#the connector x reader

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Being in a relationship with Shen Wulong...

Long, long ago, in the most secluded mountains of China, there was a wise hermit, a sage, of whom only stories were heard, yet none had seen him. At the base of the mountain, there was a single village, and in it, a rather peculiar woman, an outcast, a slave, abandoned by not only her parents, but humanity also, to fend for herself. A woman with the most cursed hair colour, the colour of blood. It was the old belief that all humans have black hair and black eyes - So a child, a woman no less, with crimson hair and eyes coloured in hues of grey, green and blue. Her mother died giving birth to a demon child, and though her father hadn't the power to kill her, he abandoned her for the more merciful to take care of. In spite of all this, she was considered the village's misfortune, and was forced to do the worst tasks, all to prove her worth to the people and the Gods - Though they all knew, she was going to be forever stuck with bad karma, reborn as a woman in an endless Samsara, never allowed to achieve Nirvana.

One day, on a particularly freezing Early Spring, she found a man sitting by the fire of a bubbling cauldron. He seemed calm and didn't radiate any kind of hostility, so she dared approached. She was starving-skinny, unwashed and dirty, with ragged and roughly patched up clothes, while he looked regal, pristine, glowing, as if he was a God. Y/N almost didn't dare approach, but her stomach was growling with hunger, and she needed to eat.

Y/N kept her head down in humility and knelt in front of the man. "Good Lord, forgive my lowly self disturbing Your Highness. I am starving, and if My Lord would allow me, I could prepare something modest to quench our bellies." her forehead was pressed to the ground, waiting for permission to raise and either cook or get away. "There is no need for such formalities, friend. You may raise. I am a hermit, not royalty, and status does not define us." Y/N gasped in shock, her eyes wide as the men got on the ground also, holding her dirty hands with unexpected gentleness, helping her up. "Though you do look like a princess." Y/N felt frozen in time at the words spoken by this stranger, who took out a handkerchief and cleaned the dirt off her face. "You look work-hardened, yet even your hands are delicate." "I... I do not know what to say, Sir." she looked down, unable to keep looking in his gorgeous, tender eyes.

The man smiled, and without another word, he brought over two bowl and poured the porridge for the both of them to eat. Seeing how she was starving, he poured her seconds also, feeling his heart warm up, watching the woman being happy.

"What brings you in such a secluded place of the mountains? It is dangerous for anyone, especially a weaponless woman, to come this way. There are plenty of wild animals and thieves around." the man asked, watching as Y/N kept herself warm by the fire. "The village chief said he won't let me return without the Flower of Immortality. He said I might find it at the peak of the highest mountain." she explained, shuddering from the cold breeze. "There is no such thing as a Flower of Immortality." the man's voice turned a little dry. "What have you done to garner the hatred of the village?" Y/N smiled, sad, resting her chin on her knees. "Yes, I imagined there wasn't - But I had no other alternative, did I?" she chuckled emptily. "Ever since I was born, I was misfortunate. I killed by mother at birth, by father abandoned me... And the monks cursed me. They said I will continue being reborn as a demon woman, fated to an endless cycle of death at a young age, and rebirth in this monstrous husk of a body, unable to reach spiritual rest." her beautiful eyes shifted up, into his own. "All because I have red hair." The stranger looked at her and scoffed. "How shallow. They can't see the beauty of a soul because of their superstitions." his comment surprised her, though she didn't dare say another word. "Be that as it may, you are the single person who holds no hostility against me, and for that, I am grateful - However, on the morrow, I shall be departing. I could not possibly disturb you any further than I already have." Y/N spoke in a soft voice.

"And where will you go? In search of a plant that doesn't exist?" he rose a quizzical eyebrow. "What else is there to do? I have nowhere to go." she replied bluntly. "Stay here." Y/N's eyes widened in shock. "You go up, you die. You return, you die. Either way, you are going to prove them that their stupid curse actually took place, and you died young." "I-I couldn't... I don't-... I..." Y/N was unable to find any coherent words to say anything whatsoever in regards to his more than gracious proposal. "The law of nature claims a man is most fulfilled with a woman by his side to take care of him. If you feel as if you are disturbing a hermit in his seclusion, then I am sure, you will find some way to make it up to me, despite not needing to." he huffed in amusement, only to see the beauty kowtow deeply to the ground once again. "Stop that. You don't bow to me. Get up." he brought her up a second time. "My hut is closeby. Come on over."

True to his words, the man took care of Y/N, bringing her a new set of clothes and providing her with shelter and food. To compensate him for his troubles, Y/N started seaming clothes, cooking and looking for medicinal plants and herbs for tea and treatments. The hut was small and there wasn't much tidying up to do, but she tried to make herself useful in any way possible.

The middle of the Spring came by soon, and with it, the bloom of the flowers. On one particular day when Shen was away on one of his trips, he returned home, only to see a vase full of the prettiest pink peonies on the table. He smiled, watching Y/N embroider idly a coat for him, and he took a peony, placing it in her hair. "Do you know what these flowers mean, Y/N?" Y/N looked up with the innocent eyes of a doe, and she answered negatively. "I just thought they were pretty and smelled nicely." "They are the flowers of princesses." Shen smiled, watching the bashful expression on her face. "They represent the pure beauty and femininity of a kind and loving maiden. I would say that fits you well." Y/N blushed deeply, as pink as the flower in her hair, and attempted to look down - But the hermit kept her chin raised up, reveling in her innocent brilliance, the Queen of the Flowers she was.

Though the most beautiful maidens always had a tragic end, and after two years blissfully spent together, Y/N became ill of an unknown disease that couldn't be treated in any way known by mankind at that time. She was weak and pale, vomiting blood, barely able to breathe. Shen Wulong wasn't a man attached to earthly things, but his heart ached, watching his beautiful flower wither away in his arms, watching her fade away into the accursed nothingness that she was promised with.

"Be not afraid, my love. No matter how many lifetimes you go through, I will find you. If you remember me, I will rejoice, and if you don't, I will help you remember. I will not let you be alone again, nor will I allow them to ostracize you unfairly. I will save you, and give you the long, fulfilling life you have always wished for. My beautiful flower. My beautiful Y/N. I love you."

---

Though he made such a vow to his dying beloved, life is not so easy as to allow two kindred souls to meet in all lifetimes. As the curse said, Y/N was reborn in the same body of a demon woman, and died at an early age, never once meeting mid-twenties, before falling pray to disease, or to the torturous punishments of the village. On some occasions, she even drowned, or became food for the wild animals of the forest - And slipped to death from a mountain.

Shen Wulong, on the other hand, lived long lives, achieving awakening and enlightenment of all kinds, becoming strong and stronger through each Huisheng reincarnation - Yet none of his future selves was capable of sparing their Y/N of an early death. Was he still not strong enough? Or was fate truly so cruel that it did not want them soulbound?

No matter how many hundreds of years it takes, however, he will not stop trying to save her.

---

"Shen, wait!" the beautiful princess ran after him, in the middle of the night. Her thin pink dress was flowing around her gracefully, making her ressemble a delicate peony. "Please, don't leave!" "I cannot get in the way of your happiness, Y/N. You will be safe at the palace, married to the Emperor." the man didn't look back at her. "My happiness is you, Shen. I do not want to marry him - It has always been you that I loved." Wulong sighed deeply, feeling her small arms wrapping him in an embrace from behind. He could feel her soft trembling as she wept in loneliness and heartbreak. "I have watched you die countless times already. If I cannot keep you safe from disease and natural causes, then at least at the Palace, the physicians will know what to do, and you won't have to do anything dangerous to put yourself in danger. You're safe. Now go." the man pried her hands away from the princess, not having the strength to turn around and peek at her distraught face. "I won't be safe, Shen. The Palace is the least safe place for a concubine." her voice was trembling with emotion. "You are breaking my heart." "As long as you're alive..." he disappeared into the darkness, never showing himself to her again.

But as she anticipated, life in the palace was more agony than bliss, and with the guards overhearing their interaction, the princess was exposed and punished forever in the Cold Palace, where one of the Consorts sent to poison her.

Upon hearing such news, Wulong's anger took over him, and he killed everyone in the palace.

Such instance happened again, when he agreed to take Y/N under his wing, and he had to leave for a prolonged amount of time to solve business with the Worm. Alas, during one reincarnation, a traitor defector group found Y/N and used her as bait, killing her before his very eyes - Yet another, was far more heartbreaking.

Y/N clinged onto his arm, begging him not to go, fearing for his life. Silly woman was so worried that she followed after him, and during his fighting, Y/N called out to him - And he killed her. He had left her at home, why was she there, of all things?

"Damn it, you stubborn woman, haven't I told you to stay the hell at home?!" he growled to his gritted teeth as her splattered blood spilled down his face. There could be no harsher cruelty than having your soulmate die in your arms, because of your carelessness. "Forgive me, my love. I was just worried about you." was the last thing she said, before Shen watched the light diminish away from her gorgeous eyes. "No matter how many centuries pass, you never cease to surprise me with your endless misfortune and affinity to death." he scoffed, holding her tightly into his arms. "How many more times must I see you die, before your curse is broken? How long will it take to finally see you happy? When will you shed tears of joy, instead of wearing fear and sadness on your beautiful face?" he sighed, carrying her away from the battlefield. "No matter the circumstances of your birth, you remain more beautiful than the Peonies I gave you. Your grace can rival the Moon, and your kind selflessness is greater than that of the Moon Rabbit. If only that you were Chang'e, and became immortal, not one of the tragic Beauties of our country. If only I could fight the ethereal and destroy the chains of fate shackling you into purgatory." he placed her body on a bed of flowers, taking one last look at her, before leaving. "If only I could tell you how much I love you."

Peasant or Princess, Vendor or Medic, free woman or slave, it mattered little, for she had the same fate. Every time, without fail, something had to happen. It drove the Connector crazy. The World, and Y/N - He wanted them both, and he wasn't willing to compromise.

Watching Y/N being mistreated by other men, only for her to run away, scared as he killed them; No, brutalized them - That was hard to witness. Y/N was his, and nobody has the right to even look at her the wrong way, let alone harm her.

Centuries later during the modern world, the latest iteration of Shen Wulong was at large, controlling the Worm and wreaking havoc into the world. Still, even The Connector wanted to have a break, under the pretext of collecting precious information on the opponent, so he went to watch the Kengan x Purgatory Tournament, named the Berserker Bowl, where his clone would be fighting also. No doubt, the other one's clone, Tokita Ohma, would also be there.

He made quick friends with this man called Yamashita Kazuo, and another Narushima Joji - His nephew was one of the fighters also, what a coincidence. What he hadn't expected, however, was to see a gorgeous woman with flowing red hair and the most beautiful light coloured eyes. She looked as gentle as always - And unhealthy also. She held a terrified aura, veiled perfectly by a tender smile.

She had come to salute the manager, but greeted him also. He almost blurted out his real name - Yan would have had his head for that mistake - And he said his name was Jackie Lee. What a silly name. Still, Y/N smiled, bowing her head slightly at him. "It is lovely meeting you, Mr. Lee. I am Y/N L/N." Shen almost cringed, hearing her speak so overly polite with him, but kept his appearances up. "Can I presume you are Chinese also?" the man nodded at her. "I was born here, but my parents are Chinese." "More like 'Slave', rather." a disgusting voice came out of nowhere, earning the faintest twitch of fright from the woman. "You know you'll never really be accepted in our country, don't you?" Y/N didn't say anything. She kept her gaze down to the ground. "Why'd you run off like that, anyway? Come over. You don't want to talk to other men. You know what happens when you do." Shen could feel how hard Y/N was working to maintain her composure, as she dared step forwards towards the man roughing her away from them.

"Ahh, poor Y/N. She should break up with him already. He's no good for her." the old manager sighed like an upset grandpa. "Why doesn't she?" Shen found himself asking. "Well... I'm not entirely sure. She told Kaede that her parents were sick and Y/N had enough money to keep them in the hospital. The bills are getting higher and higher. She's an honest woman and she works hard, but she had to sell her house to pay the bills, and now she lives at his house. Or, that's what I heard, at least." "I see." the Connector grunted, shifting his gaze as if to pay attention to that ridiculously low-level fight taking place in the arena.

Thankfully, the battle lasted little, and Shen took the opportunity to claim going for beer, to seek out Y/N and save her from that filthy scum who dared touch her.

"Why are you acting like a little whore, eh? You want me to kick you out of the house?" he trapped her against the wall, growling at her. "You should get on your knees and suck me in front of everyone." Shen's rage was immeasurable, watching his beloved Y/N tremble and weep in fear of a lowlife weakling. "But I'm in a good mood now. I won't humiliate you in front of everyone. That will have to wait until home." "Not with you, she won't." the jerk had his head held tightly in the Connector's grasp. "Nobody touches her." like a juicy tomato, his head exploded under Wulong's raw force, the blood splashing everywhere. "Are you alright, Y/N? Did he hurt you?" "N-No... Thank... Thank you... Thank you." she looked down, quickly wiping away the tears. "Don't look down." he rose her chin gently, wiping away the stray tears. "You are too beautiful to cry."

Y/N dared look at him, and with a single gaze, Shen found himself smiling. "Go back and watch the matches, Y/N." the Connector said. "And don't worry about a thing. Everything will be taken care of. Stay safe." with a kiss to her forehead, he disappeared without a trace.

Though she had no idea what happened, Y/N felt something laying in her hand, and a warmth spreading through her heart. It was a beautiful hair pin, and golden and jade, with pink peonies. On it, a name was engraved.

Princess Y/N

How did he know her name? When did he get this for her? It was evidently old and veritable. What was going on?

She had no answer.

At least, not until days later, when she went on a mission to the Inside, with Ohma and the rest, to rescue Ryuki. It was a long and perilous journey, and even worse was when they encountered Gaoh Mukaku - Who seemed to know her. He taunted her, mocked her, even threatened her - But more, he said he'd use her as bait against the Connector, Shen Wulong.

But why would he use her as bait against a man she's never met in her life? She didn't take him seriously until he went to attack her personally, as though she was a fighter and had any kind of power at all. She only managed to escape by using the pin Jackie gifted her to slash away at his face. Unfortunately, it had broken a little, falling to the ground in a pool of her spilled blood - But she escaped.

When they made their exit, Y/N told them to go ahead without her - She had to return for the pin. Something told her that it was important. Not only that, but the few seconds spent with Jackie, she felt... Happy. Though she may never see him again, she wanted to remember him in some way.

She returned to the temple Mukaku was at, but the pin wasn't there anymore. Trying to keep as quiet as possible, she tip toed inside the temple, thinking that psycho took it for himself.

"Aaaaand you've lost me. I've had enough of this." Shen rolled his eyes, bored out of his mind with Mukaku's repetitive antics. He had fought this man enough times, but every time, he wasn't worth his while. All of a sudden, a rustle was heard, and a few soft footsteps followed. "Hey, uhmm...Did you see my hair pin? I know I used it to slash your face, but... But I just defended myself! ... My spine still hurts like hell though." Shen's eyes widened, and he turned his head to see the beautiful young woman struggling to step through the rubbles of the destroyed temple. As soon as she rose her head to look for the old man, she saw not only him, but Shen also - The shock and fright were evident on her face, and she looked like a deer surrounded by predators. "I... Should not have returned. I, uh... I-... I'm sorry! Bye!" panicked, she tried to leave the temple immediately - She was, thankfully, just at the entrance, though even there, she unknowingly stepped on a trap that would have slashed her to fish-bite pieces, were it not for a strong force tackling her to the ground. "J-Jackie...?" she gulped, feeling his strong arms keeping her safe and shielded from danger. Looking up, she saw the overly sharp piano wires that would have easily cut her in pieces as if she was a Happy Tree Friends character. "Oh my god..." her body's reaction was to spring away from Wulong's arms and run the hell away - But he didn't let her.

"I can't believe my bait returned willingly. You thought yourself smart, but you died a fucking dumbass each and every time. It's your fault you died, you know? And his, for not protecting you. How many centuries has it been? Or maybe even thousands of years? You're weak for a woman who can't live to see her thirties!" Mukaku put on a gas mask and readied his sword. "I almost shattered your spine, and you return for a hair pin? Ha! You deserve to die, woman." Y/N squeaked in fear as Mukaku, with incredible swiftness, brought down the sword, ready to slash her and Shen where they stood - But somehow, defying the laws of physics was a regular thing for the Connector, who kept her safe, held by one arm to his chest, his hand placed over her mouth and nose as if to prevent her from breathing, while the other hand caught the blade.  "Terrible decision, really." Shen glared at Mukaku. "Not even close." "Yeah, you're right - But this should do the trick!" Mukaku used Indestructible on the blade, cutting Wulong's hand into bleeding. "Jackie - You're bleeding! Let go of the blade!" Y/N managed to speak through his fingers. "Don't worry about me. Try to keep from breathing as much as you can. This cheap bastard flooded the room with Carbon Monoxide. It's just one thing after another." as instructed, Y/N picked up the handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to his face to help him with the breathing."Very kind of you - But I'm fine. I don't need to breathe. Use it for yourself, Y/N." Shen told Mukaku that the man who killed his clan was his previous iteration, and some illogical shit about stopping the breathing process, to slow the aging process. He then easily got up, throwing away the sword and kicking him in the face. "Did you seriously think you could outdo us? How asinine." Shen used the sword to impale Mukaku's shoulder. "Running away? You don't have that privilege anymore. I told you - I've grown tired of you."

"Are you sure you wanna kill me?! If I die, Ryuki dies too! I'm the only one who knows where he is! Are you just gonna let yourself die?!" Mukaku spat, desperate to live. "How come you're so obsessed over Ryuki anyway?! Ain't Tokita Ohma one of your clones too?! Why does it gotta be Ryuki?!" Mukaku was, no doubt, trying to prolong his suffering. "Oh man. Yan's gonna give me hell for everything I've done lately. Well - You're gonna be dead anyway, so there's no harm in telling you!" Shen sighed in realisation. "Tokita Ohma... Is not me." "HUH?!" Mukaku was on the ground, bleeding heavily. "Wait, hold the GODDAMN PHONE! What the hell are you talking about?! You can't expect me to believe that bullshit! I mean - Have you seen the guy?! He's the spitting image of Ryu...?!" Gaoh gasped loudly, as Shen was vibing with a dark, killing aura. "Yeah, I think you've figured it out by now." with an effortless swing of his wrist, Shen snapped Mukaku into pieces. "So die." Y/N had to jump back behind Shen, so all the blood wouldn't splatter on her. "Three times. You're the first person who's made three attempts on my life, and on Y/N's. Looks like third time wasn't the charm, after all." Shen turned around, throwing away the blade, looking down at the woman who looked uncomfortable and outright fearing him. "Y/N." he called out as he gently put a finger under her chin, raising it up to make her look at him. "What do you see?" Though he could see the fear in her eyes, there was also deep confusion, and he couldn't blame her. In this lifetime, he hadn't approached her prior to this encounter. He expected the other Connector to do so, but he didn't. "Have we met before?"

Shen didn't say anything - Instead, he retriever the pin from his pocket, along with all the broken accessories. "Did it save you?" Though Y/N had no idea why he'd change the subject like that, she nodded nonetheless. "Yeah. I... I, uhm... He threatened to use me as bait and kill me in front of you. For the... Fifth time, he said. Or, uh... Maybe he just meant he knew I died four times during his life. I'm not sure. He was weird." he uncomfortably scratched the back of her neck. "I was weak and he grabbed me. Slammed me to the ground, tried to punch my guts out. Before he could, I slashed away at his face and ran away." she hung her head down, feeling guilty looking at the beautiful yet broken accessory. "I'm sorry. I know it must have meant a lot for you, and I broke it." "A pin isn't worth more than your life, silly girl." he spoke with an amused tone. "I'll just get it repaired and return it. It's yours, not mine."

"I don't understand." she spoke softly. "I have so many questions... I don't even know where to start." "We have all the time in the world, Y/N. If you're willing to stay with me, I will answer all of your questions, and more." he replied. "I remember every incarnation you had - Or at least those who managed to live past a certain age. Unfortunately, there weren't all that many." Y/N looked down, feeling a weird pang of pain in her chest. She couldn't understand much, but her heart was working against her mind, and she agreed to stay. "What is your name, Jackie? Your real name?" she asked, making the Connector scoff in amusement. "Shen Wulong."

🌸No matter which iteration of either you or him, Shen Wulong is going to treasure you more than his own life.

🌸Though he never truly succeeds due to unforeseeable circumstances, he always prioritized your safety above all else.

🌸He only ever wanted to make you happy.

🌸Your smile was his reason for living.

🌸He always found the prettiest flowers to put in your hair, and found new ways to compliment you.

🌸And he loves to kiss you all over your face.

🌸Your forehead and the back of your hand are the places he loves kissing you the most.

🌸He sees you as this frail and pure princess that he needs to protect at all times.

🌸He loves to dance with you under the moonlight, with your fingers intertwined together.

🌸He loves relaxing so much, and the best place to sleep is either with his head on your lap, or hugging you.

🌸Shen has the talent to unintentionally tease the hell out of you with his sincerity. When he's relaxing with his head on your thighs, he ends up getting bored and his hands roam around your skin before her starts placing small kisses, going upwards.

🌸He hates to admit, but he loves seeing you blush so innocently whenever he's touching you a little more intimately.

🌸And the adorable sounds you make when he kisses your neck drive him crazy.

🌸Though he loves calling you by your name the most, he's going to nickname you using all the names of the prettiest flowers he knows.

🌸He especially loves it when you dance for him.

🌸And would buy you all the prettiest clothes and accessories, because you're so radiantly beautiful and he wants you to feel that way also, to see you beaming with confidence, because for him, you're perfect.

🌸Intimately or not, he's going to worship you.

🌸Shen would do anything in his power not to burden you with the notion of the Worm, and all the dangerous things he's involved in. Not only is he constantly afraid that any minute spent with you could be the last, but he doesn't want you to be afraid of him.

🌸He wants you to love him for who he is, hence why he's never going to hide anything from you - Except what means to be the Head of the Worm.

🌸He never really bothered to explain Huisheng to you, because by the time things got serious between you two, you'd die, and he'd have to suffer through your loss again.

🌸He never once gives up on the idea of saving you from the curse.

