#or why she's still somewhat nice to them despite that

[buttercupshands]

My emotionally immature ass still doesn't understand a thing of how people can pity characters

Not like I don't try to understand it! I just... Can't? Understand that??? At all???

Like why would you pity a character for their sad backstory or whatever, and poof suddenly a character is pitiful as hell, and suddenly they're understandable because a person can call them a wet kitten under their care

And that's something I can't do for some reason

And again, not like I didn't *try*, it's just a thing I can't understand at any capacity other than 'some people do that to show their affection of that character, that's their way of caring

Granted talking to more people makes you understand them better! Doesn't help much! But it's something!!

[asvidema]

cold shower after coming back at 7 pm from internship walking 1 hour all the way home inthe heat! fuck yeah

[ambrosiagourmet]

I want to talk about why I think this is the one of the most important Falin panels:

So, Falin is really nice, right? It's one of the first things we really learn about her. She's kind even to the monsters of the dungeon - choosing to ward the party rather than fight spirits and cause them needless harm.

In the above early flashback in chapter 11, we see Marcille fawning over Falin's kindness, calling her an angel. Namari calls her soft-hearted. We see Falin choose not to fight even when a zombie attacks - instead she resolves the confrontation with a hug. After the flashback, the first thing Senshi says is that Falin "sounds like quite the person," which Marcille strongly affirms.

At this point in the story, all we have seen of Falin are these impressions; she is a healer, an angel, a caretaker with an infinite well of kindness towards everyone she meets - both friend and foe.

And honestly, that remains most of what we have to go by to understand her. The only times we get to see Falin on the page, alive and just herself, are in the opening and closing pages of the story and in the brief period of time after she is resurrected.

Nonetheless, we do have some more details to work with. For one, there is the scene that The Panel is from - a short memory in chapter 75, when Marcille flashes back to while she's dying. In that scene, Falin prepares to teleport them all out, and says that she's sorry "if there is a person at [their] destination." And that's when we get The Panel.

If you teleport someone or something into another person, the person teleported into is likely to be, at minimum, severely injured. They could die.

We can see a lovely little horrifying example of exactly why in one of the Daydream Hour doodles:

So, hmm. That's not... that's not SUPER nice. Certainly not displaying the same "kindness to all, friend and foe included" we saw represented earlier. On a basic level, this adds some nuance to Falin's kindness. We see it break a little, when pushed to the limit. We see her chose to protect the people she loves above all else.

Which makes sense! As Laios says when the Winged Lion accuses him of similarly being motivated more by his friends' safety than everyone else in the dungeon, "...most people, aside from virtuous do-gooders, would feel the same way."

So, we can take The Panel as simply showing a moment of weakness for Falin. A time when she was pushed to her limits, and that "most people" selfish side of her shone through.

However... I think there's a little more going on with Falin than just her being an angel 99% of the time, except just that once. I love The Panel because I think it helps us understand that Falin isn't just motivated by kindness - she also has a desire to avoid seeing people in pain.

Isn't that the same thing?

No, no it very much is not.

Let's look at a short comic from the Falin section of the Adventurer's Bible, because I think it illustrates this point perfectly. The group is complaining about how much Marcille's healing hurts, and comparing it to Falin's, which "doesn't hurt a bit." Marcille retorts with the following:

Now, the punchline of this comic is that, despite Marcille's sentimental assertion that she's "thinking of [them]" by letting her healing magic hurt, they all still prefer to be healed by Falin.

But hey, this wouldn't be the first time that Dungeon Meshi hides a very real character beat or insight in a gag, so let's think about this somewhat seriously.

If Marcille is right (and she knows a fair bit about magic, so we can assume that she has at least somewhat of a point), then what Falin is doing isn't kind. I suppose if someone specifically requested to not feel the pain, it could be kind, but that's not really what happened here. She is the one who felt badly about the others being in pain, and she is the one who decided, without telling them or giving them a choice in the matter, to take away that pain.

Both Marcille and Falin are healing the party, but Marcille is doing it in a way that accomplishes the task in the most straight forward way, without any additional interference. Falin is going out of her way to perform the healing in a way she is more comfortable with. A way that avoids pain.

Going back the The Panel, I don't think its a coincidence that the only time we see Falin (well, non-chimera Falin) willing to do something that could hurt someone is when any potential pain will be far away from her. If she got someone hurt or killed by teleporting the party to the surface? Not only would it be far out of her sight, but she'd be dead before she had to deal with any consequences of that action.

Falin is not a confrontational person. She doesn't push when Marcille won't tell her the truth about the resurrection, and she comforts Laios about her own death - both of those things happening in the only full chapter she is alive and conscious in the whole story.

We also know that she considered accepting Shuro's proposal, despite not having any special feelings towards him, and that Falin never explained to Marcille that she wanted them to share a meal together. When she brought Marcille various foods at the academy, she just accepted Marcille's confused rejection and gave up.

And lastly, we know that she is still in contact with her parents, despite the neglect and abuse she suffered at their hands. Although the way someone chooses to handle contact with abusive or bad family is a complicated topic, which I don't want to overly simplify, I do I think this fact gets at the heart of how she handles conflict.

So many people that Falin loves have hurt her. There are understandable hurts, like Laios leaving the village, or Marcille not understanding the food. And there are bigger, far less justifiable hurts - like her parents neglecting her throughout her childhood, and sending her away to be alone at the magic academy.

It doesn't seem like Falin has ever confronted any of it directly.

And the unhealthy aspects of this kind of avoidance of pain and confrontation is one of the things that the story of Dungeon Meshi is all about. We see Laios grapple with it before he goes to kill Falin, and we see Marcille acknowledge it at the end of the story, when she tells Laios that she has come to terms with Falin's death:

Eating is a part of life. Consuming other living things is a part of life. It isn't really possible to avoid that pain - you can only hide from the truth of it. You have to be selfish everyday. You have to eat - to choose to live. To choose to take up space.

And this is something Falin embraces, too. She comes back to life, after all.

We see her choose to come back to life.

And how does she make that choice? She eats. She consumes, and then she is asked a question by the manifestation of hunger itself:

Do you want to eat more?

There is a double meaning in the Winged Lion's final words on the next page.

When I first read this, I took it as him saying: life is cruel. You will suffer. You will feel more pain.

But perhaps, especially for Falin, this also means: you are choosing a path where you must cause pain. Where you must consume. Where you must take, and must be selfish. Because eating is the special privilege of the living, and it is their burden, too. In order to stay alive, she will need to keep eating.

And she chooses that. Chooses to be selfish. It's why her resurrection scene is so important, and it's why The Panel is so important. Because Falin coming back isn't the ultimate reward for all of the party's hard work.

It's her choice. Just like it was her choice that started everything in the first place. But this time, she doesn't choose to accept causing pain for the sake of Marcille and Laios. She does it for her own sake.

[lucidlabyrinthine145]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected!Elle Woods!Reader (Part 1)

- You're another one of Bruce's illegitimate children, and he took you in after your mother's death

- In the family you stuck out like a sore thumb. While everyone was an edgelord to some degree, you were bubbly and ditzy, liking pink and all types of feminine things, you also loved shopping and fashion, which led to everyone believing you were a spoiled brat

- As such, no one in your family took you seriously

- Bruce prioritised everyone else over you, since you were the only child of his that wasn't a vigilante and thought you could handle yourself since the others have the added burden of being vigilantes

- This led him to unintentionally missing important events in your life, like birthdays and competitions, and dismissed any issues you might have had, since he saw you as the 'normal' child

- You never saw Dick much since he was off in Bludhaven, but when he was around he was nice but distant. He'd ruffle your hair but his attention would quickly go to other things

- "Hey [Name]! Sorry, but I need to go look for Damian."

- Tim and you never really spoke much despite being closer in age, you were both just too different, and when you did try to engage with him and his hobbies he'd get annoyed and wave you away

- "Can you leave me alone? I'm busy." he said in annoyance as you tried asking him the details of his research on a current case

- Jason is jealous of you because in his eyes, you were a spoiled brat who had everything handed to them on a silver platter, what gives you the right to complain? He's always aggressive when he's around you, so you took to avoiding him whenever you could

- Damian was arguably the worst to you. When you first met, he attempted to kill you since he thought he had to kill the other biological child to get a place in the family, leaving a scar on your neck

- The worst part was having to listen to Dick and Bruce justify his actions

- "He's just a child, [Name]. He's been raised by assassins his whole life. Tim forgave him, why can't you?"

- It wasn't just that he tried to kill you, it was mainly that he never apologised and actively took time out of his day to belittle you for being the 'weak link' of the family

- You were largely okay with Cassandra and Barbara, but Stephanie was kind of a bully, she belittled you for your interests, calling you a 'pansy' and a 'wuss'

- Duke and Alfred were the only ones who showed you a shred of human decency, but they were busy, and you could tell that even they somewhat underestimated your intelligence

- Despite your pink-loving bimbo get-up, you knew damn well what everyone thought of you. It hurt, but it wasn't going to stop you. You used your brains to get into college while you were still a minor, studying to get your degree in Cosmetology

- It all came crashing down when your boyfriend, Warner, broke up with you

- "W-What do you mean you're breaking up with me?!" you stammered, feeling tears prick your eyes. "I'm sorry, [Name]. You're just too...pink." Warner said with faux apologetics.

- As you were left there crying, you swore to yourself that you'd win your boyfriend back. That you weren't just some bubbly girly pink airhead. You got into college while you were still underage. It's time to go to Harvard.

- And maybe your family will finally notice you, but that's more of a secondary objective.

-------------------------------------------------------

Taglist!

@cantfindmelol @princesscosmo @1abi @helloitsmeeeeeee @tojisluttttt @simpingpandas @cruzerforce4256 @sirenetheblogger @simpingmyassoff @icefox8155 @emotional-otter @aetheriis

[aealzx]

As Sonic slammed through the enemy’s weapons Knuckles slid to a stop next to Shadow and threw his body protectively over the black hedgehog’s smaller form, a hand resting on Shadow’s head, and face turning to snarl at the soldiers. Only when significant damage had been done did Sonic skid to a stop, standing between the soldiers and Shadow with his arms spread wide, blue lightning rippling off his form. The quiet that fell over the field wasn’t complete, but it was still numbing. “Stay down, new hedgehog. I’ll keep you safe,” Knuckles spoke quietly to Shadow when he tried to push himself up despite the form over him. He smelled of blood mixed with ash, and Knuckles could hear the slight wheeze in his painfully heavy breaths. It was a simple command, but Knuckles was uncertain if the way Shadow’s form relaxed after a moment was a good thing or not. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

____________

“Mr. Wachowski. Care to enlighten me why you’re here?” Commander Walters returned the greeting. “Well, I live here,” Tom answered with a brief smile. “Green Hills is right over there, in case you weren’t aware. We’d appreciate it if the military wasn’t firing off weapons so close to town.” “A minor incident. We have it under control, and will be leaving shortly.” Sonic snorted and opened his mouth to shoot a bitter reply, but Tom stopped him with a hand. “Great! Well then, I’ll just pick up my kids, and we’ll pretend this never happened. We can tell the town you were cleaning up a rogue Eggman drone?” Tom suggested brightly. That got Commander Walters to crack a fake smile. “Ah. Yes, that should do nicely.” “Cool! Keeping it simple. I like it,” Tom breathed, clapping his hands together and turning slightly. “Honey, is kid number four safe to move?” “Four?” Commander Walters spoke in mildly confused protest. “Uhhhhh yeah. Two right here, and then two over there with Maddie makes four,” Tom returned easily, pointing to Sonic and Tails near him, and then Knuckles and Shadow as Maddie reached them. Commander Walters cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Mr. Wachowski, there seems to be a misunderstanding. Project Shadow is property of G.U.N.. I can’t allow you to take it.” “Huh,” Tom voiced, forcing a pause. “That’s strange. I thought slavery was illegal in the United States.” “You know what I mean.” “No, I actually don’t. Care to enlighten me how kidnapping a lost child and subjecting him to experimentation and indefinite imprisonment is something the government does?” Commander Walters’ expression twitched, and Tom started nodding his head. “Yeah, we figured some things out,” Tom confirmed the unspoken, possible question. It prompted Commander Walters to change tactics, shifting his shoulders and drawing a breath for a new conversation. “We’re simply containing a dangerous weapon. It’s standard procedure.” “Excuse me? The only dangerous weapon we’ve had to deal with recently was that moon slicing cannon your people built. The one that my kids stopped, because some nutcase stole it from you. Remember that?” “Didn’t he almost kill you in the process?” “Because he thought I was you!” Tom snapped. ”And seeing what you've done to him now I can see why his first reaction to seeing you was to fight!” “He's dangerous-” “He is a child!” Tom bellowed. “And if you would treat him as one, as a person, instead of a weapon he may have come to like you instead of wanting to kill you the moment he saw you! Now are you going to take my suggestion and get the hell out of here without a fuss, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

____________________

“I think he passed out.” Maddie faltered for a moment, but then pushed through, somewhat reassured since they were already in the clinic. “Alright. That’s okay, bring him over here,” Maddie directed, pointing to a shallow bathing station. “We need to get him clean. Can you get his gloves and shoes off?” she gave for further instruction before turning to her three boys. “Knuckles, take your brothers to the front room and call Uncle Wade to come help watch you three.” “But I wanna help!” Sonic protested, already having been dancing around their feet staying out of the way but also trying to stay as close as he could. “I know, but this is a little more intense than I’d like you to have to deal with,” Maddie assured, running her hand over his head. “I’ll be good, I’ll listen.” “No, Sonic,” Maddie stressed. “I’m gonna have to do surgery to fix his ribs, and I don’t want any of you to see that. Okay?” Sonic’s eyes went wide, and Maddie raised her hands to steady him if needed. It was a little blunt, but she didn’t have time to keep trying to convince him. “It’ll be okay, boys. I’ll take care of it. So just be good for Wade, alright?” “I’ll watch over them, mother,” Knuckles assured, moving forward with Tails already clinging to him and putting a hand around Sonic. “Come. Let us contact our Uncle, then construct a plan to welcome Shadow home.”

__________________________

__________________________

__________________________

Iiiiiii have a lot of scattered incoherent thoughts about Shadow getting adopted that I cannot figure out how to string together in a straight story, so I'm just doodling and writing the lil bits that pop into my head. 8 |

Something about Shadow trying to find his inhibitor rings again, but he only gets the 2 for his legs and G.U.N. finds the other 2 first, which leads to Shadow trying to steal them back but inevitably getting worn down by them and his own chaos energy beating him up. So he gives in and goes to Green Hills to find Sonic for help because "I thought that...since you wouldn't kill me�� even after all I did, all I said, I thought that maybe…. maybe… you could help me"

This all took long enough that the Wachowski fam had enough time to talk things over about everything.

This also might be the 'I may have beat Shadow up a lil too much haha whoops' headspace 'cause he ended up with this list of injuries by the time the fam got him:

2 displaced broken ribs on the right (stabilized by Maddie with pins to be removed later)

broken right arm

broken left leg

injured right lung (causes wheezing mostly)

large laceration on right torso and right thigh

I'm still not sure if I want Walters to be the one there chasing Shadow or if it should be the other military lady and Walters helps stop them and let Tom and Maddie take Shadow 8 |

anyway post is getting way long so * finger guns and leaves ya'll with this *

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ rising action ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. routine. that you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun before you. so why does it still hurt? — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, profanity, sexual content, fade-to-black, self-destructive behavior, somewhat of a slow burn, mdni — notes: thank you so much for reading! [ part 1 | part 2 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 ] — now playing: bmf - sza

Breakfast is uncharacteristically quiet. 

At least, for the three of you, it is. The silence makes way for the lazy swish of cars on the road, the clatter of cutlery against plates, and the idle chatter of the cafe’s other patrons. 

It’s balmy outside. The type of weather that pastes your blouse to your skin and creates a fine film of sweat on the back of your neck. The kind that welcomes mosquitos and makes showering beforehand pointless. And it’s so obnoxiously bright out, nary a cloud in the sky. But you figure you're being unreasonably antsy because you’re hungover and still a little tired. 

Despite the climate, your ragtag team is seated beneath a cafe’s awning, scarfing down food to battle the effects of your collective hangovers before jetting back to Linkon.

Typically, Ms. Hunter would be on about something, filling the space with her animated talk, with you and Sylus occasionally chiming in to tease her or exchange covert words concerning upcoming missions. But she’s still a little worse for wear, with dark lenses perched on her nose and a wrinkle between her brows as she pushes food around her plate.

You snort around a mouthful of eggs at her plight, tucking your amusement behind your hand. Decide to incite a little mischief to distract yourself from the weather and the creeping feeling of unease brewing in your gut. 

“Someone had a rough night,” you tease, reaching for your orange juice.

She glowers at you. Sticks out her tongue, flipping you the bird. You snort into your drink, nearly sending pulp flying every which way.

“Not my fault you have the tolerance of a three-year-old.”

Your eyes crease at the corners whilst you watch her work up to a retort, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. But before she can get a word out—

“Ladies,” Sylus interjects like a distant clap of thunder pushing across a dark horizon. He’s seated between you at the round, iron-wrought table, arms crossed over a broad chest. Sunglasses shroud scarlet intentions, but you don’t miss the twitch of a silver brow nor the humor meddling with his voice. “Play nice.” 

There’s finality there. He speaks to you like a referee. Like a father who’s caught his children roughhousing, and you both shrink beneath his mock disappointment. 

“Besides,” Sylus continues, casting his amused gaze on you. “You weren’t in the best of shape yourself last night. Are you really in any position to talk?” 

A hot rush of mortification wades over you. You're unsure of its source, whether at your memories of last night or how quickly he came to her defense. 

And so what if you stumbled a bit down the hall, searching for your room? 

You didn’t think he noticed after your exchange. Figured he retreated into his room, or worse—slipped across the hall to keep his hunter friend company into the wee hours of the morning while you tossed and turned, driven to hell by thoughts of them doing everything besides sleeping. 

The recollection makes you bristle, and you turn a scowl down to your food. Grumbling, you plop a slice of toast onto the hunter’s plate. She glances at you, confusion pulling her lips down. 

“Eat,” you order. “Feed a hangover, starve a cold.”

“I don’t think that’s how that goes,” she counters, a pout evident in her voice. But she doesn’t protest, sitting up in her seat to nibble on your peace offering.

You resist an impulse to pat her head, your ire sloughing off, traded for something like fondness. You want to ruffle locks of silken ebony because she’s effortlessly adorable, pulling at those little heartstrings you’d worked so hard to conceal. 

Sylus beats you to the punch, leaning forward to mold long fingers around the round of her head. The world slows, casting a special spotlight on the pair of them. 

You ignore how your chest tightens at the scene. At the affectionate little tug of his lips as Ms. Hunter cants her face towards him, cheeks full and expression doe-like. You try to pretend like it doesn’t make you sick with resentment. Once upon a time, he used to look at you like that. 

Fuck. 

What are you thinking? He is your boss, and she is your charge—your friend. There’s no reason to feel like this, especially considering you practically shoved Sylus into her arms, reasoning you never stood a chance in hell with him. 

You snap back to the present, and suddenly, breakfast isn’t so appetizing. You push around your cold eggs as Sylus and Ms. Hunter slide into easy conversation. You feel like a husk of yourself amid them. Like you’re impeding on something intimate, and your stomach lurches when they draw you into their chat every so often as if pitying you.

You’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. Routine. That you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun. And yet, you’ve never been more eager to return to the N109 Zone. To leave these green-eyed thoughts on this island and get back to your distracting life, luring terrible people to their demise and wiping the scourge of man off the face of the planet. 

You suddenly straighten, clearing the phlegm from your throat. Your silverware clatters against your plate as you shove it away, eyes regretfully shifting between them.

“So, what time do we leave?” There’s a whisper of exasperation in your tone, but you quickly conceal it with that playful arrogance you’re known for. 

Sylus and the hunter trade looks of confusion and humor, blind to the turmoil of your mind slowly creeping through the folds and staining your pride like ink spilled into water.

“Eager to get back to work, aren’t you?”

You scoff, taking up your fork, clueless to scarlet eyes studying the crown of your head, narrowing at the apprehensive slope of your voice. “You have no idea.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. Of course, it always is. It’s one of the few times you feel desired. Wanted. Useful when your hands aren’t speckled with blood and your knuckles aren’t purpling from bashing someone’s face in for taunting The Devil. 

Dancing is a versatile skill you’ve acquired with time and practice. It's one of the few pleasures you’ve drawn from this fickle life. One of the few things you kept from a past veiled in darkness, the rest tucked away in the hulls of your psyche.  

All eyes are on you. Gazes burning with assorted degrees of desire, envy, and awe beneath the tawny glow of the stage lights. The attention makes you warm and tingly, and your lips salaciously curve as you move your body in time with the music, casting an inadvertent spell on all who dare to watch. 

You’re the center of attention without trying to be and without the influence of your Evol. Of course, you usually are. He’s even told you so. Customers often flock to Sylus’ nightclubs to see you dance, hoping to one day have your affections. 

Or to fuck you. 

You rarely entertain these people. Not unless you have to. Not unless Sylus sicks you on them to further his goals or take down his competition. You’re ever the faithful lapdog, tuned to your boss’ every command, and it makes you sick with how loyal you are to him sometimes. A part of you feels you owe him for this life you lead. He’d snatched you from an impenetrable darkness. Renewed your sense of purpose and redirected your desire for revenge. 

For now, you have this. The recognition of others despite how misplaced it is. They want you for your body, for the promise of what your facade offers. Deep down, you crave something more, something real. But you tamp down those feelings as you bite your lip, putting on a good show, hands smoothing over the surge of your hips. And you’re spurred by the whoops and whistles and shouts of your name as the lights dim, signaling the conclusion of your performance.

Your chest heaves with the effort of breathing, and your cheeks ache with a smile as you pose. The crowd's cheers dampen the violent thrum of your heartbeat—chase away the cacophony of your mind, adrenaline spuming through you like an erupting geyser. 

You look over your shoulder towards the ceiling, catching scarlet-spun eyes from the upper floor’s rail, and your grin twitches the slightest bit. It’s a rush, having the attention of strangers. Having their desire, their yearning. But his attention is much more addicting like Nicotine furling between your teeth. For a moment, you feel seen. Like you’re the center of his universe, and not the pretty, bright-eyed damsel with enough room in her heart to house the galaxy.

Something flashes in his eyes, and the world fades. You mistake it for tenderness. Just wishful thinking. He would never choose you. He’s had four years to make you his. 

Why would he suddenly choose to acknowledge you now?

—

Once the adrenaline ebbs and clubbers flood the dance floor, you’re nestled behind the crowd, leaning against the sticky countertop of the bar, clutching a glass of something acrid and glacial between your fingers—something to take the edge off. To mute the insistent pulse of your nerves.

The music thumps beneath your feet, accompanied by the sparkling chatter of the club’s other clients. Yet you still hear him amid the chaos—the familiar curl of a voice around the vowels of your name. You fix him with an amused, sultry look beneath Lux’s customary red hue. 

“When are you gonna let me take you out on a date?” he asks, worn knuckles easing down the slope of your arm. You track his audacity with your eyes, jerking away from his unwarranted attention, ignoring the goosebumps igniting across your skin.

