#Luckily he didn't rip it to shreds

[universalhoneycakes]

Been collecting images to draw Lucky in, so you'll slowly start to see those get posted when I'm able to work on them.

Tiny guy is absolutely destroying that carrot toy.

original:

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Miscalculation

AN: I don't write nearly enough for Felix. Luckily, that SKZCode lab episode planted this idea in my head, and it's taken a viciously hold on me. Also, just to be super clear, despite Reader being a year old experiment, she's very much an adult. She came into the world that way. Also also, I edited this while sleepy so, hopefully it's coherent lol.

Synopsis: Your first heat hits you unexpectedly and violently one day. Thankfully, your favourite person pays you a visit in an attempt to comfort you through it. However, you both severely underestimate just how much your heat affects you. Especially around him.

General tags and warnings: Lee Felix x Fem! Reader, Scientist! Felix, Cat hybrid! Reader, lots of unethical research, Reader is an experiment, Felix tries his best to humanise Reader, doesn't really apply here but, since Reader is an experiment and Felix is a scientist there is the potential for a power imbalance, Reader is in heat, Reader is manipulative and maybe in love with Felix and not much plot.

Smut tags and warnings: heavy dubcon, mentions of masturbation and exploration of sexuality, virgin! Reader, kind of sort of fingering (f. receiving), humping/grinding, over the clothes touching, scent kink of sorts, clothes being ripped, nipple play (m. receiving), Reader takes charge a lot throughout this, little to no foreplay for Reader and a very unrealistic first time, piv sex without a condom, marking and clawing (m. receiving), biting (m. receiving), one mention of blood, possessiveness from Reader, dirty talk, praise and creampie.

Word count: 3.8k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

Everything burns. 

Your blankets are a crumpled mess on your floor because you're certain you'll shred them into pieces with your claws if they so much as touch your overheated body right now. The persistent buzz of the air conditioner brings you no comfort. Sweat dots your forehead and you'd take off the oversized shirt that clings to your body within an instant if Doctor Bang, red faced and avoiding your frustrated gaze, hadn't insisted on some sense of propriety. Aren't these men supposed to be doctors? Trained medical professionals? Have they never seen a naked body before? He's lucky that he's the only one out of the three older men that you can somewhat stomach because if Doctor Lee or Doctor Seo had suggested you cover yourself, you would have hissed and clawed at them. 

A frustrated noise builds from the back of your throat when you can feel your sheets starting to grow damp underneath you. You've already had to change them five times in the past two days and, you feel like you're losing your mind. Actually, you just might be. Worse than the burning that emanates through your entire body and the non-stop sweat that clings to your skin no matter how many ice-cold showers you take, is the perpetual ache between your thighs. You're not stupid. This lab may be all that you've known for the entire year of your life but, you have basic instincts and common sense. Coupled with all of the sessions you're forced to sit through with Doctor Bang in an attempt to understand you and aid you in understanding yourself, you're more than aware you're aroused right now. Or ‘wet’ as Doctor Lee and Doctor Seo put it, much to the dismay of the older of the three. 

You just don't understand why. 

In the rare moments that you've wondered about your sexuality and sex in these sterile walls, it's rarely gone beyond a few curious pokes and prods at yourself. It's mostly been a neutral experience and you didn't derive much pleasure out of it. You're sure your limited knowledge and experience on the matter has hindered your ability to enjoy masturbation much but, it's not as though the four men will just give you the material or knowledge to help pleasure yourself. You're not even sure you care all that much.

Except for when you do. Thinking back to quiet nights where the silence and loneliness of the lab was too much for your mind to handle and masturbation crossed it as a hope for distraction. A brief escape from the life you've been forced to endure. So, you tried it. Flashes of a kind smile and blonde hair making your stomach twist in a way that wasn't unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Full lips and memories of a deep voice causing arousal to trickle onto your inexperienced fingers. You'd even managed to make yourself orgasm once. It was one of the few sincerely pleasant moments you've had. 

The rest centred around him too. 

��–she's deep in heat right now, Lix.” You recognise the voice as that of Doctor Bang. Your ears twitch atop your head in interest at the conversation he's having with the only doctor you've grown fond of. You're always grateful for your hearing abilities in moments like these. 

“We can't just keep her in the dark,” Felix argues and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Electricity zipping through you just at the sound of his voice and the knowledge that he's just beyond your bedroom door. The throbbing between your thighs worsens. 

“I know,” Doctor Bang sighs, “but, we won't be getting a shipment of suppressants until three days from now. We're just going to have to wait it out.” 

“We?” Comes Felix's incredulous reply, “We're not the ones suffering right now. I went to visit her last night Chris,” your eyes widen at the confession, “She was burning up and covered in sweat and, she's only had to deal with two days of it. You know it's not fair to her.” 

“What do you want us to do, Felix?” The older man argues, his voice heavy with frustration. 

“Treat her like a fucking person,” the younger man argues just as frustrated, “Tell her what's going on. We know she's incredibly smart. Maybe she has some biological way to make herself feel better that we haven't thought about or explored.” 

Silence stretches between the two for a few, long moments. 

“I don't think that's a good idea,” comes Doctor Bang's resigned reply, “Look Lix, I know that you care about her and the two of you have always been close. Too close for what could be considered appropriate,” you snort at that. Now he cares about ethics and what's appropriate? How funny. “But, Minho, Changbin and I care about her too. She's not just some experiment to us,” you find that hard to believe, “We just know when it's appropriate to step back and keep our distance. This is one of those times. We're going to try and help her through it as best as we can but, we're going to wait for the suppressants then feed them to her. That's it. End of discussion.” The sounds of footsteps echoing through the hallway are all that accompany his words. 

