#so naturally those were a lot of fun to write and I could write easily just like that!

[healmydesires]

cross that line ꕤ (l.h)

part two

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

summary: For a long time, you were content hiding your feelings, but lately, the longing for someone you can’t have has become unbearable. Despite knowing he could never be yours, you still cherished the sweet ache in your heart whenever he smiled or gave you a warm, platonic hug. Then, one day, everything changed.

genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)

word count: 14k (14k on the dot to be precise but yeah uhm. sorry. I swear I'm normal)

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, thunderstorms, idiots in love, mutual pining, assumed unrequited love, jealous!reader, reader is described as shorter than logan, emotional!reader, miscommunication kinda, inexperienced/virgin!reader, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom logan, ok… just in overall bye, logan is soft for reader, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, major size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, oral fixation. some daddy kink? breeding kink aaaaa sorry. I wrote this while ovulating. they’re both FREAKS. scent kink? lots of pet names. this is high key sweet and turns filthy. logan is worshipping his sweet girl ok! reader is a mutant. reader has hair, no further description though. this is not beta read sorry!

a/n: GUESS WHAT!!! user healmydesires is back with another self indulgent fic about a new blorbo! I’ve been having all random kinds of scenarios about logan in my head and I just didn’t know which type of story to go with. until I felt like there weren’t much of inexperienced/virgin reader fics for logan and tbh… that’s kinda my brand (I’m high key kidding but lowkey that’s what I love to write the most) if you’ve read my works so. I thought I’ll write what I WANT to read. so this is high key self indulgent. english isn’t my first language so pls bear with me <3 also ngl.. a lot of it is just smut 😭 I literally wrote this while ovulating… EDIT (19/09): I kinda edited it a bit because it had a lot of grammar mistakes and I'd often jump from present tense to past tense so ye

this goes without saying, but if you don't like it don't read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

Being roommates with your best friend had its perks. You were together almost all the time, sharing both the big and small moments. As fellow teachers, you could easily swap teaching tips, lend each other a hand with tasks, or offer guidance when you were feeling stuck. Your tall best friend effortlessly reached the top shelves, and you both enjoyed laughter-filled moments during movie marathons. Sharing responsibilities became more fun too—splitting chores like cooking and laundry felt easy and natural. Plus, there was comfort in knowing your best friend was always dependable, ready to support you whenever you needed it. And whenever you were in need of a hug, your best friend was probably already ready to envelop you in his warm embrace.

But it also had its disadvantages.

Especially considering that Logan Howlett, your best friend, was quite the menace.

Logan had always had a rugged handsomeness that effortlessly made people swoon all around him. It wasn't fair how pretty he was. He had always been lucky with finding partners—or rather, when it came to finding bed or sexual partners. He'd often bring those one-night stands or partners to your shared apartment only to have sex with them. Logan had never been the type to stick with one person, always preferring flings over long-term relationships. Or so you thought.

You, on the other hand, had always craved a long-term relationship. You dreamed of finding your true love—someone to share adventures with, to have fun with, and to dive into deep, meaningful and random conversations. You loved the idea of being with someone who let you be your true self, where you could spend hours talking about the most random things—discussing your favourite TV shows one minute, and passionately criticising capitalism and the world the next. You were all about affection, from kissing to being held, but you also longed to hold your partner close and make them feel cherished, just as much as you wanted to feel loved in return.

Unfortunately, you had never had the chance to experience anything like that.

It wasn't like you had never had the chance or had the opportunity to explore and possibly experience a potential relationship. You had just never been really interested in creating a relationship with a stranger.

Plus the thing was, your best friend wasn't just your best friend. You had been in love with Logan for god knows how long.

Charles Xavier was the one who had introduced you both, years ago. You remembered that day very vividly.

You had just arrived at the Xavier Institute, and the professor had offered you a two-sided job, to be a teacher at the school and be part of the X-Men.

You'd always done your best to keep your powers hidden, but being welcomed into a school designed for people like you—a mutant—felt incredibly liberating. That's why you hadn't hesitated when Charles Xavier invited you to his school. You'd always known you were powerful, with the ability to control and manipulate water, but you had kept your abilities a secret, not wanting to be treated any differently in a world that didn't really like or understand people like you.

As the professor took you around the grounds, you couldn't help but be impressed by how big and beautiful it all was.

You were so captivated by the mansion's grandeur and stunning architecture that you didn't even notice a guy casually leaning against the nearest wall outside of Charles's office. But the moment your eyes met his, it felt as if time itself stood still. Looking into Logan's eyes, you felt like you could drown in them. You had never seen anyone so effortlessly handsome.

Completely entranced by him, you almost forgot to introduce yourself. Your body heated up in the moment, and the professor definitely noticed. Logan Howlett gave you a knowing smirk, making the warmth inside you intensify even more.

That day you both became friends, though you still didn't quite understand why, given how different you both were. Logan was gruff and blunt, while you, though capable of being direct, tended to choose your words more carefully. He was passionate and strong-willed and opinionated, and sometimes he let that get the best of him. You were deeply in tune with your emotions, while he always seemed to hold back, keeping certain feelings tightly guarded. Logan was never one to be very straightforward with his emotions. He would rather keep most of them to himself, and didn't want to seem too vulnerable. Communication was something you valued and needed a lot, but Logan, by contrast, didn't seem to rely on it as much. You were an overthinker, always caught up in your thoughts, and he would often step in to ease those worries of yours.

You could say that opposites attract.

Over time, your friendship grew, and one day he asked if you'd like to move in with him into a new apartment near the institute. He craved a bit more peace and genuinely enjoyed your company. It seemed like a good idea, so you thought, why not?

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with your roommate. All you knew was that one day, you were suddenly overcome by an emotion so intense, it was unlike anything you'd ever felt before. It hit you all at once. Before Logan, you'd never really had a serious crush, never experienced feelings this powerful for anyone. You often told yourself it must have started shortly after you moved in with him, but deep down, you knew that wasn't the truth. This feeling had been quietly growing from the very first moment you met him, slowly building until it became impossible to ignore.

It was funny, you thought, how life had a way of bringing you things—and people—you never realised you needed. People like Logan, who became so essential that you couldn't help but wonder how you had ever lived without them. People like Logan Howlett, who somehow managed to be both your saving grace and your greatest temptation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A few months into your roommate arrangement, you still couldn't get used to Logan constantly bringing one-night stands to your shared apartment. It was pure torment.

As you ate cereal at the kitchen island, one of Logan's many one-night stands quietly slipped out of the apartment. You rolled your eyes, as Logan routinely walked them through the apartment to the door, their faces often adorned with sly smiles as they fluttered their eyelashes at him. A knot of anger twisted in your belly as you watched them play with the collar of his shirt, their fingers lingering while he made no move to pull away. You'd never felt such intense rage before. He responded with a grunt as they would casually give him a goodbye kiss.

You hated experiencing feelings like these. It was a gross emotion, a heavy sensation that felt thick and tar-like, clinging to your chest and making you ache with its heavy weight.

Anxiety? Sure, you were often more anxious than most mutants, but that wasn't the feeling you had at this moment. Maybe it was jealousy? You disliked how that emotion fit so easily on your tongue, leaving a bitter taste.

Each time you witnessed these scenes unfold, jealousy and frustration would wash over you. Or how you'd feel utterly awful whenever you accidentally overheard them having sex.

As Logan reentered the apartment and closed the door behind him, you couldn't help but snort. “So, what number are we up to now?”

He stared at you for a moment, before chuckling and shaking his head with a smirk. “Not sure, lost count.” He shrugged, grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen island, and took a bite.

“What was their name?” you asked, staring daggers at your bowl of cereal.

Logan shrugged again. “I don't know, and honestly, I don't care,” he replied curtly before walking away.

You couldn't understand how he could be so nonchalant about this situation.

It wasn't just jealousy; you longed for any kind of affection or love from Logan, more than you ever thought possible. You were grateful to be his best friend and you knew it might seem foolish to hope for a chance with him, but you couldn't help yourself. Deep down, you feared you'd always feel this lonely, believing you could never fall for anyone but him. He was everything you craved and needed in life.

You felt foolish, constantly embarrassed and rejected. More than anything, you felt hurt, knowing that you were the only one to blame. It was your own feelings that had caused all this pain.

The thought of him one day falling in love with someone else made your stomach sink, but you pushed and suppressed your sadness aside daily. It didn't really matter—Logan was free to date whoever he wanted. He was your best friend, only his best friend.

One day, you'd have to come to terms with the fact that he would always be just your best friend.

You just hoped that one day it would become easier to deal with these feelings.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It was the middle of a cold winter night — the air cool against your skin, even with your large pink puffer jacket to keep you warm. The thick curtain of night enveloped the sky, painting it a deep midnight blue, with stars twinkling like the clearest diamonds. Despite the cool ambient air, you found yourself relaxing, your shoulders gradually easing.

“You see that there?” you pointed up at the starlit sky, leaning unconsciously into Logan's warmth as you both lay on the grass of the X-mansion grounds. “That's the Pleiades. People often mistake it for the Little Dipper, but it's just a star cluster.”

Logan hummed, but his eyes were focused on you, how you gazed up at the stars with an awestruck expression. A gentle smile tugged at his lips, as he enjoyed how you looked so endearing as you were so engrossed in the stars that you loved so dearly.

He glanced up at the part of the sky you were pointing to, located the cluster of stars you had mentioned. He studied it for a moment and thought he had seen something similar to the Pleiades before, but never illuminated in the night sky like this. Logan's gaze then returned to the earth, settling back on the grass where he lay beside you.

“Beautiful,” Logan whispered as he stared at you. “Truly beautiful.”

You were too busy gazing up at the sky to realise that he wasn't talking about the sky.

For as long as you could remember, you had loved the night sky, finding its dark embrace profoundly comforting. More than that, you adored the stars—coming out at night to bask in their radiance, with their distant coldness soothing your soul.

You had always felt so mesmerised about the universe, especially the stars and the moon. They appeared beautiful, glittering magnificently beside one another as they hovered in the upper stratosphere.

“Why did you bring me out here, Lo?” you finally asked, looking up at your best friend. You noticed him smirk down at you and saw a fleeting hint of hesitant insecurity in his green eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

He shrugged against you, still grinning. “I know how much you enjoy stargazing, and I'm aware you've had a rough week, so I wanted to give you a chance to relax for a bit.”

You softened as you gazed up at him. Logan was right—you had been having a rough week. The children had been sweet, but the workload had been overwhelming. You couldn't help but appreciate how Logan was always looking out for you.

“Thank you…” you whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He winked before he looked back up at the sky. “Why don't you show me another constellation?”

You giggled as you pointed out another cluster of stars, but more often than not, Logan found it hard to focus on the stars. After all, he had a bright light of his own by his side daily that captured all of his attention.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A year had passed since you moved in with Logan, and autumn was already around the corner. The temperature was gradually dropping, and the air became crisper. The trees' leaves were starting to fade from vibrant greens to tamer shades of bronze and gold. You had always loved this time of year—it was that perfect season where you could bundle up in layers when you were outside, then retreat indoors in the evenings, getting cosy with a hot chocolate and a good book.

It was during seasons like this that you found yourself wishing you could cuddle up with someone, enjoying a movie or simply each other's company. But it wasn't just anyone you wanted by your side—it had always been Logan for you.

For the longest time, you were content in just keeping all your feelings hidden. Lately, though, the longing had been getting harder to bear. Wanting someone you knew you couldn't have was starting to feel unbearable, slowly eating away at you. And even though you knew he could never be yours, it didn't stop you from savouring the sweet ache in your heart every time he smiled or when he pulled you into a warm, platonic hug.

All the stupid fluttery feelings in your stomach every time his eyes would catch yours, or the way your heart beat fast whenever you were in close proximity to him. You knew it had been years since you'd known Logan, but you couldn't help the effect he always had on you. The way he left you yearning for more. But, of course, you tried to bury those feelings down deep, reminding yourself that Logan could never feel the same way about you as you felt about him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

One lazy afternoon, with no classes scheduled for you to teach, you found yourself by the lake on the X-Mansion grounds, practising your water bending. The water flowed seamlessly around you as you moved your arms, bending it effortlessly to your will. As you went through each movement, you could feel a pair of eyes on you, observing every precise motion, your muscles tensing with each fluid shift. A light sheen of sweat formed on your brow, and your face held a fierce look of concentration as you focused on perfecting your stance and movements.

Several moments had passed, and the person watching you still hadn't spoken a word. By now, you were almost certain it wasn't just anyone—it had to be Logan. Anyone else would have said something by now, maybe greeted you or asked about your training. But not Logan. He had a way of lingering in silence, watching you in that quietly intense way of his, never feeling the need to fill the space with unnecessary words.

“Well, are you just going to stand there and stare, or do you plan on saying something?” you asked, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Logan grunted, “I think I'll just keep watching. I quite like the view from here.”

A flush of warmth spread across your face, butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach at his words. You hesitated for a moment, pausing your movements before he spoke again.

“Don't stop on my account, sweetheart.”

You knew he was wearing one of his signature grins, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it off his face. As you grew more flustered, a wave of frustration built up inside you—how could this man always have such an effect on you? An idea sparked in your mind, a mischievous smirk tugging at your lips. Deciding to continue your water bending practice while he watched, you let the water flow effortlessly around you, fully aware of his eyes tracking your every move.

Once a peaceful stillness settled in the air, you saw your opening. Without warning, you spun around with swift precision, bending the water toward him and drenching him in seconds.

Logan stood there, completely perplexed as you broke into a fit of giggles. He was drenched from head to toe, and you knew it wouldn't be long before he sprang into action. Sure enough, just seconds later, he smirked again, though this time it carried a sharper edge. “You think this is funny, bub?”

“Yeah, I kinda do,” you replied between laughs, unable to contain yourself.

But then, Logan's grin turned devious, and with a determined march, he began closing the distance between you. Your eyes widened in realisation, and without thinking, you bolted away.

“You're not getting away with this, princess,” he called out, his voice low as he gave chase.

He moved swiftly through the gardens, but you were quicker, slipping just out of sight every time he got close. His eyes darted around, scanning the area, frustration slowly turning into determination. You could hear him muttering under his breath, his footsteps getting louder as he searched for you. Your heart raced as you ducked behind a tree, trying to stifle your laughter. The thrill of the chase had adrenaline coursing through your veins.

For a moment, you thought you had lost him, but then he sniffed and just as you peeked around the tree, you saw him spot you from across the grove. His eyes gleamed with mischief as a smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “I got you,” he muttered before he moved towards you with renewed speed. You tried to slip away again, but it was too late—he had you cornered.

Soon enough, two strong arms caged you in, trapping you between the tree and his chest. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you tried to back away, only to realise there was nowhere to go. “Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the familiar playful glint in his eyes making your heart race even faster.

You squirmed, trying to find a way out, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you in place without being overbearing. “Logan! Let me go,” you protested, laughter bubbling up in your throat despite your attempt to sound serious.

“Thought you could get away that easily, huh?” he teased, leaning in so close that you could feel his wet clothes and the warmth of his body. The heat from his proximity spread across your own, making you acutely aware of how close you were. You bit your lip, your cheeks becoming hotter as his smirk widened. The sight of your flustered expression seemed to delight him, his satisfaction evident in his playful gaze.

“Well, this is cosy,” you remarked, but your voice barely rose above a whisper. There was a tremor in your tone, one that matched the rapid beat of your heart.

“Hm, I think so too,” he responded with the same teasing tone. You gazed up at him with bright eyes as the golden hour of evening cast a warm glow around you both. It took all his willpower not to look away, not to acknowledge the tension that hung thick in the air.

You shifted against the tree, searching for a different way to elicit a reaction from him. Your touch light, almost accidental, but it sent a shockwave through him, his breath hitching in his throat. You could feel him stiffen, sensing the tension as he reacted to your contact.

He leaned in, just enough that he could feel your breath against his skin, just enough that the space between you became almost non-existent, and just enough to hear your breath hitch.

Logan closed his eyes, as he pressed his forehead against your own. Every time he tried to speak, the words got tangled up in the mess of emotions swirling inside him. All he could think about was how close you were, how your touch burned through him, how the smell of you, that unique soft scent of yours, filled his senses and made him want to lose himself in you.

“Lo—”

Before you could finish, Ororo's voice rang out, calling your name. You felt a wave of disappointment wash over you as you realised your moment with Logan was interrupted. You had forgotten about the promise to cook together with her and Jean, and your friend's timing burst the bubble of what you thought might finally be a shared moment with him.

He grunted in frustration, pulling away from you and looking off to the side. Ororo, Jean, and even Scott soon found their way to you, their presence drawing closer. As they approached, each of them wore a grin that suggested they had noticed the tension between you and Logan. The air was thick with unspoken understanding, and it was clear that your friends had picked up on the charged moment that had just been interrupted.

You cleared your throat and stepped reluctantly away from Logan, trying to regain your composure. You forced a smile as you addressed your friends, saying, “Sorry to keep you guys waiting.” You then walked away with Jean and Ororo towards the mansion, though you couldn't help glancing back over your shoulder. Each time you looked, a hint of longing appeared on your face as you cast a final, wistful glance at Logan.

As you walked away, you heard Scott remark, “You look wet.”

Logan responded with a huff, “Fuck off, Summers.”

You couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if your friends wouldn't have interrupted you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It had been Friday evening, and you were in your office at the institute, finishing up grading the last of the papers while waiting for Logan. The two of you had plans to head home together, but he had yet to come and find you. Growing impatient, you decided to look for him yourself. You grabbed your bag and jacket before going out of your office, closing the door silently behind you. The smell of stew wafted through the mansion as you jogged down the stairs from your office to the kitchen. You quietly approached and paused when you saw him with Jean. She was chopping vegetables, while Logan leaned against the island, holding a cup of coffee.

“I don't see why you don't just do it. Everyone can see how perfect you two are for each other,” Jean had sighed.

Your eyes widened and you bit your lip nervously as you instinctively hid behind the wall. You truly hoped Logan wouldn't smell your scent while hiding, considering his heightened sense of smell. You knew you shouldn't be eavesdropping, but your curiosity had gotten the better of you. Jean's words had left you intrigued about what they were discussing.

Logan huffed, “I've already told you—” he tried arguing, but Jean cut him off mid-sentence.

“Logan, come on,” Jean said pointedly. “You keep denying it, but everyone here has seen the two of you dance around each other for years. You can't honestly tell me that you're just friends. Friends don't act the way you two do with each other.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Logan asked, tilting his head to the side. Your stomach churned as you realised they were talking about the two of you. Silently, you pressed your back against the wall and shuffled further behind it, continuing to listen.

“It means that friends don't stare at each other longingly, or they don't flirt with each other, and they certainly don't cuddle together while sharing the same bed,” Jean said, emphasising her point as Logan began to argue. “Besides,” she continued, “you've known her for a while now. There's no one you've been more comfortable with than her. We all know you'll look after each other and be happy together. So why haven't you done anything about it? All we want is for you both to be happy,” Jean concluded.

You bit your lip at her words, feeling a mix of hope and nervousness churn in your stomach. With trembling fingers, you held your breath, waiting for Logan's response. When you heard him sigh, you felt your world begin to crumble around you.

“Yeah, but Jean, it's not like that. We are not like that. We're just friends,” Logan had replied. You had pressed your teeth harshly into your lip, biting down so hard you feared you might draw blood. It was the only thing keeping you from sobbing out loud. Logan's words replayed over and over in your mind. While you had always known he felt that way, hearing it confirmed so casually had left your heart breaking.

Not wanting to listen any longer, you silently turned and hurried toward the main entrance, trying to be as quiet as possible. Once outside, tears flooded your vision as you ran to the mansion gates, searching through your bag for your phone to call a cab. Since you hadn't brought your car and had driven in with Logan that morning, calling a cab was your only option.

When the cab finally arrived, you slid into the backseat and gave the driver your instructions. As he drove you home, you took a deep breath, struggling to swallow the lump in your throat. Your breath came in labored gasps as you fought to keep from breaking down in tears. Your mind was running a mile a minute as you tried to process his words. Silently you let the tears flow down your cheeks.

When you arrived at your building, you paid the cab and noticed your phone buzzing incessantly. You quickly silenced it as you entered your apartment, not bothering to look at who was trying to contact you.

Once you entered your bedroom, you broke down just then as you let out a choked sob while stripping off your clothes. With great effort, you managed to put on your pyjamas before climbing into bed. Soon, you would let your destructive thoughts take over. Deep down, you knew you shouldn't have eavesdropped on their conversation and jumped to conclusions, especially since Logan wasn't done speaking with Jean. But you couldn't bear to stay and listen any longer. You felt too vulnerable as you let his words echo inside your head.

You had been ignoring all the texts from your friends and the calls from Logan specifically, too drained to even hold a conversation.

Eventually, you felt sleep overtaking you, utterly exhausted from a long workweek and an emotionally draining evening.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That same night, you had jolted awake to the sound of a loud rumble. Outside, storm clouds loomed ominously over the city, with thunder crackling through them every few minutes. The storm had been raging outside your apartment, with thunder booming so fiercely it shook the windows. Curled up in your bed, you had whimpered softly, clutching a thick blanket tightly around you—not just for warmth, but for comfort and a sense of protection.

You had never liked thunderstorms, and by now, you must have tried a thousand different ways to distract yourself from them. You'd put on headphones to drown out the noise, but the knowledge of the storm outside still fed your anxiety. Thunderstorms always had a way of making you feel small and utterly helpless.

You felt a tightness building in your chest as you trembled beneath the sheets. Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing and calm yourself down. In moments like these, you felt truly helpless. You knew you shouldn't feel ashamed for being this terrified, but you couldn't help it.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the song playing through your headphones, desperate to drown out the storm. Moments later, you felt the bed dip. Slowly, you opened your eyes and found Logan sitting at the end of your bed, his soft gaze fixed on you with a look of quiet concern. A wave of relief washed over you just at the sight of him. Part of you wanted to ignore him and continue being upset with everything that had happened earlier that evening, but you couldn't find the power to do so. After all, he probably didn't even know why you were upset and who were you even kidding, he was everything you needed.

He was sitting there shirtless, dressed only in a pair of grey sweatpants. His hair was tousled from sleep. If it weren't for the sheer terror you felt because of the storm outside, you knew your cheeks would be burning at the sight of him like this. You noticed his mouth moving and, reluctantly, you slid one headphone off your ear to hear him.

“W-what?” you squeaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Sweetheart,” Logan whispered cautiously into the darkness.

At the sound of his voice, the tears that had been brimming in your eyes finally spilled down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, I feel so stupid,” you whispered, taking off your headphones and quickly trying to wipe your tears away, embarrassed by your emotions and the fact that you were terrified by the storm.

Seconds later Logan was climbing up the bed and he was lying right next to you. His strong arms wrapped around your shaking form almost immediately, holding you tightly.

“Shhh it's okay sweet girl, I've got you,” he whispered softly as he kissed your temple. Warmth spread through you at the action and you melted into his embrace.

“I hate being scared of them, Lo,” you mumbled into his chest as he squeezed you tightly.

“It's okay princess, I got you. I won't let anything happen to you.” His hands, surprisingly soft, were stroking your skin in a soothing manner as he continued to press soft kisses around the top of your head.

As Logan held you, you felt yourself slowly begin to calm down. Even though the storm showed no signs of letting up, his presence made you feel much more at ease and secure. Logan meant everything to you—he was your anchor.

“Please, stay,” you whispered as the last few tears slipped down your cheeks.

In the dark, Logan whispered your name and tightened his embrace. “I'm not going anywhere, baby girl.”

As Logan held you close, you felt your body relax gradually. He gently ran his hand through your hair, pulling the covers over both of you and adding an extra layer of warmth.

You reflected on how he often spoke to you and the way he treated you with such care. You couldn't help but overthink his sweet and gentle treatment. You knew you were more emotional and needed extra reassurance and patience, but you had never considered that he might actually have feelings for you beyond friendship. You often felt like a burden to your friends and especially to Logan. You were fairly certain you were the only one he treated this way. His teasing sometimes seemed like it could be flirting, and despite your attempts to deny it, deep down you sensed that you were somehow special to him. 

But another part of you couldn't shake what he had said earlier that night to Jean. You felt deeply conflicted and confused about everything happening between the two of you. The uncertainty and mixed emotions left you struggling to understand his true feelings, unsure of how to navigate the situation.

So you did what felt best to you, which was communicating. Even if you hated confrontation so much, you hated being unsure even more.

“Lo?” your voice trembled as you whispered against him.

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He said gently.

You took a little longer to respond, lost in your own thoughts, overthinking everything. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest. Sensing your hesitation, Logan spoke up again, breaking through your spiralling mind.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice lingering in the air as your eyes fluttered open. His head was tilted slightly, worry etched across his face.

“'M-am fine… I just—” you stuttered, your voice cracking. Logan stared at you, waiting patiently for you to finish. “I need to talk about something, or-or it will probably eat me alive if I don't.”

Logan's brow furrowed as his concern deepened, but he remained patient, waiting for you to continue.

“I- I overheard you and Jean earlier tonight…” your voice barely above a whisper.

Recognition settled over him at your words. He sighed shortly after. “What exactly did you hear?”

“You said…” your voice faltered, cracking slightly before you took a deep breath, closing your eyes. “You said we weren't like 'that,' and that we were just friends. After hearing that, I couldn't stay. It hurt too much.” You paused, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I know I shouldn't have eavesdropped, and I'm sorry... I just—” Your voice trailed off as you buried your face in his chest, your rambling finally coming to an end.

He let out a deep sigh, pulling you closer into his embrace. One of his hands gently cupped your cheek, causing your breath to hitch at the contact. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady but filled with warmth. Slowly, you opened your eyes, tears welling up as you met his gaze. Logan's expression softened, and he let out a soothing sound. “Angel, if you'd stayed a little longer, you would've heard the rest of the conversation.”

“W-what?” You squeaked, your heart pounding against your chest as you anxiously waited for him to continue.

“First of all,” he began, locking eyes with you as he spoke, “I told Jean that I couldn't tell you how I felt because I never thought you'd feel the same way. I figured you were better off not knowing how I feel about you because…” His voice faltered for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping him before he continued, “I've always believed I didn't deserve someone like you. Someone so beautiful, so patient, intelligent, caring and so sweet.”

“Lo—” It was difficult to process everything he had said. You had been so sure that he didn't feel anything more than platonic for you, so hearing that he did was overwhelming and you needed to let it sink in. “I just thought... you know, with all the people you've had over in the past, you wouldn't feel anything for me,” you said, your sadness making it hard to finish the sentence and your nerves bracing for the words you had been dreading to hear.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“I know it sounds stupid, but I kept convincing myself that if I would have meaningless sex with random people that I would get over you. That if I told you how I felt, I’d lose you,” he went on, his vulnerability tugging at your heart. “That’s the last thing I want. You mean too much to me to risk that. I love you, and the thought of losing you—even if it meant not having you the way I wanted—was unbearable.”

Tears welled in your eyes, slowly slipping down your cheeks as he poured out his heart, leaving you in disbelief. You hiccuped through your tears, “You... y-you love me?”

His expression softened further as he took in your puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Gently, he used his hands to wipe away the tears that were slipping down your cheeks, handling you with far more tenderness and care than you had shown yourself earlier.

“Of course I do,” he replied softly. “In every universe, there's no one I love more than you.”

“Logan, you deserve me. Just as much as I deserve you,” you said, cupping his cheeks as tears continued to stream down your own. “You don't have an idea how much I love you.”

Logan smiled softly before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His arms tightened around you as he began to pepper your face with tender kisses. You couldn't help but giggle against him, feeling the tension between you both melt away bit by bit. The tears slowly came to a stop.

As the emotional intensity of the moment subsided, you felt a sense of relief and contentment. The storm outside seemed to fade into the background as you basked in the warmth of your newfound understanding. You knew that challenges would still come, but facing them together felt infinitely more manageable now that you had acknowledged your feelings for each other.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

After placing a final kiss on the tip of your nose, he pulled back, his gaze filled with such deep affection that it left you feeling overwhelmed—but in the best possible way.

Logan caressed your face with fondness as he admired you. “You’re beautiful.”

You’d feel flustered instantly. “You’re so handsome Logan.” You whispered timidly. 

“Really?” He’d smile down at you. 

“Yes,” you whispered, continuing to meet his gaze shyly, your heart racing as his touch lingered on your skin.

You felt his hand slip beneath the hem of your nightshirt, his fingers tracing the soft skin of your back. A shiver ran down your spine at his touch, drawing his playful gaze as his eyes glinted mischievously. Your breath hitched when his other hand brushed against your bottom lip, sending warmth flooding through your body as his touch became more intimate, exploring you with quiet intensity.

“Do I make you nervous?” he teased with a devious grin.

“I guess you do,” you admitted, biting your lip bashfully.

“And why's that?” Logan asked, leaning in even closer. You could feel his breath against your lips, his nose brushing gently against yours. 

There’s a moment of silence as Logan’s face moves closer and closer to your own, both unable to verbalise just how desperate either of you feel for each other.

His hands are warm as they wander all over your back, underneath the soft fabric of your pyjamas. Your eyes flutter close as you enjoy his attention. You feel yourself get lightheaded by his affection and by the close proximity of your bodies.

As your eyes remained locked with his, the intensity between you grew. You found yourself studying every detail of Logan’s face—the small moles scattered across his skin, his beautiful green eyes, the rough stubble along his jawline. Your gaze drifted from his eyes, down the slope of his nose, until you were irresistibly drawn to his lips. His mouth looks so inviting.

How much you’ve dreamed of having them on your own.

You swallowed dryly at the intensity behind his eyes, your heart beating madly in your chest. A flare of heat rushed to your cheeks as you resolved to reveal the truth. You didn’t want to keep it from him any longer, especially with him looking at you as if he was about to devour you.

“B-because I—” you finally spoke as you stumbled over your words. You felt weak in his presence, but in the best way imaginable. Heat spreads through your body, a feverish sensation overwhelming your senses. Your heart raced, refusing to calm down, and your limbs trembled uncontrollably. It wasn’t the kind of fever that came with illness, but a warmth—tingling, like anticipation coursing through your veins. You whimpered as the same warmth settled between your thighs. “I need y-yo—”

Before you could finish your sentence, his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you with an intensity and passion that left you trembling and helpless, while soft whimpers escaped your throat. He’d tug your body fully closer against his own as his mouth claimed yours.

All your thoughts overwhelmed your brain, disabling any rational understanding of what was going on. Gradually, you leaned into Logan, melting into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.

Logan groaned as he continued to kiss you with a fierce intensity, giving everything he had. You felt his tongue tracing your lips slowly. Knowing what he wanted you parted your mouth slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue inside and swirl it around yours.

You absorbed all his passion, savouring the warmth of his closeness and the sensation of his rough yet soft hands holding you tightly. You didn’t want to ask how this was happening, nor did you dare question whether it was real or just a dream.

One of his hands roamed over the bare skin of your back beneath your pyjama shirt, leaving goosebumps in his wake, while the other explored the tender curve of your neck. He held you with such tenderness as his mouth continued to move ferociously against yours.

You whimpered against him as warmth and wetness continued to pool between your thighs, your pussy throbbing as his voice rumbled with a chuckle. “You okay there, kitten?” he asked softly, his voice low as his lips brushed against your jaw.

You knew he could smell your arousal, knew he could hear how fast your heart was beating. You bit your lip, trying to stifle another sound, and you tried to bury your face into his chest, feeling the heat spreading across your face and body. Logan was having none of that, his lips quickly reunited with yours. He groaned softly, a deep rumble in his chest, as you trailed your tongue out to seek purchase in his mouth, and he opened for you without hesitation. His hands gripped at your waist and brought your body flush against his.

You wanted Logan to consume your very being. Claim you as his completely.

Soft little noises of pleasure kept leaving your mouth as he continued to kiss you. His lips pressed against yours, guiding the kiss with a gentle control that made you melt into his embrace. You surrendered completely, letting him lead as you revelled in the sensation. He was so good at kissing that all you wanted was to stay in this moment with him forever.

He pulled away after what felt like hours to breathe, his warm pants fanning across your heated face. He was still holding your face with one hand, and his thumb on your cheek moved a little, stroking your skin with so much tenderness. Murmuring against your lips, he said, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I love you so much.” before delving back in for more.

You whimpered as he nipped at your bottom lip, then gently swiped his tongue over it to soothe the sting. You gasped, and Logan seized the moment to explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue once again. As the kiss grew more heated, you moaned, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

Surprisingly, you completely forgot about the storm that’s raging outside.

Logan devoured you, pouring all his love into you and claiming your mouth and kissing you with so much passion, your body shuddered with want, from the need for him. He moved his lips with yours and swirled his tongue with your own. His hand then moved to tangle in your hair as he pressed his body to yours completely.

Your hands moved to bury in his hair as well. When you pulled at his hair it was a bit rougher than you intended to and it tips his head all the way back and he lets out a loud, wanton moan that makes your whole body flush with arousal. You whined as he finally pulled away, as he left your body flush and panting and craving so much more.

His mouth then moved from your lips to your cheeks as he whispered his love for you again and again. He started trailing long, hot kisses down your jaw and neck. You whimpered pitifully as he suckled lightly on the side of your neck, tilting your head back instinctively to bare more of your soft skin to him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re everything.” He groaned as he bit down gently on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You cried out, impulsively grinding your hips against his own, desperately searching for some much needed friction against your throbbing clit. “You’re mine.” He’d growl against your skin.

You gasped, your eyes flying open when you felt his erection pressing against your pussy. You moaned as your core started clenching around nothing, begging for some attention, his attention.

Logan groaned as you continued to grind against him, grasping your hips into his hands to halt your movements. You whined in protest, as he then rolled you both over, hovering above you as he pinned your arms gently against the mattress.

“So needy.” He chuckled as a devious smile would grow on his face. “Does your sweet little pussy want some attention?” He grinned when you whimpered underneath him, before he continued. “I can always smell how much you need me.” He growled before he rolled his hips against yours again. “This virgin pussy is always begging for me to fill her.”

You didn’t have time to become embarrassed as high pitched whimpers slipped past your lips as he continued to grind against you. You’ve craved this man so bad, and now that he was yours you didn’t want to hold back anymore. He intertwined your hands together as he moved his big straining and clothed cock against your now soaked panties. 

“Love those little noises you make for me, such a good girl.” He moaned against the skin of your neck as he pressed open mouthed kisses and licks across your skin. 

You whined as he gave you a particular hard thrust. You could feel how massive he felt as he rubbed his cock against your clothed folds. You couldn’t deny that it made you nervous but all you could think about was that you needed and wanted him to take you so bad. More wetness would pool down your heated cunt as you fantasise about him filling your tiny pussy with more than just his cock. “Ah, n-need yo-you Lo…”

Suddenly everything became overwhelming, the temperature in the room rising quickly, the feel of his thick cock thrusting against you, the feel of his touch as it wandered all over your skin and the fact that you were going into a foreign but intimate territory with your best friend had you feeling hot all over.

His features softened as he took in how overwhelmed and flustered you looked. He slowed down his movements and one of his hands would move to hold your face as he slowly leaned down to peck your lips. “You’re okay baby girl, I’ve got you. I will take good care of you.” He whispered against your lips. His low voice sent a new wave of arousal down your body. “Tell me what you need, kitten.”

“You, I need you, Logan. I've always only needed you,” you whimpered against his lips as you reconnected them. His hands gently caressed your thighs, and your mind became hazy with intense lust and overwhelming love for him. Your brain instantly turned into mush as you continued to kiss each other passionately.

The kiss then increased with an intensity that had you gasping for breath. You rolled your hips into his, rubbing your throbbing clit against him for some friction against your core. You moaned into his mouth as you rubbed against him. The front of his sweatpants strained as he moved along with you.

As you kept losing yourself in the kiss, you felt his hands wander up your thighs up to the hem of your shirt. His fingers brushed delicately over the sides of your ribs, moving up and down your skin repeatedly, his fingertips mapping out every dip and curve as they wandered all over your skin.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, admiring you, making you glance up at him shyly from beneath him. He pulled away just slightly only for him to hold the hem of your shirt, and you could tell what he was about to ask before he opened his mouth. You bit your lip and nodded vigorously, causing him to chuckle breathlessly. “You want me to take this off?” He questioned as he tugged at the fabric gently. 

You nodded bashfully, unable to use or trust your voice during that moment. 

He smiled softly, his hands gently brushing under your shirt before hooking his fingers into the fabric. Slowly, he lifted it, and you raised your arms to help him slip it off.

You felt heat rising on your skin the way his eyes roamed all over you, taking in every little detail. The way Logan was looking at you, eyes filled with nothing but love, adoration and lust, made you feel so alive.

