe between vulgar moans and though it takes his sluggish brain a moment, he realises what you want. He presses his fingers deeper, fumbling a moment before his thumb grazes your sensitive bud, making you sob in pleasure. His large deft hand pleasures you like it was made for it, all you can think of is the bliss he’s giving you as he hits all the right spots over and over. Your hand flies up, nails digging into his arm as you realise you’re dangerously close to exploding, despite the bite of your nails, he doesn’t let up his pace, too addicted to the sound of your moans to slow down now. “Nev… I’m–” you cut yourself off with a shout, pleasure shooting through your body like you were struck by lighting. Your muscles tense and tremble, your eyes rolling back in your skull, walls contracting around his fingers hard. The pleasure goes through you in strong waves, drowning you in it, not allowing you respite from shivers and moans for even a second as it wracks through you. You’d never felt anything so intense and all-consuming before. Neville feels your essence gush onto his fingers and though he should be relieved it’s over, he finds himself disappointed that he has to stop doing this, hearing those bewitching sounds. Gently, he removes his hand from you and guides your skirt back down your thighs so he can finally look toward you again. His fingers are covered in your essence, creamy and mouth-watering, the only thing that’s able to stop him from having a taste is your hand still clinging to his arm. He waits for you to gather your breath, silently smug he was able to help, but also petrified of what happens next. 

“Are you alright?” he asks delicately, shifting his erection away from your back now that you might actually register it. You open your eyes and look up at him, which immediately makes him frown. Your pupils are still almost comically dilated, your cheeks still pink and clammy, and though it could just be from the aftermath of your orgasm, he immediately knows something is still wrong.

“I feel better… but not entirely,” you whisper and Neville bites his lip. Great. He stands to wash his hands in the sink, and during that brief period of absence, he watches you become consumed by the effects of the flower again, pleading for him to come back. He splashes water on his face and takes a deep breath. You had reached climax, he may not be an expert in female orgasms but he knew what he just saw and felt, so what was wrong? Was the plant in the greenhouse genetically modified in some way? Would he have to call Professor Sprout to ask for help? How exactly could he explain that he’d already given you an orgasm and it hadn’t worked? Looking back, he should have taken you to Madam Pomfrey the second he’d realised what had happened to you, but he thought you would have found it too embarrassing. Now things would be infinitely more embarrassing for the both of you if you sought out help. Lesson learned, just because he’d survived a war it didn’t mean he could deal with anything life threw at him alone. He feels you approaching from behind and turns around, allowing you to sink into his arms. “Stay with me,” you plead, holding him close.

“Okay,” he sighs, because what else can he do now? “I’m here,” He caresses your bare back and tries to forget what he just did to you, but he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, kissing your forehead without thinking. “I’ve made a mess of things, we did all that and you’re not even cured,”

“Why won’t you fuck me?” you whimper. Your boldness doesn’t even surprise him anymore.

“Because it’s not what you really want, you’d never forgive me once things got back to normal, I was just the only person around for the pollen to latch onto,”

“But that’s what the pollen wants, maybe that’s the only way to cure it, I don’t just want an orgasm, I want you inside me,” you suggest. He’s glad you’re slightly more lucid from the relief of your climax, but you’re still not entirely yourself, your voice slow and sluggish like wading through water when trying to formulate logical thoughts. He can’t deny the way his cock, which had softened slightly, was coming back to life at your words. “Please…” you nuzzle against his chest. “I promise you, I want this even when I’m not… whatever I am right now,” you chuckle. He sighs. He doesn’t quite believe you but he’s running out of ideas of what to do, and your friendship is presumably ruined anyway. Maybe he’s making excuses for himself, but it feels more and more like there’s only one thing for it. He prays you’ll remember how much you begged and how hard he tried to be a gentleman and not hate him, even if you avoid him for the rest of your life after this. “I need you,” you whisper and he gives in.

“Forgive me for this,” he pleads, before lifting you into his arms and moving back over to the bench, sitting down and letting you straddle his lap. You smile at him softly, fluttering your lashes. At least the orgasm before made you a little calmer and more agreeable. If nothing else, if he gets you to orgasm again, you might be even closer to normal. He pulls you to his chest taking a moment to embrace you for what he worries may be the last time. You nuzzle into him eagerly. “I’m a virgin, you know?” he mumbles into your shoulder, not knowing why he feels the need to say it. Those words seem to embolden you, you paw at his chest.

“I promise it’ll be good, please…” you purr. He wonders how you might have reacted if you were your regular self. Would you have found it sweet? Would you have pitied him? You probably knew, everyone knew, but you never mentioned it to him. He allows you to pull off his sweater, lifting his arms and watching you discard it across the room. When you lean in to kiss him, he doesn’t even pretend to put up a fight, holding the back of your neck and kissing you back, pouring all his unspoken feelings into it. He tries to keep it slow and gentle, but you’re far too eager, and the heat starts mounting fast. He pushes away all his doubts, telling himself he can enjoy this, or else it would be even more of a waste. The t-shirt that was under his sweater is next to go, as he pulls away to allow you to rid him of it, he studies your face, still flushed and feverish, but so beautiful, full of lust. His hands fall, one to your waist and the other to your cheek, pulling you back in, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue between them. You moan against his mouth, whimpering a soft sound, a thank you or a plea for more, it’s unclear. He groans back in agreement with whatever it was you intended to say. Your tongues languidly swirl together, caressing one another affectionately. Feeling your warm hands on his bare chest makes him shiver, feeling as you explore the newfound definition of his abdomen, only light, but still a change. In turn, he presses a few kisses to your chest, shakily reaching up to rid you of your bra. It falls away and his cock twitches at the sight of your bare breasts, his breath hitching. He could have never hoped he could see you like this, could have never hoped for any of this, and yet here you were, whining and guiding his hands under your skirt. He runs his hands up and down your thighs as he kisses and sucks at the supple skin of your breasts, giving himself some time to enjoy this despite your hurry. Under different circumstances, he would have liked to have left a mark and asked you to give him one in return, but he knew this was crossing a line as if a million lines hadn’t already been crossed today. At this thought he changes his mind and sucks a tiny mark into the centre of your chest that he’s sure will fade in a few hours, staring at the light pink mark a little wistfully. “Need you inside…” you whine, despite enjoying his affection. There’d be time for that later, but right now it felt completely imperative for him to be inside of you, fearing you might explode if he didn’t give you what you wanted.

“Alright, I get it,” he sighs, placing a few more lingering kisses on the swell of your breasts. Your hands find his belt buckle and without him stopping you this time, they make quick work of it. There’s an awkward shuffle as he helps you lower his jeans around his ankles, but once you’ve settled back in his lap, you take in the sight before you. He looks big even through his boxers, just like you predicted, thick and slightly longer than average. Just the thought of him inside you makes you moan and claw off your skirt with no regard for whether it survives the encounter. Neville’s overheated back presses against the cool wall as he leans back to watch you. He doesn’t bother feeling insecure, as you look like you’ve struck gold as you drool over his length, he supposes in this state you would have been happy with anything. His hands slide up and down your sides, being gentle, taking in the sight of your body, so perfect. He wishes in the back of his mind that this won’t be the last time he sees it, but hope feels too dangerous given the circumstances. He helps you slide your panties down, groaning softly as he spots a string of arousal fluid connecting you and the fabric for a while. You want him so badly. His boxers soon follow and he hisses loudly as your hand wraps around his length. “Oh Merlin…” he whimpers, bucking his hips into your hand. “Fuck, I need you,” he parrots. The ghost of a smile crosses your face as you recognise the words as your own.

“You have me,” you whisper, shifting your hips so you’re above his cock, holding him steady as he twitches. Deep brown hooded eyes stare into yours, he can’t believe his luck. Unable to wait any longer, you sink down onto him. Neville’s eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and he grabs your hips to slow you. You feel perfect around him, warm and silky and inviting, engulfing his whole being in sickly-sweet pleasure. He pulls you close, embracing you as you moan in his ear. Slowly, he lowers you down the rest of the way until your hips are flush with his. For a moment, he simply hugs you and kisses your neck. 