This, too, is routine—one of Lux’s regulars throwing himself at your feet, begging for an opportunity to court you.  He’s been on like this for months, entertaining your game of cat and mouse. Maybe you’ve given him a false sense of hope because he’s yet to let up. In fact, he’s grown bolder with his advances lately, often popping up when you least expect him, vying for your heart.

It’s endearing, really, having someone who genuinely wants you. Or maybe he doesn’t, but you convince yourself otherwise. Play a sick little game with yourself, fooling yourself into thinking that maybe there’s more to you than your reputation builds you up to be.

You turn towards him, crossing your legs, the leather barstool sticky beneath your thighs. You lean into your knuckles, studying dark brows, whiskey-infused eyes, and full lips. You end your excursion at the thick of his throat, excitement prickling like static in your chest. He’s easy on the eyes, tone velvet smooth. Had you not been a femme fatale, you might’ve given him the time of day.

But for now—

“You couldn’t handle me,” you counter, reveling in how the smugness melts from his face.

He chuckles at your cheekiness, sweeping the tails of his blazer back and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Squares his shoulders, standing akimbo like he’s preparing for a fight, though he might as well be, stepping to you like this.

“Still holding out for that old man, I see.”

It is your turn to wear a wavering smile. Your turn to look silly, the proverbial knife driven into your stomach and twisted. 

You scoff with a sneer, dumping the last vestiges of your drink down your throat. You tear yourself from your seat, reaching past the gentleman to snatch your coat from the counter, pinning him with a haughty look. 

“I’m not holding out for anyone, fucker. And even if I were, it wouldn't be your slow ass.”

With a huff, you brush past him, wending through the crowd gathered on the dance floor to retreat into your dressing room. 

You try vainly to contain a scowl, knowing you’ve been read like the deckled pages of a book deep down. 

Maybe you refuse to move on because you feel like you’d betray Sylus if you did. How, exactly, you’re unsure. He’s had no problem betraying you, quietly shoving you out of the picture in favor of someone who’s hardly seen him bleed. 

—

“Do you like anybody?” Ms. Hunter asks above the steady purr of the SUV’s engine.

Her question nearly floors you. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly, and you almost choke on your spittle. 

You’re stuck in traffic together. 

Knowing the holidays loomed around the bend, someone decided it would be an ideal day to go to the mall. Of course, you weren’t the only people out on the road. 

So naturally, she’s bored, unused to the silence stretching between you. The low croon of the music spilling from the speakers does nothing to ease the tension.

You glance at her, and she’s wearing a Cheshire Cat-like grin, studying you from the passenger seat. You swallow thickly, adjusting your shades on your face, staring at the cars sluggishly easing up beyond the windshield. “I don’t like very many people.”

An exasperated sigh later.

“C’mon! There’s gotta be someone you like. Ya’ know.” She pitches herself closer, her mischievous grin curling in your periphery, and she pokes your side with a pointed finger to get a rise out of you. 

“Someone that gets your heart racing. Someone who makes your face all hot. Makes butterflies swarm in your tummy.” 

You know exactly where this is going. Had you not valued your friendship—or whatever you call this complicated mashup between you—you would reveal the inner workings of your mind. But how insane would you sound, telling the hunter the person who gets your blood racing is the very same man she has tucked in her back pocket?

So, you deflect. With a sardonic smirk, you jest, “You get my heart racing when you fuck up our meetings.”

You squint and flinch away with a laugh in your throat as she swats you, whining at your cruelty. 

“You suck,” pouts Ms. Hunter, falling back into her seat with crossed arms. “Bet it’s that guy who always stalks you at Lux.”

You side-eye her in the rearview, placatingly patting her head. “I like you, stupid. Isn’t that good enough?”

Maybe one day. 

One day, you’ll have the intestinal fortitude to tell her the truth—to tell them both the truth. How you’re falling apart at the stitching, the world you know falling away from beneath your feet.

—

You’re not as strong as you let on. You’re human beneath that flirtatious exterior—still a woman with wants and needs, not immune to the temptations of the flesh. Which is why you find yourself at his doorstep, a glacial, errant breeze ruffling the tails of your coat as the silvery moon haloes your silhouette.

He leans against the doorframe, brown eyes simmering with intrigue as he takes you in. Dark hair sweeps over raised brows. “What made you change your mind?”

You shrug, hands stuffed in your pockets, a quirk to your lips. “Maybe I just need a friend.”

He chuckles low, arms crossed. “A friend, huh?” 

“Yeah.”

There’s no mistaking the pitch of your voice. The air charges with something amorous as he ushers you into his apartment. You brush past him, tamping down your dignity as you disappear into the warm sanctity of his home, his hand reassuring at the small of your back.

Had you taken the time to survey your surroundings, you would’ve noticed a set of beady, crimson eyes peering through the inky night, watching you from their perch atop a powerline.

And had you further investigated, you would’ve heard the familiar whirr of machinery as the iridescent outline of sleek feathers recorded your every move.

conflict | masterlist | climax

[jupiterpiss]

Pretty pleeasssee do virgin female reader having her first time with Remmick 🙏

AHEM! So. I know y’all liked how I wrote Remmick last time and I wanna say THANK YOU!! But this one is a bit softer him? He still banters and everything but I think he’s a shit ton nicer LMAOO he’s for sure not cursing anyone here. Maybe ooc him butttt idk I don’t really think so, I think this is just less scary him. ALSO SLIGHTLY PROOFREAD!!

Warnins: smut. That’s basically it with just a tiny bit of plot but HARDLY. He sniffs readers' panties and keeps them. MUNCHING. He whines and begsssss. Uhhh.. she jerks him off. Softer sex, nothing fucking crazy this time around. Cursing/swearing not actual curses like last time. Idk what else.. mentions of smacking all over the body. He smacks her tits and thighs mostly NOT HARD OR ANYTHING TERRIBLE just like in general. Marking.. no mention of what it looks like necessarily cause marking can look different on every skin tone, so it’s just hinted towards it. That should be all!’

It’s half past midnight when you open the door. Robe tightly pulled across your body, hand tighter around the door knob.

You’d been rudely awoken by some loud knocking at your door, flinching so violently you practically shook the whole bed.

The loud raps.. not even. Pounds. It damn near made you consider if the police were at your door.

It was brutal. Your whole day was brutal, with loud customers and a rush that lasted five hours. Working in the restaurant wasn’t for the weak. That was for fucking sure. You were spent. Done for the night. wanted to be dead to the world, curled up nice and tight in your sheets.

Apparently not, since God had to come around and force you to deal with some more bullshit.

And now.. the beating of a lifetime was gonna happen to the white man that stood before you.

“Remmick-“

“Baby-“

“I don’t have time for this tonight-“

“I know baby.. but shit— I haven’t seen you for a few nights now.”

You raise a brow at him, “Right. And that gives you the right to come round’ and bang on shit like you own the place?”

He shakes his head, “no.. no but.. I really did miss you and- look.. just lemme on in. Please.”

You stare at him. Face unimpressed, annoyance bubbling under your skin. You’re pissed, of course. He ripped you out of your slumber and is now attempting to rip you out of your home.. well, trying to get inside but still. Same intentions.

Doesn’t help either that he looks good tonight, with his hair messy, beard more grown in and the collar of his shirt unbuttoned showing off that golden chain you often imagine hanging over your face while he— he’s a sight. A sight you want to pounce on.. but your fucking tired. And you already know that his presence equals persistence.

He’s been at this for about two whole months. Begging, pleading to be let inside. That he’ll be nice and slow, that he won’t hurt you. Been outside complimenting you, lusting after you and has even dropped to his knees several times just to get his point across.

It’s a little more tame now compared to when he first came to realize exactly why you wouldn’t allow him in, despite the slick he could smell pooling between your thighs. Fucking huffed and puffed like a dog in heat, whined like a dying animal. Practically collapsed on the fucking floor.

“Yer a fuckin virgin?” He muttered, face a bit shocked. You nodded, “problem with that?”

“Jesus fuckin Christ.. no. No. Never. Just—“ he sighed, loud. Shook his head and cleared his throat, “don’t know why you kept that in for so long.”

“Never asked.”

His brows shoot up, “I had to fuckin ask?”

Yours furrow, confused, “course’. Why the fuck would I tell you otherwise?” And that causes him to stutter, mouth opening and closing, a thousand emotions running across his face before he settles on looking mildly surprised, “Well.. figured I should somewhat know that, right sugar? Pretty fuckin important now, is it?”

Important. Right. With how he reacted, jerked his head back in shock and then moved himself so god damn close to the door, the barrier of the threshold had to physically ward him off by lightly burning him.. you should’ve kept it to yourself a little longer. For simple amusement.

You shrug, “sure.. don’t change much about your problem here, though. Still can’t come in.”

“Shit— well, that’s just fucked now. You can’t mess with a man’s emotions like that!” He argues, porch creaking as he steps away from the door, “It ain’t kind.”

“Kind? I’m being kind to myself. I mean-“ you give a soft chuckle, sniffling, “I can hardly fit in my own fingers.. let alone yours-“ you gesture a hand towards him. He still has blood dried underneath the fingernails, the curve of his wrist having a smudge of mud on it, and his hands rough with the years. Really.. aside from just wanting to fuck with him, you truly believe they would be a rough stretch.

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek as he looks down, face tight and lips pulled into a thin line.

“It would be a stretch and I just can’t do that tonight.” You give a small frown, though he knows fully well it’s mocked.

He places a hand against his face, sliding across his mouth as he looks up. Pained. Like he’s silently asking God why he must suffer.

“I.. feel that being mauled by a bear is easier than this. This is just—“ he throws up his hands, smacking them back down against his sides.

“The God’s sent you to fuckin punish me that’s what this is.”

What a Greek tragedy. you’re certain that even now, he still believes this is his punishment for all his wrong doing.

Really.. He needs you.

Needs you like the blood that he craves, like the flesh he rips between his teeth. The need for community, for friendship and love.. it doesn’t shine a single fucking light to need that boils deep in his bones. That primal instinct to claim.

He thinks he’s actually losing it. Going insane, goes too far to claim all his brain power and energy, his blood, is drained right to his dick. Making him act up more than usual.

He’s going crazy.

All because he believes he’s the one who deserves to take your virginity.

That he needs to or he’ll die, that your rejection will burn him just as badly as the sun. He’s dramatic. Too dramatic, for his own good. Sometimes you wonder if he has a part time job at a theatre or something given how well he acts, how much he emphasizes each emotion.

Like now.

You blink, “no.”

He hangs his head, a loud sigh leaving him. You don’t close the door knowing he won’t leave.. he never does. Doesn’t know how to, and you would know given how often you close the door on him. He just bangs the door harder. Gets louder.

You give a long exhale, tired. Of him and of the day.

“What.. you're sad you can’t come on in and get this pussy?” you ask, lazily. Calm and neutral, as if you're speaking of the cloud and trees.

He nods but keeps his head low, still hanging down, “fuck else would I be sad for.”

“I’ll let you eventually.. just, not now. I’m tired.”

Remmick gives a breathy laugh, tongue running along his teeth, not sharp. Not yet. Still in his human form, with uneven teeth and a wicked smile. He clicks his tongue, “always fuckin tired-“

You shrug, “well I worked a long fuckin shift, you would know what that’s like if you were employed.”

He lifts his head, hands stuck on his hips as his face scrunches into something unpleased. Annoyed, just as much as you are.

“Don’t.. just— Jesus, just a taste. Nothing more.”

Another long exhale, but this one drags on into a groan, “it’s always something with you. Seriously. Can’t stick your tongue into my cooch, so now you have to harass me every night?” your lip curls, shaking your head as you rest your hip against the door.

“I ain’t harassing you-“ you interrupt, “yes you are,” but he ignores it, “I’m just trying to show you how determined I am. I know I can treat you right.. I know it. Can do more than any other mutherfuckn’ random out here can. Baby..”

He takes a step forward, hands moving to the frame, holding himself up just past the threshold that won’t let him linger close. Can’t, not without you giving the right to do so.

“.. when I say I’ll have you shaking.. begging me on back, humpin me silly till’ you can’t no more.. I mean that. not just outta my own ego, it ain’t about just that. But because you deserve a little lovin.”

He shrugs, “I want to be the one to give you that lovin.”

You take it in. Silently. Slowly. Let the words mingle through your brain, sink into your flesh and coat the back of your teeth. You can’t distinguish whether the rumbling feeling in your chest, that tight pull and yank is your nerves or butterflies. They feel so similar, it’s really hard to make of what you should feel.

Not what he wants you to feel. But he stands there all the same, not in the sense of being none the wiser to your own predicament, he knows what he’s doing. Knows how steadily he’s been pulling back the curtain. Whisking away that fear you hold in your chest, that anxiety.

The heaviness sex brings.. where you can speak big but do little. He knows it. Knows that when you speak nasty, with such vulgarity, teasing him— none of it was true. Not really. Surely you wanted it but.. doing it? Shit.

In all that silence and time, eventually you speak, but it’s not exactly what he suspected would come out your mouth.

“You’ll let me ride..” you trail off, eyeing him up and down.

He nods. You narrow your gaze, “and hold my hand?”

He nods again, “fuckin course. Can’t just let you on Willy nilly. Already too eager for yer’ own good.”

“Can’t blame me,” you mutter. He grins, “no one is blaming you,” he raises a hand, “no judgment from me. Yer’ good.”

He watches your lip twitch, pulling down slightly before you look away. Caught in your thoughts, he isn’t even sure if you really are hearing him.

You won’t buckle, not easily. But he teases anyway, grin sharp but eyes soft, “nervous? Don’t gotta’ be.”

Your eyes shoot towards his, brows furrowing, “no. Just thinkin is all. Can’t do that now?”

He just holds up his hands, mock surrender. As if to say, ‘no problem with me’.

You shift in place, socked feet cold despite how warm the rest of you is. The floor doesn’t give much answers, stays quiet despite your piercing gaze. It’s not going to give any advice, can’t, but you partially wish that something would help you deal with this.

To say whether you should push or grab. And Remmick ain’t gonna give an unbiased answer.

Quiet floor, hungry man creature.

There’s no winning.

“You’ll go slow?”

You don’t need to look at him to know that wolf smile of his is on full display, “real slow. Think I’m fuckin dead.”

“You are.” Don’t need to look either to know he shrugs, “Further proves my point.”

You won’t admit it. But how you look up, dead set on him, eyes narrowed and almost looking mean.

He thinks you're going to shoo him away.

Instead, you give a low hum, then a sharp inhale before saying, “Don’t fuck this up.”

He answers quick, “I won’t.”

Your brows go up, “I mean it.”

He matches you, face stern and honest. Open.

“Me too.”

—

His hands are just as rough as you thought they would be. Dried, cracked on the fingertips, feel and sounds like fucking sand paper when he glides it across your skin.

He needs lotion, you make note of telling him that later.

But you moan all the same when he runs his fingers across your clothed pussy. Even shudder a bit. It’s odd.. really. You’ve touched yourself before, that isn’t foreign but from someone else? Your nerves are on fire despite how cold he is, how his warmth is no match for yours. He’s almost freezing, but that only adds to it. Adds to how you shudder each time he smooths a hand over your stomach, fingertips dipping across the curve of your pelvis.

It’s slow. Soft even. It almost feels like he’s trying to memorize this, you. Mapping you out, running his hand in every crevice and curve, watches your face with his ears perked, tries to catch each of your emotions. Studying you.

It should be sweet, should comfort. But instead it makes you nervous, intentionally looking away so you can somewhat ease the anxiety rolling off you.

Unfortunately for you, Remmick isn’t too fond of that. Your attempts to hide while he’s trying so desperately to understand you. He doesn’t say anything, but rather places a hand on your cheek.

Makes you look at him. Stare at him.

“Gonna taste you, okay?”

You give a shaky breath, but nod.

The bed creaks under the weight shift, his breath warm and kisses wet as he makes his way down. You expect him to procrastinate some more, to run his flesh over your own just to feel you, feel the weight of this moment. You expect him to map the expansion of your thighs, soft skin that has yet to feel the roughness of another’s hand, has yet to be marked or awarded with hickies.

Instead, as he moves down, both his hands work to reveal you. One lifts your nightgown, robe long removed since he was allowed in, and yanks it over your stomach. His other starts urging your panties down, yanking them though he fails to actually get them past your hips.

Upon them being stuck, it momentarily stalls him. He gives a confused look, glancing down to check why you won’t let them off, hips down against the bed as you make no attempt at helping him.

His mouth opens slowly, the words willing themselves on his tongue as he goes to ask you to lift your hips. Help him out a little. But they’re never spoken, dead and buried as you hand grabs at his bicep, squeezing twice to get his attention.

“What?” His brows furrow, eyes flickering between your own. You don’t answer him, just grab at his sweaty button up, slowly pull him towards you.

He follows your hands, the pull of his shirt as you guide him away from between your legs and towards your stomach. Force his head down, bowed, curled over you. It takes him a second to understand what the hell you're asking for, but he eventually falls in rhythm. Start kissing against your stomach, light nips and the occasional lick over the small bruises he leaves behind.

You give a small sigh, but it’s not out of content. Not yet at least. With each kiss, he tries to go back down, but you don’t let him. Force him to stay with a firm hand on his head, which coaxes a few muttered groans and grumbles against you. Small annoyed, “Jesus just-“ before you plant him back up, followed by, “I’m trynna taste you-“

He doesn’t get to complain long, though, because you force his attention up. Force him to kiss just above your lower stomach and to above your belly button. Then, when he kisses a bit further up, you pull the fabric of your nightgown up with him. He notices, obviously, and gives a small chuckle against you.

Gives a few quick kisses against you before muttering, “coulda just told me what you wanted.”

You give a small hum, shifting your hips a bit closer to his, “where’s the use in that? Wanted you to figure it out yourself.”

Remmick nods at that, lifting himself from you so he rests on his knees and gives him room to see you sprawled out underneath him, legs open as you try to subtly get closer.

The small whoosh of the fabric as he yanks it up over your breasts, revealing them to him and the night, sending a chill through you. Goosebumps rise across your flesh, breath shaky and the tips of your fingers tingle with how much your nerves take over.

He notices all that. Doesn’t deter him one bit as he goes back down, where he mutters against your chest, “Figured it out,” and sucks your nipple into his mouth.

It’s an odd sensation, to have something so wet and warm wrapped around you— sucking you at that. Sure, your fingers worked wonders. A form of foreplay that first started as mere curiosity, something stemmed from you hearing a friend talking about it.. how her man tended to suck at her tits before plowing her home.

“It emphasizes it.. ya know?” You had no clue.. but upon your own discovery later that night, it became part of your routine.

But this? Now you feel like kissing her and thanking her before kissing her again.

He tugs lightly, licks and pulls but never yanks, never scrapes his teeth. There’s a small voice in you that notes how easily he could bite you now, how willing you are to give him the opportunity to do so. But he doesn’t take it.

Don’t need to, not now. Just loves, like he said. Neither breasts are unnoticed, untouched. Both given equal attention as grabs at one tit while he’s busy sucking on the other, maneuvers between the two.

You aren’t even aware of your hips rocking, how you knock against his pelvis, soft rolling. Not aware until he removes his hand from where it was lightly squeezing against your breast to rest against your hip.

Not moving, or adjusting, just there.

You give a soft whimper after a particularly rougher suck, one that you’re certain will mark. That you’ll feel later, breasts sore and achy from the attention he brings.

He plants a kiss against it, gives a final lick to the space between your breasts before stopping all together.

He smirks at the whine that leaves you, “eager, huh?”

You don’t respond, don’t need to when he answers for you, “yeah.. yeah. It’s okay, ere’ to make it all better, that’s my job.”

Upon the last bit of his sentence you give him a funny look, “your job?”

He cocks his head, “yeah. Called ere’ for a reason.. say I ain’t employed but pleasurin you is a full time act.”

He doesn’t let you think too hard about it, meant to be a joke though it holds no humor— he partially means it.

Plants a few lazy kisses onto your lips, cheeks and chin before making his way to mutter into your ear, “Gonna taste ya now. Stop stallin,” and nips it before hauling himself back down.

Hauling isn’t really the correct term. Not with how quickly he moves, one would think you threw garlic water at him. You gasp as he's already tugging at your panties, putting a hand under your lower back to get you to gear your hips up.

You expect him to discard the flimsy fabric, off somewhere into the room or onto the bed. Forgotten. No.

That’s too normal for him.

Remmick stuffs his face with them, takes a deep sniff, one you can see with how sharp his inhale is and how his chest expands before dropping into a long exhale.

He doesn’t even move it from his face as he mutters,“Oh baby… They make candy after you.” It’s muffled behind your panties, not that he cares.

Not that you care much either, face slightly pulled into disgust but really the slick between your thighs worsens. You can feel a second heartbeat already, pounding louder than the one in your chest.

“You’re nasty.” You groan, hunger hidden behind disgust. He only smirks, removing it from his face before stuffing it into his pocket, for safekeeping.

You don’t expect to see those ever again.

That thought is long forgotten when he shoves both of your legs over his shoulder, feet hanging in the air as he props himself onto his stomach.

Groans low, deep rumble that you feel through your own skin, “Fuckin starvin..”

The first lick feels weird. Wet. Sticky. Flesh against flesh, texture so foreign it feels uncomfortable. Too much and too little at once, makes your toes curl but not in pleasure.

Not yet.

You’re shaking without realizing it. Nerves shot. It’s almost like your antsy, or cold, but he feels your legs keep twitching, unable to be still. You wiggle your toes, or keep fidgeting with the fabric of your bedsheets. He ignores it, at first, chooses to give another long lick.

But no sound. Not even a gasp. He feels you shake your foot then, a soft rhythm of tapping, wiggling you a bit. Like you're bored.

He looks up, sees you looking at the ceiling.

You hear the smack before you feel it, a small ‘wack’ that immediately makes you flinch, the skin of your thigh warm to the touch, blazed. You immediately look down, “The fuck is you doing?!”

You're met with his frown, features tugged down into a displeased look, “You ain’t focusing.”

You scoff, throwing up a hand, “I am focused!”

“Yer’ fuckin fidgeting.. acting like I’m some fuckin pussy doctor and not yer lover.”

You give a small ‘psh’, which Remmick doesn’t take too fondly too but before he can sass you on it, you cut him off, “I don’t know how to react! Don’t feel much either, just you..” you gesture down to where you're open for him. Wet and inviting, yet both of you ignore it, “.. screwing around.”

“You ain’t given me a chance to do much yet, hardly even got into a rhythm. Hell.. I ain’t even stick in my tongue yet.”

You blink at him, slow, “you did. I felt it.”

He cocks his head back, “not fully. Just— look at me. Okay? Focus.”

It's only when you nod that he drops his head back down, eyes remaining on you to ensure you actually stick to your word.

You keep your gaze down on him, watch as his eyes drop from your own back down to your flesh, which he gazes upon with hunger, eyes half lidded and mouth drooling. This time, instead of just feeling it, you watch him stick out his tongue and run in between your folds.

It feels weird, wet again. Not extremely gratifying but you wait silently, continue watching. He gives a few other kitten licks, swirling his tongue around, purposely avoiding your clit.. not that you are any wiser to what he’s doing.