He discarded the piece of clothing to the side and began mouthing along your collarbone with affection. You trembled underneath him as he showered you with his attention. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered repeatedly as his mouth travelled all over your exposed skin.

His large hands moved to the curve of your waist where it met your hips and clutched it, holding you tight as he littered damp kisses and nips to your shoulders and any skin along the way down to your breasts. You whimpered as he traced the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast.

He smirked as he looked up at you, breathing in through his nose as he inhaled your scent and you couldn’t help but shiver when he exhaled warmly through his mouth and onto your nipple. “Fuck, baby girl, you’re so hot.”

Then, he wrapped his lips around one nipple, teeth just skimming your skin as he sucked and licked with passion.

“L-Lo,” you mewl as you try to grind your hips against him, your cunt seeking friction as it throbs with need.

“Feeling good kitty?” He quipped back as he grins up at you. You felt your skin flush with heat as you just stared down at him. Lust was written all over your face and he had no trouble reading your expression. So he resumed licking, long, lavishing licks with the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple as the other hand which was occupying your other breast, travelled all the way down to your panties. 

As his fingers slipped underneath the band of your lacy underwear, down to where you needed him the most, his mouth fell open to unleash a loud groan onto your nipple as he felt your wetness, sliding his fingers between your soaked folds.

He explored your wet cunt patiently. Heat overwhelmed your senses as Logan continued to litter soft kisses all over your chest. Your hands found his head, running your fingers through his hair as his mouth continued to wander all over your naked skin.

Logan’s lips moved slowly down your body, kissing every little place he could find on your skin while his hands traced along.

Soon, he would retreat his hand from your heat, leaving you a whimpering mess. He then leant forward, his face meeting your sex, breathing in the smell of your pussy, running his nose against the damp patch on your underwear. You whimpered as he inhaled your scent. “Fuck kitten,” he growled as he couldn’t seem to stop smelling you. “This pussy smells so good, I can’t wait to taste ya.”

A devious smile played on Logan’s lips as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. “I am sure you taste just as good as you smell, if not better.” He groaned before taking your underwear between his teeth, while pulling it off your legs slowly. A shuddering breath left your lips, speechless as you watched him take off your lacy panties, becoming needier the longer you watched him. Logan kept looking at you as he slid down your body, pulling it off of you when it reached your ankles.

Once he took them off completely he gently pushed your legs wide for him, whimpering as the air hit your wet slit. He took a moment as his eyes took over you, your glistening centre clenching around nothing as he continued to stare at your wet hole. The man between your legs would moan at the sight. Not much later, Logan smirked as he kissed all the way up to your leg, taking his sweet time to give your body the attention you deserved. He pressed soft kisses from your ankles up to your knees, his hands moving along with his mouth, caressing the insides of your thighs as he gradually moved up your legs.

His lips lingered on your thighs, licking and sucking some kisses on your soft skin, Logan’s lips were so close to where you needed him the most yet he felt so far away.

“So pretty,” he murmured as he guided your legs over either of his shoulders.

You were about to beg as his lips detached from your thigh, only for moments later to feel him nuzzling against your pussy, smearing your juices across his lips and opening you up to his skilled tongue.

You gasp and squirm at the contact of his wet tongue.

He then pulls back for a second, “pussy tastes so good,” he moaned before his fingers moved to spread your outer lips for him. “But I think I'm gonna play with my girl for a bit.” Logan smiled as he slid a finger inside of you, watching the way your body squirmed at the sensation, moaning against the pillow next to you as you tried to muffle yourself.

You moaned as he moved his thick and long finger inside your tight walls. “So wet for me baby girl, you’re literally dripping on my finger,” he said before he pressed some kisses on your pubic bone, making you buck your hips in response. “Easy, kitty, we have all night.”

“L-Logan, please please I need more. Need your mouth and just. More. Pleaseeee need you so ba—” your whining got cut off the moment you felt his lips wrap around your clit, sucked it into his mouth, coaxing a loud but broken moan out of you. “F-Fuck!”

You felt like screaming, you didn’t know what to do with your hands, feeling so lost and overwhelmed with the pleasure Logan was giving you already. He dove between your legs, licking a stripe up through your folds and teasingly dipping his tongue into your entrance along with his finger before he travelled up to your clit, spreading your lips with his wet appendage before sucking your button into his mouth.

The whine that came out of you only drove Logan to seek out more of those heavenly sounds. As his one single digit pumped in and out of you, you couldn’t help but appreciate that his fingers felt so much more pleasurable and thicker than your own. As bliss overwhelmed your senses, you felt your whole body start to tremble. 

Your core began clenching around his finger, begging for more. He pumped his finger in and out of you at a leisurely pace. Instinctively you tried moving your hips, slowly, grinding against his hand and mouth as he moaned. He gave you an intense look as he continued to fuck you with his finger. His eyes couldn’t seem to stay in one place as he admired how beautiful you were underneath him.

You were panting heavily, barely able to think straight, your mind turning hazy as he slowly slipped a second finger inside your tight channel. 

Logan moved them slowly at first as your pussy tried to adjust to the addition. The stretch was overwhelming but oh so satisfying. Little whimpers left your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. He moved his face back to meet yours, engulfing you in a passionate kiss, swallowing all your little mewls.

You gasped, his tongue slipped inside your mouth, kissing you with so much passion, giving you everything he had to offer. “That feels good doesn't it, princess?” Logan groaned as his thumb made contact with your clit. You bucked your hips and nodded quietly. “Use your words pretty girl,” he taunted while he curled his fingers inside you as he played with the sensitive spot inside you.

“Yes, please please Lo, feels… so good.” You moaned loudly.

Soon his lips travelled all the way down your body as whines and whimpers left your trembling lips, silently begging for more — all while he was still finger fucking you.

Logan inhaled your scent as soon as he leaned forward, but didn’t let you wait in anticipation much longer. He wet his lips before his head dipped between your legs, warm tongue licking a slow stripe across your outer lips, all the way up to your button.

“Ah, fuck!” You cried out, your hips bucking off the mattress. 

Squeaky, senseless noises bubbled up from your throat wantonly. Your hips stuttered against him and he just sighed like there was nothing in the world he'd rather do than this, eating you out on your bed.

You were a mess of his name, chanting and stuttering over and over again like a prayer. Your eyes squeezing shut to the point of tears, his mouth licked up your clit, as he continued to finger you while one of his other hands was holding your hip, pinning you to the soft sheets as you bucked into him, trying to urge him to do more.

The way he build up your arousal by pumping his fingers in and out of you, curling up ever so slightly to find the spongy spot inside of you. The familiar coil in your belly continued to build up as Logan suckled on your sensitive bud. Your abdomen tightened as he began quickening his pace again, his fingers hitting into that sweet spot with precision, had your toes curling as you clenched your thighs around his head.

Logan was lapping at you with determination, moving his fingers continuously as he slowly got you to the edge.

“Oh, my—”you whimpered, trembling digits sinking half into his brown hair and the other against your teeth, as you tried to silence yourself. “Fuck, aahh Logan, f-fuck…”

He moaned against you as his lips sealed around your clit and you bucked your hips at the action. Warmth spread throughout your whole body as he began talking you through it. “Fuckin’- you taste so good. Feels so good. You’re just… everything.”

You whimpered as he continued. “Come on,” he grunted as he pumped his fingers faster in and out of you. “Come on baby, cum for me.” 

“Ah, d-daddy,” You gasped loudly as your whole body trembled even more, the hot familiar feeling continued to spread all over your body, your body tingling, your hips moving at their own accord against Logan’s hand and face. Totally unaware of the word that slipped past your lips as your body tensed as he called you ‘a good girl’ and shortly after you came against his mouth and around his fingers. 

“That’s my girl.”

Your whole mind felt like exploding and all you could see were stars. You felt so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and emotions you were experiencing. Your body still trembled as you felt yourself come down from your high.

As you slowly came back to your senses you felt him gently pull his fingers out of your pulsing hole. But you still felt Logan’s mouth on you, licking and sucking at your pussy and it didn’t feel like he was gonna stop any time soon. You whined as he moaned against you while he licked against your tight entrance, licking up your release, his tongue prodding your slick hole.

“‘S too much.” You whimpered at the overstimulation.

Logan ignored your pleas, moaning against your heat as he continued to eat you out. The man you adored so much between your legs kept sliding his tongue up and down your sensitive slit. Your little mewls and other noises of ecstasy spurred him on, to move his lips back up to your clit, sucking the nub softly between his lips. 

“You love having daddy eat your sweet pussy don’t you?” He smirked, looking up at your flustered and embarrassed face as he continued licking your soaked cunt. “No need to be embarrassed, baby. I like it.”

The walls of your pussy clenched furiously, the empty feeling inside you intensifying with every lick, and as your wetness trickled out of you, your core practically begged him to fill it up.

“Oh sweet girl.” Logan tutted as you began grinding your hips against his face as moans kept spilling from your lips. “You’re so sensitive, kitten.” He chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your clit. 

Eventually he leaned down, finally slipping his tongue into your entrance, he curled the muscle upward to brush your walls, the sight of your fingers bunching the fabric of the sheets in a tight grip encouraged him to do it again and again.

Writhing below him, you felt him lick up and press against a sensitive spot inside that had you seeing stars, while your hips bucked against his face uncontrollably. Your fingers moved once again, gripping onto his dark hair rather harshly as you pushed your hips against his face shoving his tongue deeper inside your hole.

“Please,” you begged. “‘M close.”

“Please what?” He taunted as he continued to lick your heat.

“P-please,” you stuttered and paused before finishing timidly. “Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he said before plunging his tongue back inside you as his thumb came up to press against your little bundle of nerves. Moments later, the tension snapped inside your lower tummy, cumming with a loud whine, your hips stuttered as your vision blurred. You cried out his name, your voice unable to remain steady. 

Your hips stuttered until the final waves of aftershock pass. As you slowly came back down to reality again while you tried to catch your breath, you heard him praising you softly while he continued to lap at your wetness gently. You whined and nudged him away with your leg, only to react with a chuckle.

“Taste so good, baby. Could eat your sweet pussy all day.” He grinned as he licked the wetness off his mouth. Logan smirked, holding eye contact with you as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth.

You giggled as he licked his fingers clean, feeling slightly embarrassed by the action. Trying to hide your flushed face, you lazily raised your hands to cover it, but Logan wasn’t having any of it. With a gentle smile, he placed tender kisses all over your hands, pulling them down slowly. Then, he leaned in closer, pressing sweet kisses to your nose, your forehead, and both your cheeks before finally capturing your lips. Each kiss was playful, filled with warmth, as laughter bubbled softly between you, his grin widening against your mouth.

He pulled away with a satisfied sigh, a warm smile spreading across his face as he reached to touch the side of your neck, tracing his fingertips up and down.

You exhaled as you melted at the feel of his touch and kissed his thumb as it came to trace across your lips. Your shaky legs wrapped around his hips, and with a playful gleam in your eyes, you gave his thumb a tender lick, holding his gaze as you rubbed your still sensitive heat against his clothed cock.

“F-fuck, you can’t just do that kitten.” He groaned as his hands came to hold your hips, stilling your movements.

You whined, pouting as you looked up at him. “Why not?”

“It’s hard to control myself around you.” He grunted as he started grinding his cock against you. Your gaze wandered downward, following the line of the vein near his V-line as it disappeared beneath his grey sweatpants. You couldn’t help but whine underneath him as he continued to grind his covered cock against your growing wetness. You gasped after giving you a particular hard thrust, that’s when you realised and felt he wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath them. He felt massive. “I’ve been trying to control myself for years. I think I’d have to control myself a bit longer.”

“W-why?” you hiccuped as he kept rutting his hips into yours.

“Don’t wanna hurt ya.” He mumbled, as his cock strained against his sweatpants.

“But I know you won’t.” You said, your voice steady, filled with all the confidence you could summon. You watched as his jaw clenched, his grip tightening slightly as he held himself back, resisting the urge to just take you like he always wanted.

“How are you so certain?” His breath hitched when you tightened your legs around him.

“I-I, because I trust you.” You continued to stutter as you both rolled your hips against each other. His eyes darkened with desire, but you could tell he was trying to restrain himself, fighting against what he truly wanted, even though the tension between you was nearly unbearable. Still, you held his gaze, unwavering. “Because you love me.”

Logan groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep control, every muscle in his body tense with the effort. You could see the conflict etched across his face, the battle between what he wanted and what he was trying to hold back. His grip on you tightened slightly, a sign of the restraint still lingering in him, though it was slowly slipping away. His breathing was ragged, and for a moment, you thought he might give in. But then, he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay still, clinging to the last shred of restraint that hadn’t left him yet. “You don’t know how hard this is,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice thick with desire. “How difficult it’s been, every day since I met you, trying to hold back while being around you.”

“I think I do, Logan,” you whispered, gazing up at him. “Maybe not in the exact way you feel it, but I’ve struggled too, convincing myself daily that I could never have you. And now, realising I could’ve had you from the start—it’s almost unbearable.” You bit your lip, noticing how his expression softened. “That’s why I don’t want us to hold back anymore. I don’t think I can endure it any longer. Please, I need you, Logan. I love you, and I’ll always want you—”

Your words were cut off as Logan surged towards you, cupping your face as he kissed you passionately. His lips moved fervently against yours, as if he was trying to make up for every moment of restraint. Making up for any lost time. The intensity of his kiss made your head spin, your heartbeat quickening as you melted into his embrace. His hands then started roaming around your body, his hold on you tightening occasionally, pulling you closer, while his breath grew heavy as you felt every emotion as he kissed you. You clung to him, pouring out every feeling and emotion out with every heated kiss.

“I love you,” Logan murmured between tender kisses, breathlessly whispering your name.

Your own hands began wandering all over his body and eventually down his solid chest until your fingers met his abdomen, slipping momentarily underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. With a mix of urgency and desire, you tugged at them while whimpering underneath him as you continued to kiss him deeply.

“Just relax, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered softly after pulling away from the kiss. He eventually took it upon himself to slowly peel back, shuffling a bit to rid himself of the last piece of fabric on his body. He tossed it aside, fully exposing himself to your hungry eyes.

Your breath hitched, your eyes wide. Fuck, he was massive. Long and thick in all the right ways. Just as you thought, the vein between his V Lines moved down to his cock. A spark of heat shot down to your pulsing core as you imagined how he would fit or fill you up. But it was also accompanied by a twinge of nerves.

Logan chuckled as he moved closer to you, his lips chasing your own as he enveloped you in another sweet but deep kiss. 

The two of you kissed languidly for a moment, treasuring the heat of each other's bodies as your lips slot together with ease, but soon enough the kisses become deeper, more frantic and hands start to grip tighter and legs tangling together. 

It's like you're both starved, this insatiable hunger for each other. 

You couldn’t help but roll your hips against his to feel his thick cock. You whined as it turned slick as you kept grinding yourself against him, and he had no trouble gliding his hips against you and rutting it into your clit.

You gasped openly into his mouth, desire growing quickly. You were so wet. Logan swallowed your whines with his lips against yours, hips rolling against you. He kissed you full with fervour, his grip on you intensifying heatedly.

He held his length in his hand as he kept rubbing the head of his cock from your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you were squirming underneath him, and back down. The thought of his thickness finally entering your pussy made you wetter by the second, turning you more on. Logan swallowed your little mewls with his mouth, his hips rolling with yours.

You were trembling against him, full of anticipation. His body covered your whole body with his. You writhed against him, wishing he was just in you already and filling you up and consuming you with pleasure once again.

“P-please, Logan.” You stuttered, your body trembling underneath him as you waited for his next move. 

Logan hummed as he concentrated while circling your clenching hole teasingly. You arched your back slightly as you whined, silently begging to finally fill your pussy the way you’ve always wanted him to do.

“Relax, baby girl.” He whispered after he licked and kissed underneath your ear.

“Please d-daddy, I-I need you.” You whimpered in anticipation. Logan would grunt loudly before nudging the tip of his cock against your soaked hole. Your legs trembled underneath him, a mix of nerves and excitement. “Want you to fill this little pussy. Need you t-to fill it with more than your cock. N-need your cum.” You whispered seductively against his ear as his last bit of restraint snaps. 

At your words, Logan gradually put more pressure on your entrance making you whimper underneath him, once he finally slid his tip inside you, a gasp elicited from the both of you.

You’re aware this was just barely the tip of him, but you couldn’t help but feel the stretch burn already. Logan slid in so slowly it was agonising. You cried out as he gradually pushed more of his pulsing cock inside your own clenching hole. He was so big.

You tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly as you whined underneath him. He panted along with you, his warm breath fanning over your face while he kept his forehead pressed against yours. The stretch stung, but his pace kept it bearable. He guided himself a centimetre further, then another, another, until you were digging your nails into his scalp, a gasp spilling from your lips.

His hips stilled instantly once he heard the pained noises falling from your lips. Tears began to prickle at your waterline, a combination of discomfort and the overwhelming feelings that were coursing through you.

“Doing so good for me baby,” he praised as he peppered your face with gentle kisses. “You’re doing so good for me.”

“Please,” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered close.

Logan continued to move almost painfully slow, letting you adjust to every centimetre of him. After a couple of seconds you were able to relax more into it. You whimpered, clutching his shoulders at the stretch, the heat in your abdomen growing as your walls fluttered around him, pleasure beginning to bloom in your stomach.

“So full…” you whined.

“Such a good girl,” he grunted softly. You think there wasn’t a possibility to get more wet but as he utters those words you felt your heat get even more wet. He leaned down as he kissed your lips gently, as he filled you up bit by bit. He hoped the sweetness of his embrace would soften the sting.

You’re trembling as you canted your hips up, begging for him to fill you to the brim, while you gripped the bedsheets between your fingers. “Please Lo, need more. I can take it, daddy.” You whimpered as you involuntarily and repeatedly tightened around his thick cock.

He groaned at your desperate whines, losing his composure momentarily as he thrust the rest of his length all the way inside your tiny hole. The head of his dick kissing your cervix once he bottomed out. You cried out as you were trembling underneath him, trying to adjust to his size while your pussy kept pulsing around his cock.

“Fuck, so fuckin’ tight.” He hissed as he let you adjust to his cock. 

His lips came to press soft and tender kisses all over your face as he let you relax. Tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes as you continued to adjust around him. You felt so full, as if he was made for you, and only you. The feeling of him filling you up so completely had you seeing stars and digging fingernails into his shoulders. You felt one of his hands finding your hand, lacing them with yours as the other one reached up to your face.

His breathing was heavy as you squeezed his cock repeatedly. Small whimpers left your lips as you squirm underneath him.

You needed more. 

You hadn’t even realised your eyes had drifted shut until you slowly opened them, gazing up at Logan with a soft, pleading look. “Please, Logan.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated deep in his chest.

“Need more.” You whispered.

“Aww, does my sweet girl need me to move?” he teased, tilting his head with a playful smirk.

“Need you, please.” You begged as your pussy clenched around his thick cock rather hard which made him groan above you. “Please, I need you to fuck me so bad.”

His breath hitched as he exhaled shakily, before nodding quietly. Slowly, he started moving inside you, gentle but deep. One hand reached down to play with your clit, while the other one went to intertwine your fingers together, holding your hand tightly. 

The sting hurt for a while, but it easily morphed into a more pleasurable feeling as he moved against you. You’re so overstimulated from all your previous orgasms that the sensation he was giving you was mixed between pain and pleasure.

He grunted as he dropped his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin just below it. Soon enough the pain would completely disappear and all you could feel was pure bliss.

Slowly, you were getting used to his girth, anticipating it every time he pulled out of you before moving forward. Your legs are splayed open on either side of his hips as he ground his cock into you. The angle was so good, gradually he would pick up his pace, leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him. As he fucked into you in languid strokes, the sound of slick skin and your noises of pleasure could be heard in your bedroom.

“How do you feel?” he whispered against your ear.

“Feels so good.” You moaned as you tightened around his cock, this time voluntarily.

You whimpered as he picked up the pace, angling himself in a certain way inside you. He finally leaned down to wrap his arms around you, the action elicited a gasp out of you as you grab at the sheets around you, as he fucked you harder and faster.

Every time he’d thrust inside you, his pelvic bone would drag along your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure ecstasy. 

“You’re taking me so well, sweet girl. Doing so so, good for me.” He whispered against your skin as he moved to nuzzle his face against your neck.

Soft grunts fell from Logan’s lips whenever he hit a specific deep spot inside you. You whimpered as his lips moved back up to your lips, enveloping them in a heated kiss. You melted completely against him, holding you close to him as he fucked you. He snaked one of his hands down between your conjoined bodies finding your clit as he rubbed two fingers over the sensitive nub.

At a certain point you felt him slide into a pressure point in your core and coupled with the way his fingers circled your clit, it had you clenching like a vise around his dick. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head from the pleasure he was providing you. The whimpers that fell from your lips became higher pitched as he picked up his pace.

“Feeling good, kitten?” He groaned, as his lips curled into a mischievous smile as he admired the way your face twisted in pure bliss. Too overwhelmed by the new experience. Filth and praise continued to come out of his mouth as he fucked you. “This pussy was made for daddy.”

His mouth covered your own instead as he swallowed all your little noises of pleasure, you could feel the tightness return in your belly, the tight coil that pulls tighter with every movement and every touch.

Your whimpers, gasps of pleasure and pants increased as ecstasy and warmth overwhelmed your senses.

“Taking daddy’s cock so well, baby.”

His hands couldn’t get enough of you, sliding around your hips and lower back, wanting to feel all of you, touch you everywhere. You whimpered at the feeling of his speed, feeling another orgasm coming so close, eyes tightly shut and legs locked bruisingly around Logan’s hips. He could feel it too, in the way you clenched and squeezed around his length, and he began to drive even harder into your pussy as he tilted his hips gently, searching for the one place that he hoped would blow your mind.

“Ah, daddy—” you hiccuped as he fucked you so good you felt like a blabbering mess. “Need you to come inside my pussy...”

“Is that what you want?” He growled as you pulsed around him. “Can’t believe it… it’s your first time and you’re already begging for me to cum inside. So filthy. You’re close aren’t ya?”

You nodded furiously as your arms trembled as they wrapped around him, your nails digging in his back as he moaned on top of you. The feeling of the coil tightening in your belly, was tingling down to your legs, ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, cursing under his breath when you purposefully tighten your walls around him. “Bet you’d look even prettier with my cum inside your pussy. All full and messy.”

“Please…” you moaned as you thought about him filling you up. “Please Lo, baby, daddy… please fill this pussy up.”

He grunted as he buried his face into your neck as he fucked into you, making the whole bed rattle at his force.

“You want to cum pretty girl?”

You nodded frantically at his words while your eyes fluttered close as you bit your lip harshly. You were bucking up beneath him, nails digging into his skin even more as his hand moved back to your clit as another came to intertwine your hands together, pinning them to the bed. He rubbed your clit with enough pressure to ensure you’ll cum around him.

“Cum for daddy.” Logan demands softly.

And when he finally nudged against that spot inside you coupled with his deep voice– you were exploding, shattering, and detonating all at once, as you cried out his name. Blood was rushing so wildly in your ears that you couldn’t possibly hear the way you wail and sob as he crashed his lips onto yours, swallowing all your noises. Your head lolled back, your back arching violently as you twist and contort in pleasure underneath him.

“That’s it, good girl.” Logan moaned in your ear as your walls spasmed and pulsed around his cock, begging him to cum inside, desperate for him to fill you up the way he promised.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing himself up as he thrust deeper into you, the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly. “You want me to fill this pussy up? Make it all messy?”

You were still in a daze but you were able to understand him so you nod vigorously at his words, whining even more at the sensitivity. Your pussy squeezed around his cock in anticipation. “Please…”

“Fuck, take it baby.” It washed over him instantly, hips stuttering into you as he grew desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he felt his cock throb inside of you before hot spurts of his seed splashed along your walls, painting them in ribbons of white. The warmth of his seed filled you up and spread inside your pussy. The feeling made you whimper, limbs limp on the bed as he shallowly thrust into you, making sure you took every last drop. 

His warm cum filled you up deeply, the mild heat of it settling deep inside you and causing you to squirm under him. Logan panted as he let his body slump against yours. He rested on top of you, trying to steady his breath. His cock was still nuzzled deep within you, still half hard as it kept his cum from leaking out.

It was a blurry haze when you came back to your senses, your whole body was aching whilst simultaneously feeling the most relaxed you've ever been, equally as exhausted as it was energised, and you didn’t bother trying to question why. Just pure contentment.

Once both of you caught your breaths, Logan leaned his forehead against yours before kissing you tenderly.

“That was…” He breathed, smiling tiredly at the complete dopey mess he's made of you; hair all over the place and eyes lidded heavily, heated skin glowing and your lips looking swollen from all the kisses you’ve both shared.

“Oh yeah, that was mind blowing.” Your voice came out hoarse, still recovering from the height and volume it had gone, and you cleared your throat gently before you smiled up at him.

“I love you.” He whispered before he captured your lips in a deep and lazy kiss. You could feel his soft mouth smiling against yours as you whimpered against him. You felt yourself melting against his embrace as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I love you too.” You whispered back against his mouth. 

You shifted slightly when you felt that he was still hard inside you. Biting your lip, you squeezed purposely around him at the realisation. Logan groaned at the feeling, his large palms sliding up your sides in a soothing manner. 

“Don’t do that.” Logan grumbled but you saw a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Why not?” You giggled as your hands trailed through his hair.

“Makes me wanna fuck you again.” Your boyfriend mumbled.

“Hm, that’s kind of the point.” You continued to giggle.

Logan chuckled as he pulled his head back, looking at you with a mirthful smile.

Before you knew it, he pulled out only to man handle your body in the position he wanted you to be. Manoeuvres your body until you’re on your tummy. His hands came to hold your hips, pulling them up, your ass in the air for him.

He kneads the flesh of your cheeks before spreading them apart for him. Your body slumps slightly forward with exhaustion but Logan is quick to grip your hips, holding you in the same position. “Oh kitten, I’m not done with you yet.” He tutted. 

Your cheeks flushed with heat as you prepared yourself for a long night filled with passion.

thank you for reading 🩷🩷🩷

[m4nj1r0s]

Hiii okay I'm obsessed with your TR headcanons! May I request relationship headcanons for Shinichiro Sano? Maybe with a stoic/ calm and collected reader? Thank you if you do 💖

Shinichiro Sano with a stoic/collected reader headcannons

I’m so sorry for the rlly late reply I was sooo inactive recently but tyy! It’s a little short but hope you like it :)

———————————————————————————————————————

- Admires you a lot, since he’s quite literally the opposite.

- Before you guys started dating, he used to sneak glances at you with a massive blush on his face. You were just so pretty even whilst you did the most boring things on earth.

- Unfortunately, his little ‘glance’ ended up w/ him staring at you for a good 10 mins and he’s scared you think he’s a weirdo :(

- You probably do ibsr

- Whenever he’s around you he tries to act nonchalant like in the gif, but internally he’s freaking out. Poor boy doesn’t want to ward you off because he likes you sm.

- Given his track record with girls, it’s safe to say he goes to Wakasa. You two are similar, and he wants to try and figure out what you’re thinking.

- Wakasa actually gives him genuine advice, probably because he’s gotten so much second-hand embarrassment from Shinichiro asking girls out before 😭

- Has a whole ass notepad where he jots down things you tell him about yourself. Even if it’s the smallest thing.

- “So, you had a vanilla milkshake whilst you were on vacation 3 years ago?”

- “Correct.. Why are you writing that down?”

- Read a romance novel to try and figure out how to confess to you and he decided to do it on a day that was rainy so you two could have a cute first kiss in the rain moment right after you said yes, breaking your stoic demeanor and also confessed your undying love to him.

- Assuming you said yes ofc..

- Wakasa shut it down almost immediately after Shinichiro told him tho 🙁

- So he opted to ask you out whilst you two were hanging out in his motorbike shop during the sunset.

- “So you’ll actually go out with me???!”

- “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

- Mf was literally jumping for joy

- Naturally after you guys start dating you’ll hang around with Wakasa, Benkei and Takeomi more. Which is fine, since you and Wakasa have similar personalities and you get along with Benkei & Takeomi.

- Shinichiro was happy that you got along w/ his friends but he does get jealous easily. Especially when you and Wakasa form a good friendship :(

- He’s not upset you two get along, but he’s going with you anytime you hang out.

- He gets jealous pretty easily, and then he gets insecure when you seem to be so nonchalant.

- Do you get as jealous as he does when he talks to girls?? (they only talk to him to ask for directions)

- Mikey and Emma adore you, though they were ASTOUNDED Shinichiro brought someone as cool as you home as his girlfriend.

- They crash your guys’ dates sometimes, but you guys don’t mind.

- Shinichiro loves to hand-feed you, and this mf WILL even if you try and stop him.

- “..Move that spoon away from my face.”

- “Honeybuns, you have to eat!-”

- Literally the king of making the cheesiest, corniest nicknames for you and he genuinely thinks they’re cute.

- They range from Honeybuns, Pookie, SNOOKIE, Sugarplum, Sweetiepie and Cinnamonbun.

- Yes, he literally calls you cinnamon bun sometimes 😭

- But he is a gentleman. Will hold open doors for you, make sure you have a helmet if youre going on his motorbike, tie your shoelaces for you and on those rare days you’re too tired to walk he will carry you.

- I hc he’s actually strong, but js can’t fight for whatever reason. So he’s pretty good at lifting things up, which is useful if you ever want to rearrange furniture :)

- Has a fun little game where he tries his hardest to catch you off guard and will randomly kiss you, but the thing is he always does it at the worst time 😭

- One time he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and you punched him 😭

- “Why would you punch me, Cinnamonbun?!”

- “..My bad.”

- You’re his savior when he gets injured though. Whether it was in his shop, or Mikey and Emma ganging up on him, you always tend to his injuries and your calmness also relaxes him in turn.

- Has a cringe t-Shirt with your face on it that says ‘If Lost, please return to:’ 🫠

- He thinks it’s cute!..

- In conclusion, he will be extra cheesy if you’re stoic <3

[misswynters]

Gym Confession

tom taylor x gn! reader

word count: 1.3k

a/n: the fic i’m writing for aeron/benji/reader is taking forever so here’s another one!@benjicotblckwood

The early morning sun peeked through the windows of the gym, casting a warm glow on the equipment. You and Tom Taylor had made it a habit to work out together whenever your schedules allowed. Today was one of those rare days where neither of you had any pressing commitments, and you were determined to make the most of it.

Tom was already at the gym when you arrived, warming up with some stretches. He flashed you a bright smile as you approached. "Hey! Ready to get started?"

"Absolutely," you replied, returning his smile. "What's the plan for today?"

He glanced at his phone, where he'd made a rough outline of the workout. "I was thinking we could start with some cardio, then move on to strength training. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," you said, feeling a rush of excitement. Working out with Tom was always fun; his enthusiasm and positive energy were contagious.

You both hopped on adjacent treadmills and began your warm-up. As the treadmills hummed beneath you, Tom started to talk about his latest project. "So, we've just wrapped up filming, and I think this one's going to be really special. The script was incredible, and the cast was amazing."

"That's great to hear," you said, slightly breathless as you picked up the pace. "I can't wait to see it. You're always so passionate about your work."

Tom grinned, clearly pleased. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you."

After the cardio session, you moved on to the weight machines. Tom adjusted the settings on one of the machines and gestured for you to take the first turn. "How about we start with some leg presses?"

You nodded, positioning yourself on the machine. As you began your set, Tom stood by, offering encouragement. "You've got this. Keep your back straight and push through your heels."

His supportive words and watchful eye helped you maintain proper form, and before you knew it, you'd finished your set. Tom took his turn next, and you returned the favor, cheering him on.

"Come on, Tom! You make this look easy," you teased, watching as he effortlessly completed his reps.

He laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Don't be fooled. I'm working hard here."

The two of you moved through the rest of your workout, alternating between different exercises and machines. Between sets, you chatted about everything from favorite movies to weekend plans, the conversation flowing naturally and easily.

As the session drew to a close, you both found yourselves at the stretching area, cooling down with some light stretches. Tom reached over and handed you a bottle of water. "Here, you need to stay hydrated."

"Thanks," you said, taking a grateful sip. "I think that was one of our best workouts yet."

"I agree," Tom said, his eyes meeting yours with a warm, genuine expression. "I always look forward to these sessions. It's nice to have a workout partner who pushes me and keeps things fun."

"Right back at you," you replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie and appreciation. "You make it so much easier to stay motivated."

As you both finished your stretches, Tom glanced at his watch. "Hey, I've got a bit of time before my next appointment. How about we grab a smoothie or something?"

"That sounds great," you said, smiling. "I know just the place."

You both headed out of the gym, the sun now higher in the sky, promising a beautiful day ahead. The nearby smoothie bar was a favorite of yours, known for its delicious and healthy options. As you walked, Tom fell into step beside you, the easy conversation continuing.

When you reached the smoothie bar, you both ordered your favorites and found a table by the window. As you sipped your drinks, Tom leaned back in his chair, a contented look on his face.

"Days like this are the best," he said, his eyes reflecting a sense of peace. "Good workout, good company, and a great smoothie to top it off."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a similar sense of satisfaction. "Couldn't agree more. It's nice to take a break and enjoy the little things."

Tom's gaze softened as he looked at you, his smile gentle. "You know, I'm really glad we do this. It means a lot to have you as a friend and workout partner."

"Same here," you replied, your heart warming at his words. "Here's to many more workouts and smoothies together."

Tom raised his smoothie cup in a mock toast, and you clinked yours against it, both of you laughing. It was moments like these that made you appreciate the special bond you shared, built on mutual respect, support, and genuine friendship.

As you finished your drinks and prepared to head your separate ways, you couldn't help but notice the way Tom's eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual. There was something in his gaze, a hint of unspoken tension that hadn't been there before.

Later that week, you and Tom found yourselves at the gym again, ready for another workout. This time, there was a slight awkwardness in the air, a tension that neither of you had addressed yet.

Tom adjusted the settings on the bench press, his movements more deliberate than usual. "Let's start with this today."

You nodded, sensing the change in his demeanor. As you took your turn on the bench press, you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. When it was his turn, you stood by, offering the same encouragement he always gave you.

"Come on, lord of the north. You got this," you said, trying to keep the tone light.

He managed a small smile but didn't respond with his usual banter. Instead, he focused on his reps, the silence between you growing heavier with each passing moment.

After finishing the set, Tom sat up, wiping sweat from his forehead. He glanced at you, his expression conflicted. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

You felt a knot form in your stomach. "Okay. What's going on?"

Tom took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "I... I've been feeling something more than just friendship between us. And I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to ruin what we have. But it's getting harder to ignore."

Your heart raced, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. You had always valued your friendship with Tom, but now you were forced to confront feelings you hadn't fully acknowledged.

"I don't want to ruin what we have either," you said softly. "But I can't deny that there's something there."

Tom's eyes softened, relief washing over his features. "So, what do we do?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. "I think we need to be honest with each other. We can take things slow and see where it goes. But whatever happens, I don't want to lose our friendship."

Tom nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "I can agree to that. Slow and honest."

The tension between you eased slightly, replaced by a sense of anticipation and curiosity about what the future might hold. As you continued your workout, the unspoken understanding between you added a new layer to your interactions.

Later, as you cooled down with some light stretches, Tom reached over and gently squeezed your hand. "Thanks for being honest with me. It means a lot."

You squeezed his hand back, feeling a sense of connection that was deeper than ever. "Thank you for bringing it up. I'm glad we talked about it."

As you both left the gym and headed to the smoothie bar once again, the conversation flowed more easily. There was still a lot to figure out, but you knew that with honesty and openness, you could navigate this new phase of your relationship together. Sitting at the same table by the window, sipping your smoothies, you felt a renewed sense of optimism.

[wheneclipsefalls]

Obsessed with your writing! Especially the sully brothers x reader relationship!! If you're taking requests, I would love to see possibly something along the lines of lo'ak being slightly more jealous and possessive even when it comes to his brother, so maybe reader x neteyam are being very fluff and cute alone and it starts to get hot and heavy, and even though they know lo'ak would be jealous Neteyam just can't help himself 😩 just as neteyam and reader are finished and cleaning up lo'ak catches them and gets soo pouty and jealous and reader is soo apologetic and makes it up to him with his own special alone time asgdgdhdhfjfkf 👀🙏🏻

Masterlist AO3

Pairing: Neteyam (23) x Metkayina Fem Reader x Lo'ak (22)

Warnings: oral (fem receiving), explicit MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, p in v, aged up characters, established relationship, polyamory, dom Lo'ak, dom Neteyam, squirting, sub reader, power imbalance, jealousy, sibling rivalry, dirty talk, semi public sex.