“Feels so good,” he pants in your ear. “So good,”

“You fill me perfectly,” you whine, squirming in his lap for friction. “So big…”

“Yeah?” he coughs, trying to sound smooth but failing, causing him to chuckle nervously. “I won’t last, I’m sorry,” he rubs his hands up and down your spine. “I wish this could last forever,” He lets go of you and leans back against the wall, his hands settling on your hips, taking a moment to admire the sight of you on top of him, him inside you. You feel him twitch within you. “Take what you want, love,” he encourages you to move. There’s no point in him trying to remain in control, all he cares about is that you reach climax, he’s bound to anyway. The nickname makes you even needier somehow, the way his voice is deep with desire. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, eyes meeting for a moment. You’re both flushed and blissful and the look in his dark eyes shoots a jolt through you. He’s always been attractive, but to see him like this, vulnerable, needy, chest-heaving, it was something else. On his advice, you begin lifting yourself up and lowering yourself down onto his cock, moaning unabashedly with each motion. He stretches you open in the most delicious way, exactly how you’d been picturing all day, or for several years really, perfectly endowed. He relaxes and closes his eyes, groaning and whimpering as you move. Every rock of your hips stokes the flames in the both of you, sending you both toward a common end faster than you regularly might. 

“Thank you,” you purr between moans. “I’ve needed this so bad,” 

“I know,” he chokes out with a tired smile. “I’ve needed it too,” he gently massages the fat of your rear as you ride him, watching in bliss as he disappears inside of you over and over. Your moans rise to a fever pitch, your pace faltering slightly as your climax approaches.

“Yes! Yes!” you practically scream, all your senses heightened as you slam your hips down against him. His face scrunches up in pleasure.

“I’m going to– Ahh!” he grunts, body trembling as he releases thick ropes inside of you, whining with the aftershocks as you continue using him to chase your high. It’s so close, you can’t give up now. Neville’s hands weave into your hair, pulling your face down to his to kiss you. Your tongues meet messily as you struggle to focus on the kiss, preoccupied with your orgasm that is on the tip of your tongue. Heat pools strongly in your abdomen, and you feel the familiar ecstasy of the coil snapping in your belly. Your movement immediately ceases, walls spasming around his length as you moan loudly into his mouth, grabbing him and holding him as close as possible. Your vision whites and your brain goes blank, your whole body twitching violently. He tries his best to soothe you through it, but the pleasure isn’t allowing a single thought to form in your mind for several moments. Finally, your muscles relax and you collapse against him heavily, chest heaving with effort, skin slick with sweat. You vaguely register him removing himself from you and wiping you with a towel, but the corners of your mind are fuzzy and you just cuddle closer to him. You sit in silence for a long while and you nearly fall asleep against his shoulder when he speaks up. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you hum. He tilts your chin up towards him.

“Open your eyes, love,” he implores softly, to which you flutter them open. He sighs a great sigh of relief, seeing your pupils shrink as they react to the light, dilated now a regular amount, and the flush on your cheeks is much less than before. “Do you still need me?” he asks.

“Don’t go,” you panic, holding him closer, but then you realise what he means. “Oh… no, all I want is to maybe have a nap,”

“Thank Merlin, I couldn’t have gone for another round,” he jokes stiltedly. You giggle, cuddling closer once more. “You don’t hate me then?” he mumbles, as if worried he will have reminded you to hate him, gently pushing some hair from your face. 

“No, you… saved me,” you shrug.

“Saved seems dramatic,”

“Well, who knows what would have happened to me if you’d just run away and left me alone? You didn’t have to do what you did, but you did it for me,” you lean up to kiss his cheek. “You gave yourself to me completely, just to save me from discomfort,”

“Trust me, it was my pleasure,” he laughs nervously and you gently swat his chest. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispers, kissing your forehead with a barely contained tenderness.

“Yeah, you’ve proved that,” you grin, kissing his cheek again. “And I for you,”

“You’d have had sex with me if I’d been the one to bump into the plant?” he prompts, sliding his hand up your bare side affectionately. 

“Of course, I’d have done it way sooner too, not wasted time being a ‘gentleman’,” you tease. “Thank you for that though, it was sweet of you, even if it was unnecessary because I don’t regret it one bit,” you promise him, kissing his lips tenderly. He embraces you tighter for a moment and then loosens his grip. 

“We should probably leave, I bet it's past teaching hours now,” he sighs before helping you up and to dress. Your panties are well and truly ruined, so you’re forced to go commando under your skirt. Neville wraps his sweater around your hips to help prevent it from flipping up as you walk through the grounds back to the dorms. He finds it difficult to dress himself as you keep eagerly kissing him, but finally get himself presentable, only to be pulled into another kiss. It’s not desperate or lustful like before, more playful and excited, and he’s happy to accept them. “I take it you like me,” he chuckles as you hug him tight, his arms around you in return.

“Loads,” you sigh into his t-shirt.

“I do too,”

“My room? I promise we can just cuddle and sleep,” you suggest, smiling up at him.

“Hey, give me a few hours, I might be raring to go again,” he jokes.

“Well then definitely my room so I can help you out, I owe you one, don’t I?” you giggle and wink. He blushes slightly and shakes his head. 

“That plant has made a monster, come on,” he takes your hand in his. “Let’s go before someone notices and starts asking questions,” he opens the door into the greenhouse, accio-ing both of your bags over, as well as the open textbook from the workbench. “Stupid inaccurate thing,” he grumbles, stuffing it in his bag. You merely giggle at his frustration. As you turn to leave, you’re met with a gleam of magic, the door to the outside of the greenhouse rematerialising. The two of you exchange a look, neither of you had realised the door was even missing amidst the whole debacle, but it must have been, or else it couldn’t have reappeared. Hogwarts had forced the two of you together, it was likely your fall hadn’t even been organic in the first place. You knew you weren’t usually so uncoordinated.

“Huh,” Neville blinks, checking that the door now works, wondering when exactly it disappeared and how he had missed it. You scoff and shake your head in disbelief before the both of you laugh earnestly.

“Hogwarts is a total perv,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

xoxoxo

[grandline-fics]

I'm so in love with your writing, I'd love to see the "one bed trope" from you! Maybe a little suggestive, as far as you're comfortable, of course.

DESCRIPTION: There was only one bed

WARNINGS:  nothing too suggestive, more on the fluff side

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks

WORDS: 2,065

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I didn't know which characters you wanted so used the most popular form the recent poll. I had intended to do Ace as well but only had the energy to get something done for Shanks and Mihawk. I love this trope so much that i'll probably do more parts in the future. I hope you're happy with what I came up with and I'm sorry I didn't make it suggestive.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

MIHAWK

You were going to kill Crocodile. Not only did he order you to the tiniest island you’d seen in a long while, were the only thing in abundance seemed to be gloomy expressions but he also insisted you go to ‘keep an eye on' Mihawk. Since you considered Crocodile your main superior-a perspective you hadn't dropped since your Baroque Works days- you couldn't exactly refuse the assignment but it just made zero sense for you to be here. For starters Mihawk worked alone and efficiently enough that he didn’t require anyone to look out for him. Plus ‘observation’ wasn’t your usual role in Cross Guild. Normally Crocodile handed you a bounty list, told you to pick one and go get them. 

This was just one big headache and to make matters worse after scouring the entire island a call came through from Crocodile saying the bounty had already been completed and just handed in. Now you really were going to kill your boss, but from the look on Mihawk’s face it seemed you would have to get in line. From the receiver, Crocodile’s laugh caught both of your attentions.  “Look these things happen so stop pouting. Just make your way back to Cross Guild.”

Mihawk didn’t offer a response and ended the call, walking out of the alley you’d both stopped at to take the call. Silently you fell into step beside the former Warlord, walking the streets of the island for what felt like the hundredth time already. You let out a sigh of relief to see the inn come into view, now the only thing on your mind was trying to get a good night’s sleep and calm your annoyance at the whole situation. You couldn’t even muster a polite smile to the receptionist at the desk. “Two please.”