Eventually, he does get into a rhythm, one that slowly starts to spark some pleasure.. just not enough. The hair on his beard is prickly, scratches against your flesh in a way you’re certain will give you some type of rug burn.

It ain’t a whole lot. Really.. you're starting to think nothing is gonna come of this. That he’s just poking around down there and hopefully will give up soon.

You’re not really fond of it.

Not until he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Hard.

Your hips jolt, a sharp ‘hm’ leaving you. He gives another light smack to your thigh, playful, and continues sucking on the bundle of nerves. Swishes around between his lips, licks and lightly tugs— not enough to hurt but enough to make you yelp, hand gripping at the bedsheets. He flicks his tongue back and forth slowly, swirls it around again before collecting enough spit in his mouth to dribble it over your pussy.

You don’t find yourself to be the most vocal, despite living alone. Just heavy breathing and the occasional gasp, not that you cared about the amount of noise you made— but here? Now? He’s got you practically singing to the fucking choir, loud moans followed by gasps that he happily soaks in, basically jumping for joy as he continues his attack on you.

Remmick releases your clit from his warm mouth, tongue slathering down to lick at your entrance, skirting around the hole. He decides he needs more room, so brings two fingers up, spreading you further apart for his eyes to bask on before he shoves his tongue deep inside you. That pulls a loud moan from you.. and then a few more when he starts to fuck his tongue into you. Shoves it in deep and flicks his tongue up, as if he’s looking for something.

He doesn’t think he’ll reach far, but the taste of you— sweet, tangy. Coats his tongue and swirls its way down to his teeth. Leaves traces of your own essence across his taste buds. He doesn’t really care how far he reaches.

He’s a messy eater. Saliva drips down from his mouth, down your cunt and down your ass. He keeps spitting and swishing saliva around, coating both you and him in saliva, soaked in it. There’s so much, it only intensifies the sounds more— the slick of you as he runs his tongue up and down, mixing cum and spit together.

Your close to cumming, can feel that sharp pull. Usually it comes slow, a small linger of something bittersweet lying on your tongue, your fingers fast and hips jerky. With Remmick, however, it’s different. Instead of slow it comes in fast, and more violent. Tangles your guts together and brings a low hum between your legs, forces you to grip his hair and grab at his shoulder, nails indenting the skin that lies beneath his clothes.

He gives a low hum of approval, even goes as far to shuffle you closer with one hand, the other occupied with rubbing your clit.

“Please-“ you softly moan, voice soft and damn near broken. Remmick doesn’t say anything in return, but he hears you loud and clear.

Given an inch and he takes a whole mile— he decides to further the pleasure and stuffs a finger inside you, a noticeably tight fit.

Only then he pulls away, “you weren’t joking— shit.. I can hardly fit one in.”

Your eyes widened at that, panicked. He looks up, upon being met with your silence, only to see you stare back at him scared.

“Just gotta stretch it out, it’ll be fine.” He waves it off, finger still resting inside.

You narrow your gaze, “stretch it?”

He nods, “yeah, s’ normal. Relax.” And then he pulls it out just to place it right back in, a slow pace that begins to build. That shuts you up, but it doesn’t necessarily keep you any less panicked.

Despite your panic, he continues licking at you, other hand slowly trailing over your stomach and up to your breasts that are no longer exposed, the nightgown back over your stomach.

He slips his hand under it, grabbing at your chest. You give a soft whimper, your hand placed over his on top of the fabric, making him give a firm squeeze to your boob.

“Taste so fuckin good-“ he mutters, his breath warm against you. With the grip on his hair you force him closer to you, rocking your hips slightly to urge him on.

You can feel your orgasm bubbling over, gripping its way through your cooze and up your legs, over to your chest where it pounds like a drum. Your back arches more, hips pressing against him as you practically hump his face. Your moans are more whiny, more pitched. You’re close, and he knows it. Can tell how much you're dripping down his hand, not even two fingers in. But he tries.. works you through accepting another, which funnily enough glides right in.

He gives a surprised hum, “look at that, already a pro.” He looks up at you, a small smile in place.

however, you're too caught up in the bliss of it. Head rolled back, mouth dropped open chanting silent prayers— neither for God or any higher being, but for Remmick. His name comes out in soft whispers and whines, calls of the devil. So sweet.. so nice it makes him fuck his fingers into you faster.

You think you might sob, and can feel yourself close to it. That tightness of your throat, the wobble of your lip. But you hold it back, don’t really want to feed into his ego. You refuse to be completely ruined from his fingers alone.

But the way your orgasm comes crashing over, body shaking, hips jerky and uncoordinated. He doesn’t need you to cry to know he’s achieved exactly what he’s came to do.. and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

He takes his fingers out, replacing it with his mouth and tongue. Takes all you can give with a loud groan and a very light slap to the underside of your tit. He lets you ride it out, sucks on your clit until you start patting him on the head urging him to stop, that it’s too much.

He comes up, beard wet and hair messy, gripped and pulled making the ends stand every which way. Pulls his hands away from you completely, both resting on the bed as he crawls his way back up to you. He uses the back of his hand to wipe some of your cum off his face, but the tangy smell still sticks against his facial hair.

Comes in real close when he goes in to kiss you, “Taste real fuckin good, stay down there for hours.”

And he ain’t lying, cause you taste yourself then. Sweet with a slight bitter undertone, not too much just there. Mixed with his own saliva.

Lingering on him, part of you feels achieved that when he leaves after tonight, he’ll still taste you on his tongue. Still smell like you on his beard.

“I want it,” you mutter against his lips, “want you.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, “mhm. Please.”

He’s already stripping down his suspenders, taking off the buttons of his shirt at lightning speed, hardly taking a second to even relax. Doesn’t need to be told twice what to do, no with you begging like that. Hell, he doesn’t even leave the bed until his pants and shoes become a problem, forcing him onto the floor.

He strips down all the way to just his boxers, clothes thrown off to the side in random parts of the room, and eventual tripping hazards. You don’t even get time to strip your own nightgown off before he’s doing it for you, practically ripping it off of you before throwing it aside.

He whistles low upon seeing your naked frame, shakes his head slowly, “look at you. Girls would kill em selves just to have half of what you got.”

Your cheeks warm, a smile so sweet and shy it forces a smile of his own.

“Gonna just devour you. Show my love in ways no one else can. Mine from now on.” And how he says it.. cooed and promised, like worship. A prayer.

Sacred.

He grips your hips, forcing you onto the edge of the bed and your legs open, where he gives himself room to stand between.

His hand reaches for one of your own, which you happily give him, and let him guide it towards his lips. He gives a soft peck to your flesh, eyes stuck on your own as he does so. But he doesn’t let it go, instead rubbing the prickly hair of his beard against the back of your hand, as if he’s trying to get you to pet him.

“Scratchy.” You mutter, which pulls a soft snort from him.

“Tends to be..” he smooths a hand across the inside of your thigh, “didn’t rub too much here?”

You shake your head and he accepts it with a soft ‘kay’ before planting another kiss on your hand before he trails it down. Down across his chest, his stomach and right over to the extremely prominent bulge.

“See that? That’s what you be doing to me.. all those nights, all that beggin? That’s what you did.”

He plants your hand firm against him, makes you really feel him. The ache of him, how tight the fabric is against him. You take a shaky breath.

“Why don’t you go ahead, pull it out.” He cocks his head down towards your hand, gives a small nod when you peer up at him unsure.

“Go head’,” he nods again.

With a shaky hand you pull down his boxers, his cock immediately springing out. And it’s..

“That’s bigger than two fuckin fingers, Remmick.”

He looks down, “Well.. it ain’t supposed to be that small-“

“That’s a good seven inches. I ain't fitting that.” Actually, it looks slightly bigger.

It’s thick, and long. Bright pink tip that you know for certain aches, leaking small rolls of pearl white precum and some prominent veins that you’re certain you will feel. It’s gotta be four (of your fingers) thick.

“Don’t let it imitate you. You’ll take it fine, here,” he smacks it against your open palm, “feel it. Get familiar, introduce yerself.”

He wraps your hand around his dick, looks down and drops his head a bit low just to spit directly where your hand connects to him.

“Jerk me off a bit,” he instructs. You look back down, unsure of how to go about it but you smack his hand away when he tries to help. He places both hands up in surrender before they go back to your hips.

Both of your heads are dropped down, basking in the sight of your hand slowly stroking him, the mushroom head disappears and reappears between your spit slick palm.

Remmick continues watching, soft groans and the occasional whimper leaving him with each stroke, feet shifting against the floor as he moves closer.

“Shit..” he breathes out, mouth hanging open as you give a tiny squeeze, “do that again.”

You give another soft squeeze, coupled with a flick of your wrist down, and that pulls a low moan out of him. Your eyes shoot up to take in his expression, the way his face contorts to one of pleasure, how he softly bites his bottom lip showing off his fangs.

Now you get why he stares at you so often. You think this is what he feels, this curiosity and need to see more. Know more. With each moan coaxed out of him, you jot it down.. do whatever it was that made him sound so pretty the first time again a few more times until his hips are rolling against you, uneven jerks into your palm. He says your name so softly, so nice. It sounds so pleasant coming from him.. like your name was crafted by your mother merely for this moment, only for him to utter. Her way of granting you the experience of being wanted and kept simply from the soft call of your name from the tongue of a supposed devil.

You think you want him as your own too.

“You’re really somethin.. ya know that?” You whisper, cutting through the quiet groans and moans.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks up into your gaze and sees it. The way you mean it, the way your eyes flicker between his red ones, checking to see if he heard. If he knows.

You speak up again, still whispered, as if you spoke any louder it would ruin the intimacy of the moment.

“Thank you for doing this to me. Being soft.”

That’s all it really takes for him to pull himself out of your palm and tap against your entrance. Neither of you look down to what he’s doing, eyes focused on each other, afraid to break your gaze for different reasons— that if you do, everything will fall apart.

He thinks you might leave. You think he might become mean.

Before he enters, your hand shoots out towards him, to the one resting against your hip still, “hold my hand.”

You don’t need to tell him twice.

He grips your hand hard, holding it tight when he first pushes the tip in. You give a small gasp, brows furrowing tight, confused. Unsure of what to make of the sensation. Nothing yet.

He waits a moment before further pushing in, stopping when you place a hand on his chest, “wait- just.. wait..”

You take a deep breath, needing a minute. It’s uncomfortable, and honestly hurts like a bitch. Even with you wet, you can still feel the stretch of him, the way he forces you apart on his dick. It pinches, and you silently curse your sisters for downplaying how rough it is at first.

He tilts his head, “you alright?”

You give a small nod, rushed. Giving a long exhale, “yeah just.. yeah. Go on.”

He continues all the way to the midway point before deciding himself that it’s good enough. Any more and it’ll be excessive, for now.

“Here. I’ll go slow. Tell me when yer ready.”

It’s silent for a bit, just the soft shaky inhales and exhales of your breathing, coupled by his own steady ones. He doesn’t groan, it’s much softer than that, but he does make small noises here and there. Waits for you to adjust despite the fact he wants to ram it fully in, has to cockwarm himself for a good minute and that doesn’t help much.

He practically whimpers when you finally nod, pulling out so the tip is only inside before sliding back in half way. Still, the discomfort is there, still feels like a lot to take in. You give more pained groans than anything, mixed with his own shallow breathing, but you wave him off every time he looks towards you. Silently asks you with furrowed brows if you want him to stop, but you push through it. shake your head no.

It’s until his pace grows more steady, a little faster that you feel that brush off pleasure, a small gasp leaving you. He doesn’t slow, but he raises his brows, asking again.

You shake your head, “faster,” and he does just that.

He drops your hand to wrap your legs around his hips, keeps you prompted up as his thrusts grow more frantic. That bitter tinge of stinging has finally left, overcome by the overwhelming pleasure of being filled again and again, each ridge of him slipping it perfectly.

He takes note of how he doesn’t even need to stop at the midway point anymore, feels how your walls flutter and clench around him, sucking him in further. He complies, bottoming out.

With doing so, a moan leaves you, hand again smacking at his to grab yours. Your fingers interlock, held tightly together as your body moves in time with his thrusts. The bed creaks and groans, the headboard moving against the wall giving a steady beat.

“Fucking hell.. knew this would be good, knew you would be good.” He moans out, “fit perfectly in this pussy..Like it knows me already.” He smacks your thigh again with his free hand, gives a lazy smile.

“Uh.. well given how-“ your cut off by a moan, head thrown back as you close your eyes as a means to concentrate, “- much I imagined this, yeah, probably does know you.”

That catches him off guard, momentarily falters his thrusts into slowing down, but after you give a sharp whine while gasping “don’t stop!” he gets right back to it. Goes harder, puts a leg up until the bed, hitting so deep it makes you claw at his chest.

“You imagined this?”

You don’t seem to register his words, nor the fact that he’s speaking to you, so he has to squeeze your hand a few times to get your attention.

“Hm?”

“You imagined this?” He doesn’t sound stunned, not really. Just curious, the shock washed away.

You give a lazy nod, “uh huh.. you not the- fuck- not the only one waitin-“ you moan again, jerking your hips up to meet his own.

Remmick doubles down, placing a hand against where he bulges in your stomach. A long string of curses leave you, nails digging into the skin of his hand and clawing down his chest.

The headboard is no longer quietly running its rhythm, instead banging against the wall so roughly you're certain it’ll leave indents on the wood. Not that you care when you can feel Remmick’s dick seven inches deep, hitting spots so sensitive it makes you see stars. The sound of skin slapping and moans followed by male groans is loud, takes up the whole room. Echoes across the half of your small home. You pray no one is takin a walk at night.

You keep staring at him, occasionally having to look away given how good it feels, your toes curled tight and back arching.. but the sight of him is heavenly. It helps that he’s very expressive, his face pulled into a pained look, brows furrowed and fangs fully out, biting so hard into his bottom lip traces of blood can be found in the indents. Coupled with his whole body shuddering, and his hair a complete mess. Just makes you more needy.

The chain dangles above you just how you imagined it would, the light reflecting on it, a beacon. You watch is swing back and forth, hypnotized by at.

At some point, when you roll your hips just right, and clench down hard enough his eyes roll back. You don’t really think he’s all there anymore, that if you were to ask what state you were in he would say some fucking random one. Hell.. you ask what his name is and he wouldn’t know it.

His eyes are glazed over, incoherent mumbles leaving him.. and drool. So much of it. It hangs off his chin and slowly drips down to your chest, breasts now wet from the over extensive amount of saliva coming from him.

Not that you're any better. You’re on cloud nine, head back against the bed, occasionally jerking your hips into his but really you don’t do anything. Just lay there and take it, eyes glazed over just like his and mouth unable to close given how many moans are ripped out your throat.

The slick between your legs is wet, leaving a wet spot on the bed that you will need to clean later. It also coats his cock, leaves a white ring of shared cum on the base that catches the light of the oil lamp.

He says it before you get to, “m’ gonna’ cum.. h-holy fuck I’m gonna-“ he shudders again. Like he’s cold.

You nod, “me too.. just..”

You trail off, unable to think for yourself let alone the both of you.

He looks down to where you two meet, moans when he sees how easily he’s slipping in. How well he fits.

“Want me to cum in or out?”

You don’t answer, head rolled back. He nods, “I’ll cum in.”

And he does. His whole body shakes, having to hang his head down as his hips jerk, the grip on your hand tightening so hard it hurts. Makes you wince, but he doesn’t notice. He has to let go of your hip and grip the bed sheets, gripping them just as violently.

You don’t get to watch him slip over the edge long because his own release triggers your, forces your mouth wide into a silent moan. Your thighs shake, and your unoccupied hand moves to his back where you grip his flesh hard, drawing blood. You feel like the gates of heaven have opened and graced you with the sight of life. Of air, of love.

Pleasure so intense you feel yourself give off a wrecked sob, something that rips through your throat and out into the room. You keep repeating Remmick’s name, unable to think of anything else or anyone else. No one else is there to thank. So you thank him as well.

Grab him by the jaw and force him to kiss you, whispering thank you’s against him, all of which he swallows down.

Neither of you say anything, too caught up in the moment. You stop kissing his lips and kiss everywhere else on his face; his cheeks, chin, nose, forehead. Anywhere.

And he lets you. Lets you softly coax him back down, to this moment. To you.

Lets you softly caress him and hold his hand, like it’s his first time too. Mind as well be, given how long it’s been since he’s had this. This intimacy.

This weird love neither of you can quite name, but lingers. Lingers like sweat, sex and hormones. Doesn’t suffocate but coddles you both, forces you two to take deep inhales of each other.

To run your fingers over flesh, dead and alive, and just lay with it.

Sink it in, and don’t spit it out. Like you did. Like he did.

You ain’t leavin, and he ain’t getting mean any time soon.

So, he stays the rest of the night.

[oh-phoenixx]

"Boost" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 1074 words

-

James had never struggled much with his self-worth, his view of himself. But he had not realised until recently how dependent his pride was on other people’s opinions. So, when James was studying alone with Regulus, and the younger boy did nothing but insult him, he needed a little boost to his confidence.

With a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, James was going to ask someone to be his date, and who—besides Regulus—could say no to a face like his? Now, James hadn’t intended to do this in front of Regulus, it just worked out that way. He spotted Tracy in the library, and realised that she was a girl, at the very least.

“Hey, Tracy,” James called. “Wanna come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Tracy smiled at him and nodded. “Sure.”

James Potter was back in the game, ladies and gentlemen. When he looked back to Regulus, James saw that he was fuming, clutching his quill with a grip hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“What? Did you want to ask her?” James scoffed.

“No,” Regulus muttered. “Shut up.”

“Wow, great comeback. I’m wounded, Reggie,” James mocked.

Regulus did not say another word for the majority of the study session, simply glaring at James occasionally. James didn’t know what his problem was. The only reason James was studying with Regulus was as a favour to Sirius. Regulus had asked for Sirius’s fifth-year notes, but Sirius had thrown all of his away and knew that James still had some. Out of the kindness of his heart, and his love for Sirius, James had offered to go over them with Regulus, as his handwriting was somewhat…illegible. Despite his generosity, Regulus did not seem at all grateful that James was giving up his time to be here.

“What the fuck does this even say?” Regulus muttered. “How can you possibly have handwriting this awful?”

“Sorry, Mr. I-Write-In-Cursive-Because-I’m-A-Pretentious-Git,” James grumbled. He took the page. “That clearly says unicorn blood!”

“How was I supposed to read that?” Regulus whisper-shouted. “The ink is smeared across the page!”

James frowned at the parchment. “Yeah, I reckon I wrote this one with my left hand.”

“Why would you do that?” Regulus questioned, eyes narrowed as if James was losing his mind.

“I’m ambidextrous,” James said with a grin, though he knew realistically it wasn’t a brag. He was ambidextrous in the sense that both hands were equally as shit. 

Regulus just groaned and took back the parchment, continuing to try to decipher James’s handwriting, as he refused to just have it read to him, because ‘I’m not a toddler, Potter. I don’t need a bedtime story’.

On Monday evening, when the two next studied together, James felt somewhat uncomfortable. Strangely, it had nothing to do with Regulus, but with Tracy constantly looking over and smiling at him. James did not like to be this person, he hated being in this position, he hated when people liked him and he didn’t like them back. He felt guilty about leading them on and guilty about breaking it off or rejecting them. There was nothing wrong with Tracy; she was nice, funny, and smart. James wanted to like her back. But his mind seemed occupied, and he didn’t know why.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Regulus sighed. “You could just go if you’re so occupied.”

“Huh?”

“That girl is eye-fucking you,” Regulus mumbled, face hidden by his hand rubbing his forehead as he wrote.

“No, she’s not,” James muttered. “And I’m not interested, anyway.”

Regulus, for some reason, seemed to relax a little at this. They got back to work and James tried his best to ignore Tracy. But, on the way out of the library, Tracy stopped him to talk about the next time they could see each other. 

James had a small, minor, tiny problem with wanting everyone to like him all the time. Sure, they were exceptions, like most of the Slytherins. He was a Gryffindor, of course they weren’t going to like him, it wasn’t anything personal. But he had a genuine and all-consuming fear of disappointing people. So, he did the most logical thing. He said: “Uh, sorry, I realised I’m, uh, gay.”

“Oh.” Tracy’s face fell, but she quickly put on a smile. “Good for you, James. Sorry for bothering you.”

As she walked away, Regulus raised his eyebrows. James winced. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings!”

“You know if you ever date another girl she’ll realise you were lying,” Regulus pointed out.

“I wasn’t lying, per se, I was…obscuring half the truth,” James defended. “I’ll just have to find a good guy, then.”

“Too bad Lupin’s taken, I think he’s the only datable person in your entire friend group,” Regulus scoffed.

“Hey, I have very fuckable friends,” James protested, then grimaced. He had a strange instinct to protect all of his friends, though he wasn’t sure any would be happy to hear that he thought this, except maybe Sirius. “Ooo! You could pretend to-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“I could pretend to be your boyfriend?” Regulus asked, eyebrows raised. When James nodded, Regulus shook his head. “First of all, that’s an awful cliché. Second of all, fuck off.”

James groaned and followed after Regulus as he started to walk away. “Come on, you owe me one.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Regulus said.

Now, James didn’t want to get too arrogant or anything, but he was a very persuasive person. He was confident that he could get even Regulus Black, certified-grumpy-piece-of-shit, to listen to him. And, sure enough, after delivering a long and charming monologue about all of his good qualities (Regulus had called it pestering, but potato whatever), Regulus gave in.

So, that evening, Regulus and James walked into the Great Hall together. Regulus turned and left a chaste kiss on his cheek, and oh. Oh, this would be a problem. James stuttered out a goodbye, his face almost seeming to burn where Regulus’s lips had been.

“Bye, Jamie,” Regulus bid. Of course, James knew the nickname was just for show. But, fuck, that didn’t change the way his stomach flipped. He suddenly understood why they called them butterflies.

James sat down at his usual spot, right next to Sirius, face red and realising a lot of things at once.

“What the fuck was that?” Sirius hissed.

“I think I’m in love with your brother,” James answered dumbly.

[bibluebutterfly]

Seeing a lot of people start hate on Helluva and how it portrays Greed compared to Lust And Gluttony, so let’s get into my 2 cents. This may be controversial, but I do think Helluva portrayed the sins well and here’s why.

Yes, on the outside, Mammon is definitely the most asshole of the sins we’ve seen so far, but this DOESN’T mean that Bee or even Ozzie are angels.

First of all, Bee ONLY stopped Blitz because he was indulging for PRIDE, not for Gluttony. With all of her other guests, she was more than okay with letting them get complete shit faced to a destructive degree.

As for Ozzie, it’s been proven via “Ozzie’s” that he okay with cheating, going so far as to praise Stolas for it. He’s aware Stolas risked everything for the affair, and praised him for doing so. He straight up encourages people to be as kinky and as nasty as they possibly can. Basically for him, if it’s consensual, go wild.

(Not to mention, he’s in a healthy, loving GAY relationship with his jester. While not inherently bad, it’s more than enough to make a deeply traditional Christian faint. Which does kind of seem to be the goal for the show.)