A/N: Thank you to the anon that requested this! I had a lot of fun exploring a softer side to these three's dynamic. Also, thanks for being so patient <3

“You’re going to hurt your eyes staring at the sun like that, baby girl.” Neteyam warns you. Still, your gaze is locked to the horizon. The water is calm and clear, only the occasional canoe or ilu and rider surfacing. Nothing showing the shape of what you truly desire to see. 

“Yawne.” Neteyam tries again, finally breaking your focus away from the pulsing water. Looking up from your place in the sand, it’s easy to see the fond amusement in Neteyam’s golden eyes. “He won’t be back until tomorrow.” 

You huff and turn away from him. 

“I know that.” Your efforts to remain nonchalant are unsuccessful with the eldest brother. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest before you feel his shadow encapsulating your form. He leans directly over your sitting form till his playful eyes meet yours directly, blocking the view of the ocean. Neteyam’s tight braids dangle and sway upside down with the ocean breeze carrying them along. 

“Then why do you keep looking for boats?” A hairless eyebrow raises back at you and it becomes hard to hide your pout. 

It seems that your attempts at spotting the hunting party were not as subtle as originally imagined. Then again you figure nothing concerning you and the brothers is ever subtle. It’s been five days since Lo’ak left with the hunting party out past the reef. It’s the longest the two of you have been apart since mating. Sure there were times when one or both of the brothers were needed in these groups, setting out across the waves to gather greater supplies for the clan, but that had been when you were teenagers. 

Back then you could not verbally call them as yours. Even on those occasions you had been worried and anxious for their return, but those were thoughts that had to be kept to yourself. You can still remember Lo’ak’s smirk the first time you had bounded into his arms after he had been away on a three day journey. He was pleasantly surprised but wasted no time in pressing your body closer to his. Pulling away with inflamed cheeks, you could see the obvious pride that glimmered across his features. 

It was clear he knew of your little crush.

Now, having been mated to both brothers for several months, you are acclimated to their presence. You are fortunate enough to wake up with at least one of the Sully boy’s wrapped around you. Each night you fall asleep pressed between them, a game of footsy inevitably taking place throughout the night. Even with each of your busy schedules and responsibilities you seem to always find time to spend with them frequently. 

“You’re imagining things.” You insist, trying to look past his curtain of braids. 

Neteyam audibly laughs at this. He straightens up before plopping down beside you. Strong arms wrap around your middle and easily manhandle you to sit between his legs. It feels natural to melt back against his warm chest, Neteyam tucking your head beneath his chin. 

“My poor yawne, not getting enough attention with only one male to satisfy her.” Neteyam teases and you instantly slap his thigh in reprimand. It’s light and harmless, only there for show of your retribution. 

“Don’t say that.” A pout begins to form across your heart shaped lips. Thankfully Neteyam is unable to see it properly with you facing forwards. Still, he seems to sense it all the same, his cooing and amused chuckles not seizing for a moment.

Bent legs cage you in from each side, but the loose embrace is comforting to say the least. It doesn’t calm the storm of emotions and longing that plagues your brain, but the tension in your muscles begins to unravel into a more relaxed posture. Calloused hands dance across your shoulders and sides. The warmth of his hands seem to spread across your skin, subconsciously bringing a blush to your cheeks. 

Finally, they settle to knead and work at the knots in your shoulders. Neteyam is an expert at scaring away any forms of physical stress with those skilled hands. His strong grip formed over years of wielding a bow and carrying heavy canoes onto shore, proves to be efficient in digging into the deep muscle that is usually coiled tightly. You have to suppress a moan from escaping your lips. 

“He will be alright.”

Your eyes flicker open, unsure of when they closed in the first place. 

“Yeah…I know.” You live under no delusion that those words came out confident. Were it not for Neteyam’s great intuition and vast knowledge of your reactions, it’s clear he would still be able to decipher your mood. You’ve always been known for wearing your heart out on your sleeve. It’s a characteristic that can lead to deeper talks and understanding but also the same one that puts you into moods that end with you over one of the Sully brother’s knees. 

“Our sweet syulang, always concerned for her forest boys.” Neteyam coos, nuzzling into the back of your neck. The action starts to surface small giggles from your lips, tickling at the sensitive skin. Your sharp teeth gnaw into your bottom lip to try and keep them at bay, but it is already building into full blown laughter. This only spurs Neteyam onward, brushing your thick hair aside so he has better access to your neck. 

“Stop!” The pleas for mercy sound anything but intimidating with your radiating laughter sinking into every phrase. Before you know it, his legs have come over yours to keep you trapped while his fingers tickle into the soft flesh of your sides. 

You’ve always been ticklish, a fact that both brothers delight in and use to their advantage. Lo’ak was originally the first one to discover it and he had been relentless for the weeks following. Any chance he had to keep you pinned underneath him with desperate laughter erupting from you, he took. It came to the point where you were asking Jake for maneuvers that would get the male off of you. 

“Neteyam! M-mercy!” 

“Not till you admit how worried you are.” Neteyam insists. At this point you are squirming and frantically trying to kick his legs off of yours for relief. Unsurprisingly, you are unsuccessful with that heavy toned muscle clamping you in place. “Baby girl can’t handle Lo’ak being gone for a few days.” Neteyam teases.

It’s funny how after all this time, hearing the words out loud still makes you blush. You’ve done unspeakable things with these men, gave your body and soul to them and received the same in return, but there is still something about admitting your dependence on them that makes your ears heat up in embarrassment. 

“Fine! Fine! I’m a little worried, you skxawng. N-now let me go!” Intermittent hiccups cut your sentences into jambled pieces but luckily Neteyam finally yields. Your lungs struggle to inflate and exhale air quickly, heart beating against your ribcage. The eldest Sully lets you lean back against him once more as he peppers soft kisses along your cheek and temple. You can feel the curve of his lips against your skin. 

Arrogant Skxawng. 

“Lo’ak will be back before you know it.” 

You solemnly nod in response. Neteyam is right, but five days already feels like too much. It’s strange not having his snide remarks and devilish grin interrupting your day periodically. In many ways the brothers are like fire and ice. They have parts of their personalities that oppose one another and yet it feels unbalanced to only have one element without the other. There are moments where you admittedly enjoy spending one on one time with them, but things usually only escalate sexually in these scenarios if they’re quickies. Just simple moments where the heat of passion lures both of you into going further than anticipated. 

Although you prefer not to verbally admit it, part of this has to do with Lo’ak’s tendencies. Neteyam isn’t easily bothered by being left out. He’s too busy and sensible to monitor things as inevitable as that. The eldest brother only comes to heated anger when seeing other Na’vi males closing in on you. 

Lo’ak on the other hand, is a bit more sensitive to the exclusion. You blame it on the older-younger brother complex that they have grown up in. Neteyam has always been the golden child, spearheading the path for his siblings to follow while Lo’ak spent many of his adolescent years feeling like an outcast. In his eyes, Neteyam was the one that received all the praise and accomplished each milestone perfectly while he was seen as lesser than. It’s been years of healing and growing up, but a shred of those insecurities still lie beneath, no matter how much he denies it. Lo’ak is possessive of what belongs to him, perhaps afraid it could be taken away within an instant. 

You consider it a miracle that the two agreed to this special relationship in the first place. Still, that possessive behavior has a way of bubbling to the surface every now and then. 

“Five days is already a long time.” You mumble as Neteyam’s calloused fingertips trail to the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. It lights a flame there, sparkling along your veins into simple tendrils of pleasure. Five days is a long time, especially when you’ve gotten zero sexual relief within that span. 

“You think you can make do with silly old me for one more day?” Pointed teeth briefly nip at your twitching ears. 

Your lips part to throw back some witty response, but the sensation of long fingers reaching underneath the waistband of your loincloth, makes your mind go blank. It’s borderline humiliating how affected you are by such simple touches, but you’ve been on the edge for days now. Neteyam has been doting and affectionate as always but your nights end with innocent cuddling. Only now can you feel the evidence of his own sexual frustration poking your back.

“Please don’t tease, Nete.” You rangle out a response as the tip of his pointer barely brushes your unparted folds. Going without sex for almost a week is one thing, but you have little hope of surviving it with the mix of Neteyam’s teasing. 

“Why not?” He whispers, but those pointer fingers parts your petals and begins to rub delicately at your sensitive nub. Neteyam peeks his head around your shoulder once more. You obediently crane your neck to face him. His lips are soft and patient against your own, a different tune than the passionate one you are used to. 

“Miss you.” The words are barely more than a mumble against his lips. Pressing his nose against yours he breaks the kiss and smiles down at you. 

“Oh now you miss me too?” The tips of those sharp canines poke out in the smile. “How can you miss me when I’m right here, pretty girl?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him. There is no desire to kick up a bratty attitude right now, not when your instincts tell you that Neteyam is willing to reward you for good behavior. Instead, your lashes flutter closed and you give him the most innocent and endearing peck on the lips you can manage. 

“You know what I mean, Nete.” His hands recede from your core and gently trace a path up to your hips. “Please?” 

The hold on your hips becomes a harsh grip, one that is used to flip you around. Finally facing him you waste no time in straddling his lap. Desperate lips attach once more and you can feel his impressive member rock hard and grinding up against you through the fabric. 

Lo’ak on his best days tries to keep his composure, forcing himself to walk back to the shared hut and into your arms instead of tumbling the way he would like to. Today, however, back early from the expedition, he can’t hide his excitement. A few drops of sweat trail down the back of his neck as he helps the others reign in the large net under the beating sun. The younger Sully brother ignores the aches of his muscles and continues to work as fast as possible.

Occasionally his gold orbs snap up to survey the perimeter in search of your form. For once he is relieved to not see you there. This way he can surprise you. Images of your soft body beneath him already fill his brain to the brim. Sleeping side by side with other Metkayina horny men is extremely disappointing in comparison to spooning you from behind as his cum leaks out of your tight pussy. 

From the corner of his eye, Lo’ak spots Ao’nung rolling his eyes. He ignores the look, confident that it only comes out of jealousy. Spirit far from being put down, Lo’ak rangles the net together quickly until he is finally dismissed. 

Hooks hanging from the netted loincloth clank together as he nearly sprints across the woven pathways of the village. The first place he looks is the marui, naturally, but neither you nor Neteyam are anywhere to be seen. He vaguely remembers the south beach being your favorite place to spend time after a long day of working so he beelines to the other side of the village. His only rest stop is one forced by Jake, who spots him and goes to welcome his son home. Lo’ak gives his father a nod of his head and a rushed explanation before getting back on course. 

It isn't until he makes it past the thick cluster of mangrove trees that his ears twitch, catching the sound of distant moans. His first instinct tells him to turn away, leaving the anonymous couple to have their fun, but then there is a distinct whimper that he could recognize anywhere. Lo’ak takes heed to not rustle the fallen greenery loudly as he prowls forward toward the source of the sound. 

And that is where he finds you backed up against a palm tree, his older brother balls deep inside you. 

“C-close!” Your eyes are squinted shut, the familiar look of ecstasy painted across your delicate features. 

“That’s it, baby girl. Give me another one.” Neteyam adjusts your trembling legs that are wrapped around his waist so he can change the angle slightly. This shift has a new onslaught of moans freely falling from your lips. 

“C-can’t!” You whine, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. 

Careful to remain silent, Lo’ak studies your form. Your sweet body that has been haunting his dreams for the past five days. However, it’s his own back that he imagines your nails digging into while getting fucked, not his brother’s. 

“Don’t be stubborn, baby.” Neteyam grunts, hip rocking upwards at breakneck speed. “I know you can.” 

What tips you over the edge though is not encouraging words or the squeezing of those large hands around the plump of your ass, it’s the moment where Neteyam swings his queue over his shoulder and allows your dancing tendrils to intertwine. 

“Nete!” Your screech almost drowns out his own feral moan. He curses under his breath.

“Great Mother!” Neteyam groans, and from Lo’ak’s hidden spot in the bushes, even he can infer it's from the way you are clamping down around him. “I love you so much, baby girl!” 

“L-love you, Nete.” Lo’ak has to concentrate on the sound to make out your strangled words. 

He’s done watching the scene unfold before him. Listening to his brother’s groans he knows how this ends and he has no interest in waiting around to be discovered afterwards. Suddenly, his excitement has dimmed to that of a lonely dread. 

Careful to not be seen or heard, he traces his trail back through the array of trees until he can no longer hear the two of you. Lo’ak sets off to distract himself from the lewd scene he had discovered. Truth be told, he had seen and participated in moments like that with the two of you many times. The brothers were used to sharing sexual intimacy with you, but that wasn’t what made his heart clench. 

It’s the soft and tender intimacy in that moment that spurs dark feelings inside of him. To see such a sweet scene of love and devotion, all while he has been away. The lurking voice in the back of his head whispers creeping thoughts of not being needed. Perhaps you are not only able to manage but also more content without him there. 

Lo’ak knows better than to heed this tempting voice in his head. He knows he has a tendency towards letting these outcast feelings sink in. However, just because he doesn’t let himself believe such sad things, does not mean he is thrilled to see how well the two of you get along without him. 

Reluctantly, Lo’ak makes his way back to the Sully residence. Surely at least Tuk will be happy to see him. 

“Hold still!” Tuk hisses, yanking on the small braid in retaliation. Lo’ak winces, always surprised by the increasing strength of his now teenage sister. 

“Yes ma’am.” He mutters under his breath, but Tuk rewards the comment with a slap to the head regardless. Only five minutes of lacing the new shells through his hair and Lo’ak is already itching to find a way out. He sours at the idea now of waiting for you to realize he is home. Neteyam or not, Lo’ak is anxious to see you. 

Tuk giggles in delight as the last of the shell carved beads are finally positioned properly in his hair. She beams proudly at the handy work. It’s clear that she requires no outside approval to know she has done a fantastic job. Of course, he knows it’s expected regardless. 

It’s in the middle of giving these compliments that he is knocked to the ground by your charging figure. The two of you fall back in a tangle of limbs as you squeeze him tightly. Finally, out of the dazed surprise, he wraps his arms around your waist. Quick kisses are peppered along his cheeks and nose rapidly before they finally reach his lips. 

“You’re back!” Your voice radiates energy and sunshine, but Lo’ak can still hear the echoing of moaned devotions you had been spewing for his brother moments earlier. From the sidelines, Tuk wrinkles her nose at the sight of you two, but even pinned underneath you Lo’ak does not miss the twitchings of a smile on her lips. 

“How long have you been back? How dare you not come find me?!” You complain as Lo’ak finally manages to sit the two of you up. Your fingers quickly find the newly beaded braids that hang over his eyes. You grin while fondly twisting the braids between the pads of your fingers. 

“I did, but you seemed a little…preoccupied.” 

Your smile drops and for the first time, Lo’ak makes eye contact with his brother that is casually leaning against the entryway. 

“Oh.” It’s all you can think of to mutter. 

“Tuk’s been waiting forever to get those beads in your hair. Surely that must have some priority.” Neteyam quickly cuts in, ruffling her braids messily. The distraction is enough to disrupt what was sure to be an awkward silence between the three of you. Neteyam focuses his energies on maintaining his younger sister’s innocence. 

“Naturally.” Lo’ak agrees, eyes never meeting your own. 

Neteyam is already set to work, distracting Tuk with inquiries of getting new beads for his own hair. Luckily she takes the bait eagerly, letting you and Lo’ak steam in your own cloud of tension.

“Lo’ak I…I’m sorry, we didn’t kno-”

“No worries.” He swiftly replies while simultaneously lifting you off of his lap. “We should head out before the hunting party devours the rest of dinner. Trust me, they’re desperate for anything besides boiled fish eggs.”

He’s standing and trailing out of the marui with Tuk before you have a moment to protest. Neteyam lets out a heavy sigh, offering you a sympathetic smile and hand to help you up. 

The rest of the night doesn’t proceed in much better of a fashion. Lo’ak doesn’t outright ignore you, returning tender touches and responding to questions, but you can feel the reservation holding him back. He doesn’t jump to tell outlandish stories like usual. The younger Sully allows the other members of the party to take the reins of the conversation, only hopping in to aid when specifically called upon. 

That night with the three of you back in Neteyam’s marui, the tension is palpable. You try to fill the air with fun stories and comments about how much Lo’ak was missed but neither brother does more than nod and occasionally pass out a one syllable answer. Neteyam affectionately lays a hand on Lo’ak’s head while the younger brother is putting away the fishing supplies, but his arm is brashly swatted away. It’s not an uncommon interaction between the two, something they’ve been known to do since they were teenagers, but there is an added sharpness to Lo’ak’s recoil. 

Neteyam’s eyes cut to you, visibly rolling his eyes to show how unnecessarily his brother is being. You give him a reprimanding look, motioning for him to be nice. His attitude doesn’t shift much at the request but he does manage to give his younger brother some space for the rest of the night. A fact that you are grateful for, originally worried that you were about to witness another one of the Sully brothers’ brawls. 

As the years have passed and maturity has settled upon each of them, they’ve come to be more respectful of one another. It’s that fact alone that allows this three way relationship to work in the first place, but there are times where the sibling rivalry still peeks out. Times where Neteyam finds Lo’ak dramatic and Lo’ak can see nothing but the golden child that has everyone wrapped around his finger. 

Naturally you’ve jumped in several times to mediate the interactions, but you have also come to learn that sometimes they need to be left alone to fight it out. Chances are they are back to being friends again in the morning with nothing more than a few bruises to show from their argument. 

Unfortunately, Neteyam seems to decide that keeping some space from you too would help wash away the memory of the scene Lo’ak walked in on. The bed is cold, trapped between the two of them while they both face away from you. A pout sits heavy on your lips as you toss and turn all night. Lo’ak doesn’t move away when you come to spoon his larger form from behind, but it’s still not how you imagined spending the night of his return. 

The next morning when you wake with only Neteyam by your side, you decide that enough is enough. You refuse to let another day pass with this hot and cold tension between the two of you. 

The village is still awakening, with the orange glow of daylight barely breaking the horizon, only a few early morning stragglers flit along the bouncy pathways. Most are in a rush to get out into the open ocean and make some morning kills. Lo’ak doesn’t have patrol or assignment with the hunting parties today, so it takes some effort to figure out where he has run off to. Luckily, you can recognize the muttered curses in the Sky People language that falls from his lips. 

“Damnit!”

The sound comes from underneath the walkway and you know that you are bound to find either your lover or Jake Sully. It’s endearing to see how much of his father’s lingo Lo’ak has committed to his own vocabulary. It’s still a struggle and annoyance to try and decipher what each word means but you’ve started to pick up on the feeling behind the most crude ones.

Flitting across the woven floor you follow the distant muttering accented with the swish of water beneath your feet. It takes you to the edge of the village where you finally hang over the walkway to spot Lo’ak wrestling with something underwater. Laying your body down to peer over the edge, your curly hair falls forward till the ends become dampened by the water’s surface. It takes a few seconds to realize that he is currently wrestling with a tangled net around the base of a support tree. 

Even from the distortion from the ocean water, you are able to make out his impressive physique and flexing biceps that yank on the sturdy wire. When he breaks through the water’s top once more for a breath and another round of curses, you allow yourself the luxury of porusing every inch of his majestic body with your eyes. He wears one of your favorite loincloths on him, a laced garment of mangrove leaves dyed a royal shade of purple. It’s a very traditional Metkayina attire only further complimented by his dark inked tattoos and shells swinging from his signature braids. 

Today, however, his beautiful dark braids are fashioned into a top knot, showing off his bared neck and shoulders sinfully. A part of you wonders if he chose his attire this morning simply to punish you for yesterday, Lo’ak is no stranger to your preferences and he has been known in the past for using them to his designs. Regardless of intention, it would be a lie to say it isn’t working as you oggle at the shifting muscles along his back while he pulls at the net violently. 

The years have been oh so kind to Lo’ak as he has grown into an accomplished male and warrior. The once slim beanpole of a body that you remember him coming to the island with (although even then you were quite infatuated with his appearance entirely) has shaped into a stronger Metkayina build while still maintaining certain Omatikaya physical traits. His shoulders had spanned out to create a surface broad enough for easily harboring canoes and nets full of gain. Even his thighs had become sturdy and encapsulated with smooth muscle. Somehow, however, that form still found ways to narrow into the slim waists known as a forest person trade mark. 

It has always driven you to the point of insanity, how well the brothers took the best of each culture and mixed it into your personal heaven. 

“Come on!” He grits out between bared teeth, starting to use his weight as a force against the trapped net. 

“Fucking Damnit!” He exclaims, starting to wrap the net around his flexed forearm.

“Fuckeng damitt” Your attempt to mimic his words come out rushed and confident but with the clear overshadow of a thick accent. It makes his head finally spin in your direction, startled expression shaping into that of recognition. 

“Don’t let Neteyam catch you using that language, yawne.” He warns you halfheartedly, already back to tangling with the destroyed net. 

For some strange reason Neteyam has always been more sensitive to your use of obscene Sky People language than anything Na’vi curse related. Something about those fowl words being too dirty for such pretty lips. It’s half the reason you still struggle to understand the meaning behind these thrown English curse words. Still, it’s always an effective way to get either of the brother’s attention. 

“What does it mean?” 

“Nothing really, yawne. Just don’t use it.”

Your clear pout is wasted on his dismissive attitude, still facing away from you as he puts his sole focus on undoing the stubborn net. The blood is already rushing to your head from being upside down and still Lo’ak has given you nothing close to the attention or reassurance you require. 

“You use it.” You point out. 

“You know that’s different, mama.” The nickname is enough to finally have a small smile encasing your lips, unfortunately it’s fleeting. “Why are you out of bed? It’s barely dawn.”

Lo’ak doesn’t give you a second to respond before taking in a full breath and dunking under the water again. Your teeth grind together as you wait impatiently for him to stop fumbling with the twine underwater and let you work together a reconciliation between you two. The younger Sully brother has always had a way of expressing his disapproval, the theatrics sometimes enough to have you mouthing off and trying to beat him at his own game. Today seems to be no exception. 

Guilt is quickly whittling along your nerves, faster and faster as the silence stretches on and Lo’ak still remains hidden beneath the surface. When his head finally pops up out of the water, the words leave your lips within record time. “I missed you!” 

Amber eyes finally flicker up towards you for the first time since your arrival. 

“Yawne, I’m working.” 

“Is this my punishment?”

He lags at the question, ears twitching and tail coiling together before facing you once more. His dark eyebrow furrow and the edges of his lips downturn. 

“Punishment?”

It takes a harsh steadying breath before you brashly begin to give the speech you’ve been preparing since last night. There seems to be so many things to include, so many ways to say you’re sorry. The order and details of this speech are rapidly becoming jumbled until you are sure that not even half of it will come out right even before you have parted your lips. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Lo. I really am! Neteyam and I just got caught up in the moment and…not that I’m trying to excuse the behavior because yes it was not the most considerate to you. And then the timing of it all was…by Eywa, disastrous. I wanted to be there when you got back! I had a whole plan, was going to pick your favorite fruit but of course I didn’t think you would be back that early. Still I just-”

He sternly speaks your name, cutting off the endless spew of apologies. 

“Breathe, baby.” Lo’ak calmly instructs and although your urge to continue talking till things are resolved still bubbles inside, you follow his command. Once you’ve seemed to settle enough to his approval he finally continues. “There is nothing to apologize for. You’re Neteyam’s mate too. You don’t need my permission to fuck each another.” 

Although his words are spoken calmly, the edge of his cursing and timber in the tone still sets your anxiety spiking. The Sully brothers may be proud to know you inside and out, but that bridge goes both ways. You recognize this tone of voice, the hint of shame and bridled emotion that Lo’ak carries when he forces himself to not overreact about something. He has a inclination to keep certain emotions locked away when deemed childish or ridiculous, perhaps ones that he was scolded for having in his adolescence. 

Truth be told, you don’t require his permission. The three of you have entered into this relationship and agreed to the terms consequently but that doesn’t mean you are proud of how things went down. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should, not when it comes at the cost of Lo’ak’s feelings. There were better ways that yesterday could’ve been handled. A deep frown etches into your features when you imagine how disappointing it must’ve been for Lo’ak to come home and have his first welcome home be nothing more than a reminder of how well you and Neteyam can get along without him. 

“It wasn’t sensitive and I’m sorry. I know how you feel about it and-”

“Yawne,” He drops the net and faces you fully, the heat of his attention searing into your skin. “You do not need to apologize to me. I can handle it, I don’t need you to coddle me.” 

Slowly your wide tail slinks do the ground, following suit with your pinned back ears. Lo’ak, however, can not hide his own tell-tale signs either. It’s easy to recognize the shift of his own tail and tension creeps through his shoulders. Although he returns to the task at hand, you are far from being done with yours. 

You allow your body to flip over your head, cascading you over the edge and into the shallow water. Feet planted along the sandy bottom, the water’s surface reaches considerably higher up your own torso in comparison to where it sits along Lo’ak’s hip tattoos. He’s back to gathering the net, although he can sense your presence easily. 

“I can tell you’re upset.”

“I am not mad. Truly.” The brief eye contact is broken as he turns around and digs his heels into the sand, readying himself to tug once more. It only takes a few more tugs for Lo’ak to decide that this method is ineffective. He easily heaves himself back up onto the walkway to retrieve his discarded sheathed knife. When he does, your eyes follow the curve of his sculpted ass, water dripping down the slopes of his spine and hips. 

The two of you may be in the middle of whatever you call this disagreement, but it’s been five days since you’ve seen him. 

Five days since his five-fingered hands have explored your body. Five days since he has been seated inside of you. Five days since you have had the opportunity to express your love through the passion of tangling limbs and unrestrained devotion. 

The throb of your core is insistent as you drink in every detail of his beauty. 

Back in the water with knife in hand, Lo’ak stubbornly continues to give you the cold shoulder. 

“You’re not mad, huh?”

“Nope.” He mutters, adjusting the straps of his loincloth. 

“Well then if you’re not mad…” You trail off, sauntering over to him through the thick of water gracefully. A shiver wracks his spine when your soft fingers trace along each jut of his vertebrae. “Indulge me.” You let your obvious seductive passion drip into each word. Now is not the time to be bashful. You’re ready to outright beg if that is what it takes.  

“Yawne…” He sighs, “I really am supposed to get this net un-”

“Forget about the damn net for a minute!” His head whips around to send you a sharp look, but it does little to sway your determination. It’s too easy to see the spark of intrigue in his eyes. “You’ve spent the last five days working, all away from me. You can spare a minute.”

Your hands naturally come to rest along his slim hips as he turns to face you fully, his larger frame towering over you and blocking the orange glow of the sun. You can’t even find it in yourself to be apprehensive or remorseful when those long fingers tilt your chin up and bring you looking directly into that unyielding gaze. Any attention is considered progress and welcomed openly. All it takes are a few strategic maneuvers and this man will be beneath your fingertips. You know it. 

“Seems like someone forgot their manners while I was away.” The cool shells along those two loose braids dangle down to your soft cheek. Lo’ak’s calm breath fans over your lips, mere centimeters away from their destination. 

“Oops.” You answer coyly, a feigned pout mixed with a shimmer of arrogance laces your features. He doesn’t stop the pads of your fingers from leisurely drawing swirling lines along his abdomen and sides. “Although I hardly think I could be blamed for such a thing.”

An innocent peck is left on his lips.

“You are the one that left after all.” Another kiss and then you’re turning away to make your retreat. 

You are barely afforded one step before being pulled back into his embrace, back now pressed against the supporting tree. His lips are on yours in an instant, heated passion and desperation swirling in every movement of his protruding tongue. Barely having fleeting moments to breathe, you return the kiss with just as much enthusiasm and ferver. 

Finally!

It takes considerable effort not to let your pride show in a devilish smirk against his lips. Lo’ak loves to consider himself the cunning clever predator in your little game of push and pull, but you can’t help but feel that you are the victorious one in this situation. 

A cinching grip around your waist is all you require as a signal to jump and wrap your legs securely around his hips. The new position finally allows some much needed friction along your core, requiring every fiber of self discipline to not immediately grind back against him. Fingers grasping at the nape of his neck, you enjoy the way your mate completely devours you whole. Every worry and hesitation finally flies out the window now that the sweet reassurance of physical intimacy soothes those nerves. 

When he finally pulls away, allowing air to reach your lungs once more, his wandering touch trails along your outer thighs. Your ankles cross and you pointedly flex to pull him closer. 

“God, I missed you, yawne.” He chuckles, nose pressed against yours. 

“Let me make it up to you.” It’s a soft plea, aided by your docile expression and doe eyed impression. It would be foolish to believe that Lo’ak buys the innocent act, but regardless he is too eager to see where this thing goes to truly care. Might as well let you be a little spitfire, he’ll be the one winning in the end either way. 

A low hum rumbles in his chest. Lo’ak allows his eyes to linger over your small frame, revel in the way it is so sweetly wrapped around him like a vice. It’s been way too long. Although he prefers to still tease and torment you a little further, he’s too hungry to let things carry on for too long. 

“You really want to make it up to me, tanhi?” A stray curl is delicately brushed from your forehead, ears twitching in response to the gentle touch. 

“Yes.” 

“Well lucky for you I know just the way.” 

There isn’t a second allowed for questioning before your world is being flipped around again and you find yourself sprawled out across the walkway. He heaves your smaller frame up onto the padded surface as if throwing another net out into the ocean, effortlessly and with confident familiarity. You half expect him to jump up and join you, scattering away to a secluded spot to finally be together, but then large hands are pulling you towards the edge till your ass almost hangs over.  

A small squeak escapes your lips as you try to understand what is happening but then the ties of your loincloth are being unknotted expertly. 

“Lo’ak wait!” You attempt to push at his working finger while whipping your head around frantically to see if anyone else has stumbled upon the two of you. This section of the village is a newer addition. It’s lined with recently built maruis meant for newly mated couples, none of them occupied yet. However, that does not deem the two of you safe from random stragglers or curious Na’vi that come to investigate the noises you are sure to make if this man keeps working you up the way he desires. Lo’ak is unswayed by your resistance, gently swatting your small fingers away in slight annoyance. 

“Not here.” Heightened awareness of your public location naturally drops your tone down into a hushed whisper. Lo’ak’s lips curl up into an amused crooked grin as he shakes his head fondly. Before you know it, he has successfully unraveled the twine material and starts to try wrestling the fabric away from your pelvis. 

“Yes here.” Comes his rebuttal. 

“But what if someone hears?” When your legs snap close to keep the fabric in place, his golden eyes snap up to your own cerulean orbs sternly. The raise of those unique eyebrows is a sure sign that you are about to walk on shaky ground. 

“Then I guess you will have to be quiet. Won’t you, sevin?” 

There is a way out of this, just one mutter of your safeword and Lo’ak is sure to bundle you back up and lead you away. The thought crosses your mind for a moment, but a lingering promise of disappointment at the end of that path advises you against it. It’s impossible to ignore the pool of heat in your gut as you come to realize the true risk of this situation. Sometimes you wonder if you have your own sex drive and logic playing for opposing teams. 

“Lo!” You whine, hands coming to cover the blooming blush across your heated face. It’s all the confirmation he requires before parting your legs and finally stripping the fabric away. 

The heat of his intent gaze upon your exposed folds seems to sear right down to your core. Even with the remnants of salt water covering your teel skin, he is sure to see the evidence of your sticky arousal seeping out. A feral grin overtakes his expression as he repositions your legs to be bent and spread properly. An unobscured view of your most intimate parts. 

He leans in to give his signature little kiss atop your button, but instead of the usual teasing peck you are instead met with a burst of warmth across your exposed parts. He wastes no time in leaving a never ending string of open mouthed kisses to the sensitive area. His tongue mimics the ministrations of your heated kiss earlier but now along your delicate pussy and it’s such a skyrocket from zero to one hundred, it takes a moment to recapture your breath. 

“Lo’ak! Wait don’t you think…ah shit! Lo, you’re gonna kill me!” You screech out, barely able to randomly dampen down the volume of your own voice. It feels as if it has been a century since the welcoming warmth of his mouth has swiped along your inner parts and the drastic change is overwhelming to say the least. Caught between trying to wrest his face away from your soaked petals and keeping your head on a swivel to look for passerbys, it’s difficult to keep your brain online. 

“Someone is going to catch us.” 

His lips finally descend from your pussy, shiny slick already visible along the cupid’s bow of his upper lip. Lo’ak uses those large hands to grip your inner thighs and spread them properly again. 

“It’s been almost a week without the taste of you, mama. Not sure how you expect me to act.” He chuckles deeply, eyes already trailing back down to your vulnerable flesh. “Besides,” A finger swipes through the cut of you, drawing another wrangled moan from your throat. “I can tell she missed me too.” 

It’s hard to say no to Lo’ak when he is in this state, so utterly pleased with himself as he draws teasing circles along your clit, his beautiful braids tied atop his head just the way you like and broad shoulders creating the perfect surface to rest your dangling legs. Logic and lust do not mix well, one always comes to outcompete the other and seeing the state that he is in after your own longings over the past few days, it seems the desire has the upperhand in this fight. 

“So, be a good girl. Keep those legs spread and let me have my breakfast.” 

You go to make some smart remark after the devious wink he sends your way but any resemblance of a planned sentence is interrupted by the heat of his mouth on you once more. Lo’ak is insatiable, skipping the common steps of warming you up and instead taking everything you have to offer as his own personal dessert. His textured tongue glides along your inner folds and swirls around the clit with flickering intensity and accelerated pressure. 

The only sounds that can be heard are that of rushing water, distant murmurs of the village waking up and Lo’ak’s absolutely feral groans as he eats you out fervently. The years of practicing his breath hold appears to come in handy as he suffocates his own face with your sweet pussy. 

While he makes no efforts to keep his groans and whines of pleasure at bay, you are slowly losing the awareness to keep yourself from doing the same. It continues at such a pace that sends tendrils of pleasure crawling up the base of your spin to the tips of your pinned ears. It feels as if bolts of lightning are gathering in your pelvis with nowhere else to go. Your cerulean eyes rangle themselves open so you can stare at the brightening sun with your head sprained backwards. It’s difficult to focus on the changing colors of Pandora's wondrous skies but it’s the only tool at your disposal as one more look at Lo’ak between your thighs is sure to bring on the impending orgasm. 

At first, he truly does focus on getting his own fill, messily devouring your unique taste until it paints his dark blue skin. However, Lo’ak seems to find a goal after a few minutes of your muted moans. And that goal is all focused on making you fall apart for him, tremble and break beneath his skilled tongue and let those pretty sounds out without apprehension or care. 

The shiny jewels of your top are flipped to the side to join your sprawled out hair as he goes to work on exploring and massaging your succulent breasts. His efforts below don’t break for an instant, finding a way to multitask between palming and exciting your tender breasts and sucking your living soul out from your pussy. 

When those skilled fingers cinch around your nipples sharply just as his lips close and suction around your bundle of nerves, it’s the pebble that breaks that stone wall. Pillowy lips part to release desperate whimpers and moans as your back arches lewdly. Somehow it’s possible to feel Lo’ak’s triumphant smirk against your core even as he continues to suction your clit expertly. The heels of your feet are already digging into his flexing shoulder blades and your fingers seem to find their own way into his bun to tug roughly, but that only spurs on a deep groan from the forest boy. 

If anything he encourages the rough play, buzzing words of approval along your pussy to keep you going. It’s a wonder that his bun doesn’t fall out after several minutes of your rough yanking. Were you in any better state of recollection you would see the strain of Lo’ak’s neck to keep his head stubbornly in place with every yank of his hair. Still, Lo’ak doesn’t show a glimmer of complaint. His eyes darken into pools of molten good, only visible through the sprawled slits of his eyes the few times he comes up for air or to admire your wreckage. 

“Oh Eywa, Lo’ak! F-feels so good, please please don’t stop!” 

“Atta girl.”

His dull nails flick at the peak of your right breast, eliciting a sharp shot of pain that melts into thrumming ecstasy. The pleasure is all consuming and hurtling you towards the cliff sooner than you would like. Lo’ak shows no signs of wanting to slow down, even as your grip on his hair tries effortlessly to yank him away. If he continues now you are sure to climax before the two of you have even begun, and the thought of not being filled by him after days apart is disheartening. 

“Wait, Lo’ak! Need you inside. Need it right now!” 

Your eyes lock, his own peering up at you as he makes a show of unfurling his tongue to lick broad stripes from your pussy to clit. The lewd scene is enough to have that familiar tension coiling in your pelvis. 

“Nu-huh, baby. Not yet. I still haven’t gotten my welcome home present.” Sparkling eyes of mischief tickle at your intuition, warning of danger ahead. 

“Lo’ak! Sir please!” Hopefully the formal addressing is enough to have him swayed to your side. “If I cum now I don’t know if-ah oh Eywa…Lo! If I will be able to cum again. W-want to cum on your cock.” 