Well, at least you finally know what's wrong with you. You're in heat. Something they've apparently known you're capable of experiencing and have been suppressing since you gained consciousness. The fact that they're so blasé about letting you suffer in your room and wait days until you're able to find any kind of reprieve boils your blood in a way that has nothing to do with your biology. Yeah, so much for caring about you. You haven't even seen Doctor Seo and Doctor Lee since your symptoms first started. You don't even notice your claws prodding in your anger. You should have attempted to escape on those rare trips Felix had taken you outside of the lab. Consequences be damned. At least you'd have a shot at a normal life. You should have never let his warm eyes and compassion keep you coming back to this hellhole. 

Your furious, internal tirade is interrupted by your door sliding open. You don't have to turn around to know that it's Felix. His scent always betrays him before anything else. The familiar mix of bamboo and vanilla hit your senses. However, unlike the other times you'd bask in his scent, now it worsens the thundering of your heart and you notice the slick between your thighs increasing. 

“Hey,” he says gently, shutting the door behind him. All you can think to do is stare at your wall wide eyed as his scent grows closer with every step he takes towards your bed. Saliva begins to pool in your mouth just at the smell of him and the soft timber of his voice adds to the pit forming in your stomach. Your hands desperately grabbing at your arms in an attempt to calm you down. It's just Felix.  

“I just wanted to check up on you,” he adds when his greeting is met with silence. You have to fight extremely hard to not let your tail move wildly and to keep your claws retracted when he sits down on the edge of your bed. Fuck. He's so close now and his scent is overwhelming. The smell that used to bring you comfort now puts you on edge. A feeling that you've only felt sparks of now sets your entire body alight and the ache between your thighs starts to become unbearable. He needs to leave before your heat causes you to do something very, very stupid. 

“I know you've been struggling a lot lately,” the apologetic tone to his voice melts your heart and your impulses yell at you to crawl into his lap and nuzzle at him until he no longer sounds upset, “I'm sorry. We should have told you this when it started but, you're in heat. That's what's causing you to feel this way,” he explains, as though you hadn't overheard (more like intentionally listened in on) his conversation with Doctor Bang. 

“I know you're probably mad at us, at me,” you want to tell him no, you could never be mad at him but, you're afraid that if you speak now, you'll say something you can't take back, “I'm truly sorry. The suppressants will be here in a few days. Till then though, I'm here for you,” he says softly, laying a hand gently on your arm in what you assume is an act of comfort but, it has the complete opposite effect. 

Your blood turns molten in your veins and the fog that's been on the edges of your mind swallows it whole. All you can think about is getting your hands on him. Touching him. Feeling him. Mating with him. You've never felt more animal than human. 

One of the major perks of being a cat hybrid, you've come to learn, is your quick movements. Before Felix can process it, you're sitting up and pressed to his side within an instant. The confusion and concern on his handsome face is so endearing. He's so cute. You just want to devour him. 

“Felix,” your voice sounds near unrecognisable to even your own ears, “I want you to help me with my heat,” you practically purr into his shoulder. Grasping his arm and delighting in the pretty flush that spreads across his face. The ache of your canines extending doesn't bother you in the slightest. Your mind focused on nothing else but, the man that's been your lifeline for the past year. 

“I–I um I ca–can't do that,” he explains, his voice sounding strained. His attempt to pull his arm away proves to be futile. Not that he was trying particularly hard anyway. “But, Lix,” you whine, pushing your body closer to his, your breasts pressing against his arm, “Didn't you say you'd help me?” 

The way he attempts to stammer out a reply just makes him so much cuter to you. Nothing but, instinct driving you to press yourself even closer to him. Delighting in the shudder you feel run through his body when your breath hits his exposed neck. “Don't you want to help me, Felix?” You ask with a desperate edge to your hoarse voice, one of your hands travelling down the span of his lab coat until you reach his soft hand. Moving it until it's between your slick covered, inner thighs, “It hurts, Lix.” 

Felix, for his part, looks absolutely shell-shocked. Warm, panicked brown eyes staring at you unblinkingly but, he doesn't move his hand. Not even when your own is no longer holding it. Your body moves on its own. Hips chasing the brush that his fingers offer. Your lashes fluttering at the pleasure courses through you. You feel so sensitive, even his barely there touch is enough to cause you to gush further onto his fingers. 

And Felix watches it all. Watches the way you clumsily try to hump his fingers. Watches the minute expressions of relief and desire and frustration that all cross your beautiful face. Watches the way your canines sink into your bottom lip. Feels the way your sharp claws dig into his lap coat. He doesn't miss a thing. 

Impulse and maybe a fraction of ration desire push you to tug on his button up shirt and kiss him. You're moving completely on what feels natural and what you've seen a couple of movies he's watched with you. It takes him a second to kiss you back. Tentatively following the movements of your lips and guiding you in more comfortable and enjoyable directions. You swallow his stuttered groan greedily when your tongue invades his mouth. Searching for more of him to explore. To taste. To burn into your memory. 

As nice as it feels to kiss him like you've thought about far too many times in the silence of your room and, use his fingers and hand to help satiate the persistent ache that sits in the pit of your stomach, it still all isn't enough. Not even close. This time, you moan into his mouth when one of your hands snakes its way down the front of his body until it comes to rest on his lap. A particularly painful throb coming from the apex of your thighs when you feel how hard he is beneath your touch. 

“So you do want this just as much as I do,” you sigh dreamily against his lips, sparks of desire shooting through your entire body with every palm of your hand over his clothed cock. All of his adorable, little noises making your walls clench. You don't think you've ever felt pain like this in your entire, short life. Saliva pools in your mouth as his scent wafts to you. Much heavier and headier than earlier. Beneath the anxiety and fear, the arousal makes its presence known clear as day. 

“W–Wait, I–” Whatever he was going to say is cut short by you shoving him onto your bed. His wide eyes, pupils blown out and completely swallowing his irises, meeting your lidded ones as he watches you straddle his slender hips. You've always thought he was a good-looking man but, he looks even better like this, underneath you. 