“Oh.” The receptionist glanced between you and Mihawk, her expression trained with years of experience to appear calm but you both saw the flicker of nervousness in her eyes for the smallest moment. “I’m sorry but we’re booked almost to capacity.”

“You’re joking.” You muttered. Why was everything going against you today? “You have nothing left?”

“W-well we’re a small island. Rooms go fast but we do have one room available.” You and Mihawk exchanged a look, both composed. Then the receptionist had to uselessly add. “Only one bed…” With a sigh you held out your hand for the key, knowing there wasn't much choice. Muttering thanks you glanced at the number of the keyring and headed for your room for the night. Stepping inside you found it lived up to your very low expectations but at least it was clean. Silently you eyed the bed you would have to share and looked to your stoic roommate. “So which side of the bed do you want?” 

As expected Mihawk was mature and respectable about the whole thing. Calm as ever he chose his side-the one closest to the door- and settled in for the night. Mihawk’s ability to fall over to sleep at ease was enviable because in the dark you could hear his deep, even breaths as he slept facing away from you. As tired as you were and as comfortable as you normally did feel in Mihawk’s presence you just couldn’t fall asleep. While the bed you lay in wasn't the worst you’d ever had to sleep in, it wasn’t the comfiest and living at Cross Guild had practically spoiled you. You’d gotten so used to stretching out, something you couldn’t exactly do at this moment. 

Deciding to just make do with your half of the bed and not disturb Mihawk, you rolled onto your side with the intention of getting comfortable. The only problem was you’d vastly overestimated the room you had to move and could only gasp as you felt the bed disappear from under you. In a split second as you braced to hit the ground, you were instead caught by a pair of hands. With ease you were pulled back onto the bed and you tensed to feel your back make contact with the warmth of Mhawk’s chest. “Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s fine, just sleep.” He told you while pulling one arm back to tuck his hand under his pillow. You tried not to react to how sleep brought Mihawk’s voice to a lower register that made it so much more attractive to you. You only nodded at his instruction and shifted slightly, already so much more comfortable than you had been all night. The only thing now was you noticed Mihawk still had one arm loosely draped over your body, not quite holding you but still enveloping you in his touch. “This is only to keep you from falling out of the bed again.”

“I didn’t say anything…” You mused, lips curving into a teasing smile that Mihawk could practically hear in the dark. “If you wanted to cuddle all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this bed.” Mihawk warned in your ear, despite the threat you smirked to feel his arm over you tighten just a little. 

“Relax, your secret is safe with me.” Ordinarily you would have teased him a little more but between the tiredness finally winning over you and the warmth of his body against yours being so comforting. For a moment Mihawk wondered if you were genuinely comfortable against him, ready to release you at the first sign of unease. Yet you surprised him when you yawned and lazily placed your hand over his arm and smile in satisfaction as your eyes slid closed, your breathing evening out as you fell asleep.

Mihawk had been taking his time to slowly get to know you and let you in little by little, but now watching you roll onto your other side and curl up against his chest he began to reconsider his actions. Perhaps a few more missions away from Cross Guild’s base wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

SHANKS

This type of situation should not be happening in this day and age. Not with your crew and Captain having the reputation and fame they had. Drawing names to see who was sharing rooms of all things reminded you of when the crew was only just forming and the coin to pay for individual rooms was a luxury. Some of the others on the crew shared your slight annoyance but you all knew that there wasn’t much you could do about it. The ship needed repairs after getting damaged in a ferocious storm with the sleeping quarters affected and unusable for now. You were all pirates after all and you supposed you needed to be reminded of that. 

Still though you were secretly hoping you were one of the lucky ones who got their own room. You mentally cursed when Ben pulled out a slip of paper and read your name out. Resigned to your fate you grabbed your drink and took a plentiful mouthful as the vice-captain grabbed another piece of paper to announce your roommate for the night. As you wiped the stray remnant of the liquid from your lip you spotted the man pause and fight a laugh, disguising his amusement by rubbing the lower half of his face. “Captain Shanks.” 

Your back went rigid and you ignored the burning stares of the rest of the crew as you instead turned your attention to the man in question. Even he seemed momentarily thrown by the announcement but he recovered swiftly as expected of the laidback man. His dark eyes met your gaze and he offered you a cheeky smile and a wink.

That night when all the drinking had been done you and Shanks stepped into your shared room. Without needed to consult on anything you both instinctively went to your preferred side of the bed to sleep on. You sat down and worked on kicking off your shoes and shrugging out of your coat to at least be a little comfier. You looked over your shoulder when Shanks lightly cleared his throat as he pulled back the cover to settle down on the mattress. “Problem Cap?”

“Not really.” Shanks mused with a sly smile. “I usually sleep naked is all.”

“Poor baby, I’m sure you can be brave and at least keep your trousers on for one night.” You teased, used to your Captain’s antics and knowing he was only making jokes to ease the slight tension at having to share like this. With a tired groan you settled down on your side of the bed as Shanks flicked off the light, bringing the room fully into darkness. “If not the barmaid should still be about to help you.”

“And downgrade my sleeping partner? I’d rather lose another limb.” Shanks told you dramatically, offended you’d suggest such a thing. You let out a huff of amusement and rolled your eyes as you stared tiredly at the ceiling, letting yourself grow more comfortable against the mattress. “I lost count how many of the crew wanted me to swap with them…”

“Uh-huh.“ You mused with a lazy smile before breaking out into a long yawn, sleep coming over you quickly now. “Well aren’t you lucky? Now go to sleep, ‘kay?”

“Can I at least get a good night kiss?” Shanks teased lightly, playfully tapping your nose and grinning in the darkened room to see your tired face scrunch up slightly. He’d said it as a joke, something for you to barely register in your mind as you drifted off to sleep. What he hadn’t expected though was you to roll onto your side and push yourself up with a low hum of sleepiness, not even bothering to open your eyes fully. 

He watched silently, completely overcome with curiosity as your hand reached out to skim your fingers against his face, searching for him in the dark. Your hand settled against his cheek and slowly you drew closer. With half-lidded eyes Shanks couldn’t take his gaze off of your slightly parted lips. 

“Shanks…” your voice was barely a breathy whisper but it was clear as a bell to Shanks, his attention raptly on you and only you. Quickly you pulled back just enough and opened your eyes to smirk slightly to see Shanks had leant in slightly to chase your lips he had been quietly eager to taste.

“You’re killing me here, love.” Shanks protested with a small pout, his hand dropping to the small of your back, fingers flexing slightly a gesture, to request you close the distance. He wasn’t forcing you, you had all the power here. You tilted your head and smiled at the sudden pet-name. You couldn’t deny the temptation to give in to your own idle curiosities about your handsome Captain. Given how you were sharing a bed and he'd requested a kiss you would have been foolish to throw away the opportunity you had. Still you had to at least get a little bit more fun out of it by keeping Shanks in momentary suspense. 

Finally you relented and kissed Shanks, your lips moving languidly against his; it being no surprise to you the he was already returning the action with no hesitancy. There was no fight for dominance in the kiss you shared but you could feel the power and command of Shanks’ presence over you but he left the pace, duration, and intensity entirely up to you. As much as you wanted to take it further, to push your curiosity and attraction towards the man against you for your own satisfaction you had to pull away reluctantly, knowing you wouldn’t have been able to enjoy what would follow fully with how tired you were. “Satisfied with your good night kiss, Captain?”

“You have no idea.” Shanks grinned pressing a quick kiss against your head as you settled down on the bed again. “I can now sleep peacefully and dream the sweetest dreams.”

“Good.” You grinned sleepily, opening your eyes just enough to fix him a playful smile. “I expect a good morning kiss in return by the way.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, love.” Shanks grinned at you, already counting down the hours until he got to feel his lips against yours again but for now he would enjoy the time he had to sleep beside you.