🌸Even if your last cycle is not going to be with him as your lover, he truly just wants to see you happy and safe, living a long and fulfilling life.

🌸He tells you, in great detail, how much he loves you every night before you fall asleep in his arms. He wants you to know how much he treasures you, so that you will never feel alone and sad again.

🌸He also hopes that, somehow, it will make your next cycle feel a little lighter, and that your souls will somehow be so connected that he'll be able to find you sooner and save you from any pain and suffering.

🌸The only one he really trusts with your safety and knowledge of your true identity is Yan, with whom you become quick best friends.

🌸Shen is incredibly happy to see you two hit off so well, and he feels at ease, knowing you'd be safe with him, and comfortable also.

🌸He knows Edward Wu could keep you safe also, but he was a creep. Fei Wangfang also, could be a bit weird sometimes. Now, with Gilbert Wu and the so-called Tokita Niko around, he's even less trustful of them, so he tries to keep you a secret.

🌸If Xia Ji even dares look at you, Yan would crush his skull. That rat man doesn't deserve to be in the same country as you, let alone look at you.

🌸In truth though, your kindness is so genuine, even with Ji, that the idiot ends up at your feet, ugly-sobbing and thanking you for being so nice with him.

🌸You're honestly just confused, but end up patting his hair awkwardly.

🌸Yan kicks him in the fishing pool.

🌸Shen gets upset that the fish got scared, and they have to change the spot again.

🌸But then he asks you to tie his hair again. He doesn't need too, but your fingers in his hair always make him feel good.

🌸And he's never really angry around you either. Somehow, he always feels at ease around you, even if the external circumstances pissed him off to no end.

🌸Shen Wulong is going to battle the Gods and even Fate itself, just to get your Happily Ever After together.

---

Being in a relationship with Wakatsuki Takeshi... Being in a relationship with Yoroizuka Saw Paing... Being in a relationship with Kure Raian... Being in a relationship with Tokuno’o Tokumichi... Being in a relationship with Kano Agito... Being in a relationship with Gaolang Wongsawat... Being in a relationship with Gaoh Ryuki... Being in a relationship with Narushima Koga... Being in a relationship with Hatsumi Sen

[dollfacefantasy]

I WANNA BE YOURS ♡

pairing: logan howlett x puppy-hybrid!fem!reader

summary: logan finds you, a special kind of mutant, out on a mission. when he takes in this puppy girl, you quickly forms a bond to him. he tries to tell himself he doesn't like his new shadow or want the attention, but it gets harder to deny as the two of you grow closer.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), hybrids, breeding kink, praise kink, dumbification, fluff, canon-typical violence, blood, nightmares

a/n: thank you so much to @gor3-hound and @nexysworld for beta reading <33

Adamantium strains against the skin between Logan's knuckles as his fists collide with his opponents' bodies. His claws beg to come out, to slice through his own skin and into the men he's striking. Despite causing himself pain, it would make this little struggle easier.

Regardless, he reigns in the urge and continues to fight without them. He didn't need them yet. Having a skeleton of impenetrable metal served as the only weapon he needed for right now. These guys taking him on weren't anything special, simple lackeys hired to protect a facility they didn't even understand the operation of.

His unpierced knuckles land a few strikes to one's abdomen, and he pops the other's face with his elbow. He whips his forearm around and slams the first to the ground in a finishing blow. The other man comes crashing down close behind after he connects his fist with the center of his face.

He looks at both of them crumpled up and unconscious on the ground, shaking off the adrenaline from the scuffle with a few rolls of his shoulders. He swipes the set of keys that hang off the belt of one who went down first and reconvenes with the rest of the team at the point of entrance to the next part of this warehouse.

"Did you find a way to open the doors?" Storm asks him. The white-haired woman struts beside him to the large cement doors at the end of the hallway.

Logan holds up the set of metallic keys, giving them a little jingle as his answer.

"Wow, and without shedding any blood. Impressive," Cyclops mocks from behind. Him and Jean walk a couple paces to the back of him, their eyes scanning for any potential hindrances to the mission.

"Night's not over yet, bub."

The four of them reach the door, and fortunately, it only takes a few tests to determine which key is meant for this lock. Before either Logan or Storm can push the barrier open, the door swings back under the force of Jean's telepathy.

They head inside but brace themselves for what they might see. This mission came about after the professor discovered that this building was being used as some kind of location to traffic mutants. The team had dealt with cases like this before, and they were never pretty. Often, the victims were young and struggling, picked up off the street or gathered from false mutant shelters to be sold into a life of experimentation or fetishization.

Upon first glance, this section of the building holds nothing new. The room isn't large in comparison to the others before it and looks more like a connector between the last hallway and another one. It's dark, not much light to get a good look at anything that could be hiding away.

Storm is eager to keep moving along and guides them towards the entrance to the next hallway. His other two teammates overtake him as well and follow behind her.

"I'm gonna sniff around here for a minute. I'll be right behind you," Logan says and waves them forward.

The two women spare him a skeptic glance, but Scott couldn't be more eager to part from him. They head off in the other direction, leaving Logan alone in the quiet between these four walls.

He just wanted to be sure there was nothing here, whether it be something he could help or something meaning to do them harm. Though he kind of hoped it was the latter. He never felt very good at the 'saving' part of being on this team. Let him go in a room full of threats, and he was guaranteed to be successful. He'd take every last one down in record time and not even have to think twice about it. But give him one person to comfort and tell that everything is gonna be ok, and that would have him breaking a sweat. It's not that he couldn't do it; he simply had to work at it. He didn't have to work at being a weapon.

Treading over the pavement cautiously, Logan's eyes sweep over the few vacant shelves and lonely crates. The room truly seemed unoccupied. He could probably only justify a few more feet before having to go join the rest of the team. But then he sees it.

A cage towards the back of the room, a tarp over the top. It sat near a smaller door he hadn't noticed before. He wasn't too concerned with going in just yet. First he wanted to see if anything was confined behind those thin black bars.

It was larger than a simple pet kennel but too small to give the impression that held anything monstrous. He walks closer to it. No sound came from it nor could he see any movement, but his curiosity had been triggered. He had to know why this thing had been secluded.

Once he's close enough, he crouches down and pushes away the rough white material draped over it. His fingers undo the latch and open the door so he could get a better look inside.

He peers in and is met with a pair of eyes staring back at him out of the darkness. His first instinct is to back up and get into a defensive position, but whatever's inside doesn't give him the chance.

You lunge at him and knock him flat onto his back.

He hits the cement with a grunt, and his claws cry out to him again. He could easily unsheathe them and tear whatever you were to shreds. But before he does this, he realizes that this isn't an attack. He's not in any kind of pain. In fact, nothing is really happening to him. All you were doing was... sniffing him?

He could hear your rapid inhales and exhales as your nose trailed along the collar of his white tank top. Straining his neck back as much as he can, he finally gets a good look at you. You were human - smaller than most with wide, curious eyes - but you also had floppy ears erupting from your scalp and a long tail coming from your backside that was whipping back and forth.

Even with all the different kinds of mutants he'd seen, he couldn't help thinking this was bizarre at first glance. He knew it was possible for mutations to express physically even though most were internal. For god's sake he had literal claws and knew multiple people who were straight up blue. But he'd never seen anything like this.

You looked like just a mix of canine and human. In honesty, you were pretty cute. You didn't look like the type of thing someone would shout 'freak' at from across the street. Hybrid was probably a more accurate descriptor than mutant. Either way, he didn't want you on top of him.

"Quit it," he growls before grabbing your waist and pushing you off. Based on the fact that you weren't attacking, he assumes you're a victim rather than a perpetrator. He rises to his feet to stand above you, ready to fight just in case. "What the hell are you supposed to be?"

You sit there, tail still wagging despite his rough temperament. Your eyes have that gleam that likens your appearance to a puppy even more than your ears or tail do. He realizes you might not be able to talk or something, but he doesn't get too far with that thought before you speak.

"A mutant. Like you."

His eyes narrow.

"Yeah? How do you know I'm a mutant?" he asks. He hadn't shown you his claws and you hadn't seen his skin magically stitch itself back together. Maybe you were on the other side of this mission.

"I can smell it," you answer.

That makes his eyebrow slowly raise. "Smell it?" he says.

You nod. "Mutants smell different than humans," you say.

You rise to your feet and stand next to him. Leaning in again, you smell his arm. Your head moves down his bicep and to his elbow and forearm. He pulls his limb away with a scowl, but you'd already had a chance to register the scent that'd caught your attention.

"You smell metallic too," you say.

So your canine traits weren't just physical. Logan knew you weren't lying, having an enhanced olfaction himself. He'd just never met someone else who also had that ability.

"Your mutation is basically just being an overgrown dog then?" he asks with a bemused expression, "You like playing fetch? Want me to call you a good girl?"

You can't help the automatic twitch in your tail when you hear that phrase, but your expression darkens as if a storm cloud had formed inches above those folded ears. 

"I'm not a dog. If I'm a dog, are you like a robot since you have metal in you?" you huff and cross your arms.

A sharp puff of air comes from his nostrils at your attempted retort. "Robot isn't exactly what they call me."

You grumble and roll your eyes. Your tail had gone still behind you and hung between your legs.

He continues to stare down at you, trying to decide what to do next. Even though you were a mutant, you didn't seem to be a fighter or have any skills that would be useful in combat. He wasn't just going to leave you here, but he didn't know how big a risk it would be to let you tag along.

"What are you doing here? Did someone lock you in that cage, or is that just where you spend your free time?" he asks.

"Someone took me and locked me in there," you say, your pout deepening.

"For how long?"

You shrug. Logan has the urge to roll his eyes just as you did, but he can tell your lack of knowledge is genuine.

"You don't know how long you were in there?" he prompts.

"No. Maybe like... a couple weeks or something. I don't know. It's hard to keep track."

Of course. Just like a puppy, you had a poor concept of time. He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his face. It did look like you'd been captive for a few weeks. You weren't in the best shape and had bruises littering your body. Your clothes were dirty and torn at the hems. As annoying as he found you in the few minutes he'd known you, he knew you didn't deserve this treatment. Locking a cute little thing like you in a cage was plain cruelty.

"Alright. Well what's your name? I'm Logan," he sighs.

You tell him, but just as the last syllable leaves your lips, footsteps burst into the room from the direction of the hallway.

Scott and Jean round the corner, clearly looking for their teammate. Logan turns around to see the new arrivals and relaxes when he recognizes the man in the visor and the redhead beside him. 

"There you are. We thought you took off or something," Scott mocks casually.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words dissolve when he feels a thud against his back. 

You don’t recognize the people who'd just shown up, so you hide yourself behind the man who found you. Pressing yourself against his back, you cautiously tilt your head to his side to peek at Scott and Jean. Your fingers clutch the fabric of Logan's tank top so tight they threaten to poke little holes in the ribbed material.

"What- what are you doing?" he grunts and tries to look over his shoulder at you. The way you were latched onto him prevented him from turning around fully. He lifts one of his arms to see your eyes scoping out the potential danger in front of him.

"Get- C'mon get off. They're not gonna hurt you," he continues, brushing you off by reaching back and lightly tugging your hair.

You stumble to the side, and he manages to grab your shoulders and walk you in front of him. He holds you there, presenting you to Scott and Jean. The way your ears pin back to your head makes him feel a little guilty about making you confront the strangers so directly, but they weren't gonna do anything to you. Assuming they were gonna rescue you and take you back to Xavier's, you'd have to get used to prying eyes and meeting new people.

Both Scott and Jean look at you curiously, Jean with less confusion than Scott. Clearly, he had a similar thought process to Logan while the woman next to him could sense that you were a mutant and what your abilities were.

"I found her in that cage back there," he explains.

The two of them nod. They take a few more moments to simply observe you before they move closer and ask for your name. You give it just like you had to Logan. They nod again and then begin running through a similar routine of questions. Theirs are more detailed though and manage to coax more information out of you.

Your responses give them a quick little rundown of you. You fit the profile of the people they usually found on these missions. You're young, early 20s, struggling because getting a job was nearly impossible with your ears and tail. You had no family. They'd given you up after your mutation began to manifest. Everyone thinks puppies are cute, but apparently, no one wanted a human child that shared features with them. You'd been taken from the shelter you were staying at like most others who found themselves in this situation.

As you answer each one posed to you, Logan feels you subtly sinking back against him. Your back meets his abdomen like two magnets slowly being pulled together. Despite the annoyed look on his face, he doesn't say anything or pull away.

When the brief interrogation comes to a close, Scott relays to Logan that they had found other victims in another part of the facility. Storm was with them now, guiding them to the extraction point where they'd be taken to safety. The four of you just had to follow along.

Scott and Jean lead the way. Logan follows behind and you trot along beside him. He notices you're staying close to him in particular.

"Did the guys who took you say anything else about why they wanted you?" he asks. The fact that you were kept separate was still lingering in his mind. To him it didn't mean anything good.

You shrug and look up at him. "They didn't really talk to me that much unless they were being mean or spitting at me. Or kicking the cage," you say.

You say it like it's casual, but he can tell it hurts. He knows how it feels to an extent. All mutants do. Not many people will openly talk shit about a guy with metal claws, but the sentiment is still there. The idea that you're inferior. That something is wrong with you. That you don't belong in this life.

He just nods, not knowing much else to offer as comfort. "Did you ever overhear them talking about you? Any reason they wouldn't have put you with the others?"

"I think they wanted to figure out if there was more of me. Or if they could make anymore at least," you say after taking a moment to think, "Cause you know. Guys like the whole puppy thing. Makes me worth more I guess."

He cringes at the ugly picture you paint with those words.

The group of you continues walking, footsteps being the only sound in the hallway. Your tail had started wagging again which makes him feel a little better about not offering anything in terms of reassurance. But when you reach the room where the other victims had been, your tail comes to a halt and droops between your legs.

A party of men is spread throughout the area. They walk around scanning the now empty space, visibly incensed at their captives being freed. You slide yourself against Logan's back again, but you don't try to peek at them like you did with Scott and Jean. It doesn't take much to figure out that these are the ones who kept you in that cage.

They hear the team and you approaching and turn to face you. Despite your efforts to hide, they spot you before you're completely concealed behind the bulk of Logan's muscular frame. The one closest scowls at your attempt.

"I'm guessing the three of you know what happened to the things we had in here?" he says, sarcasm lacing each word.

"You could say that. And those people are long gone by now, so it's probably best you move on," Scott answers. His fingers rise to his temple in preparation to operate his visor.

The men don't seem to be threatened. The amalgamation of them tightens, forming a more crowded cluster.

"Yeah, you're probably right. But you're not leaving with that one," the same one says and gestures to you hiding, "She stays here."

"Not gonna happen, bub," Logan responds so quickly it surprises even himself.

His teammates also look interested in his seeming budding attachment to you, but they know better than to squabble in front of adversaries.

You are the only one the words don't strike in any sort of way, but that's because you didn't totally hear them. You're too busy trembling, hoping with everything you had that Logan wouldn't force you in front of him again and then kick you into the group of guys.

But obviously, that doesn't happen. There's more arguing that you don't hear because you choose to tune it out. You can sense Logan becoming more agitated and the air around everyone becoming more tense. Your body grows more rigid, your ears glued back to your scalp. You just want this to be over.

As these thoughts whirl through your mind, the arguing comes to a head, and Logan launches away from you. You feel naked without his large body shielding yours. 

Scott and Jean aid him. Your first inclination is to turn the other direction and just try to stay out of the way. You weren't confident in your combat skills. If you could seriously fight, you probably wouldn't have gotten snatched up. You didn't want to be the reason any of these people who were trying to help you got hurt.

But then you see someone coming up behind Logan brandishing a knife. It's out of your control, the way your muscles go taut and your lip curls back. You'd only ever been in a real fight once before in your life, and you don't remember feeling this vicious. You spring up behind the man, finding where his shoulder meets his neck and biting down hard.

The cries of agony and grunts of anger seem to go on forever. The smell of blood invades your nostrils as you deal with your target. He'd fallen to the floor when your teeth sunk into his flesh. You feel him thrashing underneath you as you rip and tear, but you don't stop until he's gone still. You then pull off and wipe your mouth, twisting around to sit on the abdomen of your incapacitated enemy.

Logan also had no difficulty dealing with the men coming at him. There were just more of them, so he took a little longer. After one last thud of a body crumpling to the floor, only heavy breathing sounds through the warehouse.

Jean and Scott seem fine. They stand there checking each other over, and you see them share a brief kiss. You glance over towards Logan next and decide to return to his side.

He's alone. The sounds of panting are mostly coming from him. His body glistens, muscles lightly coated in perspiration. His scent is stronger to you now, and it only grows more overwhelming as you approach him. Men lie at his feet with pools of blood around them, presumably the same crimson liquid that stains his hands, wrists, and forearms in streaks.

You make your next move without thinking. Coming up to his side, trying in vain to avoid getting your ratty socks soaked with blood, you press your cheek against his bicep and snake your arms around his.

He then looks down at you. His eyebrows raise at the blood that coats your mouth and chin and trails down your shirt. You hadn't seemed like any type of predator before. Your presence was more akin to a puppy that'd be torn apart by wolves than anything that could do anyone harm.

"How'd you do that?" he asks.

Your finger rises and hooks under your upper lip, pulling it back to reveal your canines, sharper than a normal person's.

He nods and watches you with some mixture of curiosity, irritation, and fondness.

"Pretty good," he says simply.

You beam at the praise, blood-stained lips parting into a wide smile. He feels your tail wag harder and brush against the back of his leg.

The touch is nice. It makes him more conscious of the way you're still holding onto him, your hand curled around his muscle and your hip against his. He's not sure what it is. A silent thank you, a note of understanding, or a pledge of loyalty.

But he doesn't need a thank you, someone to understand him or devote themself to him. He's just doing what he's supposed to.

He slides his arm out of your clutches and gently pats you on the head.

"C'mon, let's get going," he says and starts walking towards the exit.

You trot wordlessly behind him, which he's grateful for. But more than that, he's just happy Scott didn't have anything to say about your sudden bond to him.

Once the jet picked you up from the extraction point, the trip back to the school was a breeze. You mostly keep to yourself while trying to stick close to Logan. He sits you next to him and cleans up your face, but you sleep for most of the actual traveling time to the destination.

You hadn't realized how tired you were until the seat hit your back and the buckles of the seat belt latched over your chest. With that manifestation of security, your eyes began drooping and your head was drifting to your shoulder like it was your center of gravity.

Logan's voice is what wakes you up. It's unclear to you how much time has passed, but that doesn't bother you. You feel him gently jostling you before unbuckling the straps across your chest. He calls your name a few times until your bleary eyes open and focus on his face.

"There you are," he says, "C'mon. We're here."

You still watch him without saying a word. Your hand rubs over your face to try and pull yourself closer to being awake. He watches you before offering his hand.

"I'm not carrying you, so you need to get up," he says in a tone you were becoming familiar with. It sounded irritated but not directly at you. Like this man was just in a constant state of being pissy about something.

You take the offer regardless and let him pull you to your feet. The two of you exit the jet together, him helping you out to ensure you don't trip on the gap between the ramp and the ground.

Once you're out, your eyes widen. You expected a boarding school to be pretty fancy, but this was nicer than any place you'd ever been. The walls stretched up the sky, crafted with bricks and decorated with large glass windows. The path there was paved and bordered with kept plants. You could see beyond that though. The large expanse of the property. So much space to run and do things.

Logan watches your reaction with amusement. "It's a lot to take in when you first get here," he says.

You nod, and your eyes continue to dart around and absorb the sight of everything. Storm and Jean lead the others who were saved off to another part of the building to be reunited with their families or taken back to their lives or even given verifiable resources. But you don't want to go with them.

You grab Logan's hand and look up at him, shaking your head.

His first reaction is to try and pull his hand free of you, but you have a tighter grip than expected. "What? What's the matter?" he asks you while still trying worm his hand out of your finger's lock.

You don't know how to articulate it because what you want is very simple. You want to stay with him. You want to stay here. You don't want to go back out to the world where people point and laugh at you or turn you away from everything. You just don't know how to say that without it seeming weird.

Luckily for you, Scott gives you a bit of help. You're not sure if that's his intention or not, but either way, you're grateful for the help.

"Maybe we should take her to the Professor. He might want to see about her mutation or ask her about that stuff back there," he tells Logan. You can tell from the way Scott speaks that he doesn't really like him too much.

Logan thinks about it for a moment before nodding. Before leading you there, he uses his other hand to pry your fingers off of him. You frown at the loss of connection and shoot him a glare. That brings an actual smile to his face.

"Follow along, pup. Don't need you getting lost," he says as he turns to guide you down the halls of the school.

The sun hadn't even risen, so not too many people occupied the common rooms. You catch sight of a few. They stare back at you, but unlike what you're used to, they don't look at you with disdain or mocking. It's simple, innocent curiosity. The only thing that seems to worry them is the bright red stain going down the front of your shirt.

Inside the room had been an older guy in a wheelchair. The professor talked the nicest out of all the men you'd been around today. When he looked at you, you felt like he understood you. He didn't even seem perplexed like Scott or Logan had. He'd merely said you were "interesting."

He talked to you for a while. He asked similar questions similar to the ones you already answered, but the third round of them got even deeper than the last two. Once he revealed that he could enter your thoughts if he wanted, that made a lot of sense.

Though he didn't really need his ability to understand you. Your experiences were written all over your face, practically sewn into the seams of your clothes.

He could see how, like every mutant, you led a life dominated by rejection. But in a different way than most others of your kind, you were vaguely familiar. Seeing someone with a tongue ten feet long or with blue skin or claws was jarring. It was weird.

But you - you look like a cute puppy. You walk the line between disturbing and endearing.

Charles can also see how you long for belonging even deeper than most. It's as if your mutation gives you the drive to seek out affection, for someone to devote yourself to. He can tell this by the way you linger around Logan.

If he moved an inch, you followed in the same direction. If he looked away, your eyes followed along. You were only settled if he was looking at you, not in danger of leaving your vicinity.

After talking to you for a while, hearing about your abilities and getting to understand your personality, he offers to let you stay at the school. He tells you it might be beneficial for you, and if you don't like it, you're welcome to leave anytime. It's only meant to give you a chance to understand your gifts and learn to control them and use them for good.