Your eyes practically roll into the back of your head when you press down on him. Your drenched folds coming in contact with the evident bulge in his dress pants. Resting your palms on his stomach, you start to move. Chasing the friction against your clit desperately. Not caring all about the mess you're making of his pants. Your eyes focused on watching the way he tries very, very hard not to lose himself in the way you grind against him. His hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he lays there and let's you use him. 

Fuck. What a cutie. 

His eyes shoot to your face when you use your claws to rip his blue button up open. While the colour looks absolutely lovely on him, you much prefer the sight of his bare chest. Your tongue running over your teeth at all the skin that you now have access to. 

“He–Hey, I think we should calm d–down a bit and–” Felix tries to interject, the drop in octave of his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you. You disregard his words easily. Leaning down to shut him up with your mouth while your hands busy themselves with exploring his chest. Your canines nipping his bottom lip when he gasps into you while you trace his nipples with your claws. Sensitive too. Perfect. 

“Why stop when I can feel how hard you are for me, Lixie?” You whisper against his full lips, fingers tracing random patterns into his nipples. His hips jutting up to meet your drenched core every time you touch him a little too harshly or drag yourself along his entire length. 

“Don't you want to just give in?” You ask, meeting his blown out eyes as your hands move their way along his lithe body until they reach his belt buckle. 

“I–I–” he stutters out when you sit back up so you can gain a better view of his frustrating belt. He must see you preparing to rip his pants off too because he stops you immediately, “I–It's okay, I got um it,” he quickly responds. You shift down him a little to provide him with space to unbuckle his belt. Fortunately, he doesn't take too long. You're sure your impatience is rolling off of you in waves. 

Much to your surprise given how bashful he's been, he tugs his pants and boxers down in one go. His hard, pre-cum covered cock slapping against his stomach in his rush, his eyes pointedly looking at everywhere but, you. 

It's one thing to feel him, it's a whole different matter entirely to have his cock right there, ready for the taking. And take, you do. It's adorable how red his face is and the way he sneaks glances at you shyly when you shift back up his body until your dripping pussy is hovering over his twitching cock. Your shirt sticks to your damp body uncomfortably and, the reminder that you're still wearing it is an unwelcome one. So, you simply tug it off. Exposing yourself freely and readily to his shy eyes. 

Not that he's all that shy when you're bare for him to fully drink in. Bruised lips parting as he watches you grasp his cock with an impatient hand and align it with your dripping hole. He doesn't stop you when you begin to sink down onto him. Strained whimpers falling from his pretty mouth with every inch you eagerly swallow. The stretch only stings a little. The sensation of his scorching cock dragging along your walls more than makes up for it. It's your turn to moan once he's fully sheathed inside of you. Your clumsy attempts with your fingers don't hold a candle to this. 

The way Felix chokes on your name when you start to move will forever be etched into your memory. The pleasure clear as day on his face spurs you along with the desire to feel him inside of you for as long as you can. To make love with him in this awful place that only he gave any semblance of meaning to. To mate with him. 

You lose yourself in the way his cock feels easily. Fluttering lashes threatening to shut every time he hits a spot inside of you that makes your pace falter and your claws dig into his soft stomach. The faint, pink lines that decorate his skin cause you to preen. They look gorgeous on his skin. They look like they belong there. Like they were meant to be there. Based on the way his hooded eyes switch from watching the expressions your face morphs into, the way your breasts bounce with every movement on his cock and the way you swallow as much of him as you can, you don't think he minds or cares all that much. 

Your skin grows impossibly hotter when his hands touch you. He's careful. Watching for any discomfort but, there's none to be found. If anything, you revel in the gentle hold his hands take of your hips. Not controlling your movements but just enjoying touching you while you bounce on his cock. 

You might actually love him. 

The thought prompts you to lean down and smash your lips to his once more. The metallic tang of blood lets you know that you nipped him too hard but he doesn't care all that much. Letting you take everything you need from him right now while he lets you. You can feel the way he throbs inside of you. He tries to stop himself but, you notice the way his hips sometimes jerk up to meet you, to move with you. And the knowledge that, on some level, he wants you just as much as you want him sends you into overdrive. 

His sharp inhale echoes through your room when you sink your canines into his neck. The punctures aren't deep but, they're more than enough to satisfy you. You're not sure why or how you knew to do that but, instinct has been your driving force all night and you're going to continue to trust it. 

“We're mated now,” you sigh, thumbing his flushed cheek. 

He just looks up at you for a moment, attempting to digest your words before responding, “Mate–Mated?” 

“Mmm,” you hum in confirmation, purring when you notice the way his twitches like crazy inside of you, “You're my mate now, and I'm yours,” you explain breathlessly. A tension you're barely familiar with building in the pit of your gut that you chase. 

“But we fuck can't–” his sentence is cut off by the drawn out moans from the depths of his chest, his eyes rolling into the back of his head when you pick up your pace. He looks so attractive like this. A bruise already forming on his neck and his chest littered with faint marks from your claws. He's gorgeous. 

“I'm ah cl–close,” he gasps out, his glazed eyes meeting yours and his hands desperately gripping your hips, “You need to shit st–stop,” he manages to stutter out. You think it's amusing that he thinks you're going to stop now. Especially when you're just about to get what you want. Leaning down to his ear, you whisper, “Why, Lixie? You look so cute like this. Why would I ever want to stop?” You smile when you hear the way he whimpers and his cock pulses harder inside of you, “Don't you want to cum inside me?” His hold on you grows tighter, “I want you to. I want you to cum inside me until it's spilling out of me,” you emphasise your point by intentionally clenching around him, “For days.” 

That's all it takes for him to break. His cock throbbing as he shoots his cum into the deepest part of you. A mix of his whimpers and strangled moans of your name tickle your ears as his cum fills your eagerly awaiting pussy. Your tail swishes in glee and your ears twitch in happiness. Your own orgasm creeping up on you when you feel the last of his cum spill into you. Truly, the late nights alone in your bed could never compare to this. To him. Your first orgasm could never hold a candle to this. Your entire body is riddled with quivers and shakes, your wetness gushing onto Felix's softening cock. Your thighs are sticky with cum and you're drenched in sweat but, you've never been more at peace. 