In the end: Ozzie and Bee are just as destructive as Mammon is. HOWEVER, they are so in a way where it’s not as obvious and they’re not as bad because of it.

Because they only fully indulge in Lust and Gluttony 110%, they’re still able to be relatively decent people because completely indulging in those sins doesn’t inherently make you an asshole. It can make you hella harmful, especially mixed with other sins, but on their own they’re somewhat manageable. (I say somewhat because again: cheating and health destruction are a thing).

Also it should be noted that despite being nice people Bee and Ozzie are still HORRIBLE influences. Like if they’re those people who your parents will disapprove of you being friends with.

But besides that, you can be lustful and gluttonous to 110% and still be a nice person to be around. Not a good person, but a nice one.

HOWEVER, you cannot be greedy to the max and be a nice person.

Here’s the thing; Mam, Bee, and Oz don’t have limits to their own sins. All 3 are still destructive as hell, it’s just that Bee and Oz’s sins allow them to have healthy relationships DESPITE that.

Bee, for all her faults, is a wild party girl. However, her gluttonous nature also allows her to completely indulge in love and affection, hence why she can have such an adorable relationship with Tex.

Ozzie is equally as wild but is also horny and kinky as fuck. But it works because Fizz is just as crazy in bed as he is, and arguably even crazier in general. Fizz is a kinky little gremlin who not only makes Ozzie laugh, but more importantly can keep up with him. That’s part of what allows them to be as happy and wholesome as they are.

Mammon however, cannot be at his sin 110% and keep a relationship. It’s just not possible and I honestly don’t think he wants a relationship with someone anyway, as that means he’d have to share something with another person, which he is simply not capable of doing.

In the end, all the sins are destructive. That’s just fact. However, because of their specific sins (and the fact that they don’t mix with the others), some are able to hold up healthier lifestyles and relationships than others.

[lucysarah1875]

If I tell you a secret, you swear to keep it?

Captain Levi wasn’t sure when all of this started, and he dared to say that it had never truly begun; perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Was it due to stress, the lack of sleep, something he ate, or perhaps something in the air? Could it be some hallucinating mold he hadn’t heard of before, requiring him to deep clean the entire Scouts’ facility?

Somehow, it made him feel morally wrong and, overall, childish. Levi had drawn the attention of his own squad by doing so. He told Jean and Connie that it was inappropriate to stare at a person for so long, emphasising that, as their superior, you deserved respect. Hormonal teenagers, especially boys, saw a hole in a wall and wondered if they could stick their dick inside. They seemed unable to think of anything else when the other head was doing the thinking.

You haven’t been working for the Scouts for long, but Levi dared to say it’s been long enough for him to feel somewhat comfortable around you. You’re the nurse sent by the medical sector to fill the infirmary. Levi understood the nature of the job—a common fetishized and sexualized profession. It didn’t help that the male cadets from his squad acted as if they had never seen an ankle. The pristine white uniform was modest and always had been, but Jean saw a skirt despite its length, and his face turned red.

Even though Levi understood all of that and more, why was he reacting this way? You asked him if he wanted the flu shot that the government had sent, and he agreed. His hand gripped the edge of his shirt sleeve as he sat down in the infirmary, yet his eyes were fixed elsewhere. Your silhouette against the window, the still strong autumn sun coming through, almost making your clothes transparent. He could see the shadow of your legs underneath, your rosy lips as you played with the pencil while reading reports, your soft hands—why were they so soft?—against his arm as you prepared the skin, your big doll eyes looking up at him as you examined the skin for a good syringe penetration. “It may hurt a little, Captain,” you said. Levi had to remind himself to breathe and swallow the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth. His brain had decided to stop working; he couldn’t have a single rational thought.

“Oops,” you casually said as a few papers flew because of the open window, moving hastily to close it and then bending down to pick them up. Your modest skirt softly raised, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the tender flesh of your inner legs. ‘I bet they are even softer than her hands,’ he thought.

What was he thinking? Forcing himself to look elsewhere as she walked back to him to put a band-aid on after the shot, he hadn’t ever felt this way. “You may feel a little bit down today or tomorrow. If you feel like you are getting a bit of a fever, that’s also normal,” her voice came so soft. “There, green,” she chuckled, “so it matches your cloak.”

Levi’s eyes travelled down to admire the green band-aid as if he were a kid in need of colourful stuff to celebrate his bravery in taking a flu shot. “Thanks,” he grunted out as he lowered his folded sleeve. There wasn’t anything he wished for more than to run out of there. It was humiliating how he felt he couldn’t control his own thoughts. You were being your usual nice and cheerful self, sometimes a well-received contrast to the harsh life of a scout. But today, he simply couldn’t take it.

Levi groaned softly, tossing and turning in his bed. His mind was racing with conflicting emotions: shame, disgust, desire, and a hint of excitement. “It’s the shot, I must be getting a fever or something,” he tried to self gaslight himself out of it. He had plenty of paperwork to do, why did he decided to try to catch some rest? Eyes forcefully closed, trying to convince himself to use this time to sleep. When the idea of you kneeling between his legs, under his desk, big cheerful eyes looking up to him, teeth biting down and smiling. Levi shook his head vigorously, banishing the lewd thoughts for now. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.

However it was too late, he could feel the tent in his trousers, demanding him attention. Levi groaned softly, his hand slipping inside his trouser’s waistband. It wasn’t long before he had freed his erect member from its confines, rubbing it against the fabric of his boxers. The sensation was driving him wild, and he rested on the side, arching his hips slightly to increase the contact. His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat, growing harder and heavier in his grasp.

The image of you bent over flashed through his mind like a cruel tease, his loins burning with desire. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shake off the thoughts. But the pull was too strong, and he couldn’t resist any longer.

Then, he sat up abruptly, unable to contain himself anymore. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it right. He kicked off the sheet and stripped. The last thing he needed was sleeping in stained sheets. 

Levi’s cock throbbed with need, his erect member stood tall and proud, leaking copious amounts of precum onto his stomach.

Heart racing like a wild animal penned up too long, leaping onto the mattress, he landed on top of it with a thud, arching his hips upwardwards. Mouth gathering the saliva before he spit on his right hand and let his head fall backwards.  “Fuck…” he groaned out, unable to resist it any longer. He wanted release so badly it hurt.

His hand moved on its own, fast and harsh. Closing his eyes imagined something better than his own hand, pushing the foreskin of his cock to reveal the head and began to pump it. Levi’s eyes remained closed as he let his imagination run free.  You were standing before him, a curvy figure illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window. His cock twitched in anticipation, leaking more of his sticky pre-cum onto his stomach. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around his member, stroking it roughly yet somewhat tenderly. Perfect body crawling on top of him.

His hand moved faster as the fantasy turned more explicit. You sat down on his legs and his dick buried balls deep in your hole as you rode him with energy. “Yes! Mh-Ahg so big” you would say. “Captain!” moaning out his title, head thrown backwards, messy hair falling like a waterfall “Cap- ahh yesss, fuck me harder!”

You sucking him in, taking all of him so effortlessly as if you were made to take this cock. “You feel me right there? I’m rearranging your guts,”. Your mouth hanging open while letting out the loudest moans and your eyes rolled backwards.

Grunting heavily, he brought his other hand to his balls, squeezing them rhythmically to heighten his arousal “You’re a filthy whore, aren’t ya? this cunt loves swallowing my load” he murmured as if his fantasy could hear it. 

Levi’s hand quickened its pace, his cock throbbing in sync with his heartbeat. The head of his member was glistening with precum, leaking copiously onto his stomach. His breathing grew heavier, almost labored as he imagined fucking you rough and hard.

In his mind’s eye, you were panting heavily almost sobbing of how good it felt each time you sinked down and his hips snapped upwards. Your body quivering with each powerful thrust. “Enjoying that dick, pretty?” he growled, his voice low and husky.

You would be hanging your mouth open unable to think anymore, head bobbing as you hummend positively as saliva slightly dropped from the corner of your lips.  His cock was starting to twitch violently, warning him that release was imminent.

“Captain…” you would whimper softly in his mind, begging for more. “Please give me your cum, please… I won’t waste a drop.”

Levi’s hand tightened its grip on his throbbing member, moving faster and harder. His abdominal muscles contracted rhythmically as he neared his climax. “I’m close, Y/N,” he growled out your name raggedly. “Right there…”

With one final powerful thrust, he released his seed, shooting hot white ropes onto her stomach and chest. Panting heavily, he continued to pump his cock slowly until it was painful to keep going. 

Collapsing on the bed, Levi lay there for several minutes, catching his breath. Gradually, the post-orgasmic bliss began to fade, replaced by a haze of embarrassment and confusion. What had just happened? How could he have thought such filthy things about a fellow soldier? A nurse? He groaned softly, sitting up on the edge of the bed, trying to compose himself.

He felt embarrassed for multiple reasons. First, he had just seen a skirt raised up a bit and he got hard as a teenager. Even worse, as a teen he jerked off a couple of times and came all over his own body. It felt stupid how sexually frustrated he was. If it wasn’t because his hands were still filthy, he would be groaning with his head in his hands while questioning himself how he was going to face you in the hallways.

Was it the uniform? The skirt? You were undoubtedly gorgeous, but… Was it because most of the women in the Scouts didn’t have time to take care of their appearance, or they simply didn’t care? There was something stupidly arousing about your soft and clear skin, how you took care of yourself, the tight little waist highlighting the difference between your swinging hips underneath the skirt, perky breasts under the blouse.

“Captain,” your cloying voice whispered his worst intentions, “Captain, you need a hand?”

Levi’s eyes, looking to his left, caught your mischievous smile as you looked at him. “I… Um…” He was confused.

“Do you want a hand, Cap?” you asked again, looking deeply into his eyes. 'Well… if you want to…’ he wondered, lost as your eyes softly looked down and then back up.

“Do you need help?” The haze of sexually inciting began to fade. “With the tea, I mean… you had been staring at the kettle for ten minutes,” your voice now lacked all the previous sweetness, and he felt like an idiot.

“No, thanks,” he spat back, angry but not at you. Levi forced himself to get back into his senses and returned to brew his own tea.

“You sure? You seem a bit… lost,” you commented. He groaned an unworded reply and then handed you a cup. Soft fingers brushed against his before raising the liquid to your lips, letting out a pleased moan. “Ah~ nothing better than tea in the mornings,” you said before adding with an innocent smile, “Hot, strong, and deep, exactly as I like it.”

Levi swore he was trying to breathe, but he simply couldn’t. “Have a nice morning, thanks for the tea! You really know how I like it,” you said back before walking away. 'Maybe I should visit a church or something.’

Yet his eyes were still glued to your back as you walked away, skirt swinging as you moved. He didn’t mean to stare, but something smacked him on the head with strength, forcing him back to his senses. “Oi!” he turned around to confront the person, only to find Hange with a handful of papers rolled up in their hand.

“Stop staring~” they signed back with a mischievous smile.

“I wasn’t,” he replied while his hand caressed the top of his head. “Stop laughing, four eyes,” he insisted as he could hear Hange’s chuckles.

Suddenly, Hange wrapped an arm around his shoulders, resting their entire weight on them, and their heads touching. “You know… if I tell you a secret, you swear to keep it, right?”

“Get off my ass,” Levi replied, not interested in being dragged into Hange’s silly games.

“The other day, I was talking to Erwin,” their voice dropped as they began to whisper, “And we both agreed that Y/N has such a great ass.”

Both looked at each other from the corner of their eyes, Levi frowning deeply.

“Don’t tell the cadets, though… we don’t want to set a bad example.”

[moonsglare]

convenience, part 1 || tsukishiro yanagi x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

Your heat, rather inconveniently, comes a whole two days early in the middle of your shift at your job. Your boss drops you off at a heat clinic, and you manage to get paired with who you think might just be the most perfect alpha in all of New Eridu.

cw. omegaverse, alpha yanagi, omega reader, all the usual omv stuff like knotting & breeding

notes. wrote this in a haze of horny delirium for tsukishiro yanagi. yes there will be a part 2 at some point because i will most certainly slip and slide back into horny delirium for tsukishiro yanagi one of these days

Heat clinic.

Such a nice, polite word for what’s essentially a fuck-centre.

Yes, you know in reality it’s just another facet of reproductive healthcare services, and there’s nothing really intimate about it—if the dozens of screenings, tests, and legal documents were anything to go by—but the concept itself is still a little funny. The idea that something so inherently primal could just be dressed up in some clinical wording and a facade with the aesthetic of a dentist’s office and suddenly be completely socially acceptable.

A foggy part of your brain is trying to do the same right now and draft up some polite excuse as to why you had to leave work early today, but with the way Yanagi’s cock is literally rearranging your insides, it’s an effort in futility.

You almost melt against the sheets with another low, drawn out moan feeling her all the way in your damn stomach. You barely even remember how you got here; your heat, the damn unpredictable thing it is, had hit early while you were still on your shift. Staying in the store would’ve been a terrible idea, what with it almost being rush hour, and so your poor boss—a beta man, thankfully—had sped you on over to the nearest heat clinic in Lumina Square. And you had writhed and squirmed on the bed that had too many too sterile pillows for God knows how long until they finally managed to send an alpha in to help you. She’d smelled of fresh laundry and warm bread and by that point there really wasn’t much else you wanted to think about besides getting her scent all over you immediately.

“Yanagi,” you whine, wiggling your hips petulantly at her slow, controlled pace. It’s strange, how well her name fits on her tongue despite you only learning it a few—minutes? hours? you don’t even know, honestly—ago. The alpha behind you croons low in her throat, leaning down to brush the bare, sweat-damp skin of your shoulder with her nose. But instead of that skin-to-skin you expect, you get smooth leather instead, and you remember that this is a damn heat clinic, and all heat clinic alphas have to wear a Mask.

It’s a safety precaution, and a sensible one at that; having an omega be accidentally marked during what should just be a transactional encounter would be horrifying for both the alpha and omega, and a world of legal pain for the clinic. Hence the invention of the Mask—a generally non-invasive little leather contraption that covers the alpha’s mouth completely, with well placed openings to still allow for easy breathing and speech. You’re normally more grateful for its existence in keeping omegas such as yourself safe, but right now it may as well have been invented by the devil.

“Breathe,” Yanagi reminds you, her voice ever so soft in a way you’ve never heard an alpha be before. Your previous heat partners, while still somewhat gentle—you’d specified as such in your documentation—still tended to have that typical alpha-ness to them. Demanding and commanding, eager to take and wring as many orgasms from you as they can manage. Which is, of course, exactly what you need, deep in the throes of heat as you are, but it leaves you with a rather heavy mental weight after that takes a while to lift. But Yanagi is calm, measured, and careful, even as she sinks balls deep into you, knot bumping the stubborn ring of your entrance. It makes your basest omega instinct preen with satisfaction at being so tenderly cared for, that you find yourself thinking, quite stupidly, that you could get used to this—to Yanagi.

She coaxes you out of that little reverie with the brush of her thumb against your clit. You jolt, startled but pleased, rocking forward slightly onto the sheets ruined with your slick. Yanagi follows with a roll of her hips, bumping the head of her wonderful cock against that spongy collection of nerves and drawing another warbling cry of her name from your lips. She moves with such patient elegance and finesse that you’d think she wasn’t in rut and had to find refuge in the nearest heat clinic like you. Or, rut clinic, in her case. This particular branch in Lumina Square did both, and what a blessing that turned out to be.

“Yanagi, faster,” you urge, whiny and out of your mind with lust, looking over your shoulder at her. Soft pink eyes meet your own, and her pupils blow just a little wider. You hear her breathe in deep through her mouth, the sound amplified by the Mask, and a primal giddiness runs down your spine. You know what she’s doing; inhaling your scent and letting it coat the inside of her mouth, her throat, and letting it fan the flames of her own lust. She relents with the quietest growl you’ve heard from an alpha, drawing her hands back to rest them on your hips, palms flat against your skin.

And then she’s snapping her hips forward, fucking you, and you’re completely and utterly gone. Your head drops, cheek against the mattress as your arms give out under you, and you melt against the sheets into a delicate arch that has Yanagi twitching inside you. Your brain drips out of your pussy around her cock, not a damn thought in your mind beyond the steady, rhythmic drives of her railing you senseless. You can feel her knot swelling, bumping against the lips of your cunt and it only makes you squeeze tighter around her.

Yanagi pants behind you, nails digging more into the meat of your hips. The scent of her floods your senses, and she almost smells like home were it not for the underlying, extremely faint but still somewhat noticeable scent of ozone and iron. She’s testing the waters with her knot, seeing how much you’re ready to give by pushing it forward ever so slightly then drawing back. It makes your fingers curl in the sheets, more needy whines falling from your lips as you beg her to stuff you full. Yanagi shudders at that, leaning down to—or attempting to—nose the dip of your spine between your shoulder blades.

“I’m going to knot you,” she promises gently, and you mewl in anticipation. “Be sweet for me, okay? Breathe, and relax. You’re doing so well, good girl.”

Holy fuck.

“Likes to be praised” was not an option even given to you on the forms, but somehow, either by luck or intuition, Yanagi had struck absolute gold. You nearly cum then and there at the praise, moaning unashamedly as your cunt clenches like a vise around her cock. Yanagi makes a small, choked noise in the back of her throat, clawing at your hips to steady herself again. It takes her a moment and several calming breaths before she can resume her slow press into you and you bite the sheets to make up for the fact you can’t sink your teeth into her shoulder instead.

Yanagi is already big, deliciously so, but her knot is certainly something else. You’re suddenly grateful for the generous amount of lube that was provided in the room and that Yanagi had the sense to use before she stuffed you full of her cock. It makes the stretch of her controlled slide into you far more bearable—not that you would’ve given up even if it wasn’t. Heat crazed as you are, you’re sure you’d find a way. Thankfully, Yanagi’s foresight made such extremes unnecessary, and she nuzzles soothingly at your neck, by your scent gland as she inches deeper and deeper, stretching you more and more until her knot slips fully inside you with a wet pop.

Your eyes roll back into your head and you cum with a loud cry, inner walls spasming and fluttering around her thick length. You almost feel like you might pass out, utterly light headed, cumming not in spite of the stretch but because of it. Fuck, Yanagi might just have ruined you for any other alpha. You feel your slick spray out and coat your thighs despite the knot buried inside you, and you make a noise between a moan and a sob as your orgasm rips through you viciously. Yanagi rocks and grunts behind you, riding that knife’s edge of stimulation until she’s tipping off of it herself, releasing your hips in favor of bracing herself over you, palms bracketing your head as she spills into you with a stifled, drawn out groan. You feel her throb inside you, pulsing with each jet of cum she deposits into your eager cunt. You can’t help but preen at the sensation of being filled so thoroughly, which Yanagi returns with a low, soothing croon.

She makes sure to lie on her side to recover, deceptively strong yet slim arms holding you close. It’s a welcome reprieve from the many alphas who would simply flop on top of you and crush you into the mattress, and you make a pleased noise, your brain buzzing with happy, satiated chemicals. Her cosy scent just makes you relax further, sweet honey on fresh toast, like home, and you find your eyelids drooping. Yanagi notices, and a lilting, melodic laugh resonates through the Mask.

“Rest,” she says gently, a hand caressing your side, “you did well.”

You have some time to kill anyway, knotted together as you both are. So you take her suggestion, and drift off into a satisfied slumber. What happens next is for your heat-free brain to deal with, but you’re certain of at least one thing: you’re not spending your next heat with anyone other than her.

When you wake, you wake woefully bereft.

Your thighs are parted, and you hiss when something wet and cold touches your skin. You blink open your eyes blearily, and find Yanagi looking down at you from where she kneels by your side, running a washcloth along your inner thigh. Her Mask is off, set on the bedside table now that both of you are somewhat stable enough to head back home and weather the rest of your respective heat and ruts privately. Her lips are curved into a small, glossy smile, and a pair of red-rimmed glasses rest delicately on the bridge of her nose.

“Did you rest well?” she asks, smoothing the washcloth down your other thigh. “I hope you don’t mind that I took some initiative. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or sticky when waking up.”

It takes you a while to find your voice, but when you do find it, it’s utterly wrecked. Yanagi flushes slightly at the sound when you speak, looking ridiculously cute for someone who just gave you the most intense orgasm of your life.

“Yes to the first, no to the second,” you answer, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Yanagi’s smile broadens, and she shakes her head lightly. “I should be thanking you—my rut hit early out of nowhere, and if you weren’t willing…”

“I could say the same for you,” you rasp wryly, watching as she diligently cleans you. She takes care not to give too much stimulation to your sensitive sex, but makes sure to clean up the remaining drops of her cum that still leak from you. “I guess we both got lucky.”

“Quite,” Yanagi agrees, and you see her throat bob as she tries not to focus on the way her seed drips out of your cunt. “In any case, you were… very helpful. Thank you.”

You manage a dry chuckle at that. What a polite alpha. “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

The flush on her cheeks deepens ever so slightly, and she ducks her gaze away from yours, almost bashful. She sets the cloth down on a disposal bin on the bedside table, then turns to grab something further down the bed. A surprised noise leaves your lips when you see what it is: your clothing, all neatly folded. And if your nose is telling you the truth—

“I… took the liberty to scent your shirt,” she admits, still not meeting your eyes. “Just to tide you over until you make it home. It should deter any other alphas from trying anything.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. You wonder if you’re dreaming—do alphas this nice really exist? You’ve met your fair share of decent alphas, but they all have that typical alpha arrogance about them. If she hadn’t just knotted you, you might have thought she was an omega with how tender she’s being, and you find yourself thinking for the second time today how you could get so used to this.

“Thank you,” you say eventually. Yanagi nods, relieved, then rises from the bed. She’s already clothed; although, she didn’t take much of her clothes off while fucking you in the first place, just popping a few buttons of her shirt and hiking her skirt up enough to get it out of the way after ditching her corset. She fixes the tassels of her tie, ready to head out the door, and the words blurt out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Do you want to do this again?”

Your jaw clicks shut as soon as Yanagi stills, turning to face you with a puzzled look on her face. She blinks, brows furrowing as she considers your words. “This… again?”

“There’s an option for, uh— scheduled sessions between an alpha and an omega, if they choose,” you explain, trying not to sound as nervous as you feel. “It saves on hoping for another presentation to be available when your heat or rut rolls around.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Yanagi hums, eyes drifting to the side as she takes a moment to consider.

“It’d be convenient,” you continue, unable to help yourself from pressing a little more. If you sound desperate, you can’t be bothered to be ashamed. You’d rather lose your dignity than this damn perfect alpha before you. “And you’re someone who likes convenience and routine, right?”

Yanagi raises a brow. “How did you figure that?”

“Well,” you shrug, attempting nonchalance, “I suppose it was a lucky guess. How did you know I liked being praised?”

Yanagi turns beet red at that, a palm shooting up to cover half her face. Even her ears are a delicate blush colour. “It just… felt right,” she mumbles, her home-like scent thick with embarrassment. You chuckle softly at that.

“See? I think this could be mutually beneficial, Yanagi. What do you say?”

The time it takes her to think feels like it stretches on forever. You can almost see the gears on her head turning, analysing, as if weighing the costs and benefits over every last detail of your proposal. Those pink eyes gleam with an intensity you can’t help but feel drawn to in a way you’ve never felt before with any alpha. Eventually, she turns back to you with a small, polite smile.