There is a moment of reprieve when Lo’ak tenderly kisses and sucks at the plush flesh of your inner thighs. Somehow the younger brother has always had an immaculate memory of which marks were left by him. He nurses those particular spots back to a beautiful shade of purple, leaving the marks from his brother unattended. The lack of response has your wall of suspicion hoisting quickly, but Lo’ak seems to be in a good mood so you take comfort in that. If anything, you start to believe that the earlier hurt has been washed away by this physical intimacy. 

When the tips of two fingers nudge at your entrance, you let out a sigh of relief. Only a few more minutes to get you stretched properly and then he will finally seat himself inside of you. Truth be told, there seems to be hardly any need for preparatory measures. The velvety walls of your channel grip his long fingers tightly, pulsing around him incessantly. They are able to twist and scissor inside of you seamlessly, walls fitting around his shape in practiced obedience. 

A jolt of pressure stabs at your groin, but then those fingers curl to massage at your g spot. With toes curled and a scrunched face you try to hold yourself back from the edge. This effort seems almost futile when his sticky lips come to fondle with your nub once more. 

“Lo! Baby, too much! I-I’m gonna cum!” 

A soft kiss is placed directly atop your mound before that smug face is glancing up at you from below. 

“I really did miss you, mama.” The smooth brush of his voice darkens into a languid purr. 

“M-missed you too, Lo’ak! So much! Need you now.” 

The pads of his fingers press and work at that tight bundle of nerves. The building waves of your impending climax are reaching new heights and sending warning signals through your body. Already you can tell that this is about to be a powerful release, one that makes your stomach flips in somersaults. 

“God, nothing tastes as sweet as you, paskalin.” His pink tongue comes to swipe along his bottom lip, collecting the sticky substance smeared over his complexion. “You mentioned something about bringing me fruit when I returned?” It’s almost comical the way his voice morphs into a casual tone even as his fingers are knuckles deep inside of you, torturing that sweet spot. 

“Yes, I was going to bring you your-ah favorite fruits.” 

“Fuck, yawne. You are just too precious sometimes.” He chuckles, pinching your chin and swiping a finger over your parted lips. A trickle of saliva escapes your mouth and wets his thumb in the process. Lo’ak shows no objection, instead pushing his thumb past your lips to press down on your tongue. Automatically, the pink of your tongue lays flat obediently, allowing him to see your mouth clearly. “I appreciate the thought, but you know what I really want, mama?”

It’s not a rhetorical question, evident by the halt of his fingers and the way one eyebrow arches upwards. Gulping down the pooling saliva around his thumb you manage to get out a small “what?” around the digit.

Instead of a verbal response you are met with the sight of his saliva covered thumb trailing down the slope of your neck, across the valley between your breasts and drawing over every curve of your soft body until finding their destination back upon your clit. Just enough pressure is applied to bring forth another wave of white hot pleasure. Successfully, the edge of his thumb manages to slip past the clitoral hood and find home right atop that incredibly small and sensitive button of nerves. 

Jolts of lightning laces your nerves with every swipe of that teasing finger, only bringing further pleasure when accented by the other hand working to massage that bundle of nerves from the inside. It’s a measured and merciless onslaught of pleasure, trapping you with inconceivable thrills from either side. 

One look at that smug expression painting his face, and realization dawns. 

You know exactly what he wants. 

“No! Lo’ak, you know I can’t!” Your protests are smeared by the occasional shrieks and moans that endlessly cascade from your lips. The corners of his lips curve upwards. 

“Come on, mama. You and I both know you can. Just need to be a good girl and let it go for me.” His argument is further aided by simple flicks of his tongue at the bottom of your clit, between his working fingers. Pressure is already building at an alarming rate. You’ve never seen a volcano in person but you imagine this is the feeling of rising intensity that preludes such a colossal explosion.  

“Lo’ak!” Your legs shake and tremble as you try to push back against him. The squirming gets you hardly any relief as the effects of such pleasure seem to already have been draining your body of its energy. 

“Safeword if you need to. Otherwise, I will assume you’re just being pouty with me.” Lo’ak warns before returning to the onslaught upon your cunt. 

You consider his words for a moment, checking yourself to see if this is really your breaking point, but the idea of stopping now strikes a lash of fear through you. Surely the only way to get through this is power forward and find the precipice of pleasure on the other side. Stopping now would only leave you with a sore cunt and shaking limbs, nothing in comparison to the satisfaction that awaits you. Besides, you trust Lo’ak. He would never intentionally harm you, he’s proven that time and time again. So your lips clamp shut along with your eyes as your body squirms along the woven surface. 

“That’s it, mama. Just let it happen. Fuck, look at how pretty your pussy is like this.” He revels in the squelching sound that accompanies his sliding and curling fingers. The heat of your blush radiates from your in waves with the thick haze of your arousal. It causes his nostrils to flare in order to accommodate more of that sweet scent. It’s driving him up the wall, watching you squirm, whine, and clench around him in the middle of the walkway for anyone to see. Even beneath the slightly chilled salt water, he can feel his dick bursting to break free from the confines of his restricting loincloth. 

Not yet.

There will be time for that soon, but right now he is focused on getting what he came for. 

He can sense the trepidation rolling off of you in waves, even from the clench of your closing legs it’s obvious to see that you are fighting this. 

“C-can’t!” 

“You can and will. I’ll make sure of it.” The forest boy promises. “It’s all in your head, yawne. Just a little mental block you need to break through.” It takes wrestling his broad shoulder between your thighs to pry them open once more. 

“But-”

“Don’t you wanna make it up to me, mama?” The ascent of kisses along your inner thighs is revived once more, plush kisses alternating between heated words of praise and encouragement. “Can’t get enough of you. Five days is way too long, little one. I need a treat.” 

It’s obvious from the way your hips bucks and strangled screeches catch in your throat that you are on the precipice. So close to finally getting what he wants, Lo’ak doubles down on his efforts. Soothing drawls of promises and praise flow from his lips without thought. The little kitten licks he leaves under his working thumb gives him just enough of a sample of the sweet juices he hopes to receive soon. Motivation fueling him forward, Lo’ak massages at that bundle of nerves from both sides until you are trying to kick him away. 

The pleasure is so all consuming that it almost hurts. It feels as if your body may simply shatter into pieces at any moment. 

“I know what you need, mama.” Lo’ak gently guides your kuru braid to the end of the path. Eyes snapping open, a wanton moan leaves your lips as a wordless plea to continue. Begging is unnecessary because Lo’ak manages to swing his own braid over his shoulder and connect the tendrils without delay. 

The instant connection gives you something to fall back onto, something familiar and comforting in this depth of uncharted territory. The bond purrs with pleasure from both sides, but it’s his building anticipation and desire thrumming through the mental connection that has your self control disintegrating. 

Suddenly, without your volition or permission, the muscles in your pelvis tighten and an alarming sense of impending need for release surfaces. You try to cry out and warn him, sputtering some nonsense about needing to pee but Lo’ak hushes those concerns away, drawing on and on about just letting go. It’s not a choice, not a sensation that is in your control. Those spasming muscles tighten until a stream of your juices is squirting outwards. 

Back arched and body tensed, electricity flows through your veins in the form of pure ecstasy, so demanding that it threatens to block out your vision with phantom stars. Lo’ak wastes no time in swooping in. He catches every squirt from your spasming pussy with a undetained urgency. The deep groans and whines that vibrate from his chest almost slide under the radar from your penetrating screams drawing them out. He suckles and feasts on you like a starved man finally offered the luxury of a five star dessert. 

The tips of your nails are digging into his scalp and untwisting his carefully prepared topknot. Lo’ak is too focused on drinking in every ounce of sweet juice squirting from you to care about the fallen hairstyle. He groans and slurps up the addicting juices until broken cries fall from your lips and the stream ends. 

“Thank you, mama” He groans, taking out his fingers and cleaning your drenched pussy thoroughly with his tongue. The weight of your body weighs heavy on you. It’s too much to consider rolling away to protect your sensitive core. 

When he finally takes a breath, lifting his head to lick his fingers, he finds your gaze misted over with a thick haze. He studies the way your soft form is slack and sprawled across the walkway, not the twinkling of a thought present in your beautiful ocean blue eyes. The sun has now risen to paint the village in rays of gold. They dance across your form perfectly, bringing out every beautiful curve that has haunted Lo’ak’s wet dreams for the entirety of the excursion. 

“Such a good girl, baby.” Your overwhelming pleasure still drones over tshayelu and leaves his own cock twitching, but there is an undertone of deep seated trust woven there. You’ve given in and given yourself over. With your luscious curls splayed around your head like a halo, Lo’ak is sure he has never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“Lo…” 

“I know, mama. God I love you so fucking much!” He can’t hold himself back from kissing and exploring every inch of your body. His hands wander greedily to grope and take in every curve of plush flesh and smooth skin painted with those beautiful scribble of stripes. Every inch of explored skin brings you further and further off the edge until you are back in his arms with shaky legs loosely wrapped around his waist. 

“L-love you too, Lo’ak.” His neck is a safe place to rest your heated face. “So much.” 

The night is far from over, his bulge pressing against your stomach still stirs to your remembrance his promise, but he lets the moment sway and settle for a while longer. You're completely pliant and soft in his arms as he cradles you. The soothing pheromones that draft from him are enough to finally set your muscles at ease. Words are hardly needed as you can feel the radiating satisfaction and pride that flows from his end of the bond. 

Proud of himself?

Proud of how he can tear you apart and piece you back together?

Perhaps, but the most overwhelming sentiment that travels is the pride that he feels for you. For the steps you’ve taken today. 

This is the first time you’ve ever squirted, although it has been a goal of the Sully brothers for quite some time now. For the longest time it didn’t seem in the cards for you. Even with their dual efforts, you had never been able to get past that mental block. 

That is…until now. 

Lo’ak takes the bulk of your weight as your legs are doing close to nothing around his waist in this condition. He makes a show of licking his lips and humming in delight, even when you sheepishly hide your face against his neck in response. Strength is finally beginning to seep back into your countenance even as your mind remains offline. The only subjects flashing across the forefront of your mind are the sweet traces of his touch and thrum of satisfaction rippling across the bond. 

It isn't long before more of that sweet honey is gathering between your legs and leaking onto his loincloth. You rut up against him. The silent plea to feel him inside does not go unnoticed. 

You’re startled by a sudden chuckle from Lo’ak. Blinking up at him you recognize that shit-eating grin showing off his smug attitude. 

“What?”

“Just wait till Neteyam finds out.” He laughs with glee as you gasp, weakly trying to hit his chest.

“Don’t you dare!” 

He neither promises to keep it a secret or spare his brother from the knowledge of this milestone belonging to him, but every trace of contention is clear. His disastrous return has been overshadowed by this golden memory. 

As always, I would love to hear y'all's feedback and thoughts <3

taglist: @pandorxxx @pandoraslxna @anonka01 @luvv4j4ybe11 @shadowmoonlight0604 @savvysscandles @neteluvr @neteyamssyulang @ethansluv @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @young5643-blog @loaksulluyswife @xylobee @ficmenrhot @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @henhouse-horrors @neteyamtesuli

[curatoroffiction]

What You’ve Hidden Part 2

This is a continuation of a story I started writing in response to a post made here. (Which is where you’ll find Part 1 of this story) This is based off of @underqualified-human’s post on their “? Yuu AU” concept, and was really fun to write! I definitely love harassing Crowley. I know I write a lot of anti-Crowley propaganda, but I fuckin’ love his character. He’s such a slimeball and I love it. XD Storytime stops before Idia’s chapter because it hasn’t been released to the English version yet.

----- Story is reader-insert, gender-neutral, and is also a continuation of an existing chunk of story I already wrote. The boys discuss how much they really know the Ramshackle Prefect. That is, until the prefect arrives on the scene and begins to explain themself.

----- The conversation quickly moved from a lighthearted conversation about the Ramshackle prefect to a cautious journey embarking through the group's delicate notions of trust.

"I don't buy it - ___ can't lie. They're too honest." Ruggie shrugs. He's never seen you lie in a way that mattered. You were always so straightforward with him and everyone else in Savannaclaw, even when it probably would've benefitted you to lie. "They're not a goody two-shoes, but they sure aren't about to pull off a scheme."

Jamil on the other hand is now rethinking everything he knows about you. "On the contrary, I've found them to be quite.. Crafty, when they needed to be." He shakes his head thinking back to how you so easily would sneak out of containment prior to his overblot. How you could escape and even collect help. He starts connecting the dots on how you always seem to know just where to look or who to talk to in order to collect help. One could say it's fate, but it was hard for him to believe in fate after meeting you.

"... They *are* capable of lying.. Lying well, at that.." Riddle murmurs, not comfortable with the conversation's route, but incapable of stopping himself from treading into these waters as people talk more about it. "When Ace and Deuce want something kept hidden, they're very good at hiding things from people." His brow furrows as he thinks on the last dorm inspection.

"Well that at least tells us they're loyal to their friends!" Kalim smiles big, refusing to fret. "And that's all I need to know to enjoy their company."

"Are they loyal to their friends? Or are they just loyal to their resources?" Azul once again steers the conversation into the depths.

"Friends! If they were just looking for power, they wouldn't have helped Ace and Deuce when they got in trouble with you, right?" Kalim cocks his head to the side, looking to Azul with genuine confusion. It wasn't hard to imagine what motivated you in his eyes.

"Mmm.. I'm not so sure about that." Jade starts delving into this thought exercise. "Through those two, ___ got a chance to interact with Riddle, which dragged him into their scuffle with Leona - Which was the primary reason it wasn't a disaster. Leona helped with Azul, Azul helped with Jamil, Jamil helped with Vil, and so on..." Many of the dormleaders had never heard of the intertwining threads of their interactions with the prefect, or how perfectly it all seemed to meld together.

This starts to garner some genuine concern, causing even Malleus and Kalim to think on the coincidental nature. It's a little too perfect.

The guys are quiet as they feel themselves consumed with the idea that you might actually be a complete stranger. Someone who has come so close to them all, snaking your way in with ulterior motives. However, they each process the concept very differently.

Riddle just flat out refuses to believe it. He thinks Azul's being paranoid and that you'd have no real reason to lie to him. And even if his overblot put you off from him, you'd have no real reason to lie to Ace and Deuce. No, Azul's the one being paranoid here, and he won't get dragged down with it.

Trey feels like it's a nonsense consideration. Even if you weren't genuine when you first met everyone here, you surely warmed up with time - Isn't that just how being a social person works? No one puts all their cards out on the table without reason. He's got no reason to doubt you.

Leona on the other hand, lets his mind dance on the edge of the idea. He'd seen firsthand how you can change your tune if you need or want to. You're not above forcing people's hands, but.. You also don't really subscribe to the "Work smarter not harder" mantra that it really takes to scheme. You put too much effort into the things you do to be someone who isn't, on some level, genuine. Still, he underestimated you once, and doesn't make mistakes like that twice.

Ruggie on the other OTHER hand figures there's no reason to worry. Hell, he's fake as hell when he wants to be. As far as he's concerned, everyone's got a grift, and it'd be nice to hear you had one too. Even if your friendship was founded on a lie, he doesn't care. You've never treated him like he owed you, and you saved his life from Leona lashing out at him. As far as he's concerned, that makes you someone worthy of respect at the least.

Jade himself doesn't really care either which way. He likes you and is amused by you, but whether you value him as a friend or not matters very little to him. If he wants to deal with you, he will. He doesn't need an invitation or prior rapport. Still, he likes to think he knows you well. Even if he doesn't know your real name, he knows how to poke and prod you to get desired responses, and at the end of the day, isn't that enough?

Kalim's bothered by the prospect. He shakes his head outright refusing to even consider a world where you were disingenuous. Still, his mind thinks on Jamil. Someone he's held dear to his heart since he was a very young child was able to fool him and use him and control him. ... He doesn't like the idea that there could be secrets you keep from him. Still, if you do have secrets, maybe there's a good reason for it. Maybe you're afraid? Or you just need a safe place to open up? Maybe he just needs to be a better friend.

Jamil furrows his brow in thought. He'd overlooked you once, only to be surprised, and much like Leona, he doesn't make that mistake twice. But unlike Leona, he has to care as far as Kalim's wellbeing is concerned. He doesn't think you'd ever do anything to hurt Kalim, considering you once tracked him down to give him treasure that Kalim tried to sneak to you. If you were in it for the money, you'd have never done that. Plus, there were plenty of times that you could have hurt Kalim by now and you didn't. If you were some kind of physical threat, you'd have struck by now. But if it's a power grab, what kind of power triumphs over money?

Vil's not intensely bothered by the idea of you using every tool in your arsenal to collect strength. If you really were so quietly calculated, it'd be something to applaude. A fake smile here, a warm grin there, you're bound to make useful connections. It's no surprise to him that you were able to make useful connections that echoed forward. He finds himself annoyed with Azul's persistence on the matter, figuring that Azul himself has been bothered by this and is now trying to make it everyone else's problem. People often try to project their insecurities onto the people around them.

Rook on the other hand is delighted at the prospect. If you suddenly showed yourself to have a side that even he couldn't see coming, what a rush that would give! Maybe he should poke and prod you more. Maybe he needs to test the waters and see what really makes you tick? People often let the most real facets of themselves surface under pressure..

Idia already had like 20 fears centered around dealing with people going into this conversation - Most of which had to do with them lying to him already. This machiavelean web of social warfare that Azul is painting just gives him a headache. It's like when the business man thinks he's onto something in boardgame club and just won't relent. Idia may not have a high social self esteem, but he knows Azul well enough to not let this get under his skin. At least, that's what he tells himself. It's hard to not be bothered by the idea, but he won't get taken for one of Azul's wild rides.

Ortho's only bothered by this line of conversation because it implies that you could lie in a way that tricks his censors - And that just isn't like you at all! But any attempt to protect your good name is just met with Azul shrugging and saying 'Anything is possible, I suppose.'

Malleus is the only one who is really torn asunder by this conversation. At first, he was offended that anyone could think that way about you, being your fiercest protector in the matter, but then it hit him that you've always been a bit weird. You've never been scared of him - Was that an act? How could he ever really know? He knew he wasn't just a means to an end, but he had no clue if you befriended him genuinely or not. Did you really not know who he was when you met? Or was that a ploy? Whatever the case could be, he's gutted at the idea that you could be anything less than a friend.

Lilia isn't bothered by the idea. He pretends to be someone he isn't all the time. It's good fun! Even people who've spent their lives hiding their true selves in favor of a false self give away truths. He is, however, bothered by the dark look on Malleus' face coupled by the thunder of the rolling clouds outside. "I mean, everyone has something to hide, don't they, Azul?" His tone is more pointed, as though he'd uncover Azul's secrets for all to see if he answers incorrectly.

A shiver runs down Azul's spine at Lilia's sharper gaze, surprising him with the reaction. ".... Yes, but when someone knows all of our secrets, shouldn't we get to know at least SOME of their's?" He looks to the others to back him up, but isn't getting much help.

He can't be the only one bothered by this, right?

---

The group is deep in thought when you arrive. You step into the room and all eyes are on you. Grim gulps from your shoulder, looking at all the staring eyes. Even he can't ignore the palpable energy of the room. ".. Did we miss somethin'?" He asks tentatively.

Azul takes the lead, snaking his way beside you with a big smile. "Of course not! We were just discussing how we don't seem to know anything about you, ___. Tell us about yourself?"

You take a glance around the room, which seems to confirm Azul's claim that the room is waiting for you to talk about yourself. "...." You blink. ".. What do you wanna know?"

"Well, your name, where's it come from? What's it mean? Tell us about it."

Your eyes narrow as you look at the businessman, who laughs off your suspicions. With Azul, there's always an angle. They must've had a bet about your name. Your eyes relax as you look around the room of your friends. Riddle looks annoyed with the octopus man. Trey gives a quiet shrug like 'I dunno why this guy is being weird'. Leona looks more annoyed with Azul than he does with you, but Ruggie seems interested in hearing you explain your answer. Azul is frevently awaiting an answer, Jade making his biggest creepiest smile to the side as his eyes won't budge from you. Kalim looks somewhere between distressed and excited. Jamil looks like he's trying his hardest to look indifferent, but you know by the way he glances at you that he's invested in your answer.

Vil actually moves to shoo Azul away from your shoulder as he takes over the conversation. "Azul's been 'kind' enough to express that we don't know much about you or where you came from. You came here so abruptly, and you had so little to your name in ways of protection. It's still an amazing mystery to us as to how you adapted so well." Quite the improv actor, Vil smoothly transitions you into the conversation with the grace of a socialite. While he's not bothered by the idea of you being cunning and cutthroat, he IS bothered by the idea that Azul might slip up and make it appear as though the entire group is worried. Besides, any chance to get to know you better is a gift.

Rook smiles delightedly as Vil takes over. If there's anything you're hiding, they'll surely be able to sense it. "Ah yes, Trickster, you fascinate with how otherworldly you are! Please tell us more about yourself. How DID you acclimate so well?"

Idia feels sick to his stomach. More social nonsense is piling up. And on the one day Ortho convinced him to come in-person to one of these meetings. He can't just check out and play a game as things are heating up, so he's stuck just looking visually awkward and avoiding your gaze. Ortho looks determined, but happy to see you. He waved when you first came in, which signaled everyone that you were there in the first place. Now that things are getting weird, he's just excited to have a chance to monitor your vitals while you're under questioning, so he can prove to the others that you're not lying.

If you're lying, he'll know.

Malleus looks like he's stuck in his own head and upset over something. Deep in thought - When he finally looks to you, his eyes melt a little and the storm temporarily relaxes. Lilia's more concerned with how strong Malleus' reaction to this than whatever you could possibly hide from them. He does find it amusing that he could scare Azul with just a judgemental glance though, and files that away as something fun to do if the young octopus man's antics cause Malleus or you grief. He's got thousands of years of judgemental dad looks stashed away for such an occasion.

"Well, uh.." You're not sure what question to answer, so you just answer Vil's because he's less creepy about it. "I just did what I could to survive. I'm as surprised as anyone that I've been able to last this long." And it's true - Everything you've done has been on the fly. Ever since arriving in Wonderland, you've found yourself in increasingly strange circumstances. You shrug, sorry that you don't have a better answer.

"But surely, you must have had something - Skills you've relied on, plans you've laid out. Things that helped you survive through the messes you've encountered?" This time, it's Rook speaking up, trying to coax more out of you.

"Not really, no. I showed up and had a flaming monster thrown at me, I held him up by the scruff of his neck and Crowley dubbed me as his handler. I was given a job as a janitor, and I'd have done it just fine, but Grim wasn't having it and threw a fit. We got in trouble for it and got a bigger workload with Ace. Then he dragged Deuce into the mess and we all got expelled.." You recount your first week here at Night Raven College.

No one ever really heard the story of what happened when you got here before.

You were a janitor? Crowley didn't let you be a student? But you came through the mirror! You couldn't even go home! The frustration of the fear that you're anything but genuine slowly bubbles away as they begin to find themselves annoyed with Crowley and his handling of the situation.

"If I got expelled, Crowley was gonna throw me out, and I had nothing, so I had to do what he told me to in order to stick around. We went to the mines, fought an overblot monster that seemed ancient, and got a magestone to replace the one we broke. From there, I was pretty ride or die for Ace and Deuce." You shrug.

Azul isn't having it though. "That explains why you got involved when they had trouble with Riddle, by why did you get involved when Savanaclaw was scheming?" He won't forget that you've somehow endeared everyone here to you.

"Crowley showed up at my door and told me to figure out why students were getting hurt. When I told him 'Nah', he blackmailed me with my food budget."

The room's stunned to silence.

".... Crowley.. *blackmailed* you?" Riddle's the first to speak up, and he's appalled and pissed. That whole ordeal was incredibly dangerous! He knew Crowley was slimy from time to time, but you didn't even have magic! That goes against several regulations!

"With your food budget no less.." Trey looks disturbed. Ruggie's big grin from earlier is gone.

You shrugged once again, desensitized to the idea. "I didn't want to get involved, but then I had to."

None of them can sense a lie off of you, but they're all listening attentively. They need to know more. How do the threads of fate connect you to them?

"What about after that? You didn't really need to help Ace and Deuce when Azul's plans came to fruition." Jade now speaks up, curious. "Surely, if you were scraping to survive at that point, it would have been easier to just ignore and let them fall to their own stupidity. It would even be a great lesson for them, yes?"

"I wasn't gonna get involved that time either - You're right, they deserved a lesson. Even Grim got in trouble there, but I was so tired at that point."

"So what happened??" Kalim asks eagerly, moving closer to listen, like his ears can't hear you if he can't see you well enough.

"Crowley again. Said faculty couldn't get involved because Azul wasn't technically breaking any rules, and he needed the problem fixed. Once again, I told him no and he threatened my housing security."

Malleus' eyes narrow. The storm outside is slowly building again, but this time for a very different reason. Azul feels sheepish. At every turn, you were being threatened and forced into involving yourself in the lives of the other students. So then why were you still so friendly? Ortho's eyes have gotten frustrated at the idea of what you're telling them. He's visibly upset. Rook is stone silent as you have every ounce of his attention.

"And with Jamil..?" Ruggie jabs a thumb in the direction of the long-haired boy from the sands.

"Crowley told me I had to keep the school's heating running while everyone was away, and I barely was able to remind him to get me food for the winter break. Even then, he held it as a reward I had to earn. He gave me a cellphone in case there was an emergency, but the damn thing was on the worst possible plan, and he never picked up when I called him. Kalim invited us to the dorm for a feast, and Grim and I were so hungry that I decided to let him treat us. When we got there, we got roped into everything.."

"But you escaped. You could have just stayed away at that point." Jamil finally speaks up, remembering the events. He's embarrassed by his actions, but he needs to know why you came back.

You throw a thumb towards Azul. "Yeah, but I only escaped because I accidentally flew the magic carpet into Octavinelle, and Azul made me take him back because he had his own agenda. I didn't wanna be indebted to him for the damage the carpet did, and I didn't trust him enough to return the carpet safely, so I begrudgingly obliged and got roped into bullshit again."

Azul looks embarrassed as once again the attention's all on him. This conversation is more exposing him for his shady bullshit than you for yours.

Luckily, he's saved by Vil speaking up once again; "With my.. incident - You were pushed into it by Crowley again, yes?"

"Yeah. Your troupe needed a place to stay, and my dorm was the only one equipped for it. I wanted to stay as far out of your way as possible, but it was kind of impossible when I was named as the manager and you knew where I slept. You whipped everyone into shape, and even pushed me to do my best, lest I find my snacks.. uh.."

"Tampered with as punishment." Jamil nods, remembering the spell Vil had been using. You were in a tough situation, and once again you made the call that allowed you your best chance of survival.

---

Before you can explain anything further, a familiar voice can be heard.

---

"Hello my gracious students! Thank you all for coming to this meeting!" Crowley has finally arrived. Half an hour late. He opens his eyes from his delight to find several people staring at him with malice. He blinks and gulps down his nerves. "... I seem to have missed something." ----- If you like stories like this, check out the rest of my collection in my Masterlist on my profile, or check out my stuff on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuratorOfFiction

[bittrlys]

The Dragon Prince season 6 is like watching people write themselves into a corner in real time. Exciting! Massive spoilers ahead, of course.

THE GOOD

Opening on Aaravos crying was a very strong choice, this is the actual 'Mystery of Aaravos' type content I've been waiting for

Terry picking up Viren while they're excited about him being alive is very cute

As ever, Terry being extremely ride or die is 👍

Terry taking care of Claudia was very sweet; Terry cutting Claudia's hair and Claudia's new haircut in general. Cute.

Viren and Claudia on the beach, "No parent wants their child to suffer for them." Oof.

In general, I was quite happy with everything Viren, Claudia, and even Soren, and I actually wrote a note of "i hate soren" at the start because I thought we were gearing up for another season of him just being a bad joke machine with no real character or feelings to speak of. But then they gave him, like, actual pathos! They let him interact with people in a way that feels human! They let him be resentful and complicated! Wow! Magefam is so back baby!

Viren trying to reconcile with Soren and be a better example for Claudia really got to me. His final sacrifice (OMG CRIMINAL BY FIONA APPLE JUST CAME ON SHUFFLE.......WHAT I NEED IS A GOOD DEFENSE CUS I'M FEELING LIKE A CRIMINAL.......AND I NEED TO BE REDEEMED TO THE ONE I'VE SINNED AGAINST.....) is tied so strongly to his children and that feels like a natural place to leave his character. Now, I've been saying forever that he was going to get a redemption via death, and figured Aaravos would be the one pulling the trigger, so none of that surprised me, but I thought the actual execution was generally good. I do have some more negative thoughts but I'll save those for later.

Viren is very good at justifying himself, and I like that you see him falling back into that, at times struggling with it, at times not even catching himself doing it. It feels very real. At the same time, I don't think he's ever seen himself as a hero, so it was interesting to let him go out on such a heroic note.

Viren's kind of abuse-coded (not actually abusive, IMO, but I understand if this makes people uncomfortable in a similar way) act of forcing Lissa to cry into the vial is interesting. It echoes him taking Sarai's last breath.

Him writing out his whole confession on this subject and then burning it because he realized it was only going to do him good was also very nice.

Though I wish Claudia had stuck by her 'I'm going solo' guns a little longer, I still think there's something to how she is so incapable of being alone, of thinking for herself, and desperately seeks direction. She is literally just like her dad, and it makes them both easy targets for Aaravos.

Like, Viren being such a force that Claudia easily followed him, then Claudia being such a force that Soren and Terry both easily followed her, and Aaravos being a supreme force Viren and Claudia both easily follow because at heart, they're more followers than leaders despite the force of their personalities and ambitions -- it's interesting.

Aaravos using Sol Regem to casually destroy a kingdom and kill Viren just as a small step in his plan is pretty fun. We love a grandiose villain!

Looking forward to Claudia and Aaravos. She's in some ways even more unequipped than Viren to handle Aaravos's manipulations, but at the same time, she's a lot more unpredictable than Viren. If this leads up to a confrontation between them, I think that could be really cool.

Aaravos tragic backstory with deleted child was really not on my bingo card at all -- I never thought 'noble revenge' would be his motivation. I like how this parallels him to Viren.

Aaravos crying enough to fill a sea is great imagery

The lore of the startouch elves being actual stars that descend is SO COOL. This is like, the first bit of worldbuilding in this show that's actually seriously impressed me. I love it.

Actual lore as to why humans don't have magic. Well. Not entirely. But it's better than what we had.

I liked Amaya and Janai's wedding looks. Cute.

Janai like Ehe I'll bring out my armies after I get married 😜 is funny. She isn't a very good queen but she is the moment! The gossip blogs would love her.

Ezran eating shit and not having his """diplomacy""" work out. LMAO.

SOL REGEM DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

Kinda getting a y'know vibe from Soren and Corvus. I wouldn't mind that. I like that Corvus feels a little more tolerant of Soren than everyone else. It's funny Soren is like finally I'm away from my shit family but his new friends don't seem to care about him at all. Go and be totally free of all this, dude, or get a boyfriend.

Runaan back just when I was starting to think this show really hates gay males.

Rayla correcting her assumption about the sex of the diary's author was cute with the voice over changing. (cont...)

THE BAD

(... cont.) Did unfortunately then make it feel like "Had to be a woman because the author will be pining for a man."

Why is Zym STILL just a dog. Bro. It's like if all through Avatar you had to be aware Appa was going to be king someday. STOP BARKING.

Waiting for the whole cast to become vegetarians and somehow I suspect that will not be happening

When Claudia is listing the spell ingredients she could harvest from that cat thing I was just desperate to have Terry go, "Well, some of those could be ethically harvested, right?"

I find prophecies fairly corny as a writing tool and I get why they're going there -- predicted futures are the source of the anti-human oppression -- but still, I sighed.

Luna Tenebris putting a collar on her pet feels like, weird, right? Right? Right? She's not human and dragons otherwise seem so Respect all magical creatures. (Allegedly.) What is the uneven treatment of animals in this universe.

Naming your episode Red Wedding and I don't see a bloodbath ... oh, come on.

That ramble about ships from Caleb. Shudder.

Jeez, who is Rayla going to save? Her uncle who is an actual character or her backstory parents who are obviously happy and at peace? God forbid one of our main heroes has an actual hard choice to make.

Related: Caleb's 5 second rehab from dark magic.

Making his inner truth being about one other person is ... well ....

Cutting from Viren's rapidly cooling corpse to Lujanne receiving a sensual back massage was certainly a Choice.

Viren missing his wife THIS MUCH when he's barely mentioned her up to now was a little weird. I honestly think they saw the homoerotic interpretations of the very intense dynamics he had with Harrow and Aaravos and have been steadily backpedalling from that. Don't get me wrong, I can believe he loved her and he misses her, but the degree of it feels totally unearned.

I get children's media will have mascots for the children, normally I don't mind them, but dear god this show is hitting critical mass on annoying sidekicks (Zym counts as a very big one and he's already nigh unbearable.)

THE UGLY

I can imagine that the descendants of the human children Leola granted magic to are now able to do magic naturally and this could be the lore behind either Caleb or Ezran's abilities. I actually don't mind this as finally being in-universe explanation for this disparity that isn't just 'they want it more' or whatever, but it doesn't help this show's "Better People Are Born Better" messaging. Now, in that vein ...

King Ezran is a KING. Have we mentioned this? He's a king. He's divinely ordained to be above everyone else. You must show him respect because he's KING. Even Rayla emphasizes what a KING he is. BOW BEFORE HIM.

Ezran's idea of """diplomacy""" is just going "Be nice, please." (Followed by a threat LMAO.) "Go live somewhere else." WHERE. What if they try to occupy territory that isn't theirs? Xadian society seems quite separated and territorial. Ezran doesn't consider this. He doesn't consider anything. He has no actual diplomatic skills because he never offers anything, he just expects people to listen to him because he's KING.

You know in Parasite when they're like Of course the rich people are nice, they can afford to be? When Ezran was going I'm a king and I can choose kindness I was like, You're king because of an accident of your birth, and all your privilege and people looking out for you allows you to operate the way you do.

(Janai having an evil brother who is Not The True Heir To The Throne and Trying To Steal It is just part of the show's overall obsession with this narrative -- see also Viren coming from a less privileged background.)

Of course it's still funny to see Ezran be continuously characterized as So Compassionate, So Loving but when it comes to say, Not burning his own people alive or Extending the hand of kindness to one of his oldest childhood friends or her father, he just turns that shit off. This could be interesting hypocrisy if I thought the show was trying to intentionally paint him this way, instead of just wanting him to not be a total pushover because he's THE KING!!! ALL BOW BEFORE THE KING!!!!

The unbelievable frustration caused by a scene where Claudia is begging to not have to use dark magic -- Terry coming in and saving the day with natural magic -- Claudia staring at the peaceful solution and realizing she needs to change -- BUT IT'S STILL A FUNDAMENTAL DISPARITY IN HOW HUMANS CAN EXIST IN THIS WORLD? Is Claudia supposed to die because dark magic is too wrong to use? Now we have the reveal that humans are being actively denied magic I'm hesitantly hopeful they may get some justice in this regard, but it doesn't change the reality of humans right now. What are humans supposed to do? Rely on others for help? Oh, sure, most of the elves and dragons we meet now are just so nice and helpful to humans, because of the show's 'bad apple' approach to prejudice I've mentioned before, but we know that wasn't always the case.

Like, this actual reminder that the difference in power between a single dragon and a human settlement, and unlike the last time we're on the side of humans this time so you can better appreciate the horror of it ... it's depressing to feel like "Only by grace of your betters do you survive." It's echoes of Janai's 'forgiveness' of the human who put out the fire of that elf who assaulted her. "Aren't you lucky we're so NICE?"

This is all compounded by what I meant at the start of my review, that they've written themselves into a corner, especially wrt dark magic. In universe Soren sees no choice but to ask his father to do dark magic, something all the characters scold each other for constantly. Out of universe, the writers had a huge fuck off dragon come along to commit genocide against the humans and the only realistic solution is .... having Viren do dark magic, something the narrative constantly reinforces as bad. They ultimately frame this act as heroic, and according to a writer (I believe) on the discord, he speaks the spell forward to represent how this act of inherent good overcomes the "inherent evil" of dark magic (quotation marks theirs, interestingly.) I think the writers, for the most part, clearly like Viren and Claudia a lot, and like giving them 'big moments' with dark magic ... but this is part of the reason why the show has continuously reinforced a NEED for dark magic without giving any viable solution for the average human who doesn't have natural magical powers or is friends with dragons and elves like our main heroes. Ultimately, it feels hypocritical of the show to keep going on about the evil of dark magic (now very firmly an addiction metaphor) while having no solution for humans in tricky situations that aren't "magic you and only you can do, for some reason" or "queen dragon who somehow still isn't dead dear god coming to save you" or, y'know, "dark magic." Only one of these is really viable for the average person.