For some time, your shared laboured breathing is the only sound in your room. Fondness bubbles up inside of you when you glance at his flushed, sweaty face. His golden hair sticking to his forehead while he takes some time to come back to himself. Your fingers move before you can even think about it. The fog retreating slightly while you play with his hair and enjoy the simple pleasure of watching him while your combined releases trickle out of you. Much to your displeasure.  

You smile at him when he finally blinks his eyes open to meet yours. Your fingers ghosting over his mate mark as something primal and affectionate simmers in the pit of your stomach. He really is yours now. Your tail wraps around his leg without you even noticing. 

The smile he gives you is small but, it's still one of his smiles and the way your heart hammers in your chest lets you know he really was meant to be your mate. 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Stray Kids Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[pedge-page]

Nobody Knows My Girlfriend is a Werewolf

Joel Miller x Werewolf F!Reader

Here's my late halloween contribution!

Warnings: monster sex, werewolf!reader, brief rimming, ball nipping, oral m!receiving, breeding kink, battle of dominance

18+ ONLY

- - - -

‘HeY! Tommy—shh!—no sorry not you I’m just—fuck, stop that!”

Burying the receiving end of the phone into his shirt, Joel puts his finger to his lips to shush you before shoving your clawed hand away. He puts the speaker back on his ear. “Sorry we—“

A strong growl rumbles below Joel.

“You got a dog or something?” Tommy chuckles on the other end.

“Uhhh--“ Joel looks down at you, now on all fours and nudging his clothed sack with your pointed snout. “StoP! Shit--“ he tries to push your nose away but you keep coming back, inhaling deeply through your blackened sniffer with heightened senses. You let out a low howl from your throat of approval, pawing at his jeans now to get them off. “Y-yeah— I mean no! We’re watching a friend’s dog—“

“You gonna keep it?”

“Wh-no. She’s being a —very-bad-dog!” He enunciates at you. “I’m gonna tell them she can’t play here anymore when she’s like this.”

You scoff, knowing deep inside your wolf brain he’s full of empty threats. 

If you really wanted to annoy him, you’d crush his phone under your foot, pin him down, and force you needs onto him. you'd actaully done that before, only to wake up with little memory next to a Joel who looked like he got hit by truck.

You were actually being a VERY good girl tonight given the circumstances.

He pushes you away with finality, walking away towards the bedroom.

You should try to behave, but its so difficult once this shape takes form. It's like asking a kid on halloween to wait to open candy until he's out of his costume and washed up for bed. you couldn't communicate with him, your wolf-like vocal cards unable to form words. But your gestures lead to pretty obvious intentions, and Joel was not getting it one bit.

Luckily, he isn’t prepared when you pounce on his back, making him grunt an “oof!” And falling flat on the bed.

“Joel?” Tommy asks, concern laced in his voice from the other end of the call.

“Shit—Yeah I’m—alright…stubbed my toe.”

You flip him around like he’s nothing. In your current state, he actually does weigh nothing to you. He tries not to yell as you start literally tearing his jeans off, the shredded denim falling by your side.

He coughs, trying to play it cool as if some monster didn't just rip all his clothes off with a single swipe. “I’m gonna have to—“ your sharp teeth pull down his boxers, revealing his rapidly hardening cock. A devilish grin spreads across your elongated mouth, salvia pooling in drops and falling to his stomach.

“Don't!—F-FUck!” He yelps as you wrap your sticky, long tongue around his member, a full 360 covering from base back up to the tip. Your warm breath is fanning his mushroom tip as your tongue jerks him off, granting you a hum of approval. Joel’s eyes go a little crossed, leaning back into the pillow and feeling himself float. “Tommy—No I’m not getting off right now—“ he furls his brows, unable to put his eyes on you and instead, pushes his palm along your furry forehead, knees digging into the matress trying to get away from your grip.

You growl again at his profuse denial of you. 

Shredding his shirt off as well, your leathered paws glide roughly over his chest and soft stomach.  You lick over his nipples, down to his naval and soaking his happy trail with slobbery kisses before returning to suckle his cock easily in your mouth.

In human form, Joel’s girth is impossible to take in one go, leaving you often choking and having to jack the rest of his member with your other two hands. But when you’re in wolf form, with your now larger frame and more importantly, longer chops, he fits just perfectly without any trouble. You had gotten pretty good at avoiding scraping with your larger teeth, instead now pressing your twitching nose deep into his pelvis while his cock breaches your throat heavenly. He closes his eyes, arched up in bliss and forgetting his brother on the phone.

“Tommy—I’m—not feeling great… this dog…I gotta—I’m—“

You flips him over again to his face, your tongue slitting between his ass cheeks and gliding over his taint. Joel lets out a shocked whine when you prod at his hole, glazing over it until slick from your saliva coats his entrance enough to slip the very tip inside. 

“‘Mgonnahavetocallyouback—“ Joel smashes the end call button with stumbled fingers. 

“You’re not putting anything in my ass tonight,” he groans as you lap at his entrance. 

You snap at him angrily, nudging his balls with your nose again. He feels your teeth nip along them as gently but hungrily as possible, hoping he’ll finally take the hint.

“Do you want me to fill you or not?” He asks, turning over and tossing his phone.

Your tail wags excitedly, fast panting jiggling your belly.

You lean back, spread your legs, as two clawed fingers spread your hairy folds. He can see it glistening with hormonal juices even with the slick fur around it. You lazily roll your paw in circled motions, a general amount of your wolf pussy juices dribbling down below and fillinig the room. Tongue lolled to the side with a heavy look in your eyes, your quick breaths dry you out, licking over your chops over and over again as Joel positions himself between your legs, his leaking cock in one hand.

“Ugh—wait—“

He reaches behind him to fish a few viagra’s, knowing even he will tire after a few round of half dozen, but you’ll be needing his seed pounded deep into your womb for at least 15 times tonight.