“We could give it a shot.”

You grin, feeling relief flood your system so strongly you nearly fall back onto the bed. “Sounds great. I’ll see you next month, then?”

“Next month,” Yanagi returns, and then she slips out the door with the click of heels on cold tile. You flop back onto the pillows when the door closes, unable to stifle a giddy, girlish laugh from spilling from your lips.

God, for once in your life, you can’t wait for your next heat.

[dollarbils]

ruin it | b.eilish

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. billie doesn’t want to ruin your friendship so she keeps her feelings to herself

warnings. angst, kissing, not proof read

masterlist

“I had a great time.” she concluded as she walked you up the stairs to your apartment, having driven you home due to the late hour of the night.

“me too, thanks for driving me home.” you replied when she smiled and leaned in for a hug.

“it was my pleasure.” as you waved her off you gave yourself a second to find your keys and prepare yourself from entering the apartment. you’d decided to give the girl a second chance, after the disaster that was the first date, against your roommate’s wishes. you were desperately hoping she was asleep. the keys turned in the lock and you pushed the door open quietly and headed straight for your room, having heard the tv on in the living room.

“not so fast.” her voice boomed as you heard her footsteps approach the hallway near your bedroom. you cursed yourself silently.

“i thought you’d be asleep?” she crossed her arms once she placed herself in front of you.

“why were you out so late?” her tone was somewhat angry, as if you’d done something wrong. and despite disagreeing with this statement, you grew exceedingly nervous.

“that’s none of your business billie.” your response came off harsher than intended.

“since when is anything none of my business?” she seemed annoyed by your reply.

“billie, c’mon. it’s not a big deal.” you turned away from her in attempt to escape the conversation but she piped up again.

“were you with her?” she asked and you turned to face her. it gave her the answer she needed. “seriously?” she seemed disappointed.

“was she late again? did she show up sober this time?” she referred to what a dick the girl had been last time you’d gone out with her.

“yes actually, she was perfectly nice.” billie almost laughed.

“yeah okay, does she still think your name is bella?” she scolded you. on the first date she’d gotten your name wrong consistently, and billie never missed an opportunity to bring it up.

“no..” you replied sheepishly.

“well that certainly makes up for it. why did you go out with her again? you know you deserve better.” there was hints of sadness in her words as she spoke.

“not everyone gets as many hoes as you billie. i don’t necessarily get to be picky.” she furrowed her brows as you said this.

“why not? even if it means waiting you shouldn’t lower your standards.” it was frustrating dealing with her, she never approved of your romantic choices. it didn’t matter who it was she’d always point out a flaw.

“why do you even care so much? just let me make bad decisions.” you sighed, tired of this conversation. this argument you’d have every-time you came back from a date.

“i care about you. you deserve better, so much better than that fucking loser.” she seemed disgusted by the thought of her.

“why do you always have to ruin my chance at a happy relationship?” you raised your voice, annoyed at her persistence.

“because i know you wouldn’t be happy!” she seethed, trying desperately to get her point across.

“so i can’t be happy with anyone? what am i supposed to do then?” she opened her mouth to speak but stayed silent, not wanting to say something she’d regret.

“of course, no excuse. as per fucking usual. i mean what is it? are you jealous? do you ruin my relationships because you think we won’t be as close?” she stayed silent, contemplating her words. her silence however, gave you an answer in itself.

“oh my god… you’re jealous!” you couldn’t believe it, but her eyes widened at the conclusion you’d come to and she dismissed it.

“i’m not jealous.” she said defensively.

“then what is it?” you searched her eyes for an answer but she didn’t seem to have one herself.

“they don’t deserve you, none of them. you’re too good for any of them.” she repeated herself.

“what the fuck does that even mean at this point? you keep saying it, but it seems like you think there’s nobody that deserves me. stop fucking with me billie i don’t want to hear it anymore.” her expression softened.

“that’s not what i meant.” she was having trouble expressing herself.

“i don’t understand bils, help me understand because it’s driving a wedge between us when there’s no reason for it to.” you were pleading her to explain. explain the truth, tell you what she was holding back.

“you don’t get it.” she said simply, throwing her head back in frustration.

“billie, if you’re just gonna deflect, i’m going to sleep. i can’t deal with your shit tonight.” she lowered her head, scouring her brain for what to say next. what to say to convince you.

“wait!” she grabbed your arm, holding you back.

“no, billie. if you’re gonna be all cryptic and confusing i don’t wanna hear it.” her grip was insisting, pulling you back to her.

“i just don’t want to ruin it.” her words as cryptic as ever, proving your previous point. your curiosity took control though.

“ruin what?” it was a question with a lot of weight.

“this. our friendship.” her words bled with hurt and fear, a combination that broke your heart every-time you’d hear it.

“they don’t deserve you because, i do.” it hit you in several ways, not fully understanding the extent of the meaning behind it.

“what?” you asked for clarification, hesitantly she complied.

“i’d treat you right, give you what you deserve.” she admitted finally, and your thoughts were spoken aloud.

“billie..”

“no. listen to me. you mean more to me than anyone ever has, and i can’t stand to see these idiots mistreat you. and what i really can’t stand, is the fact that you let them.” she waited silently for a response, already accepting that you might not be able to give her one.

“billie.” it was weak, no motion to it, nothing it was destined to be.

“yeah?” her hope was slowly diminishing.

“just..” she tilted her head, confused at your lip taking residence between your teeth.

“hm?” she bit her cheek, nausea forming in the pit of her stomach. the fear of having ruined years of friendship consuming her mind.

“just kiss me then.”

“what?” she was still trying to process your words and you gave her time to do so.

“kiss me how i deserve to be kissed. make me happy.”

“no, don’t do this to me. you’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” she shook her head, stepping away from you.

“billie.” she lifted her head to look at you. “i’m dead serious.” she raised an eyebrow and let you approach her.

“but won’t it ruin it? ruin us?” she was hesitant when she stepped closer to you.

“not if we don’t let it.” you countered, easing your way into her embrace. “besides, you can’t say that shit without acting on it. at that point you may as-well call me bella, it’d hurt less.” she laughed, the sound vibrating in your ears.

“okay.” she held your face tenderly as her lips reached yours. she backed you against your bedroom door as she continued to kiss you, your hands lost in her hair and her groans lost in your throat. her hips attached to yours, moving in a rhythm of passion.

“see, you didn’t ruin it.” you were breathless, smiling like an idiot. she smirked before speaking.

“not yet.” she gripped your ass, biting her lip at your little jump. you wouldn’t have expected this from her, you’d never imagined yourself in this position. but by no means was it a complaint.

“you couldn’t ruin me, not even if you tried.” she saw it as a challenge, and then her lips feathered yours as she formed her words.

“watch me.”

note: oops, i disappeared for a while 🫣 i promise it was with good reason and i’ll start getting back to my requests now. love youuuu

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Objects in Motion

Part 4!

Alpha! Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

No warnings this is wholesome lmaoooooooo

His scent lingers on you when you walk into work on Monday. Despite how hard you'd tried to wash it off, it clings to your skin, seemingly unwilling to let you go.

Secretly, that delights you, emphasizes the strength of whatever there was between the two of you. It’s equal parts giddy, and terrifying.

That an alpha like him- that he could be interested in you, you have to resist a groan of delight as you wait for the elevator to get to your floor.

The doors slide open and you let out a long sigh, making your way slowly to your desk, smiling and forcing yourself to greet your coworkers.

You were already exhausted by the idea of working, wishing you were still in bed, hidden under piles of blankets to shield you from the world. Maybe a certain alpha would be willing to join you.

Or maybe… maybe you were better off never thinking about him again. 

Honestly, you'd probably be doing him a favour, your situations couldn't be more opposite, you couldn't imagine him ever seeing where you lived, it might hurt you to see the pity written across his face.

Worse, you'd just be a burden to him, he'd probably feel obligated to take care of you, and if things didn't work out- you shudder- you didn't even want to think about it.

But God, you were so attracted to him that it hurt. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and the ways he would touch you, the ways he might feel, the size of him-

You blink in surprise, feeling a small flush of pheromones around you. Damn, work was the worst place for this.

At the same time, you catch sight of Renée, the only other omega in the department, making her way toward you, her desk situated nearby.

She glances at you, gives you a subtle nod while dropping her stuff, before pausing, and turning to you.

“You smell like an Alpha.” She says, no question in her tone.

Renée was the type of person to speak somewhat kindly to your face, the perfect facade of caring, but you knew people, and you knew that she would find a way to work this interaction into office gossip.

“I made a friend.” You answer inexplicably, trying to keep a poker face, knowing that shyness would do you no favours here.

She raises her eyebrows, turns away, you knew she was thinking one of two things, wondering how you managed to befriend an alpha before her, or that someone you called a ‘friend’ would let you scent them. Basically, that you were a slut and she was better than you.

“Well, I hope you have fun.” She says, smiling over at you sweetly. 

“Thanks.” You mutter politely, tugging your headset on, and getting ready to start your day.

Your phone pings in the middle of the morning peak hours, and you pause speaking to glance down at it, seeing yet another message from the alpha himself.

He’d been sending texts all weekend, texts that you had been ignoring, though you weren’t exactly sure why.

You shake your head, apologising for your pause, before resuming your work.

When the call ends, you take a bathroom break, pulling down your notification bar to see what he’s said.

You catch sight of all the other messages before, sighing as guilt fills you.

I hoped you had a nice time, sweetheart, I’d like to see you again.

Omega?

Please don’t feel shy about the car, I wanted it too.

Are you ignoring me?

Good morning, sweetheart. Let’s have dinner.

Are you really going to make me beg?

It was almost hard to breathe, the way he seemed so desperate for you. You could almost feel his desire through the phone, like an ache in your chest, sticking like tar to the back of your throat.

Denying him might be the hardest thing you've ever had to do, but it was for the best, you decide as you lock your phone. You would not be played for a fool ever again.

He calls during your lunch break, you swallow and flip your phone over, muting the call while you eat your small packed lunch.

Why wasn't he getting the message? Would it really be that hard to free yourself of him?

You don't get any more messages or calls after that, and you assume he gives up when you hear nothing else from him for the rest of the day.

Your transit home is bitter, the thought that you'd successfully chased an alpha away hurts, like you knew it would.

He might have been amazing, he might have been warm. You tip your head back on the bus, taking in a deep breath and exhaling agony.

Worse, his scent fades even more the next day, and where you'd been trying to scrub it from you over the weekend, you cling to it now, wishing it would stay just a few days more.

You stop, surprised, when you see a single sunflower sitting on your work desk in the morning. 

It's in a little transparent vase, and your heart gives a violent uptick as you approach, reaching for the little card you see pressed under the vase, raising it to your nose, taking a deep breath.

Your eyes roll back in your head at the pure scent of him. He'd probably rubbed the harsh little card against his scent gland, trying to get your attention by any means necessary. 

You go so weak in the knees that you're forced to brace a hand against your desk to support you.

You draw back, flipping the card open, finding one word written neatly in his hand.

Please

You bite down in the corner of your lip, smiling. Guess you hadn't chased him away after all.

Was this good? Was this bad? You didn't know, all you could feel is your chest fluttering at the idea that you'd pushed this Alpha away as hard as you could and he was still here, trying to calmly approach, not overwhelming you by physically getting into your space, but letting his actions speak for him, reminding you that he was still here.

Could you hope that his feelings were real? That he really cared about you, where other Alphas had only themselves in mind?

“From your friend?” Renee's voice breaks into your head.

You turn, dropping your hand as if you've been caught.

“Yeah.” You breathe out, turning to busy yourself with work, feeling her eyes glued to the back of your head.

When you finally settle in, staring at the flower, you frown, remembering the way the second alpha you'd been with had used your own desires against you. He'd twisted your need to be cared for, making it seem like your only purpose was to serve him. Adam had left you aching for crumbs and hating yourself for it.

You could almost cry from the memory, that alphas could be so cruel, so manipulative, that it was always a game and you needed to keep your cards close to your chest.

Why, would William be any different?

Why were you wishing with everything you had, that he was?

You bring the card up to your nose, breathing in his scent, hoping.

.

You’re staring at his unopened messages yet again, trying to figure out what to say to him when the phone on your desk rings.

You straighten, grabbing your headset, tugging it on before answering, giving your quick, jovial greeting.

There’s a long pause, that alerts you to the fact that this call might not be totally normal.

“Omega.” The voice finally says, and your mouth drops open in surprise.

“William?” You ask, almost choking on your words, “You- these calls are recorded for quality purposes.” 

“You’ve been ignoring me. This was the only way I could think of to hear your voice.”

Jesus Christ, you could feel your heart palpitating in your chest.

“We shouldn’t be talking on this line.” You respond shakily.

“Did I do something wrong? Tell me what I did sweetheart, so I can fix it.”

Ohmygod, you clear your throat, adjusting yourself in your seat with the way his voice is affecting you.

“William-”

“-I can’t stop thinking about you. I need to see you again, even if it’s for you to tell me you want me to leave you alone. I’ll beg if I have to.”

You blink, mouth parting, unable to speak.

“We shouldn’t.” You try.

“Please.” is his low, grovelling response.

Your breath hitches as he continues on repeat, slow, drawing out each word with his voice echoing through your headset, sending shivers over your spine.

“Please, please, please, please, please-”

“Okay.” You stumble out, “Alright.”

You hear him sigh a breath of relief.

“Let’s have dinner tonight. My treat.”

“I don’t-” You start before cutting off, cheeks aflame with embarrassment, “-I have nothing to wear.”

“Don’t fret little one, I’ll pick you up after work. I’ll take care of everything, you just have to withstand my company for one night, and if you really want me to, I’ll leave you alone after.”

“I’m holding you to that, alpha.” You answer, whispering it so that Renée doesn’t overhear you.

He hums over the line, a little laugh after a few moments.

“Thank you, omega, see you later.”

You mumble your goodbye, ending the call on your side.

It warms your core for minutes after, unbelievably turned on by him, unable to deny the way you were feeling, you bring the card up to your nose once more, breathing him in.

.

He sends you a quick message a few minutes before your work day ends to tell you that he’s waiting in the lobby for you.

You feel a nervous twist in your stomach as you close your files, and pack up your things, glancing over to see that Renee hadn’t come back from her trip to the bathroom just yet, normally bidding her goodbye before you leave.

You wonder if you should bring the sunflower with you, but you figure it would be fine here and you can just take it home tomorrow. On the other hand, seeing it here really did make the day more bearable. 

You decide to think about it later, heading for the elevator, your bag in hand.

You catch his scent as the doors slide open, smiling wistfully as bergamot surrounds you, tugging you to him.

You round the corner and stop short in shock.

You'd never thought of Renée as a friend in any means, but you'd never seen her as any type of adversary until this very moment, as you watch her smile up at William, her neck tilted to the side slightly in offering.

It's a very bold move, to openly present your scent gland to a possible stranger, and you glance up at his face, noting his expression.

His eyebrows are pinched, mouth turned down into a frown, confusion maybe, perhaps a hint of distaste.

You didn't know you were good at reading lips until this moment as well, but you know without a doubt that he says the words ‘I'm sorry, I'm not interested.’ despite how far away you are.

 Then, he turns, eyes meeting yours as if he knew exactly where you were.

He mutters something you think is ‘excuse me,’ before he begins walking in your direction.

In a well pressed white shirt, tucked into charcoal grey pants, he approaches you with even strides, never breaking eye contact, making you feel the intensity of him as he draws near.

You feel your spine stiffen, head angling upward the closer he gets, until he's standing before you, drinking you in.

“Hello, sweetheart, thank you for giving me another chance to see you.”

You gulp.

“D- don't make me regret it.” You stutter out, trying to stand your ground on your boundaries.

“Never.” He promises, extending his elbow out for you to take. You eagerly oblige, reaching up to grip his bicep securely, maybe a little bit more than necessary.

You keep your head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone on your way out.

He's not driving this time, guiding you toward a very big SUV, with blackout windows and a cozy leather interior.

There’s so much room, enough for him to extend his legs when he slides in beside you, closing the door and tapping twice on the partition separating the two of you from the driver.

“Wow,” you murmur, looking around, even noticing a small fridge in the space across from you, “This- is this yours?”

He hums.

“Technically, they belong to the company, but I get to use it when I need to.”

You blink, realising that he was trying to be humble about it.

Smiling, you turn to look at him, eyes widening when you realise how close he’d gotten to you when you were distracted.

“You smell like me, omega.” He whispers into the space between you, his dark eyes searching yours, leaning in, he presses his nose to your hair.

You hear the soft inhale, your body stiffening, trying to resist your own instinct to present your scent gland to him. His own scent fills the space around you, and his shaky exhale brushes your ear as he leans away.

“I won’t lie and say I’m not pleased by it. You have power over me, sweetheart, I hope you know that.”

Your breaths sharpen, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you bite down harshly trying to recenter your thoughts.

How could he say something like that so easily? As if it were in his nature to be so… devoted.

His gaze dips to your mouth, lingering there for a long moment before he smiles softly.

“How was work today?” He inquires, leaning back further, taking a few deep breaths, in what you can only assume is an attempt to calm himself.

It was great, you want to say, but the words won't come out with the way he's looking at you, as if you're his next meal, or his deity.

You can't decide.

“Omega?”

“Good.” You blurt, losing control of your thinking, did you even really have a good day? You don't have the brain power to remember.

You turn your head away, blinking, trying to… think. It was hard to focus on anything other than him, the way he was filling your head with primal static, the urge to obey, to succumb washing over you.

“I’m sorry,” You finally say, dropping your head into your hands, “being around you isn’t easy. It’s hard to control myself.”

You feel pressure in your throat, tears springing to your eyes, a dam on the brink of bursting.

His hand presses securely between your shoulder blades.

“Breathe,” He says calmly, you turn your head to find warm, encouraging eyes.

Oh, you think to yourself as you follow his instruction, breathing in softly, feeling those primal desires soften under the guidance of the very man causing them.

“There you go,” His voice makes your stomach flutter, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, little one.”

There he goes again, making you want him.

What would it cost, to reach up and kiss him? To press your fingers into his jaw while your mouths meet, to feel him like that, to exist with him in that way?

You let out a soft sigh, relaxing, living in that thought for a few moments.

When he’s sure you’re calm enough, he smiles.

“Now, let’s start over- was your day actually good?”

You feel amusement rise inside of you.

“Yeah,” you utter softly, “No one yelled at me, so I call it a win.”

He blinks, his expression turning sorrowful.

“People often yell at you?”

You nod.

“Customer service… is an excuse for small people to make someone else feel small.”

Something changes in his eyes, sorrow moulting into something else- his jaw tightening.

“I don't like the sound of that.” He admits.

You offer him a wry smile.

“That's just how things are, I guess. This is what I have to work with.” You stop yourself from complaining more, worried that it might upset him to hear the way people treated you, to hear them make derogatory comments, to question your intellect as if you'd personally inconvenienced them.

His hand moves from your shoulder, tracing its way up to the back of your neck, and then to the side, his thumb in perfect reach of your scent gland and your brain goes hazy at the thought.

Instead of your gland, his thumb reaches up to stroke the edge of your jaw calmly.

“What happens if someone is too aggressive? What's the protocol? Do you transfer them to a manager?”

You gulp, remembering one time that happened, you'd gotten reprimanded after.

“Yeah that's the protocol, but I think it's best if I solve the problem myself, and get approvals on my own. It's not usually good to waste my supervisor's time.”

His thumb gently stroking your cheek lulls you, fits you into a space where you feel safe to talk about these things.

“Does anyone at your job yell at you?”

“Not… yell,” you hesitate for a moment, enjoying his caress, “they're just… warnings. I'm- I try to do my best to avoid that.” You huff out a breath, “I guess I got yelled at once, when I first started, but not after that.”

You gulp, glancing at him, the soft fire in his eyes as he studies you, his thumb dipping, circling the spot right above your gland.

Your lips part, your mind begging you to reach out to him.

The car slows to a stop.

You take a deep breath, eyes widening when you scent the mixture of pheromones in the air, you might as well be begging him on your knees with how potent it was. It sort of surprised you that he was able to resist it.

You want to say something to him, anything to fill the silence that swarms in as your eyes meet his, but your brain is blissfully blank, not a single cohesive thought other than how badly you wanted him.

He gives you a patient smile.

“We’re here.” He says.

“Where?” You ask softly.

“Hotel,” He answers softly, “I rented a room so you can get dressed and meet me in the restaurant for dinner.”

Renting a room? On a second date?

“Oh…” You mumble, trying to figure out if you needed to clarify your boundaries for him again.

You don’t get the chance, the door opens and you have to busy yourself with stepping out instead of addressing your concerns.

He extends his hand for you to take, and you do so eagerly, aching even more when you feel his large hand interlocked with yours.

It’s almost like you’re his omega, walking beside him as he confidently guides you into the hotel, nodding at reception and heading straight to the elevators.

The doors close and you can feel your body throbbing. Was he expecting more from you than you were ready for?

“William?”

“Yes, Omega?”

You blink, looking up at him, unable to voice the words, the topic of conversation is too sensitive, the words can barely leave your mouth. Your mind races to find something else to ask.

“Do you- um- live around here?”

He tilts his head for a moment, maybe sensing your hesitation.

“Not really, I live close to where I work, home to office you know?”

You nod, smiling, before facing forward once more, a slither of discomfort in your spine.

You can feel his eyes on you, no doubt trying to read you while you debate whether this was a good idea or not.

When the doors slide open, he begins speaking again.

“I hired a stylist, to help, if that’s okay, I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” He guides you down a well lit hallway, and stops at a door before turning to face you.

“Is this okay? Or is it too much?” He questions softly, and you dip your head, unable to meet his eyes.

“It’s a bit much.” You mumble, looking down at your shoes.

He bends his body, smiling as he manages to fit his head into your line of sight, it pulls a small smile from you too.

“If you could bear with me, omega.” He whispers so softly that the words kick off a yearning need in your head, “I have a surprise that will hopefully make up for it.” 

You tilt your head up, and he moves, straightening his body to remain in your line of sight.

“Okay.” You surrender, trying to allow yourself to be swept up by him, even temporarily.

He gives you a pleased smile, hindbrain preening in response that you’ve made alpha happy. He turns, knocking on the door.

After a few moments, an omega with a kind smile opens the door. He introduces her as Maria, and you spare him one more glance before you step into the room, nodding when he says he’ll see you on the roof in two hours.

.

The elevator plays soft music as you travel upward, the sound of your own breathing heavy in your ear.

You weren't sure you'd picked the right dress, a little self conscious that you'd chosen something that might be too juvenile.

The strawberry dress had been too beautiful, your eyes had been drawn to it the moment you saw it, and no matter how hard you tried to convince Maria that it was a bad idea, she'd insisted that you picked the dress you most loved. 

You really did like it, the tulle and the colour, and the cut of the dress going so low that you'd skipped your bra and used boob tape to hold your cleavage in place.

You weren't sure how painful removal would be, Maria had suggested baby oil, you just hope you had some at home.

