#At least I finally got something written

[lovemybluebully]

Wakey Wakey

Ummm, hope you don't mind, but I saw this post by @tastybluesprite yesterday and couldn't resist writing a little drabble for it. 😁

https://www.tumblr.com/tastybluesprite/764181017079824384/for-some-reason-i-cant-stop-thinking-about-wade?source=share

Wade gets Logan out of bed in the best way possible. 🤭

"Deadpool and Wolverine"-verse

M/M Tickle Fic

Word Count: 1,480

Look at me! I wrote something short(ish)! 🤣

"Looooogaaaaan! Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!"

Logan groaned from where he lay in his bed when he heard the familiar and irritating call of his roommate. How the fuck was Wade always so goddamn chipper this early in the morning?

He weakly cracked open an annoyed eye to see the other man standing beside his bed with the stupidest of grins on his face, wearing a tank top and Hello Kitty print pajama pants

"There she is. Up and at 'em, big guy. A new day with a plethora of unknown adventures awaits us."

"The only adventure I'm going on is the one where you get the fuck out of here and let me sleep in peace," Logan rumbled with a growl as he rolled over onto his stomach and shoved his head underneath his pillow. He'd had a late night and was hoping to get at least another couple hours of sleep.

"But that's only an adventure for you and I want us to go on one with each other. I mean honestly, how much fun can two sexy, half-dressed men have in a bed together?"

Logan ignored his obviously suggestive attempt at a joke and kept quiet, thinking that if he didn't respond Wade would eventually get bored and go bother someone else. But the grumpy feral was the only one Wade ever wanted to bother.

"I know you're not much of the cuddling type, but hear me out......what if I let you be the little spoon? Intrigued??? I think you are. Then if you play your cards right we can move onto-GAAH!" Wade squawked as Logan flung one of his spare pillows at him, hitting him right in the face; the force that it was thrown nearly knocking his ass onto the floor.

He recovered and glared playfully at his unmoving companion, not about to let that stunt go unpunished.

"Oh I see. Looks like His Highness is in the mood for a little play time," Wade then smirked as he noticed Logan's foot sticking out from under the sheets.

He reached down to twiddle his fingers on his sole as it flinched and quickly yanked away along with a snort heard from underneath the pillow where the man was hiding his head. Logan instantly felt an uneasiness wash over him as he realized exactly what Deadpool was planning in his spaz mind.

"Wade......," Logan warned with dread building up inside of him, "You'd better fucking not start-"

"His Majesty has chosen the Good Morning Tickles!" Wade whooped out as he leapt onto Logan's back and started tickling him anywhere he could reach. Logan was helpless to stop him and hollered out in guttural laughter as he began to flail, slamming his arms down to his sides once Wade's fingers plunged deep into his formerly wide-open armpits.

"Naahahahahahohohooooo!! Fuhuhuhuhucking Wihihihilson!! No tihihihihickling!!" He flung the pillow from his head as he thrashed, desperately trying to wriggle free and escape the hands squeezing mercilessly at his ribcage and waistline. This was not how he had expected his morning was going to go.

"You love it, and you know it! You're so ticklish how could you not?" Wade giggled himself when Logan snorted through his cackles as the merc massaged at his hip bones near his highly ticklish V-line. Logan didn't even have the protection of a t-shirt since the X-man tended to usually sleep in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, regrettably granting Wade unimpeded access to his overly sensitive bare skin.

"Gehehehet the fuhuhuck offa meeheeheeheeheeHEeHeEHEEhEe!!" Logan squealed, whipping his head around and bunching up his shoulders as Wade had leaned in to additionally blow raspberries on the back and sides of his neck.

"You seriously have the cutest motherfucking giggle. Pretty sure they could be the key to bringing about World peace," he blew a few more to hear Logan's high-pitched giggling before concentrating on his sides again and scribbling fingers over his lower back to watch him squirm like an eel.

"Staaahahahahahahahap!! I gihihive ahahahalready!!" Logan flipped himself onto his back to give him a better chance at fighting the cartoonish man off, and hopefully be able to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, this new position only set him on course for his demise.

"Say whaaaat?! Nah look, you've still got some fight in you. Though I'm not sure how much that's going to last once I do this!" His fingers buried into Logan's now vulnerable stomach, making him shriek and arch his back as high as he could manage with Wade being on top of him.

"NooooFuhuhuhuhuck!! Aaahahahahahahahaa!! Nohohohooot thehehehere!!" Logan's face burned red as he laughed hysterically while Wade's flexible fingers mercilessly scratched and skated all over one of his absolute worst spots. 

Seeing him laugh in combination with hearing it was one of Wade's favorite things in the whole World. Along with the fact that while Logan was more than strong enough to stop him, he never did. He always put on a show of opposing it for appearances sake, but Wade knew under all that machismo he secretly craved the physical touch and affection.

"Not there?! Blasphemy! There's no better spot than your little tum tum! To tell the truth these muscles of yours are starting to look mighty tasty. You don't mind if I take a bite, do you?"

Logan had not a second to protest before Wade dove face-first into his belly as he started playfully growling while gnawing and nibbling all over. He knew raspberrying Logan's stomach would drive him wild and he expected this to have similar results.

"Rrrraaargggh!! I've got you now! OMNOMNOM! I'm gonna eat these smoking hot abs right up!" Wade taunted and then morphed into his best Hannibal Lecter impersonation, "Mmmmm, I do believe this would go lovely with some fava beans and a nice chianti, eh Clarice! OMNOMNOMNOMNOM!"

The Wolverine absolutely lost it. The teasing was unbearable in itself, but the tickling sensations were on another level. He was screaming in babbling laughter as his body thrashed out of control, his beefed-up arms weakly and ineffectively shoving at Wade's head.

"WAAAHAHAAAHAHAHHAAADE-N-NOOHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHA-ST-ST-STAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-PLEEEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAA!!"

Tears were sliding down his face as Wade continued to enthusiastically bite and nip every inch of his terribly ticklish tummy; teeth grazing his skin ever so gently to send him into a state of hysteria like he had never known before. He'd lost the ability to form any coherent words and couldn't even beg for mercy.

Wade knew he was pretty much done for now, and decided it was time for the grand finale. Wrapping his arms around the man to hold him in place, he took a huge breath and blew the hardest and longest raspberry he'd ever done directly into Logan's bellybutton.

Leaning his head backward, all that came out of Logan was a long-winded wheeze as he arched his back; his laughter having reached the point of being silent as his whole body just trembled from the overstimulation. He had no energy left to fight it and just silently endured until Wade finally finished. 

Removing his arms, Wade sat up and smiled down at the man who had just been near death from tickling.

"That was a good one. I didn't think you could get any more ticklish, but you've proven me wrong. Definitely adding that little technique to my line up."

Logan was barely catching his breath; his body tingling all over from the torture he'd just taken on as he tilted his head up a little so he could look at the other man.

"You're an asshole. Thanks for almost blowing out my healing factor, fuck stick," he ended up smirking, unable to be mad after laughing as much as he just did, but also because he really didn't mind when Wade tickled him. He'd never tell him that though.

"Literally!" Wade chuckled, "I know how much you love those raspberries. Ahh that never gets old. So you ready to get up now?"

"Actually feel like taking a nap after all that. But I guess I'd better so ya don't start that shit again," he raised an eyebrow, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as Wade hopped off.

"Aw yeah! Another Deadpool and Wolverine team-up for the record! Let's fucking go!" Wade danced around and began twerking towards the bed as Logan rolled his eyes though unable to keep from smiling. He just could never keep up with whatever was going on in Wade's mind.

"You're going to be the death of me, ya know that? Now quit fucking around and let's see if we can't find some random street gang to start a brawl with."

The merc stared at him adoringly.

"I love you."

"Wade?" 

"Yes, the light of my life?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"That's a funny way to say 'I love you' but I'll take it."

"Fucking moron."

[chateautae]

hi 🥺

[rivilu]

You know the thing about Wyll's last minute changes being ''the thing'' that people use to say he's not as well written/ boring is so fascinating to me. Did any of you even play early access or are you just parroting excuses.

[insectduck]

I just finished reading the most fucking devastating +100k word fic in three days and I'm nawt okay

[queenlucythevaliant]

Professor Kirke remained at the small dining table after the last of the dishes had been cleared away, puffing clouds on his pipe. It was strange, thought Lucy: he had a faraway look in his eyes, as though some tiny aspect of his reality had shifted over dinner and he was struggling to accommodate it.

“I wonder what he’s thinking about,” murmured Lucy to the others. Edmund shrugged and Eustace (who had only met the professor that night) said nothing, but Peter chuckled merrily and patted Lucy on the arm.  

“You’ll find out soon enough, that’s certain. He got that look in his eye when you were talking about the Island of Dreams, Lu. No doubt he’ll call you into his study for a lesson later on.”

It was a little more than a week later that Peter’s prediction came true. Professor Kirke seated himself across his desk from Lucy with an enormous tome of poetry spread out before him. “Have you heard The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?” he inquired.

Lucy shook her head. Yet rather than muttering about the state of the schools as she had expected, Professor Kirke simply smiled beneath his whiskers and began to declaim:

“It is an ancient Mariner /And he stoppeth one of three —"

Lucy leaned back in her seat and fixed her attention on the words as best she could. Once, she’d spoken in such a register as queen of Narnia, but now she was only a girl of ten and unaccustomed to the flowery language of Romantic poetry.

“At length did cross an Albatross,

Thorough the fog it came—”

“Oh!” cried Lucy. “Is that why you wanted me to hear this poem?”