——————————————-

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[moonstruckme]

heyy, so this is my first time sending an ask, i dont know if u do repeated themes, but im so obsessed with bodyguard!james, maybe we could have some angst where he puts himself ia a dangerous situation to save reader and she gets mad/upset at him? love your work very much, they brighten my day🙌

Thank you for your request <3

cw: shooting, blood mention

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

James says your name, soft and worn with exhaustion. “Can you look at me, please?” 

No sooner do you oblige than your vision blurs again. There’s a cruel line across his perfect cheek, leaking blood where the glass sliced across it. Your fault. 

James sighs. “Sweetheart,” he says, knuckles finding your cheek. They brush away your tears without intent, less a purposeful act than a byproduct of a caress. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” you insist. Your voice burns like fire, and yet you don’t remove his hand. Even furious with him, you crave James’ comfort. 

His expression tightens when you blink more tears down your cheeks. You wonder if it hurts. You wonder why he’s sitting here with you in your room instead of going to get his cut cleaned or patched or whatever he needs to do, but really you know. You’re always the priority. Even when the threat has passed and protocol no longer requires it, James will always take care of you before taking care of himself.

Your voice comes out softer without you meaning for it to, soft but not thin. “You shouldn’t have moved.” 

“It’s my job to protect you,” says James. 

“I was safe!” 

“You weren’t safe.” Now it’s him who’s being firm. James sets both hands to your shoulders, looking you in the eyes. Not angry, but ardent. “Someone was trying to hurt you. You were in trouble, and I needed to get to you.” His lips tilt slightly, not without sympathy. “That’s my job.” 

You chew your lip, tasting salt in the seam. He makes it sound so simple. So innocuous, too, someone was trying to hurt you instead of someone was shooting at you. James always plays things down this way, softening them into something less horrific, less violent. Another way he protects you, you suppose. 

You’d been going down the hallway with James, chatting about something useless, when the large window you were walking beside sprouted a hole. Your next step stalled, perplexed, and in that time two more holes appeared, with cracking sounds and the tinkling of broken glass on the floor. You and James moved at the same time, his hand reaching for your arm a heartbeat too late as he retreated toward one side of the window and you—stupidly, considering it was a greater distance—threw yourself to the other. 

By now, James’ team knows the shooter was likely some sort of sniper; no one with a gun could have made it onto the property and the bullets were fired singularly instead of in a spray. A spray, you probably wouldn’t have survived. 

The shooting stopped when you were both away from the window. You looked at James across it as you pulled your knees in tight, making yourself small between that window and the one behind you. The air in your lungs felt dry and stale. James was looking back at you, eyes wide but face controlled as he scanned you over. 

“I’m okay,” you said. Whispered, though you don’t know why. 

James nodded, standing. “Stay right there,” he told you. 

You only had a second to be concerned about why he’d say that before he was running back across the window. Your body tensed on instinct, but you were too slow to stand as glass sprayed, punctured by another bullet. James landed with his body covering yours. 

You thought he’d been shot. For a handful of panicky, heartbreaking moments, you’d searched for the wound, feeling for wetness at his neck, his side, his heart, until he managed to catch your hands, whispering, It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re okay. 

There’d been no more shooting after that. James had spoken to people in his earpiece, and you’d both stayed hidden, and eventually someone had said back that you were clear to go. Now James is sitting in front of you on your bed, alive but bleeding and looking like he might like to hug you if you let him. You haven’t let him. 

He watches you gnaw on your lip. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says softly. 

You scoff. “As if you get to talk.” 

James smiles, but you don’t smile back. You’re not ready for that yet. It fades as a new wave of tears crests your cheeks.

“I don’t want you to protect me anymore,” you say weakly. “I don’t like when you get hurt for me.” 

His brows bend, big thumbs moving soothingly, almost absently, over your shoulders. “You can’t get mad at me for that,” he says. “It’s how it needs to be. You know why.” 

You sniffle. “Because it’s your job.” 

“Because it would kill me if anything happened to you.” His eyes bore into yours, deeply earnest. 

“James…”

“It would destroy me,” he says. 

You look back at him. Your heart feels like it’s beating in the hollow of your throat. You’re no less upset with him, but now there’s another feeling in the mix, not new but inconsistent. James’ eyes dip to where you’re still chewing your lip. He reaches for it, thumbing it free from between your teeth. 

“Stop that,” he pleads. 

You swallow. “You can’t just say that.” Can’t pretend he’s here for any reason other than it’s where he’s paid to be. Can’t act like he cares about you half as much as you do about him. 

James looks wounded. “Why not?”

“It’s not fair.” 

“I don’t think you’re being very fair. You were in danger, and I did what I needed to get to you. You can be angry at me if you want, but I don’t see how I earned it.” 

Your face is hot again, emotion prickling just beneath your skin. “Because I’m not the one who gets hurt, James!” 

“I know.” His voice goes soft to counter your loudness, his hand moving back to your cheek. A warm touch over warmer skin. “I can’t be sorry.” James’ lips touch underneath your eye. You tilt up into them, and he turns his face down. “I can’t.” 

You taste your own tears on his lips. James kisses you gently, coaxing, not wanting to take any more than you can give. Your throat closes as you push your hands up his shoulders, wanting to prove it to him; that you can give, and give, and give. He tempers you when you get too frantic, pulling you back with doting touches. 

You open your eyes to run a thumb gently beneath the line on his cheek. Emotion steals your breath. “I’m sorry for this,” you manage. 

James covers his hand with yours to kiss it. “It was my decision.” 

“A stupid one.” 

He makes an amused humming sound, noncommittal. “We’re okay, though, aren’t we?” 

“What, you think you can just kiss me and I’ll instantly feel better?” It’s a bold thing to mock, when your head is still buzzing and your lips feel warm and tingly. 

“No,” says James, sincerely, “of course not. What can I do?” 

You look at him, fighting the urge to take your bottom lip between your teeth again, if only to see if it feels different. “It wasn’t not helping,” you admit. 

The smile that takes James is so overwhelmingly sweet it almost does make you forgive him for everything. Almost. As his lips close over yours again, you think you can find it in yourself to make it all the way eventually.

[witherby]

What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

--

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

--

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

[starkwlkr]

was i such a fool? | mark webber

part 1 part 3

ENGLAND

You felt embarrassed. You didn’t know who was the person who spread the confirmed rumor around the paddock, but you knew that being in the paddock was the last thing you wanted to do.

Your daughter, Grace, had been reading in her room while you were in your home office replying to some emails. Zak had let you get some time off, which you were hesitant to take at first but you knew how chaotic it was going to get in the paddock if you were present.

“Mommy!” Grace called for you from her room.

“What is it, my love?” You asked, closing your laptop as you stood up and walked to her room. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, i finished my book. Can we go to the bookstore and get more?” Grace asked.

“Of course we can, baby.” You replied. As you were about to leave to go back to your office, Grace spoke once again.

“Can I go to a race?”

Grace had never attended a race before. She knew what your job was and why it required you to travel so much, but she never once attended a race. It surprised you that she even thought about it.

“A race . . .” You sighed. “You really want to go to a race?”

Grace nodded. “I want to see the fast cars.”

You thought about it for a second. It would be nice for Grace to see a race after years of only seeing it on tv. But then again only several people knew that she existed and you liked it that way.

“I’ll think about it.”

TIME SKIP TO ABU DHABI 2023

MCLAREN GARAGE

Grace watched as several men dressed in orange with helmets on sat in their chairs. She was introduced to the pit crew by you. Everyone on the team was more than happy to meet her. She was extremely excited to be able to watch her first race in person.

“I’ll be over there watching the race, okay? Stay here with Lucy.” You told Grace. Lucy was an old friend from school. When you explained that Grace wanted to attend a race, she offered to look after the girl while you worked.

“Okay. I love you.” Grace gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“I love you more, my love.” You replied and hugged her before you left.

From a distance, Mark watched the girl wave goodbye to you. It made him feel like the worst person ever. How could he do that to you? You never deserved it. You were always so supportive of him, comforting him when he needed it and that all changed the second Mark kissed someone else.