Of course, you accept. It wasn't even a question.

"Wonderful. Scott, show her to the extra rooms she can stay in and the shower so she can clean up a bit," Charles says. He watches as your eyes flit to Logan and then Scott. He also sees Scott's uncertainty as to why he was given this job.

But he nods and gestures for you to follow him, which you reluctantly do.

You trail him silently up the stairs, and he gives you a little guide to where everything is. He gestures at the direction of the student wing and the staff wing and then takes you to the latter. He points out the different bedrooms and grabs you a change of clothes on the way to the bathrooms.

He's nice to you. A little stiff, but he still smiles and laughs softly at quips he makes or your skeptical reactions to things. You want to ask him about his sunglasses, but you figure that'd be rude so you refrain. When he leaves you at the bathroom door, he tells you to just call if you need anything cause he's right down the hall.

Stepping inside, you peer around the expansive room. You'd never seen a bathroom so large. It was nice like everything else was in this place. The counter was spotless and smooth. The tile was sleek with a soft mat beneath your feet at the door and waiting for you in front of the shower.

You undress yourself quickly and turn on the water, waiting for it to heat before stepping inside. There's some products on the shelf inside that you use. You lather the soap on your hands and rub it over yourself fast. It felt really good, especially since you hadn't had a proper shower while being held captive. But you still work at a sped up pace. Although the novelty of everything had impressed you at first, you were beginning to yearn to be by Logan again. It wasn't a need that would make you lose control, just a little itch like a bug crawling up the path of your veins.

Downstairs, Charles kept Logan behind in his office so the two could talk. They briefly recap the mission before moving to the subject that was the true reason for the extended conversation.

"It seems she's quite taken with you," the older man starts simply.

"I guess," Logan responds, his voice unamused with the idea.

Charles huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He goes to say something else, but the other man carries on the conversation himself.

"She'll get over it. She's like a little duck following around the first person she sees," he says and crosses his arms.

"I think you underestimate her intelligence, Logan. She's not a helpless animal-"

"I know that," he interjects quickly.

"She's one of us. She's formed an attachment to you for whatever reason. I would like her to stay here for at least for a little while to examine the traits of her mutation. I've never seen any that so closely mimic an already existing animal," he explains, "But I want to know that you're ok with that."

Logan scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be? That doesn't have anything to do with me."

"While she's here, she's most likely going to want to be around you. I just wanted to make sure that's not something you're wholly uncomfortable with."

"Please. I can handle it," he dismisses.

Charles watches him, ever-entertained by how hard he tries to present the idea that he's unaffected. 

"If you say so," he says, "Just try not to scare off too quickly."

"I'll play nice," he says.

A few more words, and he's dismissed. He turns on his heel and heads out the same doors he entered. Just as he does, you glide down the stairs into his field of vision, tail wagging lazily behind you over the waistband of the sweats Scott gave you.

When you see him, it swishes a bit faster and your ears perk up. His eyes narrow.

"What are you doing down here? Didn't Scott show you where to go?" he asks.

You nod and prance down the remaining steps. Truthfully, you'd been seeking the man before your eyes, but you couldn't just say that.

"Am I not allowed to look around?" you ask.

His eyes remain hard on your face. "Aren't you tired? Mauling that guy didn't take anything out of you?"

A subtle pout forms on your lips, and you consider retreating back to the bedroom you'd been given. He clearly wasn't in the mood for you right now.

Logan sees the reaction his words brought on. He feels that little sliver of guilt shifting around inside him. Maybe his phrasing hadn't been the best... but then again why did he give a shit?

"How about we just get you back to bed? I'll show you around more tomorrow," he suggests.

You take what you can get and nod, your features slightly elevating at the form of peace he offers you. He retraces your steps up the stairs and down the hall with you on his heels. He spots the room Scott had picked for you. The door was ajar from how you'd left it to go find him.

He leads you inside but remains in the doorway himself. There really wasn't any reason to stay, so he should probably be leaving...

"Have you been here a long time?" you ask suddenly.

His eyes land on you again. You were perched on the end of your bed that was still fully made up, the comforter tucked in and everything.

"What?" he asks.

"Have you been here long? Scott said he's been here since he was a teenager," you say.

"Oh. No. Only a little while," he says. "I'm still pretty new here too."

That makes you happy, it's obvious from the hope that gleams in your eyes. "Are you like a teacher too? Or... something else?"

"What would that something else be?" he asks with a smirk, taking a few steps into the room with you, "Having a hard time picturing me teaching?"

"Well I just mean-" you try to justify before laughing a little, giving in, "Yeah. I can't really see it."

"Me neither. I'm not a teacher. I just help out sometimes," he says.

He walks even closer to you, causing your head to tilt up to look at him. Now you really looked like a puppy.

This close, he was all you could smell. You could see every individual hair on his forearm. It felt as though you could hear the strong beat of his heart. His eyes pierced into you from above, and you wondered if he was observing you in a similar manner.

"You gonna sleep on top of these blankets?" he asks.

The mention of something else besides him snaps you out of your little Logan-centric daze. You look around at the bedding and then back up at his head. The two styled points of dark hair look like he has two ears of his own mirroring yours.

"No. I'll fix them," you say and stand up to tug them free, "I don't need you to tuck me in."

"I wasn't offering to. I just don't want you getting up and trying to 'look around' again. Don't need you getting lost and wandering to my bed."

The idea brings heat to your cheeks and neck. It sounded nice for so many reasons. But the bed you had now outmatched the hard bottom of the cage you'd been sleeping on, so you weren't going to try and swing for more.

Once the comforter and sheets are peeled down, you climb back on the bed and sit against the pillows. There's a small pause. A puddle of silence pooling between the two of you. You don't know what else to ask, but you feel if you don't say anything he's gonna leave. So you pull out the first thing you can think of.

"What is your actual mutation?"

His brows rise with interest, and he closes the gap between you by sitting on the edge of your bed. Curiosity shines from his eyes onto you, silently questioning why you wanted to know.

"I know you're not actually a robot, but I can still smell the metal and stuff. What does it do?" you ask.

"The metal isn't my mutation," he says.

He raises his fist about a foot away from your face. His fingers are balled up tight against his hand. You cock your head, wondering what he's showing you.

Before you can ask any questions though, three shining metal claws emerge from between his knuckles. They come out slowly, a pace prolonged enough to be considered teasing. Your eyes widen at the sharp points and you scoot back, smooshing the pillows against your head board. All you can wonder is if he didn't take them out earlier or if you really had missed something so monumental.

His laugh rises in volume. "Relax, I'm not gonna cut you."

The claws come to a halt when fully extended. You wait just in case something else is going to happen, but nothing does. You bring your finger up and poke at the hard surface. They were so beautiful but unnatural too. You'd never seen anything like them.

"But I didn't see anywhere for them to come out?" you say softly.

He flexes his hand and extends his fingers, retracting the claws much quicker than they appeared.

"There is no place for them to come out of," he says and offers you his hand.

You frown at the little cuts the sharp rods left in their wake, but like little zippers, they close up. You blink at his hand. All evidence of his mutation was gone.

"So you can heal? And you have claws?" you say more to yourself than him, "Does it still hurt when they come out?"

He nods and watches you examine his hand.

Upon seeing his confirmation, you can't even help what you do next. You pull his limb a little closer and kiss each spot where a claw had emerged. Every phantom cut gets a soft smooch left where it would soon reappear.

"What are you doing?" Logan asks, her arm tensing up on instinct.

You glance at his face before releasing his hand. "Oh... sorry," you say and shrug sheepishly.

To your surprise, he doesn't scold or chastise you, doesn't get up to leave in a hurry. He simply pulls his hand back and gives you another look before saying good night.

"Get some good sleep. Like I said, I'll show you around tomorrow," he says.

You slip down in the bed, resting your head on the plush pillows and pulling the blanket up over your form. He heads out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

A deep exhale leaves his lungs. He shakes some of that tension loose. What had he been doing? It almost felt like some different person had taken over him in there. Another version of himself that didn't have to be reminded to 'play nice.'

The few weeks you're supposed to stay at the school stretches out into a longer timeframe. It'd now been a few months since that day he found you in the cage and set you free. Though that month or so you'd spent locked up turned out to be worth it because you now had a place that made you happier than anywhere you'd lived before. You had a family.

You had Jean and Storm who were helping you train so you could one day go on missions with them. You had the Professor who taught you more about yourself than you had ever thought to ask. Scott was there too.

And of course, you had Logan.

Logan. As much as he tried to seem reluctant, to appear uncaring and nonchalant, he had grown to enjoy your company more with each passing day that you followed him like a shadow.

It was irritating at first. Before, he'd been able to drift through the school relatively unnoticed. Now, every single place he went, he was trailed by whoosh whoosh whoosh. The sound of your tail going back and forth. Anything he tried to do was accompanied by the feeling of two glimmering eyes trained on him. He'd tried to brush you off, but you didn't waver.

"Don't you have anything better to do than stalk me?" he'd ask, shooting a side eye your way.

"No," you'd respond.

"Well, find something."

"I don't wanna."

And who was he to argue with that?

In a way, the bond you seemed to have formed with him was flattering. It seemed like he could do anything, and you'd never view him as anything but the greatest creation to grace this earth. So he just lets you follow him around. He assumes after a while, you'll see him for what he is and lose interest, or you'll just grow bored of him and find something else to be the object of your obsession. Though so far that day hadn't come.

After a while of you always at his side, he started to cave and include you in his little routines.

One day he was doing sit ups at the foot of his bed while you sat nearby. His body rose and fell, abdomen kissing his thighs in regular intervals. But every time he came up, he found himself looking over at you.

"Hey, pup," he said, the nickname he developed for you coming out effortlessly, "C'mere for a second."

Your ears perked up. You weren't usually involved in what he was doing. You scoot over to him and kneel at his feet, awaiting a command. You could be so obedient sometimes it nearly made him feel guilty.

"You wanna help me with something?" he asked. As he expected, you nodded right away, so he continued, "Just hold my feet down. These only work if your feet stay flat. So just make sure they do."

You gave him another dutiful nod and got in position. Your hands held his feet down as he worked out just like he asked. Each time he came up off the ground, you looked at him with a big goofy smile.

That was just the first thing. From then on, the two of you actually did stuff together rather than just going about your things nearby one another. He'd help you train, and you'd help him clean Scott's bike when he finished using it.

Tonight, exhaustion aches in your bones after running around all day. On top of that, you'd had so much stuff to do yourself that you'd barely even seen Logan all day.

When the sun's finally down and the students have all retired to their bedrooms, you find him in the living room. He's leaned back into the couch, nursing a bottle of something. You assume it's not beer since you're at a school, but with how often he lamented about that limitation, you wouldn't put it past him to sneak one in.

You hop over the arm rest and curl up on the opposite side of the couch from him. He looks over at you, not displeased with your presence.

"There you are. I thought you finally got tired of me and found someone else to bother," he teases.

"I could never do that," you reply with the same playful cadence. You scoot a little closer. "I was just super busy today. The Professor was having me talk to some of the students, and then Scott needed me to grab something for him from the shed. It was really hard to find, so it took a while. Then I had to do my own training, and Jean made me try on some sizes for my suit..."

As you chatter on about your day, Logan finds himself nodding along, even occasionally reacting to what you say. He's not rolling his eyes or telling you to leave him alone. It's weird, but he can't say he wants to feel differently.

"Sounds like they're working you like a dog," he says when your story has reached an end.

Your face darkens like it had on the day he met you, shooting him a quick glare as a reminder not to say the forbidden d-word.

"Right, sorry," he corrects, "It just sounds like they're running you ragged. Don't let 'em work you too hard. Scott can get his own shit."

He still didn't understand your hang up about that word. He could call you pup, puppy, or any variation of that, and you'd react with nothing but joy. But utter d-o-g in your vicinity, and he felt like he was at risk of getting his throat chomped on. Luckily, it only takes his small apology for your normal demeanor to make its return.

"It's ok. I don't mind helping. I like having stuff to do," you say and shrug.

"I thought your 'stuff to do' was watching over me," he jokes and leans forward, placing his bottle down on the table.

You're not sure why, but you take that as an invitation to scoot even closer to him.

"I thought you wanted me to find better stuff to do."

"Fair," he chuckles, "Maybe this is one of those things where I'm not gonna realize I miss something until it's gone."

He brings his hand up from the back of the couch to massage the base of one of your ears. The soft fluff feels almost luxurious against the rough pads of his finger tips. He knew you loved the sensation. It had been an accidental discovery, something he did one time as a joke. But the way you melted into the touch had been more than just funny to him.

You lean into it now and nuzzle his palm.

"It was just one day. It's not like a permanent new routine."

"For now. Then soon enough, I'm gonna catch you trailing somebody else with hearts in your eyes," he says and gently tugs your ear.

You laugh at the tug and the stupid words. "You will not. Plus, I don't have hearts in my eyes for you."

"Oh really?" he teases. He leans in, his face hovering a couple inches away from yours. "I think I can see some now."

The two of you stay locked in a stare for a few lingering seconds. He'd never been this close to you before. You'd never heard his voice lower in that way, sounding almost desiring. Heat starts to crawl up from your belly through your chest to your neck. Before it can reach your cheeks, you turn your head to face the tv.

"Shut up," you huff, choosing to play the interaction off as a joke.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his grin. He chuckles and his arm returns to its place behind you, above your shoulders. Quiet blooms between the two of you, kept from being total silence only by the hushed noises of the tv set across the room. It doesn't feel awkward though even with the sudden shyness he'd brought over you.

You angle yourself and lean in so that you're sitting against his side. No words come from him, he simply lowers his arm to sling around your shoulders and keep you there. His thumb idly pets back and forth over the smooth skin of your forearm.

The heat of his body radiates from his side and into you. Makes you feel safe and comfortable. Like you're where you're supposed to be. It's easy to sink into him further and tilt your head to rest on his chest. Before long, your eyes feel a little droopy. Blinking feels sticky, and your mind just wants to retreat to the soft embrace of sleep.

Logan can tell. He's not sure of the feeling this knowledge brings him. Pride? Contentment? Affection? Instead of thinking about it harder, he just pulls you a little closer and lets you drift off. He considers saying something, letting you know he doesn't mind and that you don't have to try and stay up. But nothing comes from him and the quiet continues.

He watches you slowly slip away. Your neck loses the wherewithal to stay upright, and your breaths soften, blowing in and out in a thoughtless rhythm.

The feeling that flows through him takes him by surprise. Pure endearment towards you, not a hint of anything else. He lets you sleep there for the next hour or so. When you're still out cold after that time has passed, he's unsure of his next move. He doesn't want to wake you and shatter the peace that had settled over the room, but he had to head to bed himself and wasn't going to leave you stranded on the couch in the common room.

The light of the tv glows across the two of you as he mulls over his options. When he finally decides, he grabs the remote and shuts the device off, cloaking the room in darkness, spare the distant blinking lights that could be seen through the windows. He rises from the cushions that had molded to cradle his weight, making sure to keep a hand on you to prevent you from slumping over.

This time he doesn't shake you or offer a hand. He reaches around and tucks an arm under your legs. His other supports you across your shoulder blades as he lifts you into his arms. He traverses the furniture with caution, making sure to avoid bumping into a stray corner or tripping on a catch in the rug. Then he moves up the stairs. Your limp body bounces with each step.

He nudges the door open to your bedroom and takes you inside. Your scent seemed to fill the entire room. Every time he took a breath, he got a lungful of the heady smell. Your bedroom was so you now. The way you'd decorated it and splashed your personality over every inch, it'd be hard to believe that just a few months ago it had been so sparse.

What had been a blank bed, covered only by a plain duvet and thin pillows, now held your extra fluffy cushions, a nest of blankets, and your steadily-growing collection of plushies. Trinkets lined your shelves and tables, and you even displayed a few posters over the walls. It was you, all around him.

He walks the few paces to the edge of the mattress before laying your body down on the foamy surface. He drapes a nearby blanket over your form. Even though he's technically accomplished what he meant to, he doesn't leave yet. He lingers like he can't seem to help doing around you.

You're still fast asleep, unaware of the change in locations. He watches a haphazard swallow move through your throat before you settle into the familiar setting.

He finds himself not wanting to go back to his room. He'd been at the school longer than you and never made his own so nice. Really, he didn't think he could make it as nice. But that was just because nothing about him was as nice as you.

When the resolve to leave finally surfaces in him, he reaches out and rubs the base of your ear.

"See you in the morning," he murmurs. Unlike before, the rest of what he wants to say doesn't get tangled up in his throat. "My little puppy girl."

That night won't leave your head for the next week. It almost feels like a dream. You'd woken up in your bed the next morning, assuming that's what it was. The undeniable change in location was the only thing that made your mind accept it as reality.

In the following days, things stayed the same for the most part, though you would have sworn, Logan acted a little less grumpy around you. Only by a microscopic degree, but enough for you to note the shift.

Nothing that big happens though. You don't even repeat the cuddling incident again. You kind of just assume that it was a one time thing. A nice experience, but not one to be repeated.

The memory of it floats through your mind often though. The pulse of his heart beating against your cheek, how you could hear it in your ear clear as day. Your stomach flutters at the thought of him actively pulling you closer, wanting you that close. You can feel your dedication to Logan blossoming into something more. It was already rooted so deep inside you that you didn't think it was possible, but you could feel it. The branches of reverence spreading in your chest and growing into something closer to adoration.

You could feel it now, sitting next to him on the bench in the school's spacious yard. He'd been tasked with watching some of the students for the afternoon, so of course, you tagged along. Shade speckled his face with alternating blotches of sunlight and gray. The stray beams of light made his eyes glow, and his hair shine all pretty. The sounds of the students practicing their abilities clouds the background of your focus, and they become even more distant when he suddenly turns to you.

"You're staring," he teases with that little smirk of his.

Your eyes flutter at the accusation. "No... I was not."

"Yeah you were. Even worse than usual."

"I just was thinking and zoned out," you defend, turning to face forward.

He hums in acknowledgement, obviously not believing your excuse. "Were you thinking about me?"

"You wish."

"I don't have to wish, puppy. You're not a very good liar."

You really weren't. Your tail swished with each beat of this little back and forth. Your ears pinned back to your head, folded over by the guilt of being caught. Everything you were feeling was made apparent by your supposed 'gifts.'

"Well whatever. Even if I was, it's none of your business," you say. A smile pulls at your lips. Your tells weren't solely from your mutation.

"If you say so," he taunts, one last jab before he returns his attention to the kids he was supposed to be supervising.

Nothing he said hinted at anything more than playful banter, but the way he spoke had them wrapped around your heart like unbreakable restraints. The way he said them made you feel like he wanted it this way. Wanted you to hear that smug cadence in your mind for the next few days. Maybe he found you entertaining. Maybe your emotions were a new game he discovered he liked to play with.

Hours later, you're curled up in your bed, by yourself as per usual. Everyone in the school had gone to bed, you and Logan had parted a while ago yourselves. 

Sleep weighs you down to the mattress, but your ears perk up automatically when they register a distant sound of distress. It's faint. If it happened alone, you would've just assumed it was part of your dream and not done anything else. But more follow it.

Your eyes crack open, still glazed with drowsiness as you come to. You listen for the sounds that disturbed you. For a moment, there's nothing. Just the gentle breeze outside your room and the crickets chirping in the cut grass in the yard.

Then it happens again. A normal person wouldn't be able to hear these sounds. They were reserved for you with your enhanced senses. It sounds like grunting and groaning though you can pick up the pained undertone of fear. The worst part of it to you is that immediately you know it's coming from Logan.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, freeing them from the fleece warmth of your blankets. Padding out of the room, you cross the hall to his. You open the door in the specific way so that it doesn't creak and then shut it behind you. Your feet are gentle on the hardwood as they bring you closer to the source of the noise.

Once you're in, it's no mystery. Logan lays on his back in the center of his bed, shoulders twitching in agitation. He mumbles to himself, different words you can't make out. Your head cocks at the sight.

Approaching the side of his bed, you just watch him for a few more moments. When he doesn't wake up, you feel the urge to intervene. It felt wrong watching him suffer. Something pulled at your insides to help him.

You reach out and nudge his bicep. There's no effect. You do it a few more times but still nothing happens. Finally, you actually grip his shoulder and shake him gently, whispering into the darkness a simple "Logan."

That wakes him. No mistake about it. He gasps and snaps up. His claws come out from his hands without a second thought and slash at you. You hop back right away, tripping over your own feet and crashing onto the ground.

Your pulse thunders in your ears. The adrenaline coursing through you wasn't so much out of fear but rather confusion. Your mind was still a bit bogged by sleep itself, and at this moment, you're less concerned with Logan's reasoning and more so the logistics of a potential fight with him. Even though you had been training for the past several months, you had absolutely zero belief that you'd be able to beat him in a fight. Or even really compete for that matter.

Fortunately for you, it doesn't come to that. His eyes recognize you not long after his fists took the swing. You watch as his face morphs into a handful of different emotions in the span of about five seconds.

"I- what- how- I didn't-" he starts before getting a handle on his ability to speak, "I'm sorry."

Your body starts to come down from the brief high when it's clear he's not going to attack. You feel less wound up and let out a sigh. Your eyes remain inquisitive while gazing at him though. What did he dream about that made him freak out like that?

You guess it's not the best time to ask, so instead of pushing your luck, you push up off the ground and get your footing back. You step up to him at the edge of the bed and stand between his thighs. You plan on asking him if he's ok, but his arms reach out and yank you to his chest before you have the chance.

His hold is tight on you. The little half-hugs he'd given you a couple times before didn't compare at all. His arms were locked around you like they never intended to let go. You could hear him panting in your ear, and you could feel his heart thundering against both of your rib cages like it wanted to be released from its chamber.

"You're not hurt, are you?" he whispers.

You shake your head and wrap your arms around him too. The gesture relaxes him a lot, you can feel the tension seep away.

"Are you ok? I didn't mean to bother you, you just sounded like you needed help," you say at the same volume.

"You didn't bother me. I'm ok. I'm sorry. You don't have to worry about me like that."

His skin is warm and clammy against your own. You gently pat his back as some form of silent reassurance. Even if he wasn't as distraught as he had been a few minutes ago, you could tell the events that occurred were gnawing at him.