“Just so,” the professor replied. “Your account of the Island where Dreams Come True bears a marked resemblance to The Rime, beginning with the presence of the albatross. In this poem, the albatross bears a symbolic connection to Jesus Christ himself.”

“How peculiar!”

“I thought so too. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote this poem in 1797, in a time when sea voyages to the polar regions were very much like your own voyage to the end of the world. The albatross had only lately been described in writing, but he wrote it coming out of the desolate fog to guide sailors to safety. And Coleridge was a neo-Platonist! Fog and ice are very much like darkness, the way he uses them here.”

“A neo-Platonist?” Lucy asked, wrinkling her nose.

And now came the Professor’s customary muttering. “Yes. What do they teach in these schools? You may read darkness and fog both in Coleridge as something between ignorance and innocence, with the Sun as a symbol of Reason. Does that make sense?”

“A little,” said Lucy, who privately didn’t think it made much sense at all but was eager for the professor to continue the poem.

“It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit;

The helmsman steered us through!”

Lucy hadn’t meant to interrupt again so soon, but the words were out of her mouth before she was really aware that she’d spoken them. “So it really is just like in Narnia! It guides the ship out of the ice like my Albatross guided us out of the darkness.”

“Yes.” Professor Kirke was entirely unperturbed by the interruption. “Precisely.”

“How lovely. Isn’t it interesting how you just know when birds are trustworthy?”

The professor chuckled. “You may change your mind in a few stanzas. Shall I go on?”

“Please.”

Lucy returned to her concentration as the mariner recounted how a good wind had sprung up after the Albatross and how it had stayed with the ship and perched on the mast sometimes for evening prayers. Yet the mariner must have looked unhappy, for the groom interrupted to ask him why.

“With my cross-bow/ I shot the albatross.” Professor Kirke paused here in his telling and looked very hard at Lucy.

It took her a long moment to understand. “The albatross isn’t dead, is he?”

“He is.”

“I thought you said he was like Aslan.”

“And didn’t you see Aslan die?”

Lucy opened her mouth, but closed it a moment later. Open again, “But why did the mariner kill him? Doesn’t he give any reason? The witch killed Aslan because she was evil and trying to conquer Narnia. Why would the mariner kill the albatross when it’s done nothing but help him?”

“Perhaps,” the professor replied, “the Gospels are a simpler comparison here. ‘I shot the albatross’ has the same kind of blunt irrefutability as ‘And they crucified him.’ There isn’t any excuse, which I think makes the confession all the more powerful.”

Lucy sighed. It was exhausting trying to keep this all straight. “I suppose that makes a kind of sense. But then we’re trying to think on three different levels of parallel—the poem, the Bible and Narnia—which isn’t very pleasant.”

“And yet, it’s necessary if one wishes to understand deeper meanings. We can pause for tea, if you’d like?”

“No, that’s alright. I think I’m keeping track well enough for now. I say though, is this what you do with Peter all day?”

The question seemed to catch Professor Kirke off guard, for he let out a sudden, loud burst of laughter as soon as Lucy asked it. “Yes, after a manner of speaking. Shall we go on?”

“Ah! well a-day! what evil looks

Had I from old and young!

Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.”

It was a difficult thing to imagine and Lucy wondered if Aslan’s albatross was unusually large. Aslan was always bigger than she expected him to be, so it would not be strange if he took the form of an unusually large albatross. Yet the more Lucy considered, the more sense the image made.

“It must have been at least three meters,” said Lucy. “The albatross, I mean. Mine was more like four, from wingtip to wingtip. It would be a dreadful weight, but I suppose that’s the point. The mariner can’t carry it, can he?”

“I think you’re right,” said Professor Kirke.

A smile tugged at Lucy’s cheeks. It was lovely to hear the professor give such an unequivocal endorsement of her analysis. Galvanized by the success, she continued, “I thought of a cross when my albatross appeared out of the darkness. There’s something in the proportion of the body to the wings, and in its stillness of it as it glides through the air. My albatross tore away the darkness. But here—it’s like the mariner carries his albatross like he thinks that act can save him from what he’s done.”

There was a glittering in the old professor’s eyes then, and suddenly Lucy realized that she wasn’t struggling with the poem’s language anymore. Maybe it was because she’d been listening to it for the better part of ten minutes, but privately she wondered if Narnia’s magic might be working on her somehow. Perhaps this poem contained some quality of the rich Narnian air.

“I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;

But or ever a prayer had gusht,

A wicked whisper came, and made

My heart as dry as dust.”

Lucy shut her eyes and remembered the fighting-top of the Dawn Treader. The night-mare life-in-death was a black abyss, and all her own nightmares had been there in it. There had been monsters, of course, and the idea that even if she ran down to stand beside Edmund he might become a monster himself. But somewhere in all that dark, there was a Lucy who never spoke to Aslan again. She’d imagined herself in Lord Rhoop’s place, trapped forever in a state of endless fear-without-courage, because she could not call him.

“That was my night-mare too,” she whispered. “Not being able to pray.”

She saw the professor’s lips thin beneath his whiskers and wondered at it. “You’re wiser than you have any right to be,” he murmured. “Ten years old and your greatest nightmare is alienation from God. What a marvel you’ll be when you’re grown.”

Well then. Lucy didn’t have any notion what to say to that. She half expected that if she tried to reply, she might start crying.

“Might I ask—what did you do then? Until the albatross arrived, once you realized that you couldn’t pray. How did you react?”

And that was a question she could answer.

“But I could pray! I did. I whispered, ‘Aslan, if you ever loved us at all, send us help now.’ And that was when the albatross came. I didn’t talk about it after—it was too much my own for me to share it, really—Edmund knows—but well…”

The professor made a sort of choked noise in his throat. “Perhaps it was the only nightmare that the island couldn’t bring true.”

“But there have been times,” continued Lucy, “when my heart was too dry to speak with Aslan. There were whole years when I was queen that he didn’t come at all.”

It was with a much softer voice that Professor Kirke resumed his reading.

“A spring of love gushed from my heart,

And I blessed them unaware:

Sure my kind saint took pity on me,

And I blessed them unaware.

 The self-same moment I could pray;

And from my neck so free

The Albatross fell off, and sank

Like lead into the sea.”

Here, the professor lapsed into silence. Lucy thought that the poem might be over, but when she peered across the desk at the page there were columns of stanzas still left.

“Even after all these years,” he whispered, “some things still remind me of my own days in Narnia.”

He’d told the children his story before, of course: beginning with how he met Aunt Polly and concluding with the origins of the wardrobe. Aslan had not condemned him for bringing the White Witch to Narnia. Instead, he’d had loved Digory enough to shed tears and sent him home with an apple so beautiful that it healed his dying mother.

“Grace,” Lucy whispered into the hush. “Of course. Maybe this is the moment where Aslan leads the mariner out of the darkness.”

Professor Kirke exhaled heavily. The faraway look in his eye lessened a little bit, and at length he read on.

“The spirit slid: and it was he

That made the ship to go.”

Never had Lucy felt Aslan’s presence more keenly in his absence than during those last days as the Dawn Treader had sailed over the still, clear waters at world’s end; like Aslan himself had been drawing them towards himself by some great, invisible rope.

The closer they’d come to his country, the more tangible his spirit had been. When at last she glimpsed those green mountains beyond the waves, Lucy’s very bones understood that Aslan had made the still seas bring them there.

A voice spoke out of the air concerning the mariner, and Lucy remembered the piercing silence of the Last Sea. Of the voice, the mariner said, “He loved the bird that loved the man/ Who shot him with his bow.”

Not for the first time, Lucy wondered about Aslan’s father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. What did he say to Aslan when he left that land of high mountains to return to Narnia and die at the Witch’s hand? What did he think when Aslan went flying across the lily-covered seas on feathered wings to rescue their little ship? If Lucy had crossed that final threshold with Reepicheep, would she have met the Emperor there?

“The voice is his father,” Lucy said, voice brimming with certainty. “The albatross’s father, I mean. The Emperor-beyond-the-Sea.”

“I know,” the professor replied. “And beyond the sea is just where our mariner meets him.”

“Do you think the mariner knew that the albatross loved him?”

The professor stroked his chin again, and a ghost of a smile played across his features. “If the mariner didn’t know it when he shot him, he certainly knows now. But come, we’re nearly at the end of the poem.

“Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,

Yet she sailed softly too:

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—

On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed

The light-house top I see?”

“There’s one more thing I haven’t told you,” Lucy said. “Something so bright and mysterious that I’ve not even told Edmund. When the albatross came, it—it spoke to me. And I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

Professor Kirke leaned forward, but his words were, “You needn’t tell me what he said if you’d prefer not to.”

Lucy nodded slowly. Somehow, she knew that if she tried to describe “Courage, dear heart,” she would fail. There was nothing, no word or image or music or poetry in this world or any other that could convey what that moment had been. To speak of it at all would be like dancing about architecture.

“I was the only one who heard him,” Lucy whispered. “It was my prayer, and he spoke to me. I wonder how this poet knows what it was like?”

“I think he knows the same way I do, in my own way. Coleridge lived a difficult life. He was a laudanum addict when he wrote this, for one thing. When the Divine voice speaks into our darkness and we feel his breath on our faces, it binds us together with every other person who has ever been rescued by an albatross that loved us. We don’t know what he says to other people, but we know how the breeze feels.”

The professor returned to his reading and concluded the poem while Lucy sat in astonishment and let the strangeness of the last hour wash over her.