She'd fixed your hair into soft curls,  and she was really nice about what you liked and didn't, and by the end of it, she felt more like a friend helping you than a stylist being paid to do so.

The elevator doors open, and you cautiously step out. You take a deep breath through your nose, catching the faded scent of him, and following it.

Down a short hallway, and into a large open restaurant space. It was quiet, void of anyone, tables and booths empty.

You frown a little, confused as to why a restaurant this opulent would be closed. Sure, it was still daylight out on a weekday, but it didn't make sense to you on a business level.

The entire restaurant is surrounded by floor to ceiling windows, with a large pane of glass in the middle of the room, blurry with falling water.

The soft sound invites you, and as you get closer, You make out a wavy silhouette behind the glass.

You step around it, finding William facing the window, looking down at his phone.

He's dressed pristinely in a dark blue shirt, black pants and shoes, though the top buttons on his shirt are open, giving off a more casual vibe than his work shirt from earlier.

You watch him take a slow breath, and then lift his head in realisation, turning to look at you.

You smile at him as he turns, fitting his phone into his pocket in one swift moment, slowly approaching you.

He doesn't say anything, and you're too afraid to see repulsion in his eyes to keep looking at him, so instead you study his attire as well, admiring the way he looks, noticing the delicate silver chain shimmering around his neck as he moves.

He says your name, and you glance up at him with wide eyes as he stands before you.

He takes another slow breath, and raises a hand to push some of your hair away from your scent gland, the tips of his fingers just gently brushing it, eliciting an almost violent shiver of pleasure. 

“You look…” He lets out an amused breath, shakes his head slightly, “I can’t find the right word. Beautiful? Divine? Bewitching. Radiant...”

Delight bubbles inside of you until you can't resist a pleased smile.

“Thank you, Alpha, you look very nice too.”

When you say his title, you watch his eyes darken, his scent growing a little stronger in the space between you as his body calls out to yours.

You can feel it, the heat between you, the promise that he would take care of your every need no matter what.

“Hungry?” He asks, and you swear his words have a double meaning.

You nod, because you can't say it out loud, that you were starving, famished, not just for food but for the pleasure of his company, for the pleasure of him.

He guides you to the far end of the restaurant, towards a secluded corner, where there's a table waiting for you. 

You don’t get a chance to study the table because you’re distracted by a large… object covered in a velvet shroud. 

You walk around the object, preoccupied with it, turning to look at William with your eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“It’s my surprise,” He explains, stepping closer to you so that you can breathe him in, “I hope you like it.”

You look at it, the velvet shroud going up high, hanging precariously from the ceiling you think, one firm tug might bring it down.

When you look back at him, he’s got his eyes on you.

“When can I see what it is?” You ask eagerly.

He blinks, as if coming back to himself, glancing at the object as if he’s just remembered it.

“Take a step back,” He instructs, waiting until you comply to give another directive with a low voice.

“Close your eyes.”

Your heart pounds, excitement and anxiety war within you, the former winning over as you let your eyes close.

You hear footsteps, and then a tug, the sound of the shroud falling and the wind it generates as it does, caressing your face.

There’s a moment of silence, where your impatience fights you to open your eyes before he says, but you try your best to wait for William’s permission.

“You can open them now.”

You gasp in shock when you recognise what you’re looking at.

There’s so much gold, the painting glimmers in the light of the falling sun, you take a step forward, unsure of where to begin your examination. 

You tilt your head, studying the little flowers first, eyes roaming up to examine the clothing of the two subjects in the portrait, then the hands, the different colours, the flowers in her hair, the leaves in his.

A larger, male subject, pressing a kiss onto his lover’s cheek.

The Kiss, by Gustav Klimt.

“It’s beautiful, so much like the real one.” You murmur absentmindedly.

“It is the real one.” 

You pause, unable to register his words, before turning to him in shock, lips parted.

The alpha’s pleased expression grows into a smile.

“What do you mean this is the real one? The real one’s in Europe somewhere.”

He nods, as if to agree with you.

“Vienna, yes.”

You turn to examine the painting once more.

“...How?...Why?”

“I think you’ll find that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make your eyes glitter like they are right now.”

Me? You think in shock, looking away, down, towards the floor, unable to process the implications of his words.

He takes a step closer to you, catching your attention, you turn to him just as he reaches you. 

For a long moment, all you do is look into each other’s eyes. You take a slow breath, breathing in his citrus smell, the bergamot chasing after you.

You turn your head back to the painting, studying it while you feel his eyes on you.

“It’s gorgeous, Alpha, thank you.” You feel so much emotion, that it fills your throat and threatens to spill out.

Your lip wobbles, glancing up at him for a moment, and then turning away when you realise that he can probably see the tears in your eyes.

You feel his hand on your arm.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Why the tears?”

“It’s stupid, sorry.” You take a deep breath, sighing when he extends a handkerchief to you that you accept gratefully.

His hand moves, to wrap around your back, pulling you into his chest.

“Talk to me.” He whispers, his breath disturbing your hair.

“No one’s ever-” You let out a little laugh of delirium, “-No one’s ever done something so thoughtful for me.”

He hums, as though he understands, sympathizes with you, he wraps his arms around you, tucks your head into his chest.

His scent wraps around you, soothing you almost instantly, your eyes flutter shut as you register the beat of his heart below your ear.

“I just wanted to see you smile.” He says.

You do.

.

Dinner comes in a few moments later, and he guides you to the table just behind, with soft, comfortable chairs to settle into. He even checks in on your level of ease, inquiring about the brightness, and whether or not it was satisfactory. You smile softly, calmly reassuring him that the area was perfect, the tint on the windows keeping the intensity of the light low. Dim and comfortable, you can’t really ask for anything more.

The first course is a light broth, and you're a little confused that they brought this out without having you look at a menu.

It's definitely refreshing, to not have to struggle with a decision on what to eat, but you're not sure if to ask William about it, in case it's just some rich person custom that you're unfamiliar with.

In any case, this arrangement pleases you because it means you can stare at The Kiss in admiration while the sun sets, casting a soft orange glow around the room, enhancing the mostly gold painting.

“Will you tell me about it?” William asks, and you spare a shy glance at him.

He tilts his head in the direction of the painting. You swallow your food, gathering your thoughts to answer.

“It's inspired by the painter and his lover, it's one of the most popular paintings of an alpha and omega pairing. There was a… speculation that they were soulmates, but I'm not sure how true that is. Some people think that because the omega is turning away, that the kiss isn't consensual… but I don't think so, she seems… happy to me.”

“You don't think they were soulmates?”

You turn to William.

“Not really, I don't… believe in the soulmate theory.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“No?” He says curiously.

You shake your head.

“It's a little unreal to think that there’s some kind of perfect match for a person.” 

“It's not necessarily a perfect match like in the movies, it's a suggestion of… compatibility really.” He says.

You blink, studying his expression, wanting to express your disbelief that he would believe in something so farfetched but not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It's not even a perfect match, it's the way the theory specifically targets alpha and omega pairings. As if omegas aren't already bound by their biology enough, someone had to come up with an idea to hold us back even further by romanticising the concept of an alpha match.” You keep your tone calm, so that he understands you're not upset.

He tilts his head in contemplation.

“You don't like the idea of being with an alpha?”

You swallow.

“That's… not what I mean. I just don't like being forced into thinking that it's my only option in search of companionship.”

He makes a face of contemplation, seeming to understand where you were coming from.

Plus, it was a trick alphas had used with you in the past to encourage you to stay in toxic environments.

Don't give up on us, omega, we're soulmates, I can feel it.

You had been fooled before, it would not happen again.

William studies you for a long moment, and you gaze back evenly, before he smiles, tilting his head once more to lighten the mood.

“You make a good point, but still, I can’t help but point out the ways alphas are made for omegas, of course a pairing between them would be stronger.”

His words take you aback, it's the first time someone has ever made the comment that alphas are the ones made for omegas, usually they say it the other way around.

“Maybe…” You concede, unable to stop yourself from thinking about his words. You wonder for a brief moment if he was made for you.

It sends a warm feeling across your chest.

You turn your head, looking up at The Kiss.

“My past experience has made me skeptical about the entire theory, Alphas before have used it to keep me compliant.”

He lets out an audible breath, and when you turn your head to look at him, you find his fists curled and his head dipped low.

The scent of anger hits you, spicy in the air, like a mix between smoke and hot peppers.

“Alpha?” You whisper in concern, worried that his anger is directed toward you.

Tentatively, you reach out, fingers shaking slightly as you touch one of his clenched fists.

He relaxes the fist, turns his hand upward so that his palm is pressed upward into yours. Your palm tingles where you touch.

“Angry on your behalf, omega,” He tries to explain with a low voice, “You shouldn't have had to go through that.”

Realisation washes over you. The smell of his anger excites you now that you understand it's not directed at you.

You feel butterflies, you feel warmth, you suck in a deep breath to get some semblance of control over your hindbrain.

“Thank you, Alpha.” Your voice, almost a purr.

He blinks, studying you,  his eyes shifting from surprise to pleased as he realises the effect he has on you.

The sound of footsteps coming your way makes you draw back.

The second course is lobster pasta, creamy and delicious and you try extra hard not to make yourself messy while eating it.

“What do you think?” He asks between bites of his food.

You look up, eyes wide as he gazes back at you.

You swallow your food, thinking hard about what to say.

“I'm still skeptical about the soulmate theory, but maybe you're right that it does exist. Looking at the painting up close, you see that gold aura surrounding both of them? I think that's supposed to represent their bond. They loved each other, there's no question there.”

You watch a smile pull onto his perfect face.

“I meant the meal, sweetheart.”

Your face grows warm.

“Oh… It's good!” You look down at the plate shyly, “Yeah.”

He chuckles. 

“You're very cute when you're shy.”

You bite the edge of your lip, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He grins down at you and something warm settles in your stomach. You wanted to kiss him.

Maybe you could, maybe he would let you. 

In this beautiful dress you feel like you're not yourself, your insecurities washing away under his gaze. For the first time, you’re just an omega, enjoying the company of an alpha that you hope could be yours in time.

You think about being in his arms, the way he makes you feel, his ability to soothe you, the ways you hope he would sate you.

You suck in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before your pheromones give away your needy state of mind.

Should you take him up on his offer to be his Omega? Would it be possible to balance that? How would it even work?

“William?” You say softly.

He pauses his movements to look at you.

“Earlier- Maria called you ‘Billy’- made me wonder if you were friends?”

The corner of his lips pull into an affectionate smile, you try really hard not to worry about the other omega.

“Maria is mated to my brother, Frank. She owns a small salon on the east side, I thought she would help you feel comfortable.”

That's so thoughtful, you think.

“Yes, she was amazing, thank you.”

If this was a trap, then it was well set, you couldn't see a flaw, you didn't have any reason to think he could be like other Alphas.

“Everyone has called me “Billy” for as long as I can remember. My real name had never really appealed to me until I heard you say it.”

You give him a warm smile, your stomach fluttering at the privilege you didn't realize you had until now.

You wanted this so much that it terrified you. To be his Omega- what would it be like? To have unrestrained access to him, to be able to scent him as you please, to be scented in return.

He sucks in a sharp breath, leaning away, it catches your attention. Your eyes widen when you realise your pheromones are heavy in the air.

His eyes roll shut, he lets out a shaky breath, fingers curling because of you for the second time tonight.

It doesn't help, the look of him, barely restrained, fighting his nature with every ounce of self control only makes you want him more.

“I'm sorry.” You whisper, scared to break his focus.

He lets out a breath, a smile pulling the corner of his mouth. The look of leashed delirium in his eyes when he finally opens them.

“Don't be.” He responds, his voice so deep that it almost makes you shiver with how pleasing it sounds.

You suck in deep breaths too, to calm yourself, eyes drifting to the painting to let it distract you.

You certainly were a match, there was no question about it, the urge to tear at each other was there, the only thing holding you back was social etiquette, and your internal reservations.

The effect your heat must have had on him- you almost feel sorry for what you might have put him through. 

Dessert is a caramel drizzled pecan cookie, soft and chewy, the right amount of spices and sugar that makes you lick your fingers afterwards with the knowledge that it was the best cookie you've ever had.

You catch him looking at you with kind eyes and you try your best not to shy away from his gaze.

When you excuse yourself to the restroom, you try to look like you know where you're going, at least until you're out of his eyesight, and then you wander around the empty restaurant until you find a sign pointing you in the right direction.

You’re in one of the stalls when you hear loud voices and footsteps.

“-my god! That is literally the hottest Alpha I’ve ever seen in real life.” A first voice says, on the side of a little too high pitched for your sensitive ears.

“I knoooow,” The other person responds, “I would literally do anything he asked me to do.”

You pause, feeling a little strange to interrupt their obviously personal conversation by stepping out.

“I heard from Tim that he rented out the entire restaurant for the night just to impress some omega.”

Wait, were they talking about William?

You hear the stall next to you open and close, the taps turning on.

“No, I think they had to clear the restaurant for the night because of the painting and something about security.”

“Oh, that makes sense, the amount he must have paid to get all that done in one evening. God, I would jump him literally after dessert.”

You hear a groan, the sound of water as the taps turn on.

“I know right? I’ve been totally scenting the air in hopes that he gives me a second look. Nothing too obvious, only subtle enough for him. I really, really hope…”

The rest is unintelligible as the voices fade.

You wait a few more moments to make sure they’re really gone before you unlatch the door and step out.

It’s a lot of information to have overheard, and you’re not really sure what to think.

You step up to the sink, washing your hands methodically, reaching for a little towel to dry your hands, before looking up at your reflection in the mirror.

You smile at yourself, hindbrain preening that Alpha had gone through such lengths to capture and hold your attention. That maybe, Alpha wanted you, really really wanted you and no other omega would do.

He’s standing at the painting when you see him again, the table has been cleared, and you watch him as he focuses on the canvas in front of him.

He turns to look at you when he catches movement in his peripherals.

You’re very skittish to approach him, your mind spinning at a mile a minute, trying to both overthink and under simplify the actions you want to make.

The expression on your face must worry him, his eyebrows draw together as he studies you.

“Is everything alright?” He asks calmly, and you lift your head, studying his face of concentration.

You part your lips, trying to speak, no words able to leave your moving lips.

He dips his head, trying to make sense of the nothingness escaping you.

His scent fills your nose, the citrus, the bergamot, a very new touch of spice that pushes your hindbrain into desperation.

“Alpha.” You whisper softly, a touch of yearning in your voice, tilting your head up to press your lips to his.

It’s an instant, and total erasure of any higher thought. The way his mouth feels against yours, like something ancient and primal finding its way back to each other again. A familiarity that your mind and body has been searching for from the day you presented. 

It’s over too soon, even though it feels like it lasted forever. Time slows as you lean away, looking up at him, searching his eyes for any sign that you’ve made the wrong move, the ghost of his touch tingling at your lips.

You listen to the depth of his breathing, your heart hammering anxiously in your chest, awaiting his reaction. You catch a flare of his scent, the citrus notes deepening and your hindbrain eases your anxiety, a response that tells you that Alpha is pleased.

Finally, he makes a low hum, stepping forward, one arm winding around your back so that your bodies are pressed flush to each other.

“Omega.” He rumbles in response, fingers under your chin to tilt your head, guiding your mouth to his once more.

His mouth is insistent, pressing back, meeting every move of your desire with a response of his own. He moans, his warm breath on your tongue as the kiss grows into something… more.

Losing yourself, your hands cling to his shoulders, finding balance as you rise onto your toes, desperate to taste him, to feel the ache of yearning ease with each move of his mouth.

His lips are soft, sinful, you can feel his barely restrained movements, his hand gliding to grip the back of your neck, trapping you in place as if you could ever think about departing from his embrace.

Your scent gland tingles, spilling your need into the air, your body trying its best to entice him.

His mouth grows more insistent, demanding, and you find yourself responding, lips parting, tongue reaching out to gently graze along his bottom lip. 

His hold on you tightens, fingers gripping your hip deliciously, desire pooling low in your stomach in response.

Both of his hands cup your face, kisses slowing as if he's trying to find the strength to stop but unable to.

You smile into the kisses, each one more meaningful than the last, until finally he pauses, looking down at you with a pleased expression on his face.

His thumb glides along your lips, the scent of both your desires intermingling heavily in the air.

“I take it then, that you don't want me to leave you alone after this?” 

You huff out a laugh, almost rolling your eyes.

He grins too, before leaning in to get one more kiss.

“Maybe,” you murmur softly, “Maybe I don't.”

He hums in agreement, dipping his head, unable to stop himself from getting yet another kiss.

Your heart feels so full in your chest, it feels like you're going to burst with the flood of emotion. He doesn't push you into anything, avoids touching your scent glands though you know you both want him to. You can feel his fingers tightening their grip on your cheek and jaw, trying their hardest not to wander.

His scent grows more potent in the room, and by the time you leave, the betas in the restaurant are giving him their largest doe eyed stares.

It's a shame for them that he barely spares them a glance, his hand settled on the small of your back to put you at ease by making you feel protected.

His scent overwhelms you in the car, but you've been aching and wet for a while and you've just kind of gotten used to the discomforts of unresolved desire. You know without a doubt that you're going to have to relieve this ache inside of you by yourself tonight, and it's definitely going to be his name on your tongue the entire time you do it.

You take a long look at him beside you, and you wonder if he would be doing the same.

Tucked into his side, it's easy to tilt your head up, and press your nose to his scent gland, breathing him in, hearing him groan in response, your body tingling.

He doesn't stop you, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip hard to stop yourself from kissing the spot on the base of his neck.

It's surreal, the time you spend with him, that when he stops at the wrong building, it's like a punch to the gut.

This is where you'd lied and told him you lived… because you were ashamed of your real address.

“Can I walk you to your door?” He asks politely, warm reassurance in his eyes that he simply wants to make sure you're safe.

“No.” You answer hastily, smiling in an attempt to put him at ease, “I'm alright, thank you.”

You glance down at your strawberry dress, anxiety filling you at the thought of being seen in something like this, that it might catch attention you didn't want.

“It's cold outside, do you want my coat?”

You blink up at him in surprise.

He gives you a teasing smile, reaching for a garment on the seat in front of him, producing a familiar coat and extending it to you.

You swallow, accepting the coat on autopilot, face heating as you remember the things you did with this coat during your last heat.

You bring it up to your nose, hindbrain in control, taking a slow inhale of his scent.

Fuck, it was delicious. Your mouth waters as you meet his dark eyes.

“Thank you, Alpha.” You purr, sliding the coat on, over your dress, watching his eyes darken further at the sound of your voice.

He reaches up, trapping a lock of your hair between his fingers, twisting it, tugging on it gently as his hand slides down.

He looks like he’s deep in thought, but you’re just not sure about what.

“Goodnight, Omega.” He finally says, after a few moments of silence.

Stepping out of the car, leaving him behind, your limbs grow heavy with protest the further away you get from him.

When you make it into the building, you finally see his SUV drive away.

.

There’s an ache to leaving you behind that leaves Billy both confused and captivated.

He lets out a slow breath, sinking into the seat, head tipped back. 

Keeping himself in check had been the most difficult thing he’d ever experienced. To look at you, was to want you, and to want you, was to need you. Every look, every touch, every smile on your mouth was a lesson in self control. 

He was unbelievably afraid of scaring you away, that his control would slip, and his desires would show, and they would terrify you into leaving.

The ways he wanted you, the ways he thought about you. He lets out a soft groan, tugging at his shirt to get himself more air, but all he can smell is you.

He wants the feel of your bare hips in his hands, the taste of your skin in his mouth, his lips over your scent gland, your pitiful little whines filling his ears as he takes his time with you, discovering every way one human can make another fall apart, so that he can put you back together again.

Thoughts, that were maybe too insane to be thinking after a second date. Thoughts that would make you run if you knew just how close he’d been to actually carrying them out. No Omega, had ever made him hurt with the fear of rejection quite like this before.

That solid ache in his chest to be in your presence was only getting stronger, and then you'd kissed him.

He lifts a hand, pressing it to his mouth, remembering the way your lips had felt, the way your scent had sweetened. He resists a groan, your scent calling out to him like a beacon in the dark.

With his eyes closed, he could feel a pull, drawing him in the opposite direction of where he was going.

His apartment is lonely. The silence is loud, the smell is all wrong. He fits himself into his single sofa chair, large enough that his pretty Omega could fit herself into the space beside him, or on top of him if she’d like. He sips on the whiskey in his hand, an attempt to ease his nerves, to make the wrongness of his place feel a little less so.

He lets the silence fill him, wonders what you’re doing, thinks about texting you. He opens his phone and sees all his sent messages.

Billy hesitates.

Maybe he should wait, let you reach out this time, whenever you were ready. 

Puts his phone down, thinks about you more, groans when he catches your scent on his clothes.

It hurt to wait. It made his chest burn with the notion that he couldn’t just reach out to you, because you might draw back.

He presses a hand to his chest, tries to take a deep breath and be patient.

The whiskey is almost finished when he feels his phone vibrate.

He picks it up, and smiles.

.

.

.

[lovemybluebully]

A Small Lapse of Judgement

What do you get when you cross a drunk Wolverine? Tickled. You get tickled. 🤣

Okay, yeah sorry guys. This one is literally like twice as long as my last one, but Logan and Wade both needed to get wrecked good. lol I'm just having too much fun writing these guys. So get some snacks or something because you're going to be here for a minute.

More somewhat movie spoilers, and Wade saying inappropriate things to Logan's annoyance. lol Oh, and of course tons of cussing. And tickles. Lots of tickles.

"Deadpool and Wolverine"-verse

ler!Wade/Deadpool x lee!Logan/Wolverine

ler!Logan/Wolverine x lee!Wade/Deadpool

M/M Tickle Fic

Word Count: 4,372

At first Logan had declined Wade's invitation to live with him at his apartment. Having been on his own for so long Logan didn't want to accept the fact that anyone actually wanted him around, but after Wade's persistent prodding and convincing he finally accepted.

"Yes!! It'll be like a sexy slumber party!" Wade had whooped, but one steely-eyed look from Logan made him turn it down, "Ahem. Or, you know, just two guys hanging out together with no lewd activities of any kind...."

No doubt Wade pushed Logan's buttons and got on his nerves more than anyone he had ever met in his life, but after their ordeal together there was no denying the bond that had been created between the two of them. It was hard for him to admit it, but Wade was definitely someone Logan now considered as a friend.

Surprisingly he settled in quickly and had begun to make himself comfortable, allowing him to let his guard down and actually relax for once. It was only a one-bedroom apartment so even though he had to sleep out on the couch every night he was grateful to have a place to call home.

And Wade was thrilled to have him there. Unlike his other roommate, Blind Al, Logan was progressively becoming more tolerant of his off the wall antics so it was nice to have someone else there that he could really joke around with. And drink with, though Logan still tended to embark on some solo day drinking of his own.

Wade shuffled into the living room in his crocs one late evening with Dogpool cradled in his arm to find Logan slouched over on the couch in nothing but jeans and a tank top and a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Further observation revealed there to be two more empty bottles laying around on the ground by his feet.

"Hey. Robert Downey Jr. Wanna take it easy on the booze?"

Logan lazily looked up at him, rolling his eyes when he saw Wade was allowing the dog to lick all over his face.