He mounts you like a dog, one foot propped up on the bed while the other steadies on his knee. “You gonna be a good pup tonight?”

You shake your head no teasingly, spreading yourself wider for him.

“No? How else am I gonna fill ya with a litter?”

You whine out dramatically, pleading with him. He keeps slapping his dick along your slit, giving himself a good warm pussy soaking without actually doing you any favors. “Not sure you’re worth breeding with pups since you’ve been so—“

Your jaws snap shut with a vibrating growl. One whole paw wraps around Joel’s waist as you hoist him towards you, his dick finally penetrating your walls. You let out a delicious howl, using him to fuck yourself. 

“HEY I’m not—shit baby—not a fuckin—toy!” It’s so easy for him to get lost in your cunt, internally much warmer and almost sucking him back in for more. You’re probably meant to take another werewolf’s cock, a werewolf’s knot, something proportionate, but you always go feral for Joel. And Joel’s a blessed guy down there. You enjoy the fact that you can be stretched wide in human form, but needing no preamble in wolf form.

And wolf or not, Joel Miller has breeder balls. The scent alone of his seed swimming inside them sends you into early heat each time, leading to nights like this where you’re biting at his sack then pinning him down until he dumps load after sticky load into your womb.

He doesn’t have a knot, but having human cock in werewolf pussy has its perks. Like how he can push deep inside, his balls snugly pressed against your entrance until they slip inside too. The two of you groan lowly as he ruts himself inside you. Your walls practically swallow his cock and balls all in one, refusing to let him pop them back out. Warm and wet, you can feel all of his twitching inside you, ready to give you those pups you’d been begging him for. Whether he understood that or not from you, it didn’t matter.

Joel grips your fur tight as he splatters his cum inside you. Maybe this time, it’s deep enough that it’ll take.

Even so, you’ve got the rest of the night to find out.

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist

[joanquill]

Sherlock with Moriarty's Younger Sister II

What it's like being the younger sister of the Moriartys and meeting Sherlock Holmes. Continuation of "Sherlock with Moriarty's Younger Sister".

A/N: Sorry this took so long :') Tag/s: Fem!Reader, Familial Relationship, and maybe romance? maybe

During your afternoon stroll with Moneypenny, Sherlock was quick to catch you with Watson by his side.

Moneypenny, however, was quick to shut the whole operation, excusing you both by saying you are needed back home.

Sherlock attempted to walk you home, but Watson quickly pulled him back, apologizing for Sherlock's assertive behavior and bid you goodbye.

While walking back home, you couldn't help but laugh while Moneypenny was sighing, advising you not to meet with the great detective so often.

Being alone with a man was dangerous enough, especially with your position as a noblewoman with high society's eyes on you.

You reassured her, saying it will not hinder William's plans and you can take care of yourself and your image.

Unfortunately, it seems this reached the ears of your brothers before you even stepped inside the manor.

You sighed as you braced yourself for your brothers' lectures.

Even police interrogations don't feel as heavy or last as long as this.

Once you confirmed that Sherlock talked to you, Louis made you bathe, saying it was to decontaminate you.

If air fresheners were invented, Louis definitely sprayed your whole body with it, removing every trace of Sherlock on you.

They made sure that you didn't have any cuts or injuries, even though you were just taking a walk with Moneypenny.

You just said he tried talking to you since you were a Moriarty but assured them that you didn't do or say anything suspicious.

Luckily, Moneypenny helped you and took your side.

After that, your brothers let it go but still told you to avoid the man.

Unfortunately, your brothers took it upon themselves to be your bodyguard.

Whether you're walking in the gardens, reading in the library, or even just drinking tea in your room, at least one of your brothers is by your side.

Even the letters or gifts you receive get checked by them, mostly by Louis.

Marriage proposals get burned, shredded, ripped, or straight to the trash. Most of them never even got into your hands, let alone to your knowledge.

Whenever you make a public appearance, Albert is always there and dances with you, leaving no room for other men to ask you to the dance floor.

Some of the noble ladies even coo at how protective Albert was of you, saying how sweet of an older brother he was.

You can only give them an empty smile and stop your tongue from lashing out.

You even tried to deliver lunch to William to get on his good side and hopefully light up the security around you, but it just got the opposite effect.

Now, even his students send you letters and flowers in the mail.

You can only apologize in your head as you watch William prepare their examinations with dark fire surrounding him.

Louis is the one who stays by your side the most, assigning you to the same chores he has.

Whenever he needs to buy something from the market, either Sebastian or Fred goes with you two.

Whenever you feel it's too much, you usually spend time with Fred in the gardens, go for a drink with Sebastian, or have tea with Bonde, Moneypenny, and Master Jack.

They have tried to help you, defending your case, but your brothers are relentless.

Seeing as there is little to no hope of changing their minds, you put on your disguise and decide to run away.

You DID leave a note, though.

But you can only smile when you see Sherlock's shocked expression when you end up on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street.

As much as you hate people using power and money for selfish gains, you can only do so much with your brothers watching your every movement.

You paid Miss Hudson in full for renting a room for three days, which she happily accepted and welcomed you with open arms.

When you got inside, you didn't expect to be staying in the room right next to Sherlock and Dr. Watson's, but it's better than staying in the manor for now.

You jumped onto the bed and sighed, physically and emotionally tired from the day.

Before you could even unpack, you heard someone knocking on the window.

There, you saw a frantic Fred outside, trying to get your attention.

You opened the window and listened to him, but you were determined to stay there until your brothers let you have your freedom--despite how childish it is to run away at your age.

Seeing you were resolved to stay, Fred left to let your brothers know you were safe.

Seeing as you were their new neighbor, Dr. Watson tried to greet you as politely as possible while Sherlock glared at you from behind, earning a smack on the head from Miss Hudson.

You greeted them back with a courteous smile, reassuring them that you would only be staying for a short time.

You did your best not to bump into the two men, keeping to yourself in your room and only leaving to cook, eat, and go to the market.