“…A sadder and a wiser man/ He rose the morrow morn,” and with those words Professor Kirke shut the book. The heavy pages fell with a thud, and with bright eyes he looked at Lucy. “What do you think of it?”

“I think,” said Lucy slowly, “that it was a beautiful story. The very best kind.”

What she did not say, but what she was thinking, was that it reminded her of the story she’d read in the Magician’s book: the one about the cup, the sword, the tree, and the green hill. The two tales had no common points of reference, but they left her with much the same feeling.

“But why do you think Aslan came to me as an albatross?”

Professor Kirke harrumphed. “I have been asking myself that same question ever since you spoke of it. Why indeed? I wonder whether perhaps in part he appeared that way so that you would come back here and read ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ and come to know him better by it. If nothing else, I do not think it was a coincidence.”

Yes, perhaps, but the answer still felt incomplete. “Maybe it’s a stone in the bridge he talked about,” Lucy said. “Maybe he only wanted to show me—to show us—that he’s here too. In this world, in this time, and in all others. Maybe it’s like you said, and there’s an albatross for every person who’s ever been rescued from the darkness.”

[savrenim]

desire to write the entire thing so that I can hardcore edit for pacing, foreshadowing, etc etc even if said entire thing ends up being 300-500k words vs despite to start releasing chapter by chapter once I have a backlog of like 30k, fight

[non-un-topo]

At the crossroads between wondering if it's worth it to basically completely rewrite all my WIPs or just take a break from writing for the rest of the summer

[bi-panic-at-the-disco]

y’know maybe I should just try to continue working on my fics

[noxtivagus]

happy weekend ! 🤍 ( technically pulled an all-nighter but i have newfound energy for some reason ) 🥹

[waywardsalt]

heroforge approximation of my humanoid bellum design

[eggmeralda]

spent an hour making a list related to That Fandom, followed by an hour listening to the haunting vibe playlist, followed by an hour reading the fanfic we wrote about my band and crying actual tears bc it's the peak of comedy, followed by an hour thinking about all the things I've ever created that will never be seen by anyone either bc I don't know how to show them to people or bc people just think they're bad but either way I'll never know the true answer, and now it's 10.30pm and I've basically experienced the full spectrum of emotions: autism, existential crisis, silly, and the feeling of being unseen

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 10: Treat Me Gently

Summary: You and Price take your relationship to the next level. It might be the best decision you've ever made.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, p in v sex, fingering, oral, first time sex, unprotected(ish) sex, reader has an implant, creampie, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, the author is a bit rusty writing smut.

A/N: It's finally here. It's finally arrived, the moment we've all been waiting for! Uh, yeah, it's mostly badly written smut with just a little plot thrown in there. So...I hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Your attention is pulled from your book as the couch sinks on either side of you, two bodies joining you. You glance up from your book as an arm drapes itself across the back of the couch behind you. Your eyes flicker between Gaz and Johnny, mischievous grins on their faces. 

“We heard you have a date this weekend.” Gaz says, leaning in closer. 

Your face warms at his words. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call it a date...” 

“What are you wearing?” Gaz asks. 

“Do ye have anythin’ to wear?” Johnny asks. 

Their questions give you pause. The most formal thing you have are jeans and, though you doubt Price would care if you showed up in sweatpants, you would like to have something nice to wear. 

“Come on.” Gaz says, slapping your thigh before standing. “We’re going shopping.” 

“What?” You glance between him and Johnny as they stand over you. 

“Already got permission from Price.” Johnny says. “So come on.” He grabs your hands, lifting you to your feet easily. “Let’s get goin’, kitten.” 

Your cheeks warm at the pet name, Johnny’s hand settling on your lower back to steer you from the rec room. You don’t have much of a choice but to follow, grabbing a couple things from your room before you leave the barracks with them to a car parked outside. It’s different from the car you and Price had taken to town last weekend. Of course, they probably all have their own vehicles, or at least a few at their disposal. 

“I’m driving.” Gaz says, plucking the keys from Johnny’s hand. 

“Aww, ye never let me drive!” Johnny pouts. 

“Yeah, because with our luck you’ll traumatize her so badly, she’ll never want to leave again.” Gaz says, opening the driver’s side door. 

You can’t help but giggle at the dejected look on Johnny’s face as you get into the back, Johnny muttering the entire way to the passenger side. 

“I’m no’ that bad of a driver.” Johnny says, buckling his seatbelt. 

“Yeah, but both you and Simon seem to be in agreement that the speed limit is a suggestion, not a law.” Gaz says as he turns on the car. “I’d like to make it there and back in one piece, thank you. Besides, Price would have both our heads if anything happened to our girl on our watch.”

Your cheeks warm as you meet Gaz's gaze through the rear view mirror. Your heart flutters at the look in his eyes, the dedication and protectiveness shining in them. 

“I wouldnae let anything happen to ye.” Johnny says, reaching back to squeeze your knee for a moment. 

You stare out the window of the car as Gaz drives towards town, half listening to the conversation in the front seat. You're beginning to recognize landmarks, buildings, areas between the base and town despite it only being your second trip. They'd be proud of you, you think. At least if something happened, you'd be able to give a landmark. 

The farmlands fade into the city and soon Gaz is parking on the street in front of a shop. You take Gaz's hand as he helps you out of the car, lacing your fingers together. Soap holds the door to the shop open, letting you and Gaz walk through first. 

It's a nice boutique filled with all sorts of formal wear. You wonder how they even knew about this place, or if they had done some research beforehand. Both make you feel honored that they would even go to those lengths just for you. 

They are going to be your pack soon. 

Packs do this sort of thing for each other. They take care of each other, spoil each other, make each other happy. It’s hard to be a good pack if one member is unhappy. 

“Good afternoon.” One of the workers approaches you. “My name is Emily. Is there something I can help you find today?” 

“Our omega has a date with our alpha this weekend.” Gaz says, smiling down at you. “She needs something to wear.” 

The worker, Emily, smiles at you. “How exciting! Did you have anything in mind? Style, color, anything like that?”

“Probably nothing too fancy,” You say, eyeing the racks. “And, probably a dress.”

“Alright, we've got lots of options for that. Let's take a look and you can try some on.” Emily says. 

Gaz keeps hold of your hand as you follow Emily through the racks, looking at some of the options. Johnny goes off on his own, perusing the racks himself. 

“Is there a certain color you have in mind?” Emily asks you.

You hum in contemplation, looking at the many racks. You're not sure what color Price would like, or if he even has a favorite. 

“His favorite color is blue, like a dark navy blue.” Johnny answers for you. “Though, I think he'd like you in any color.” 

You can't help the way your cheeks warm a bit at Johnny's words. You realize you don't even know their favorite colors. There's still so much about them that's a mystery to you. 

“What's your favorite color?” You ask, looking up at Gaz. 

“I don't think I have just one.” He says, running his hand over a sequin covered dress on the rack in front of you “I like warm colors. Reds, oranges, purples.”

“Like a sunset.” You say, looking at a tag on one of the dresses, nearly choking at the price. 

Gaz gently removes the tag from your hand, giving you a look as you meet his gaze. “Don't even worry about it, love.” He says quietly, leaning down to kiss your cheek. 

“My favorite color is green.” Johnny says, appearing next to you suddenly. 

“Let me guess, Ghost’s is black.” You say. 

Johnny's mouth twitches. “Now how'd you come to guess that?” 

You shrug, unable to hide your grin. “Call it intuition.” 

Emily takes you to the changing rooms, the boys taking seats outside to wait for you to try on the dresses you've chosen so far. You pick a sleeveless, blue, knee-length dress first with a ruched skirt. You already don't like it, but you know the guys will want to see it regardless. 

You feel nervous, strangely exposed as you step out of the dressing room and make your way to where the guys are sitting. They both straighten up as you approach, Johnny’s eyes immediately on your legs. Gaz let's out a low whistle as his eyes scan your figure, ending on your legs as well. 

“What?” You ask concerned as you stare down at your own legs thinking the worst, like how you might have missed a spot shaving or something. 

“Nothin’ love,” Gaz says, unable to lift his gaze from your legs. “Just never seen you in anything but long pants before.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. It's true, the climate had yet to allow for anything but long pants. Even to sleep, you found yourself too cold without long sleep pants. 

“Christ, you've got gorgeous legs, kitten.” Soap says, letting his eyes trail your form. “Keepin’ those hidden from us?” 

Your face feels like it's on fire as they stare at you, and quickly turn to face the large mirror across from them in an attempt to steady the butterflies in your stomach. 

“What do you think?” Emily asks, stepping up next to you. 

“It's a little too...churchy for a date.” You say smoothing your hands over the skirt. “Definitely need something fancier than this.”

You try on a few of the others, but none of them are right. Too short, too long, too formal, not formal enough. Johnny brings you more to try, a couple sticking out, but you're not sold on any of them. 

The last dress you have yet to try on catches your eye as you pull it off the hook. It's a deep blue color, almost black. It's long sleeved and covers your front entirely, but the back is open. It's short, the skirt hem long enough to cover your ass, but you wouldn't dare bend over. It hugs your figure, accentuating the curves and lines of your body. 

Your cheeks are warm as you step out of the changing room, both Gaz and Johnny going slack-jawed as they stare at you. Even Emily looks in awe as you stand in front of them. 

“I think you've found the one, love.” Gaz says, his eyes trailing your form. “Give us a spin.”

You do a slow turn, not missing the way their eyes widen in the mirror when they see the back, Johnny still frozen as you turn back to face them. 

“How do you feel?” Emily asks, stepping up to you. 