One of your hands drifts up, and you thread your fingers in his hair. It's like pulling a lever. He exhales deeply and pushes his face more against your neck.

"I'm sorry, pup," he murmurs.

You nuzzle the side of his head, and your heart nearly stops because he reciprocates this gesture with a few of the softest kisses you've ever felt, placed on your throat.

"I'd never hurt you on purpose. You know that."

You nod. Of course you knew that. And you would never say this to him out loud, but you felt so deeply for him, you weren't sure that your perception of him would have changed had his claws landed the strike on you.

Pulling back your head a little, you nudge his so you can see him. Both of your eyes connect for a moment before you lean in and kiss him. His lips are softer than you'd expected. His scent permeates your senses, but it's not one of booze or the brand of cigars he smokes. That's there, but your nostrils sense deeper. You could smell his essence. The way his blood runs hot as your tongue swipes into his mouth.

The kiss grows deeper. No words are said. Neither of you need them. Your fingers tighten on the dark locks of brown hair, and you climb into his lap. His hands land on your hips almost instantaneously. The only sounds between the two of you are sharp exhales and shallow inhales.

"What are you doing, bub?" he murmurs against your lips, breaking the silence. Despite his questions, he wasn't stopping you. Not at all. His fingers dig into your flesh and pull you a little closer.

"Wanna make you feel better. And show you that I know."

You weren't sure what you and Logan were after that night. Boyfriend-girlfriend, friends with benefits, or maybe simple companions. You didn't really care because regardless of the answer, you were happy.

Kissing was the only thing that transpired that night, but that was ok with you. It didn't dampen your outlook on your relationship with him in the slightest. You'd made out for a while, tangling up with each other and the sheets before he pulled back. He didn't want to go further when you both were coming down from all that emotion. And you agreed. You didn't need more. You felt elated from receiving that much affection in the first place. Your tail whacked against the mattress as you curled up to his side and put your head on his sternum to rest.

The next morning though, he had been ready for more. Once he fell back asleep, his dreams had been much more pleasant. He woke up stiff and aching for you, and you were more than happy to provide some relief.

You alleviated that throbbing between his legs multiple times that morning, and you'd been taking care of it at least once a day every day since then.

The team could tell something was going on between the two of you, a deeper bond than your initial affinity for Logan. You walked with a faster wag in your tail, and he seemed less jagged at the edges. Others were less likely to get cut now if they reached for him the wrong way.

Each of your steps also came with a small jingle now since Logan had given you his dog tags. You'd been lying against his side, basking in the afterglow of one of your escapades when he dangled the metal chain between the two of you.

"Want you to have these, pup," he rasped.

You'd looked at him with curiosity swimming in your eyes. Excitement mingled there too though.

He chuckled at the look before boosting your head so he could put them on you. 

"I know my pretty puppy doesn't want to wear a collar for me yet," he teased, getting a pout out of you, "I just want you to have something of mine. You don't even have to wear 'em if you don't want to."

You'd worn them every moment since he gave them to you. Wouldn't take them off for anything. The physical representation of your attachment stayed secured around your neck at all times. The way it made you feel had you thinking a collar would be a pretty nice next step.

It'd been just over a month since you became something more with him. Your tail zips back and forth as you clean up the training room, thinking all of this over. A little smile rests on your features too. Jean helps out nearby, laughing gently at your mood.

"You have it bad," she teases.

Your head turns, and you grin, exposing those elongated canines. Shrugging, you prance over to help her finish the area she was tidying up.

When the two of you get everything back into shape, you head out into the sleek hallway back towards the main part of the mansion. Your shoes squeak against the tile as you bound towards the doors.

Entering the primary floor from the rooms below always brought a bit of adjustment for your eyes. The lights downstairs shone bright, fluorescent white. Coming back to the soft lamps of the common rooms had you blinking while your pupils scanned the room for Logan.

You catch sight of him standing near the two large doors that acted as entrance to the school. Right now, you can only see him from behind, but you spot Charles next to him. It looks like they're talking to someone, though the former's bulky frame prevents you from seeing who.

Your legs carry you over to the pair. You come up on the side of Logan that Charles doesn't occupy. Tucking yourself under his arm, you look up at him first before your eyes land on the other person speaking.

The sight of her makes your head tilt to the side just the slightest. Every feature on her embodies beauty. Her red hair, similar to Jean's in color, sits slicked back on her head. Deep blue coats every inch of her body. Seductive yellow eyes flit between the two men she's conversing with, and now that you had appeared, they cast to you as well.

You'd seen her before around the mansion once or twice, and you didn't really trust her. She didn't seem like a bad person, but she worked opposite the team. Even though Logan had assured you she was just offering some information about a common goal, you didn't feel confident that Mystique's motives were of such pure intent.

Still, you don't interrupt the in-progress discussion. You stay quietly pressed to Logan's side, tail coasting against the back of his leg. He doesn't wrap his arm around you as tight as normal or rub between your ears like he often did, but he gives you a little pat on the shoulder to acknowledge your presence.

Mystique finishes listening to Charles' point before directing her full attention to you.

"I knew you all wore uniforms, but you two didn't tell me your team had a little mascot too."

You bristle at the comment but try to remain composed. You were better than a thoughtless animal that snapped at a little poke. Charles hadn't even noticed your presence. He looks over at you and realizes what Mystique's quip referred to. He introduces you briefly.

"She's new to the team and is still training, but she's not a mascot," he concludes.

"So more like a stray then? Cute. I never would have guessed you wanted a pet," she says to Logan.

Tension creeps up your spine, and you stand up straight, pulling away from Logan's side.

"I'm not his pet," you huff and look at her. Your pouty way of asserting yourself probably didn't do much to project the image of independence you wanted. "I'm-"

You go to continue, but she cuts you off.

"You really should teach your dog not to bark, Logan. It's not polite."

That sparks a small growl in your throat before you can shut it down. Her eyes widen in amusement which only makes it feel worse for you. The most humiliating part is that you know all of this is inauthentic. She's doing it for the purpose of riling you up, getting you upset and making you feel bad. You know this, but your reaction gets the better of you.

Before you can do anything regrettable, Logan's hand curls over your shoulder. He keeps you rooted where you stand, quelling the flames of conflict before they have a chance to spread.

"Back off," he says, quick and curt with Mystique. He turns to Charles next, still keeping his voice firm. "You don't need me to hear the rest of this. I think I'll let you wrap it up."

Charles nods, knowing it would be better for him to focus on removing you from the potentially volatile situation instead of being another observer for some intel.

Logan guides you away from them, hand moving from your shoulder to the back of your neck as he takes you upstairs. The anger inside you melts away with the growing distance between you and Mystique. Only the stain of embarrassment remained.

"I'm sorry," you say. Your words sound compressed, the weight of your shame hanging off them.

"Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong. She wanted you to get upset, so that's what she got."

The pair of you move through the rest of the hall without another word. You go into your room. Once the door is shut and it's just the two of you between the four walls, you stomp over to the bed and flop down onto the mattress.

Darkness clouds your vision while your face rests against the blankets. Your tail rests against your thigh limply. You hear him coming over and then feel his hand rubbing your leg near the lifeless appendage. The mattress dips as he sits next to you.

"C'mon. You're ok."

You shuffle around so your head is resting in his lap. "I looked pathetic."

He sighs. One of his hands rubs your back while the other pets your head. "You did not."

"Yeah I did."

"No. You didn't," he says, "You didn't do anything that bad. No one's gonna think less of you cause you got a little mad about someone talking shit to you."

You know he's right. Everyone here had an experience like that. It's how most of them ended up here, reacting even worse than you had. It still doesn't make you feel any less dumb. A deep exhale seeps from your lungs.

"I just don't understand why everyone looks at me like that. We all get it bad enough from humans, but then some of the others look down on me too. I'm the same as all of you. I don't say Mystique looks like a smurf cause she's blue, so I don't see why I have to get called a pet," you huff.

He smiles a little and scratches your ear, letting you vent.

"Even you guys looked at me different at first. I know you did. I'm not the only mutant with physical stuff. Why does it have to be a whole thing with me?"

"You're just a little different, bub. You confuse people, but it's not your fault. Nothing about you is less than any other mutant. Mystique doesn't even think that. She was trying to get under your skin."

"Yeah..." you say with a little dejection in your tone, "I still just wish people would treat me like normal. Or at least normal for a mutant."

"I know you do, baby," he hums and pats your arm.

By this point, you're far enough away from the harshness of what happened downstairs. You sit up and scoot closer to him crawling into his lap. He wraps his thick arms around you and rubs your back.

"There's my girl," he murmurs and pecks your temple.

You nuzzle him like a puppy seeking more affection from its owner. Your backside rests on his lap, your arms snug around his abdomen.

"I'm just curious though, pup. What's the big thing with being called dog? It's not that different than puppy," he says, a hint of caution in his voice. He figured now was as good a time as any to ask. He knew it was the main part of what Mystique said that set you off.

You don't react with anger or defensiveness which pleases him. Instead, you shrug.

"Cause. Puppy sounds cute. Dog is just so... bleh," you say, "It makes me sound like a gross animal that someone has to wrangle."

His eyebrow rises. You can see the amusement in his eyes, but he successfully kills his laugh before it leaves his throat.

"Mmm. Makes sense. Can't have anyone thinking you're gross."

"Exactly," you say and kiss his cheek, "You get it. I just... I don't wanna be your pet, I wanna be yours."

You breathe out the words and push yourself closer on his lap. He appeases your desire for less space and pulls you to his chest.

"You are mine. You don't have to worry about that," he says.

"And I still wanna be your little puppy."

He chuckles. His head ducks down to your neck to lay a few kisses there. One of his palms drifts down to gently knead the dough of your ass.

"You also are my little puppy. My little puppy that follows me everywhere. Mine to hold and love on. Mine to play with. Mine to deal with when she gets bratty."

The last word comes out teasing and brings a happy sound out of you. "I wasn't being bratty before. She started it," you say, playing along.

"Hmmm, you're right. Maybe fussy's a better word," he mutters and nips at the soft flesh of your neck.

"Nuh uh. I was being totally normal," you say and nudge at his face with your nose, getting a little squirmy on his lap.

He responds by flipping you over onto your back. The mattress creaks with the bout of pressure and a squeal leaves your throat. You can feel his length against your hip, half-hard already from how you had wiggled on his lap.

"Oh please," he says, "Why do you think I brought you up here? I can tell when my pup needs to calm down. And I know just how to do that, don't I?"

You whimper and nod. He grins before returning his lips to your neck. He nips a few love bites onto the delicate area, drawing little whines from you. His hands hold you in place and move with your body's wriggling. He gropes at your hips and waist, paws at your tits, and slides them around to massage your ass.

"Such a good girl. So responsive for me," he coos.

The condescending affection sends a pulse down to your clit, and your hips roll up to meet his. One of your legs hooks around his waist to pull his body closer.

"Logan. Don't tease," you pout.

Your whiny plea doesn't garner any sympathy from him though. He laughs against your neck and pulls back to smirk down at you.

"My little puppy needs to learn some patience. You think if you don't get my dick in seconds that it's teasing," he taunts.

You whine again and press your leg down on him. He doesn't make any move to pull his cock out though. One set of his fingers comes up to your jaw, directing your lips to an angle where his can land on yours. He kisses you nice and deep, swallowing up any bratty urges that were springing around inside your head. His tongue is warm and soft, gentle against yours.

Meanwhile, his freehand does start to slide down below. It travels beneath the waistband of your bottoms. His warm fingers glide over the plush skin of your pelvis and slot between your lower lips to find your swollen nub. He flicks at it, instantly getting a mewl from you.

You can feel his smug smile against your mouth, but you don't have much time to react to it before his middle finger starts swirling around your bud. Your leg releases his body as it squirms with your other on the mattress. You moan into his mouth and boost your hips into his touch, wanting more of that blissful friction.

"Sweet girl," he coos. The words are muffled by your skin, but you could pick those syllables out of any lineup. "That's your favorite spot, isn't it? Always gets you wriggling for me like a little puppy."

"Mhm," you whimper with a faint nod.

Your heels dig into the mattress to give you some leverage to push your hips up so he can tug your pants off. He takes the opportunity and flings them off the bed. With you bare to him like that, he leaves your lips and moves down. He pulls your top off next and smooches between your breasts and over your tummy before landing between your legs.

He kneels on the floor at the edge of the mattress. His hands hook around your thighs and pull you in his direction.

"C'mere, baby. Give me that puppy cunt. Gotta get it all wet, so it can take my cock."

With that, he buries his head between your thighs. You gasp and throw your head back. Your hands fly to his head to grab at the two dark points of hair.

Logan gives his all to the task of pleasuring you. Whether it was his cock or his mouth, you were never getting anything less than his best. That's obvious right now as he eats you out like it's all he has to live for. He laps at your poor little clit before sucking it into his mouth. It gets some good suction from his lips before he pulls away and licks a broad stripe over your cunt.

He prods his tongue at your entrance, pushing the soft appendage against your hole. You whine more, and he feels your heels dig into his back as they had the mattress. Little expletives float from your mouth into the air as you experience such a rush of euphoria.

"Taste so good, pup. So fuckin' sweet," he mumbles. His lips open and close over your pussy, making out with it.

You rock your hips back and forth, essentially humping his face. He groans and only works harder. Your cute reactions only spurred him on. He twists his tongue just how he'd learned you liked and uses the perfect amount of pressure to get you gushing for him. Your arousal begins to coat his chin, his dark facial hair glistening with your wetness.

"Nice and wet. I'm just gonna slide right in, huh baby?"

"Yeah," you pant. Your hips buck when his nose bumps your clit, but he keeps you held in place.

He kisses your clit before dragging his tongue over you anymore. The soft touch pulls a whimper from you. Your brain starts to get all muddled and hazy. The dreamy feeling always took over when he had you like this. He knows it's coming on too. He can tell by the sudden softening of your movements. You're less jerky and more fluid in how you fidget.

"Oh, that's it. I think my pretty puppy's ready for me," he says, voice smooth on your ears.

He wags his tongue over your little bundle of nerves a few more times before standing to undress himself. His shirt comes off first, dropped to the floor with your garments. His pants are next to go, crumpled on the ground and kicked off his ankles.

Crawling back on top of you, his larger figure boxes you in on the soft surface. His cock is fully hard by now, red and angry, leaking desire from the tip. He guides it to your center and rubs it through your soaked folds.

A soft grunt leaves him as your nectar coats his shaft and drips onto his balls a little too. He only slides it against you a couple times, not wanting to waste the stimulation humping when he could be nestled deep inside.

He brings his tip down to your hold and pushes it in. Your walls accept the familiar intrusion and he groans at the comfort of your velvet walls contracting around him. He pushes his length in all the way until he bottoms out.

Then, adjusting himself and gripping at your hips, he starts to thrust. The motions start as gentle rocks. Taps of his pelvis against your ass. You flutter around him. Moans leak from you, and he smiles at the obvious pleasure coursing through your body.

He fucks you deep, just how you always asked for it. You weren't concerned with whining for harder and deeper right now. This was enough. The feeling of his cock buried in you soothed you like nothing else. Your eyes roll back and puffs of air come from your nostrils.

"Fuck, honey. Feels like I can barely last with you," he grumbles.

"Can't even think when I'm with you," you babble.

Your arms come up to pull him closer, and he lets you. He presses his body into yours, in-turn, shoving his cock as far into you as physically possible. You cry out with the pressure. It was the best kind. Deep and satisfying. To the point that you can feel it in your tummy every time his belly pushes on yours.

"You may not be my dog, baby, but one day you're gonna be my perfect breeding bitch," he grunts.

Your jaw goes slack, eyes drooping with lust. Your head tilts back and he leans into yours more.

"Gonna have you full of me forever. Always gonna be mine."

You can't even respond. Your mind isn't coming up with any coherent response. All you can do is whimper and whine like the needy pup that you are.

"This is what you need sometimes, puppy. Need me to stretch you out on my cock. Get all those thoughts out of your head. Cause puppies don't have to think. Not when you have someone like me taking care of you."

Your thighs start quivering, a sign you were reaching your peak. He knows this and drills into you harder. His balls slap against you every time he pistons his hips. His heated skin rubs against yours. He occupies all your senses, overloading you with him.

"Logan... gotta... gonna cum," you whine.

"Then cum for me," he mumbles simply, "Cum all over my cock, and I'll be right behind you."

You nod. Your back arches up. It takes you a little more, but when you get there, you crash into the throes of release. A sharp yelp bursts from you. Your feet kick a little and your legs press against his sides in an attempt to shut him out.

You get so fucking tight when you cum. Your hole clenches around him, calling out to him to spill every drop of his seed inside your wanting orifice. He growls and drops his head in your neck. He feels it building between his hips. The pressure grows until he can't take it anymore. It snaps and the flood gates open.

He bites at your neck, not hard enough to break the skin but with enough need to leave a little mark. Hot, sticky cum shoots out of him in thick ropes. Warmth fills your insides and you feel like you're sinking into the mattress below you. Both of you are panting with the intensity of the high.

You've already come down by the time he's starting to. After he nuts, Logan tends to get a little sappy. His arms pull you in tighter and he pecks at your neck a few times more muttering something unintelligible about his baby puppy.

"So what do you think?" you ask and twirl into the room, showing off your new outfit.

It matched his. Black leather snug on your body, lined with the same gold on the seams of Logan's. The bold X that shown on his belt could be found on the zipper of your top, dangling against your chest.

He smiles at you, standing from the bed to walk over and get a better view.

"Looks pretty good," he says upon approaching, "Seems a little tight though. You got room for your tail in that thing?"

You laugh at his joke and spin around again, showing the back where the suit had accommodated for your tail to poke through. It whips back and forth before you turn to him again.

"Just perfect for you then," he says and pulls you close, patting your ass and kissing your forehead, "Look at you. An official member of the team."

You nod and struggle not to bounce all around the room with the excitement vibrating through your cells.

"We're gonna be like so totally cool together," you say.

"Yeah. Totally," he imitates affectionately. He cups your jaw, watching your cheeks squish in and your lips puff out. Leaning down, he puts his mouth on yours in a soft kiss. "You're gonna do great."

The words come out as a whisper against your lips. One of your canines slips over your bottom lip as you take it between your teeth. But the display of timidity only lasts a second.

"I know," you beam.

Locking your fingers around his palm, you drag him to the door and out into the hall. Your arm makes his swing as he walks along behind you. He rolls his eyes lovingly at your confident display, but he can't keep his gaze off your happy self. He lets you pull him without resistance.

Now it would be his turn to follow you.

[gloryy-vs]

Can you pleaseeeeeeeee please!

Do a neteyam x fem dreamwalker reader

Where it's kinda like the scene where Jake couldn't put his mask on and almost dies when he was fighting , but neytiri saves him something like that but with neteyam and yn 🥹

PLEASE!

And thank you🌹🌹🌹

Dreamwalker.

||

characters: neteyam x dreamwalker!reader

ratings: sfw, angsty, fluff, savior neteyam

||

Your avatar body laid thrown to the side, Quaritch’s machine stomping over to you and your real body struggled to breathe inside the connector. Your neurons disconnected, eye jolting open inside then shuttle before you clamped your eyes shut again to rebond with your Avatar. You struggled to put up a fight, while Miles easily picked you up by your long braid, your feet kicking while his knife was against your throat in an instant.

Neteyam wasn’t having it, angrily hopping over the enormous log, bow and arrow in hand. You scowled at Miles, slipping in and out of the bond with your Avatar. Neteyams arrow flew past you, straight into Miles’ chest. You were dropped to the ground, triggering the final disconnect right as Neteyam fired another arrow into Miles’ abdomen. He pounced over to you, protectively squaring over you and hissing aggressively at the now dying Colonel.

Your human body slammed the shuttle cap open, gasping and heaving for oxygen. You fell out of the shuttle, feeling the immense panic rise in your chest as your lungs felt like they withered inside of you. Hoisting yourself up, you desperately tried to reach for the oxygen mask, fingers just barely wrapping around the straps.

Neteyam looked down at your Avatar, shaking you eagerly, whining out your name when he realized you weren’t getting up. The 7 foot tall boy put two and two together. You were dying. His eyes immediately darted to the port that Quaritch had smashed in.

You collapsed to the floor again, taking desperate repetitive breathes and basically drowning yourself with everything but the proper amount of oxygen. Vision going blurry, you passed out and felt the numbness travel through your body. Neteyams hand slapped against the glass, before he turned to his left and jumped in through the bashed window. Squat jumping over to you, he cradled your limp body in his lap and whimpered your name over and over again. Holding your small body in his arms, he reached for the oxygen mask, pressing it against your face in hope of you taking another breath. His golden eyes teared up, running his fingers through your hair while he waited for any sign.

Feeling the wave of oxygen enter your body, you coughed, taking a deep breathe and you cleared out the mask to filter out unwanted chemicals that nearly killed you. You saw Neteyam in his giant form. He looked so different when you saw him, larger and intimidatingly handsome. You two locked eyes, neither wanting to break the gaze first. Reaching and hand to his face, he leaned into it, a tear running down his face. He looked so handsome, angelic even. Neteyam thought the same of you, how small you were compared to him, your body feeling light in his grasp. You looked beautiful, admiring each detail of your face that wasn’t noticeable in your avatar form.

“I see you..” You said first, letting your hand slip down from his face to his chest. He followed your smaller hand, pressing it into his chest further.

“I see you.” Neteyam replied with a slight whimper heard in his accented voice.

[bagopucks]

J. Hughes - Late Night Drives

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning(s): none? Jack getting a little ‘worked up.’

—————————————

“Cole get your ass out of my face!” I peeked into the back seat, met with the sight of Cole’s legs and Trevor trying to push him aside. When Quinn suggested we do a side-by-side ride, I assumed it would be a peaceful drive on back roads. The boys’ excited reactions seemed to portray something completely different. Jack was in the drivers seat, turning the vehicle on while Quinn, Trevor, and Luke scrunched themselves up in the back, and Cole found a place to stand beside Trevor. The side-by-side had an open roof, and he was the only one short enough not to fly out if he stood. Despite the fact that it was unsafe, nobody stopped him.