Sherlock has tried to visit and talk to you, seeing as this is a rare chance to meet the elusive sister of the Moriartys.

But Miss Hudson made sure no one would bother her new tenant while Dr. Watson made sure his book's titular character would not cause a scandal.

Seeing as how your presence was causing trouble (because of Sherlock), you decided to invite them for tea.

As usual, you kept your answers short and precise, not giving Sherlock the answers he wanted while also asking questions yourself.

"For a noble lady, you sure have little to no suitors, huh?"

"Why? Would you like to be one?"

"I have no interest in women,"

"I believe Miss Irene Adler stayed at your place?"

"...And where did you hear that?"

"Gossip seems to travel faster than papers,"

Before you could finish your cup, Miss Hudon walked inside with Paterson behind her.

Your brothers apparently filed a missing person report.

Dr. Watson swore he saw the air around you grow heavy and dark for a split second.

Seeing as they have now gotten the police involved, you said your farewells and went home with Paterson.

Knowing your brothers, they would have sent the MI6 next...

[vashs-turtleneck]

Hi! How are you? I hope you are doing well <3 I binge-read all of you trigun fics and i loved them, so i wanted to request something too!

How about a Vash x reader where the reader sleeps on him? Vash is listening to them ramble about something and then boom, they fall asleep on him bc hes warm. <3

Omg my first request. I'm so honoured, and I'm so happy to hear you enjoyed my other fics!! I'm sorry this took so long to complete. It was a busy couple weeks for me, but I hope you like it!

Also this ended up being way longer than I thought it would.

Quiet Nights.

Rating: T Summary: After a less than stellar day, Vash can't seem to get out of his own head. Luckily, he has you. Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Content: pining, angst, fluff. Word Count: 2.7k

It's quiet.

Galaxies paint the skies above him, his thoughts accompanied only by the sound of the wind blowing, the crackling of the fire, and the subtle discomfort of the rock he's leaning on pressing into his spine.

Quiet, but not peaceful.

Not for Vash.

Never for the humanoid typhoon.

His head is in turmoil, recollecting all his sins and keeping him from sleep. All the venom spat his way as the last town cursed the walking disaster, forcing you both out without so much as a chance to breathe, with bullets hitting the ground at your heels as you ran.

He deserved it. Every last word. Every last bullet shell. He knows he did, but you didn't.

He glances down at you, snuggled up so comfortably in your sleeping bag. Now you look awfully peaceful, your face barely peeking out from under the covers, letting him see the fine cut you got on your cheek as a result of today's troubles.

If he had been faster.

If he had been more vigilant.

If you weren't with him.

You'd be safer without him.

He's overthinking again.

Or is he?

Damn it, what's right anymore?

Keeping you around, is it wrong? This selfishness he lets himself indulge in with your presence, it must be wrong. But how can it be when it feels so right, when having you by his side makes his chest swell with a warmth that makes him feel like he's found a home?

Absent-mindedly, his warm hand reaches for you. He can see you. He can see the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. You're right there, but he has to remind himself that you're real. 

You're okay, he has to tell himself. You're alive.

But just as his thumb is about to carefully swipe over the scrape on your cheek, your pretty eyes flutter open. You look right at him, and Vash freezes.

“Eep!” The typhoon squeaks out in surprise and pulls his hand away. “S-Sorry! I wasn't doing anything weird, I promise!”

“That makes it sound like you were absolutely doing something weird," you tease back oh so sweetly.

“I promise I wasn't.” He says with a pout, looking away from you.

“Can't sleep, Vash?”

He shakes his head.

“Just thinking.”

“Well, that's no good. You always let that pretty head fill with such stupid thoughts.”

‘Pretty.’

Well you sure know how to get him to blush. He tries to shake off this feeling you give him and swallow down the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, taking a few calming breaths before he speaks again.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

“It's alright. I wasn't asleep.”

Vash turns back to you, his head tilting questioningly. 

“Hmm? Why not?” He asks, and he hopes that your head isn't filling with the same thoughts as his.

“I try to stay up if I know you're awake.”

And you must see the confusion on his face, because you answer his question without him needing to ask. 

“Gotta keep my eyes peeled if I wanna make sure you're not running off again.” You chuckle, yet your words hit him like sandsteamer.

Oh.

He can't really argue with you there. Hell, even just now, he was considering it. Part of him wants to reassure you that he won't leave, but he also doesn't want to lie to you. If it came down to choosing between keeping you safe and never seeing you again, he'd be gone in a heartbeat, no matter how much it would rip him to shreds inside.

He cherishes your presence.

When you came into his life, things became just a little bit more lively. Sure, his routine stayed mostly the same; it's not like there's all that many options for how to live his life when he's always on the run, but now he has someone else to share it with. You eat with him, walk with him, and when the double dollars are short and you have to settle for spending the night out under the open sky, you're right there, laying next to him in your own little sleeping bag. He can have a conversation with you as the two of you travel between towns. He can tell you about the stars in the night sky on nights like these, and help point out the constellations draped over your heads.

He's not alone anymore.

He cherishes you, no matter how selfish that may be.

He'd much rather not have to leave you, if he's being completely honest.

“Well,” Vash cuts the somewhat uncomfortable silence between the two of you. “If neither of us are gonna sleep, wanna look at the stars with me, mayfly?”

He sees how your eyes sparkle, and you sit yourself up in your sleeping bag, shuffling yourself closer to him. He leans against you and points up towards the stars, and your gaze follows his index finger. 

“Right there. Those ones over there make the shape of a four-pronged fork.”

The side of his face is dangerously close to yours, but you seem too immersed in the sky to notice. Thank goodness for that, or else you might have noticed his cheeks heating up.

“You see it?”

You must be able to see it. You're looking right a-

“I don't see it.”

“H-huh?”

“I have no clue what you're pointing at.”

“Whu- What do you mean?! You're looking right at it!” Vash says, his tone playfully exasperated, and it has you giggling so softly that he has to swallow those butterflies back down.