"I will once ya take it easy on always making out with that mutt."

Wade stared at him in defiance as he continued to kiss Dogpool's head while she licked all around his mouth, making Logan grimace in disgust before Wade set her down upon the ten-sizes-too-big dog bed he had bought for her.

"You know if you were jealous all you had to do was ask, baby girl. There's plenty of Wade Wilson to go around," he leaped onto the couch beside Logan and puckered his lips, making smooching sounds as he tried to pull the other man close while Logan cursed and struggled to hold him back.

"Hey hey! Fucking knock it off, asshole!" Despite his annoyance he chuckled a little with the alcohol lightening his mood and after a few more seconds Wade finally relented to sit himself back.

"You can fight it all you want, but I know you'll come around one day. There's no resisting my natural labido," Wade sat facing him as he gave a wink and a flirty grin, causing Logan to sigh with a shake of his head and take another sip from the bottle.

"See this is exactly why I still drink. I need something to help tolerate your obnoxious ass on a daily basis."

"Fine by me. It has its benefits. Number one being that you're so much less stabby when you're like this," Wade teased, wiggling a finger into his side as Logan squirmed and giggled before swatting at his hand with boozed up coordination.

"Why are ya always tickling me? I hate that shit," Logan was still smiling though as he rubbed at his irritated ribs.

"Because," Wade smiled and turned to look out at the audience before whispering quietly under his breath, "The people demand it."

He sat staring in silence for several seconds until Logan lifted a brow in confusion.

"The fuck you looking at?"

"Nothing," Wade turned back to him, "Well it's because I have to make you laugh somehow, grumpy pants. You're always so serious, and worst of all you never laugh at my jokes."

"Oh yeah? Have ya tried actually being funny?"  A big shit eating grin was plastered on Logan's face as he instinctively pulled his arms in close to his body, not expecting Wade to let that one slide.

"Ooh hoo hoo, you're going to pay for that one later. You know what, smart ass? Maybe I'll tickle you in front of Laura. I'm sure she'd love to help me double team you sometime. A little badger on badger action, if you will." 

It was Wade's turn to smirk as Logan just looked back at him with nervous eyes that he tried to hide behind the scowl now creasing over his face.

"You'd better fuckin' not."

"I don't know. It's sounding like a pretty good idea to me. Usually I have to pay to see that kind of thing but-"

Logan growled as his claws started to come out, but Wade just laughed and wagged a finger at him.

"Ah ah ah! Rule number one, no bloodshed in the house. So best keep those claws of yours in check, my little kitty cat."

"Just don't give me a reason then," Logan warned, retracting the claws before his eyes raised to focus on Wade's head, "By the way, how long are ya gonna keep wearing that stupid toupee? I already told you that you ain't foolin' anyone with that thing."

Wade looked positively insulted as he patted and smoothed down the hair on his head.

"Uhmm excuse me? As I've told you a thousand times, it's a hair system. It's so I can go out in public looking halfway decent. Not all of us were blessed with the perfect bone structure of a successful Broadway actor," turns his head briefly to look at the camera, "And besides, I think it looks quite distinguished."

"I've seen better looking roadkill than whatever that thing's made out of," Logan snorted and downed the rest of the bottle in his hand before dropping it on the floor beside the other empty bottles.

"Says the guy who looks like he has roadkill glued to the sides of his face," Wade gave a less than gentle tug on his muttonchops as Logan grunted and smacked his hand away.

"Oh yeah? Well at least I can grow facial hair, pal. You on the other hand don't have a speck of hair on your whole goddamn body. You're like a fucking pre-pubescent child. This is what a real man looks like," a tipsy smirk crawled across his face as he nonchalantly pulled up his tank top to show off his hairy chest and stomach.

He emphasized his point by running a hand over his hirsute, muscular torso while Wade just stared very, very hard.

"........Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it's working," Wade was smiling deviously and reaching a hand out as Logan chuckled dryly and gave him a hard shove, sending him flying to the other end of the couch, "Just so you know, I'm adding that one to the spank bank."

"You fucking wish, bub. Think ya got a better chance with that ugly ass dog of yours," he nodded over towards the sleeping pooch while tugging his shirt back down. 

It was rare to see such a repulsed look on Wade's face as the man always seemed to be down for whatever but apparently messing with the dog was where he drew a line.

"Woah woah, that's just going too far now. You need therapy, my friend."

"Oh please. I forgot you were the fucking poster child for mental stability," Logan muttered as he lifted his legs to prop his bare feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

"Heyheyhey! What in the ever-living fuck do you think you are doing? That's where we cut up our Bolivian nose candy-"

"I thought Feige said ya can't talk about that."

"Well what Feige doesn't know won't hurt him. Now let's go. Chop chop. Feet off the table, bud," Wade scolded and kicked Logan in the leg as the man rolled his eyes and begrudgingly pulled his feet down.

"You are such a fucking caveman. That table is an antique. Furniture crafted from the finest-OOof!" Wade grunted in pain as Logan dropped his feet onto his lap with his heel coming down hard onto his groin, "Uh uh nope. Not happening. Feet off the Deadpool too." 

"Well I gotta put 'em somewhere. What? Offended that ya weren't my first choice? Be flattered I finally found a good use for you," Logan smirked big time at the genuine outrage that now displayed on Wade's face.

"What the fuck do you mean?! You've seen what a phenomenal cook I am!"

"Almost burned down the apartment."

"I'm the king of late-night karaoke!"

"Got the cops called on us three times already."

"Well I'm good at making friends everywhere I go."

"I had to beat the shit out of all those bikers to get them off of you. Not to mention you almost got us banned from my favorite bar, you dumb fuck."

Wade started to pout from Logan shooting down all of his claims, but was quickly back to grinning as he thought of something that Logan couldn't possibly argue against.

"Okay, you know what? You wanna see something I'm good at? I'll show you something I'm very good at," Wade smirked and grabbed ahold of Logan's legs, securing his ankles in one arm as he began ruthlessly tickling the bottoms of his feet.

Logan lost any sense of calm he had as he immediately broke into a hysterical laughing fit, figuring out too late that he had made a huge mistake. There weren't many things in life that could get the Wolverine to lose his cool, but Wade Wilson the Tickle Monster never failed.

"Baahahahahahaha! Wahahahahade, dohohohon't!! Okaahaahaahaay! I'll mooohoohoove 'em!!"

Logan was far too buzzed to pull his usual act of fighting back his reactions and trying to pretend that he wasn't as horribly sensitive as he really was. Not that any of that ever discouraged Wade since he knew he'd always get him to crack eventually.

"Nah, that's okay. You just keep them right where they are, Giggles. Maybe this'll teach you some manners. Or not, that's okay too. I wouldn't want to run out of excuses to do this....," he scratched at the soles with Logan going nuts and frantically pulling at his captured legs while Wade's arm only squeezed tighter around them to ensure he wouldn't escape.

"Stahahahaaap, ya dihihihick! Fuhuhuhuckin' lehehehehe-lehehet me gohohohohooo!"

"What's that? Aww did you forget your safe word again? So confusing. How do I know if you really want me to stop or not?" The merc teased with his fingers scribbling at Logan's arches as the X-man's laughter surged in volume.

"Fuhuhuhuhuck you! Aaaheheeheeheehee nohohoho! Waahaait! I'm sohohohohorry!" He howled with tears already in his eyes as Wade found the weak spots under his toes; his body twisting and flopping around as he braced his arms on the couch in his clumsy attempts to get free.

Wade always enjoyed when Logan was in this state. Not only was he a lot less homicidal than if he was sober but he wasn't nearly as uptight and didn't even fight the tickles as hard. He practically just rolled over and took it and didn't hold much back. 

He suspected that Logan didn't hate being tickled nearly as much as he made out and loved to tease him about it much to the older man's insistent denial of the fact. It's likely that Logan would rather die than ever admit something like that.

Wade then cleared his throat and began to speak in his best exaggerated Australian accent.

"Crikey mate! Here we have the Wolverine. Best known for its violent tendencies and natural ability to be a complete jackass. When confronted by a stronger and more powerful predator it begins to make the most adorable snorting sounds that are meant as a sign of his submission. Let's listen in, shall we?"

Logan had been belting out uncontrollable snorts all throughout his laughter and it was one of Wade's favorite things to poke fun at him for.

"Shhh-Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup! You're sohohohoho fuhuhucking stuhuhuhupid!"

"Oh, I'm fucking stupid? Who's the one making all the little piggy noises, Wilbur? Speaking of piggies....," Wade smirked as he started to play with his toes again, "This little piggy was an alcoholic....This little piggy was always so mean to his friend, Wade.....This little piggy talked shit about sweet little Dogpool....This little piggy..."

"Fuhuhuhuhuuuck! Alrihihihihight I gihihihive uhuhup! Haahahahaah! No-No mohohohore!" Logan had managed to pull a foot free and was now kicking Wade in the back as hard as he could, which wasn't very hard at all due his weakened state from laughing so much.

"No more? No MORE? Sorry, sweet cheeks. But I've got plenty more," Wade then threw his foot aside as he turned and dove onto Logan's prone form to now attack his very ticklish stomach, "That was for treating me like an object! This is for saying I'm not funny!"

Wade snickered with glee as the feral man expelled a less than manly squeal of giggles and immediately curled into a protective ball, though all attempts to evade were useless. Deadpool was positively relentless.

"Nooooohohohohohoo nohohohot thehehehehere! Okahahaay you're funny! You're fuhuhuhuhuhunnyyyyyaaahahahahahaaStaahahahahahaaap!"

"Oh sure! All of a sudden I'm just magically funny now! Don't insult my intelligence! You can't bullshit a bullshitter!" Wade managed to get his hands underneath Logan's shirt, raking his fingers up and down his bare stomach and forcing him to dissolve into a lengthy, mirthful wheeze.

"Why are you so ticklish? Is it part of your mutation? A result of a Weapon X experiment gone horribly wrong? Talk, damn you! I need answers!"

Not that Wade actually expected him to answer, but Logan was laughing entirely too hard and fighting it even less. He had his head thrown back in hysterics that exposed his oversized canines, writhing feebly while tears were leaking down his reddened cheeks.

It was a sight to see the normally powerful X-man rendered helpless from such a soft touch, but it just goes to prove that healing factors and big muscles were completely useless against a tickle attack.

Wade would have loved to keep tickling him all night, and he knew the man technically could take it with the high amount of stamina he possessed, but it was time to let him go now and save it for another time. Logan had been a good sport, and he didn't want to push it too far.

Pulling his hands back he now stood triumphantly hovering over the still giggling and plastered Wolverine, who kept his body all curled up in case the crazy merc decided to come for him again.

"Are you sure you're the Wolverine of legends? I mean, this isn't exactly what I had pictured. If I hadn't personally seen you in action then I'd have some serious doubts," he smirked as Logan finally relaxed and slowly splayed out on the couch.

"Heehehehe-That's the worst Wolverine to you, bub. You-hehehee-fucking suck," Logan continued to giggle as he struggled to fight off the dizzying high of the combined tickle assault mixed with the alcohol in his bloodstream. Wade was pleased to see he hadn't soured his mood.

"But do I swallow is the real question? Hehehe, sorry, I couldn't help myself. Now did you learn your lesson, you drunken idiot?"

Logan regained some sense of focus as he slowly sat up and looked up at Wade with the most cocky grin.

"Of course not. Gonna take a lot more than that, fucker."

"Do not tempt me, Peanut. I showed you mercy this time, but I cannot guarantee this next round I will be as charitable," Wade smirked and cracked his knuckles, surprised to see Logan lean back onto the couch with his arms folded behind his head.

"Pffft. You don't fuckin' scare me. You can do your worst. Though I'm sorry to say you're not gonna get the chance. Ya wanna know why?"

"Why?" Wade practically demanded with his hands on his hips.

"That's why." Logan lifted a hand to point behind Wade as the merc whirled around to confront what may have got the drop on him and found.....nothing. Nobody.

"Wait a minute.....did I really just fall for the oldest trick in the bo-AAAHCK!" Wade let out a scream as he was pounced from behind by a playfully growling Wolverine and landed hard on his stomach with his face hitting the floor. He had seriously misjudged the other man's current ability to fight back.

"Heheh, you really are a fucking idiot. Now let's see how you like this shit...," Logan immediately dug into Wade's ribs from where he sat perched on his back and was more than thrilled by the scream that ripped out of the merc's mouth. He knew there was no way a loudmouth like Wade wouldn't be ticklish.

"Nohohooo Logan wahahahahaait! Ahahaheeheehehehehe! You cahahahan't tihihihickle meheheee! I'm-I'm the 'ler! Nohohot yooooou!"

"The what? What the hell are ya talkin' about now?" Logan didn't let up though while Wade tried to sputter out an explanation.

"The cohohohommunity! Ihihihit's a thihihiing! I g-guess tehehehechnically I'm a swihihihihitch buhuhuhut stihihill!"

Logan raised his brows, looking more confused than before as he ended up just shrugging it off and shaking his head.

"Nevermind. I really don't wanna know. Now shut up and laugh, asshole," Logan's big hands ran up and down his sides, squeezing his waist and making it back up into his armpits as Wade flailed and shrieked and desperately tried to clamp his arms down.

Logan couldn't help but laugh at Wade's reactions with how he had barely started in on him yet.

"Geez. Have ya really been this fucking ticklish this whole time? Looks like we've got some time to make up for," his fingers fluttered around under Wade's arms, producing wild cackles as he wriggled like a worm and tried to scoot across the floor.

"Get off get off! Nooohahahahahaha! I'm nohohohohot tihihihicklish! I'm nohohohohohohot!"

"Well if you're not ticklish then all this shouldn't be botherin' ya, right? Or do you prefer me stabbin' ya better?" Logan smirked as he used the three middle fingers on each hand to simulate his claws as he repeatedly poked at Wade's ribcage with rapid fire speed, "Hehe, now you're dead."

"Gaahaahahahahaha!! Nohohohohot the clahahahahaws! Mehehehehercy!" Wade begged, trying to reach behind him to smack Logan's hands away. Spoiler alert, it didn't work.

"Mercy? Ha! That's a fuckin' good one. Hey, whaddya know. I guess you are funny after all. Hehehe, tickle tickle tickle, fuckface."

Wade's hysterics were increasing in volume by the second and Logan snorted in amusement at the thought that they might get the cops called on them for a suspected murder happening in the apartment.

"Holy shit. Keep it down, will ya? You're gonna wake the-"

"What in the name of Satan's asshole is that horrible noise?!?!" Blind Al shouted in annoyance as she wandered into the room and nearly tripped over the two men roughhousing on the floor.

"Blind Al! Blind Ahahahahal! Hehehehelp mehehehehe!" Wade screamed as he managed to roll over underneath Logan and reach out a desperate hand towards his elderly roommate.

"You're such a dick. Ya know ya don't have to emphasize that she's blind all the time, ya inconsiderate moron," Logan rolled his eyes with a smile as he now had better access to Wade's ribs and stomach and dug right in.

"Baahahahah-Buhuhuhut thahahat's her nahahahahame! B-Becahahahause she's blihihihind! Gehehehet ihihit?!"

The older woman's lips pursed with disdain.

"Please keep torturing him. I will sleep good tonight knowing that stupid motherfucker is suffering," she gently patted Logan on the shoulder as she turned around and made her way out of the room.

"You got it, boss lady," Logan nodded with a smirk and scratched furiously at Wade's stomach, easily avoiding the flailing hands trying to stop him.

"Blihihihihind Al! Aahahhahahha! You trahahahaahaahaitor! Ahahahafter ahahall I've d-dohohohone for yooohoou!"

"Maybe you could gag his bitch ass too," she yelled back over her shoulder, making Logan chuckle.

"She's got a point. You're loud as fuck. Always makin' fun of how I snort while you're over here shrieking like a fuckin' little girl."

With that, Wade was struck with inspiration as he thought of a way to get Logan to stop.

"Yehehehes! Oh yehehehes Lohohohogan! Dohohohn't stop! Th-Thahahat's ihihihit! Tihihihickle me! Tihihickle mehehehe untihihihil I pahahahass ouhohout!" Wade pretended to moan between his laughs as he put his hands flat against the floor to demonstrate that he had no intention of preventing the tickling, though it was a major struggle for him to keep them there.

Logan tilted his head as he stared down at Wade in bemusement.

"Can't tell if you're tryin' to psyche me out into stopping, or if you really do like it that much. I wouldn't put it past ya to actually enjoy being tickled. Not the weirdest thing about you. Either way, if ya say not stop then I won't," Logan smirked and proceeded to tickle him even harder as he kneaded into his hips.

"Noooooohohohoooo! Okaahahaay! I lihihihied! I cahahahan't tahahahahake it! Pleasepleaseplease stooohahahahoooop!" Wade squealed and kicked his legs around and uselessly tried to grab at the other man's wrists to pry him off.

"Now was that really a lie? Are ya sure it wasn't an educated wish?" Logan loved to bring that stupid shit up every once in a while, knowing it would get under Wade's skin.

"So fuhuhuhunny I forgohohot to lahahahaugh, ahahahasshole! Nohohow gehehet off meeeheeheeheee! You fuhuhuhucking mahahahade yohohohour point!" 

Logan was about to make another quip when he heard loud barking and turned his head to see Dogpool come flying over the back of the couch towards them in superhero slow-motion.

She then rushed in to grab Wade by the hair as she pulled with all of her tiny body weight trying to free him.

"Yehehehes! Mary Puhuhuhuppins! Saahahahave pa-pa! Thaahahahat's it!"

"Yeah.....that dog weighs like eight pounds. Hehehe, don't think you're getting away from me just yet, bub," Logan snickered as he dragged Wade closer and plunged his fingers into his armpits, earning another shriek as the merc futilely clamped his arms down and thrashed even harder.

"Looohohohogaaan staaahahahahahahap! I'm-I'm sohohohohoh glahahad to seeheehee-ahahahahhah-see yohohou ehehehembrace thihihis sss-sihihide of you buhuhuhut-AAAAHH! FUHUHUHUCK!!"

A loud ripping sound was heard as Logan looked up in wonderment to see Wade with a hand gripped to his now bald head as Dogpool stood there with his whole hair piece in her mouth.

Logan couldn't help it. The sight of Wade laying there with those fucking staples sticking out of his head and the dog now gnawing on his toupee like a chew toy was just too comical.

He started to laugh. Really laugh. Laughing too damn hard to keep tickling Wade as he literally fell over, holding his sides while his whole body shook in uncontrollable guffaws.

Wade was finally able to sit up as he glared at his hysterical friend, but he had a smile on his face too.

"Really?! That's what makes you laugh?! You seeing me getting hurt is funny to you? Pretty fucked up, you sado," he pretended to sound annoyed, but really he was anything but. It was rare to see Logan laugh like this besides when Wade was tickling him half to death so he'd let him have this for the moment.

Still he had to strike back somehow for this indignity.

"Puppins attack! Kill, my little munchkin! Kill!" Wade shouted as the dog rushed towards the fallen man and jumped onto him. But Dogpool didn't have a mean bone in her body and only knew how to attack with love as she affectionately licked Logan's face much to his aversion.

"Blech! Wahahade! Gehet your dohohog!" He bellowed as he continued to laugh, but other than trying to shield his face with his arms he didn't do much to stop her.

"Okay okay, come here, sweetie pie. Lets get you away from the bad man who tried to kill your pa-pa," Wade reached over and pulled her off of him, setting her into his lap.

Logan finally fought down the giggles as he sat up to find Wade staring longingly at the destroyed toupee in his hand. He kind of felt bad for the guy and thought he should offer some words of encouragement.

"Yeah, that thing's fucked. Big time. But hey, I think you look better without it," he nodded, using his shirt to wipe off his face as Wade gave him a genuine smile.

"You're only saying that because you're drunk," the merc teased back as Logan shrugged in response and grinned broadly.

"You're probably right. I wouldn't touch ya with a ten foot pole."

"That's okay. I don't mind doing all the touching...," Wade gave him a quick squeeze on the side as Logan snorted and lurched away from his reach and got to his feet.

"Don't fucking start that again. I'd say we're even now. Besides, you don't wanna fuck with me now that I know how damn ticklish you are. It's a stalemate. We can put this all behind us and move on. Now if ya don't mind I'd like to get some sleep," he waved the other man away as he grabbed some blankets off the back of the couch to set up his sleeping area.

Wade just smirked as he began walking out of the room with Dogpool in his arms.

"Silly silly Wolvie. I'm not sure you realize the implications of your actions. But I'm afraid this is far from over. You, my friend, have just started a war."

Logan's face fell as he only stared back at Wade in wide-eyed silence.

"Nighty night, Peanut. Sweet dreams," Wade smirked devilishly, waving with wiggling fingers as he flicked off the light switch on the wall.

[ronwestbreeze]

you're gonna go far | 10

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human! reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. word count: 3.9k

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You eventually decided to forget your body for now and leave it to Norm to take care of it. All you were focusing on was burying yourself further into work.

Which included going back to tending to your garden by planting and replanting a few seeds and veggies. Then there was checking up on the baby who was bound to be due soon, you’d spend the last few hours of the day with her until eventually, you forced yourself to sleep in the Avatar Compound.

That was your schedule throughout the next couple of days. Along with that, you took on more work to distract yourself such as restocking more link shacks and taking care of the land along with the other avatars. It was one of the many deals the humans made with the People in exchange for letting them stay instead of going into exile. It kept you busy whenever you didn’t need to tend to your garden. Any free time that you happened to have would’ve been filled up with something else to keep you busy.

The only peace you got was at the end of the day when you were in the tank room.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone, little one.” You said to her the first night you returned to Hell’s Gate. “I was unfortunately a bit distracted. But now I’m here and I’m never leaving you that long again. That is, until you’re born of course.”

There was a subtle shift in the stomach, bringing you a slight sense of comfort that she still remembered your voice. You didn’t know why it was comforting though. You wouldn’t be the one to hold her in the end. You probably wouldn’t be able to see her much once she was with her rightful parents…

Stop—stop.

Then there was foraging.

You enjoyed wandering around the forest to both discover new things and become well acquainted with the familiar routes. Going to your mother’s grave, finding the shack you had been trapped in, and even venturing further out just to see what was out there. Things you’ve missed.

It would’ve been nice if there was some comfort to all of it. But it made you forget. Made you think less. That was enough for now.

Until you eventually had to return to the clan’s base for Mo’at’s checkups. And not wanting to anger the Tsahik, you went anyway despite your reservations about it. All you could do was pray you didn’t run into Jake during the short visit.

So when you saw Tsu’tey with his brother inside her hut, you were strangely relieved which quickly made your stomach churn at the very thought.

His brother, Arvok, noticed you first as Mo’at was working on his abdomen. Surprisingly, he offered a white yet tired smile your way, “Ah, my savior the dreamwalker! I thought I was dreaming before.”

He ended up sitting up a bit as he spoke but Mo’at forced him to lie back down, “Hold still.”

“No need to thank me. It was nothing.” You mumbled, face impenetrably impassive.

“Nothing?! I heard you died because you saved me. How is that nothing?” Arvok sat up a little again only for his head to be forced back down by an irritated Tsahik.