The boys at the lake house.. they were completely different. Still sweet and lovable, but god they were handfuls.

The sun was setting, so Jack flipped the headlights on simply for safety.

“Ready, babe?” Stupidly, I nodded, un-expecting of my fate. I heard the familiar ding of a Bluetooth connector. Jack reached upwards to press something, then blaring rock music overtook the atmosphere. My whole body tensed.

Jack was a good driver. A responsible driver. Apparently not at the lake house. What happens at the lake house stays at the lake house. Dangerous or not. He ripped out of that driveway faster than a snake could strike, throwing up the gravel from the end of the drive as he pulled out onto the road. I heard Cole let out a shout, his excitement bringing a smile to my lips despite the tension.

Jack flew through potholes, ignored speed limit signs, barely touched the break on turns- I finally understood why they called him Rowdy. I also understood why Quinn’s natural older sibling instinct took a sideline when it came to who drove the side-by-side. Because Jack, as reckless as he was, did it best.

My anxiety calmed through the excited shouts from the boys in the back seat, and the big smile on Jack’s face. He stretched his arm out to me, and I slipped across the seat to lean into his side. He draped his arm over my shoulders while the other gripped the wheel tightly.

Everything was loud. The music, the engine, the wind. It made the environment all the more thrilling. Especially the way Jack’s eyes would leave the road for a split second to peek at me.

Things went well until he hit a particularly deep hole. The whole vehicle jolted, and I spotted Cole immediately finding a seat in Trevor’s lap. My own hand had come to grip Jack’s thigh, but he merely barked out a laugh at the nerves, as did Quinn and Luke.

“You can’t sit there!” Trevor shouted over the roar of the engine.

“What?” Cole shouted right back. Jack and I both laughed.

“Never mind!” Trevor leaned back, brow raising in mock frustration when Cole maneuvered himself to sit sideways, draping his legs over the laps of Quinn and Luke. Luke Laughed, but Quinn -sitting in the middle of the back- rested his arms on top of Cole’s legs, probably to provide some type of security. If not to Cole, then at least to himself.

The familiar piano tune roared over the speakers, a song that became popular in the previous summer. Soon I had five boys singing, “Great Balls Of Fire” in my ear, and I couldn’t help but sing with them. I glanced in the rear view to see Cole leaned back so far, his head was hanging upside down outside of the side-by-side. Despite that, I could still hear his raspy laughter, mixed in with Trevor’s asthmatic giggles. Jack flew around a turn, and my body leaned away from his. It was only a matter of time before he pulled me back into his side. Luke leaned forward, peeking his head into the front seat on the side opposite of Jack, and I closed my eyes in preparation for his shouting.

“Jacky!” Luke called.

“What’s up?”

“Let’s stop at the pond!”

“The what?”

“The pond!” Apparently, Luke waited too long to mention said destination, because the next thing I knew, Jack was breaking hard and making a sharp turn off the road and onto a trail. Everybody started yelling. None particularly worried, simply having a good time. My hand gripped Jack’s thigh impossibly hard.

“You’re turning me on!” Jack complained as he tried swatting my hand away.

“What?”

“You’re turning me on!” Jack repeated, loud enough that our company could hear.

“Dude that’s nasty!” Luke reached past me to gently push his brother’s head, before leaning back in his seat.

“Fuckin’ gross!” Cole shouted in agreement with the youngest Hughes, lifting his head back into the vehicle only long enough to voice his distaste for the conversation Jack and I were trying to have. But when he leaned it back out, he was startled by the branch that almost smacked him in the face, so he decided to keep his head inside the side by side.

Jack hadn’t slowed the whole drive through the woods. Not until we made it to this pond. He stopped the side-by-side and let the boys out, the four of them running off toward the water. I saw a shoe fly, another follow, some kicked off in the grass. A few shirts were removed, but the shorts remained on. Jack smiled at me, grateful for the moment of privacy as he shut the side-by-side off.

“Good drive?”

“There were a few moments I thought I was gonna die.” I responded casually, earning a laugh from him. Jack leaned forward and pressed his lips to my own. I raised my hand to cup his cheek.

“Love ya,” I whispered against his lips before he pulled away.

“I love you too.” Jack opened his door and climbed out, offering his hand to me. I quickly took it and slipped out his side, letting the door swing shut behind myself. I could hear the faint laughter of the boys in the water, splashing each other and shouting random trash talk. I turned just in time to see Quinn take his younger brother down in the water. Jack and I laughed while we slipped our shoes and socks off. His shirt followed, mine did not.

“Come on, Rowdy!” Trevor called, and Jack quickly slipped from my side to run down the bank and into the water. The air wasn’t particularly cold. It was a warm evening. I didn’t mind joining them in the pond, but I certainly didn’t want to get near as wet as the five boys were. I cautiously approached the pond and dipped my feet into the water. A bit chilly, but refreshing. Jack’s giggly laughter was contagious, and I found myself laughing quietly at him as he stomped through the water to get to Quinn. The two brothers got into quite the wrestling match before they both went tumbling into the water. I hugged myself as I stood there, shaking my head in disbelief. Jack was the first to emerge. We made eye contact, and he started in my direction before a hand got ahold of his ankle and pulled him back into the water. Quinn and Luke turned toward me, mischievous smiles on their lips as soon as they started running. I gasped. They were after me.

“Run!” Jack shouted when he came back out of the water, his hair a hot mess in his face, and I heard him gag. No doubt on the taste of pond water.

It was too late, by the time I got one foot out of the water, Luke had me in his grasp. I broke into a fit of laughter as he tossed me over his shoulder and lugged me deeper into the pond.

“Cole! Help me!” I demanded, but Cole and Trevor were too busy laughing at me. The second Luke deemed it deep enough, he dropped me. I gasped for air before I hit the water, mentally cursing Quinn and the sound of his triumphant laughter mixed with Luke’s.

My back came into gentle contact with the bottom of the pond, and I was quick to surface, rising to my feet and drawing in a breath full of hair. I coughed a few times before two gentle hands parted the curtains of hair in front of my face. Jack.

“You good baby?” I smiled and laughed softly. His hair always looked curlier when it was wet. Like a poodle.

“I’m great, Jacky. Thanks.” I dipped my hand into the water and splashed him. Jack laughed and pulled his hands away from me to shield himself. Quinn and Luke were busy going after Cole and Trevor while Jack and I threw water at each other.

When the excitement died down, and the adrenalin finally stopped rushing, we found ourselves all laid out on the bank. Cole was on his side, Trevor beside him on his stomach. Luke was on his back next to Quinn. Jack and I were sitting up on the bank, cuddled up together to try and stay warm.

“To think, you were gonna skip out on a side-by-side ride.” Jack softly teased.

“I know, Rowdy. I would have missed out on about five near death experiences, and the swim of a lifetime.”

“You didn’t almost die.” Jack disagreed, shaking his head.

“Cole almost did when that branch almost whacked him in the face.” My soft joke caused quiet giggles to fall from our lips.

“Can’t believe I gotta get back in that thing with you.” I mumbled.

“The drives back are always more peaceful. I let Quinn drive.. since he drives like a mother.” I smirked and glanced toward Quinn, who flipped Jack the bird.

Jack hadn’t been wrong. I sat in the back with him, along with Trevor and Cole once again. Jack sat in the middle, and I on one side with Trevor on the other. Cole went back to using everybody as a mattress.

Luke sat upfront with Quinn, who turned the stereo down and practically off to listen for oncoming traffic in the darkness of the night. Quinn truly did drive like a mother. Slow and controlled enough to lull Jack to sleep before I followed soon after, amused in my dazed stupor by the way Luke’s head hung forward in the front seat. He must have passed out before anybody else. I was thankful the engine of the side-by-side was louder than the collective snores of the group, but nestled into Jack’s side, it all sounded like faint background noise nonetheless. I was comfortable and secure in his arms.

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[sehtoast]

Can I request a homelander x single mother reader

Hl meets struggling reader with her newborn child. At first he watches her taking pleasure in how pathetic she is but eventually falls I love with her 🙏

So unfortunately one of my things with being a trans man is it’s very very hard for me to be able to envision this perspective and go too in depth with it, because it does end up inducing some weird bubblings of dysphoria (the mother role, not the having a kid thing), but I’m good to go surface level and just sort of headcanon it out if it’s all the same to you anon <3

He actually had no intention of fixating on you whatsoever. Not only were you normal– you were boring.  Just some human mud living your human life.  Not his speed at all.  At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

See, he could smell it.  He practically salivated the second he got a whiff of your body producing milk.  You were just some desk jockey finally returning after maternity leave, but you caught his eye in mere seconds.

Then he started really paying attention.  Watching through the walls, following you home, watching you pick up that sniveling beast that you fawned over so dearly no matter how loudly it screeched in the middle of the night.  How you didn’t leave the thing for the wolves after the first explosive diaper was beyond him, but the soft, nurturing, kind side of you ensures the wee thing is put back together and content before even once worrying for yourself.

After a while, he can really see it in your eyes.  You’re exhausted.  Barely making ends meet, barely affording the babysitter, barely keeping from keeling over.

He smirks when you miss your stop on the train.  You don’t know he’s sat on the connector between cars, mere feet away, but you don’t have to know that.  You don’t have to know anything like that.  You just need to sit pretty and let him watch.

Just like you really don’t need to worry when you’re cornered in an alley by some filth reeking of alcohol.  You don’t need to fret, because he’s there in a heartbeat, lasering that worthless fuck in two and sweeping you into his safe, strong arms.

Your tears leak against his chest and he swears to hell and back he’ll never allow the costume department to wash away your scent.  He brings you to a roof, makes small talk while you calm down.

“Say, you work at Vought, don’t you? I think I’ve seen you around.”

He thinks he’s so smooth about it.  Like it’d be a mystery the next day when you’ve got a whopping promotion to be his new assistant, complete with a full benefits package including childcare and a salary that nearly has you falling to your knees.

The flowers on your desk are only the start…

I do also want to apologize that my requests have taken so long to start. I had an absolutely insane workload for school over the last 12 weeks, but thankfully I've got a little break now. That said, my requests are open once again <3

[meowsuguru]

toji fushiguro x reader - mechanic au

toji fushiguro x fem reader // mechanic!toji // nsfw

a/n: first fic!! pls enjoy!! any requests my inbox is open :) i need to write more…

——————————————————————————

“what is this, a ‘64?” toji whistles as you nod and hold out your keys to him, your red chevy impala barely having made it to the auto shop. he wipes his hands clean with a rag, and grabs your keys.

“let’s see what’s up with this beaut.”

he turns the ignition and lets it sing, and it runs smoothly for a minute. until it goes dead. no lights, no engine, nothing.

“this has been happening about every two miles or so,” you groan, putting your head in your hands. you were hopeless. given this beautiful car by your father, and you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

“ah, could be the firewall connectors. easy fix, i’ll just have to order the wires. we don’t have that kinda stuff for your beauty in here.” toji relays, lazily leaning up against the side of your car and tossing the keys back to you.

you fumble when you catch them, frowning.

“how long will it take? i don’t exactly have another car i can drive.”

“easy, doll. i can get them by tomorrow. you’ll just have to leave your baby here overnight and i’ll get done first thing tomorrow,” toji says.

“alright, well, how am i supposed to get home?” you say, annoyed.

“i don’t know, doll. call an uber? taxi? you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.” he gives you a crooked smile, pushing off your car and walking toward you.

an uber. duh. you kick yourself, making this man’s day more difficult just because you’re stressed about your car. you look up at him as he approaches, suddenly noticing the difference in your statures. he looks you up and down, assessing you, and you feel scrutinized under his gaze. you choose to ignore the feeling in your gut as he looks at you, his scarred mouth pulled taught.

“say, doll face.” toji remarks, putting his chin in his hand, and you flush, beyond your comprehension, at the nickname. “i could always give you a ride back to wherever after. wouldn’t be a problem for a pretty girl like yourself.” he says casually, but a hint of a smirk plays on his lips.

you fight the feeling that comes with him calling you a pretty girl and consider him for a moment, knowing this will probably be a bad idea. you sigh, looking up at him.

“why the hell not. but i know where you work if you try anything, mister.” you point at him, expression serious.

toji puts his hands up, backing up slightly as he chuckles. he moves past you, walking back toward the shop.

“hang out in the shop with me. you want a beer?” he asks, turning his head over his shoulder.

you give this a second of consideration before giving in, nodding. he leads you back to the shop, opening a mini fridge full of beer.

“weird shop you’re running.” you say, choosing the one you want.

toji takes it from you with a shrug, popping the cap off with the bottle opener he keeps on a carabiner on his belt loop. of course.

you eye him as he moves throughout the shop, telling you to make yourself comfortable as you sip on your beer and watch him work. your eyes are drawn to his biceps, which are unreal you might add, as he stands below a car on the auto lift and works on something. you watch, mesmerized for a moment, and he looks over, tilting his head over his shoulder, and catches your eye.

and you would be an idiot to ignore the fluttering in your stomach this time. you put the bottle to your lips and chug, ripping your eyes away. you don’t drink much, so you’re a feeling a little hazy from drinking your beer so fast and you start to feel the buzz in your cheeks.

“you good, doll face?” he asks, arms raised as he pauses his work to catch your attention. your eyes rake over his form, thick neck, nice traps, working shirt with an embroidered name tag unbuttoned, with a grease-stained wife beater underneath.

“yeah.” you say after you realize you’ve been staring. “i’m good.”

he looks at you with an unreadable expression and goes back to his work.

-

after a few hours, you find yourself making decent conversation with toji. your banter is present, entertaining you as you watch him work and offer him useless suggestions here and there. he always laughs, the sound filling the shop.

it’s 5 o’clock now and he’s closing up, and you’re waiting in the office. you sit down, fiddling with your hands, and eventually he comes back in.

“ready, doll face?” toji asks, twirling his keys around his finger, his jacket draped over his shoulder.

you nod, standing up and smoothing your skirt.

he eyes you, but turns away to bring you out back to where he’s parked.

“i hope you don’t mind, doll face. i brought my bike today.”

your mouth falls open, looking at the beautiful bike before you. sleek, black and silver, classic and loud as all hell when he cranks it, patting the seat behind him.

“you can wear my helmet. gotta keep that pretty head safe,” he teases, ruffling your hair. you take the helmet, clipping it in place and swing your leg over the seat, hesitantly wrapping your arms around toji’s firm middle.

“you wanna go home? or you wanna go out?” toji asks casually, voice clear and deep over the sound of his bike.

you look up at him and he turns his head back over his shoulder, scarred lip quirking up.

something in you needs to be spontaneous, so you agree.

“let’s go out.”

-

you end up at a little dive bar: pool, booze, bar fights, the works. you walk in with toji in front of you, not offering to hold the door open, rude, you think. you follow him in and he sits down at the bar, making some conversation with the bartender. he orders a drink and looks at you, and you order yourself your drink as well.

“i’m a feminist, doll face. we’re goin’ dutch tonight.” he laughs, throwing some cash down on the bar.

you frown, opening your mouth to retort, but he stops you.

“just messin’ with you, princess.” his lips quirk up, taking a sip of his beer.

the two of you spend the evening drinking and arguing over various things, from your car to your lack of sports knowledge to gambling.

“gambling is a stupid addiction,” you slur, a blush on your cheeks.

“it’s not stupid.”

the two of you stare at each other for a moment in silence. you both laugh, and you find his gaze after a moment, the sounds of the busy dive bar fading into the back of your mind. he smirks, reaching up to cup your chin with his hand. he tilts your head side to side, like he’s examining you.

“say, doll face. wanna get out of here?” toji asks, studying your face with his piercing gaze.

“yeah,” you exhale, and you both stand up. he grabs his jacket, and ushers you out of the bar with his hand on the small of your back.

-

the walk to toji’s apartment is short and quiet, and by the time you get in there he’s got you pinned against the door, kissing down your neck. you thread your fingers into his hair, gasping as he bares his teeth and bites down at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“been wanting to do this all day, doll.” he says, moving his lips back up toward your ear.

“you’ve been driving me crazy, sitting in my shop in that little skirt. i should’ve given in hours ago,” he groans, clutching at your hips.

you whine, bringing his mouth up to meet yours in a bruising kiss, your mouth opening to his tongue immediately. he wastes no time, pushing his tongue into your mouth with fervor, swallowing your gasps.

you clutch at his hair, pushing against him, attempting to back yourself up off the door. the heat pooling in between your legs wants more and you’re not going to settle for kissing.

“impatient, are we?” he says with a lazy grin, lifting you up easily and bringing you to his room.

you land back on the bed with a soft thud, your hair fanning out around you as toji hovers over you.

“such a pretty girl,” he says, voice dipping low.

he runs his hand up your thigh, slipping under your skirt and playing with the hem of your underwear. he teases, pulling it down slowly, as his eyes trail down your body, drinking you in.

“stop being a tease.” you say, reaching for his wrist.

“ah, but where’s the fun in that? it’s fun to get you all riled up.”

you furrow your brow, trying to wriggle out of your underwear but he stops you, dipping his head between your thighs.

“so feisty.” he says as he mouths over your clothed heat.

“if you’re gonna… do that don’t make me wait.” you say, gasping as his tongue traces circles over your underwear.

“fine, fine. i’ll indulge you, doll face.”

he slips your panties to the side and licks a strip up your folds, making you clutch at his hair instantly. you wrap your legs around his head, and he pries them apart, barring over your waist with his forearm. your cunt is dripping now, with his tongue making circular motions over your clit, steadily, and he’s drinking you up like a man athirst.

you fight against his barring arm and buck your hips to meet his tongue, riding it as you feel yourself growing nearer to your climax, and you bite your lip.

ever perceptive, toji speaks: “let me hear those pretty sounds, doll”, as he comes up for air. diving back in, you give into him, letting go of your abused bottom lip and cursing god, letting toji’s name leave your lips. he smirks, his face shining with your slick, and you moan outright at the sight.

“so good with that mouth, toji,” you say, panting as you ride his face. he removes his arm from your middle and feels his own arousal stirring as you use his tongue, groaning.

your orgasm surprises you, ripping through you as you clutch at toji’s hair, stuttering your hips on his tongue as you ride out your high.

“fuck toji,” you curse, “keep going.”

he obliges, slipping a thick finger into your dripping cunt as he keeps his mouth on you, your head spinning with overstimulation at the sensation. he works you quickly toward your second orgasm, licking and sucking at your swollen clit hungrily. he slips a second finger in, pumping into you steadily.

“gotta get you ready, doll.”

his words light a fire in you and you’re coming, again, more intense than the first as you clench around his fingers. he pulls them out of you, and reaches up, prodding his fingers at your lips. you open your mouth, sucking them clean and tasting yourself as he covers his mouth with his hand, eyes darkening as he watches you.

“fuck, pretty girl. you’re a sexy little thing.”

you moan softly around his fingers, and he sits you up, pulling your shirt over your head and finally, finally pulling off your underwear. he pointedly leaves the skirt in place, pushing it up to expose your dripping cunt.

“think you can take me?” he teases, freeing his cock from his pants and shedding his shirt, leaving him half naked and settled between your legs.

“i know i can.” you say, determined as he slips his cock between your folds, getting himself wet.

he prods at your entrance and you inhale sharply, feeling his tip push into you slowly. he groans as you envelop him, your walls squeezing tight.

“fuck, this pussy was made for me,” he says, bottoming out, buried deep in your cunt.

he sets an easy pace at first, testing your limits to see how you respond to his length and girth, and you’re whining, begging him for more.

“filthy girl. i knew you’d like it rough,” he says as he picks up the pace, fucking you like he means it.

he continues burying himself deep inside you and pulling out, slamming back into you with a brutality that sends you reeling. you’re feeling the coil tighten deep in your gut, and you’re gasping, his hand flying between your thighs to thumb your throbbing clit.

“gonna come…” you pant, tipping your head back into the pillow and clawing down his back.

“c’mon pretty girl. give it to me.” he says, grunting.

youre sent over the edge at that, orgasm tearing through you for a third time that night. you clench around his cock, and he grips your hip tightly, dipping down to put his head in the crook of your neck. he shudders, biting your neck, as he continues to fuck you, albeit erratically.

“fuck, gonna make me come, where do you want it pretty girl?” he groans, breath coming out in ragged huffs.

“don’t care, don’t care,” you cry, cock drunk and fucked stupid.

he groans as he fucks you, biting your shoulder as his hips stutter, hot ropes of his come painting your walls. you gasp, head full of cotton as he stills inside of you, moaning in your ear.

he pulls out, rolling over and flopping onto the bed next to you.

“you need a ride back to the shop tomorrow?” he asks after a beat, allowing you to catch your breath.

“yeah… will my car be ready?” you ask hazily, looking at him as you turn your head.

“shit…” he curses, running a hand over his face.

“i forgot to order the parts. guess you’ll be stuck with me until then, doll.” he gives you a crooked smile and your mouth falls open in shock.

so much for a one-night stand.

[lazuliquetzal]

Comedy Is A Lie: I’m Going To Explain The Joke And It’s Going To Make Everything Worse

A buddy asked me why I cut a good joke from one of my fics and my immediate answer was “it killed the tension,” which, upon reflection, is a pathetic answer that is mostly inaccurate and does not even come CLOSE to how much thought I put into comedy in my writing. So I guess I’m going to write this out and excise the demon of over-explanation. 

Part The First: What Is Funny

The biggest thing I try and keep in mind when writing editing comedy (and anything, really, but especially for comedy) is rhythm. Lots of parts to rhythm! Most obvious is the word-to-word/sentence-to-sentence flow. Timing is a really important aspect of verbal comedy, which is why performance is a good medium to use. You get to control the delivery of every sentence and the spaces in between. But when you’re writing, you have significantly less control over how a reader will interpret the rhythm: all you can do is word your sentences as best as you can and give them rhythm cues via punctuation. (This is why I use so many em dashes and commas… I'm working on that…)

The other part to rhythm is on a more macro scale. There are jokes that will roll along with the flow of a story. For me, these are jokes that don't deviate from the context of the scene too much. They connect one subject to the next, or they build off of each other (a ‘yes, and’ sequence, for example). Alternatively, the joke is delivered in a really understated way. Like passing off something objectively batshit as status quo. Either way, they flow!