Like, you make it an addiction metaphor, but where's the alternative? Vampires need to drink blood to survive but vampire series often show vampires refusing to drink human blood as an addiction metaphor ... they drink animal blood instead, or something, and you get the metaphor. Right now, in TDP, it's either, do dark magic and suffer, or don't do dark magic and ... suffer more? Okay. I'm not saying life has to be fair or that there isn't value in accepting loss, but when Viren scolds Kpp'Ar for having all his fun with dark magic and then very callously dismissing Viren's fear for his son, I felt that. Viren isn't begging for a beer here. He's begging to save his son. Addiction metaphors need to match the scale and reality of what is being shown to you.

Sorry, I'm now going to harp on more about the Your Betters Are Born Better stuff now because I was actually enjoying (you know, tearfully so) Viren's death until his final lines. WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I GASPED!!!!!!!! HOLD ON!!!!!!!!!!! Like, let me get it out of the way, I get it echoes his last exchange to Harrow and his loyalty to Harrow is tied to his loyalty to Katolis, and they're saying "He was power hungry but now he is acting in a way that is purely, totally selfless for maybe the first time in his life," which is fine. The problem is, I have sat through six seasons of this show kissing royal ass. I have seen Aanya (shudder) mock him for not being a real noble-born ruler. I have seen Ezran's divine authority be reinforced time and again, and seen Viren throw himself submissively before his King to submit to his judgement as King, not as someone he once hurt. I have been reminded time and again that less privileged people who want the power necessary to succeed in a world biased against them are power-hungry lunatics unless they submit themselves enough to the Supreme Order of the world. So to have Viren's last words be him reinforcing that the most heroic thing he can ever be is A LOYAL SERVANT is just ... horrible. If they'd just kept the framing of Viren's death on his love for his family, it would have been way, way better.

Altogether I uh guess the season was mostly fine. They actually did a better job tying disparate narratives together with common themes which I appreciate. I liked the magefam stuff. I hope Soren eventually learns the stuff Viren chose not to tell him. I hope there's realistic forward growth on the attitude towards dark magic and why humans feel they need it, like some acknowledgement that Katolis was only saved because of Viren (make that two nations he has explicitly saved.) Maybe even Ezran can take a break from being unbearably sanctimonious to properly acknowledge his sacrifice. That would be nice!

I really hope humans get some justice for how they've been actively denied a valuable resource. It seems a self-fulfilling prophecy (they punished Leola for giving humans magic, this made Aaravos go darksided, Aaravos gave humans dark magic, humans are very set against the magical community for the way they've been treated so they're more callous about using dark magic) so I hope the ultimate lesson won't be "humans don't deserve this" but "humans only ended up here because they were treated like they don't deserve it, but they do, by right of existing as beings in this world." If Callum (+ Ezran) end the series as the only or some of the only humans with magic powers, I'm going to eat drywall.

[silverzoomies]

Monster Mash

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, zombies, biting, undead, undead!reader, gender neutral reader, zombie kink

word count: 11,996

a/n: first of three peter-centric halloween fics!! hopefully i'll get them all posted before the month ends!! timeline here is extremely fuzzy, and might not fall in line with canon. it's kind of super ambiguous.

the usual apologies: clunky writing, potentially ooc peter/other characters, inconsistencies, ending's super meh, etc etc etc. idk if peter would realistically be down to bang a cute, zombified reader. but hey, it's fiction. why the heck not!

tag list (i remembered this time!!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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October. Just a week before Halloween.

Peter didn’t celebrate the holiday too often these days. Not like he used to. Ever since he took up teaching at the X-mansion, he only participated in a handful of Halloween activities. The staple being - playing escort for mutant kiddos on trick-or-treating ventures. An activity he enjoyed a lot, since the kiddos referred to “Mr. Maximoff” as “the school's most awesome trick-or-treat buddy.” Which had nothing to do with Peter swiping a little extra candy - for the kids, of course - when the other teachers weren’t looking. Swear on his life.

Another Halloween festivity he loved? The school's annual, X-family Halloween party. The team generally left Peter in charge of decorations, considering it took him no time at all to set them up. Professor Chuck himself - legendary baldy - always played host at those parties. As per tradition - after the party died down - Peter cozied up in the living room with the team. They’d gather together to watch everyone’s favorite horror flicks on VHS.

He really couldn’t wait for this year’s festivities. Peter looked forward to those after-party, horror movie marathons every year. Movie nights with the team? Pretty freakin’ awesome. If only for two reasons: The abundance of sugary garbage to snack on. And the way Ororo loooooooved snuggling up with him on the couch. Being so hot natured helped. Living life in the fast lane - operating like a human furnace - sure had its perks sometimes. ‘Ro’s cuddling made an excellent distraction from Peter’s unbridled loneliness. Haha...

C-...Consider that a topic for another day. Moving on.

On horror movie night, Peter inevitably saw the jumpscares coming leagues before anyone else. It never failed. He’d call them seconds ahead of time. With ‘Ro lying at his side, and his arm wrapped around her waist. Peter would exclaim, “Jumpscare!”, breaking the tension heavy silence amongst the group. Spoiling whatever movie played. Everyone hated it, of course. Kurt growled at him. Animalistic, but nowhere near intimidating. Jubilee pelted Peter with popcorn.

Peter just couldn’t help himself. Those scares were so predictable and boring sometimes. Sure, he liked horror movies enough. With all the gnarly gore and twisted kills. But they never freaked him out, since he didn’t spook easily. His incomprehensible reaction time made terror a tough game.

All that being said...

Even with his totally outrageous bravery streak, Peter - guilty as charged - sure had his candy-ass moments.

This current mission proved, without a doubt, one of the spookiest situations he’d ever landed himself in. He could feel it in the air tonight. And not in the groovy, Phil Collins way either. An ominous sense of uneasiness crawled across his skin. Eerie vibes sent chills creeping up his spine like spiders through a web. Peter wished he could fast forward to Halloween night on the couch with ‘Ro. Heck, he'd even take decorating duty over this any day of the week. At least he could go all out, and have his own fun with it.

For an October’s night, the weather seemed uncannily coincidental. Drops of rain showered from a mass of black clouds. A sharp crack of lightning struck the ground, with a roar of thunder following in succession. It rattled the very foundation of the abandoned lab Peter found himself exploring. As part of a last minute, late night mission.

Below his feet, tiled floors laid in disrepair. Dirtying the mismatched laces of his untied sneakers. Peter snuck his way through murky hallways, his heightened senses buzzing on edge. Fight or flight kicked into high gear, making him all the more sensitive to any outside stimuli. Another echoing roar rumbled through the building, threatening to topple its cracking walls. Peter worried the ceiling might cave in at any moment.

A terrifying thought. But it happened to be the exact reason Hank chose Peter for this mission to begin with. Should shit hit the fan, Peter could skedaddle at the speed of light unscathed. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Unlike his other team members, who might risk being flattened like a pancake. Under the weight of, not one, but two floors above.

…Speaking of pancakes. Peter should definitely drop by a mom ‘n pop diner before heading back to base. He could really go for a fresh stack of late night hotcakes right about now. Warm and soft. With chocolate chips melting on the inside. Caked in sticky syrup and slathered with butter. Oooooh! And a little bacon on the side. Not too crispy, not too flop-

His mouth watered, and Peter blinked. Wiping his jacket sleeve across his lips, he redirected his attention to the task at hand. Focus, Quickie. He had a job to do, and he didn’t wanna be stuck doing said job all night.

The lab sat nestled off the coast of some island with a foreign name. Super hard to pronounce. Peter couldn’t remember it off the top of his head. Prior to this assignment, he’d never even heard of the place. But apparently, neither had anyone else. Hank sent Peter in search of what he dubbed leads on a mystery project. Something to do with scientific documents.

If he found any, he’d read their info over to Scott. Who would then relay that same intel back to Hank. Like an insanely boring game of telephone. Why Peter couldn’t speak to Hank directly was anybody’s guess. Too busy with his super secret project thingy-majig, possibly?

Hanging from Peter’s stereo belt alongside his old Walkman, a walkie screeched with a shrill chirp. A shock of alarm shot straight through Peter’s veins, making him jump. Scott’s voice crackled from the speakers.

“Any updates, Pete?” Scott asked, “Tell me anything you got. Even if it seems boring. Just hit me with it. It’s gotta be better than waiting around here in the lab, doing nothing.”

Peter held a compact flashlight in one hand, searching the lab’s pitch black halls. Most of the rooms he passed looked desolate. Barren and dusty. Save for the odd desk or empty cabinet. Peter wondered if they’d all been ransacked when the place closed down. The ceiling leaked rain from the floors above, dripping onto Peter’s bomber jacket. At the edge of his vision, he caught a rat scurrying by. But otherwise, not much else.

Pulling the walkie from his belt, he brought it up to his lips, “Uh. It’s dark and kinda spooky here. Saw a rat. Storm’s not gettin’ any better. It keeps shakin’ the whole place.” Peter shook his head, “If it doesn’t let up, I’m gonna have to split. Don’t wanna wait around to see what happens next, y’know? Over."

On the other end of the line, Scott breathed an annoyed sigh. Even through low-quality speaker fuzz, Peter could tell the sigh lacked any real spite.

“Peter. We’ve been over this. We aren’t using decades old, two-way radio communication. You really don’t have to say over. ”

Peter drummed his free hand on an empty desk. Following the beat of Sweet Poison by Naked Eyes, as it played from the only earbud he wore. He wanted to keep one ear open, just to hear Scott clearly. And mayhaps because he felt the teensy weensiest bit paranoid by his lonesome in the lab.

“Copy that. Over.” He grinned to himself.

The further Peter explored the lab’s halls, thick layers of mucky green seemed to take over. If he had to guess, he assumed Hank didn’t consider masses of moss “key intel.” Every few feet Peter stepped, he tore his way through another wall of cobwebs. Lots and lots of creepy cobwebs. Reduced to undying boredom, Peter took to karate chopping them. Might as well have fun in the face of ennui.

Half second flickers of lightning cast the lab in gleaming flashes. Bringing Peter’s attention to more rooms he missed. He wandered through some old offices. Or what he thought were offices, anyway. The trashed state of the rooms made it hard to tell. Nothing within them had withstood the test of time. Peter even tried poking around with some clunky computers. No luck. Dead as doornails.

“Found some computers. C64’s, I think. Haven’t seen one ‘a these bad boys since forever ago. But they’re totally busted.” Peter reported into the walkie, banging a fist onto one of the computers, “Yep. Busted. Over.”

Before leaving the room, Peter fucked around. Knocking over a computer monitor for no reason at all. He snatched a few, grubby pens from a lone desk. As well as a cracked coffee mug that read “I try to tell chemistry jokes, but there’s no reaction.” Just for the heck of it. Why not swipe some keepsakes, eh?

After what felt like a geological age of scouring, Peter eventually stumbled upon more filing cabinets. Stuffed to the brim with research documents and science-y records. Sighing, he pulled each drawer open one by one. Peter read the dusty files, sharing intel with Scott over the walkie. For every document Scott dismissed, Peter tossed them carelessly aside over his shoulder.

Antsy to wrap the mission up, grab some pancakes, and race home for a game of GoldenEye; Peter rushed through the last few folders. In hopes of finding whatever specific file Hank needed. But upon the last one, Scott broke some totally bogus news.

“Sorry about this.” Scott sighed, “Those files? Yeah. Hank says they’re all duds. No dice. You think it’s safe to keep looking? You might have to check the second floor.” He mentioned, to Peter’s dismay.

Peter bumped his head into the filing cabinet, groaning aloud. With a kick of his foot, he closed the last drawer and trudged onward. Oh well. The speedster could totally manage. At least he brought mix-tapes to keep his mind occupied. Along with extra tapes stashed in his belt pockets for good measure. Without music, he’d be so outrageously miserable on a mission like this.

Shining the dinky flashlight, he scanned the first floor area one more time. Just to be sure. The flashlight’s glow passed a set of double doors, leading to-

Wait. Back it up a sec. Double doors? Quietly singing New Order’s Blue Monday to himself, Peter moonwalked backwards to observe the doors again. Knitting his brows, he blinked. Stumped.

“Yo. Scotty. Got another room on the first floor. Gonna check it out real quick. Over.” Peter reported, clicking the walkie into place on his belt.

Another echo of thunder rattled through the lab, shaking the floors above. Lightning illuminated the halls in temporary flickers of white. Peter stared at the large set of doors, totally bamboozled. He couldn’t comprehend how he missed them before. When he knew for a fact he checked every nook and cranny. Inching closer, he eyed a sign pasted on one of the doors. In a rough scratch of permanent marker, the sign read:

Reanimation experiments in progress. Do not disturb!!

Reanimation? What, like…of the dead? Pfffbt. No way! Could this spooky place get any spookier? Peter swallowed an uncomfortable wedge in his throat. Shaking off any chills threatening to overtake him, he shined his flashlight through one of the door’s windows. Peter scanned the area for anything useful.

Inside, he clocked an operating table. Close to that, a lone cart cluttered with rusty, surgical tools. Cracked computer screens lined one of the walls, more advanced than they should’ve been. At least for the era they originated. Tangled cables ran along the floor, leading to something in the shadows. Peter couldn’t make it out.

He arched a brow, finally locking his sights on - Aha! Jackpot! More filing cabinets. Hopefully, they held his ticket out of this creepy place. Fingers crossed. Peter burst into the room in a flash, kicking up dust in his wake. Tearing through another wall of cobwebs, he surveyed the area again. Making a mental note of every cabinet he could see. Enough to keep him busy for the next hour, he guessed. Peter slumped his shoulders, huffing an aggravated groan.

Talking to Scott through the entire process made it more bearable. Being so no nonsense and straight forward, Scott had no problem retaining the info Peter shared from every file. Which saved the speedster any hassle of repeating himself, or having to explain things he didn’t understand. Science? Not really Peter's area of expertise. He thought himself more of a tech, or music guy.

Luckily enough, Peter found whatever documents Hank sent him after. A deep dive into every folder, in every drawer, in about a dozen different cabinets were all it took. Had Peter aged another thirty years? He sure as hell felt like it. No sweat! Mission accomplished. Time to bid the old lab goodbye.

Peter flew through the rest of the cabinets in less than a second’s time. Triple checking for any intel Hank might find compelling. He skimmed some records documenting the “reanimation of dead tissue.” Hm. Actually, blue beastie might potentially find that fascinating. “Reanimation” of the dead didn’t exactly sound too commonplace in modern science, did it?

In a folder, Peter discovered a file. Clipped with a photograph of - hellllllllooooo there! Someone…kinda cute. Very cute. Peter whistled, piercing the quiet thrum of distant rain. He read on.

Oh. The cute someone. They died. Tragically perished. Hit by a car back in the 80’s. What a bummer. One of the scientist's brought them to the lab as a test subject. Used for some twisted experiment in reanimation. The kicker? They proved to be the lab’s first and only successful trial run. Of around fifty different, reanimation trials. Yikes. That's...a lotta dead bodies.

These scientists successfully revived the dead? Peter doubted it. Over a decade had passed since then, and no one ever used the technology mentioned in the files. This lab's research couldn’t be as successful as they documented. Or something must've gone wrong, for them to give up and shut down the lab's operation completely.

Yeah. Treating human corpses like science fair projects for school? Super warped. Hank, wacky in his science ventures, totally found macabre shit like that interesting. Shrugging, Peter tucked the manilla folders he gathered under an arm. He grabbed his walkie, and reported to Scott.

“I got somethin’ else Hank might be into. It's totally messed up, he'll love it. But-uh…if that’s all he needed? I’m gonna jet now, ‘kay? I can’t take another minute in this scary ass place. Over and out.”

Before making his leave, Peter glanced around the room one last time. He appeared near the operating table in a picosecond, his brown eyes scanning the cart next to it. Curiously, Peter picked through some rusty, surgical tools.

Upon finding a scalpel in fairly okay condition, he swiped the tool and slipped it inside his back pocket. Whistling to Oingo Boingo's No One Lives Forever - in hindsight, kind of ironic - playing from his Walkman, Peter raised a foot to kick the cart. Watching it roll away into a nearby wall. Hasta la vista.

As Peter steered away from the operating table, a monstrous shadow loomed at the edge of his vision. His heart rampantly pounded in his chest, his senses still high strung. Jumping back with a terrified gasp, Peter climbed halfway onto the operating table. He fumbled for his flashlight, pointing the glow at the massive bundle of darkness. The light shook in Peter’s trembling hand.

But it-...oh. Phew! Nothing to be afraid of. Hah. What the heck was Peter gettin’ riled up for?

Like something straight out of science fiction, Peter’s shadowy monster proved nothing more than a giant pod. He squinted, moving towards it until close enough to observe it more clearly. The tech appeared big enough to hold a person of his size. Or, hell, maybe even someone of Beast’s size. Peter ran a hand along the surface of the pod, gathering a layer of dust on his fingertips. Scowling, he shuddered, wiping the dust on his jeans. “ EUGH! Eck-” Peter exclaimed to no one, “What’s up with this dusty, old thing??” Glass encased the outer layer of the large machine. It might've been see-through, if not for the unsanitary grime blanketing the entire thing. Years upon years of soot build up. Peter tried wiping the dust away with his elbow, to no avail. He couldn’t see inside, even with the aid of his flashlight.

Puzzled, Peter darted around the room in a silver blur, searching for clues. A switch of some kind? A secret code? He tampered with everything from the cracked monitors on the wall, to the colorful cables lining the floor. Peter even tried prying the pod open with a rusty hammer he found. Still, it refused to budge. Even with the power of speedster strength. Was it made of adamantium or something?

Sighing, defeated, Peter tossed the hammer away. It crashed into one of the screens hanging against the wall. Shattering the crystal display upon impact. Whoops. Oh well. How much more damage could be done to the place? Not like anyone would be making renovations anytime soon. Not in the middle of buttfuck nowhere island.

Making an accidental misstep, Peter slipped on his untied shoelaces. His ankle entangled itself in a circle of cables on the floor, and he lost his balance. Tripping, Peter stumbled backwards into some busted machinery, knocking his head. His back collided with the hard, metal surface behind him.

“ Auuugh. Shit.” Peter muttered. He didn’t understand how he could be so goddamn clumsy all the time, given - what the professor called - his mutant gift, “Ow. Dammit.”

He must have triggered a switch when he tripped. Suddenly, a loud hiss seethed through the air like a bus braking to a stop. A slow moving cloud of smoke rose from inside the pod. As it spread, filling the room, the fumes turned radioactive neon in color. It swarmed Peter’s nostrils, overflowing his senses with an earthy scent.

“Uhhh…uh oh.” He mumbled, “Is that supposed to happen?” Acting in haste, Peter scrambled to free his ankle from the cable’s tight grip.

A corpse reanimation research lab.

Nope. Noooope. He’d seen Return of the Living Dead enough times to know - whatever the hell’s happening now? Bad news. Couldn’t be good. Peter suppressed the urge to scream like a frightened child. A buzzing voice chimed from his walkie, startling him further. Dammit all, Scotty! He almost sent Peter into cardiac arrest for a hot second.

“Peter? Hey-uh, are you there? You alright? You didn’t stop somewhere for pancakes again, did you?” Scott crackled through the walkie, but Peter didn’t respond, “Better bring enough back for the whole class.” He joked, sarcastic.

Peter gawked at the sight before him in a mix of horror and confusion. Completely petrified, as Oingo Boingo played through his ear. The neon smoke emitted from the pod began to clear, revealing a body inside. A dead body.

Your dead body, to be specific.

Somehow, Peter recognized you. But that didn’t make any sense at all. He knew for a freakin’ fact he’d never seen or met you a day in his life. Unless… oh. Oh, holy shit. He hurriedly grabbed the extra folder he’d taken and opened it, just to glance between you, and the photo inside. And sure enough… The first and only successful trial run in reanimation.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Peter’s eyes blew open wide. His stomach dropped twenty thousand feet through the ground, plummeting to the Earth’s core. Swallowing thickly, he observed your slumbering body from his position on the dirty floor.

Your skin appeared ashier than it naturally should be. Y’know, on account of being dead and all. It more closely resembled a subdued, greenish color. Kinda Frankenstein-esc. Stitches lined each and every one of your limbs. As if some psycho nut job took you apart and sewed you back together again. Judging by the info in your file, they probably did. Embedded into your neck, were two bolts on either side. Also very Frankenstein-esc. You reminded him of a wax dummy on the set of some low-budget, horror flick. It’d be kinda funny, if he didn’t feel seconds away from screaming in horror.

You could be a dummy, if Peter had any luck. Yeah. This mission? Surely just a super elaborate prank set up by the team. Like a haunted house tour, made to scare the silver pants off him. Those sly dogs think they’re so slick, huh? ...R-Right?

Peter took a deep breath, keeping his terrified gaze fixed on you. In his ear, the funky tune came to an end. The lab fell into a deafening silence. Only broken by the faintest pitter patter of rain, and a quiet clamor of thunder now echoing at a distance. Signaling the passing of the storm. One less thing to worry about.

Though, he’d much rather agonize over a building’s foundation crumbling. He could handle a weather-related disaster wayyy better than a zombie coming to life, to - potentially - gorge on his flesh.

Raising his flashlight, he pointed the glow at your lifeless body. Again, Peter breathed a long sigh to ease his panic stricken nerves. An interference of crackling static ripped through the walkie then. Loud, and shrill enough to cut glass. At that very moment, your eyes - once locked in eternal slumber - popped open freakishly wide.

Oh. Oh hellllll no. Fuck that. Fuuuuck that.

Peter’s hunch proved totally right. You weren’t just dead. You were undead.

“ Mmmmmm nope.” Peter mumbled to himself, swiftly shaking his head, “Nuh uh. Nope.”

Shaking with adrenaline, he glanced between your dead-eyed gaze, and his trapped foot. Okay! No problem-o! Not a problem at all. For an X-Man, zombies made an easy foe, right? Peter could totally just-...

Just vamoose! Make a break for it! Right now!

Like, now.

Peter hadn’t run away yet. Why hadn’t he run away? Hellllloooo? Ground control to Quickie! Time to make a quick exit, and head for the hills. Lest he become zombie chow.

Stunned, Peter remained petrified. In an uncannily slow movement, you rose from the pod like Nosferatu out of a coffin. Peter cursed under his breath, willing his terror to take a one way ticket outta there. He needed to come to his senses, and fast. Even as Peter tried to move, his paralyzed state caused him to fumble again. His movements lacked their natural fluidity, and his blood ran cold.

Like a total doofus, in his failed attempt to escape, Peter tangled his foot even deeper through the cables. Sometime in the last thirty seconds or so, he dropped his flashlight. Within the inky darkness, he could barely make out your shape as you moved. You groaned a long, croaky sound. Guttural, like an eldritch abomination.

Another crash of lightning showered your living corpse in a white luster. Peter made direct eye contact with you. A gaze between life and death.

A yell vibrated through his lungs and bounced off the walls of the room, as Peter finally screamed. Your slow moving, zombified body climbed from the pod much like a spider. Stumbling at first, you connected your bare feet with the dirty, tiled floor. Once you found your balance, a cracking sound erupted from your limbs. Your bones clicked and popped audibly into place. Peter scowled, physically cringing.

Another scream tore from the depths of his chest, “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” He shouted.

You dragged your feet in a limp, moving towards Peter with a slow gait. Stitched arms reached out for him in an unhurried motion, “ Luhhhhhhhh- ” You choked on a groggy gurgle.

Fuck. Fucking shit fuck. You definitely wanted to feast on his juicy brains and smooth flesh. No denying that. It had been, like, a decade since you last ate anything. And Peter probably looked like one hell of a snack right about now. Not even in a totally kinky way.

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! Hold yer horses there, baby! Yer gettin’ a liiiitttle too close fer comfort now! C’mon, huh? Do you really think I’m on the menu? ‘Cuz trust me. If yer gonna eat somebody? I shouldn’t be yer first choice! I really don’t taste all that great!” Peter yelled, throwing a hand out momentarily before returning to the tangled cables. He huffed an uneasy laugh, “SHIT! Yer not listening, are you? Ahaha! Yer gonna eat me. Totally gonna eat me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-”

Peter tore at the cables wrapped around his foot. Acting as quickly as his petrified state would allow, he pulled the scalpel from his back pocket. But the dull razor’s edge refused to cut through the wires. Dropping the useless tool, he ripped into the cables one more time using all his strength. Only to free himself a millisecond too late. Always late. You lurched forward, making grabby hands. 

Quicksilver vs. an actual, real life zombie. If he made it out alive, that’d make one helluva story.

But-

Wait a damn minute. Hold the freakin’ phone. Why were you…looking at him like that?

The glazed over eyes of a living corpse opened up, all big and doe-like. Gazing at Peter in - no mistaking it - infatuated fondness. Your supple lips parted with a wide smile of pure delight. Like sunshine peeking through hazardous, storm clouds. You leapt forward unexpectedly, squeaking a raspy squeal. Burrowing your face into the warmth of Peter’s chest, you linked your arms around his neck. Holding onto him tight.

“What the-” He whispered, looking down at your messy head of hair.

Uh. Okay. So, that just happened. Weird. Why weren’t you feasting on his flesh? Wasn’t he supposed to be your first meal since zombie hibernation, or something? Didn’t you wanna go chomp chomp chomp, and turn his guts into mush?

Peter realized, looking at you up close, you appeared perfectly clean and preserved. You didn’t reek like a dead body. The earthy scent on your cold skin wasn’t too unpleasant either. It smelled herbal. Floral, even. Your smooth skin lacked any signs of rot. Aside from one or two lesions revealing rib or arm bones. Kinda...freakishly cool. The surface of your skin looked see-through, with veins weaving underneath like intricate wiring.

A little spooky, sure. But not all that scary to look at, surprisingly enough. Not like Peter expected, anyway. As you snuggled closer into Peter’s body, he began to realize how oddly affectionate you were. Very out of character, for a zombie. You squeaked an unintelligible noise, attempting to communicate. But you just couldn’t form the words. Maybe your speech capabilities fizzled out after years and years of unending silence.

Peter creased his brows, lowering his defenses and calming himself down. Another thirty seconds passed. His brains remained intact, and you hadn’t made him your next meal. He pulled the earbud from his ear, hooking them around his neck and pressing pause on the Walkman. Craning your neck back, your glassy eyes met Peter’s own. You grinned so big and joyful, gleaming the innocence of a pure-of-heart, golden retriever. Despite being totally bizarre, Peter found your sweetness...sorta...weirdly cute.

“Uhmmm…hi? Hey. Uh-why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” He laughed, a little uneasy.

Maybe your affection stemmed from something simple. If Peter were locked up in a cramped pod for so many years, he’d be ecstatic if someone finally freed him. You were probably just uber thankful he’d broken you outta that pod thingy. And you showed gratitude through touching, since you couldn’t exactly flurry him with thank yous. He could accept that. Sure. For now.

The walkie hanging from his belt droned a buzz, and Scott’s voice called out. Peter finally reached for it, maneuvering between his body and yours. Your arms stayed around his neck, your body hanging like a stubborn monkey’s from a tree.

“Peter? Do you copy? Peter, are you there, man? Talk to us. Please. Should we send someone over to assist?” Scott asked, his voice itching with alarm. “Yeah! Yeah, nah. Uh-hey, Scotty! Hey, I’m here. I’m oka-...dude, it’s fine. Nothin’ to worry about. Seriously. But…I do kinda have a situation here? Over.” Peter replied.

Scott exhaled a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. In the crackling background of the walkie, Peter heard Jean’s voice. She asked, “Did he say over ?” Followed by a series of hushed chuckles. Peter smirked to himself.

“Oh! Oh my god. Thank goodness, Pete. We were all getting pretty worried about you over here. What’s going on? Are you still at the lab? You said there was a situation. What kind of situation? Did that old place finally cave in?” Scott asked. Many, many questions.

Peter heard even more frantic, muffled conversations in the background. While he couldn’t understand them, he recognized the voices. The entire team had gathered, just to make sure he made it out alive. Awww. How sweet. They were worried about lil ol’ him? If Peter hadn’t had the bejesus scared out of him not even five minutes ago, his heart would’ve melted.

“Heyyyy, guys! Uhhhh…soooo…I might’ve found, like, a zombie? No joke. Like, a real zombie. But it’s not tryna kill me. It’s-” Peter paused, raising a brow. You fluttered your lashes, giving him a coquettish look, “Bro, I think it’s makin’ eyes at me. Legit. Kinda weird, right? Definitely not what I was expecting. But it’s totally fine. I got it all under control now. Over.”

A long silence fell amongst the walkie’s noise. Until Scott finally responded in monotone.

“Did we hear you wrong, or did you just say you found a zombie?” He asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief. As if expecting Peter to say - Psych! Fooled ya!

Peter parted his lips to confirm. But the abrupt tickle of a chilly kiss on his neck silenced him. You stood up on your bare toes, giggling sweetly. Across his hot skin, you peppered your chapped lips. Instantly, Peter froze in place again. Shudders rang through his body. He reached for one of your arms, tugging you to try and pull you off him.

“Uhm. Y’know what? It’s no big deal. B-But yeah, it’s a zombie fer sure.” Peter tugged your arm with more insistence, urging you to let go. But you persisted, giggling into the crook of his neck, “Like I said. No worries here. It’s not like I’m in da- haaah okayokayokay-”

Your feather light kisses became soft, kitten licks. Flicking Peter’s flesh with your slimy tongue, you squealed, tickled pink. Peter jolted, shivers sizzling down his spine. He tilted his neck to the side, wincing. Over the walkie, he heard Hank’s gruff voice.

“Peter! It’s Hank-” The blue beast said, as if Peter couldn’t already tell based on his growly tone, “Are you a hundred percent sure the undead creature isn’t dangerous?” He asked, buzzing through a scratch of interference.

Coldness slathered and swirled Peter’s neck in slow circles. Fluttering his eyes closed, he replied, “N-Not dangerous. Ohhhh. Definitely not dangerous. No danger here. All good. Over.” Again, he tried to pull you off.

Your discolored arms tightened their hold around his neck and over his shoulders. Cooing noises dripped from your tongue like honey, so sugary sweet. You swiped his skin with your tongue, nuzzling your cold nose into the heated crevice of his neck. Pressing your body closer into his, you squirmed, littering him with zombie kisses.

Peter tensed, apprehensive of your affections. He didn’t want to be too harsh or aggressive towards you. Worried that any sign of conflict might make you snap. For all he knew, you might go bonkers and brain hungry. Really, he should’ve gotten it over with and pushed you away. Before you took things a little too far. And you did. Your teeth sank into his neck, lightly nibbling his flesh. As you pressed yourself even closer into his proximity, your breasts - covered only by a ragged crop top - met the swell of his broad chest. WOOOOOAH! Talk about twisted! Sure, okay, maybe your bites turned him on, like, a little. Flooding his body with a pleasant, all-over shudder of pleasure. But he couldn’t just fold for a zombie, could he? That’d be disgusting!

It’d be gross, right?

A subconscious desire in the recesses of his lonesome mind told him he wanted - no, needed - the attention. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone like this since the pogs fad. Easy, now, Peter! Down, boy.

But…shit. As much as he wanted to give in, he couldn’t. Not for a monster. A living corpse, left cooking in a secluded pod for a decade. Cloaked in discoloration and held together by expertly crafted stitching. Not entirely mindless, but so dense, you hadn’t the forethought to ask - “What happened? Where am I? Who are you?” No. Instead, you went after him the moment you saw him, showering him in bubbly, zombie lovin’.

He…shouldn’t find that hot. His fingers shouldn’t be tightening around the walkie, and his groin shouldn’t feel as scorching as it does. Oh, man. Could Peter be any more doomed? He’d have to be mad desperate - way out of his mind - to reciprocate your affection. Raising the walkie again, he cleared his throat.

“Hiya, Beastie. A-Acutally, I think they-...the zombie really, really likes me.” Peter added for no reason at all. You nibbled him a little harder, and he winced again.

“Well, now! That’s good then, isn’t it? Better than the alternative, I’d say! If at all possible, Peter, you should bring the creature with you. I’d like to look it over. Maybe run some tests. Figure out what brought it to life! This could be the secret to reversing brain death!” Hank chimed, excited.

Peter rolled his eyes. Of course Hank wanted to poke and prod at you like some little, lab rat. He opened his mouth to respond, but choked before he could get a word in. Your dull teeth clamped roughly into his neck. Peter braced a free hand on your hip, his thumb digging into the cool, exposed flesh there. Now, suspicion began to dawn on him.

You could be a clever, little zombie. Capable of luring Peter in with flirtatious wiles and sweet touches. Once he let his guard down, what if you planned on tearing into his guts? Well played, smarty pants zombie. Well played. But Peter caught onto your little game. You couldn’t get anything past him.

Instead of slurping his blood like a 7-Eleven slushie, or ripping your nails into his taut muscles; you suckled his skin lovingly. Pulling tiny hickies into his neck. Squealing and giggling in that girlish fashion, playful with every nibble. Peter gulped, biting his lip between his teeth. No way in hell he allowed a zombie to give him hickies.

…Except he did. So what? No harm in it, right?

“Y-Yeah. Sure. I’m good. Great. Just hangin’ out with my new zombie buddy. It’s totally not gonna eat my brains. Like, zero percent chance I’m gonna die an ugly, zombie death. So, y’know, Beastie, don’t lose any sleep over it.” Peter responded, before following it up with a condescending, “Over.”

On the walkie line, Peter heard a series of groans and faint giggles. Followed by Hank’s voice, as he passed the walkie back to Scott. The X-Men’s laser eyed leader sighed, his tone unamused.

“Whatever, Peter. Just…just hurry up, will you? And bring those documents over for Hank. Thanks.”

Peter tried, and failed to keep his composure. A cutie pie zombie kept macking on him like a lovesick puppy, and he had no clue what to make of it. You sucked more sloppy, violet marks into his neck. Tugging his skin with your teeth and nibbling like you couldn’t get enough of him. Peter’s skin flared up in cold creeps, as you trailed your chilly lips to his shoulder. Pulling his jacket and the collar of his shirt aside, you spoiled him in more undead affection.

“Gotcha. Copy that. Ov- mmm -” Peter whispered a moan, replying with a rushed, “Overandout.”

He clipped the walkie back onto his belt. Attempting once more to pry you off him, Peter gave your arm a strong tug. A little more forceful this time around. As you finally dislodged yourself from his neck, Peter took a few steps back. Avoiding any stray cables on the floor.

Now, with some distance between the two of you, he cleared his throat. Peter brought a hand to his neck, grazing fingers over the love bites you left behind. Tiny splotches of purple pooled with offsets of scarlet. Faint teeth marks left grooves in his skin. He hissed.

Giving you the freedom to pepper him with hickies might not have been the smartest idea. Hopefully, you didn’t infect him with some sick, zombie disease. One with the potential to end humanity as he knew it. He couldn’t cope with the weight of that responsibility on his shoulders.

You gawked up at him with those big, adoring eyes. Excitedly, you squealed, hopping towards him with your eager arms outstretched. Hoping to pull Peter into another close hug, just so you could litter him in more nibbly, love bites. He raised an abrupt hand, maintaining distance. Peter cleared his throat again. His cheeks burned hot, doused in bright pink.

Totally not fair, the way an overly affectionate zombie got him blushing.

“L-Listen. Uh. Yer sweet, but-” Peter started. Subconsciously, his gaze drifted down your body. He observed the stitches sewn into your neck and limbs. His dark chocolate eyes followed the rips and tears in your skimpy shirt. The flimsy garment revealed a tiny peek of your - admittedly pretty - breasts. And Peter swallowed, his throat running dry, “Uhhh…you can’t keep doin’ this, okay? The-” He wiggled his long fingers, gesturing to his neck, “The hickie thing. If yer gonna come with me, we gotta lay down some ground rules. Alright? You get me, babe?”

You tilted your head to the side, blinking slowly. Gazing at Peter with a look that told him you didn’t understand. But you didn’t seem to give a shit either way. You reached for one of his hands, a dazzled smile curling into your lips. Purring a candied noise of affection, you brought his hand to your cheek and nuzzled his palm. Your lips gently kissed each fingertip. Peter pulled a face, knitting his silver brows.

“Why’re you so damn-” He shook his head, “Whatever. Listen. Can you, like, chill out? No biting, you understand?” Peter paused to make a chomping gesture, clicking his teeth. But this only made you giggle. Which, unfortunately, he found super infectious.