“Good.” You say, your face still warm. “Really good.”

“Yeah,” She says, looking you over. “I think you've hit the mark with this one. Let me grab shoes and we'll put the whole look together.”

You turn to face the mirror as she steps away, your eyes meeting Gaz's as he steps up to you. 

“You look fantastic, love.” He says, leaning in close over your shoulder, his breath fanning your ear. Goosebumps form on your skin as his fingers slowly trail up the line of your spine. “Price is going to want to devour you instantly as soon as he sees you in this one.”

You shiver at his words, biting your lip as his fingers splay out across your upper back. “You think so?”

There's a mischievous glint in his eyes as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “He won't be able to keep his hands off you. Gonna drive him insane, making him sit through dinner looking like a delicious dessert.” 

You fear you might start smoking from how warm you feel, glad for Emily's reappearance. You try on the shoes she brings, opting for the shorter heels for the sake of your own dignity. 

Johnny distracts you as Gaz pays for the items, spending far too much on you but neither will let you complain. It's what they're supposed to do. 

They are your pack after all. 

“What about lingerie?” Johnny asks, turning to look at you as you sit in the car. 

Your face burns at his question. You hadn't thought about that bit. 

“Gotta dress up the whole fit.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

“Lay off her, perv.” Gaz says, smacking Johnny's chest. “He's right though, gotta make sure the whole outfit matches.”

You feel like you might implode in the backseat. You might not make it to Saturday at this rate. 

You wake early on Saturday. You don't have to be up early. There's nothing going on until tonight, no need for you to rise earlier than the sun. Yet, you can't help the anticipation burning in your stomach, the nervous fluttering in your chest. Tonight you're going to sleep with Price for the first time. Tonight you'll allow him closer than you've ever allowed anyone. 

You have an outfit, you have fancy underwear, even new shoes. You're not sure how you want to wear your hair. You're not sure on makeup either, though Price has seen you plenty without it and has yet to offer any complaints. 

You grab your phone, laying in bed and scrolling hair tutorials until the sun comes up and you start hearing movement in the hallway. You don’t bother changing, pulling on shoes before stepping out. You are hungry, even after spending half the day in town and eating dinner out with Gaz and Johnny yesterday. You slip out the door, coming face to face with Ghost. You tilt your head back, staring up at him. 

“Didn’t expect to see you.” He grumbles. “Figured you’d be busy getting ready.” 

“I’ve got like ten hours until I have to be ready.” You say, blinking up at him. “It doesn’t take that long.” 

He lets out a huff, rolling his eyes. “Come on.” 

You follow him out of the barracks, but you find yourself not having to speed walk quite as fast to keep up with him today. 

“Are you upset?” You ask, kicking up your pace a bit so you can walk side by side with him. 

“About what?” He asks. 

“Price and I.” You say. 

“Why would I be?” He sounds genuinely baffled that you’re asking him. 

You shrug. “You’re an alpha in the pack too, and I didn’t really ask anyone but Price.” 

“Price is your alpha.” He says, as if it’s the most straightforward thing in the world. He’s not wrong, Price is the only one that really matters when it comes to you, since he’s the pack alpha, and he’ll be the one claiming you. 

“Would you ever want to be?” You ask, looking up at him. 

He meets your gaze as he opens the door to the mess, not answering as you slip into the hall. He stands closer to you than he normally does as you get in line for food, tailing you like a shadow as you find Johnny among the drowsy and hungover soldiers in the mess. 

You take a seat across from him, Ghost taking his spot next to Johnny. You can feel the nerves beginning to take hold as you eat, thinking about your date tonight. It’s not like you really have to impress Price much, though you suppose you could make him dislike you rather easily. You’d rather avoid that situation, as there’s no getting out of mating and being claimed by him. You’re going to be part of his pack whether he likes you or not. 

What if he finds you boring? You’re not even sure what you could talk about. It’s not like you do much, and he already knows most everything he can about you. The only thing you have to talk about are things you’d rather not discuss during your first date. You’d prefer not to discuss them at all. 

“You’ll be fine.” Johnny says as you walk back to the barracks. “Just get ‘im talking, and ye won’t need tae worry about gettin’ a word in yourself.” 

Johnny’s words do make you giggle. You’re sure Price has so much more to talk about than you do. You barely know anything about him in general. 

It’s ironic that you’re more nervous about dinner than you are about the fact Price is going to take your virginity tonight. 

You did ask for this. It’ll be good, getting to know him before your heat starts. The idea of going through your heat with a virtual stranger is terrifying to you, and Price had so willingly offered to do this so that doesn’t happen, so you feel more comfortable with being mated and claimed by someone you at least somewhat know. This is your chance to get to know your pack alpha, your alpha before you’re forced to. This is your chance to make your own decision, to have some control over a life that’s been dictated for you this far. 

You spend the morning in a nervous panic, looking up tips online, tutorials, possible questions he might ask and thinking up answers that will make you sound interesting at least. Answers that won’t just be parroting things that he already knows. Gaz brings you lunch, letting you continue to prepare for your date, knowing the chances of you having a breakdown if you’re forced around people are high right now. 

You give yourself ample time to get ready, showering and moisturizing, making sure you smell clean and look nice. You do your hair, taking your time to make yourself look decent. You opt for minimal make up, wanting to make yourself seem like you at least put a little effort into your looks. 

You're strapping on your shoes when the knock comes at the door. Six o'clock sharp, just as you expected. You take a deep breath, adjusting your dress before you open the door.

John is standing on the other side, dressed in a button up shirt and slacks. You look him over, the fresh scent of cologne reaching your nose. His eyes rake your form, his scent slipping through the cologne as his gaze darkens a bit. Gaz was right. He does look like he wants to devour you. 

“You clean up nicely.” You say, looking him over again. His shirt hugs his muscles nicely, his pants obviously tailored to fit him. You haven't seen him in anything but fatigues and civilian clothes so far. 

“Was going to say the same to you.” He says, lips pulling up into a smile. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” 

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Hungry?” He asks, offering you an arm. 

“Always.” You say, taking his arm, letting him lead you towards the rec room. 

The lights inside are dimmed, the table usually reserved for games set up with a tablecloth and candles, along with two plates covered with cloches, and a bottle of wine. You're not sure when he managed to procure the wine, or maybe he had it saved and decided this was as good a time as any. 

“Wow.” You say, impressed by the effort he obviously put into everything. 

“I bribed the boys out of here for a few hours.” He says, leading you to the table. “Wasn't easy.”

“I bet.” You say, sitting down in one of the chairs, letting him push it in for you. 

He pours you both glasses of wine before taking the cloches off the plates. You blink in surprise at the meal on the plate. Spaghetti, a salad, and bread. It's so simple, yet it takes you right back to weeknight dinners at home. 

“You made this?” You ask as he takes the seat across from you. 

He nods. “I've amassed many skills over the years. I'm no five star chef, but I can throw things together in a pinch.”

“Well it looks good.” You say, picking up your fork. 

It tastes good too. It's so simple, yet it's one of the best things you've eaten in the last month. You miss a lot of things about America, and the food is starting to be one of those. 

You and John make small talk as you eat, the wine warming your body and easing your nerves. 

“How long has it been,” You ask him as you clear your plate. “Since you were with an omega last?”

“Two years.” He says, taking a sip of wine. 

Your eyes widen in surprise. You know they've been with omegas in the past, taking advantage of barrack bunnies and the swaths of willing omegas you know populate near military bases. You just hadn't thought it would be that far back in the past.

“Right around the time the task force was created.” He continues. “We were too busy bonding and working on the task force, by the time we had a moment long enough for anything like that, we didn't need them anymore.”

“That must have been torture.” You say, staring at him wide eyed. 

“We're trained for that sort of thing.” He says with a smile. “How to fight off those urges, those needs. When you're in the field, something like that could get you killed. You don't pass selection into the SAS until you can show mastery over those skills.”

“Damn.” You say, taking a sip of your wine. “Still, it couldn't have been easy.”

“It can be hard, once you've been with an omega, to go without. But that's just part of the job.” 

“Well, I suppose that's partly why I'm here.” You say, huffing out a laugh. 

“Perhaps.” He says. “I'm certain we're not getting the full story.”

The double meaning isn't lost on you. There's a lot they don't know about you, things that are safer buried deep where they can't hurt anyone. Things you'd like to keep buried for the rest of time. 

“It’s nothing...bad is it?” You ask, searching his gaze. 

“I’d like to think not,” He says. 

But... 

You don’t need to hear him say it. You know it’s there, lingering at the end of that statement. You wonder how many times he’s been in these situations, forced to place blind trust in someone and hope they have the best intentions in mind. You’re all too familiar with those sorts of situations. Putting blind trust in strangers was your life purpose as soon as you presented as an omega. 

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” He says, staring at you with such conviction you can’t help but believe him. “You’re part of our pack, which makes you part of this team, even if bureaucracy says otherwise. We take care of each other, and that includes you. You’re our omega, regardless of whatever the endgame is for this initiative.” 

You feel almost breathless at his words, at his declaration of loyalty to you. You know how much loyalty means to someone like him, the kind of promise words like that uphold. They’d give their lives to defend you. You’d fight to defend them too, if it came down to it. Not that you could do much, but you’d try. 

“You’re my omega.” John says, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. “I take care of what's mine.”

You nod, trying to fight the tears welling in your eyes. “I know. You've...you've been a better alpha than I could have ever hoped for. Despite everything you've been kind and caring and understanding. I know some things we learned at the institute weren’t right, but...I was expecting a lot worse.”