Then there are jokes that will halt a scene in its tracks. These are jokes that recontextualize a situation, or make a particularly large leap from the current topic. Or, you've been setting up for this punchline for a while and this joke is payoff. Or the joke is just really, really funny. These are the kind of jokes where you need to give the characters (or the reader) a beat to process them. Sometimes. We’ll get back to that.

Part the Second: How Is Funny

So the point of all that rhythm stuff is that comedy has a flow! If every line is a witty one-liner, none of the lines are witty one-liners! If every joke is a one-hit-KO, you have left your reader unconscious. Basically, if you are constantly being #Funny, you become repetitive and predictable, and that is the death of tension (and humor is a tension-driven element). 

One way to think of comedic pacing is setup (AKA building tension) and punchline (AKA payoff). It’s a balancing act: the more you build up tension, the more satisfying the payoff is going to be, but if you spend too long building up, you start dragging. You want the reader to think, “I can’t wait for the punchline!” and not, “oh my god, PLEASE get to the punchline already.” 

Fun way to make the tension last longer is to put all those flow-y connector jokes along the way. The reader’s anticipating the Joke, so by giving them little jokes, it meets their expectations in little ways so that they don’t get too antsy.

Hey, what’s tension, you ask?

Part The Third: Why Is Funny

When I read a book, there are two emotions that get me to turn the page:

I don’t know what’s going to happen next, and I’m curious!

I know X is going to happen, and I’m anticipating it!

That’s tension. (Something something semantics—I’ve never taken a creative writing class, I don’t have a vocabulary) 

You can have the calmest, low-stakes fluffiest fic in the world but as long as your readers are experiencing either curiosity or anticipation, Congrats! You have tension! I, however, like putting readers on fast-paced rollercoasters, so that’s the lens through which I’m tackling this section, which is: how do I use jokes in a story structure context? What purpose does a clown serve?

I mentioned earlier that some jokes are bricks to the face: they demand to be processed. Most of the time, I put high-impact jokes in places where I need the story to “reset” in a way: force a beat so the reader can process both the joke and the plot. That’s using humor to release tension. Literally. Laughter relieves stress.

But! You can also use those jokes to make the tension even worse! If you drop a bomb and immediately press forward, no processing allowed, you get stressful comedy. You want to laugh, but also a bunch of other stuff is happening and it feels kind of rude to laugh, so you get stressed. Sometimes humor can undermine a climactic moment, but if you use the right joke in the right spot you create shrimp emotions. If you’ve read DotF ch8 you know what I’m talking about.

Jokes also just make for good plot points? A lot of jokes are built on recontextualization. Everybody loves a good twist/reversal/surprise in a plot. Just make a joke and re-frame it, and bam! You’ve plotted! (Everything I’ve ever written started off as a joke.)

Wait, What Was The Question?

Why did I cut the joke? It was a waste of a brick to the face. It was too referential, it required the audience to know/agree with something completely unrelated to the story, it didn’t build upon what I already established. It ruined the rhythm.

I need to emphasize that, despite all my Thoughts on this, the way I appraise my jokes is 80% vibe-based. I probably could have kept the joke, and it would have been totally fine. But I would know. I would know that my intended rhythm is broken… it would haunt me until the end of time…

[sinsinsininning]

Maybe a fluffy Eustass Kid x reader where reader is also missing a limb? Idk I just think it’d be cute for them to take care of each others shared struggles😭 ((fantom pain, still being able to feel their limb, etc))

Awww that’s kinda sweet!

Ok upon reflection I realized that this came out more angsty than intended but it’s fluffy to me 😢

I showed this to a mutual and they said “that’s so sad” and I had no clue I was like what 😀?

I hope you like this

TW: vague body horror, amputations, panic attacks, drinking, crying

—————

“Stop crying,” Kid pinches your ear lightly, no real malice in it. “People will notice. You don’t want that yeah?” He’s right, you don’t want that not here in this dingy bar, but you can’t stop the shaky breathes you take as you try to will the tears away.

“It hurts.” You gasp out finally, you’re not sure how he hears you despite being tucked away from most of the noise. “It hurts and it shouldn’t.” You feel like your leg is on fire, the leg you’d lost not so long ago, the stitches finally gone but your mind rejected that memory.

Kid doesn’t say anything, his gaze sweeps over the crowd as you shiver and whine quietly beside him. Finally he jumps up, yanking you with him. If anyone notices you tucked awkwardly under his arm they don’t speak up, your face is obscured by his luscious coat. You felt the cold night air before you realize you’re outside now, he doesn’t set you down as he heads for the ship.

You grasp his shirt and shudder hard again as he veers off from the path, going towards the sand and water instead the docks. The burning, tingly feeling in your not leg keeps you from asking him anything. Finally he stops, without setting you down he manhandles you in front of him, at any other time you’d be dizzy at the sight of his one hand easily holding you up, but not tonight. Kid yanks your false leg off with his own metal arm, the sensation of the wire nerve connectors separating was unpleasant but not painful. It gives you a weird respite from the burning and you’re able to squeak out a ‘what’.

“Keep still, gonna make it turn off.” He grunts and steps closer to the water, you can feel the ocean licking at your one set of toes as you whine and try to squirm away. He glares at you and dunks your legs into the water.

You shriek, both in surprise and discomfort, the water is cold and soaks through your sock and shoe, he shoves you until the water covers your amputation site. It’s jarring and uncomfortable, but the burning you felt slowly fades away as you’re overwhelmed but the cold. You claw at his arms futilely, knowing he’d let you up when he was done, whenever that is.

After several uncomfortable hours minutes, Kid finally pulls you out. You cling to him as he carries you back up the shore, grabbing your prosthetic leg as he goes. You don’t want to cry, not again, in front of him again, but the tears returns regardless.

It’s different this time, it’s relief, beholden, as if your gratitude is melting from your eyes. You want to thank him, but it’s useless, he’d never accept it. His duties as a captain, as your captain, are vast and unknowable. So you hiccup into his neck as he takes you onto the ship, to his- your- room.

He doesn’t coddle you as he finally sets you down, resting you gently on the edge of the bed. You slump into the blankets, exhausted and dizzy. Kid eyes watch you for a moment, like he can’t quite decide what to do with you, finally he moves about the room, oddly quiet as he puts things away for the night.

“Sorry, Boss.” Your voice is hoarse as you speak your first real words since the bar.

“Shuddup.” He says quickly, but there’s no bite, not after all this time. You watch as he takes his coat off, it takes effort to keep your head lifted but you want to watch him. You always do.

His belt is off next, as is his shirt, he doesn’t comment on your staring. He’s probably used to your starry eyes on him doing the most benign tasks. His metal arm is next, his face is tight when he disconnects is, but he doesn’t make a noise, setting to gently next to your leg.

“Do you feel them too?” You ask quietly, it’s maybe the most personal thing you’ve ever asked him. Neither of you pry, everything you know about each other is offered.

“Not much anymore.” He says, your not shocked at his answer, just that he gave it up so easily. Even mundane questions turn into a battle of shouts with him. “It goes away with time, I think.” He says with finality, yanking his boots off next.

You think it’s sweet he’s trying to console you.

“I think it’s cause my captain is so tough.” You say as sweetly as you can manage, head finally lolling back against the blankets. He likes when you say that, my captain, something you save for moments when he won’t let you say everything you feel.

Kid crashes in the bed next to you, which causes you to squeak and swat at him. He laughs and yanks you up the bed to rest properly again the pillows, it feels wonderful but you still try to sit up.

“I should shower.” You say struggling to roll out of his grip.

“Nah, morning will do.” He yanks you back to him.

“I stink.”

“No you don’t and even if you did I don’t fucking care.”

“I should at least change.” You relent, but he still rolls his eyes.

You try to sit up again, but he just pulls you closer to disrobe you, fighting your squirms and attempts at self reliance. Finally your clothes and shoe are off and he’s tugging the many blankets over you bodies. You burrow into his side, he’s warm and loose, moments like these make breathing easier for you.

“Thank you.” You’re pushing your luck with him tonight, but you can’t help but milk the moment a little more.

“Told ya to zip it.” His voice is a rumble against your cheek and you smile, he could probably feel it too. “I’m always gonna take care of ya, but you gotta keep it down. I gotta reputation to keep.”

You sigh and hum at him, digging further into his hold, his shoulder warms your cold nose as you drift off.

[yuzukult]

crush 02 | jww & oc/reader

title: crush 02 / part of the attacca series pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader/oc (ft. seokmin) rating: 16+ (mentions of sex, but no act of sex) genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, racecar driver!au, mechanic!au wc: 5.2k summary: all he knows are fast rides, drag-strips, and speed ovals until he meets you, someone that’s got his heart racing instead of his car. warnings: explicit language, smoking, suggestive content (but nothing follows through), mentions of sex a/n: yes i know im better at updating this than ybny but what of it

You could almost feel the piercing glare that lasers in the direction of Wonwoo from Seokmin.

They exchange glances, both adjusting the shield attached to their helmets in unison. Hopping in, they both start their routine the same: pulling their seatbelt over themselves, clicking it into the plug connector—the front clip, rear clip, and middle section for security.

While Wonwoo’s car has a matte black body with a white circle decal of his designated number five, Seokmin sports a flashy lime green with a three spray painted on the side. Their vehicles are slimmer than the ones on the streets; there’s barely room for another passenger, the roll cage taking up majority of the inside, nose of the car tapered and pointed for the best aerodynamic features, and the suspension is low to allow less air to allow them to stick to the ground.

Or so, that’s what Seokmin says.

You don’t really understand the mumbo jumbo about racing.

But what you do understand is that everything happens quickly. 

Their engines start with a roar, a soft rumble following, with smoke puffing out of their exhaust pipe like a bull kicking their feet against the dirt with a bellow and gruff, except in lieu, it’s on an asphalt road with drivers. The crowd goes wild, waving their banners and flags, displaying visuals of their favorite racers and teams on their attire, tearing up the merchandise stands and tossing their money in the sellers’ way. You never really understood the temptation to overly purchase on celebrity goods, but with the smile that stretches across the audiences’ faces, it’s hard to argue why not to.

The cars begin to leave their pits, one by one, and into their grid positions. You recalled a time where a guy who competed against Seokmin had been running late—apparently from stumbling out of a hook-up’s apartment the night before, realizing she lived across town which was a hike to get here. That’s when you guiltily learn about how when cars don’t leave their pit on time, the drivers have to start from there… after the field completed their first lap.

The personnel finally shuffle off the tracks when they complete their final touches, and that’s when you spot Seokmin in the midst of the chaos. He does a slight wave, and it brings warmth into your chest until you realize the girl in a neon yellow crop top that stands beside you who waves back. 

What’s the human traffic cone doing here?

You want to be mad, you truly do, but there’s always a part of you that remains soft for Lee Seokmin. The way he drops the shield of his helmet, attaching his steering wheel into its slot, and doing that shoulder raise of his that becomes habitual, everything about him makes you feel vulnerable.

But your thoughts and feelings are immediately interrupted at the sight of Jeon Wonwoo waving to you instead.

He’s… infectious, you’re slowly beginning to learn. When he smiles, it’s enough for the people in proximity to imitate. His eyes curve into half moon crescents, shining brightly just as they do in the night sky, and when you don’t immediately return the greeting, he chuckles in amusement instead of annoyance. He treats his team like they’re his friends, pointing at them prior to getting into his car earlier, teasingly saying, “No modding, right? It’s a stock car, gotta be built just for this. It ain’t supposed to be like those machines you’re ridin’ on late night cruises with a babe in the passenger seat,” as the boys laugh in unison before shoving him away. 

You slowly wave back.

Wonwoo only grins wider before popping down the cover of his helmet.

You notice the lineup—as the cars begin their positions one by one, you realize Wonwoo’s vehicle is placed last and Seokmin is located in the top five. With a nudge, you gesture with your chin to the cars on the speedway with your tongue poking your cheek. “Chan. Why’s Wonwoo last?”

“He didn’t race in the tournament two weeks ago,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wonwoo only qualified because one of the sponsors for the cup saw him race in the streets that same week. But because of the rules, that means he can’t be placed anywhere near the top.”

Nodding slowly, you open the lid of your thermos. The steam fills the air, brushing against your nose, and you tap your pointer finger against the stainless steel. Impressive, you think, because you’ve heard of the stories of how difficult it was for Seokmin to get his way here. The constant begging, the bugging, and the praying—he had to find people that had even an ounce of belief in him to invest in him so he could get to where he wanted to be.

But Wonwoo didn’t jump those same hurdles as Seokmin.

Seokmin knows the deal. He memorizes the track like the back of his hand; where the tight turns are, when the perfect and exact moment to drift, and how to move just close enough to his opponents to intimidate them. He’s known to be able to determine the required timing for every motion, down to the second of when he’s supposed to have his foot pushing down the accelerator. 

Seokmin was a professional.

His favorite thing about driving a stock car is the only thing he loves about driving stock cars. The way the gearshift falls into the palm of his hand is swift—there’s no hesitation and the evident comfort is there. It’s his strongest suit, behind the wheel of a vehicle with a manual 4-speed transmission, switching gears when he knows right when the perfect millisecond would be. 

It’s not the same as riding on the highway, wind blowing through his hair with the smell of the ocean salty air infiltrating his senses, and it’s not the same as weaving through the traffic of a busy city. He gets to push his limits here, see how far he can go, and the rush he gets is one that can’t be replicated. 

The car is heavy duty—engines 3.5x faster than regulation cars. He can accelerate the car from 0 to 60 in the matter of seconds; the sound of the soft zoom from the engine revving, the stiffening of his body, and tightened grip on the leather steering wheel has become a feeling Seokmin has grown addicted to.

It gives him a blast from the past. Speed had always been a priority; recalling how his onyx grease stained hands were from all the constant modifications on cars in a garage. He could hear an older male, around his early thirties, yelling in his ear about how fast he needs to go, and that it was Seokmin’s job to make it happen.

Now? He’s the one demanding it.

On the oval track, he’s so used to his competition’s habits. They’re repetitive, he learns, all his opponents seemingly never finding themselves in a situation where maybe they should change their tactics. They’re the same. They never change.

And honestly? It gets a little boring.

Releasing the pressure on the clutch, he pushes the sole of his shoes flat against the accelerator. He shifts the gears readily, weaving through the crowd of cars that he “allows” to pass him initially, letting himself fall behind just so he could catch up. A little bit of entertainment doesn’t hurt, right? Notably when the trophy isn’t up for grabs for anyone else anyways.

Lee Seokmin is made for racing. A smirk pulls on the side of his lips, eyes darken and zeroing onto the end of the lap when he notices an unfamiliar car in his side view mirror.

Jeon Wonwoo.

His skin burns—and it’s not from the sun piercing through the window. Every time he sees—no, even hears Wonwoo’s name, he can’t help but seethe with anger. How dare he enter the tournament, especially all that he’s said about those with money and race professionally? The audacity of Wonwoo, stepping onto Seokmin’s turf, like he owns the track when this is merely his first taste of professionally racing.

He’s good, Seokmin admits. Wonwoo expeditiously glides between the cars fluidly, no hesitation with each move, turning and drifting at the right parts of the oval tracks. He doesn’t let the competition scare him, in fact, he looks… comfortable behind the wheel. The expression on his face doesn’t display anything concerning, and if he was anxious, he was good at keeping a facade. 

Seokmin inhales deeply. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

Seokmin snatches onto the clutch. His brand new shoes lay flat against the metal pedal; eyes narrowing in onto the finish line. Freshly painted and he could almost smell the chemicals from the spray can, his chronic need to inhale in that scent of victory, the sound of the crowd cheering his name, as the flag waves behind him after he crosses the line. He doesn’t just want it–he needs it. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the heat gusting over his shield that nearly blinds him for a brief moment. Switching the gear quickly, he does it automatically as if the car is one with him, an extension of his arm. “Jeon Wonwoo can’t fucking win.”

Here’s a thing about Lee Seokmin.

Whatever Lee Seokmin wants…

Lee Seokmin gets.

“Fuck off,” he growls under his helmet, moving side to side to block off Wonwoo from cutting him off. 

It doesn’t take long for Seokmin to pass the finish line as the flag waves down.

He sucks in his cheeks in content, a smirk tugging on his lips as he eases into his station, slipping out of his seat and tossing off his helmet. He waves to the crowd who cheer his name. 

Body shot with a wave of dopamine, he feels like he’s conquered it all. All the rejections, the doubters, and his haters—they used to fuel him with rage but they now give him a sense of relief. Without them, he wouldn’t be where he is now, arms up and encouraging the crowd more. This is it for him. Everything he has ever wanted, all in one stadium.

When Wonwoo hops out of his car, his eyes meet with Seokmin’s.

Expecting Wonwoo to be pissed, Seokmin has his fists resting at his sides, but when he sees that gratified smile on his face, confusion washes over his face.

Is he really satisfied with losing?

Seokmin will never understand Wonwoo—from the past when he went by Dokyeom up until now, he can’t loop his head around the fact that Wonwoo race but at the same time, he doesn’t understand why Wonwoo still preferred to keep his hands stained with black while underneath a car.

Deciding to shove the thoughts away, he turns back to the sea of people calling his name. Wonwoo doesn’t matter now, especially since Seokmin won the tournament. Nobody is better than him.

“I didn’t know you were a racer racer.”

“I didn’t know you were a Kyeom stan. Seems like a lotta info was missed over our text exchange,” he grins with a playful tone, hands in the fronts of his pockets. “I don’t judge. Kinda wish you were on my team though.”

He’s out of his overalls by now, in the comforts of his blue jeans and black t-shirt. Wonwoo looks more like himself; the ruffled hair, metal rim glasses that sits atop the bridge of his nose, and the genuine smile on his face is welcoming. Being behind the wheel of that car didn’t feel like him—the look he’s sporting  while standing beside his Prius feels right.

“Are you disappointed?” You ask teasingly–what was that? Was that… an attempt at… flirting? This isn’t like you, and the fact that Wonwoo effortlessly pulls you out of your comfort zone without you noticing is appalling. It’s barely been a night. “I um,” you clear your throat, straightening your posture when you catch yourself in the midst of the act. “I um, I didn’t really want to be here, I was requested to be.”

“Mm, possibly,” he answers, pearly whites all out on display. “But I think with a lil’ convincing, it won’t be too hard to get you to come over to my side. What do you take for bribes? A sweatshirt? I can whip up one.”

“Hm, I’m thinkin’ socks.”

He nods approvingly. “Socks, socks. I think I could do that. What do you want on it? My name, my car? Or what about my face? An iron-on picture of my face on your ankles?”

You quirk a brow.

Wonwoo laughs, shaking his head. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But, I gotta admit that I am a bit disappointed that you’re Kyeom’s lucky charm.”

“You want me to be your lucky charm then?”

“Nah, I just want you to be a cheerleader in the stands for me. I’m already winning if you’re on my side.”

Oh. Is that heat rising to your cheeks? Touching the side of your face, you feel the warmth radiating despite the cool air hitting your skin. “I–Oh. That…”

“I’m kidding,” he reiterates, the soft look on his face is enough to cause the butterflies to release in your stomach. “So… did Kyeom come and thank you yet? You know, for being here and helping him win. For someone being their good luck charm, he seems to be taking you for granted.”

You wave him off–it’s almost an instinct to defend Seokmin even when you don’t have a good reason to be. “Oh, pft. Please. He doesn’t need to thank me. I… I came willingly.” Not a lie–you did come willingly. But, what… is a lie is that you sorta… feel like you want to be thanked. Not with a huge extravagant gift or a heartfelt card, but a simple “thank you! You coming means so much to me,” would’ve been nice. Acknowledgement! Any kind. Watching him walk off with a girl after every event wasn’t really making him feel appreciated.

“Mm,” he hums, nodding slowly. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he doesn’t probe any further. “Well, I thank you for being in the audience today. It was nice having a familiar face around, especially since this is new for me.”

Your lips curl up unconsciously. “You're welcome, then. Glad I could be that for you.”

As the two of you walk outside of the arena, a bright yellow car is parked by the curb. “Well, this is me.”

Startled, you point at the car then at Wonwoo. “This… This neon yellow Prius–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he whips out the key fob, and with a click of a button, the Prius’ lights go off with two beeps. “This lovely, cute car with a great personality is mine. I know what you’re thinking—”

“This is so funny.”

“It’s such an attractive–what? Funny?” You know that he’s joking when his lips curl up. “Well, maybe next time I can show you around with my whip. It’s not necessarily a Corvette, but I’m sure we can have just as much fun as some other racer with a flamboyant car.

“Mm,” you hum in response teasingly, eyes narrowing as you cross your arms and tap your chin with your finger. “We’ll see. I may have to up your offer. What other cars do you think you can show me that in?”

Wonwoo smiles sweetly, hopping into his car with a wink. “I got a Ford F-250,” he says, shutting the door before rolling down the window. “See you later then, yeah? Since I don’t think that Kyeom would let me drive you home.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. “I don’t think ‘Kyeom,’”—the name is unfamiliar when it falls off your tongue but the context remains the same—“determines who I can hang out with.” Why are you flirting so boldly? This doesn’t feel like you. 

“Really?” Wonwoo says, a brow raised in amusement. “So… it wouldn’t be a bad thing if we went on that date soon?”

“I… I’m not sure if–”

“She’ll go.”

Both you and Wonwoo turn your head to the culprit of the voice, only to find Lee Chan standing there with the brightest grin plastered across his face. “She’ll go, and if her car breaks down, I’ll even pick her up to meet you.”

You turn to glare at Chan – the lasers darting from your eyes could pierce through his skin and burn it with a hiss, but he could care less. To Chan, if there’s a sliver of hope for you to move on, to find anyone else that isn’t Seokmin, he wants you to dive for it. 

“Chan –”

“Hear me out,” he begins, showing his hands. “What’s wrong with a harmless date?”

Looking over at Wonwoo, he only cheekily smiles as he rests his chin on his car door. “What can I say? People like me. But regardless of that, don’t feel like you gotta accept a date from me if you don’t wanna. No pressure–I know that there might be somethin’ between you and Kyeom, I just didn’t know if it was somethin’ you were plannin’ on pursuin’.”