Peter chuckled, scoffing playfully, “Stop that! I’m totally serious! No biting. No licking. No kissing. Like this. You see this?” He gestured to the hickies on his neck, their trail leading under his shirt, “No more ‘a that, you feel me? I dunno how I’m gonna explain this to the crew back home. They’re gonna think we got, like, freaky ‘er somethin’. Yeah. Can you imagine that? Like I’d ever fool around with-”

Fluttering your off colored lashes, you tilted your head to the other side. You parted your chapped lips, squealing as you edged his fingertips into your mouth. Pressing the salty pads to your bitter tongue.

“Oh! EUCK! Gross! Don’t-” Peter scowled, jerking his hand from you in less than a millisecond. With a horrified look, he observed his fingers as if they were germ-infested specimens, “Yer a real weird one, babe.”

His guard fell. While Peter kept his perplexed eyes on his fingers, you leapt forward. Burying your face deep into the fabric of his shirt, you squealed. Gleeful and bubbly. Peter groaned, only half-annoyed. He made a move to push you off him again. But your precious, little purring noises changed his mind. Peter couldn’t find it in himself to put his foot down.

Turns out he had a weakness. Cute, overly affectionate zombies. Who woulda thought?

Whatever. Peter had wayyy more important things on his plate. He knew he should gather up those folders he dropped, along with anything else he lost during his freak out session. Once he did, he needed to get the two of you out of this dingy, old lab asap.

“ Mmmmm …n-need…” You hummed your first word, before squealing, “Loooooove~!” Your voice strained, rattling like you’d been pounding down cigarettes by the plenty.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he let his sizeable hands fall to your hips, “Di-...wait a sec, did you just talk? Holy shit! You can talk?” Peter asked, dumbfounded, “Woah! Wow. Uh…so…you got a name? Can you at least tell me yer name?”

Your case file hadn’t listed your name, leaving you reduced to a number. Pretty messed up, if anyone were to ask Peter. Either you still didn’t understand him, or you couldn’t remember your own name. Instead of giving him an answer, you nuzzled your face in his chest. You tittered, so soft and smitten, your ragged voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Cold, tiny zombie hands tickled the back of his neck, raking gentle nails down his torso.

Standing on your toes, you connected your cool lips with his neck all over again. You kissed your previous love bites, as if doing so would heal them entirely. Ashamed of himself for letting it happen, Peter stifled a groan.

"Y-...You don't remember yer name, do you?" He mumbled. Peter's strong arms wrapped around your back, pulling you in, "That is...a seriously messed up situation. But, hey, I'm here fer you. Don't worry, 'kay? We'll get you to a safe place, and you can start over there. Sound good?" His caring nature shined through. But male horniness abruptly overshadowed it, as your wet tongue tickled his skin.

A guilty part of him, overrun with sympathy, felt bad for you. Those scientists hadn’t treated you like the victim of an unfortunate accident. More like a toy. Meant to be ripped apart, played with, and abandoned. It seemed wrong to perceive you in a frisky light. But then again…you wanted love. You may as well have been begging for it.

Love. One of the first words you spoke since your undead coma. Not that much of a surprise, if he thought about it. As a science experiment, loneliness probably consumed you. Even before your decade-long slumber. In a way, Peter understood. He too felt haunted by a longing for affection for far, far too long. In his mind, that made the two of you kindred spirits.

Ahhhh …dammit. Peter just couldn’t resist you and your sweet wiles anymore. His self control steadily slipped from his weakened grasp.

“ Mmmmm! Wa-....waaaant…love~! Neeeed… mmm …lo-....love~!” You squeaked, your cold tongue curling over a fresh, purple mark.

“C’mon, baby. We can’t-...you really have to stop this. We gotta head back to base, like, now. Everyone’s waitin’ on me, and I-” Peter muttered, and you pulled back. Gazing at him with that mystified, doe eyed look. Like you saw the beauty of the cosmos in him, and him alone. Your lips sparkled, wet from your lovin’. Peter clutched your hips firmly. His jeans seemed...somehow tighter all of a sudden, “Would ya stop lookin’ at me like that?”

“Looooooove~?” You cooed, your voice taking on a lustrous, but groggy tone.

“Yeah. I know. But…” Peter sighed, letting his hands feel up and down your curvy sides, “Yer gonna get me in soooo much trouble. But, fine. You win, okay? What kinda love are we talkin’ 'bout here, babe? You wanna hug? Want me to-uhm…to plant one on you? Is that it?”

You perked up then. Peter took it as a sign you understood him, more than you let on before. He arched a brow. At this point, why even hold back? Because you were dead? So what! Who ever said zombies couldn’t be smokin’ hot?

If he messed around with you just a little, no one would ever know. Which…made the concept even more enticing. You could be his little secret. An affectionate secret he’d forever bury in the ground. In place of the grave those scientists never gave you.

Peter fluttered his eyes closed, finally giving in to your closeness entirely. Lowering his big hands, he grabbed your ass. His palms squeezed over the torn, booty shorts you wore. Never did he imagine - upon exploring some horror movie, science lab - he’d feel up a cutie pie corpse’s plump bottom by the end. What a way to end a mission. Life worked in some wildly bizarre ways sometimes.

Kissing a zombie? Not as gross as he thought it’d be.

Okay. Maybe for, like, half a second. But the earthy taste on Peter’s lips didn’t faze him much. Once he pushed past the initial ick, he embraced you fully. Peter decided he didn’t give a flying fuck how unsanitary zombie smooches might be. Uncoordinated lip motions lured him in further. Pinkish teeth grazing his bottom lip between kisses. Soon enough, they turned sloppy, and Peter found himself frenching the living dead.

Zombie make out session. An experience he hadn’t planned to check off his bucket list. But now, he could.

One of his hands gripped your ass. While his other held your face and pulled you in for more tongue action. In the midst of swapping spit, you sought every opportune moment to nibble him. Peter couldn’t help but be super into it. You mewled softly, giggling when he gave your booty a hard squeeze. Chuckling, he parted from your lips to look over your greenish face. Your eyes bulged so big and wide, pupils an off-grey color and impossibly huge. Wonderstruck by his very existence. Darting down to capture your lips again, Peter stumbled forward. He guided your body towards the operating table, knocking you into it. Your hips collided with the edge, causing a loud, vibrating clang. The rough motion worried him enough, he stopped sucking face just to confirm you were alright. Peter feverishly kissed your cold lips, his hands exploring your body. Feeling stitched skin under his fingers.

You pulled from him with a joyous squeal, but Peter followed. Confused as to why you stopped, until you dove for the untarnished side of his neck. Dull flats of your teeth chomped straight into his flesh, grinding a little too roughly for comfort. Peter winced with a start, ceasing his love on your bootylicious bottom.

“N-No! Noooo! Hey, baby, look at me.” Peter snapped his fingers to get your attention. Not that he wanted to be so demanding. But you needed to understand his boundaries, before you tore into his flesh and guzzled his blood. Instantly, you reacted, retracting your teeth from his neck. You moved to make eye contact, and Peter fixed you with a soft gaze, “What’d I tell you, huh? Look, it’s not that I can’t appreciate some neckin’. 'Cuz I totally can. And I really dig it. Like, a lot. But you can’t be munchin’ on me! Really freaks me out when you do that.”

You angled your head again, curious. Doe eyes gaped at him with fluttering lashes, innocently confused, “ Mmm. Giv-....Giiiiive…love?” You croaked, pawing at Peter’s chest over his shirt, acting so needy.

He couldn’t begin to understand what you meant, or what you imagined love to be in your head. Were you really so desperate to bite him? Or, were you asking for something else? Wanton, bedroom eyes dawned your pretty face. Plush, ashy lips parting. You pawed his chest again, your blunt nails scraping across his shirt. In your desperation to communicate your-uhm…needs, you jutted your hips forward into his jeans. “L-L…Lo-” You started, throaty voice oozing innocence. Though, the look in your lidded eyes betrayed said innocence, “Loooooove. Need. P-Please?” 

Peter’s eyes popped open, as realization dawned on him. Oh. You meant you needed-... Ah. He understood now. The unreasonably cute, living corpse he found - dormant in a pod for, like, a decade - wanted to bump uglies. Great. Awesome. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? Fulfill your unbridled desire? C’monnnn. Didn’t boning undead cuties come with any moral implications? If he took you to pound town, would that make him a necrophiliac? Peter really didn’t wanna be labeled a necrophiliac.

But hypothetically, what if he admitted his own desperation to himself? He always fumbled every time he tried to step up his game and woo the ladies. Not like he had any game to begin with. And tonight, there you were. Practically begging for him to take you. He should acknowledge the fact that, yeah - no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise - he found you very hot. So, ludicrously hot. Zombie traits and all.

And regardless of how many times he second guessed himself - at the end of the day - his dick didn’t have any qualms about zombie hanky panky.

Peter’s hand traveled up, thumbs curiously tracing the rough lining of your neck stitches. Before toying with the rusted bolts an inch or two above. Testing if you could even feel it. You didn’t react, and Peter wondered if scientists used those bolts to revive you. Did they awaken you Frankenstein style, with sharp surges of electricity? Or did you come to life by other means? A glowing, reagent liquid, maybe?

Hesitating for a fraction of a second, Peter tugged the front of your loose top down. A pair of off-green, zombie melons jiggled freely. Stitches circled each breast, and Peter may or may not have thought they looked hot as fuck like that. Call him inhumane, but he really dug your whole monstrous babe aesthetic.

His hands kneaded the softest pair of undead knockers he ever felt, making you squirm under his touch. Peter grinned, pleased with every choked squeak leaping off your lips. He flitted his dark gaze up to your face, then back down to your breasts; back and forth, back and forth. Admiring the delicate expressions you made, your precious face scrunched in pleasure.

“Damn. Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are? ‘Specially like this.” Peter chuckled, pinching and twisting your perky nipples, “Bet those bad guys never did. Sucks fer them. Yer a total babe. And sooo fuckin’ cute. Makes me want you all fer myself.”

Sooooo…about your…cooch situation. Yeah. Uh…Peter might’ve been somewhat worried about that. Taking your condition into consideration, he felt himself overcome with hesitance. Fearful that your-uh…flower, so to speak, may have withered away after a decade of darkness.

What about diseases? The thought made Peter squeamish. Even though you appeared and smelled relatively clean, you still hadn’t showered in a long freakin’ time. Then again, protection existed. Not to mention, you were so, so needy and cute. Your body looked undeniably amazing, and felt so soft. Fuck it. With some reluctance, Peter willed himself to test the waters. For your sake, but also for his own. Just to make up for the years he spent wishing he could get laid again.

A win-win for you both.

Tugging your tiny shorts down your smooth thighs - finding a little struggle along the way, since the meat of your thighs proved an obstacle - Peter snuck his fingers under the hem of your worn panties. The millisecond before his fingers met the supple curtains of your pussy, he second guessed himself for the zillionth time. Peter’s subconscious doubt pestered him enough, he almost withdrew his hand completely.

But the precious whimper you made gave him enough encouragement to keep going. His thick digits cautiously braved forbidden, undead territory. Finding an overabundance of cool, silky wetness between your lips. Peter swallowed hard, knitting his brows as he scoured for your clit.

“Jesus, baby.” He muttered. Judging by your bubbly squeak of delight, Peter assumed he found what he’d been venturing for. Leaning slightly forward into your proximity, Peter circled your stiff, little nub, “You want it bad, don’t you?”

“G-...G-....Gooooood! Mo-....More? More!” You mewled, clenching fists into his shirt. Mindlessly, you canted your hips, seeking his crotch. “Hey, it’s whatever you want, pretty.” He mused with a smirk, voice tender, “Relaaaax. I gotcha. I gotcha. ”

His fingers drew downwards, teasing for a beat before cruising into your silken entrance. Lush, deathly cold walls welcomed his digits in a loving hug. Beckoning Peter to sink them in deeper. You held his shirt like a lifeline, moaning an angelic, rattle of a noise. Pulling you closer into his warm body, Peter lowered his head to your shoulder. Thin strands of silver hair tickled your cheek. His thick fingers curled, hooking into a cushiony spot inside you. Your near-empty eyes saw hot flashes of light.

“L-LOOOVE~!” You whimpered through hitched cries.

“Mhm?” Peter laughed, impishly nibbling his lip, “Feel that lovin’? Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”

Keeping you distracted for a temporary moment, Peter dotted your neck in warm kisses. Subtly easing his fingers in and out of your velvet pussy at a quicker pace. Your knees buckled, trembling the faster he moved. Until his motions became brutal. With a perfect curl, speedy digits rammed repeatedly into that spongy spot you loved. Your sugary sweet, unintelligible whines rose in volume, as your sticky, little, zombie cunt quivered.

You gnawed powerful bites as you came, your teeth digging into Peter’s neck. But this time, he allowed it. He forced himself to muscle through the pain, holding your shuddering body close, “ Shhhh. Shhh. It’s cool, baby. It’s - ahh - it’s cool. That's it.” He cooed with a careful tone, stroking the back of your head and threading fingers through your ragged hair.

Easing his fingers from your cunt, he double checked the digits, making sure nothing seemed off. Your release felt thicker and stickier than any living person’s, but didn’t have much of a scent. While usually he looooved to taste the aftermath of a total cutie’s orgasm, Peter opted not to. Sure, your wetness didn’t appear radioactive or hazardous. But the thought of guzzling zombie honey put him off a little bit.

“G-....Goood?” You ogled Peter with half-lidded, glassy eyes, your lips parting in an irresistible giggle.

Peter bit his tongue. Alright. Maybe he…could give it a shot. Just this once. Zombie love liquor couldn’t be deadly or anything, could it? Disease-ridden, maybe. But Peter knew a hyper-intelligent doctor who could whip up a cure for most ailments. Guess it didn’t matter anymore. By the time Peter second guessed himself yet again, he’d already sucked his fingers clean. A bitter thickness lingered on his taste buds. Peter salivated at the thought of drinking down more.

“ Mmmm … mhm …not bad.” He chuckled, lips humming around his fingers, "I'd go fer seconds." He added with a wink, making you laugh.

Yikes. If Hank only knew how reckless Peter acted in the presence of some zombified cutie. He’d lock him up in the infirmary and run a thousand tests on him. Just to make damn sure Peter hadn’t contracted anything lethal.

Politely pushing you off him, Peter turned his head. He double checked the perimeter for any signs of life, despite the lab being totally desolate. Hopefully Summers hadn’t sent anyone after him, since the speedster took way too long returning to base. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulled his hard length from the fly. Almost immediately, you gasped in elation. Tickled squeals danced on your discolored tongue. Thick, and flushed a dark scarlet, Peter’s cock throbbed in his hand.

"I'm guessin' you like what you see?" He snickered, giving his dick a firm stroke, "I like what I'm seein' too...if you couldn't tell." Every word Peter said, every charming smile he gave, seemed to attract you considerably. Drawing more kittenish giggles from you.

With your freezing, zombie mitts, you ungracefully reached for him. Cold fingers squeezed his cock, stroking in a clumsy motion. Peter drew in a sharp breath, the cool sensation of your hands arousing his nerves. Even if your hand to gland combat lacked any skill, it felt damn awesome to be touched like this again. He stepped forward, his giant hands grabbing your hips. You played with him as much as your little, unbeating heart desired. Tugging his burning hardness with an overzealous grip.

You tried lowering yourself to the floor, your mouth falling open, tongue gliding over your lip. But Peter instinctively stopped you. His hands darted to your shoulders, pulling you into a standing position. He preferred if you didn’t take your biting addiction downstairs. Visitations of the oral variety were closed to any undead visitors. At least, for right now.

“Y’know, I don’t usually like goin’ all the way on the first date.” He spoke, fishing his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, “Like, call me an old soul 'er whatever.” Peter worked quickly, pulling a condom out of his wallet. He slipped the latex over his length, “But I can make an exception. Just fer you, cutie. But this stays between us, yeah?”

You nodded, pushing yourself up onto the dusty, operating table. Peter cringed, curling his lip out of concern for you. This couldn’t be sanitary. Dragging his attention from the filth under your bottom, you parted your knees. With your body angled backwards, you pointed eagerly at your panty-clad pussy. Soaked and dripping under the thin fabric. Peter’s breath hitched.

“Looooooove~? M-Ma…make?” You cooed, scooting a little off the edge of the table. As if tempting him to give in and fuck you already, you wiggled your ass. Like a beautiful, monstrous display of stitches and postmortem skin. All for the speedster's taking.

"I-I mean-uh...sure. If you really want me to. What kinda guy would I be to turn you down?" He awkwardly joked, fighting his nerves.

Peter pushed a strong hand against your inner thigh. Warm on your deathly cold flesh. He pulled your thin panties to the side, teasing your glossy slit with the head of his cock. You whimpered, cute noises bubbling in the back of your throat. Edging you for a beat more, he slid the teary eyed tip over your clit. Before sinking his length through your walls. Inch by pulsating inch, he bottomed out in a flash, tip kissing your cervix.

“ Wohhhhh, fuck.” He groaned. A new kind of coolness enveloped his cock, plushy and soft. Hooking your stitched legs over Peter’s shoulders, you tilted your body. Inviting him to submerge as deeply as your tight cunt would allow, “Oh, baby…yer so-...ah, fuuuuck. ”

"G……..Goo-......Gooood~!" You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. Your strangled voice erupted in a mantra of lustful squeals.

By some act of divine intervention, Peter could feel the swollen, unyielding lusciousness of your pussy. Walls wringing his cock, like you wanted to suck him dry of everything he had. He swiftly rutted into your cunt, hard enough to make you bounce against the table. Peter’s sluggish eyes followed your breasts as they bobbed. Titties jiggling with such a soft, sexy whirl; He felt his cock twitch inside you.

Leaning down, Peter loomed over you, the rough fabrics of his clothes sliding along your bare skin. He kissed you tenderly, a little heedless. In the midst of fondling your precious, stitched breasts, Peter's hot palm curiously pressed against your chest. Feeling...nothing. No heartbeat, no blood flow. A little spooked, he refocused his attention. Playing with your bouncing, zombie titties again.

"Feels so-...you feel so good, holy fuck -" He moaned, his voice catching in his throat, "So pretty. L- ah ...love how tight you are." Playfully, Peter lost himself in the moment. He pulled a nipple between his teeth, suckling one of your Frankenstein tits, "Loooove these zombie boobies. Hah -oooohhh, shit-"

Lying in slumber for a decade must have left you majorly sensitive. In just a few more, aggressive, bunny humps; you came again. Hypnotic delight burst through your core, pushing you to the point of tears. Your pussy fluttered, sticky wetness gushing around his cock. Reaching up to link your arms around his neck, you clawed little etchings into his skin.

“M-Mmmmmooore~! More, mmm- ...more~!!” You pleaded, coaxing Peter to drill you with all the energy he carried. Not to toot his own horn, but - little did you know - he harbored enough energy for a hundred men. And then some.

"You w- fuck -want more? Want more, baby? God, yer gonna make me-" His voice wavered between moans, "G-Gonna make me lose it-"

Peter’s mischievous eyes met yours, as you gave him that doe eyed look he couldn’t fucking resist. Sharp jabs of his cock sped to a blur, slamming into your cunt in a brutal display of his strength. Keeping himself balanced, hands pressed to the table on either side of you; Peter showed no mercy. Abusing your precious, syrupy walls with a ruthless pace. But not fast enough that he’d tear his means of protection. A harsh surge of heavenly pain flared up inside you, as he tore into your pussy and bashed your cervix.

"LOOOOOVE~! Ah~! Peeeetur~!" In a moment of post orgasmic clarity, you called his name. Slurred, and barely recognizable. How'd you even know? Had you picked it up from his walkie conversations? Damn, his zombie buddy's more perceptive than he thought. Peter snickered, finding your pronunciation ridiculous. But the cute, needy sound of his name on your lips triggered something.

" ’Mgonnacum- ” Peter whined, his brutal pace more inconsistent and sloppy, “Gonna-...feels too good o h fuck oh fuCK -” 

A pearly white burst of thick heat stuffed the latex of the condom full, threatening to make it pop. Burying his nose deep in the crook of your neck, Peter moaned. Guttural whines ripped from his chest, drying his throat. Panting - not from exhaustion, but overstimulation - Peter loosened his muscles. In mellow, post nut bliss, he almost overlooked the sizzle of static buzzing from his walkie.

“Peter? Peter, answer me right now. So help me god. Everyone’s worried sick about you! Do you read me? Peter, I said, do you read me? Please!” Scott pleaded through a mix of agitation and genuine distress.

 Peter drew out a long, hard groan. Pushing himself up a little, he fumbled lazily for his walkie. A sluggish grin curled into his dimples, as he nibbled his lip and winked down at you. His eyes half lidded and hanging heavy.

 “Mmmm…’M fine. ‘M fine. ‘M fine.” He chuckled, overcompensating for himself. He knew he’d be in mega trouble with the crew by this point, “It’s all-uh…all good. Jeez, Summers. Did ya think I was dead ‘er somethin’? Haha…” Peter drolled, his tone slower than usual. He withdrew his softening cock from inside you, watching while you squirmed. On your back, you appeared a blissful, fucked out mess. Ultimately satisfied. Mission accomplished, “Don’t worry so much, bro. I was only takin’ my new, zombie buddy out to-uh…tooooooo…an arcade. Yeah. An arcade.”

On the other end of the line, a silence fell. Peter filled it with an, “O-Over.” to compensate again.

 “...You took the zombie…to an arcade?” Scott responded, an edge of irritated disbelief in his tone, “Peter, are you out of your damn mind? Do you not realize how much of a risk that is? I can’t even-...your priority for this mission was to retrieve those documents for Hank. Doesn’t it seem irresponsible to be dragging an unknown, undead creature around a public place? I can’t even believe you!” He heard Scott scoff, “Now, will you please return already with those documents? We’re all waiting on you. Bring the zombie too.”

“Uhhh…yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Dunno what came over me. Sure. Okie dokes. Lemme, uh-” Peter spoke, playfully fighting you off. You reached for his neck, trying to pull him back down for post-sex cuddles, “Lemme grab ‘em. They’re goin’ hog wild with skee-ball right now. Crazy, right? They scored, like, sooooo many points. You should see all the tickets we got, man. We could totally get one ‘a those jumbo prizes. Say, Scotty, do you want, like, a giant Mighty Mouse?”

“Maximoff.” Scott replied sternly, without a beat of hesitation. His frustration oozed through the speakers, and Peter could feel guilt itching at his conscience.

In the background, Peter overheard someone - though he couldn’t guess who - mutter a, “Is Mighty Mouse even a thing anymore?” Oh. Once Peter returned, he’d be in for it. Royally fucked. Figuratively, and, thankfully, literally. In the short, momentary instance of silence between walkie communication; Peter disposed of the condom and straightened himself out. He disappeared for a millisecond, snatching a fresh towel from some luxury bath shop all the way in Paris. Dousing the cloth in warm water, he wiped you clean upon his ultra speedy arrival. Before helping you redress, making you look…somewhat presentable. 

“Fine. I totally get it, okay? Look, man. I’m sorry. But can ya really blame me fer wantin' to hang after the experience I just had? Doesn’t matter. Be there in a flash. M-Maybe don’t tell Hank, though. If you can hel-” Peter rambled sheepishly, slinging the towel over his shoulder. He stepped backwards, extending a hand for you to take. 

“Pietro Maximoff, I am beside myself with you!” Hank started, clearly agitated, cutting Peter off.

Peter groaned, mumbling quietly to himself as you took his hand, “He told Hank. He did it. He fuckin’ told him. Shit. I’m so fucked. I’m so, so fucked.” In a motion to guide you off the operating table, Peter pulled you forward by your hand.

“I have several questions. Why would you bring an undead creature to an arcade? What were your motivations behind taking the creature out, on a recreational activity? The potential danger or damage to the arcade and its patrons is far too high. And, furthermore, Peter, is there any scientific value to observing a zombie around arcade equipment? I understand you have this insatiable need to act out, but this is ridiculous! It is our duty, as members of the X-Men, to protect humanity from all threats. Including potential zombie related incidents at public arcades. Now then, please return the specimen immediately for further observation.” Hank ranted on and on and on and on-

A noise, like fabric tearing, cut uncomfortably through the air. Weak stitching around your elbow ripped loose, and Peter pulled your forearm clean off. Hank’s tirade met an abrupt end, as a blood curdling scream rocked the entire room. “Peter? Peter?? What’s happened? Peter, are you alright?” Hank panicked over the walkie.

Past the edge of terrified, shocked to the point of nearly pissing himself; Peter screamed. He wiggled his hand, trying to let go of your lone arm. But your hand held his tightly, your grip refusing to ease up. Once he finally freed himself, he expected your arm to drop to the floor. But your little fingers moved, crawling like spider legs. A zombie’s dislodged arm creeped up Peter’s shoulder over his jacket. Some real, Evil Dead kinda shit. He smacked at it, shouting like a housewife frightened by a mere mouse.

“YEAH!I’mfineI’mgreatI’mawesomesorryit’snothing.” Peter responded, rushed and unclear, “O-Over?” He cringed, scowling as you hopped off the operating table to retrieve your missing arm.

“...Pardon?” Hank asked, tone puzzled. Peter swallowed, shuddering while you pulled your freakish, deadite arm off his shoulder, “Are you…sure you’re alright, Peter? What’s going on? You’ve been acting awful strange tonight. Is there something on your mind?”

A lot. Peter had so much on his mind. Like, the totally real fact that he boned an undead, Frankenstein babe, for one.

“Uhm. It’s-...it’s nothing. Seriously, don’t even worry, Beastie. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Just-uhm…lab’s still-...there was some thunder, and the building-uh-” Peter nervously rambled, struggling to find his words, “Over.”

Another pause drew out long enough for Peter to realize his mistake. He cursed, smacking himself on the side of the head. How could he be scatterbrained, to forget his own lies in a matter of seconds? He had a feeling, deep in his gut; Hank would rip him a new one tonight once he got back. “...The lab? Peter…didn’t you just tell us you were at an arcade?” Hank asked, reasonably suspicious.

Peter’s voice broke as he replied, “I mEAN-” He cleared his throat, “Uhhh-...heh. I-I ran back! Forgot-uh...there was somethin’ I forgot. Like I said, doesn’t matter. I’m totally fine! I’m juuust peachy! Hang tight. I’ll be right there. Over and out.” Peter took a second to collect himself, clipping his walkie to his belt. He silenced the device, ignoring any further questions from Hank. Subconsciously, Peter took a step back as you reached for him again. His veins vibrated with a buzz of adrenaline. With your arm dismembered, you moved abruptly forward. Nuzzling your face into Peter’s chest, the same way you had all night. Still just as smitten with him. Groggy purrs rumbled in your throat.

Rolling his eyes, Peter patted your head, smoothing out your ragged, messy hair, “What am I gonna do with you? Yer nothin’ but trouble, y’know that?” He teased, pinching one of your cold cheeks, “Whaddya say we get outta here already? But I gotta make a couple ‘a pit stops. And you gotta behave yerself. Don’t get any funny ideas about eatin’ anybody.” Peter wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close. Pointing at you with an accusatory finger. 

You tilted your head, confused again. Peter really couldn’t get enough of that cute, clueless look. Hank and Scott had no idea what they were talkin’ about. His zombie buddy? Totally harmless. You’d never even hurt a fly.

Okay. First order of business. Find a Mighty Mouse plush, just to really sell his arcade story. After that, he planned on snatching you some nicer clothes. Anything to protect your modesty. Thirdly, Peter wanted to teach himself some gnarly makeup tricks. Cover up his hickies. Yeah. No sweat! He could do all that in a flash.

Oh. And late night pancakes. Peter refused to skimp out on those. He’d been craving them all night, and his body desperately needed to replenish its energy. Surely, the gang back home wouldn’t mind. After everything, they totally wouldn’t be supremely pissed and fed up with Peter’s bullshit. And the waitress serving at whatever diner he picked? She wouldn’t bat an eye at some undead, zombified customer, would she?

Why's he even kidding himself?

Gathering Hank’s files, Peter tucked them under his arm. He zipped around in search of whatever other knick-knacks he lost, including his fallen flashlight. Stepping towards you, Peter brought his earbuds to your ears. He exchanged the tape in his Walkman for another, aiming to keep you entertained with music while he traveled at superspeed. As soon as the tune graced your ears, you leapt in place. Squeaking a surprise chirp. Your shoulders bunched, and you darted your hazy eyes around.

“Hey, easy, easy-” Peter reassured, cranking the volume down low so you could still hear him, “It’s just music, baby. It’s nice, right? You like it? You like-uh…you like the Monster Mash? Crypt Kickers? Bobby Pickett?” He gestured with his hands, suggestively raising his brows, “We had a graveyard smash, didn't we, eh?” You simply stared at him, clueless as usual. Huffing, Peter pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Seriously. What am I gonna do with you?”

You clutched your dislodged arm tight, cradling the appendage close. Throwing a quick glance your way, Peter shook his head. He pulled his goggles over his eyes, and braced a warm hand at the back of your neck. The few seconds before he took off, he leaned in close. Hearing that Halloween melody playing from the earphones you wore, he quietly sang along.

As much as he liked cuddling ‘Ro on Halloween, horror movie nights; A new idea crossed his mind. He might just snuggle up on the couch with someone special this year. 

[oh-goddess-of-chaos]

⠀ 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 – 𝐣. 𝐝. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ (navi. & masterlist. & tag. )

「 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 」 yandere!jason dean 𝒙 female!reader

「 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 」 in which you try to break up with jason dean, but you find that doing so is a lot harder than you anticipated.

「 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 」 man-handling, murder / death, manipulation, toxic / abusive relationship, unconsensual kissing, threatening, swearing, generally psychotic behavior, implied / referenced stalking, general yandere themes.

「 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 」 1.2k

「 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 .⁺ ˖ ⌒ this one's a bit on the shorter side, but it was fun to write!

"You killed her."

Those were the only words you could think to utter staring at your deranged ex-partner. "You fucking killed her, didn't you?"

In spite of your current rage and distress, all J. D. could seem to do was offer you a devilish grin and a smirk. "Well, I wouldn't say killed her, just... I put her out of her misery, is all. Charity work, really."

"You did it. You murdered my best friend. Do you think this is a joke?"

"Well, it is quite funny, if I do say so myself."

You weren't quite sure what you were feeling at the moment. Anger was one thing, but heartbroken, too, for you had lost the person that was closest to you.

And yet, your inner turmoil aside, you felt a terrible, terrible smile slither its way across your face - a not because you were happy by any stretch - the situation you found yourself in was by no means one that'd cause you any feelings of joy - but simply because you had no idea what else to do.

"She was right. I should have stayed away from you. You're not a rebel. You're fucking psychotic."

"Well, you say tomato, I say 'to-mah-to'."

You grated your teeth together. "Just get out, J. D." You were much too tired to play any of J. D.'s mind games. You just wanted him gone. And for a moment - for one beautiful moment - he seemed to consider doing what you asked. But, alas, he was never one for folding so easily.

"No."

You drew in a sharp breath. "Excuse me?"

J. D. took a step closer to you. You held your ground, hoping to give off the impression that you weren't intimidated by what he might do; you knew he had a loaded gun on him, and his unpredictable nature didn't ease your racing heart.

"I'm not leaving, and you can't make me."

"J. D., this is my house."

"Well, technically it's your parent's home, and I doubt you want to get them involved, unless you'd like two more of your loved ones with their brains blown out."

You stiffened, your throat tightening up. Upon your lack of a response, J. D.'s mouth curled into a wicked smile. "That's what I thought. Now, how about we both go out to 7-11 and grab a couple of slushies?"

J. D. outstretched his arm in order to grasp your hand, but just as your fingers brushed, you jerked backwards. J. D.'s smile faded.

"Y/n - "

"I'll call the cops - I'll fucking call the cops on you, J. D.!"

J. D. raised an eyebrow and began nodding. "The cops?" He inquired. "Tell me, when they arrest me, do you think they're going to ignore the fact that you somehow knew for a fact that I killed Heather, Kurt, and Ram? What proof do you have that doesn't incriminate yourself? What will you say when they ask you how you know it's me? You wrote the letters."

"Yeah, well I didn't murder people!"

A strangely exuberant laughter escaped J. D.'s lips. "You didn't, did you? Then you didn't give Heather that mug of liquid drainer? And you also didn't shoot Kurt?"

You paused briefly, thinking of a quick defence. "Well I didn't know that was the wrong cup! And Kurt - I was just so shocked - "

J. D. took a step forward. You took a step back. J. D. grinned. He continued his approach until you inevitably collided with the wall, letting out a small gasp. "Admit it, Y/n!" He trapped you with his arms. "You say I'm evil, but look in the mirror! We're the same! We both do fucked up shit, and we like it! I saw that look on your face when Heather died. You were glad."

"We are not the same. I did not want them dead. Whatever you thought you saw in me when Heather died, it wasn't there. You're delusional, J. D. Now, I'm calling the cops, so don't even try to - "

"You can't call them. You know that. The moment you do your parents would be dead - and, besides, you know you couldn't pay to have a lawyer send me to jail. I know your parents wouldn't be able to afford it."

He was right. And you hated him for it. You didn't even ask how he knew your family wouldn't have sufficient funds - at this point, you'd be surprised if he didn't know something about you or your personal life.

"Well, I'm not coming with you, no matter what you'd do. I'd rather - "

J. D. didn't allow you to finish, forcefully swallowing your words with the press of his lips. The kiss was anything then what it should have been - it was greedy, feverish, demanding. You didn't have so much as a moment to breath as J. D. devoured you, leaving you terribly, terribly breathless. His icy fingers tug into your skin, surely leaving bruises, and you shuddered at the feeling of his wandering hands along your exposed skin.

J. D.'s kisses now were not what they once were. A million years ago, they sweet and tender, a warm interlocking of souls on a cold winter's day. They were beautiful and wonderful and tasted of nothing but kindness and thoughtfulness. But this one was nothing like the ones you'd experienced in the past. It was hungry, rough as J. D. pressed you plush against him, searing as opposed to warm, poisonous as opposed to tender.

It was after what could only be described as an eternity that J. D. pulled away, staring at your dizzy self with a satisfied expression upon his face.

Because, at last, here you were, like a bird with clipped wings, caught in J. D.'s trap, the one you'd unknowingly watched him craft bar by bar.

You froze as you felt two arms slither around your waist, firmly pulling you to J. D. He liked you like this - he could practically smell the fear radiating off of you, and it was intoxicating. Neither slushies nor cigars could compare to the high he felt from your presence.

"You're not leaving. You can't. And, besides, I'd kill you if you did." He let out a satisfied sigh. "I worship you - can't you see that?" You shivered as J. D.'s warm breath tickled your ear. "We were meant to be, darling. There was a reason we met... you were made for me."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as J. D. slowly let you go, grasping your chin between his forefinger and thumb. You naturally diverted your gaze.

J. D. grabbed your arm and squeezed it tightly, causing you to let out a small yelp. "Look at me."

Hesitantly, you obliged, your stomach knotting when you caught the dark glimmer in J. D.'s eyes. It was then that you knew - knew that you'd never once be free again, knew you'd be forever bound to J. D.

"We're going to fix this fucked up world together, Y/n."

© do not translate, steal, or repost any of my works elsewhere without consulting me and gaining my consent.

[williaml0ver]

—♡ Confessions to make: a Kevin Ayuso Valentine's Day Special ☆ <3

[💌] word count: 2723

[💌] warnings: male reader, a little sad/angsty? but ends up very fluffy trust me, my first ever proof read work where is my five minute long standing ovation

[💌] this is my first ever regular fic instead headcanons and my first time writing for a male reader AND my longest work up to date and i am so excited to finally share it!!!! My apologies if there are grammatical errors, english is not my first language. Happy valentines' day guys 💃

💌 💌 💌

You're down bad.

Quickly following your entry to the infamous Manor you had a strong feeling in your guts that your life's about to change for good. I mean, who's life wouldn't change after residing in a big mansion after being invited to live there by some sketchy letter? Who's life wouldn't change after having to play a dangerous game of survival along several other odd, strange people? All that, yet never in your life would you think that those terrifying things would be the least of your worries - as the centre of your worries, fears and delusions was now a peculiar cowboy.

Kevin Ayuso.

That man is about to cause a great commotion in your life.

Opposites attract, they say. You two were absolute opposites. The north pole and the south pole. Two sides of the coin. He was tall, overly brave, outspoken, and, most of all, flirty. Very independent, however clingy. Meanwhile, you were the timid kind. A rather silent person. Looks like destiny was being very cruel towards you - making you much fond of the handsome, lively man. Of course, your instincts quickly came to a conclusion to bottle up your feelings, shove them inside you, thinking it's just a small, temporary attraction.