He thought about going up to Grace and making small talk, but he knew you wouldn’t like it. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t want to upset you even more. Seeing her, so close yet so far away, brought sadness to the older man’s heart. She had his eyes, his smile, they even shared the same laughter, something you loved when you were dating Mark.

By the end of the race, he had decided to talk to you.

He tried to find you, but it seemed like you knew he wanted to talk so you hid from him. Only it wasn’t like that. Grace wanted to walk on the track so you took her. Lucy was tired so you told her that you would meet her back at the hotel. She held your hand as you and her walked around. It was a perfect moment for you and your daughter.

“Did you enjoy your first race?” You asked.

“Yes! The cars go faster than on the tv, it was so cool!” Grace exclaimed. “Can I go to another race?”

“You’ll have to wait until next year, my love, and you have school. I don’t want you missing a day of school because of a race.” You explained.

“Okay. . .” She sighed. “Who was the man that was in the garage?” She suddenly asked.

“There’s a lot of men in there, Grace.”

“He didn’t wear orange like the rest of the team. He had one of these too.” Grace pointed to her paddock pass. “I think Lucy said he used to be a driver.”

You had an idea of who Grace was talking about and you didn’t like it.

When you made it back to the Mclaren garage, you saw that it was almost empty. A few members of the pit crew were cleaning up, but that didn’t catch your attention. It was Mark that was pacing around the garage.

“Mommy, that’s the man I was talking about.” Grace whispered to you.

Mark noticed your presence and stopped pacing. “Hi.” Was all that he said.

“It’s getting late, Mark. You should go back to your hotel room, get some sleep. I know you don’t like early morning flights.” You said to the Australian.

“Hear me out, please. Just this once and I’ll leave you alone. Give me five minutes.” He pleaded. The remaining pit crew took that as a sign to give you privacy so they left.

Grace held onto your hand even tighter. “Who’s that?” She whispered again to you.

“His name is Mark.” You said.

Four words was all it took to break Mark Webber even more. He was just Mark to his daughter and he had to accept that.

“Three minutes and that’s it.” You said.

“I’ll take that.”

@glow-ish @vicurious28 @dannyriccsupremacy @viennakarma @pear-1206 @nathalielovesonedirection @jaydaaasworld @shimmermotorsport @honethatty12 @a-beaverhausen

[velaryqns]

Could you do a House fanfic where after failing at treating a patient, House takes his stress and anger out on the reader? She then considers quitting being a doctor. House is confronted by Dr. Cuddy and his team, causing him to go comfort and apologize to the girl.

Uncontrolled Anger

Gregory House x Female Reader (I took it romantically for fun)

Universe: House MD

Summary: Maybe you should have known better than to question House about his feelings.

Warnings: Patient death, mentions of addictions, angst

You sat silently, your eyes on the dead body in front of you. You had watched as the team fought to help the man, all for it to fail after multiple misdiagnoses and wrong solutions. You, being a doctor, knew what they were going through. You’d gone through it a few times with your patients.

Sighing, you rest a hand on Taub’s shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile. He returned it, then watched you go as you made your way out of the room and eventually wandered to House’s office. When you reached the glass door with his name on it, you stood silently for a moment with your arms crossed. He had one hand in a fist by the side of his head and the other filling out paperwork.

You brought your hand down to the handle, allowing yourself into his office. You took a few paces, then turned your attention to the big yellow chair by his bookshelf. You lowered yourself into the chair, watching him silently for a moment.

“How are you?” You asked gently, not wanting to annoy him while he was in the middle of scribbling on the sheet.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say,” he muttered, still keeping his gaze away from you.

“You could at least say that you’re okay,” you said to him, tilting your head slightly as you shook it. You knew he handled emotions horribly, in ways that often required you to intervene, “Greg—“

He slammed the pen down and looked at you. And you could see why he had been avoiding your gaze to begin with, “You’re not a therapist. In fact, you’re presently the reason I could end up needing one. I just want some peace and quiet because excuse me for not being Doctor Y/N Y/L/N.”

“What —“ You cut yourself off, truly hurt by his words. His blue eyes held no remorse for what he said, and you quickly stood and left the room. You bumped into Chase, but ignored him entirely as you made your way down the hall with the intention of going to the elevator.

As you stood silently in the elevator, waiting to go down to the main floor to leave for the evening, you processed why you continued to try and support the man that. You stared at the metal doors, jaw clenched as you finalized your decision.

You didn’t want to work in the same building as someone like Greg House. Cuddy wouldn’t fire him, he’s too good.

Once you reached the main floor, you went to the clinic, seeing if there was any help you could offer and breathing a sigh of relief when you were able to step in. You dove into working throughout the clinic, waiting patiently to be able to talk to Cuddy about what was going on.

You filed patients in and out of the room you were using, only stopping for nurses to clean and sterilize everything between each patient. However, your consistent flow was ruined by Foreman's sudden intrusion into the room. You stared at him.

"Do you need something? Because I would like to treat my patients," you informed him.

"Just checking on you," he shrugged, tucking his hands in his pants pocket and leaning against the door, further preventing you from leaving the room, let alone treating your patients.

"I am fine," you muttered, tossing a file on the counter and crossing your arms. You leaned against the counter, "I am tired of him behaving like a child; I never thought I'd consider leaving my position because Cuddy refuses to fire House."

"I can talk to her for you,"

"Not worth it," you shook your head, "Now can you please go?"

Foreman was reluctant for a moment, but then nodded his head and walked out of the room. Your next patient came in, and you returned to your job.

Little did you know, Foreman was taking matters into his own hands despite your protests. The team liked you, there was no denying it, so of course he turned to Cuddy because of what you'd said. It was hard to believe, especially when you typically had a strong relationship with House, even when he was being childish.

House was in his office when Cuddy went search for him, her hands on her hips. He stared blankly upon her arrival, a frown on his face as he waited for what she had to say.

"You're going to make her quit,"

"Her?" House asked, shaking his head and shrugging as he waited for an elaboration. He looked toward the office door to see the team staring at him with disapproving looks, which caused him to sigh and roll his eyes, "Y/n's choices are not my fault."

“You’re pathetic,” Cuddy muttered. House shrugged. To him, there was no point in denying it. Cuddy clenched her jaw, “I thought you liked her!”

“She’s ear grating, like you,” Lisa frowned and House shrugged once more.

“I can’t lose another good doctor because of your antics, House,”

She spun on her heel and marched out of the room, leaving House to his own thoughts.

It was early in the evening, you’d showered and done some dishes, when there was a knock on your door. You were less than enthusiastic to open it, especially after peering through the hole to see House on the other side. He leaned on his cane lazily, a bag of what was clearly takeout food in his other hand as he looked down at you.

“What do you want?”

“I come bearing food,” he held the back up to emphasize his point.

You rolled your eyes and moved to slam the door in his face, but it made contact with his cane instead. House let himself in, limping toward your couch and plopping on it. The smell of the Chinese takeout hit your nose, making your mouth water as you pushed the door shut the rest of the way and turned to face the man on your couch.

“What do you want?” You repeated, less than enthused and lacking the emotion you usually had when speaking to House.

“Not a lot of hospitals would be willing to take you,” he spoke matter of factly. He dug into the brown paper bag, pulling out bulls of food and beginning to eat out of his own, “Foreman struggled to get a new job when he had to leave—“

“Foreman was accused of malpractice, and caught,” you reminded House.

“Malpractice is a common occurrence in this hospital, you think any other Dean would hire someone who’s worked with me? You’re poorly mistaken, Dollface,”

“You’re a piece of shit,” you spat, shaking your head and storming into the kitchen, “You know that?”

“I just call em like I see em,”

“If you don’t have anything genuine to say, then leave,”

There was silence, and then you heard your couch creak as he got up. Good, he got the point. That was what you thought until you heard his cane moving across the linoleum floor of your kitchen. You turned to see Greg House standing over you, and you gulped.

“What do you expect me to do here?” He questioned.

“Oh I don’t know, apologize?” You countered, side stepping him to grab a glass from a cupboard, “I was helping you. Making sure you were okay and not going to do something stupid after losing a patient — but apparently that wasn’t good enough, hm?”