You tried not to acknowledge the younger male’s words. Tsu’tey watched you for a beat before nudging Arvok’s shoulder gently, “Mawey, tsmukan.”

Not bothering to try and understand what he had said, you muttered again, this time sternly, “As I said, it was nothing—frankly, you should be more worried about yourself and the person who stabbed you.” Finding the new topic, you quickly steered the conversation in that direction. “By the way, who injured you in the first place—”

“That is none of your concern,” Tsu’tey said simply with his face somewhat screwed into his usual scowl.

You nodded expectantly, “Yeah, I thought so.”

Arvok then nudged his arm, hissing at him in  Na’vi. Tsu’tey didn’t appear happy but spoke again, “It is clan business. Something that you should not concern yourself with. You have been too involved enough as it is.”

“Ha!” Mo’at huffed earning a glare from the Olo’eyktan. She did not offer more and continued tending to Arvok.

“Well,” You frowned, clenching and unclenching your hands. By then you realized you were still standing while the other three were much closer to the ground. “I did get poisoned by this clan business but you’re right. I suppose it is none of my concern.”

At this, Mo’at finally stood and scowled at the two of you—more specifically Tsu’tey, “If this is how your interactions will be during this time, then I must ask you to leave and come back when you are ready to speak with her correctly.” She gestured for Arvok to sit up—albeit slowly—and dismissed him, “You must continue resting. It will be a long while before you can hunt again.”

“Yes, Tsahik.” With a grumble, Arvok slowly pushed to his feet, the wince clear on his youthful features. But he looked better. Better than you had expected someone to have been stabbed to look. Then again, Mo’at must’ve been working on him while you had been unconscious—dead—so he had time to get better.

He held his abdomen gingerly as he walked past you, sending you a quick nod before he finally left. “You!” At that, your attention turned back to Mo’at who was now pointing at the spot Arvok had been, “Sit. Now.”

Obediently you sunk to the floor and allowed Mo’at to start her work on you. Tsu’tey surprisingly didn’t leave and just lingered in the background much to your dismay. But your body wasn’t tense because of his presence. You were constantly glaring at the doorway, waiting for him to show up at that point, waiting with your guard up, waiting for yet another fight with that damned asshole.

“You shouldn’t be putting so much strain on this arm. You should be resting as well, let yourself get adjusted to your new body.” Mo’at instructed sternly as she applied new green mush to your arm.

You winced, both at the subtle sting in your arm and the easy way she mentioned your transference. As if it was another day. You couldn’t tell whether that pissed you off or made you quite relieved that at least someone was making a huge deal out of it. You’d already cried everything out of your system. Now you just wanted to allow yourself to feel numb.

Just until everything came back up again. If it ever would.

In the corner of your eye, Tsu’tey shifted onto the mat further behind you.

Mo’at pressed her hand against your arm, “Have you buried your former body yet?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “Why are you asking me that now?”

“Some questions will be hard to answer. It is the way of life.” She replied easily as she began unwrapping the bandage on your shoulder. “But it is okay to not be ready. Are you not read, dreamwalker?”

“Sure.” It was all you offered.

You left the body to Norm now. You made him swear not to tell you where he planned on putting it. And you were okay with that.

You were fine—you were fine—you were fine—

Eventually, after enduring a long silence—which you were quite comfortable with—Mo’at finished and stood. You moved to get up as well but she pressed her hand down on your shoulder and shook her head, “You speak with Olo’eyktan first. Then you leave.”

With that, she stepped out of the hut and you, after great reluctance, looked over your shoulder at Tsu’tey to find him slightly sitting hunched over on the ground, playing with something in his fingers.

You weren’t going to speak first. He wanted to speak with you. You would wait for him.

And eventually he did, “When Mo’at brought up the potential—that you could be our fourth mate—what did you think?”

The question startled you. It was the last thing you ever thought he’d ask. And the fact that it was Tsu’tey himself asking you this and not Neytiri or hell, even Jake.

But you remained on guard anyway, “Do you care?”

At that, he raised his gaze from whatever was in his hands to look at you, “Many people have made their opinions known about the matter. All but you. It’s as if your voice is drowned out by an unforgiving storm. I am asking you, dreamwalker. What do you think of it?”

For a moment you considered your words carefully. The conversation wasn’t adversary so you lowered your defense, only by a little bit. And as you thought about your answer, you realized you hadn’t even had the chance to think about what you truly thought about the idea of being their fourth mate. Neytiri had mentioned them looking for one long ago but you never imagined it would be you. You never imagined—

You never imagined you’d be loved.

And because of that, it was simply never in the cards for you. Even if there were moments where you—

“Why does it matter anyway?” You glared down at your fingers, watching as your nails dug into your palms. “Can you honestly imagine us as mates? I mean have you thought about it yourself? Can you even imagine Jake and I as mates? After the other night? Tsu’tey, I think the answer’s pretty clear.” You faced him, jaw tight and your voice quiet despite your steeled spine, “I’m too broken. And it would be cruel—I am not cruel and I’m not selfish enough to allow you three to drag yourselves to the bottom because of me. And that’s what I think. It’s quite simple actually—”

“To your human mind, yes.” Tsu’tey shook his head and stood, turning his back to you. He paced for a moment, eyes searching the room until he finally spoke. “But it is about duty. If Eywa has favored you then I must do my job as Olo’eyktan and honor that. If you are our fourth—”

“You don’t know that.”

“You are right, I do not!” He hissed but stopped, almost as if he were restraining himself.

You clenched your hands together again, glaring down at the matted floor. For a moment, the two of you were silent. This had to be the longest conversation you and Tsu’tey had ever had. And of course, it was about something heavy, something complicated, something difficult to even comprehend. Why couldn’t it have been something simple? Why couldn’t things be simple?

“I have failed my people.”

A beat went by and you looked up, wondering if that was all he had to say only to find his gaze on you. Intense and yellow. Unreadable yet uncomfortable to receive, nonetheless.

But his face was gentle as he spoke. His voice was quieter, “And in some ways, I feel I have failed our Great Mother. I feel I have failed my mates. My son. My unborn children. My mother. My brother. My father. Perhaps you do not understand it, dreamwalker, but it is my sworn duty to do what I must for my clan. To be the leader that they deserve. And I am not.” He stepped forward until he was standing in front of you and dropped something into your hands.

It was pretty. A handwoven string of beads and gems, almost too gorgeous to belong to someone like you. You held it limply in your hands, not wanting to touch it any further.

“I am not a good mate.” He continued, now his face unreadable. You weren’t really sure what yours looked like at the moment but you hoped it didn’t convey what you felt at the moment as he spoke.

Utter dread. Shock. And pity.

“If I had proposed to you, I would have thought that I had done right by the Great Mother.”

He said it so simply. Proposed? Tsu’tey? To you? How come he didn’t appear affected when he said these words? Why was it you that was struck frozen by this revelation?

Perhaps he was good at hiding it. Perhaps you were too.

Tsu’tey knelt in front of you and looked down at the string, his face still a mask. “I would take care of you, just as I do with my other mates. I would treat your children as my own, I would be okay with not being in love with you for the sake of duty.” Unconsciously, your fingers wrapped around the string as you took in his words. Very deliberate, very careful, very real. “But you would have said no. And I would be okay with that too. Because I cannot commit to my duty. Because I am a bad Olo’eyktan. And…” The words seemed difficult to spill out from his mouth but he forced it out anyway. “And I am not cruel enough either, dreamwalker.”

For a moment, you did not say a thing. For a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming. For a moment, you wondered if there could be a world where you and Tsu’tey weren’t hostile to each other like now. You wondered if there could be a world where you’d look at him as something more.

Because in the end, you appreciated his honesty. Frankly, that was one of the best things you liked about the Na’vi. They weren’t like humans. They didn’t hold anything back because they didn’t see a reason to.

And it made your next words clear and firm, “Your search for worthiness isn’t on me, Tsu’tey. And a proposal definitely wouldn’t have been able to fix that.” You frowned and glanced down at the string and then back at him, “That wasn’t a proposal, right?”

Tsu’tey stood then, his tail swishing behind him. “I suppose it was. In a way.” He looked at you expectantly, “And your answer, dreamwalker?”

He held a look that told you he already knew your answer. You stood as well and handed him back the beaded string with yet another impassive mask, “No. That is my answer. But you knew that.”

Wordlessly, he took the beads back, his gaze never leaving it. You stood there for a moment, feeling exhausted once more. And again, Tsu’tey allowed himself to appear the same.

Too tired for this world. Too tired to carry on.

You steeled yourself away and stood straighter, “So you agree. This isn’t what Eywa wanted.”

At that, his ears twitched, “We do not know what she wants. It has always been that way. And it will remain so.”

Nodding, you moved past him and toward the entrance, only to stop short. Your brain was muddled, your emotions were tangled, and yet you spoke clearly. “If your deity is as great as you all say she is, then I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to suffer.”

Without waiting for a response, you left. Not daring to look back. Not daring to ponder questions you’ve never thought about until now.

Enough. Enough of all of it.

“Any day now.” You mumbled, staring bleakly down at the table as Norm was checking the ultrasound. It was weird being several inches taller than him now when in human form he had quite the height over you, “We just have to watch her closely now.”

Norm nodded, “Good, good. That’s great news. I’ll let the parents know. You good staying here for a bit?”

“Always.” You watched over the tank as Norm left the room. Tucking the tablet under your arm, you placed your hand against the class, “Can’t wait to meet you, finally. I wonder if you’re gonna be as quiet when you’re born.”

The silence was suffocating, and So were the tears. They had finally come.

God, you were so angry.

Was this really all you were worth? An obligation? Something so worthless that you needed empty protection? Was that all they saw in you? Was that all you’ll ever be to them?

You sank into a nearby chair, allowing the silent tears to fall.

It wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to be the outsider—the intruder. All you wanted was to save a bunch of trees and now you’re here. A stain. An inconvenience. Blood red on a perfect white canvas.

This baby girl didn’t deserve someone as shattered as you. She deserved the loving parents that claimed her from the beginning. Protected and kept away from your storm.

“I hope this world doesn’t hurt you, little one.” You wiped at your eyes, beaten and bruised already.

Norm eventually came back moments later. You hadn’t gotten up from the chair. He saw your dried tears and cleared his throat, “Jake said he’s already on his way, um,” He appeared careful and gentle as he spoke, “I’ll take over if you need a break.”

“You don’t have to.” Was your attempt at a protest.

But he shook his head adamantly, “No, I will. You’ve—it’s been pretty rough for you. It’s the least I can do for…”

You frowned as he avoided your gaze.

“I could’ve done better—more to save you—”

“Spellman, you're fine,” You shook your head and stood. “I don’t blame you—couldn’t if I wanted to. You’re the only one that has my back here. Well, maybe besides Neytiri.”

“Are you going then?” He asked as you walked passed him.

“Yeah, I’m gonna try to cool off. Maybe go on a walk.”

“You sure? Don’t get another chunk of your skin bitten off again. Or poisoned.”

“Ha-ha.” You responded dryly.

Deciding you wanted fresh air, you left out of Hell’s Gate and went into the forest.

You had marked the places you passed with small white strips in the past, tying them to smaller branches. It allowed you to venture further away from the base this time. And by the time the sun began to set, you found yourself at the waterfall, the same one you were at with Tsu’tey before.

And you stayed there. This time you went toward the waterfalls’ mist surrounding you the closer you got to the waterfall itself. The water moved up toward your waist until you were practically floating above water.

For a while, you stayed like this. Until night came. You stayed like this until your hair stuck to the back of your neck.

Eventually, you passed through the waterfall. Breathing out a long and delicate sigh.

These waters relaxed you. These waters made you forget.

Once you reached the other side of the waterfall, there was a rock large enough for you to hoist yourself on. And sit there. You didn’t know how long you’d stay there and you didn’t care. The world outside of this place didn’t matter to you. For a while, you just wanted to forget. To become stone.

Half alive and half buried in the ground.

That is until the world called for you to come back. Until the world wrapped its grip on you and yanked you back into reality.

Until something whizzed past your face, cutting some of the strands from your unbraided hair.

And now across from you was a spear lodged into the stone. Whoever had thrown it had great strength. Whoever had thrown had meant to kill you.

Instantly, you froze. Heart pounding against your chest, blood rushing to your ears.

“Demon!” AN unfamiliar voice shouted further away—possibly on land away from the waterfall. Quickly, you lowered yourself on the rock. Most of the water from the mountain and mist hid you, so there was a chance that the attacker couldn’t see you. “Come out and I kill you!”

You didn’t move from the rock. From what little you could hear, the voice spoke in Na’vi as if he was giving orders to someone. Which meant this guy wasn’t alone. The many splashes coming toward you only confirmed that.

As quietly as possible, you slid off the rock and toward the spear, yanking it out of the wall with what little strength you had left. A shadow then passed you as you ducked behind the rock just as a figure stepped through the waterfall. He was wearing strange armor and his war paint was different from what you had seen the Omatikaya wear. Which also told you that these warriors that surrounded you were from a different clan. A clan you were sure that weren’t reluctant in having to kill the likes of you for being human.

 The warrior had an arrow pointed and ready. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen you yet.

But before you could take your chance at escape, a quicker shadow to the right dived through the falls, aiming another spear at you.

It was so quick, you hadn’t heard the other warrior coming and barely dodged the sharp end of her spear as you slid off the rock and into the deep waters.

The spear didn’t slow and sunk into the water with you. You swam away from the two, going deeper underwater until you weren’t able to be spotted. You continued swimming away from the small enclave and made it to the other side of the waterfalls.

Praying that the mist continued to cover you up, you came up for air and climbed onto a nearby rock. You still had the discarded spear and gripped it in your hands as you hopped onto another rock—not even stopping when you heard a bunch more splashes and shouts in Na’vi coming toward you.

Once you were sure they were far enough away from you, you continued hopping on the rocks until you finally reached land. But you didn’t run, knowing that it would make too much noise. Instead, you clutched the spear to your chest and slinked into the forest, just as how Neytiri had done it when the two of you would travel through the forest together.

Be one with the forest and all that shit.

God, you couldn’t catch one break. First Jake, then Tsu’tey, and now this? It was like the universe hated you for some reason.

As quickly and as quietly as possible, you put some distance between you and the waterfall. When you got far enough, you ducked behind a thick tree, pressing your back against it while taking in shaky breaths. You kept the spear close to your chest as if it were a shield while praying that you had been quiet enough to escape.

Something sharp pressed against the side of your neck, instantly squashing any hope you had left.

“You are loud, demon.” She spoke in Na’vi. It was one of the only sentences you recognized since Neytiri used to say it to you all the time in the beginning.

You remained still, staring at the warrior in the corner of your eye.

She took the spear from your hands and tossed it to the ground, not lowering hers.

“Where is your clan, sawtute?”

Okay, she spoke a little English. Which meant this clan had lived around humans at some point,.

“I don’t have a clan.” You gritted out shakily, “And I’m not trespassing—”

“Demon! All of you!” She hissed, the tip pressing further into your skin. “I kill you and bring your head back to my clan. The rest of you demons will follow!”

You glanced toward the spear on the ground, trying to figure out how fast you’d have to move to get it and escape.

But you nor the warrior didn’t get a chance to do anything as an arrow flew through the trees and hit the warrior in her shoulder.

She stumbled back, you took the chance and grabbed the spear from the ground.

As the warrior fell to her knees, your savior stood further away behind her. Bow raised with another arrow pointed at her.

You breathed out shakily, “It’s you.”

(i'm not adding any more people anymore!)

taglist: @doggyteam2028 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @n7cje @celi-xxmoon @readerofallthingss @sillyblues @saturnhas82moons @1mawh0re @aprosiacperson @loserwithnofriends @garfieldsladybird @slutforsmut4ever @lik0

[animeyanderelover]

What if Hisoka, Kurapika, Illumi, and Uvogin (separately) meet a darling who's nen is ridiculously over powered with very little drawbacks. For example she has full control of the sun and could easily incinerate a whole continent but instead just uses it to give her garden the best growing light or get the sun out of her eyes when driving. Ultimate power but a complete pacifist.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, overprotective behavior, manipulation, isolation, blackmailing, threats, isolation

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59

Ultimate power yet a pacifist

Kurapika Kurta

⛓️​Kurapika would probably have some mixed feelings about a darling as powerful as you. He's delusional in the sense that he believes that he has to protect you and isolate you for your own safety as he has made himself an enemy of the Phantom Troupe who would have no hesitation to target you for revenge or to use you as a hostage. Yet he is not delusional enough to fool himself that you wouldn't be able to fight all by yourself due to your ridiculously overpowered Nen. On the one hand there is most likely a sliver of relief, mainly because he isn't optimistic enough to believe that he can protect you all time which is why he is partially relieved to know that you would be able to defend yourself if worst comes to worst. On the other hand it is the sheer scale of your abilities that seems to rob him of the purpose of the provider and protector he would like to fulfill for you as you technically don't even need his protection. This is what is messing with his thoughts for quite some time to the point where he even sometimes considers using his Steal Chain on you to steal your Nen abilties though he probably would never steal your Nen ability forever from you even if he should snatch it away.

⛓️​He'd probably be more prone to use his Steal Chain on you during the first phase of his obsession where he is still quite paranoid and has to work through his suffocating feelings of infatuation and fear of losing you. It takes Kurapika some time before the worst seems to be over in regards of his paranoia and only then will he actually pay more mind to your own words. It seems somewhat baffling to him that someone with such immense powers as you would have no interest to use them for a fight or conflict which is why he will use his Dowsing Chain on you to determine whether you lie or not and only after he has confirmed that you speak the truth would he slowly consider giving your abilities back to you before eventually doing so. Additionally once he is aware that you hate using your Nen to fight and hurt others he finds a justified purpose for isolating you and protecting you. You have a pure and innocent heart despite your overpowered Nen and he plans to see it through that you will never have to endure the horror of a real fight though he also has you swearing to him that if there should be a time where he can't protect you that you will at least use your abilities to defend yourself.

Hisoka Morow

🃏​You can bid your peaceful days of living a normal and serene life goodbye the moment this clown finds out just how ridiculous your Nen abilities really are. Hisoka lives for the thrill of fighting strong opponents to the point where he will go through meticulous plans to fulfill his desire to fight the people he has chosen as his target. So you can probably imagine his distaste when he finds out that you have no interest to ever use your abilities for a fight. Are you not bored yet of living such an idle life? Everything you stand for is essentially everything he doesn't want. Hisoka doesn't want a calm and nice life in a little cottage, stuck in the same pattern that repeats itself every single day. He'd die of boredom. You're wasting your time and your talent in this little village and he is more than adamant to convince you of his point of view. He's more persistent than a cockroach as he constantly pops up in front of your door or sometimes even breaks into your house where you find him on the couch as he shuffles his cards, remarking how exceptionally unexceptional your interior is. If you really believe that this is what you want you must be lying to yourself.

🃏When initial persuasion doesn't do the job Hisoka starts taking more extreme measurements, now with the goal to anger you and test just how far he can take it with your patience. Initially he starts subtly threatening to hurt people you care about or pets you might keep, gauging your reactions. It would be very unwise to react with anger or fear as Hisoka will target those feelings instantly, realising that there is a chance that he might crack you. As he has no morals nor limitations with the things he would do simply to get what he desires you might see yourself forced to use your abilities before he can kill someone, though you still refuse to kill him. If you were to do that though you would only turn him on, tease him by giving him a taste of your power only to leave him then hanging. It's like giving a a man dying of thirst a drop of water only to then disappear. Once he has gotten a taste Hisoka will long for more and he will do anything to get more from you. If he has to target innocent pets or people for that he will do so. He doesn't mind if you hate him for it. The only thing he won't tolerate is if you were to ignore him in which case he would do anything to elicit a reaction out of you.

Illumi Zoldyck

🤎​For Illumi the situation wouldn't be entirely pleasant either as he is someone who is very controlling over his obsession and for that it just feels wrong for him to know that you are as powerful as you are. From the very beginning he interrogates you just on how your Nen works and what you can do with it as he immediately wants to make plans in case you should decide to misbehave and think that you can escape him because you are as mighty as you are. He strongly discourages you from using your powers at all even for harmless purposes yet some of his other family members most likely have a different view on the subject. Whilst Kikyo supports Illumi and believes that you should properly submit to him as his spouse it is most likely Zeno who takes interest in your abilities and would encourage you to use them more often, though he has other things in mind than just wasting it on the domestic tasks you often use them for. After all an ability such as yours would only add to the fearsome reputation of the Zoldyck family even if you weren't trained as an assassin since the moment you could crawl around. Tension definitely exists over those topics in the family.

🤎​Simple reassurances from your side that you have no plan to ever use your abilities for other purposes than making some domestic chores easier do not work on Illumi. He needs the feeling of control over you and if he doesn't have it there is this unbearable pull in his chest that agitates him subtly all the time. A needle will be used on you for that purpose so that he has some form of power over you so that you will never be able to even think about ever wielding your abilities against him and his family. He installs the fear and the panic inside of you and he finds himself enjoying the sight of you breaking out in cold sweat and your body freezing afterwards, feelings he forces you to feel when you anger him. Only after he has seen himself that his needles have worked on you will he take it that little bit easier though he does make sure that those feelings of fear and intimidation stay prominent on your mind so that you never forget them. Only after he has established that hold over you might he allow you to se your Nen ability for harmless activities though you always need to ask for his permission beforehand unless you wish to displease him.

Uvogin

🫀​Physically Uvogin is stronger than you but your Nen is a lot more versatile and powerful which means that you could probably still beat him in a fight if it came down to it. That isn't something that Uvogin initially considers nor realises, mainly because he has only ever seen you use your powers to make domestic chores easier and to help you in your everyday life. He doesn't feel threatened, especially since you are such a pacifistic person who despises violence and death. Ironic considering that he is everything that you loathe yet he is smart enough to hold himself back, at least when he is with you. Both of you have a great relationship after all although you remain in the dark about his identity as a member of the Phantom Troupe. Otherwise things may take a turn for the worse which is something Uvogin doesn't really want. So he keeps on pushing the problem away until one day something goes wrong which then leaves him with no choice but to abduct you as otherwise you might be a burden for the troupe if you were to remain free and would leak information. The revelation puts a strain on the relationship, especially once you figure out that Uvogin has killed for you.

🫀​Both of you have kept secrets and whilst his is a lot more grave, Uvogin is still slightly hurt when he finds out that you never bothered to tell him that you could wipe out an entire city if you wanted to. At this point he knows you well enough to believe you though when you inform him that you have no interest to ever use your Nen for criminal purposes which is why he allows you to use it freely for the same things you used it before you got kidnapped. He's after all there to protect you and see it through that no one with bad intentions gets close to you. Honestly, Chrollo is probably a bigger threat here than Uvogin is because he would be immensely interested in a Nen as powerful as yours with little drawbacks and conditions to fulfill to use it. In fact he has tried multiple times to persuade Uvogin to let him steal your Nen yet this is one thing that Uvogin is unwilling to do for his boss, especially since you know what Chrollo would use your Nen for. It's only because you are Uvogin's darling that Chrollo eventually pulls away with lingering disappointment though he never truly stops offering Uvogin the idea, especially if you should one day decide to use your abilities against him.