His thumb draws circles on the back of your hand, his fingers gently squeezing yours. “I'm glad I could prove that wrong. I know this situation is weird and less than ideal, but I fear I'll have to tell Kate she was right. She did pick a good omega.”

You smile, preening a bit under his praise. “That’s all I can try to be.” 

“You can be so much more than that.” He says, lifting your hand to his lips. His beard tickles your skin as he presses a line of kisses across the back of your hand before turning it, kissing across your palm to your wrist. He presses his nose against the skin there, inhaling deeply. “You’re sure, about tonight?” 

Your fingers brush his cheek as he holds your hand against his face. Your heart is thudding your throat at the proximity, those nervous flutters starting in your stomach again. He’s giving you an out, a chance to take back what you had asked for. You know he wouldn’t blame you. He was more than willing to wait for your heat to start, for when you had no choice, when it would mean less because you would be desperate and needy for him. 

You don’t want that, though. You want him to want you before his instincts tell him he does. You want to know he’s not just fulfilling a duty, scratching an itch that’s been tickling him for two years now. You want him to want you as you are now. You want him to choose you. 

“Yes.” You say, pressing your palm flat against his cheek. “Just...be gentle with me?” 

“Of course.” He says, kissing your palm again. “You change your mind at any time, you tell me, yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” He takes your hand in his again, standing from his seat. 

Nerves mix with excitement as he pulls you to your feet with him, stepping up close to you. His hand lifts, tilting your chin up. Your stomach flutters as you meet his gaze, his eyes warm and soft as he stares at you. Affection shines in them as his thumb brushes your lip before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is short and sweet, like the ones you’ve shared with him before. Yet, at the same time it feels different. There’s warmth beginning to blossom under your skin, the kiss not just a simple sign of affection this time. It’s the overture, the appetizer, just a teasing taste of what’s to come. 

You hold his hand as he leads you down the hallway, heels clacking on the tile floor. It makes your face warm, the thought that they all know what it means, they can hear it and they know what’s about to happen. They know where you’re going, what you’re about to do. 

John opens his door, motioning for you to enter. You haven’t been in any of their rooms yet, you haven’t invaded their own sacred spaces. Your steps are slow and cautious as you breach that barrier, John’s scent washing over you as you step into his room. 

It’s neat and tidy, just as you expected it would be. It’s not laid out all that differently from your own, though perhaps a bit more organized and clinical than yours. There’s a shelf next to his nightstand, stuffed with books and what you can assume are souvenirs from places he’s been. There’s stacks of papers on the desk, his clothes and shoes tucked away neatly in their places. His bed is slightly bigger than yours, and you wonder if that’s a perk of his status, or if he pulled some strings once he learned he was getting an omega. 

The door clicking shut draws your attention back to John, the click of the handle a finality. You’re doing this. There’s no going back now. 

Not that you want to. 

John steps up to you, staring down at you. You stare up into his eyes as his hand comes to rest on your waist, his touch hot through the thin fabric of your dress. “You’re sure you want to do this?” He asks, voice rumbling in his chest. 

You nod, your hands slowly sliding up his arms, feeling the muscle hidden beneath his dress shirt. “Yes.” 

His lips meet yours, beard tickling your skin as he kisses you. You let him lead, leaning into him as he pulls you closer against his chest. He’s so warm, so firm under your hands as you grip his shoulders. His hand slides from your hip to your back, a gasp parting your lips as his calloused fingers touch the bare skin of your back. Goosebumps raise on your skin, a shiver running down your spine at his touch. He tilts his head, taking advantage of your parted lips to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He tastes like wine, a quiet sound leaving your throat as he pulls you tighter against him, pressing your body into his. You can feel all of him, the hard ridges, the strength in his body as he cages you in his arms. Your head is spinning, intoxicated purely by the smell and taste of him. 

Something rumbles deep in his chest, your entire body shivering in response. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, your hips pressed flush against his. You can feel him, the bulge in his pants pressing against your stomach. You’ve been able to smell the musky tinge of arousal in his scent all evening, and you wonder how long he’s been hard. Has it been since he saw you? Or has he been thinking about this all day? 

The thought thrills you, makes your omega preen in the back of your mind. You did this. Your alpha is all worked up because of you. 

A whimper leaves your lips as his hand slips lower, smoothing over the curve of your ass. He mumbles a curse against your lips before they blaze a path down the line of your jaw to your neck. You tilt your head, bearing your throat for him. A low rumble of approval vibrates through his chest, his hand squeezing your ass. The sound has your omega practically belly up, the dampness between your thighs intensifying as your scent gets heavier in the air. 

John groans against your throat, teeth nipping at your neck just over your scent gland. “Such a good girl for me.” He groans, his hand on your ass guiding your hips to grind against his. “Such a good omega.” 

You whine at the praise, hands blindly sliding down his chest to pull at the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers are trembling slightly from excitement, fumbling as you attempt to get his shirt off. You need to feel him, his skin against yours, the warmth of him pressed against you. 

“Easy pup.” His voice rumbles against your throat, teeth nipping at the delicate skin before he pulls back, hands taking over to strip him of his button up and undershirt. 

You lick your lips as his skin is revealed to you, your hand automatically lifting to touch him. You hesitate for a half a second but he makes no move to stop you. Your eyes trail over his form, over the many, many scars that decorate his skin like some kind of macabre painting. Lines and jagged slices, the telltale star shaped marks of bullet wounds. Cuts and nicks from knives or bullets, you can’t tell the difference. 

Your fingers settle on a rather large scar on his side, starting at the base of his ribs and curling around his side. It’s an old scar, but the skin is still rough and uneven. Whatever had caused it, it took a chunk out of him. You don’t want to think about it, about how every scar could have been a close call. How many times he’s been on the brink of death. 

“I’ll tell you about them later.” He says, taking your hand in his and lifting it to his lips. He kisses your fingertips, his beard tickling your skin. “Tonight is about you.” 

He pulls you close again, leaning down to press his lips to yours. His hands are warm against your back as he wraps himself around you again, trapping your hands against his bare chest. Your nails dig into his skin as his hands sink lower, grabbing handfuls of your ass. He groans, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip. He presses you backwards, and you trust him to guide you until your legs hit the side of his bed. 

“Gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?” He growls, his voice rough around the edges as his alpha slips through. 

“Yes, alpha!” You gasp against his lips, your head tilting back in submission. 

“Always such a good omega for me.” He praises you, teeth nipping at your throat. “Good omegas kneel for their alphas.” He says, pushing you backwards so you plop down on his bed. “But a good alpha,” He slowly lowers himself before you, dropping to one knee, then the other as his hands wrap around your ankles. “Kneels for his omega.”

Your face warms as you stare down at him, unable to do anything but watch as his hands make quick work of your shoes, setting them neatly beside the bed. His skin is rough against yours as his hands drag up your legs, slowly parting them. He moves himself closer, kneeling between your parted thighs. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he reaches up, pushing on your stomach until you're laying flat on his bed. He can see up your skirt now, and you're silently glad for the lacy panties Johnny had insisted on. 

“Do you trust me?” His lips brush your inner thigh as his hands pause just at the hem of your skirt where it's ridden up almost to your hips. 

“Yes, alpha.” You say, lifting your head to stare down at him. 

He meets your gaze as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his hands continuing to press upwards until your dress is hiked around your waist. Your heart is fluttering rapidly in your chest as you stare down at him, his gaze leaving your eyes to stare at the soaked lace barely covering your most private parts. 

His hands leave your hips to curl around the lace, giving it a sharp tug. The fabric snaps easily, the shreds falling to the floor. Your lip part as you stare at him in shock.  

“I'll buy you a new pair.” He says, his hands gripping your thighs to pull them further apart. 

The cool air in the room hits your slicked folds, making you shudder. He's barely touched you and already you can feel how slick you are. His lips press against your inner thigh again, blazing a path upwards. His gaze meets yours again as his hands shift to grip your hips, adjusting your position on the bed before he leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds. 

You gasp at the foreign sensation, your thighs pressing against his broad shoulders. His mouth is warm as it closes over your pussy, his tongue licking another slow stripe up your folds until he reaches the spot that has your inhale turning into a gasp. 

He focuses his attention there, dragging slow lines across your clit with his tongue. You let your arms give out, laying flat on the bed again. Little whimpers leave your lips as he teases your clit, your thighs already trembling. It’s been so long since you’ve touched yourself. Not since before you left the institute four months ago. 

You don’t last very long. 

Your thighs squeeze around his shoulders as your orgasm is ripped from you suddenly. You let out a cry that’s probably too loud, but you don’t care who could have heard you as your back arches off the bed, pressing your hips closer to John’s face. His hands hold your thighs, keeping you still as his tongue continues to tease your clit, working you through your orgasm. 

It’s not until you’re writhing in his grasp, letting out little whimpers that he relents, lifting his face from between your thighs. His beard is shiny with your juices, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. It’s obscene and yet, it has heat pulsing straight between your legs again. He lets out a chuckle, the scent of your arousal washing over him. 

“Fuckin sweet as sugar, love.” He says as he pushes himself up from between your legs, his body folding over yours on the bed. 

His face presses into your neck, inhaling deeply. Your pussy flutters at the thought of him claiming you now, sinking his teeth into your skin to mark you as his forever. He could. It would be so easy for him to do it. His tongue laves over the skin covering your scent gland, a shiver running through you. Your arms wrap around him, holding him against you as your scents mingle, musky with arousal. 