“Y/n—“

“No, all I wanted to do was help you,” you faced him, “everybody in that damned hospital does what they can to help you, and this is how you repay us? That’s real shitty, House.”

House. Unlike everyone else, you rarely used his last name when talking to him. When speaking of him, sure, when in professional settings, almost always. But never in the privacy of you two or amongst friends. That’s when he realized the reality of what he’d caused.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he spoke, taking a step toward you. He leaned his cane on the counter and placed his hands on your waist. You didn’t move your arms from your sides, merely looking into his blue eyes to see if he was being genuine.

It seemed too good to be true.

“Accept the apology before I’m forced to take it back,”

And there it was.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you muttered, moving your hands to rest on his biceps. House squeezed your waist, knowing that he got what he wanted. You rose to your tip-toes, your lips just barely touching his before you pulled away, “Now come on: that take-out is calling my name.”

[kurooh]

GENIE IN A BOTTLE ☆ S. GOJO

⊹₊˚. are you imagining this? after picking up a pretty bottle you found on the street, you find yourself face to face with a man who appeared in your room, claiming to be a genie. if you help him become a human again by breaking a curse, you’ll be granted one wish . . but the curse requires you to fuck him?

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, creampies, unprotected sex, oral [f!receiving], doggy/prone bone??, silliness, furniture breaks. | 3.7k words

xoxo, juno. the bottle is the same shape as the one from ‘i dream of jeannie’ but it’s blue and made of glass

“stop throwing books at me! i already told you, i’m a genie and i came from the bottle!”

the ‘genie’, who’s identified himself as satoru gojo, pleads desperately with you and shakes his head frantically at the sight of two more heavy books in your grasp.

“bullshit!” you shout, throwing another book at him that he manages to dodge. it slams into the wall loudly and his nose scrunches in either fear or irritation. “genies don’t exist.”

it seems like those words provoke a reaction. satoru gojo wordlessly takes a step toward you, holding his glass bottle tightly. in seconds, his face has grown serious, and he’s set his fierce azure gaze on you, jaw clenched tightly.

“oh yeah?” he challenges you. the tone of his voice is enough for you to drop the book you’d been holding onto. “i’m right here, aren’t i?”

“but that’s not—genies aren’t real,” you utter, intimidated by him but still stubborn till the end. “how could you possibly prove that you actually are one?”

there’s a sparkly puff of smoke that dissipates quickly, and the glass bottle teeters on the floor in the genie’s place.

this can’t be real. how did you manage to bring a fucking genie into your home? you’d simply picked up an interesting blue glass bottle that had been beside a trash can on the street; you’d placed it on a table and then turned to grab some materials to clean it up, and once you’d returned, the bottle had been tipped onto its side. this was when you should’ve trashed it — but you didn’t, and instead washed it, then began shining the glass with a cloth to restore its appearance.

the top of the bottle shot off and suddenly you were face to face with a disturbingly handsome man sitting with criss crossed legs on the table. the glass bottle had fallen to the floor, but it hadn’t shattered at all.

after a lot of screaming, you’d learned that this man was supposedly a genie, and his name was satoru gojo. apparently, he hadn’t been out of his bottle for decades. he was in the middle of talking when you’d jumped back in fear, then started throwing books and whatever else at him in an attempt to ward him away.

it was irrational, and even he was confused, but he’d done his best to be patient with you.

satoru appears again, bottle in his hand. his fingers are wrapped around the glass neck, and a smirk of triumph plays on his lips. you’re shellshocked and sputtering, not sure what to say. you are easily the most entertaining human he’s met in his time. when he’s free from the bottle and able to talk to his friends, he’ll definitely tell them about you.

“is that enough proof for you, princess?”

your glare is piercing, but he laughs. “o-okay, let’s get back to what you were talking about earlier. how do i get rid of you?”

satoru clicks his tongue, mildly offended. “you’re not even interested in wishes?”

“wishes?” your heart floats back up to your chest.

“ooh, that piqued your interest, didn’t it?” satoru laughs, setting the bottle down on the table. “wishes aren’t free, y’know. if you want one, you’ll have to do something for me. a quid pro quo, right?”

“yeah, that’s the word,” you eye him suspiciously, “keep talking.”

“so, i was essentially cursed, that’s why i’m stuck in this bottle,” satoru explains, his hands moving as he talks, “i’ve met plenty of humans throughout the years, and each of them has helped me with one part of the curse. there’s ten parts in total, and you’ve got the last aspect of the curse to help me with..”

satoru gojo is strangely attractive for a genie. can someone who’s been alive for thousands of years, living out that time in a glass bottle, look as though he’s just turned thirty? his features are not at all marred by age, his skin supple and his hair thick. wait, maybe his hair is white from age? snowy tendrils hang just over his eyebrows, which are the same color. you don’t know what genies would wear—you didn’t think they were real—but you suppose the white tobi pants and tight black shirt suit him well.

your eyes flit from his face to the bottle. the glass is uniquely shaped, with a thick, rounded base. the neck is narrow, and the glass is textured in different patterns and swirls. his eyes are the same blue as the bottle . . maybe that’s part of the curse?

“…essentially, you’re supposed to have sexual relations with me.”

your head snaps from the bottle to his face, practically giving you whiplash. “i’m supposed to—what!?”

satoru swallows, sighing through his nose. “listen, i didn’t ask for a tenfold curse to be put on me. i’ll give you your wish, no questions asked, if you help me out.” even though he’s pretending to be disappointed, his voice betrays him, tone growing cheeky at the end of his sentence.

“oh, please. you seriously want me to . . fuck you? a genie who’s thousands of years old?”

a laugh bursts forth from his lips and heat rises to your cheeks as you actually picture fucking him. “it is not funny! y’know what, i bet that’s not even the tenth proportion of the curse, you’re just—” it takes a moment for the proper word to come to mind. the whole situation is so insane it has you getting hysterical, voice pitching. “—deprived!”

“deprived?” satoru chuckles, his voice smooth. “who knows, maybe it isn’t for the curse . . maybe it is. what does it matter, though? you’ll get your wish.”

“y-you’re old! not even human, either!” at this point, you’re coming up with excuses to deny the side of you that genuinely wants to. satoru catches on, he’s not stupid; he can tell you’re prolonging this discussion likely because you’re nervous. how cute of you, he thinks.

“correction, i was once human,” satoru clicks his tongue, “and secondly, all that age means i’ve got plenty of experience. shouldn’t that be a good thing for you, little one?” as if his words weren’t already charming enough, he throws in a wink, his cheek lifting cutely.

you swallow nervously, about to enter into an otherworldly contract with this genie. “fine. we’ll have sex . . you won’t be cursed anymore, and i’ll get my wish afterwards.”

“let’s shake on it, then.” his larger hand envelops yours, and after a moment passes, he tugs your body into his and seals your lips with a hot kiss.

heat sparks through your entire body, the sudden rush eliciting a gasp that satoru swallows. he uses the opportunity to nip lightly at your lower lip, then slip his tongue into your mouth, stroking it over yours. this kiss is the first step towards more — it’s all happening so quickly that your head spins, mind growing foggy as the moment absorbs you.

you taste amazing; you’ve got some kind of sticky gloss on your lips that he’s not familiar with, but it adds extra flavor to the already delicious taste of your tongue. he’s always been into sugar, in any kind of form, especially the kind where he tastes a dessert on a pretty girl’s tongue. it’s chocolate, his expert senses tell him.

“ah—satoru,” you whine, weakly tugging away for breath, eyes hooded as your chin sits on his shoulder. “t-touch me, please.”

“not just yet,” and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, intensifying the warm ache between your thighs. is the curse rubbing off on you? why does it feel like you’ll die if satoru doesn’t fuck you?

your nails dig into his biceps desperately, a whine of frustration tearing from your throat. “i’m—i’m begging you, touch me.” oh, if you keep talking like that, he’ll cum in his pants. it’s been so long since his last time with anyone; you’re just so pretty and perfect and every time you speak his cock twitches uncontrollably in his pants. he’s supposed to be the all-powerful genie, so why is his resolve melting away this quickly?

satoru’s lips trail kisses down your throat, and he eagerly takes in the scent of your perfume. it’s something sweet, a scent he can’t quite place, but it’s delicious. “you’re so soft—smell so damn good. fuck, what is that?”