Inhaling in a deep breath to calm your nerves, you pick at your fingertips. It’s true, there’s nothing wrong with going on one date with Wonwoo. Plus, just the last thing he says alone gives away that he’s exactly that–respectful, honest, and… it’s harmless. It’s not like you’re committing to be his long-term girlfriend or are agreeing to wed.

“I–Okay. I’m… I’d be interested in a date.”

That stupid grin of his grows even wider. How’s he this adorable without even trying?

“Great! Then… I’ll text you then?” 

“Sounds good,” you reply back before you exchange your goodbyes and he drives off in that traffic cone Prius.

“You realize you’re only causing trouble when you tell me that I should date Wonwoo, right?”

Chan freezes before the loaded hot dog—cheese, relish, ketchup, mustard, and the shack’s famous in-house chili to top it off—reaches his mouth, and he blinks blankly at your question. “I… What?”

You swipe your finger on the droplet of chili that falls into the red striped disposable paper tray. Slipping it into your mouth, you pull your lips into a straight line. Salty. “Seokmin, you know. He doesn’t even like Wonwoo, and if he ever found out that you were trying to nudge me in his direction, you’re fucked.”

Chan rolls his eyes, saying his final words so he could shove a portion of the hot dog into his mouth. “Not like he’s seeing other girls or anything.”

Stealing the fry that sits in the basket at the center of the table, you let out a heavy sigh. There’s a part of you that still clings onto the what-ifs when it comes to Seokmin, but when Chan is here, attempting to lure you into another man’s arms, you’re not sure if this is the right thing to do. 

“Do you really think I should go through with the whole Wonwoo thing?”

Chan looks at you with disbelief. His cheeks are full like a chipmunk’s, but he still reaches for a fry and stuffs it into his mouth. “Seokmin scares me, yeah, but I'd rather you be happy. So, if Wonwoo is that potential case, I’ll be here to back you up—even if I lose my already ‘special privileges’ with Seokmin.”

You eye the younger male carefully. He makes a statement when he declares something like that, and you wonder with all the passion he feels for you finding someone new, if other people saw it from the perspective he does. “Is it really that bad?” 

He sighs, pulling his lips into a straight line as he slowly nods his head. It’s not the answer you were expecting, but it’s one you’ve gradually come to accept. “I want you to be happy,” he reiterates once more. “And Seokmin can’t do that for you.”

So, maybe you’ll go on this date with him. One time wouldn’t hurt, right?

Seokmin is the main reason for your hesitance and he always is. But when you get a glimpse of him from across the stadium, arm around the flag girl with a smirk dressed upon his lips, your reluctance dissipates and reality sinks in once again.

If Seokmin isn’t ready for you, then you wouldn’t be ready for him either.

The taste of victory permeates all his senses; each time he crosses that line with the pretty gal in a short skirt while waving a flag isn’t the only benefit of racing, but the amount of zeros behind the first digit that gets cashed into his bank account is the fundamental cause.

For Seokmin, this lifestyle is a dream. The days where he laid underneath a car, sliding in and out on a creeper with grease stained hands and soiled clothes are long gone–he could recall those moments he’d pull his clothes out from the wash and question where the origins of the blemishes were. Some new, some old, he didn’t quite remember, but what he knew was that he couldn’t afford to buy a new wardrobe. He didn’t own a single spotless shirt.

And here he is, present day, at a private table of one of the most expensive clubs in the city with a Huge Boss suit and Gucci black leather oxfords. Seokmin only purchases top shelf liquor; swirling the drink in his hand, the ice clacks against the glass adequately as he watches a pretty girl dance on the main floor with eyes glued onto him. 

He brings the cup to his lips, the cool whiskey on the rocks reaching to his lips, sweet when it hits his tongue and smooth when it slides down his throat.

The quick arch of his brow is an invitation for her introduction.

“Hey,” she says, voice silky as she slides onto the couch beside Seokmin. “Rumor has it, you’re a racecar driver.”

Of course he’s a race car driver—he loves hearing the saccharine words of achievement leave from people’s lips. He’s a professional, accomplishing a goal that people consistently told him would be hard to reach. Now with his arms resting on the back of the sofa at a high end club with girls practically lining up to sit on his dick, he’s gone beyond what he chased for.

He couldn’t ask for anything more than this — other than more money, of course. 

“I am,” he smirks, patting the cushion beside him. “Want me to order you a drink? In exchange, you can tell me your name.”

As she giggles over a fancy mixed drink (he doesn’t even know what she got, all he knows is that it’s pink with an orange slice on the rim and it’s making her eyes swirling with intoxication), he tells her about driving on the track and how it feels to have a crowd of people cheering his name. 

Then the thought of Wonwoo appears in his mind.

It wasn’t always like this—the sharp eyes, fire burning in lieu of the chocolate irises; Jeon Wonwoo was a friend he admired in the past. They both worked together—in a body shop that seemed simple on the outside, providing service for regular people and nothing more.

But there was definitely more beneath the surface.

All the illegal activity that went on behind the scenes is what made Seokmin leave. He was welcomed into the car shop and stayed when they offered him training, learning so much from a team that he looked up to, only to realize that he’d been a part of a scheme he never wanted to be in. Wonwoo was one of the guys who held the information back. And Seokmin swears he won’t forgive Wonwoo for that.

Truthfully, he should’ve suspected something when on the first day, one of the mechanics named LNY (which Seokmin later learned wasn’t even his initials, it fucking stood for Lunar New Year and he would never learn that guy’s real name) advised Seokmin to come up with a pseudonym for working hours and any association to the auto shop. That’s when he came up with Dokyeom. Realistic enough, but far from his birth name in avoidance of putting his family in danger.

“Mm, I looooove peaches,” the girl sings, and honestly, he already forgot her name but he knows what flavor her drink is. 

“Sweet,” he grins, thumb pressing against the corner of her lips. She doesn’t have anything there, but it’s rather charming for a guy to pretend to wipe something off a girl’s cheek, right? “Kinda like you. Can I call you that for the night? Peaches.”

Her cheeks flush pink as she nods slowly.

Hook.

Line.

“I bet your lips taste like them too.”

Sinker.

Needless to say, Seokmin can report the next morning that her lips were indeed sweet like peaches.

He admits he doesn’t think of you on these nights; his thoughts are disgusting and disrespectful for someone who promised himself to end up with another. Fumigating his head would be the only route in making himself even remotely good enough for you — even he knows that.

But nonetheless, there’s something in him that plagues these ideas that this is what he wants, despite the empty promises he makes you. In his mind, there’s this fucked up mentality that you’ll stay, regardless of what decisions he’s made and what girls he picks up because that’s just it—he knows you’ll stick around.

The girl in his sheets that night creates a temporary bliss for him. It’s exhilarating, being able to swoon a woman into his home on a late night out with words and touches as intoxicating as the alcohol she indulges in earlier that night. Just like driving on a racetrack, it has his adrenaline rushing, and he craves for more.

“Gasp!” she exclaims in unison with the drop of her fork. It clangs against the porcelain plates, and you’re just grateful that she didn’t chip or break anything. “You’re joking. You’re going on a date?”

“Would you hush, P?” You shoot back, grabbing her utensils and pushing it far from the other dishware on the table. “I know you’re shocked, but you don’t gotta be dramatic.”

P’s your best friend–P being the initial of her legal name that she forbids anyone from using. She’s told you at least once before what it was, only because on a trip to Cancun, customs yelled it out when she filled out the form with the duty free limit nearly reached. “P****?” you recalled reiterating, and P was so quick to hush you. (Yes, you realize that every time you try to censor her name, it just looks like you’re redacting genitalia. But that’s besides the point). P works for one of the biggest luxury designers in the world–attending parties, runway shows, fashion weeks–name it, and she’s done it all.

Except design her own line and bring her boss the correct coffee order. “Who the fuck orders a matcha latte with six pumps of vanilla, two scoops of protein powder and three egg yolks? Of course I fucking get the order wrong. I don’t think any local coffee shop even has raw egg yolks on hand.”

“No, no no, I-I think P’s got the right reaction,” your other friend says, patting P’s back in assurance. “Last week, you sighed so hard that the lettuce in my salad blew out of my bowl because Seokmin was talking to you while checking out a girl from across the room. You wouldn’t stop gushing over him and now suddenly… there’s a new guy? Where’s you even meet him?”

P slams her elbows onto the table. “I’m with Sunny on this one. Tell us more.”

Sunny is also a nickname (now that you think about it, does anyone go by their actual name?) She earned it for her bubbly nature; generous, bright, and warm, she exhibits behavior that would be like a boost of serotonin or the equivalent of vitamin D for people (or eggs. You read somewhere that two eggs a day provides at least 82% of sunlight for the average person–makes sense why P’s boss is so insistent about getting it). You and P met in high school, friendship lasting up until… well, now, and Sunny was an easy and seamless addition when she got stuck rooming with you and P freshman year.

Rolling your eyes, you plop back into the booth seat. “I just wanna make it clear–it’s just one date. Nothing crazy. Not like he can swoon me off my feet in seconds and all of the sudden I forget everything I promised Seokmin.”

“Promised Seokmin?” P scoffs, waving her pointer finger dramatically. “Mr. Seokmin promised you a handful of things. I don’t see him following your agreement. So why should you? Go on that date with ummm…”

“Wonwoo.”

“Yeah, yeah, with Wonwoo. Speaking of, you got a pic of him?”

You furrow your brows. “What? No. I don’t have a picture of him. What year is it? Why would I keep a picture of him?”

“No, you idiot,” Sunny chimes in, whipping out her phone to open Instagram. “Like, do you have a picture of him on Instagram. Facebook, Twitter–all the social media platforms. Sure, you know he’s real, but is he a psycho?”

“He’s not a psycho,” you add, shoulders slouching in annoyance. Well, you’d hope he isn’t a psycho. The only red flag you saw was that Seokmin doesn’t like him but to be fair, Seokmin himself is a walking red flag. “But… Seokmin hates him.”

P and Sunny’s full, undivided attention is on you. 

“You’re kidding.”

“Why does it matter what he thinks?”

You shrug. “I mean, that’s the one thing I can think of that would be considered a red flag. Seokmin doesn’t like him–but mostly because Wonwoo street races and now he wants to do it professionally.”

P turns back to her own phone and taps away on the screen.

“Okay, but that’s not really a bad sign. So what if Seokmin doesn’t like Wonwoo? Get a taste of his own medicine. We’ve been telling you for what feels like forever that you gotta move on. Like–there are so many candidates out there. Have you even checked dating sites yet? Maia from my International Business Master’s Program met her husband on Tinder. Now, they have a house in the hills, two kids–”

“--Found it!” P interjects, shoving her phone in both your faces. “Jeon Wonwoo. Mechanic–a detail you failed to mention, by the way–and he’s 26, likes KBBQ and oddly enough, for a car guy, doesn’t obsessively post cars.”

Sunny snatches it out of P’s hand. “Oh my god, he’s so cute.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” P exclaims, flailing her arms theatrically. “If you don’t go out with him, I will.”

You let out a sigh. It’s almost equivalent to the one you exasperated at the last outing. “I already told him that I would, so it’s not like I can back out. Plus, Chan was pressuring me! For someone whose eyes practically sparkle when they see Seokmin, he’s so anti-Seokmin when it comes to me.”

“Yeah, because even though he looks up to Seokmin, it’s for racing. That’s all it is. He’s been treating you like shit, love. This story you think will have an ending might not exactly have the word happy in it.”

It doesn’t matter how many times you hear it, it never gets easier with each reminder. P and Sunny have good intentions, Chan does too, but you’re not ready to raise a glass to this so-called tragedy that’s known as you and Seokmin.

← last chapter | next chapter →

[the-atlas-sister]

𝕄𝕪 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖 (Part 1)

Neteyam x Na’vi!Avatar!Fem!Reader

Warnings!: Fluff

The hardest part of being best friends with the eldest Sully son was falling in love with him. 

Well, the falling in love bit was easy but the dealing with it was the hard part. 

“Quit falling behind, hì'i tsawke!” Neteyam teased, grinning at you from his ilu. 

“I am not falling behind!” you sneered back, smiling to yourself at the way Neteyam threw his head back with a smile of his own. 

The two of you had been inseparable since you were young. You were a product of Norm and the other remaining scientists trying to replicate the avatar product without the actual DNA of humans. To their surprise, it had worked, popping out a small avatar baby. Jake had offered to take you in, as he had with Kiri but Norm insisted that he could raise you, and he did. He taught you both the life of the Na’vi and the humans. You had always been thankful for his raising of you. 

Ever since you had been created, Jake had become a mentor to you. He often allowed you and Spider to be around his own children, enjoying how you would all play and bond. 

You had especially bonded with Neteyam early on, him being the eldest. You vividly remember him declaring that the two of you would remain together forever and that he would always protect you. This declaration had been made when you were children after he scared off an awfully ferocious school of fish in the river, but it was one you had never forgotten. 

Due to the closeness of the two of you, Neteyam insisted that you join the large family in your travels to the Metkayina clans. Jake thankfully obliged and you were allowed to remain with the boy. 

“Neteyam!” you called after him, watching as the boy dove under the water. You rolled your eyes at his antics. He was quick to reappear next you, a playful smile on his lips. 

“Yes, hì'i tsawke?” he said, swimming in a slow circle around you. 

“Let’s stop at a rock or a shore or something,” you suggested. “We could relax.” 

“Alright.” Neteyam looked around quickly before his eyes landed on a small and flat formation of rocks. His nodded towards it and you smiled. He led you to the rock, your ilu following close behind his own. 

The taller boy was quick to help you off the creature as soon as his feet hit the solid floor. 

“What should we do to relax?” you asked placing yourself on the smooth rock. 

“You can sing to me,” Neteyam suggested with a coy smile. “Like when we were young,” he added. 

You let out a small laugh. Like most of your memories with Neteyam, you vividly remembered the first time you had sang to him. You were both much younger, and it was after he had fallen trying to chase some sort of creature. His knee had been scraped up and little you had no idea what to do. So, you decided to sing to him like your father did when you were hurt or afraid. Ever since then you had gained a nickname and the heart of the Chiefs eldest son.

The song had become the connector between you two. After any fight or argument, you would simply sing the song and everything will get better.

“You are my sunshine,” you sang quietly, just as you did that day. “My only sunshine.” Neteyam slowly laid back, allowing his head to lean on your legs. “You make me happy when skies are gray.” He smiled up at you softly. “You never know, dear how much I-“

You stop your singing, voice catching in your throat.

“-how much I like you,” you finished. “So please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“Beautiful as always,” Neteyam complimented. You rolled your eyes with a blush, pushing aside the compliment. 

You looked back at the boy, feeling his eyes on you. Your face on my flushed more as he stared at you silently. “Y/n, I-“

He was cut off by the sound a loud horn.

“That’s the sound of the war horn,” you stated, sitting up quickly.

Neteyam nodded, rushing to his feet. “I need to go help my father,” he said, looking down at you. “Please stay here and stay safe.”

“But-“

“Please, hì'i tsawke,” he begged, kneeling down to your level.

“Alright,” you agreed, letting out a sad sigh. “You stay safe as well, Nete.”

“I will.” He quickly bent down and kissed your forehead before rushing away into battle.

hì'i tsawke: little sun

Part Two: https://www.tumblr.com/mooskey/723530108058599424/%F0%9D%95%84%F0%9D%95%AA-%F0%9D%95%8A%F0%9D%95%A6%F0%9D%95%9F%F0%9D%95%A4%F0%9D%95%99%F0%9D%95%9A%F0%9D%95%9F%F0%9D%95%96-part-2?source=share

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

Open and Waiting (Chapter 2)

Gif from this post by @ashr-jedi

Summary: Hunter makes an appearance. You continue to warm Tech’s cock with your mouth and ruminate on previous experiences with Crosshair, Wrecker and Echo.  

Relationships: Tech x f!reader, a little bit of Hunter x f!reader, mentions of Crosshair x f!reader, Echo x f!reader and Wrecker x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, cock warming, voyeurism, domination, submission, Dominant Tech, submissive reader, poor self worth, feelings, smut with feelings, sexual inexperience, inexperienced reader, polyamory, gag reflex, pretend sci-fi technology/science, pretend Star Wars planets and locations, not beta read. Mentions of: Deep throating, face fucking, fingering, thigh fucking, tit fucking, bukkake, cum as lube, finger fucking, grinding, toys, butt plug.

Word Count: 2085 (Chapter 2)

Authors Notes: Please read the warnings! And please let me know if you enjoyed it. The filth continues. Interspersed with … feelings? In my smut? It’s more likely than you think. 

I realised I forgot to give any context for where this story sits timeline wise and who the character of the reader is! Timeline wise, this happens at some nebulous point after Echo joins The Bad Batch and before Order 66. The reader is part of the Batch but beyond that you can interpret them however you wish. The most common example I've seen is a medic but a jedi, mechanic, intelligence officer or some other random reason for the reader being in the squad could all work as well. Whatever works for you. The main thing is that the reader is a submissive that the Batch share between themselves and are the reader's dominants. The Batch are all Dom’s in the AU of this fic, but they all have different ways of approaching it, which you’ll hopefully get a little inkling of in this chapter.

Chapters: One, Three, Four, Five, Six | Ao3

Open and Waiting (Chapter 2) 

I don’t know how much time passes but eventually I hear the faint hiss of the cockpit door opening and a soft, smooth stride moves out into the main area of the ship.

Hunter.

Our sergeant can be completely silent when he wants to be, so he’s deliberately making sure his approach can be heard. An existence created purely for tracking means that he’s basically permanently stealthy. It can be decidedly startling when he just appears next to you out of nowhere. We really need to put a bell on him or something. Though he’d probably figure out how to move so that it didn’t make a sound. Sneaky bastard.

A gruff voice at the end of the workbench announces his arrival.

“That’s in more bits than when I saw it last.”

“Yes.” Tech replies. “I hypothesised that the size of the casing could be reduced by 2.56% if I reconfigured the internal power connectors into a series of bi-linear couplings. I am currently applying this theory to the prototype you see before you, hence the 'bits' on the workbench.”

“That’s a lot of parts to shove into a small box.” responds Hunter.

“They will fit.” Tech testily replies.

“I don’t doubt that.” Hunter answers.   

There’s a brief pause while Tech zaps something and Hunter shifts slightly to the side.

I think I’m being inspected.

Hunter definitely can’t have missed that I’m currently naked, kneeling between Tech’s thighs with my eyes closed, hands restrained behind my back and Tech’s cock stuffed in my mouth.

“You went with the leather cuffs then.” Hunter states.

I am definitely being inspected.

“They are more suited to the purposes of this exercise.” Tech explains. “The focus is on sensation and submission and as an introduction to this practice, I thought it pertinent to ease into the experience gently. The leather cuffs provide an acceptable level of restraint and serve as a reminder of their position, both physically and mentally.”

“Plus you made them.” Hunter adds.

“Correct. Both the wrist cuffs and collar are of my own design and creation.” Tech replies.

They’re talking about me like I’m not even here. Like I’m not currently desperately drooling around Tech’s cock, unable to move or escape their gaze. The thought makes my pussy throb.

“Oh, she’s enjoying this.” Hunter laughs.

“I trust you can smell her arousal.” Tech asks, though it’s not framed as a question.

“Yup.” Hunter answers. “I could smell her in the cockpit like she was in there. It’s stronger than usual.”

“I have observed a number of indicators of her heightened state of arousal myself.” Tech adds.

“Is this what she’s been worrying about?” asks Hunter.

“If by ‘this’, you mean the practice of cock warming that the two of us are currently engaging in, then yes.” Tech replies.

“You’ve just got your dick in her mouth.” Hunter observes bluntly.

“Yes.” replies Tech. “That is the point.”

There’s a rather telling pause and I can just picture the looks that are being exchanged. An arched, tattooed eyebrow is probably being met with a decidedly unimpressed flat stare emanating from behind yellow lenses. Another slip of drool spills from the corner of my stretched mouth and runs down my chin to join the rest of the mess that is covering my face.

Tech shifts and launches into a lecture. There’s probably a finger being raised.

“Cock warming is the practice of placing one's cock in an orifice of one's partner. This can be done via the mouth, rear or vagina, if the penetratee possesses that particular genitalia. The cock is then left inside the partner's orifice where they are to keep it warm. The name speaks for itself. Outside of the basic principle of the act, the parties involved can agree on various additional stipulations, such as how long the penetratee must keep their partner's cock inside them or if they are allowed to move or make noise. I have read numerous accounts where both partners extol the virtues of this practice, describing it as surprisingly peaceful and an excellent way of entering subspace.”

“I’m sure it’s enjoyable, I’ve just never heard of it, that’s all.” Hunter supplies.

“I must admit that I was not overly familiar with the practice myself but it has proved to be a most enjoyable addition to our play thus far.” Tech provides.

I could already tell he was enjoying it, given the harness of his erection currently occupying my mouth. Hearing the verbal confirmation just adds to the feeling of deep satisfaction and submission warming in my chest. Another shiver runs through my body and I can feel more of my saliva pool in my mouth.

“Was there a reason for your interruption of my work?” Tech directs at Hunter in a slightly curt manner.

“That’s not the only thing I’m interrupting” Hunter snarks back.

“Quite.” Tech leaves the implication implicit.

Hunter sighs briefly before adding “Yeah we got a comm from the 369th.”

“Ah. Are they still experiencing difficulty with the Separatist base built into the side of the Markontia Gorge on Bezril IX?” Tech asks, fully aware of the answer already.

“Yeah, they might need our help with their current campaign but nothing’s confirmed yet so we’re on standby for now. If they need us to blast a hole into the Seppie base then we should hear back by the next rotation.” Hunter adds.

“Wrecker will be pleased.” Tech comments.

“I can think of something else that would please Wrecker.” Hunter slyly hints at.

“Wrecker may make use of our shared submissive when it is his turn.” Tech replies swiftly, irascible intent laced through the words, making it crystal clear that I am his right now.

“Additionally, he has made it quite clear that he does not wish to test the limits of her capacity for oral penetration until her gag reflex has improved.” Tech adds.

A slice of shame and disappointment cuts through me. I’ve always had problems with my gag reflex. Lack of experience will do that to you, I guess. I’ve been slowly working on improving it and they’ve all been so gentle and careful and patient with me. I desperately want to be able to deep throat each of them or be face fucked into a wall one day. At the moment though, the best I can manage is the tip of one of their cocks at the back of my mouth and even that still sets the damn thing off sometimes.