“Alpha...” You whine, your hips pressing up against the bulge in his pants. He’s fully hard now, the fabric of his pants providing delicious friction against your folds. 

He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your throat before he pushes himself up over you. “Soon, love.” He says, moving until he’s standing in front of you. “Think you’re a bit overdressed still.” 

Your eyes dart down to his pants. “So are you.” 

He smirks, his hands dropping to your waist, slowly pushing your dress up higher. You let him slip it over your head, lifting your arms to help him. You’re bare before him, warmth spreading through your veins as he stares down at you. Your hands lift, coming to rest on his thighs. You can feel the muscle through the fabric, the strength of him beneath your hands. How easily he could take control, pin you down and take what he wants with little regard for you or your pleasure. How easily he could hurt you, snap your bones like they’re toothpicks, bruise and batter your body without even straining a muscle. 

Yet he stands here, patiently watching as your hands move closer and closer to the prominent bulge in his fitted pants. He doesn’t even twitch as your hand cups his hard length, your breath stuttering at the sheer size of him. He’s big like most alphas are, or so you’ve heard. 

His eyes stare into you as you undo his belt, popping the button on his pants open. He finally moves as you pull down the zipper, helping you tug his pants and briefs down. His cock stands at attention, almost as stiff as he is. You stare at his veiny cock with wide eyes, the tip flushed almost red with how hard he is. 

“Christ.” You breathe, staring at him in awe. 

You did that. 

“Easy, love.” He says, leaning down to wrap an arm around your waist. “I said tonight was about you.” 

He moves you so you’re laid out on the bed, your head hitting his pillow. The scent of him floods your nose as he joins you on the bed, the frame creaking as he kneels between your legs. Nerves twist in your stomach as you continue to stare at his cock bobbing between his thighs as he runs his hands along your legs. It’s going to hurt, you know that. It suddenly seems daunting, this request. At least during your heat you’d be so out of it with need you wouldn’t really feel anything. And you’d have plenty of slick to help. 

“None of that.” He says, squeezing your thighs gently. “I told you I’d take care of you.” 

You nod, swallowing thickly. 

“We’ve got more work to do before we reach that point. I’m not just going to stuff my cock into you like some needy pup.” He stares at you. “You tell me and I’ll stop, alright?” 

You nod again. “Yes, alpha.” 

Your breath hitches as his hands reach the junction of your thighs, one moving to your stomach, the other dragging through your folds, gathering your wetness on his fingers. They’re so much thicker than your own, your pussy clenching as he presses against the entrance. 

“Relax for me, love.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on your stomach with his thumb. 

His finger presses into you and your lips part at the intrusion. You clamp tight around his finger, making him groan. 

“Easy.” He says, his thumb moving to circle your clit. 

A breathy whine leaves your lips as his finger presses deeper into you, reaching further than you ever could. Your hand reaches up to thread through his hair, letting the short cropped strands slide through your fingers. It’s softer than you imagined, though you expect he too had spent the afternoon preparing for tonight as well. The mental image of him lathering himself in moisturizer would have made you laugh if his finger hadn’t brushed against a spot inside you that has your hips lifting off the bed. 

He leans down, lips blazing a path up your stomach, between your breasts to your throat. He swallows your moans as he works you open with his fingers, the lewd sound of his fingers thrusting into your wet pussy only adding to the pleasure coursing through you. You can feel it building within you, heat burning through your veins. Price groans against your lips as your nails scratch his scalp, his cock leaking against your thigh. You want him, need him inside of you. You need to feel him, you need to be close to him. 

“Alpha, please.” You whimper, tugging at his hair. 

He stares down at you, eyes blown with lust. “Please, what?” 

“Need you.” You whimper, grinding against his hand. “Please, sir.” 

Price closes his eyes, letting out a groan. His cock twitches against your thigh, his fingers slipping from you. He breathes out a curse, shifting to open his nightstand. He pulls out a bottle of lube, sitting back on his knees to squirt some into his hand. You’re plenty slick, but you watch as he rubs the lube on his cock, tossing the bottle back into the open drawer. 

He kneels between your thighs again, staring down at you as one of his hands comes to rest on your hip. You feel intoxicated, your head spinning from the intensity of his scent around you and the knowledge of what’s about to happen. 

Price folds his body over yours again, the head of his cock brushing your folds. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you, parting your thighs further for him as his tip catches on your opening. Your hands grip his shoulders as he presses into you, the stretch stinging a bit as he works you open. This is it. There’s no going back now. 

You don’t want to. 

You whimper quietly as he pushes into you, nails biting into his skin. It’s too much, yet you can’t get enough of it as he sinks further in. You let out a shaky breath as he pulls away from your lips staring down at your face. 

“Alright?” He asks, stilling where he is. 

You nod. “Just need a moment. You’re really big.” 

His lips twitch up into a smile, a pleased growl rumbling through his chest. “Don’t start talking like that, love.” He says, leaning down to press kisses to your face. 

“Or what?” You ask, your nails digging harder into his skin. 

“I might not be able to control myself.” He growls, his alpha slipping out around the edges of his voice. 

Your pussy clenches at his words, walls clamping down around him. He lets out another growl, hiking your leg up over his hip. It forces him deeper into you, your breath catching at the feeling of him spreading you open. 

“Fuck,” You breathe, rocking your hips to take him even deeper into you. 

John’s arms frame your head as he presses his body against yours. Your arms slip around his back, legs locking around his waist as he begins to move slowly, working himself deeper and deeper into you until he’s pressed flush against you. He stills for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as you both breathe. You’re trembling just slightly, overwhelmed with being so close to him, to your alpha. The pain and discomfort is gone, replaced by burning heat as desire pulses through your veins. 

“Please, alpha.” You whimper. 

He shushes you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you, omega.” 

Your skin is slick with sweat already as he begins to rock his hips into you. Your hands press into his back, feeling the muscles shift and flex as he moves. It feels good, the friction of your bodies, the way he stretches you open with every thrust. Your head is spinning with pleasure at the thought of being so close to another person, being so connected with someone else. 

Not just someone else, with your alpha. 

The wet squelch of your pussy as he thrusts into you is loud, the mattress creaking as he picks up speed. You’re trembling, your thighs squeezing around his hips as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. You’re not sure how he’s lasted this long, especially without any sort of release for himself yet tonight. 

Perhaps it was the training he spoke about earlier.

You’re not sure how he manages it. You couldn’t have that kind of control. Not after this. Not after knowing how good it can feel, how good he can make you feel. 

“Fucking feel so good.” He grunts, his breath fanning her ear. His own skin is slicked with sweat, muscles twitching under her hands. “So fucking tight and warm.” 

“John!” You gasp, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades as he picks up the pace even more, his hips snapping against yours. 

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum like a good omega? Need you to cum for me.” He grunts, staring down at you. 

You let out a whine, arching against him as you seek your second high of the night. His cock brushes that spot inside of you, stars nearly erupting behind your eyes. 

“Right there.” You gasp, thighs shaking around his hips. “Fuck, right there!” 

You’re being loud but you don’t care, nails dragging down his back as he focuses his thrusts right at that spot inside you. You cum with a cry, pussy squeezing around him. He lets out a loud groan, his hips stilling as he twitches inside you. His muscles go lax, his body falling on top of yours. He manages to keep himself from squishing you beneath him, his face pressing against your neck. 

The smell of sex, arousal, sweat, and your own combined scents are heavy in the air. You’re shaking, still wrapped tightly around John as he lays on top of you. He’s breathing heavily, warm breaths fanning against your neck. You don’t want to move, your mind buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm still. 

“Alright?” He murmurs, lips pressing a gentle kiss against your throat. 

You nod, slowly unwinding yourself from around him. “Yeah. ‘M good.” 

“Fucking Christ, a man could get addicted to that.” He says, lifting his face from your neck. “Sweet little omega.” 

Your face warms more than it already feels, and you lean into his touch as his fingers brush your cheek. 

“Let me go get something to clean this mess up with.” He says, pushing himself up so he’s kneeling. 

You can’t help but giggle as his joints pop and he lets out a groan at the effort. “Need a break, old man.” 

His eyes flash playfully, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Going with the old man insults again, huh?” 

You give him a look. “You’re the one grunting while getting up.” 

You let out a surprised yelp as he brings his hand down on your thigh, the skin tingling as he gets up. “I’ll show you old man.” He murmurs as he heads for his en suite. 

You bite your lip as you begin to feel his release slipping out of you, the feeling causing desire to stir in your stomach once more. 

John tsks as he comes back, wiping the mess between your thighs. “Needy little thing.” He practically purrs, stepping away to toss the rag into the bathroom sink before he returns, climbing back onto the bed.

You press as close to him as you can, nuzzling into his neck. Your limbs are still twitching a bit, your mind buzzing from the aftermath of what had just transpired. John wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest. You press a gentle kiss to his neck, earning a rumble in response. Your own rumble starts up as you purr contently, tossing a leg over his hip to allow you to get as close to him as possible. 

He huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Comfortable?” 

You purr louder in response, sleep beginning to fog the corners of your mind. 

“Good girl.” He says, pressing another kiss to your head. “Sleep. Alpha’s got you.”

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph 

[sacredsorceress]

Spell on You / Logan Howlett

pairing: bestfriend!logan x f!witch!reader summary: when logan finds out another man bought you a drink at a halloween party, your relationship changes word count: 2.2k a/n: scott is an ass because i just know movie!cyclops would love to mess with logan's love life ('97 scott stays too busy for this). this is a bit rushed but i hope you enjoy!! warnings: reader wears a dress and thigh highs (slay), alcohol consumption, mention of smoke, jealousy, fluff, classic bff to lovers trope

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

The bum. bum. bum. of the music echoed throughout the establishment, vibrating against its walls and floorboards. The sea of bar-crawlers intent on having the worst of hangovers in the morning were shoulder to shoulder, bumping against Logan as he made his way through the crowd to you.