“it’s my everyday candy perfume, ‘s not that special,” you murmur, wincing when his teeth sink into the tender flesh. the force of the bite tells you that you’re bound to have marks tomorrow.

“eh, it doesn’t taste that good,” he hums against you, fingers trailing along your waist and stomach over your clothing. “maybe that pussy’ll taste as sweet as you smell, hm?”

“hurry up and give it a try,” you utter breathlessly, fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling his hand between your thighs.

satoru’s once bright cerulean eyes are dark with something hungry—some kind of deeply rooted passion he hasn’t felt in a while. you feel small under his hooded gaze, his strong body pushing against yours and reminding you of what he is. it’s starting to seem like fucking a genie is about to be the best sex of your life . .

his fingertips slip past the fabric of your shorts and panties, nudging at your cunt. “you’re fucking soaked, babygirl—so needy,” satoru’s voice lilts in amusement as if he’s not dripping precum in his own clothes.

“need your fingers, satoru,” oh, the way you say his name makes him dizzy, his cock jolting in response. his body tenses, muscles going rigid as he forces himself to focus on you and your pleasure, not his stupid boner.

“take this off,” he pants, chest heaving.

you quickly undo the button and zipper of your shorts, tugging them and your panties down your legs in one swift motion. satoru shamelessly sweeps his eyes over your body, committing the sight of your curves and pussy to his long term memory. his stare is electrifying and intense, making every hair on your body stand on end.

“against the table,” he demands, waiting for you to position yourself accordingly before he pounces. shyly, you spread your legs, revealing your dripping pussy and swollen clit. you’re so sensitive, quivering just from the air against the delicate skin.

satoru sinks to his knees as though he’s about to worship you . .

one kitten lick turns into a few, and then he’s fucking hooked. his large hands find purchase on your plush thighs, fingers digging into your skin to tightly hold you in place while he slurps up everything your pussy has to give him. he’s got his whole face against you, nose pressed into your clit and tongue all over your pussy.

“satoru,” you muster, sweat clinging to your forehead and heat swirling in your cheeks. “eh, toru..” this new shortening of his name has him releasing a choked moan into you, the vibrations causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

your fingers rake through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. you curl your fingers, bunching the snowy strands between them, and without warning, you tug hard. this new grip allows you to drag his face against you, hips rocking against him to pull as much pleasure as you can from this angle. satoru moans loudly, content with being used to get off and sounding thankful you’re yanking his hair. was this what he’d wanted the whole time?

“yeah, just like that,” you whimper, voice cracking as the genie’s nose rubs against your clit; he shakes his head side to side in order to give you more pleasure. “y-you’re gonna make me cum, ‘toru.”

there it is, that shortened version of his name. satoru’s cock jumps against his thigh, and all he can think about is sheathing his cock inside you, cumming nice and deep. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? he’s dizzy at the thought of hearing you beg to be stuffed full.

your fingers squeeze against the wood of the table, and one of your thighs lifts up, settling over his shoulder. your body goes stiff, every muscle tensing as your pussy flutters against his tongue. “ugh, i’m—‘m gonna cum, satoru, fuckkk..”

you drag out that last curse until your voice breaks, orgasm hitting you hard, the force of it leaving you a shaking mess. falling over the edge has never been this amazing; you ride out the final aftershocks of bliss on the tip of his tongue, coming down from the high with a hiss of sensitivity.

“alright, alright. that’s enough, satoru.”

panting and puffing, satoru rises to his feet, the entire lower half of his face sticky with your arousal. it drips from his chin, and although it’s messy, he makes no move to wipe it away.

within a second, the genie’s got you caged in his arms, chest pressed against yours and hips aligned with your own. “shit, i—” he swallows the lump in his throat, so close that his lips brush against your own. his voice drops to a whisper, as he tells you his desire like it’s a secret between just the two of you. “i want you so badly.”

“desperation’s a good look for you,” you hum, pushing forward and connecting his lips with your own. the kiss is chaste, full of mutual understanding. your hands rest on his chest, fingers splayed as you relish the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. honestly, to think that a supernatural being is this weak for you . . hot excitement pools in your lower stomach, pussy squeezing at the idea of it all.

“shut up,” satoru says, his nose scrunching when he pulls back. the pale skin of his cheeks is flushed with a rosy color that grows redder by the minute. “got some nerve teasing me..”

his voice takes on that stern, husky tone again and your hands wander to the bulge between his legs. his tobi pants are tight with the outline of his hard cock, straining against the fabric and dying for some friction. but, he snatches your hand away and shakes his head, back to being demanding.

“nuh uh. bend over, palms on the table.”

satoru doesn’t even wait for the command to register, and flips you around before pushing you down.

“hey—you don’t even want me to take my shirt off?”

oh, right.

he slips his hand under the shirt in question and easily rips it right off you, the fabric tearing loudly. the genie’s now faced with your bra, something he’s not at all familiar with. when he was human, nobody wore bras with puzzling clasps at the back. before you can stop him, he does what he knows is most effective, ripping it right off and helping you out of it. “that’s better,” he groans, hand coming down hard against your asscheek.

“my clothes!” you gasp, pushing off the table to get up. satoru’s stronger and faster, pinning you down under his chest; he’s so heavy you can’t possibly move away from him, keeping you in place.

“you can always wish for new ones,” he snickers, undoing the black ribbon at his waist. he kicks the tobi pants off, then removes his undergarments and finally his shirt.

“oh, fuck off. i’m not wasting my wish on some clothes. the deal was to fuck, not destroy my clothes and whatever else.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah,” satoru taunts, tugging his lower lip between his teeth as he lines his cock up with your entrance. the fat tip nudges against you, sticky with precum, and the both of you gasp together.

“it-it’s been so long,” satoru stutters, guiding his cock inside you. he’s big, thick, and nothing short of perfect. a pang of sadness strikes you in the back of your mind, and you momentarily wish you’d be able to fuck him more than once.

“well, what’re you waiting for?” you huff, wiggling your ass left and right. “are you nervous, toru?” that mocking tone is enough motivation for him, and he pushes inside you fully, bottoming out with ease.

“we’ll see who’s really nervous, little one,” he grits, bracing himself by planting his hands on the table. his glass bottle lays somewhere on the floor, forgotten. “you thought i destroyed those clothes? no, no, no,” his voice is low, and he leans forward, hot breath fanning over the shell of your ear. “i’ll destroy this fucking pussy.”

a moan bursts past your lips at satoru’s filthy words, fingernails scrabbling against wood to keep steady. “like it when i talk to you like that, don’t you?” ignoring his instruction from earlier, you slide your hands off the table and offer them up behind your back, sending him a heated glance from over your shoulder.

“oh, i’ll give you what you want,” and with that, satoru gathers your wrists in one hand, yanking your arms back while he develops a rhythm. it’s brutal — his hips slam into your ass mercilessly, each movement full of urgency and a primal desire.

his heavy balls slap your puffy clit hard, sending shocks of electricity throughout your entire body. he’s so deep, pushing against your cervix and stretching you out with each sloppy thrust. it’s like you can feel him in your lungs, and the unbridled force behind his hips has the table rattling beneath the two of you.

“so, so fucking good,” satoru groans, eyes rolling back into his skull as he pounds your pussy into oblivion. a genie, of all people, is showing you what it really means to be fucked. anything before or after him pales in comparison, and the idea of fully ruining you has something nasty curling feel inside his stomach. “babygirl, you look so good like this . . sound s-so good too, fuckkk.”

“right there!” another harsh slam of his hips propels his tip into that sweet, spongy spot deep inside of you. your cunt contracts around him, and he knows he’s got the angle down. “toru—oh, fuck . . cum inside me, please.”