Wrecker has been so sweet about it. There is no denying that he is exceptionally well endowed and that his cock is, well, enormous, to put it bluntly. The poor man is well aware of it too. There is nothing I’d love more than to be absolutely impaled on his thick cock, but the first time I saw it I did worry that I’d never be able to fit it in me. I still do but we’re slowly getting there. He’s been so wonderful and understanding of my current abilities and their limits. Wrecker is such a beautiful human to experience pleasure with. He’s so full of joy about the entire thing. I didn’t have a great deal of experience before somehow ending up with all of them and I’d never had a joyful sexual encounter before Wrecker. I didn’t even know it was possible and had burst into tears afterwards. He’d been so alarmed and concerned that he’d inadvertently hurt me but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Thankfully, he’s the most emotionally intelligent out of all of them and we’d had a wide-ranging, open and reassuring conversation about sexual experience and intimacy as I lay curled against his chest. I still struggle with tensing up sometimes and Wrecker has been a great boon in getting me more accustomed to preparation. He’s a big proponent of lube and has a whole assortment of different types that we’re slowly working our way through. One or two of his fingers are more than enough to open me up and I could have those big, thick, slicked up digits sliding in and out of me for hours.

And there is nothing quite so wondrous as lying there laughing and kissing and giggling as he fucks my thighs. Wrecker has been very keen to emphasise that there’s more to sex than just penetration and we’ve been exploring some intriguingly varied ways to experience pleasure together. The first time he’d fucked my tits was something else. His oleaginous, lubed cock sliding between my breasts, cupped in his massive hands as his fingers and thumb played with my nipples. When he’d finally exploded all over my chest, neck and face, I don’t think I’d ever been covered in quite so much cum.

Well, at least not until we had that bukkake session. Trying to get cum out of your hair in a sonic is difficult to say the least and Hunter ended up hand washing it out for me. It had been worth it though for the way they had all looked down at me while they pumped their cocks and came all over my obedient, kneeled form, mouth hanging open and tongue out to catch as much as I could.

I’d knelt there afterwards like a statue. Covered in their cum, stained and claimed in their release. Rivets of translucent white slowly running down my skin. I could feel it pool in the hollow of my neck and drip off my nipples. It sounds ridiculous but in that moment I just wished I could exist like that forever, eternally marked as theirs. Just like I wish I could openly and proudly display the marks they leave on my skin, claims bruised into my neck for all to see. They are all such wonderful dominants, each unique in their own approach. I’m eternally thankful that they all chose me to be their submissive. I would happily serve at their feet and allow them to use me as they pleased for the rest of my existence if this damn war wasn’t going on.

I do need to work on having a bit more self preservation though. One of them is bad enough but whenever they end up scheming together, they start coming up with Plans and Ideas. That’s how I then found myself wiping their cum off me with my hands before eating it in front of them like some lewd and licentious spectacle. Being made to finger yourself using the cum of your dominants as lube while they watch is also a whole new level of depravity. I’d had to beg each of them for permission to cum before I’d finally been allowed to finger fuck myself into oblivion.  

Wrecker isn’t the only one that is explicitly clear that their boundaries for playing with me are guided by my current abilities. Crosshair steadfastly refuses to even entertain my suggestion of face fucking until I can, in his words, “keep my balls against your chin, doll”. Echo had gone all serious when I had timidly requested to go down on him for the first time. There had been some stern yet heart-felt words about the importance of pacing and not rushing into things or pressuring yourself to try something you’re not ready for. We’d ended up grinding against each other instead, which was just as enjoyable. It meant I got to watch him come undone as I thrust my hips into his groin and then he’d made me straddle his leg and grind myself to completion on his thigh. There is something about the sensation of smooth durasteel gliding under your wet, sensitive pussy and pressing against your clit that is otherworldly. I’ll have to ask Tech if he’s able to shape some kind of toy out of the metal. A durasteel butt plug sounds like an excellent idea.

I still wish I could do more for them and wasn’t trapped in my own body and mind. The discontent and shame at my perceived failures is still there, despite how well I might be managing to warm Tech’s cock with my mouth at the moment. My lips are wrapped around a decent amount of his length and the tip of his cock is fairly close to the back of my mouth but I could always do more and try to get him a little deeper. I take a steadying breath through my nose, will my throat to relax and move to take more of him in.

------

Author’s Note: Tiny bit of a cliffhanger! This is mainly because I wrote this all in a giant keyboard mashing haze with absolutely no thoughts of structure. Going back while editing and trying to figure out where to shove in chapters to break it up has been a bit tricky, so if they’re a tad clunky that’s why.

You’ll see how Tech reacts in Chapter 3, along with some musings on previous sessions with Hunter and Crosshair. 

Taglist: @queenariesofnarnia @skywlker-sluvtt @techs-assistant

[fineprintedsunsets]

A.I.R

This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 4! | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List | Bucky Barnes & Characters Master-List

artificial intelligence au + "do you like it when I touch you like this, I can keep going if you want me to".

Synopsis: Your "Bucky Bots" are acting odd, and you're determined to fix the malfunction.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: (it was so difficult to come up with something for this ngl) robots behaving in a sexual way? slight dub!con. robot!buckybarnes x f reader. fingering.

You have been at this for days, trying desperately to pinpoint what caused the A.I.R. to malfunction. You fiddle with his backside, wires, and switches fill his compartment, waiting to be cut, analyzed, or messed with.

A.I.R was your own intelligence company. Standing for, (Artificially Intelligent Robots). It took you years to be where your feet stand now, in your own private lab, with enough money to donate to countless charities, and still have some left to retire on.

Recently, your MBBs, (Male Barnes Bots) have been acting strangely. You’ve often found them nearing you when you're not looking, even if their power switches are off. One of them even wrapped a metal hand around your waist, attempting to pull you to its metal frame.

You screamed, prying off the robot’s hand and reaching around to pull its connector wire. It powered down immediately, and you couldn’t lie it had shaken you a bit. Working with AI can be scary, especially with malicious people on the internet. But putting that intelligence inside a vessel, it’s even spookier.

Anything can go wrong.

Even as you tear at one of the Barnes Bots wires, you huff, wiping the sweat from your forehead and placing the tool down on the lab table. The bot lies lifeless on the table as you switch to look into its program.

You turn the monitor to face you, the screen reflecting in your glasses. Hunching over the desk to toy with the mouse, you start clicking the files, rummaging through its code. Most are just random data commands, the Barnes Bots were originally made to help with everyday activities.

Cooking, Cleaning, and Shopping.

Like a Roomba, but better.

Way better.

Due to this… problem, the bots release date has been called off, and now you are stuck in the lab trying to figure out the problem. You were the only one who could, this was your technology. You click on the only file you have left to sort through, scrunching at the harshness of the computer screen light.

It’s raining outside, and it’s almost completely pitch black.

Jesus.

How long have you been at the lab? Hours must have passed by. The file opens to rays of codes, and almost immediately you spot it. The inputs and outputs have been messed with. You pull away from the screen, nervously glancing at the Barnes Bot.

A virus is in his system, someone must have downloaded it, or the files might have been corrupted. You gasp, feeling a metal hand wrap around your hip, molding your hoodie to your small body. Anxiety seeps into your bones as you catch the reflection of your captor. The broken-down bot is still on the table, but behind you, is one of the many hundreds you created.

“A.I.R! Power down Barnes Bot 34” Your AI system doesn’t respond, and the Barnes Bot still has his metal fingers wrapped around your waist. You are scared now, this stuff only happens in movies, the whole “Watch out, your creations might turn on you" has never been more real at this moment.

You flip around, facing the bot. It’s one of the realistic versions. “Bucky” is what you had called this model. You had to admit, the face you created for the bot was gorgeous. His metal fingers were wrapped in the mold as well, making his artificial fingers feel like flesh.

Everything about this bot looked human, the way he moved, the way he talked. “Let go!” You scratch, trying to pry off his fingers. The bot smiles in an odd way, almost seductively…

You feel his other hand reach down your pants, as he keeps you in place. You kick, aiming for its legs, but it won't let up. “Power down!” The bot’s fingers dip into your panties waistline, a shiver coursing through your back. If you could just get to his connecter-

“Fuck.” An illicit moan echoes you, feeling its faux flesh fingers graze against your folds. You're stuck against the desk, unable to stop ‘Bucky’.

“Need to please you.” The bot says, his voice sounding as smooth as a human's, with no gaps or pauses like you hear in normal ai. Right then and there, you’ve figured it out. There’s a virus all right, and it’s causing the bots to act in a sexual manner.

You reach around his head, but the bot pulls away quickly, dodging your fingers. His own appendages circle your clit as you buck against him, begging for the torture to stop but for the pleasure to continue. This isn’t right, you shouldn’t be this wet from an A.I.R M.B.B.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this? I can keep going if you want me to.” The bot says smoothly. Its faux eyes lock with yours, his fingers bruising your hip as his hand finds your entrance.

This can’t be real. The words that come out of your mouth are feral and-

“Answer me, human.”

That response should concern you. Barnes Bots should not be acting like this, but when those fleshy fingers slide against you, their body pressing down on you, pushing you further into the desk, you don’t seem to care.

“Yes, Bucky!” You cry, bucking your hips into the metal framework of ‘Bucky’. It’s late, you're probably hallucinating from the lack of water you’ve had all day.

“Doing so good, human.”

“Good girl.” The bot somehow purrs, working his fingers in and out of you. You close your eyes, your fingers holding onto the edge of the desk. Heat rises in your cheeks, being praised by a robot…

Your robot, for that matter, Shouldn’t make you wet. But it does a large enough amount that the bot notices, hearing his metal framework slide in and out of your wet heat.

“Come for me, my little human. Make a mess on my fingers.” The Barnes Bot drones on, pumping his fingers in a curling motion. You didn’t program them to do that. Something is seriously messed up in the code, but right now, it doesn’t matter.

Not even a little bit.

A few more cruel thrust has you coming against the bot’s fingers, feeling his cool digits slide out with crude noises. You open your eyes, the orgasm still wracking waves against your small body. You lock eyes with the ‘Bucky’ Bot, his faux stare boring into your fingered-out frame. His metal fingers are covered in your desire.

Thank god they're waterproof.

[ya-zz]

but can you imagine Ramattra getting repaired by reader and after she's done and he's all grumpy that he had to seek out help from a human, she just kinda gives him headpats and tell him he did good? AAAAAA

Ramattra is a big softie at heart, change my mind.

Thank you so much for the prompt! ♥ I enjoyed writing this one

Ramattra x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1037

“Will you just sit still!” 

“You are pulling at wires that should not be pulled!” 

“That’s not my fault. You just had to get injured.” 

“That is not my fault either.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Yes. Now stop talking and fix me, human.” 

You release a sigh, shaking your head.

“I will find someone else if you cannot do this.” 

“Who else would you find? You do realise I am the only one around here capable of fixing your kind, don’t you?” You pull on another wire, moving it out of the way. 

The omnic in front of you stays silent for a moment, his body jerking slightly at the pulled wire. “Get on with it.” 

The tone in his voice made you stop. 

“Please.” He turns his head slightly, optics scanning over you, slightly pissed off at the entire notion.

You smile before getting back to work, noticing the tension within him. 

The damage done was almost severe. Too many split wires, broken metal and debris stuck in the harder to reach places. A full disassembly may help, but you knew he wouldn’t let you go that far with him. Hell, he was reluctant to let you do this. 

He could feel your every touch, the small touching of wires as you moved them out of the way, hands grabbing at the larger cables as you push past them to pull out the broken parts of him. 

“Be careful.” He spoke out, body jerking again as you tug at him. 

“I’m being as careful as I can. You’re just sensitive.” You replace one of his larger cables, fingers pushing the connectors in place.

“I am not sensitive!” 

A small laugh escaped you. “Sure, whatever you say.” 

You heard him scoff as you stepped back, walking around the table and facing him before turning away and walking into the backroom of the workshop. 

He listened intently, hearing the rummaging and clattering. His optics stayed at the doorway, waiting for you to appear. Ramattra went into a small daze, mind focussing on cooling himself down, optics unfocusing as he thought about his situation. Being repaired by a human was something he never wanted to do. Filthy hands touching him, defiling his wires. He had to put some trust into you, though. He couldn’t repair himself, not this time. The damage done was to his back, and he wasn’t risking any of his brothers shocking him and putting him out of commission for good. 

Ramattra had nowhere else to go, the thought of even having a human touch him sickened him, however, after he had heard you fixed other omnics before, including Zenyatta, he gave in and sauntered into your workshop. When he saw the various spare parts and blueprints littering the floor and shelves, he felt somewhat at ease, but that hatred and unease for humans was still present inside of him. 

Another tug at his wires pulled him out of his mind, a static yelp escaping from his vocaliser as his head snapped to look at you. 

“Sorry.” You muttered, not looking up at him as you continued to work. 

He scoffed, head turning to face the workshop, optics looking around. “How-”

“As long as it takes me.” You mumbled, screwdriver in between your teeth. 

Ramattra seemed taken aback at the sudden response. “I did not even finish my sentence.”

“Didn’t need to. Lean slightly forward for me.” You place one of your hands on his upper back, pushing him down. 

He obliges, leaning forward on the table, arms resting on top of his thighs. 

“Thanks. Don’t move.” 

Ramattra stays as still as he can, feeling you inside of his back. Another wire was inserted, plugged in from the top and bottom. He saw his sensors come back online, slowly setting up from the last backup. 

You could hear the sigh he released, a small smile creeping onto your face. 

“We are almost done, if that makes you feel better.” 

He nodded, going through the files to distract himself from your touching. For once, he felt relief. The trust he had put into you was not misplaced and he gratefully appreciated the work you had done. You were competent in your abilities and he would thank you for that when this ordeal was over. 

Another half hour passes by and he feels his backplate being put on, the connectors snapping shut and a pat on the back gave him all the confirmation he needed.

“There. You’re fixed.” You place your hand on his head, patting him gently as you walk around him. “You did good.” 

The sudden touch made him freeze, his mind a static snow as he tries to comprehend what just happened. You did good. It replayed in his head, the warmth of your hand atop his head sending a new signal across his circuitry. 

As you walk away from him, putting the broken parts of him in a scrap box, Ramattra stands up, metal feet hitting the floor. 

“Thank you.” He mutters out, his tone different from when he first spoke to you, almost nervous in nature. 

You look up at him, smiling. “Anytime. Workshop is open all hours.” 

“I will be sure to visit again, then.” He pauses, seemingly shocked he said that. “If that is ok with you?” 

Standing up and brushing the dust off your pants, you turn and look at him, still smiling. “Of course. Company is always welcome.” 

He heard the happiness in your voice, and something inside of him looked forward to visiting you again. If it meant he got to feel the same hand on his head, he’d gladly keep coming back.

His untrust for humans dissipated ever so slightly. Despite the harsh tugging at times, he knew you meant well. You fixed him and made him better than he was previously, whether that was due to newer parts or just the trust he had put into you not being displaced, he was grateful nonetheless. 

Something inside of him changed, and one human managed to do that for him in such a short amount of time. 

You did good. It echoed in his head as he walked out of the workshop, a feeling of warmth spreading through his chassis.

[mommyhelgayanderelover]

Optimus is just inviting you to stay in his van because you're having trouble finding a place to live

Pairing: yandere! Optimus Prime x human reader

TW! a little sexual intercourse

"… and you're inviting me into the van? You think I'm going to say yes?" You looked at Optimus with great skepticism. "I know it's a part of you. I will not, God forgive me, live in and with you."

"It's a human van," Optimus sounded offended. "It was manufactured on Agent Fowler's orders for the mission."

"Uh-huh, yeah. And they also made a nano-alien design and put Autobot insignia on it. Believe it or not."

"You think I had a tractor-trailer uniform on Cybertron, too?"

"Well, I wouldn't know who you had there. Maybe you're like Megatron - pro working class."

"Look…"

"No, don't even talk me into it. Nope. No, no, no."

"Okay, let me put it another way," Optimus vented heavily, "what are you afraid of?"

"The fact that there are cameras all over this van and you're going to be collecting my nude photos and videos to electrocute them?"

"What makes you think I have to have you living in this van to get naked pictures of you?"

"What?"

"What?"

***

"Okay, okay. I will live in this van, but on one condition. "

"Anything for you."

"I'll bring whoever I want. And I'll sleep with whoever I want."

"What?"

"What?"

***

"Okay, Prime, joke's done and that's enough," Fowler sighed tiredly. "Where's the van? It's the Pentagon's newest development! Uncle Sam's gonna break my head off if I don't get it back today. "

"You see, Agent Fowler, he's busy right now."

"Yeah," you nodded, confirming Optimus' words.

"What, you turned a secret technology into a van on wheels, like an American backwater? Care to explain that!"

"…Also, Optimus had me there a couple times with his plugs. I wouldn't take an apartment like that back from a tenant. It's got bad energy."

"What?"

"What?"

***

You opened your eyes. Struggling to find your phone under your pillow, you glanced at the time. 3:04. What the hell were you doing up late last night? It seems like you were dreaming first, and then someone… Grabbed your leg?

You froze. All sensations were heightened to the extreme: indeed, right now, right there in the darkness, someone was slowly running something cold on your ankle. It was as if the bedside monster scary story had become flesh and blood.

Something ribbed wrapped around her leg, slowly stroking it…. Finding the courage, you turned on the flashlight on your phone.

Nothing.

Both feet were under the blanket, warm and cozy. The van remained silent.

"What the hell…" you reprimanded. Fear clung to her soul with slimy tentacles. No one could be inside the van! It was impossible to get in from the outside without a special key. "It's the nerves. It's the nerves. The loneliness is weighing on you."

Turning off the light, you tried to sleep. The minutes flowed lazily, and the darkness was suffocating. Subconsciously you waited for an attack.

Nothing happened. Your tired brain gave the command to shut down, but somewhere between sleep and reality, you felt a touch. Something still as cold and ribbed touched your stomach through the loose fabric of your T-shirt.

Forcing herself to wake up abruptly was impossible. Fear gripped your body. You froze, and didn't even seem to be breathing. How long it lasted, you didn't know, but at some point, your consciousness left you.

***

"What's wrong with this van?"

You stared intently at Agent Fowler and Optimus. Both looked unfazed.

"What are you talking about, sweetheart? It's just a van. Yeah, it's armored, sure, but there's nothing in there to hurt you. You wanted to live, live."

"What do you say, Optimus?"

"I don't know what you mean. If you're scared of being alone, you can move into my compartment."

"Yeah, yeah. The plugs are better than the connector. Still."

"What?"

"What?"

[risustravelogue]

Welcome to Risu’s Doodlebook,

@risustravelogue’s first ever milestone event! 🎉

How to participate:

Send me an ask (on anon is OK) detailing which components you’d like for me to assemble!

Components C and D are only available for writing.

No NSFW please! And please be polite :)

All writing pieces will be x reader.

Prompt submission duration: November 1–10, 2023 (GMT+7)

Components:

A. Basic material:

- Canvas (art doodle) - Lined paper (short writing)

B. Character list:

- Alhaitham - Childe - Cyno - Kaveh - Neuvillette - Tighnari - Wriothesley - Zhongli

C. Connectors: (for lined paper):

- & (platonic) - / (romantic)

D. Pen color (for lined paper):

- Blue (angst) - Green (fluff) - Red (comfort)

E. Additional notes (put in a detailed prompt if you’d like!)

Prompt example (bolded for emphasis):

“Please assemble a lined paper with red pen and & connector for Tighnari! Maybe make him cry over a breakup and we comfort him?”

“Can you assemble a canvas with Zhongli wearing glasses reading a book on it? Thanks!”

FAQs:

Q: Can I submit more than one character in one prompt? A: Nope, sorry! Only one character per prompt, please.

Q: Can I submit more than one prompt? A: Sure you can! I’ll be thrilled! But please don’t submit more than two, since I have a day job and would like this event to stay lighthearted.

Q: What if I don’t have any specific prompt? A: That’s fine! I’ll write or draw something up for you based on the inspiration I get. I hope you’ll like it!

Q: When will you work on my prompt? A: I’ll work on it ASAP. But since my work leave ends on November 7th, I’ll be significantly slower after that.

Q: Will you work on any and all prompts? A: Hmm… no. If I’m not comfortable doing your prompt, I’ll answer your ask privately—if you’re not on anon, that is! If you’re on anon, I’m sorry, but I’ll delete your ask.

That’s it from me! Feel free to send an ask if anything’s unclear. I await your submissions! 💙

[peachdues]

i love your teasers peach but when do we get the full ficssss i'm dying

lol the teasers are meant to help get my blog re-active after just reblogging/sharing queued posts for like a month, but I'm glad you enjoy them!

Here's the rough status of all my major WIPs right now:

(1) Seasons in Love -- part two (Sanemi x Reader Modern AU): about 70% complete. I think I can get the rest of it done this weekend and then it will go through edits. Edits usually take me a day or so (because I have to revisit the work a few times), so my earliest estimate is that it will be ready sometime next week. Epilogue is complete (and one of my favorites by far -- though Phantasmagoria's is a close second).

(2) Phantasmagoria -- part one (Sanemi x Reader Modern AU) is almost fully written (I need to write two more scenes at most), but it is undergoing substantial re-writes and edits. I wrote half of it in present tense before switching to past-tense, so that's where a lot of the re-writing is coming in. Phantasmagoria is the first of my fics to have the potential to be a three-parter, but that depends on how I'm feeling. I've written sizeable chunks of part two, but I wouldn't say part 2 is anywhere close to being fully written (like 20% at most). Epilogue is complete.

(3) The Great War -- part one (Giyuu x Reader) still needs a lot of work -- primarily, I need to organize it and figure out what I'm putting where/how I'm going to sequence events, and then write in my connector scenes. It is fully outlined, but I'm struggling on what to include in part one versus part two. Part 2 has not been written (only outlined) save for one major scene (the reunion). Epilogue has been written.

(4) The Bitter & the Sweet -- part one (Kyojuro x Reader): about 80% written, but in need of edits. Part 2 is fully outlined, but I have not started writing it yet. Epilogue has been outlined.