The room reeked of smoke of various kinds and if it hadn't been for the overworking of the fans above, Logan was sure he would've gotten high secondhand. But it was Halloween night- certain factors were out of his control.

Though, like a lighthouse in the night, Logan heard your voice beckoning him over to the bar.

"Boooooooo!" You shouted, glass in your hand. "You were supposed to dress up!"

Logan smirked at your complaint, leaning against the bar.

"Yeah?" He asked. "'Cause you're so original?"

Logan's eyes trailed from your thigh high boots to your dress to finally, a witch's hat. Being a witch yourself, the irony was unavoidable.

"Very creative, sweetheart."

You felt a heart skip a beat at your best friend's pet name.

In shock of many, you and Logan had become fast friends. The man who had always managed to have a perpetually grumpy demeanor about him had paired perfectly with you. You were able to brush off Logan's jokes, matching them with your own in a way that had escalated so far as to make your fellow X-Men wonder if the two of you had begun to speak your own language.

"At least it's a costume, Logan." You argued. "What are you meant to be?"

"-Oh I've got this one."

Scott.

Any inclination of joy written on Logan's face was quickly erased.

"A dick?" Scott said, slinging his arm around your shoulder. "I've gotta say Logan, you've nailed it."

Logan rolled his eyes, inching closer to the two of you as a couple nudged against him to order at the bar. Noting the drink in your hand, Logan shifted the conversation.

"I thought I told you I was buying tonight?"

Your eyes lowered from Logan's to the drink in your hand. You traced the rim of the glass as you shrugged.

"Oh this-“

Scott interrupted:

"Guy over there bought it for her." Scott said, a shit-eating grin on his face as he pointed to the opposite end of the establishment. "Told her he'd be back later 'to get to know her better'."

You felt yourself grow warm under Logan's gaze, refusing to meet his eyes.

Lately yours and Logan's relationship had become more complicated, blurring the lines between friendship and something more. Pet names like sweetheart and princess flowed out of his mouth without a second thought. You had stopped going on dates with new men- something about it feeling wrong when you and Logan had... whatever you had. He was your best friend, that you were sure of. But, with Logan's eyes burning a hole through you, you wondered if he still felt that way.

You had been hoping to keep the drink a secret and avoid speaking to the man later in the night, but you should've known that Scott and Logan's rivalry would make any chance of that impossible.

Logan's eyes trailed from you to the man Scott was pointing to across the room. He looked about your age, dressed with a cloak around his shoulders and a pair of cheap plastic teeth slipping from his mouth as he laughed with his friends.

Logan scowled, raising his eyebrow at you.

"You into... that?"

You shrugged, hiding your eyes beneath the rim of your hat.

"It's just a drink, Logan." You said. "He probably forgot about me anyway."

Holding his gaze, Logan slowly nodded, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"You want your usual?"

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"What are you talking about, Lo?" You asked. "I have a drink."

Logan shook his head, tapping his fingers against the bar to get the bartender's attention.

"I'm not gonna sit here and watch you have some other guy's drink." Logan said firmly. "Now, what are you having? 'Cause you either tell me, or I'm ordering for you."

You felt a burning sensation in your chest as your pulse quickened.

You were used to Logan's stubbornness and protective regard for those he cared about, but you had never seen him so firm with you before. You were someone who could handle yourself and as much as he worried about you, he had never claimed you in such a way as he did now.

If you hadn't known better, you would have thought he was jealous.

"My usual."

You watched as he leaned over the bar, ordering the both of your drinks from the bartender.

The lighting in the bar was dim. Most of the things that you could make out were highlighted by an array of multicolored LED lights that had been flickering throughout the room.

The light above Logan's head flicked from green to purple, showcasing the sheen of sweat that had begun running down his temple from the capacity of the party. His sleeves were rolled to his elbow, the veins in his arms protruding as he leaned against the counter top.

Sometimes you wondered what it felt like- to be one of the women who had the opportunity to touch Logan. You had had passing touches here and there but you wondered if you could feel the weight of his adamantium bones in your hand- whether his skin remained rough despite his regenerative abilities.

The thoughts were cruel. He was your friend.

But then again, were you really his?

Logan handed you your drink, leaning the small of his back against the counter. Gingerly taking the glass from his hands, your fingertips graced his skin.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, feeling the vibrations of the DJ's music against your feet. You listened to indistinguishable chatter rattle throughout the building.

"He said he liked the 'juxtaposition of my face to the costume'." You said, referring to the man who bought you a drink. "I'm not even sure that he used the word right."

A smirk rose onto Logan's face.

"What a dick." Logan scoffed, nursing his whiskey.

You laughed along with him, nudging your elbow into his side.

"He is, isn't he?" You joked. "I bet he's super pretentious."

Logan glanced down at you, noticing the small smile that graced your lips as you met his eyes.

God, he felt silly. He was over two hundred years old and yet, he found himself with a crush on a woman and unable to tell her. With anyone else, he would have made a move the second he saw them. But you were his friend- his closest friend.

You had a relationship that meant more to him than anything in his life. Did he want you? Yes, but he wasn't going to be the one to admit it and scare you off. It had to be you.

So Logan put out his feelers and afforded himself plausible deniability- calling you sweetheart, buying you drinks... sitting by your side after a mission went sideways. However, there was something about the two of you sharing a life in the mansion that made him forget that other men could see you the way that he did.

Seeing the multicolored lights illuminate your skin and the way your eyelashes batted as you smiled up at him, Logan was reminded that he didn't have forever.

"Not your thing?" He asked.

Logan asked it casually. He was still leaned over the bar, but his body had turned to encase yours- one arm snaking itself around your back while the other held the whiskey glass.

The space between you grew hot and you could feel his warm breath against your face. The scent of the cologne that you had gotten him for his birthday drifted up your nose as he hovered closer.

Sometimes you felt that Logan was off living a dozen lifetimes in his head despite standing directly in front of you, but here... now... his focus was entirely on you and you knew he was waiting on your answer with bated breath.

You don't know whether it was the liquor or the realisation that the wolverine had placed you at the center of his universe, but you gained a confidence you had lacked in the weeks since your relationship shifted.

Glancing at his empty glass, you flicked your hand, filling it up.

"No," You sighed as your eyes trailed up his body. "I like them a bit... rougher around the edges."

This, Logan decided, was your sign. You were pushing the boundaries just as he had done, seeing if he'd take the bait.

Logan's eyes narrowed as he leaned in further. The music in the bar was getting increasingly louder as the night went on and Logan's lips were now inches from your ear, sending goosebumps down your neck.

"That right?" Logan asked.

"Mhm."

Logan could hear your heart pounding in your chest and felt peace in knowing that his was doing the same. This wasn't the same as his other ventures- he wouldn't wake up in the morning to find an empty space in his mattress where you had been the night before. What you two had would be permanent, he told himself; a fixture in an otherwise chaotic life like his.

In the life of a man with regeneration, he rarely worried about what happened next. But with his lips grazing the skin of the woman he loved most, Logan could feel a drop of whiskey hit his skin- fallen from the glass that sat in his shaking hand.

Then, he felt your hands push gently against his chest. And his world came crashing down.

Your eyes meeting his, you shook your head.

"I love you, Logan."

For anyone else, this would've been confirmation. But Logan had heard these words from you a hundred times. You loved him... platonically. He felt the wind knocked out of him at what he thought was resignation.

Pulling away, Logan nodded.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Hearing him say it in the same voice he always did- the dismissive tone meant to mask any indication of care- you gripped his shirt, forcing him to look at you.

"No." You said firmly. "I love you. I'm saying this can't be a one night thing, Logan. I love you."

Logan saw the desperation in your eyes and couldn't hold back. He slammed his drink against the bar and held your face in his hands.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, thinking that as silly as it was, what he had been waiting for was finally happening. No matter the amount of times he had touched you, this time was different. As strong as you were, he was afraid to ruin the precious object he was holding in his hands- you and your future.

Logan swore your cheeks were softer and the scent of your perfume had wrapped himself around your finger.

"Say it back, Lo."

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue was enough confirmation he needed. Pulling your face to his, Logan's lips crashed against yours.

Your fingers never left his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you hummed into the kiss. Logan's hands moved to lay against your waist. The noise of the bar fell away as Logan focused on your breathing and the skip of your heartbeat as he squeezed you tighter.

When he heard the familiar, hypnotic hum of your magic, he pulled away only slightly.

In the heat of your kiss, a forcefield had formed around the two of you. When you noticed the golden shimmer of your magic, you pulled your hands way from Logan, bringing the forcefield down with it.

"Sorry."

Logan smirked.

"Don't gotta be worried," He said, running his thumb against your cheek. "You're safe with me."

Logan wasn't sure if he'd be able to always keep you safe in the hectic life that you two shared, but he would be damned if he wouldn't die trying. You two fit together like pieces of a puzzle and although he wasn't sure how it would work, if one thing was for sure- you weren't losing him.

"I love you too."

Holding you in his hands, the knowledge finally settling in that you were his, this dingey bar was the last place he wanted to be.

And it was as if you read his mind.

"Can we get out of here?"