“‘s only been a few minutes and you’re that desperate for me to fill you up?” satoru grunts, the room filling with the sound of skin clapping against skin. it sounds like an applause, the kind that marks a special occasion, something as big as this one—his curse will be lifted soon and he’ll become a human again after so damn long.

“y-yeah, give it to me,” you sob, tears pouring down your face as you beg. “toru, please!”

there’s a loud crack from beneath you, and satoru whisks you away just in time as the table collapses beneath you, the once intact piece of furniture turning into a heap of wood.

“t-the table!” with a hushing sound, satoru fucks the thought out of your head—every single one, for that matter—and holds you steady by the wrists.

“don’t think about it, jus’ focus on taking it,” satoru’s voice is smooth, quite the contrast to the way he’s fucking you. “baby, ‘m gonna cum.”

you moan at his words, jaw hanging open as he fucks you stupid. it’s hard to form thoughts to then make sentences, but you try nonetheless. “toru—fill me up, fucking fill me up!”

the genie groans, pushing a hand through his white hair and lightly tugging at the strands just as you’d done earlier. the small action maximizes his pleasure, and he chokes out a husky groan. “i will, fuck, i promise,” his voice grows frantic, words squashing together as a familiar euphoria seizes his whole body, making his muscles tense. “i’m gonna cum—ugh, take it all, t-take it all..”

satoru’s cock twitches inside you, deep against your cervix, just before gushing cum and filling you with the biggest load you’ve ever felt. his high triggers your own, and your cunt’s spasming, wrapping tighter around his length and milking every drop of cum from him. “satoru,” you sob, voice raising and splintering into a needy whine.

wordlessly, he wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you back against his chest. his breath comes in ragged pants against your neck, and you swear you feel wetness against your skin.

“uh, are you okay?” you ask, voice hushed, “are you still a genie, satoru?”

“uhhh, i can check,” but he makes no move to pull out or away from you.

“satoru?”

“fine. i don’t wanna let you go, but i will.” with a hiss, he pulls his cock out of you, staring at your cunt intently. as if on cue, his cum spills out of you, dripping in sticky trails along your inner thighs. your lower lip wobbles, and you turn back to take a look at him.

satoru closes his eyes and puts his hands together, willing himself to get inside the bottle. there’s no puff of smoke, no theatrics, and he bends over to pick up the bottle. it’s lost its blue hue and special luster, reverting into a dull glass bottle that you’d see in a clearance section at a homegoods.

as if possessed, satoru jumps up and down, cheering loudly. his cock and balls slap against his pelvis, and he grabs you, tugging you into a strong hug. “yaaaayyy! thank you for helping me, pretty girl.”

“you broke my table and tore my clothes,” you grumble, glaring at him so hard he pushes your head down into his shoulder.

“maybe i can make it up to you? i am a full human now, after all,” satoru says cheekily, smiling against your skin.

“wait a minute,” you shove him back, fixing him with another glare. “what about that wish, satoru? you promised me a wish, you’d better still be able to grant it.”

he swallows nervously, looking away. “i don’t think humans can grant wishes..”

you hit his shoulder, shaking your head angrily. “you’re a liar.”

“okay, listen. let’s just give it a try. plenty of genies have turned back into people and have still granted a wish, i think,” satoru closes his eyes and gets into some kind of combat stance. “pick up the bottle and rub it.”

the glass is cool in your hands, and you rub your fingers along the textured glass. satoru’s closed eyes glow briefly, and he nods surely. “yep, that did it. okay, make your wish now. i can’t grant anything involving death, making me or you a genie, more wishes, you know the drill. go for it, babygirl.”

“i wish . . ”

[byjove]

I truly do not know why conservatives are so hysterical about Tim Walz signing a bill requiring public schools to provide period products in all bathrooms grades 4 and above. I do not know why the idea of tampons hypothetically being in the boy’s bathroom has stirred them into a hysterical rage. If you don’t need one, don’t grab one.

I’m a trans man. I got my first period at school in 5th grade when I was 11, right after my grandfather died. I wasn’t out yet so I would have still been using the women’s room at that time but I had bled so much that a teacher had to walk me to the office to get a replacement pair of pants and then she let me use the teacher’s bathroom to clean up. Even with her kindness and empathy, it was humiliating. I’m a heavy bleeder and there were several incidents in high school when underestimated the amount of blood my body produced and bled through my pants, it interfered with my learning and was deeply inconvenient. Free pads and tampons in elementary school would have been so helpful. And if I came from a kinder place in time, I may have been using the boy’s restroom at that point.

Tampons and pads in the boy’s bathroom are a net benefit to everyone, to normalize and not novelize those items for cis men, to allow boys to bring products to their mothers, sisters and friends who may be struggling with period insecurity. It is not ridiculous. It is a common phenomenon.

[aurumalatus]

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝟏

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

genre/warnings. pixelprincess!au (princess!reader x knight!kinich), reposted for formatting lol

summary. a series of random headcanons from the universe! part 1 of many because i have lots of thoughts about these two

author's note. feel free to come scream about some more headcanons with me <3 enjoy!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

kinich and the princess have known about each other for a long time, but it’s only recently that they’ve really talked a lot and become close (since kinich became your guard)

kinich is a bit more open in this universe because although he grew up an orphan, he was recruited into the guard earlier and taken care of by his fellow trainees and the castle staff. he’s still pretty serious and deadpan at his core but he has a bit of silly in him too 

the maids especially used to dote on him a lot. they would coo about how beautiful his eyes are and sneak him cakes and sweets from the kitchen

kinich and the princess actually had one key interaction when they were children that she doesn’t remember

the princess came down with a bad illness and had to stay in her room for about a week. kinich was assigned guard right outside her room, but she never saw him. still, they used to talk a lot during that week through her door, and she never quite figured out who her temporary friend was.

princess used to be *very* spoiled and she knows this. kinich is one of the only people who knocks her down a peg, and he also taught her how to do a lot of practical things (i.e. cleaning, cooking, weaving) 

kinich takes his shirt off by grabbing the back of his collar and pulling it over his head (idk if i’m describing this well, but the image in my head is INSANE). 

once they actually get together, kinich is the type to kiss the princess’s tears away when she cries (i’m going to scream)

kinich secretly has always known he loved the princess in some capacity, maybe since the day he was inducted as her guard (he looked up into her eyes, knelt before her, and felt something burst in his chest). he doesn’t feel like he deserves her love in return and feels so committed to his duty that he won’t do anything about it.

kinich isn’t afraid of dying, but he’s afraid of leaving the princess alone. it’s the reason why he insists on teaching her so many practical things like fighting—he doesn’t trust anyone else to protect her like he can.

there’s a yearly tournament among the guards (and any citizens that want to enter) that is held to win the royals’ favor. kinich is required to participate due to his position, but he tries a lot harder than he lets on—something about letting another guard win kind of irritates him. he wins your ribbon as a prize, a sign of your personal favor, and keeps it on him at all times. he claims it’s just to prove that you owe him.

kinich is a TERROR in the capital marketplace. sellers love him and hate him—he’s fair, but he barters like HELL. you, on the other hand, are any easy target. you will pay pretty much any price they name, and this irritates kinich greatly.

kinich is in charge of training newer recruits to the guard, and older members will warn them not to mention the princess in front of him. last time someone said something disrespectful about her, kinich had them running laps until the sun came up.

most mornings, kinich trains at sunrise. the princess will come out to join him sometimes, either to just lay down in the grass and talk, or to bring out a picnic

many princesses from other nations are attracted to kinich, but he does not return the sentiment—whenever one tries to talk to him, he acts extremely dry and boring on purpose until they lose interest.

kinich has a lot of piercings, but they're not always optimal to fight in—on days when he expects a battle, he wears a pair of studs that the princess gifted him

the castle maids have a running bet on how long it will take you and kinich to get married. sometimes they try to push it along by telling kinich you're looking for him when you aren't, just to pull the two of you together. the pot is over one million Mora, and at some point, the queen joins as well.