It takes him a moment to realize he's smiling too, watching you fondly as you try to compose yourself. Surely he's not that funny?

As he sees you refocusing on the stars, a harsh gust of wind passes through, striking the flames of the fire and forcing you to retreat back into your sleeping bag with a subtle shiver that Vash notices all too quickly.

“You cold, mayfly?” Though he doesn't have to ask. He can see it by the way your shoulders tremble.

“Maybe just a bit.”

“You could come closer, if you want. I have plenty of body heat to spare.” He tries to say nonchalantly, tapping at the space in front of him.

‘Closer.’

Closer would be nice.

And to his surprise (and secretly to his delight), you come much closer. You scuttle out of your sleeping bag and carefully situate yourself in front of him, sitting on the ground between his legs and leaning your back against his chest like he's some chair. You tuck the top of your head beneath his chin, an all too close position, but he's definitely not complaining. He only hopes you don't feel his heart hammering in his chest right now, but at least like this you can't see how his cheeks hue a deep scarlet.

You're so close.

Deep breaths.

“Better?”

“Mhm. Much better.” You hum, tucking yourself against him, his body and jacket sheltering you from the wind. “Now where is it again?”

“There,” He says as he points up towards the constellation again. "Do you see it now? If you look up from the tip of my finger, you can see how those stars make the shape of a fork."

"It still just looks like a bunch of pretty splotches to me."

"Mayfly!"

You giggle far too sweetly at his reaction, so purely that it almost eases the unrest in his heart. So carefree, so lighthearted.

Do you not care that you got hurt? Are you so oblivious to the danger he puts you through?

Do you not hate him for it?

Long lanky legs stretch out to your sides, your back pressed to his broad chest. It's easy to forget just how big he is when he hides his frame beneath this jacket of his, how well he hides just how strong he is. This jacket hides the body of something inhuman, a natural disaster, as people call him. Right now though, this jacket is keeping you covered and warm. 

His marred body is keeping you warm.

“I'm sorry, mayfly.”

“Hmm?” You hum, tilting your head back slightly to look at him and giving him a close view of your pretty eyes. 

“Your cheek. I'm sorry. It's my fault you got hurt.”

He hesitantly reaches for your face again, and when he sees you're not pulling away, his calloused thumb gently brushes along the scuff on your soft cheek, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than friendly.

Warm.

“It's not your fault, Vash. It was all just some stupid misunderstanding and we got caught in the middle of it.”

“Still,” He whispers, and even he can hear the sadness in his own voice despite his attempt to stifle it. “You'd be safer without me.”

You sigh. That same casual sigh you do when he's eaten so many doughnuts that he's given himself a tummy ache, like you're fed up with his silly everyday antics.

“It's like I said– Pretty head, stupid thoughts.” You tell him, turning forward once more and resting your head under his chin again.

“Right here,” You say, playfully tapping the knee he has resting against your side. “This is the safest place I can be, Vash.”

Safe.

Do you really feel that way?

“You're comfy, you know.” You say soundly, and it nearly has Vash choking on his own spit.

“M-Me?!” He blurts.

“I don't see anyone else here,” You snicker. “Very warm too. You weren't kidding about having body heat to spare.”

“I- well I- Uh…” He stumbles over his own words. He doesn't know what to say to something so kind right now, and strangely… intimate. Those butterflies aren’t going down easily. 

“Those ones look like you.” You chime, your hand pointing up at the sky.

“Huh? The stars?”

“Yeah, right there. Do you see? That's your spikey hair, and right under is your little mole.”

“How do you see that but not a fork?”

“Don't know, but if I can't see the regular constellations, I might as well make my own.”

Making up your own constellations. How cute.

He's not stupid. He knows you're doing this on purpose, trying to get his mind off whatever is bothering him, but that's just like you. In his mind, you shine brighter than the stars. His guiding light, something to bring him back down to No Man's Land when he gets lost in the maze inside his head.

“That one looks like Kuroneko.” You gush, pointing elsewhere.

“Who?” He says, trying to follow the direction of your finger. Maybe seeing pictures in the stars is harder than he gave you credit for.

“Don't worry about it.” You chuckle, letting your hand fall back down.

“Well that one looks like a doughnut with sprinkles.”

“You would see that.”

“And that one looks like a slice of cake.”

“Is your sweet tooth acting up?”

“...Maybe.”

“We'll get some sweets in the next town then.”

“Mmh. That'd be nice.”

Shared laughter fills the air surrounding the two of you, followed by silence.

Comfortable silence.

His mind is quieter now, no longer buzzing with unanswerable questions, regrets, and ‘what ifs’.

Peaceful.

Because of you.

After a few minutes of silently looking up at the galaxies hanging up high, he breaks the calm air between the two of you.

“Thank you, mayfly.” He whispers, not missing the way his voice trembles ever so slightly.

“I get stuck in my own head sometimes. I-I guess a lot of the time, really. It's… nice to have someone around to help me out of it.”

He clears his throat, trying to get rid of that shakiness in his voice.

“W-Well– y’know– not just someone. You're not just someone. You're one of a kind. Special.”

His heart is hammering in his chest, he can feel it drumming behind his ears. He doesn't want to promise you anything. He doesn't make promises, but if he can just try to express to you how badly he needs you around, then maybe…

“You're, um– you're very precious to me, mayfly. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now. Not without you, anyway.”

Oh no. You're not saying anything. Was that too much?

“Ha ha… S-Sorry, didn't mean to bring down the mood.”

God, his heart is pounding. If you didn't already hear it before, there's no way you can't hear it now. 

Another few moments of silence pass, and he can't take it anymore. Vash gulps and looks down at you, worried to see the expression on your face, scared he took this too far, but when he does gaze down, you're wearing the most peaceful expression he's ever seen.

You're asleep, nuzzled up against him. Not only that, but you're asleep first, despite what you said earlier. Actually asleep too, he judges based on how deeply you're breathing.