The plan was simple, right? To gush secretly over "your" Kevin for some time, until later the affection is gone with the wind. But easier said than done. He was absolutely everywhere both in reality and as a metaphore. Him being continuously in your mind, your dreams, but he wall all over the Manor in the real world as well. You just can't bring yourself to not notice him. Sure, because of his cheesy flirting nature he was often made fun of, but still, he is very respected by everyone. Everyone trusts him a lot during the matches, you could always depend on him. You weren't unpopular around other survivors, in fact, a lot of them appreciated you - you'd always listen to their rants and stories - on top of that, you also felt somehow confident in kiting during your games. It wasn't a rare sight to see the hunters simply giving up after chasing you for so long. Your company was very appreciated. You never expected anything in return, you just desired to make others feel better. Little did you know, all those people that you'd spend hours listening to them venting to you, would play a huge role in helping you overcome your biggest fear and dream. You confessing to the Kevin.

You believed you were extremely discreet about all that. It would be so embarrassing if anyone found out! You couldn't be more wrong... when one of the survivors asked you about him post match, you felt like combusting.

At first, you felt shocked. What?! You thought your not so little anymore crush wasn't noticeable. You never confronted any of your new friends about it. You barely even talk about yourself! How would they even know? ...what you did not consider is that they could easily tell how different you acted near him - the gentle blush on your cheeks, shaking legs, your voice more silent than usual. Now when you think of it, it is very true. You always admired him from afar, how he's so much taller than you. You secretly wished for a hunter to start chasing you, just so Kevin would come to the rescue. Whenever he'd carry you to safety, you felt like literally ascending. It was not rare for you to mess up a cipher because your eyes were on him. It truly was THAT obvious.

THAT obvious, but he himself never noticed the pair of eyes on him. Of course, he was busy with trying to flirt with the ladies. You knew that. One of the reasons why you never even considered confessing is obviously because of his ladies man nature. You just didn't stand a chance against all those pretty girls, it did make you feel insecure. All those roses he gave them, the random pick up lines, you didn't know if they made you feel more sad or envious. Despite that, Kevin indeed had nothing against you. He recognizes you as a good kiter, and has heard that you're a great listener to the point that several survivors confide in you. You weren't ignored, on the contrary, you two would actually do some small talk here and there. But that was it. He thought of you just as a normal person. Of course he did. You weren't that special. You knew that if you don't be the one to make the first step nothing really will happen, yet you are firmly unsure. Sure - if you gained some courage eventually the lingering thoughts terrorizing your brain would end - but would you be able to bear the possible feeling of rejection? You felt actually miserable because of this tough decision.

After much consideration, you decided to begin your plan starting with small moves. When Kevin's done with his match you quickly come to him, asking if everything is in order, then, you'd take your time patching up his bruises and wounds. The realization of being close to him felt amazing, and on top of that it made the cowboy be grateful a lot, resulting in him dashing as fast as he can when you get chaired in future matches. Those post match visits became very frequent. Other than that you also stared a lot. A LOT. You go to the nearest corner and just glare coldly at him. You're just so nervous about it all. You don't necessarily realize that slowly your crush becomes even more obvious, just when everyone thought this was impossible. They knew you are trying but just couldn't bring yourself to make a confident move, therefore, they decided help their friend. After all, you've done so much to make people in the manor feel cared for, understood and comforted - it was only fair to help you back in return.

The next day, you wake up to one of the butlers knocking on your door. Once opened, he explains that you're expected to go to the dining room part of the manor. You felt puzzled. Yes, you often were asked by others to support them mentally, but this time it was something diffrent. The butler didn't say anything else. You felt overly curious, maybe a little stressed as well. Finally, you get dressed and leave the dorm, braced for whatever is to come. To your surprise, the group who demanded your arrival was quite large. You see Emil, Ada, Emma, William, Memory and Lily nibbling their meals. If you felt puzzled when the buttler came to you, now you feel like you were a chicken and a truck was about to ran you over. Did they ALL need help from you? Couldn't they ask Ada? And what even is Ada doing here? She wants to vent too? With Emil? Did she bring him for emotional support? You decided to break the silence and ask what exactly is going on. You expect something actually reasonable, but once the answer lands you feel like not ran over by one truck, but by three.

They all came together to help you confess to Kevin.

You felt stunned. Yes, that is indeed a kind gesture! But just the thought of confessing made your temperature rise up. How were you supposed to do that? You felt like burning up and they knew. Through the whole conversation you acted absolutely paranoid, looking everywhere just to make sure HE isn't here. You spoke as silently as you could. It felt awkward here near everyone. The point of the meeting was to come up with a proper solution on how you should admit your love to the cowboy, a conversation in which you didn't take much part in. While you were staring at the ceiling, calculating who would survive if the chandelier randomly fell, they were in the middle of a huge brainstorm. Hmmm... there is just so much options, but which one would be the most suitable? Flowers, a necklace, words of affirmation and a cute place! ... I'm sure Kevin would appreciate something small - says Emma. BORINGGGGGGG - William would reply - a honest confession while being chaired would be the best! The dining room was now full of chaos. Was anyone even listening to each other? Truth is, you've already came up with your own idea. And who were you to not trust your intuition?

You've suddenly stood up from the chair and explained your motives. It was very kind from other residents that they wanted to help you so much, however you came to a conclusion that despite good intentions they won't help much. You stated that you'll do it on your own. Everyone was shocked, silence filled the room until loud cheering could suddenly be heard. Those people really hyped you up because you felt like you can actually do it. The only favour you asked for is for someone to notify Kevin that his presence is expected and Emma to give you a simple flower and leave the garden area of the manor just for you. You wanted to do it today because you knew that you won't be able to sleep at night with those endless thoughts filling your brain.

And so, the times was slowly coming. It was already getting a little dark. You were currently sitting on your bed, feeling like exploding. Your stomach hurt a lot. You had your elegant clothes on, and a small rose from Emma in your palm. Now or never. You took a deep breath and started approaching the garden area. You've quickly noticed the familiar silhouettes staring at you proudly.

"Go go go go go!!!" the Cheerleader yelled.

"If he's a dick towards you I WON'T hesitate to throw hands!!" the Forward said out loud.

You've entered the garden and sat on one of the benches, awaiting your special guest. You'd lie if you'd say you weren't stressed like crazy. You've found yourself in a big turmoil of emotions - you feel excited, anxious, bold and shy at the same time. Will he feel the same? To be honest, you don't feel like that. He just doesn't seem like the type to be into guys, and if he was, he'd probably only have a thing for the adventurous ones. Minutes passed and your self doubt became even stronger, you felt absolutely terrible. Your heart was beating faster than ever from the fear. You felt like on the edge of a meltdown. You decided that this is too much, while you appreciated everyone's will to help, but deep inside you're feeling like it's just a waste of time, none of this is going to work out! With tears slowly forming in your eyes, you head back to the exit, but... before touching the handle, the doors were opened by someone from the other side.

Of course by no one other than Kevin.

When the cowboy was told that someone is waiting for him, he immediately went there, curious about why is he suddenly so needed by someone. You stare awkwardly at him thinking it's all over, you felt humiliated. Kevin didn't exactly pick up on what's happening at first. He thought that since you often helped patch him up maybe you've grew closer to him and vent a little to him. You support others so much and now you are the one in need. If it was someone else Kevin would probably act like nothing is happening to not embarrass the person, but when it came to you, he felt sorry for you. He ordered you to sit on the bench you were previously sitting on. You sat on the left part making yourself as small as possible, meanwhile he sat on the other side, but despite that he is now basically occupying more than a half of it. You always loved how straightforward he was. How kind he was towards people in need how... how... hold on, he is asking something! Just like always, the handsome man made you forget about your worries, and well, the other things too.

Now you knew that this moment is the actual now or never. This conversation can change your life. While avoiding his gaze you stare at the window and suddenly see... Lily and William?! Those people really want to help. You decided that, not to waste their effort, you will say the truth. Once again, now or never. To be or to not be. You turn to Kevin and give him the rose, raising your trembling hand and then, you explain it all: how you perceived him during your early days in the manor, how you developed a crush on him, how visible it became to others, how ashamed and anxious you felt, what you think of him now. All of it. You don't think anyone in this manor has ever seen you this honest, you were shocked a little, too. And Kevin? He felt shocked, but not in a bad way. All those small conversations and patching up sessions were out of your love for him? How did he never notice? Now it was his turn to feel ashamed. Was he the one to make you feel so many bad emotions? He was desperately trying to flirt with women without much in return, but turns out his true love was around him all the time, without him suspicing anything.

You were prepared for the worst, at least God will know you tried, and you did not want to dissapoint the pair of four eyes gazing at the both of you. If anything bad happens, they will blackmail you for the rest of your life! But you didn't care. You did try to stay calm, albeit all of this was just too much. You muttered a silent sorry and started crying again. But Kevin was having NONE of this. He put you on his lap, wiped your tears and placed the rose in your hair. You felt flabbergasted, the man you had so many feeling for you likes you back. Nothing else mattered. You hugged him and you both started talking. Neither of you were aware, but more than two hours managed to pass and it was already pitch dark and on top of that cold. The cowboy noticed you yawning to the point the coldness didn't even bother you, yet he still took of his cowboy jacket and hat, quickly putting them on your body and head. You both stayed silent for the next ten minutes, with you just hiding from the world in his embrace. He was like a human heater.

Kevin asked you something, though he did not receive any response. Little did he know that you actually were pretending. He decided to leave the cold outside and go back to the manor - he picked you up bridal style and started walking towards his dorm. On his way he encountered many other manor residents, sure, some of them indeed were night owls, but did really so many people have trouble falling asleep on the same night? He heard Naib cheekily whistling at the sight of the two of you. He started grinning at the sight of Eli, his owl, Ada, Emil, Emma, William and Lilly smilling and silently cheering - something was up, he just didn't know what... were they celebrating that you've found your significant other, or are they just happy Kevin won't be bothering anyone anytime soon?

You eventually found yourself in Kevin's room, you were gently tucked in, and Jesus, you're surprised how you managed to keep a poker face through all of this. His large bed is comfortable and smells... like him. Finally, Kevin laid next to you and started hugging you. To be frank, you were REALLY tired at the moment, this time for real. You discreetly opened your eyes, which ultimately didn't work out, as he was staring at you and smiling. You gave him a quick kiss on his lips and hid your face in his chest. The last moment you remember before falling asleep was him muttering you a gentle goodnight and the soft feeling of your knuckles being kissed.

You sure were thankful to your friends. Now HE was down bad for you, too.

💌 💌 💌

I'm proud of this work, yet that's my first ever proper fic so i am a little unsure of how it ended up. If anyone has some tips i would like to hear them 😭 I love my silly boy Kevin dhdjskdjsjs. Once again, happy valentines' day to you all!! Together or alone it's a great opportunity to take care of yourself.

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 PAVIA - General Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons and analysis on Pavia as a character and other related things.

the post about Pavia's love languages and how he shows his affection got a lot of love, so I'm doing a lil more thinking into his character to rlly flesh out how I see and write him before getting to write the second part of that post <3

just a heads up, its preeeetty fucking long. but all of my posts tend to be lmfao

On the subject of Pavia, loneliness and trauma.

In this post talked about the concept of showing affection (not exclusively romantic but just in general) and the relationship Pavia has with his reputation, both as a lone wolf and a skilled mercenary, which affect the way he interacts with those he might deem close for better and for worse. So it's only fair that I do that again in a more general context.

Let's get this out of the way. One cannot talk about Pavia without mentioning or alluding to his solitary lifestyle in some way or another, we've all read his 02 Story, but to only read him as someone who fakes this aura of confidence and who feels deeply insecure and lonely 24/7 is an obvious disservice to his character.

Pavia is defined by a strong sense of self which, yes, originates from isolation and neglect. And you may read this as an active choice for survival, a coping and defense mechanism or the natural progress of someone who has had no one to rely on but themself - all of these readings are valid and can easily coexist! But I would like to insist that Pavia as we know him is confident and comfortable in his own skin, happy to live as an outlier to conventional norms and behaviour.

And that's because he's weaponized loneliness into a strength and a shield. He's outgrown that small, neglected child in the basement.

Hell, in his interview with Pandora Wilson, he mentions the fun of "causing pain" onto others, in the context of his presence being used as a "punishment" for others. He's surrounded by people he considers stupid, and he has fun at their expense when they try to bring him into their shenanigans. Pavia is a confident asshole, it is not a façade for a sad boy.

One quote in particular comes to mind when discussing this aspect of Pavia.

Go back to Rome, where the wolves were born. Said my former boss. He knew I was born in Rome, but didn't know I was raised in Piemonte. He was such a fool, even tried to kill me. So I only kept his tie clip. I didn't tell him that as long as the night will come, everywhere I live is Piemonte.

This line in particular, from my reading on it, speaks volumes about how Pavia has reclaimed the night - alluding to the one place he was forced to live in for his entire childhood, a dark and isolated basement, the concept of loneliness itself - as something that defines him and should inspire fear into others. His wolves are made out of darkness, his Ultimate in-game shows him manifesting out of a dark fog on the ground. And the context of that quote is hostile, it's Pavia's former boss telling him to go back to Rome, and Pavia mentioning that no matter where he goes, as long as the night comes, he's home.

One could argue that the quote is meant to be read differently - instead of Pavia reclaiming something that hurt him to now empower him, he's haunted by it. No matter where he goes, he'll always be in Piemonte, in that dark and isolated basement, with no one to pull him out. And that's fair! To each their own, both are banger readings on that dialogue. I just personally think the former fits better with the character as a whole.

The former reading is also supported by his 02 Story, where he describes the wolves that his Arcanum abilities manifested as "friends he found in the darkness and would never leave him".

One wolf hid behind another, and the pack surrounded him in the darkness of the night. They held each other's heads and tails and coiled together like snakes, bringing with them warmth and restful sleep. These were the friends he found in the darkness, ones who would never abandon or leave him, and who would forever watch over him.

In his Cover profile, his Afflatus is also "Mourning of the Feral Pack [Beast] Night View".

And when you check Pavia's small description in the Role Garment menu, his main garment and the one unlocked at Insight II form the following phrase:

He's always alone, both in the basement and on the street. It doesn't matter now, though. He will never be "alone" from now on.

His Afflatus, his Arcanum abilities, every small detail - everything points towards Pavia owning the night and the darkness that used to hurt him so much as a child. Because it cannot hurt him now that he's made friends with it, in the form of shadow wolves who will never leave him. He's not stuck here with you, you're stuck him with him. (that Insight II quote will be relevant again later when I talk about the lack of? Humanity? so to speak? in Pavia's character)

But anyway! This doesn't mean that the discussion on Pavia and loneliness/isolation should stop there.

After all, his Afflatus also says "Mourning of the Feral Pack" - mourn what exactly? A lost childhood? The family he could've had if his mother hadn't been admitted to an asylum? The young and innocent child that died in that basement so that the current Pavia could exist?

Who knows! Talk about it, it's fun and I love to read other people's takes! <3

On the subject of trauma specifically, I do see Pavia as someone who lives in the present and doesn't think much about the past - he only mentions his parents once in a seemingly disinterested manner, stating that he never visited (and most likely will never visit) his mother. Piemonte is where his abusive aunt raised him, but he shows a certain pride in his city anyway.

It's not that he's overcome and healed from his trauma, it's that he doesn't even register the things that happened to him as traumatic experiences due to the distance and recontextualization of everything.

The fandom portrayal of Pavia as a deeply lonely person often comes hand in hand with him being touchstarved and the experience of feeling any semblance of genuine human connection for the very first time - but I would like to offer an alternative, explained in the next bullet point.

On the subject of Pavia, conventional society and his pack of wolves.

Pavia's official description, as seen in this tweet made by the official global account of the game, is the following:

An independent mercenary lacking in collaborative skills. Employers are content with his excellent abilities, but can't stand his work ethic of ignoring his coworkers.

This, along with his other quotes and the interview with UTTU, point towards how the world sees Pavia as a nuisance of sorts - a punishment, we know this - but it also points towards Pavia's rejection of conventional society.

The way Pavia behaves, the way he insists on maintaining the barrier between himself and conventional society, the pleasure he takes in making others suffer just by BEING THERE NEXT TO THEM, the stress he puts into being alone - it leads me to think that THIS is the result of his trauma.

It's not a deep seated loneliness, it's not yearning and secretly wishing for genuine connections, it's not a fear of the dark or enclosed spaces - it's an absolute and total rejection of the world that failed him.

Pavia cannot feel or grasp loneliness on the same level as other characters might because there is not a single person in this world he would rather spend his time with other than himself. The details of how he got out of the basement and began a life of crime haven't been revealed yet, so I won't theorize about it, but I like to think that everything that Pavia is and represents is one big "fuck you" to a world that left him to rot in that basement.

It all loops back to the previous point - by rejecting mankind and society as a whole, Pavia becomes the opposite: a beast who acts on his own accord rather than the rules that make up polite society. And in doing so, grows closer to himself and his pack. In doing so, he allows his humanity to slowly slip away.

The Insight II quote I mentioned before is a great example of this - the change in his sprites shows Pavia's eyes changing, now with black sclera and sharper teeth, darkness (and two of his wolves) surrounding him. He will never be "alone" from now on because he is now ONE of the pack, because this is where he belongs.

The medium for his Arcanum (not the "wand" used to cast spells and magic, those are different things from what I understand) is "Beast Teeth". Compare this with other characters: Zima's medium are poems, Dikke's medium is the law, Sonetto's medium is curiosity. An arcanist's medium seems to be a concept or object that represents who they are and what they believe in, something that is essential to their life and dear to their core. Pavia's is beast teeth. He's a beast Arcanist.

I like to think that Pavia based his behaviour, knowingly or not, on his pack of wolves. After all, he's the one who conjured them, it makes sense to me that he would subconsciously latch onto them. This would explain his more animalistic traits that show just how disconnected Pavia is from what a regular human being should be.

You guys freak me out when you sleep. What kind of people needs such a long sleep like that? Fall in a coma like a crispy critter, and wake up 8 hours later. …Only god knows how you can do that.

This dialogue implies that Pavia cannot wrap his head around a normal sleeping schedule - which is extremely ironic, considering that wolves sleep a LOT. But I'd attribute this more to the dissonance between him and conventional society than Pavia trying to larp as a wolf. We have to understand that he spent most of his days sleeping away the hunger, that he went on to reject the company of other people - it makes sense to me that he wasn't taught or didn't get to see how a normal person should behave in theory.

Despite this rejection, we can clearly see that Pavia enjoys a very hedonistic life - going on clubs, having a sweet tooth, wearing fancy clothes, shopping, films and whatnot (He's literally wearing Louboutins, guys. The soles of his shoes are RED). He plays the role of mercenary quite well, too. But it doesn't strike me as a writing inconsistency or hypocrisy from his part, Pavia is known for doing whatever he wants, one of his hand tattoos spells "LIBERTA" or freedom in italian, so this tracks. It's hard to be a hypocrite when your moral compass is all about being a wildcard.

I mentioned this in my first Pavia post, but the items attributed to him are all said to be cheap, fake or crudely hand-made.

His glasses are a copy of an actual Italian brand that no one would ever think of mistaking for the real thing, his bracelets and rings are dented and damaged, Pandora Wilson even goes as far as calling it junk. They even describe his earrings as rough workmanship. And yet, Pavia brags about his clothes and enjoys shopping. There's that small dissonance again - he enjoys bragging but does not know (or care) about the actual value or authenticity of his material possessions. (Pavia wears fake Louboutins, this is my headcanon, thanks for coming)

He plays the role of mercenary quite well, too. I'd also argue that the more violent aspects of his personality have to do with his line of work. This tweet confirms the majority of Pavia's tattoos and what they say - the one on his arm is "La Cosa Nuova", the sicilian mafia for those who didn't know. I won't go in-depth about the real life actions of such group, but it's clear that Pavia is or has been part of it within the world of Reverse: 1999.

Entering headcanon territory.

The two bullet points from before were mostly just analysis on how I read Pavia based on all evidence in-game, but now I get to talk about personal headcanons I have about him <3

I've explained pretty much everything I wanted to say about Pavia for now, so these are just gonna be rapid fire headcanons.

First of all, Pavia is a light sleeper.

The lightest sleeper you'll ever meet, even a soft whisper could wake him up - but this isn't because of some hidden fear of waking up back in his aunt's basement. Because he had nothing to focus on but the sounds within that basement, he greatly developed his hearing and his Insight II development further heightened his senses. Pavia is used to dark, silent spaces, so any unknown noise will put him on edge and wake him up. Sometimes, he pretends to sleep to get out of doing work.

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't move at ALL when sleeping and tends to stay in the same position throughout the night.

This is something he learned, rather than something that comes naturally, because he tends to sleep with the pack and there's little space to move without accidentally kicking Andrea or Leon in the face.

Next. Pavia doesn't know that he resembles his mother a lot.

As for his mother, there are two possibilities: One, she's truly dead and he doesn't know, based on his 02 Story where his aunt confirms that Pavia's mother died a few years later, as well as Pavia's dialogue in which he talks about his mother as if she were alive. Two, she was alive the whole time and Pavia found out years later that she was committed to an asylum and his dialogue about his parents is correct.

Regardless, I like to think that he never saw her again once he was taken into his aunt's care, and that she never told him that the reason she put him in that basement was because he looks so similar to her "deceased" sister. Since they weren't there to raise him and he didn't hear anything about them from his aunt, Pavia holds no resentment and no love towards his parents, because they're total strangers to him.

Next. His wolves' names are interchangeable.

Pavia cares for his pack, and the wolves care for him in return - they were created for that very reason after all. Their dynamic and relationship is a mystery to everyone and it's much too complex to even put into words, but because they're still magical constructs he creates, their behaviour and individuality relies heavily on Pavia's skills as an Arcanist.

There are days in which it's very easy to confuse them, and there are days when it's very obvious how to tell them apart. He's had years to perfect them, to "raise" them if you will.

While the pack might not be around 24/7, they're always in the back of his mind. He can also communicate with them because of it. They don't mind if Pavia confuses them, but if someone else does it? Prepare to get bitten to death, I guess!

[captain-mj]

Hiii i wanted to ask If you want to make a Part 3 to the Alien Thing (SoapGhostRoach)

maybe Roach or Soap find out that Ghost is in his mateing phase and want to see what that does to him?

Or maybe Roach still needs more infos so He takes... a closer look at Soap and Ghost?

Yeah I can write another part for it

Part 1 Part 2

Soap had been thinking recently. On his planet, interspecies relationships (from his own planet, not others) were fine as long as they weren't serious. His planet was an anomaly in that no predator species really thrived so most species looked a lot like him with only very small differences. None had managed to get sentience at the very least. It was part of what made his new... partners so exotic he supposed. Nothing like it from where he was from.

Sex was treated differently as well. It was common to have casual sex since interbreeding was impossible. He had long since understood that with Roach, monogamy was more serious. Though harems occasionally existed throughout their history, it did not seem the natural state of them, as they paired up more often than not. There were so many rules to their courting. Dates, something called third base and also asking permission from your partner's family. It was all so strange.

Then there was also a matter of Ghost. His species also used to have harems, though they never quite left it.

The part that Soap had been entertained by was that it was not based on sex or gender. Or even species. They had been building harems of their own species for years before they started going out and exploring the universe. Soap had been surprised when Ghost had been so insistent about their rules around consent. Anyone else, he may have assumed it was naivety, but with Ghost? He believed him. To take away one's choice was an act punished by the worst thing they could due to each other.

Tear the criminal to shreds publicly.

Ghost had proudly told them he had been a part of some of those trials and Roach and Soap had almost started salivating.

Today, Soap and Roach were anxious. Something had happened. Something never before seen or heard of.

Ghost took vacation time.

It wasn't much, just three days, but it wasn't even while they were on a planet!! They were just on ship!

Roach had never seen Ghost take off work. Most people refused to take work off while the ship was moving anyway because there was usually next to nothing to do for long periods of time, so this was extra strange.

Soap hummed. "Maybe we should bring him something? He has to be sick if he's taking off, does his species have an equivalent to salad?"

Roach thought it was very fun Soap would consider salad a food for sick people, but decided he could ask more about that later. "Humans do soup. Would his version be something with raw meat? Seems the best for him."

They put their brain cells together and brought him a steak. Was it unoriginal? yes, but sick people don't need fancy stuff.

Roach went in to his chambers first, one of the few people to have a master key. He went to announce his presence, Soap close behind, but both quickly shut up.

Ghost held the pillow tight over his face. There was no way he could breath easily based on the death grip he had on it. His other hand was furiously jacking off.

It was the most vocal either had seen him. He whimpered and whined and barked just loud enough to get it through the pillow.

"You called off work to jerk off?" Soap joked, though he was now bright red.

Ghost sluggishly reacted to them. He moved the pillow. Beautiful maskless face on display. There was a layer of exhaustion to him that was abnormal. "Fuck off. I was finally fucking close." He sounded miserable, head thrown back. His hand stopped though and he rolled his wrist to get the soreness out.

Roach swallowed, feeling a tiny bit out of his depth. "You okay?"

"Mating season." Ghost hissed at them, tail thrashing angrily. "Please, neither of you are going to want to be around me for the next two days so just get lost." He finally got the idea to cover his body up.

His hand started up again and it was clear the way he was doing it, this had been going on a while and his frustration was mounting.

Roach and Soap exchanged glances. Actually making eye contact.

Soap nodded at the door and Roach locked it. He turned around to see Soap slowly joining Ghost, taking the pillow from his face. Ghost looked at him, groaning.

"Please don't torture me, Johnny." His voice was barely above a growl now. He couldn't imagine the amount of strength to simply put the words together.

Soap put his hands on Ghost's shoulder. "Don't worry, Simon. Just want to help you out."

No sooner had he gotten the words out did Ghost flip them over. He fucked between Soap's thighs, pressing them both tight into the mattress until it was hard for Soap to breath.

Ghost rutted between his thighs until he finally, finally came. He groaned with pleasure and kissed Soap breathless. "Thank you, thank you, fucking hell. I'll do anything just keep letting me do this." His hips only stuttered before continuing.

Roach hummed. "Ghost. You told me that your mating season had minimal effect on you. I would say this is not minimal effect."

Ghost groaned. "It's hitting a bit hard this year, I'll admit."

Soap purred. "Can't say I mind. I have some time I can put in. If you need to be coddled."

Ghost growled but Soap squeezed his thighs and quickly shut him up. He rested his head on Soap. "I do..."

"You do what?"

"...need to be coddled. I thought I'd be fine but please, I need help." He sounded so sad and miserable.

Roach gently ran his fingers through his hair. "You should've said something. We could've helped you." He glanced at Soap's face. "Happily."

Ghost whined. "It's improper. I'm rutting against you like a fucking..." He buried his face in Soap's neck.

Roach hummed. "Continue. Please. I have notes to..."

Ghost groaned. "Gary... please... Can you just pretend you like me? No fucking experiments."

Roach paused. He almost said something, though he wasn't sure what words he could possibly string together. Maybe an apology? He never intended to make Ghost feel that way! Though maybe he should've realized sooner.

But before he could get it out, Soap was turning Ghost of him. "Hey now. You poor thing. What gave you that idea?"

Ghost huffed and his tail lashed. "You two are quite a bit more compatible than I am..." He yanked Soap up and buried his face in his chest. "I'm not like either of you guys."

Roach quickly joined him and kissed Ghost's face all over. "Oh, love. I'm so sorry."

They quickly managed to pin Ghost down and Roach kissed him gently. "I have some vacation time. We'll all put it in. Promise. I think I have some things i need to make up to you."

Ghost relaxed and nodded, panting. "Please..."

They took turns stepping away to inform their respective bosses. Neither wanted Ghost to be alone too long. Roach pushed Ghost so he was laying down and he started to ride him, cupping Ghost's face and smiling at him. He maintained eye contact and if he thought Ghost was gone before, it was nothing compared to now. His pupils expanded until they almost took up the color.

"Course I love you, Simon. Thought you knew that." Roach ground down and Ghost growled, yanking him closer.

"You guys aren't going to be able to walk for the next week."

"I look forward to it."

[tanuki-kimono]

Hello! I love your blog bc it helps me a lot with writing and crafting. Thank you so much for making it!

Are there any patterns that deal with poison? Either in the pattern or in the dyeing process?

Even if there's not I'm glad you and this blog exist 💗

(anon continues) Poison in the dyeing process, like when green dresses were dyed with copper arsenite and it was extremely deadly.

Or a pattern of someone being poisoned, like a historical/folktale.

_______________________________________

Thank you for your kind words <3 I tried to keep things organized but the subject is huge so my of the top of my head answer is going in many directions. I hope you'll still find what you need :3

I'll briefly cover here dyes and (pigments), poison motifs, real life and supernatural poisonings. Buckle up we've got a long post ahead!

____ ABOUT DYE

Tbh I had to think for a moment because I don't recall major "poison" stories linked to dyes in Japan, be it fictionous or real (yet that doesn't mean none ever happened, especially considering Japan's history of industrial poisonings...).

Most gruesome details in the fabric industries I know of are about the horrific life & work conditions of female laborers in spinning mill manufactures (as in many countries, Japan industrialization process was ghastly...).

If potters and dyers had excellent practical knowledge, chemistry as a science officially started kind of late in Japan as it was not a local interest, and as rangaku (study of Western knowledge) often favored other subjects like medicine or warfare.

So, until the introduction of aniline dyes (not textile related, but this article about the use of synthetic dyes in ukiyoe printing is super interesting), Japanese worked with "natural" dyes, like ai (indigo) which was the most used during Edo period.

As with any ingredient, being natural doesn't equal safety. Some mixtures could be quite potent/foul, and process could be dangerous. Plants and minerals base ingredients could be toxic (cinnabar and orpiments were then used as paint pigments, and lead could be found in make up), as were mordants used to set colors.

If you want to easily overview which ingredients were used to create colors, I recommand browsing [Irocore] which presents colors with explanation in English in their database (pick a color then scroll down).

Not related to poison, but ai (indigo) is traditionally prepared in aigame/enormous floor set jars I find utterly terrifying:

I don't know if this tidbit can help you, but some dyes and mordants actually damage the fabric overtime, leaving them brittle (silk desintegrates after a while which is a huge issue in textile conservation).

____ POISON MOTIFS

Concerning "poison" themed patterns, none would be actually used traditionally on a kimono or an obi beside novelty items ^^;

For example, many plants can be toxic, but I don't see them set as pattern for this property - they'd rather refer to a poem, be a symbol of the passing of seasons etc. Fuji (wisteria) can be quite harmful, yet it's a beloved traditional motif in Japan.

You have much more chances to find pattern with kujaku (peacock) which are thought to be impervious to poison in Buddhism, than say venomous mukade (centipede) or the horrific ômukade (a youkai I covered in a folktale).

Snakes like the habu and mamushi are dangerous, but if used as pattern snakes are most often auspicious and linked to rain dragons or goddess Benzaiten.

If you squint hard, toxic fugu could count as poison pattern, but such a seasonal delicacy as a motif would mostly underline wealth (as those fishes are pretty expensive as they are prepared by specialized chefs), a kind of carpe diem spirit, or just a fun pattern because fugu balloon shape is cute ;)

____ POISON MURDERS

Poisoning was certainly a thing is Japan since ancient times (see kodoku sorcery). Poisons were for example used in some fishing techniques.

I am pretty sure some kuge and buke were disposed of this way - even thought poison was seen as a coward weapon (hence why its supposed to be only used by shinobi/ninja - even if this "fact" is opened to a lot of discussions!).

During Edo period, such murders made up the news and penny dreadful-like illustrated books favored by city dwellers in need of a fright. But those stories didn't pass to posterity beside cheap ukiyoe plates, and were never as popular as some shinjû (double suicides) or ghost revenges like poor poisoned and murdered Oiwa's:

____ SUPERNATURAL POISONINGS

If your poison is both physical and metaphorical illbeing, mushi could be your guys ^^ This term actually covers everything small and crawling, from real worms and insects, to anything inside one's body causing distress - be it a parasite, an unknown illness, an overboard emotion, a curse etc. If you've read/seen Mushishi you've got what I mean:

In fact any illness-causing being could count as poison-bringer. Hôsôkami (smallpox demon) was truly feared by all before vaccination was introduced in Japan.

Finally, continuing the supernatural poisoning trail, best girl is probably legendary fox witch Tamamo no Mae who among other terrible deeds made emperor Konoe fall sick with poisonous miasma (some version of the story attributes the disease to another monster, the nue). I covered a similar murderous kitsune folktale here.

[this-acuteneurosis]

Can I just say how much I appreciate the fact you don't stray much from the movies?

It's just so refreshing to see a fic that is built on a clear, unbiased and simple canon base. This way, as you demonstrated, a writer not only has the ability to further explore the main themes and ideas introduced in the source material, but they can also go ahead and naturally develop their own by branching out on those fundamentals. They can offer their perspective by using the source material to their advantage, instead of working against it or even worse, trying to include all contradicting canon aspects. Part of writing a fic is kind of like offering your input in a conversation/disagreement. You have to listen carefully to what the other person is saying in order to form your answer...If you're listening to a thousand different people who are all saying a different thing (in this case, The clone wars, legends, novels, comics ect), you won't be able to give an answer that makes sense, much less give a structured and stable opinion.

I love how you were like "I know star wars is entering an era of a shit ton of spin off content with seemingly no end and most star wars fans know shit like who chewie lost his virginity to and what the kessel run is but screw this. The movies and maybe some late night wiki research is enough."

And you were right.

It's so funny, because I feel like I do ultimately stray pretty far from the movies. Not in terms of events I guess, but especially the prequels, I reject some of the underlying assumptions of what is said on screen and just treat it like fallible people strongly asserting opinions that no one calls them on. See: everything I ever assert about the Force/Anakin's "destiny."

I do think it helped me to stick with limited material. And it wasn't even because I saw all of this new SW content coming. I've mentioned this before, but when I started writing Don't Look Back (when it was just Like Fire and I naively believed I was gonna be done in 200k words, lol, rip past me) I hesitated a lot because as far as I was concerned, I wasn't a Star Wars Fan.

I'd watched the OT and PT multiple times. I knew that novels and games and cartoons existed, I knew people had consumed them all. I had been reading some SW fic because @mylongsufferingroommate had been sending me stuff they were enjoying and I was having fun with it. But like, I would never have called myself a Fan. I got goaded into writing this fic by people who knew me too well and really wanted a political thriller. I wouldn't have called them Star Wars Fans either.

Limiting myself to the six movies I had watched was a preemptive defense mechanism against a fan base I wasn't sure would want to accept me. My thin skin is my own problem, but every time I think about writing in a new fandom the same sort of nerves take me: what if my fanon is "wrong" and people are mean?

I guess what I'm trying to say is thank you so much to everyone who gave me a chance and encouraged me and were excited and shared that excitement.

And please, for the love of all the sky and stars DON'T GATEKEEP FANDOMS.

Don't tell people their canon is too big (@blue-sunshine-mauve-morning and @chancecraz have amazing fics that are much more compliant than mine to the broader canon, as a quick example), and definitely don't tell people their canon is too small. Walk away if you aren't enjoying something. Give compliments when you like something that is unique in a fandom you're familiar with. Be patient with people, be kind.

I could easily have given this story up if people hadn't been patient with me. I got comments as early as my first chapter from people who were angry with a single thing that I said and felt the need to tell me I was wrong. I could have left. I could have stopped.

I'm glad I didn't. But I wonder how many other people have.

[wheeljack-boom]

Entropy

The entirety of this can be found here.

I've posted numerous bits and pieces before for fun, but this is the initial piece of writing I did several years ago. Only recently have I gone back to it and decided to keep writing, despite it initially being intended as a one-shot. Originally when I wrote this years ago I was inspired by the way the 5th Doctor meets Amy Pond. Don't know why, but here we are. It was a bug I couldn't get out of my head.

No warnings. Cybertronian/Human relationships. Platonic only, but lots and lots of fluff. Human is an AFAB original character. Non-canon AU.

Like clockwork, the earth’s moon rose high into the atmosphere, a burning white disk of reflected solar energy that bathed the terran landscape in cool white light. The tidally locked piece of rock, perpetually circling the organic planet in the solar system designated 876B, was itself a consistent reminder of the passage of time. It was predictable, and observable with all the reliability of a Cybertronian energon flux. The earth’s entropy relied solely on its inhabitants and its ever-changing climate, but never its predictable partner in the black. Order, and its close approximate chaos, were two parts of the same spectrum, just as the order of the cosmos inhabited the same plane of reality as the chaos of the living, changing planet.

Chaos was the friend of the large, robotic mass now currently trying to navigate through the relative quiet and darkness of what was usually a place thrumming with life. Chaos was what he thrived on; it breathed creativity and ingenuity and change, and that was something that heralded some of the greatest scientific discoveries of order and truth. The order of the cosmos, sometimes got very dull.