Glancing around the room, Logan noticed two things: one being that half the eyes in the room were on you since your accidental forcefield, and the other, Scott barreling over through a crowd of college girls towards you. These two things paired with the fact that the woman of his dreams was standing beside him, Logan was more than ready to, kindly, get the fuck out of there.

Logan wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you out of the bar.

"That's my girl."

author's note: thank you for reading! just a short lil oneshot for spooky season

[greenglowinspooks]

To be honest. DCxDP where the reason Danny meets the bats is Ace the Bat-hound

Like, just think about it for a second. Danny is in Gotham for college, or maybe he just moved out to find a city where having mad scientist parents isn’t actually that unusual.

He can see ghosts.

The ghosts know this.

Now he’s getting harassed left and right by spirits trying to get closure. Fine, whatever, most of them are a one-and-done type deal, and the amount of ghosts trying to get his help steadily decreases.

Except for this one very stubborn dog.

It just keeps showing up and leading him to crime scenes! He doesn’t know how many “anonymous tips” he can call in to the cops before they trace his phone! And this dog, this incredibly good boy, will not stop trying to help the city. He’s never met anyone with such a strong sense of justice, let alone a dog. Can dogs even have a moral compass?

And so Danny just accepts the fact that Ace isn’t going anywhere and becomes his reluctant sidekick/dedicated medium. He leans into the whole thing, dressing up in a mix of traditional magic-user attire and accessories that pay homage to the ghost dog.

He becomes somewhat well known. The psychopomp detective following around the shadowy figure of a German Shepard? That’s unusual! That’s weird! I mean, it’s not the weirdest thing in Gotham, sure, but he’s a new vigilante and he’s got a ghost dog that people can only see when it’s around him. Someone’s gonna notice.

Damian, as Robin, is the first to reach out to him.

Ace doesn’t know Damian but he does know a Robin, and while this isn’t his Robin, he’s still friendlier than usual. Danny’s panicking because oh god the bats are here and also is this kid gonna steal my ghost dog, Damian is absolutely delighted by Ace, and Ace is just happy to see a Robin again.

Damian decides that the psychopomp isn’t a danger to anyone, and there’s no reason to put this encounter into his reports, really, and perhaps Danny can help with some of his cases in the future.

Danny is sweating bullets because Damian basically tells him that he’ll keep him secret as long as he gets to play with Ace. Ace is happy that he’s finally getting some bat affiliated crime-fighting assistance.

And so, Danny is now both Ace AND Damian’s reluctant assistant. At least whenever he’s in trouble, he can always call a middle schooler to help him.

(Is Robin even in school? He’s out patrolling damn near every night, and he stays out late as hell. Does he have a bedtime? He should.)

Eventually it gets to the point where Damian is going over to Danny’s house. When he first sees it, he has a damn bitch you live like this moment, to which Danny responds that not everyone has the money to afford a nice place. Damian counters that he could at least take the time to clean up, and Danny replies that he’s working, going to school, and being a vigilante assistant to a ghost dog, something’s got to give.

Danny nearly has a heart attack when he checks his bank account the next day and sees that someone transferred him 10,000 dollars.

And so they get into a routine. Danny and Damian fight crime with Ace at night, and occasionally Damian stops by during the day to play with Ace and have Danny help with his homework.

(Damian is smart enough to do it on his own, but some of the instructions are written incredibly confusingly, and he would never admit to needing help to his family. Danny is just glad that the kid is in school and cares about his education, blissfully unaware that he’s basically emotionally adopted him.)

Damian is used to being in Danny’s company.

Eventually, when going over a case with the family, Damian absentmindedly remarks that he’ll have to ask Danny about some of the clues that they might be missing. Nightwing asks who he means and Damian makes a face like he just swallowed a lemon.

Cue shitstorm.

Who is “Danny?” Why is Damian willing to ask for help from anyone, much less someone outside of the family? Does he know who Damian is? Has Damian been compromised? What the hell is going on?

Damian now has to explain that Danny is the psychopomp with the ghost dog who he might have met hunted down while on patrol and conveniently not mentioned, but he’s not a bad person, really, and he lets him play with Ace, and he’s been quite helpful on certain cases due to his ability to talk to ghosts.

Bruce insists that the family meet Danny. Damian, hoping that he won’t just skip town the second he hears the news, relents.

Danny is surprisingly eager to meet the bats, considering his earlier fears.

Damian, blissfully unaware of what’s coming, sets a time and place to meet.

Once everyone is there, he gives Bruce the earful of a lifetime.

Robin is in middle school! Danny knows that there’s no way to stop the boy from going on patrol, but you could at least shift his schedule so he gets enough sleep on school nights! Does the Bat even know where he is half the time?! (No) And why isn’t he comfortable asking his family for help with both cases and homework? Did they ever even notice how much time he was spending at Danny’s house? If Danny was a bad person, he could have seriously hurt the poor boy! Shame on you!

Nightwing is mortified that Damian didn’t trust him enough to tell him about any of this. Red Hood is laughing his ass off, because yeah Danny is making good points but he’s also chewing out the literal Batman. Tim is recording the whole thing. Steph is delighted by the absolute gall of this Danger Twink™️, and already planning to add him to several groupchats. Damian is more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his entire life.

You, he points to Nightwing, did your academic life feel supported when you were a Robin? Nightwing is too stunned to speak. Red Hood, eternal shit-stirrer, says that oh, we all prioritized patrol over our education, that’s just how it is. Red Robin actually dropped out of high school to avoid distractions, did you know that?

Danny honest-to-god shrieks at this.

He finishes his angry rant and leaves, everyone too stunned to stop him.

And as it turns out, Tim wasn’t the only person recording the whole thing.

The entire internet is blowing up with Psychopomp The Danger Twink™️’s rant. People are taking sides. Things are getting messy. Red Hood literally admitting on-camera to previously being a Robin is somehow not the main focus here.

Eventually someone connects some dots from the video, as well as stories circling the internet about the psychopomp. A ghost dog named Ace, who is the literal only reason that the psychopomp is fighting crime at all, which seems incredibly fond of Nightwing and Robin.

A crime-fighting dog who wants constant attention from both the current and original Robin.

Oh my god, Ace the Bat-hound died and became a crime-fighting ghost.

And, somehow, that’s still not the strangest thing going on in Gotham.

[lehguru]

THINK YOU NEED SOMEONE YOUNGER + ONE PIECE MEN

they start to realize they might be a little too old for you ft. crocodile, mihawk, smoker, shanks, doflamingo, corazon

info: will do this for other fandoms too i think, angsty on some; not proofread

crocodile never felt insecure, at least when it came to your relationship. after he left impel down and came to look for you, things got a little... weird. he was avoiding you. you knew it wasn't because he didn't want to bring you into his business (he did it more than once), it was something you didn't really understand. before you could even confront him about it, he said out of nowhere one day: "did you... get with anyone while i was away?" he looked at you with a hard stare. "someone... younger?" you almost laughed at his question, but you held yourself back. your arms circled his waist and you rested your chin on his chest. 'i don't know anyone younger that is as attractive as you, sir.' he grinned, holding the back of your head with his hand. "good."

mihawk noticed how you and zoro interacted during his time at the island. he wasn't suspicious that something was happening, he knew you would never cheat on him or break his trust; but... a thought started to spread in his mind like poison. once zoro and perona left, and you two finally managed to carry on with your married life alone, he asked you one day while you drank tea together. "how do you feel about me being... older?" you looked at him with raised eyebrows and 'the only thing that matters to me is you. i fell in love with your personality and the way you treat me, not your age.' he hummed, a deep sound that you know reverberated on his chest. even if it was faint, you could see a soft pink dusting his cheeks.

smoker didn't think about your age gap until he overheard some of the new recruits talking about you two. captain smoker having a younger partner is a little weird isn't it, was what they said. when he was back home and you were resting against his chest, softly playing with the hair on the area, he told you about it. you looked up, your eyes shining, 'old pan makes good food'. the laughter that left his lips was one that he always reserved for you, his most sincere and genuine laugh; he pressed his lips on the top of your head, murmuring praises and love confessions against your hair.

shanks really didn't care about it, not as much as other members of his crew did – with how well they knew their captain, the man would be destroyed if you decided to leave him. 'she might go for a younger guy, when your thing doesn't get up anymore.' they usually voiced their concerns in the form of jokes, so they wouldn't be too harsh on their captain, but it was effective. those comments made him start to realize what you two were – lovers. one day, without telling you, he and the crew left. simply left the island, leaving you behind with only an note written "don't look for me." in a messy manner.

one thing about doflamingo is that he gets whatever he wants whenever he wants. and since the moment he laid eyes on you, you were his. the people that tried to comment on your age gap always "mysteriously" disappeared, even if they were from inside his organization. no one could talk about him and his partner like that. if he ever brought up the topic, it was only to test if you were seeing anyone or wanted someone younger (he knows you don't. he knows everything); your praises towards him and your love always left him pleased – he would give you the same in return.

corazon is frequently insecure about your relationship. he wonders if you really love him, if he's good enough for you, if he's being a good boyfriend, if he missed any important date that he should've remembered – your age gap (made worse by your height gap too) is only another one of those concerns. no matter what you say, he often asks you if you wouldn't want to be with someone younger and with a better family than him. one day, after he asked that for the millionth time, you answered: "we can have a family of our own, rosi. you deserve happiness. you said once i made you happy, so i will stay. the only way you're going to get rid of me is if one of us is gone." he chuckled and smiled widely, as he often did around you and law, hugging you tightly against his body. 'i adore you. with all my heart and soul, i love you.'

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