Now, however, the particular bit of chaos that Wheeljack found himself in was nothing if not unsettling.

Wheeljack’s joints groaned with a subtle whir as he moved, the transformium paneling on his legs shifting and one shoulder wheel spinning slowly as he crept forward through the darkness. The Autobot scientist was suddenly very self-conscious that he was out in the open, vulnerable and undisguised in his much more conspicuous bipedal form. A collection of small buildings surrounded him, but none of them even came close to his own height, so he had to duck slightly as he crept his way through to his target: the human power station.

The surrounding landscape was only inhabited by a scattering of human agricultural settlements, so the night hours afforded Wheeljack some privacy without having to worry about being seen. It still made him uncomfortable however, as every movement he made seemed uncharacteristically loud even to his own audio receptors. Every scan he omitted could potentially be picked up by human equipment, including their own military base some miles away, but the Autobot took care to be brief. His audible presence, and to some extent his invisible presence could be easily explained away, but his visual presence was not something that the dominant organic life forms knew existed. Quite simply, if a human saw him, the probability that they would react poorly was quite high.

With this in mind, the large Autobot moved carefully in the black, mindful of the way the moon highlighted his white armor panels. His glowing blue optics were soft and searching in the dark, but were obvious markers of his presence as he awkwardly tried to retain a quiet, steady pace to his destination. He dimmed their brightness, but didn’t expect it would make much difference. He wasn’t exactly outfitted for camouflage; he wasn’t a soldier per say, but necessity never particularly cared for those details. The open night sky above him was filled with more stars than what he remembered seeing on Cybertron, but he couldn’t take the desired time to admire their scientific wonderment. Wheeljack was practically a glow stick against the inky black, illuminated with the night’s natural ambiance.

A nearby sound startled the large form, and he froze, ducking his head as the soft thrum of machinery reacted to his sudden movements. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would do if he got caught sneaking around. Current positioning was too tight to transform, unless he wanted some sort of catastrophic misalignment on his way down; wouldn’t that be fun. His only option was to duck harder, maybe make himself less obvious and a visual illusion in the darkness—human eyes weren’t always reliable unaided at night—but at roughly two dozen feet in height and made out of living metal, that wouldn’t really do much. He waited a few minutes longer, systems and venting cycles stilled until he was satisfied with the lack of movement in his immediate vicinity. His destination was so close, and a sudden urgency overcame him as he vented the air he’d been holding inside his chassis.

The central power grid for the immediate human population center sat before him, relatively small, but about the right size one might expect for a settlement of this size. It would do for what he needed: that being the desperately sought out energy reserves him and his fellow Autobots required to keep their shielding running. So far from home, on an alien planet, stranded and functioning at not even half capacity with a skeleton crew, they could not synthesize energon themselves. Wheeljack had developed a process—unbeknownst to a certain Prime that would highly disapprove—that could convert the electrical currents from human power grids into a slightly lower grade energon. It would do to keep them functioning and protected, but it would require more in terms of sheer volume to do the job that a fraction of naturally occurring energon could. This was a stop-gap that wouldn’t last for long, and eventually he’d have to come clean to Prime and the rest of the Ark crew that he was using human resources.

Wheeljack was one of the most brilliant Autobot scientists to ever live, possibly the only one left, and this organic planet had him scrambling for scraps and drastically understocked of supplies needed to carry out any idea he might have. He was trapped and didn’t know what else to do, but the other Autobots were looking to him for an answer. He could deal with the truth later, and Primus willing, would have enough time to come up with a means of synthesizing what they needed without stealing it from the native life forms. Until then, it was his secret, and the most they had to know was that he figured out a purely practical way to produce a lower-quality brew that could at least tie them over.

The main power conduit was just on the other side of a chain link fence. Wheeljack stopped just short of it and crouched. He didn’t even have to climb over the tiny barricade. He could just reach in and take what he needed.

This gave the Autobot pause. It felt wrong, but Wheeljack was disconcerted with how this was becoming easier to justify in the name of survival. Theft, and deception was not something the Autobots did. It was one of the many things they had fought against when trying to save their planet; when they had failed. What he was about to do was something that was typically more associated with the Decepticons, the other side of the war that had proved to be too relentless. Even the more morally reprehensible acts the Autobots had engaged in—out of necessity and against their very nature—could not even compare to the atrocities committed by the opposing faction. Driving them off their planet was not enough. Now, the lingering impact of being alone and crippled was a continuing punishment, but even then, to the Decepticons it was not enough. They followed their evacuation, lurking somewhere out in the shadows of the cosmos, waiting for one Autobot misstep that would give away their location.

Survival however, was a drive that was strong not just amongst organics, and the Autobots would not survive without energon. That much was simple. They would either go offline from malnourishment, suffer catastrophic injuries that were beyond repair without the life-giving blood of their species, or be blown apart by the Decepticons once their shielding failed and they were finally found. Energon was used for just about every component of Cybertronian life; it was little wonder that its availability and the fight to appropriate the dwindling resource would bring about their ultimate downfall. The Autobot scientist had no other choice.

Wheeljack carefully reached an arm towards the main conduit but paused. Doubt and fear nagged at him. As soon as he started syphoning power there would be no going back. Their presence would be detected, and even if the humans didn’t immediately determine what was happening, it would still open up many questions.

Their existence was probably going to be detected soon enough anyway, Wheeljack reasoned. Either the Decepticons would find this backwater planet and make themselves known, or force the Autobots to make themselves known preemptively. It was a matter of when.

Reaching back over the fence, Wheeljack sub-spaced the minute form of an energon cube. As he edged it closer to the power source, its programming cycled through the myriad of commands Wheeljack had dictated to it. It expanded as a series of bicortex nanotubes took root into the human machinery. The cube started to glow, pulsing as it grew with the energon that began to trickle into it, filtering through the anchored piping that had now weaved its way into the cracks and entry ports of the central power conduit.

There was a brief hiss, which turned into a low hum that seemed to emanate around Wheeljack, growing in intensity as the energon cube increased in mass and brightness. It was working, and as the few lights around him started to power down without the sufficient energy flow to feed them, Wheeljack felt a sense of guilt.

“Well, not like I can put it all back now...” He muttered to himself, looking at his prize. Like the ancient human story of Prometheus stealing fibre… I’m gonna be in a lot of trouble—

A sudden ping on his internal com system alerted him to an additional presence attempting to make contact. It was like a prickling into his awareness, a sudden sense of no longer being alone in his own head and it made him jump with a start. Nobody was supposed to know what he was up to, much less where he was, and if they were contacting him on his com link rather than searching him out that meant they knew he wasn’t in the Ark.

“Wheeljack.” The voice pressed. It was abrupt, and sounded very, very annoyed.

“Ratchet!” It was the Ark’s chief medical officer, which also meant Wheeljack was about to get an audio full of whatever had Ratchet’s temper up this time. It was usually him anyway, so he was used to it. Whenever Wheeljack wasn’t in Ratchet’s med-bay partially blown apart, melted, electrocuted or otherwise incapacitated in some way of his own doing, Ratchet usually found other things to get angry about.

“What are you doing?” Ratchet sighed with the typical tone of resignation, as if he was expecting Wheeljack to attempt to lie his way through this. Sadly, that had been exactly what he was about to do.

“I was uh—”

“Save it. I know what you’re doing, I’m not stupid. I’m on Teletraan-1 right now watching you syphon off that power.” Ratchet of course meant he was detecting the energy fluctuations resulting from Wheeljack’s theft on the Ark’s central monitoring system. Wheeljack hadn’t even thought of that...

“We need this more than they do. They can just build a fire or something.”  Wheeljack knew the absurdity of his statement was reason enough for Ratchet’s impending incredulity but he was out of excuses. He hadn’t even thought of one to begin with.

“Primus help me, you can’t be serious.” There was an exasperated ripple that pulsed through their psychic com link. “That isn’t the point, Wheeljack. For one thing, stealing from the humans was expressly forbidden by Prime.”

“Don’t tell Optimus.” Wheeljack faltered. Not out of fear, as Optimus Prime was not the type to heavily punish his subordinates. It was shame, because then he would know that Wheeljack had let him down… No one wanted to let Optimus Prime down.

“Just get back here before someone else sees you.” Ratchet said tersely, as Wheeljack quickly retracted the now-full energon cube. It detached from the human power structure with a crackle of energy, a few errant drops of white-hot energon showering the ground as he subspaced the cube for travel.

“Alright, I’m comin’, nobody’s around for miles—” Wheeljack turned quickly, internals thrumming as he prepared to make a hasty retreat, but he froze mid-crouch. He was not alone.

Ratchet’s voice continued in his audio receptors. “Right, they may not be there now, but you know they have their own scanners and sensors, weak and understandably inferior as they may be, but they’re certainly enough to figure out that someone is stealing something—and Wheeljack are you even listening to me?”

He was listening, but Wheeljack had a far more immediate concern, offsetting Ratchet’s yammering to ambient noise. His entire body tingled with the intense need to flee, but he remained rooted to the spot.

“Wheeljack, are you still there? What are you doing? You need to get out of there.” There was a pause. “Primus, Wheeljack. Please, tell me nobody has seen you.”

“Somebody sees me.” Wheeljack responded slowly, his optics locked on the new development in front of him.

It was a small, tiny human being. It stood there, quiet and still, its optics locked on Wheeljack’s. There was an immediate hiss from within his processor as their joined com link was overcome with an exponential amount of creative expletives.

“How do you know?!”

“It’s lookin’ right at me…”

“Is it a threat?”

“I...don’t think so. No.”

“Then deal with it, and extract yourself immediately.” Ratchet severed the link, not so much out of anger, but sheer panic and necessity; self-preservation dictated that it was better to not take the chance in assuming humans couldn’t sense their link and track it to the source, but Wheeljack highly doubted that was true, at least with what he currently faced.

Ratchet’s more immediate demand of dealing with the threat was upsetting, the implied action behind it vague enough that it made Wheeljack feel queasy. The humans weren’t a threat, at least he didn’t think so, and the one that was looking at him now didn’t seem to be dangerous at all. Ratchet had megacycles more field experience than Wheeljack, however. The decisions the medic would have had to make on the battlefield were beyond Wheeljack’s desire to contemplate.

This wasn’t a battlefield however, and this did not appear to be a soldier.

It made a noise, much like a soft venting of air, but it was small-sounding and very much unthreatening if the way the small human’s optics were casually locked onto him was any indication. This didn’t stop Wheeljack from recoiling back in alarm, the noise startling him out of his frozen state and right back through the small fence and into the very power conduit he had just been stealing from.

As if things couldn’t get any worse for him, the entire structure came crashing down under his sheer weight. Whatever light or electrical device was still working with what power he’d left behind was now out, and would be for miles. The noise was staggeringly loud from cables, wires and metal panels piling on top of him as he scrambled to get upright. Eons spent on the battlefields of Cybertron had conditioned Wheeljack against his very nature to always be prepared to fight for his survival, so he’d gotten rather good at picking himself back up. Nearly offlining himself in his own lab on a daily basis certainly kept him well-practiced.

This wasn’t a Cybertron battlefield, and this wasn’t his lab, so as soon as Wheeljack was upright he quickly processed every nano-inch of his surroundings. His urgency was only matched by his concern for the human. Firstly, he feared that it had gotten hurt in such a display of uncoordinated prowess, and secondly being on his back and vulnerable meant that he was open season for anyone, human or otherwise, to drop a bomb on him.

The human thankfully had been smart enough to have scuttled out of danger, and was now peering at him from behind a nearby pillar with what Wheeljack thought he recognized as the human expression of amusement. A quick check from his memory banks told him that this human was female, rather small and underdeveloped for the species, and quite possibly not very—

—It was a child.

Wheeljack’s processor stuttered to a halt, the sudden revelation that he was standing in front of a human child fascinating, yet also very terrifying. By his estimation the female couldn’t be more than four feet tall, looking pale and somewhat disheveled in the moonlight. Human children were smaller, weaker, and mentally underdeveloped relative to their fully grown counterparts, which wasn’t saying much to begin with. That said, the sheer novelty of observing such a small human up-close was nothing compared to the trouble he was going to be in if he didn’t somehow coax the human into not seeing what she was currently seeing… and forget all about him.

The Autobot was so internally focused on figuring out how to get out of the situation that he didn’t immediately process the soft noise the human was making. It was laughter. The human was laughing at him.

This went completely counter to his expectations.

The noise was small, and quiet, but it was so non-threatening that Wheeljack instinctively lowered his guard. The small human was covering her mouth with a hand, her small dark optics just barely glimmering in the moon’s light but they revealed enough of her state-of-mind to tell Wheeljack that for whatever reason, this human child was not afraid of him.

It was then that Wheeljack realized maybe his full height was a little too much, and it also made him vulnerable to other prying eyes. He carefully picked his way out of the rubble he had created, mindful of the way he moved and how heavily he stepped. The little human didn’t seem to react, other than to remove her hand from her face, presumably the humor in the moment now gone. Wheeljack spared a glance at the flattened mess he’d made, ruminating that if he’d been able to get away with his little stunt undetected before, he certainly wasn’t going to be able to now.

“Are you a fairy?”

The soft noise made Wheeljack jerk back around, the immediate source unmistakable as the human child still standing in front of him. Her expression was one of naive wonder, and it made Wheeljack uncomfortable. Human expressions were not so different from Cybertronian, and that wasn’t an expression he often saw coming from his own crew mates when they were looking at him. It was usually terror. That was usually followed by something blowing up.

Wheeljack switched his speech codex to English, rapidly filing through data banks searching for an appropriate dialect; the North American continent, United States of America, New York City—large population center and common stereotype in human popular culture. Their current coordinates were on the opposite end of the continent, but it would do because he probably needed to say something. Communicating with her in Cybertronian would not have been productive as she wouldn’t understand it.

“A fairy?” He checked the local knowledge bank—the Internet—for the definition of the word. Once he was able to ascertain the visual representation of a typical mythological creature that went by that designation, he found himself perplexed.

“Duh. You have wings.” The child’s reply pulled Wheeljack out of his internal research and brought his focus back onto her. She was pointing at something behind him, and the frankness of her voice gave the Autobot the impression that she thought this was something that should have been obvious. It dawned on him that this human child was actually giving him attitude.

Wheeljack made a show of looking where she was pointing, at first not getting her meaning until it occurred to him what she was so focused on. She was talking about his rotary fins, purely sensory-net but freely rotating from his body. They most certainly were not wings…

“Oh these?” Wheeljack replied, the soft blue illumination from the venting panels on the sides of his face blinking with each syllable of English he spoke. “They’re not wings, but highly-sensitive neuro-net transmitters that—” Wheeljack was about two-thirds of the way through his highly detailed explanation before he realized that the human was definitely not listening, and more likely that she didn’t even know what he was talking about. She now seemed more distracted by his blinking then anything else.

“Alright, they’re wings. You got me. I’m not a fairy though.”

He took care to keep his voice low and unthreatening, not wanting to scare the small human away. It was probably better to humor the child rather than outright run away and leave her with questions… that she would later go to the much more mentally capable adults to answer…

“Oh.” The little human pursed her lips, then proceeded to point at one of the venting panels on the side of his head. “Why are your ears so big? And why do they do that when you talk?” She looked genuinely interested in him, and that made him even more uncomfortable. That was on top of the mild annoyance he was beginning to feel at having to explain his anatomy to her.

A microsecond scan revealed she was referring to audio receptors. She had actually mistaken a very important component used to consistently filter heat from his advanced processor for audio receptors. He hadn’t modified audio receptors to indicate his speech after the accident that left his face catastrophically damaged. That was simply ABSURD. “These ain’t ears.” Wheeljack jabbed a thumb in the general direction of one of his panels, optics narrowed slightly until he saw the somewhat incredulous look on the human’s small face. He softened somewhat, reminding himself that he was not trying to match wits with a juvenile human. She was clearly harmless and probably lonely; what else would a single human out all by herself be feeling? Primus, he was lonely, and he was surrounded by Autobots most of the time. Perhaps now was an opportunity to gather field intel on the indigenous life forms. It was kind of nice talking to someone that wasn’t afraid of him for a change.

What harm would there be in talking to her, for just a little while?

Wheeljack lowered his height, crouching down as low as his armor plates would allow in front of the female child. “You want to know a secret?” She didn’t even flinch, but even so Wheeljack kept his distance for safety’s sake. Who knew what sort of biological pathogens she carried. Biomechanical beings weren’t completely immune from purely biological ailments, although he doubted anything she carried would pose a threat to him. The girl nodded, eagerly.

“They’re actually motion trackers,” Wheeljack lied. “And they’re so big so I can track humans like you for miles.” Alright, I’ll play along.

“Well, I found you, so they must be broken. You should get them fixed.”

“Maybe I wanted you to find me.” That obviously wasn’t true—quite the opposite in fact—but he’d kind of walked right into that one. After all, this human child had managed to catch him completely unawares, and the mess around him was the proof of that.

“Lying is bad.” Clearly, she was sharper than he was giving her credit for too. Maybe human children weren’t as stupid as he initially thought.

Wheeljack allowed himself a sly smile with what was left of his mouth behind his battle mask. It was something she couldn’t see, unless she understood the shifting of his optical lids. “You’re clever. I like you. But what are you doing out here all by yourself little...female?” He hazarded gently, unsure of what exactly he should call her. He only realized he’d made an error in judgment when her face scrunched up into something close to indignation.

“I’m a girl,” she corrected pointedly, but then for the first time her small dark optics shifted around carefully and she began to appear uncomfortable. She began to sway, as if unsure of what to do with her own body, and actually looked sad. “I ran away…”

Wheeljack struggled internally with how to process this information. Part of him didn’t want to become any more involved in her life when he shouldn’t even be talking to her. But the other part, the deeply fascinated scientist that had to know, had to know. “Okay… why did you run away?” That’s… generally a bad thing, right? The irony in the fact that it was exactly something he had done when he needed to get away from the Ark and just think was not exactly lost on him...

She didn’t say anything at first, staring awkwardly at the ground. Wheeljack tilted his head, the illumination produced from his panels when he posed the inquiry highlighting the red, blotched hue on her skin and the moisture beneath her optics. He wasn’t sure what that meant, the biological and psychological links escaping him. He thought better than to ask her, and she probably wouldn’t know how to respond anyhow. It was reasonable enough to assume that she had been distressed before blundering into him—or probably still was but he was enough of a distraction for her to temporarily forget about it.

“It’s okay, you can trust me.” For a moment the girl was entranced in the light that rapidly flashed in-time with his words when he finally spoke. She raised one hand, holding it out in front of her and watched as the blue light illuminated her skin.

“My mommy is sick, and daddy got angry with me because I broke the radio. But he’s just upset because mommy is upset…” The little girl was looking around again, clearly unsure of herself in this situation. “It was already broken, I was just trying to fix it…” She mumbled, the sound so quiet. Wheeljack had absolutely no idea what to say, and thought about offering a personal anecdote until something she said caught his interest.

“Tryin’ to fix a radio, huh? That’s quite a big job for something your size.” Wheeljack was actually mildly impressed. Imagine a human small as this one was, actually trying to fix primitive, illogical human machinery without proper training…

“No,” she finally replied, almost indifferently. ”I fixed daddy’s Internet when he didn’t know what to do, and that was way harder.” She spoke as if this was just daily routine for her, and fascinating as this was, Wheeljack had to keep the conversation moving. He was on a time-table, and needed to wrap this up.

“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have run away little girl… he might need you to help him with that radio thing. Besides, it’s dangerous out here.” Wheeljack did his best to sound soft, but authoritative, internally wincing at how awkward it sounded coming out of his mouth. “How did you even get in here anyway?”

“I heard something and wanted to see what it was, so I came in through that hole in the fence… same way you did,” she said, motioning towards the way she’d presumably come.

“Ah, I’m a little big for a hole in the fence little one. This is no place for a human like you to be all alone.”

“You’re all by yourself,” the little girl retorted, looking snarky again. “Did you run away as well?” She looked shocked. “Did you kill somebody?”

“What…? No!”

“Are you doing crime?”

“Do I look like a Decepticon to you?” Wheeljack put his head in his hands, growing exasperated, and starting to feel mildly guilty because technically...

“What’s a...De-cep-ti-con?” It didn’t take a moment to spot the look of confusion on her face and he realized what he’d blurted out. She cocked her head as she spelled the word out slowly, ensuring she got the pronunciation right. “Are they bad? They sound bad.”

“Look, human girl, I—yes. They are bad. If you see one, and I hope to Primus you never do, I—”

“Primus? What’s that?”

Wheeljack found himself staring blankly at her, struggling to think of a way to describe to her what Cybertronians considered a God of sorts; not quite a god or a creator, but something more transcendent, yet tangible at the same time—why was he even contemplating telling her about such things that she surely wouldn’t understand? He’d committed a crime, gotten found out by Ratchet, and was now accidentally revealing top secret and deeply personal information to a tiny human girl. This was not a good night for Wheeljack.

“My name is Allison, by the way.” The human girl was looking up at him expectantly, and Wheeljack suddenly realized he had just dug himself into a very deep hole. Primus… don’t tell me your name… don’t make this harder than it already is…

“Look, little g—Allison.” Wheeljack vented air, underestimating the strength of it as it kicked up the loose strands of organic fiber on her head in a gust of heated wind. She seemed thoroughly overjoyed by this oddity. “I’m out here all by myself cause my friends can’t know I’m here. It’s a surprise… so this is our little secret, got it? You never saw me here.” Wheeljack saw an opportunity and ran with it, and the little girl named Allison nodded enthusiastically. Although, she still had a look of expectation in her eyes, and Wheeljack realized he better get it over with.

“Okay, fine. I’ve already revealed all my other secrets. My name is Wheeljack,” he said, pointing at the broadside of his chest where his Autobot insignia was. “I’m an Autobot.”

“Oh! I know what a wheeljack is. It’s that thing that fixes wheels on cars. What’s an Auto-bot? Is that like a Decepticon?” Allison looked perplexed, but genuinely interested, and he realized she would have no idea what an Autobot was. That was obvious when she seemed to stumble over the word, sounding it out in two chunks, much like she had done with Decepticon.

“No!” Wheeljack answered that one a lot faster and more indignant than he probably should have. “Autobot means I’m a good guy. Decepticons are nothing like we are.” Well that sounded ludicrous, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Allison seemed to think about it for a moment. “Okay. I trust you because you sound funny.” Wheeljack didn’t know what to make of what she’d said and whether or not it was a compliment, but he couldn’t respond before Allison followed up with another question. “What do you do, Wheeljack?”

“What do I...do?”

“Yeah. Like...what’s your job?”

“I’m a scientist. An engineer, specifically, and it’s not just a job, it’s more important than that. I help my friends stay safe by inventing useful equipment.” Wheeljack knew he was being a little loose with the word “safe.” Not all of them fit that description. “Though, I have been known to occasionally dabble in biomechanics. I recently finished writing a technical spec on the Tersial III replication and induction plate—”

“That’s neat,” Allison interjected, changing the subject. “Can I ask you something else?”

Wheeljack shrugged, sad to hear the young human wasn’t as excited about his proposed model for improving the wingspan of Tersial III quadrupeds. “Okay, sure. What is it?”

“Why do you talk funny?” This was the second time Allison had raised the issue of his voice. The question was nothing if not direct, and it then occurred to Wheeljack that he had likely made an error in judgment when picking the dialect that he did. He should have paid more attention to how she spoke.

“What’s wrong with it?” He cocked his head, now curious as to what about his choice was apparently so offensive. Instead, Allison laughed, betraying the idea that it was not so much offensive, but different.

“You sound like you’re from one of the shows my daddy likes to watch, dummy.”

Wheeljack didn’t know what a dummy was, but he assumed it wasn’t a good thing. “Doesn’t everybody talk like that around here?”

“No!” She was laughing at him again, and Wheeljack was getting frustrated. This shouldn’t have been that complicated—how many stupid dialects were there on this rock?!

“Look, I underestimated the linguistic diversity amongst your species. I didn’t realize accent was divided up by zone on this planet. It makes no sense—” He saw her expression start to go wide and realized he was losing her again. “Anyway, that was more than a question, that was two. Now it’s my turn to ask you one.”

“Okay fine.” The girl huffed, looking mildly startled and confused by his abrupt rant. Instead of the question he’d been intending to ask—that being what is the purpose of all that organic fiber on her head—Wheeljack opted for something a little more friendly. He was talking to a child, a fact of which he kept forgetting.

“Can you guess where I’m from?”

Allison looked blank for a moment, presumably trying to come up with an answer to his question. He had to stop himself from being abrupt with her. Perhaps if her experience with him was a pleasant one she was more inclined to trust him and do what he asked—that being: don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.

After a moment she shook her head, unable to even hazard a guess as to where he was from. So he pointed skyward, thinking she would get the point. But she didn’t.

“You’re from up?” In a shocking turn of events, she’d directed her optics in the vague direction of where he was pointing, looking at nothing and everything as if there was something very specific she was going to see. He probably should have felt guilty teasing a human child like this, but Wheeljack admitted to himself that this was actually a rather fun little exercise.

“Further.”

“The moon?”

“Even further!”

She thought for a while. “The sun? Pluto? A satellite?”

“No; that’s not a planet; and now you’re just guessing. The correct answer is I am from Cybertron.”

“Cybertron.” She repeated the word slowly like she did all the other ones. If anything she seemed very careful about learning new words. Primitive, but respectful. “I don’t think we have any place called Cybertron in our solar system. That must mean it’s pretty far.”

“Your deductive reasoning is correct. It is very far. Farther than you can travel in your lifetime, little one. Think of your solar system. Now think of another solar system, one that just looks like a tiny star in your sky, but it’s actually two stars! Closer than you might think, eh? Cybertron is a lonely planet that sits in the middle of Alpha Centauri, undetectable by your human technology.” He didn’t even realize that he started gesturing passionately until it was too late. “That’s where I’m from.”

Something dawned on her then, and her eyes widened. Something close to absolute joy spread across her face as something clearly now had her excited, making Wheeljack wonder if he should have just kept that detail to himself; he’d been trying to make conversation.

“You’re an alien!” Allison declared happily, clapping her small hands together in a show of positive acceptance as she put the pieces together. She was definitely smarter than he was giving her credit for, and was now practically lit up with such a revelation.

Something broke loose from within the Autobot and for a moment his perception dulled. There was an internal distraction at the edge of his awareness and he couldn’t place what it was. He lost focus and several barriers in his coding fell down all at once, unlocking a cache of programming that had been put away a very long time ago. There was a stirring of something in his spark that he hadn’t felt in eons: something warm and nurturing; he was actually starting to enjoy talking to the little human named Allison. He was afraid he was starting to care.

Whatever was happening, it was because of this girl, actually enamored and happy to be in his presence. She wanted to be around him. Autobots tended to avoid him when they could, not out of hate, but a general unease in his presence. Decepticons wanted to capture him and use him. Primus, he was lonely.

But he had to go. He couldn’t linger. If anything, his presence in her life was a danger not only to her, but to himself and the other Autobots that despite everything he still cared for. Needing to care for a human life was a liability he couldn’t risk, and there was no way he was going to let a human, much less a human child, get caught in Decepticon crosshairs. It wasn’t even his place. She needed to be back with her own parental units.

“Heh, okay, but remember, this is our secret okay?” Wheeljack leaned forward, trying to emphasis the point as gently as he could while cutting into her excitement. She nodded her understanding, but he had to make sure. “You promise?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Allison said, and she did something that Wheeljack was not expecting. She reached up and touched his face. It was such a soft, barely perceptible touch, right on the planes of his battle mask but it was enough to nearly make him rear back. It was a reaction that for sure didn’t match the level of threat she presented so it made no sense, but neither did what he actually did. He froze. He stopped moving as if the small hand on his face was going to cut him should he so much as shift in place. It was the first time he really looked the young human in her optics, and she didn’t so much as flinch as she returned his direct stare. His optics were neither unsettling or threatening to her. It was just a purely natural connection, unyielding without learned bias or mistrust.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been in arms reach, small as she was, which meant he’d really let his guard down. That frightened the large Autobot more than anything. His first time interacting with a human and he’d completely opened himself up to any number of attacks.

An attack—

Suddenly Wheeljack reared up, head snapping in the direction beyond Allison to something in the distance. He heard something approach—a vehicle, not one of his own, and he suddenly knew he had to go. Their time together was over. He looked down at Allison with a sad sense of finality that she wouldn’t be able to understand. She looked distraught, hand still hovering precariously above her head where his face had just been moments before. It was obvious she didn’t hear what he had.

“I’m sorry Allison. I have to go.”

“Why?” She sounded sad.

“Someone’s coming. Nobody else can see me, so I have to go.” He started to retreat, forcing himself to crouch back from her faster than she could catch up to him. Something tugged at his spark as the little human called after him, something Wheeljack wasn’t willing to spare another nanosecond thinking about in that moment. He had to transform, and for that he needed room.

What if it’s someone that means to do Allison harm… do humans hurt the offspring of other humans? Sadly Wheeljack knew the answer to that question. They had access to global news, and had been monitoring it for some time. I can’t be seen… but I can’t just leave her here. Maybe I can just hang back until this person passes… Pit, why did he care?

Wheeljack was thinking through how we was going to appear nonchalant as a white drag car just hanging around this ruined power station with a human child standing there, when the approaching human vehicle slowed. He heard an adult male’s voice calling Allison’s name, and thankfully Wheeljack reasoned this laid all his concerns to rest. He could leave content in knowing that her father had come to retrieve her. She finally heard it too, and she looked back in a manner which implied recognition. This gave Wheeljack the needed opportunity to leap back from her and transform into his vehicular form, the sound of which drew the girl’s attention back to him for enough time to see what he had become. It wouldn’t matter, because he’d be gone by the time her father arrived.

He couldn’t linger, a pang of guilt settling on his spark long enough to make him hesitate as he retreated but he knew he had to move on. It would be better for Allison to move on as well, so the sooner he disappeared, the better.

How wrong he was.

[overlymetaromantic]

do you have any tips for starting a webcomic?

Ooh, I can try! I'm actually genuinely really passionate about webcomics as a genre so sorry if this gets a bit rambly lol:

There's no wrong way to make a comic! Webcomics in particular I feel are basically always passion projects, and you should make it in a way that makes you happy. The only way to do art "wrong" is to create in a way that actively hurts you (i.e. stretch properly, don't pin your emotional stability on strangers online, etc. lolol).

You yourself should be your #1 priority in who you are making your comic for. Your friend of choice should be #2 priority. Write what makes you laugh, put in all your favorite tropes (or your favorite subversions of those tropes), create the kind of ships you enjoy shipping in other media! Have fun! Your joy will shine through, and it's always better to let readers who resonate with your passion find you rather than attempting vice versa, aka trying to write what you think an imaginary audience might be passionate about.

When it comes to the actual process, I'd personally recommend trying to choose a story that you love but that you also feel okay giving like 75% effort to, especially if it's a first time experience. Your love will carry you through a LOT, but it has to be a project you can say, "This is good enough" to if you ever want to get anything done lmao.

Understand your personal workflow, like how long it takes you to finish a panel or a page, what parts of the process you enjoy, what parts you dislike, and what personally satisfies you as a final product. The more you understand how you work, the better you can tailor your comic in a way that supports your preferred workflow.

Webcomics by their nature take a LONG time to complete. Be prepared for that! This is one of the biggest reasons why people recommend starting small, and I'll echo that here.

I honestly don't feel qualified to speak towards how to get your comic seen because I got STUPID lucky in having others share it for me in a way that resulted in it taking off, but similar to above: Being seen takes a LONG time. Patience pays off, and your audience will find you, however big they are!

If nothing else, you being your own biggest fan means that the mere act of creation can satisfy that desire to be seen. Make the comic YOU want to read, and find joy in being able to read it because YOU made it! Like, you did it!! The fact that you made a thing that wouldn't have existed if you didn't make it is incredible!!!

With all that said, there do seem to be some ways to at least increase your chances of gaming the system of being seen. Regular updates, satisfying end points for your pages, readable panels, and an easily pitch-able concept all make you easier for people to engage with. The first comic I made got updated whenever I finished a chapter, which meant there were months in between updates; by some miracle, it still found readers, but odds are I could have snagged a few more if I'd chosen to do more frequent updates at the cost of less complete-feeling chapters. I chose to prioritize the former because I care more about having chapters that have a good plot flow, but part of why my current comic is structured the way it is, is to have more frequent, regularly scheduled updates. It can also be worth studying the platform you want to post on to see what ways they promote comics, or how readers can find new comics on their site or app!

Good luck!! Have fun!!! Webcomics are frequently solo projects, so I'll reiterate again: make what you want, for you, in whatever way that works best for you. It's all you anyway!

[fairytail-whathesays]

okay but I NEED to know your orga/laxus relationship headcanons, nsfw, etc. (if it's okay with you ofc) because this is the best ship that nobody talks about

Oh babe we need more like you in Fairy Tail fandom

So I talked about godslaying magic here, in this post about Zancrow, and wrote it as having a lot to do with how psychotic and violent Zancrow is. I also happen to believe proto-dragonization has a lot to do with exacerbating the effects of Laxus' burgeoning mental breakdown that had its tipping point in the Fantasia arc. I also wrote that those negative effects feed into themselves the more the godslaying magic is used.

This poses problems for both of them, especially Orga, who doesn't have purely elemental lightning magic to fall back onto like Laxus, and is highly incentivized to use his magic frequently by the hype that sustains Sabertooth.

I think they'll have enough ease getting along just due to chemistry in their personalities, but needing help doesn't hurt, nor does:

These two probably bonded very very quickly. Not only were they all but flirting in the leadup to their GMG fight, but they both have a love of music that is very noticeable, like their punk aesthetics, and are very lowkey otherwise. Can Orga sing? Debatable. Will he be a hell of a lot of fun at karaoke? Yes.

I think their first fling happens relatively early into their friendship. Honestly a bit of a speed record for friends-to-friends-with-benefits. It was a natural course for them--they are the ultimate masc4masc fuckboi hookup.

And maybe it's through that fling that they discover something pretty useful; Dragonslaying magic and "godslaying" magic (corrupted/cursed dragonslaying magic) have an inherent opposing quality, almost like a positive and negative charge.

And by fighting each other and kissing each other, and just being around each other, they can temper their internal magic's discharge-like backlash that causes brain degeneration. Doctor approved!

No really they probably went to Porlyusica and she told them to keep hanging out.

This would also handily explain why corrupted brain degeneration isn't affecting Chelia either, since she hangs out with Wendy so much.

It's a slow thing, but that friends-with-benefits angle slowly deepens for them, especially with Orga, who originally thought of Laxus as just a very powerful mage in a powerful guild. Laxus may be something of a thug, but he's also well-read, introspective, and respects history, and it makes Orga want to improve himself.

Their fights get brutal. Not even arguments, because they rarely have them, but their sparring matches pursued just for fun. They are both very competitive, and unused to being challenged on an even footing. Orga actually being able to hurt Laxus makes up any difference in their power easily.

Laxus ends up with significant extents of lightning scars. Yeah yeah, Laxus with lightning scars, we've all seen those posts--but consider that a) Orga feels horrified when he sees them later and b) Laxus has to shout them down because he actually thinks they look sick as fuck and he loves them. They're dark, too, black like Orga's lightning before they fade to normal a few days later, so it's like getting more tattoos.

I like to think that Orga has a deeply-hidden romantic side. He's probably into cooking, has an instagram where he posts the supermodel equivalent of foodinsta, looking oh so delicious. He likes to write lyrics, too. Laxus gets into that stuff--he could sit for hours and watch Orga pore over a set of verses he wrote himself (and maybe even help) or watch him dither trying to make a three-hour meal for two people (and help because he feels guilty).

Orga's nickname in Sabertooth is "big bro" by the young'uns, or "uncle" when they feel like disrespecting him. When he officially becomes a thing with Laxus, this also extends to him, and much like they do with Cobra, Sting and Rogue slap Laxus with the big bro label.

When you spend that much time around another person, both because they heal you physically and because they heal you socially, you start to learn them. Every little intimate detail. For Laxus and Orga, that means not only learning each other's scent, but learning each other's "scent" (how they appear when being picked up via electroreception) and even how the other's lightning tends to sound when far away.

The instas go wiiiiiiild babey. The thirsty gays were already congregating around the two but when they start appearing in each other's stories??? Absolute hoe madness in the comments. The twinks are dying. Someone send help. Modeling contracts are flooding in. Constant requests to start an OF together.

Laxus is openly bisexual and Orga is openly gay, but neither one of them has ever been huge or loud about it. But they do go to their first Pride together, and it's a great experience for both of them. Orga in particular feels like he's being rewired in the best way being there.

You'll just have to send a separate ask for the ns/fw part bc it's long enough to be its own post and I also got

filthy with it