Guess he can't run off if you're keeping him in place.

‘You're comfy.’

Is he really? These hands stained with blood, this body tattered in scars, this unchanged face that he's worn for over a century, this name that has the power to strike fear in the hearts of all. Yet here you are, leaning into him, asleep, vulnerable, and completely trusting of him.

You must be crazy. Don't you know he's the humanoid typhoon?

He's holding you close. A tad too close for what he would consider friendly, but despite the heat he feels rising to his cheeks, he doesn't want to pull away.

His limbs wrap tightly around you, pressing you into his chest, his head leaning slightly against your shoulder until your hair tickles his nose, like he wants to melt into you. Shyly, he takes in the scent of you. That smell that is so inherently you. Just the feeling of you so close to him, grounding him, quieting the thoughts in his head.

‘You're here. You're okay. You're alive.’ He tells himself.

Warm. 

Soft. 

Safe.

Home.

Truth be told, he could never bring himself to leave. He'd have to be pried away from  you, and even then, his hands would cling to you until his nails were cracked and bloody. If he was being honest with himself, you've got him by the heart.

Maybe he'll let himself be selfish. 

‘Maybe just for tonight.’ He promises himself, though even he knows that's a lie.

✧ ✧ ✧

Morning comes all too quickly, the suns managing to shine down directly onto you. You groan, bringing a hand to your face to rub the sleep from your eyes. You shift your body to stretch, yet you feel yourself held in place, and look down at your waist to see what it is.

A pair of arms wrapped around your middle, one cooler than the other, but both just as comforting and inviting.

This isn't your sleeping bag. It's far too comfortable, and definitely warmer than that dusty old thing.

“Mayfly.” 

The sweet word tickles the shell of your ear, whispered out so softly that it sends a spark of electricity coursing through you.

You lean your head back to look at the source of that sweet sound, letting yourself fall deeper into that comfortable, inviting embrace that you don't ever want to leave, your eyes falling to what, or rather who, is behind you.

Golden hair rivaling the rays of sun shining down on you, eyes like the clear blue sky above, and an alluring warmth that feels like home.

He smiles down at you when your eyes meet, a genuine smile that shows off those cute dimples. You've never seen them from so close.

“Good morni-”

“WHAAAGH!” You cut him off with scream, not expecting to wake up snuggled up so close on your outlaw companion’s chest.

In your surprise, you completely knock your head into his pretty face. He swiftly brings his hand up, groaning, feeling the bit of blood starting to trickle from his nose.

Yeah, okay. He should have known you'd be surprised to see him so close. Maybe he had that coming.

“Oh god! I'm so sorry! I just- I wasn't- I was a bit startled, is all. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm so sorry, Vash.”

“Ehe… I'm fine. Don't worry about it.”

Maybe that's what he gets for letting himself be so selfish.

Though if that's the price he has to pay, he'll gladly let you break his nose every day if it means he gets to hold you that close.

divider.

[striveattemptfail]

maybe it's a little too early (to know if this is gonna work) | Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson, 5.2k, M

@poolverine-week: Day 6 – Sharing Clothes

Summary: Five times Wade steals wears Logan's clothes, and one time Logan wears Wade's suit. Rated for allusions to sex, but nothing explicit. Takes place some time after the movie’s events; assume Logan and Wade are back-up X-Men. Read on Ao3

A/N: Thank you to B @broosepayne for helping out with random details + thank you to @fuckselfloveihatemyself for suggesting "impersonation" for the final scene. Shout out to the Manga Hoes server for listening to me bitch about finishing this fic lol. Un-beta'd and I apologize /o\ Title from You Look Good In My Shirt by Keith Urban—just be grateful I didn't give this fic the exact same name lmaooo

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Nothing / Wearing Wade’s Clothes ]

The first morning he wakes up in Wade’s timeline—his new universe—Logan has on nothing but a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of highlighter pink Hello Kitty boxers. He desperately needs something to wear aside from what are basically undergarments because he came into this world with nothing but his X-Men suit.

Or what’s left of it anyway.

Which is why, once he finally gets up from the pull-out bed, he sees Wade trying on the jacket that the TVA gave him after they destroyed the Time Ripper. Wade is in front of the only full-size mirror in the apartment, twisting his body every which way to inspect the jacket.

Then, he catches Logan’s reflection in the mirror.

“Morning, peanut!” he greets, turning around to face him with a smile. “I’m trying this on to see how it fits on me.”

“Uh, yeah. I see that,” Logan says with brows furrowed. “Why?”

“I was thinking about grabbing you some clothes but need a reference for your size.”

“Bub, that jacket is too big even for me.”

“...okay, yeah,” Wade eventually concedes, “but it’s the only thing you own that isn’t shredded to pieces from the Time Ripper.”

Unfortunately, the moron has a point. As it is, the boxers Wade loaned him are a bit tight on his waist, and the collar of the shirt is snug on his neck, but it’s not like Logan’s in any position to complain.

“I have to swing by Target to grab supplies for Dogpool anyway,” Wade continues before making kissy faces at the dog in question. “We need to get you some treats, huh, little missy? Yeah! And then we’ll get honey badger some clothes that actually fit him!”

And, well, it’s not like Logan is keen on stepping outside of this apartment in the brightest colour he’s ever worn in his over 200-year existence. It’s also not like he even has the funds to buy himself a hotdog from the street vendor around the corner, much less purchase anything for a new wardrobe. So if Wade wants to go out and buy some clothes for him, Logan isn’t going to stop him.

He grunts his assent as he makes his way to the kitchen, muttering a gruff Fine as he starts on a cup of coffee.

Later, when Wade leaves for Target, Logan grabs the now tossed aside TVA jacket.

If he happens to take a sniff of it once Wade’s out the door (inhaling the scent of cloyingly sweet body wash, hot sauce, and something Logan is fast recognizing as Wade), it’s simply because he wants to know whether it already stinks after yesterday’s events.

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[ Wardrobe Status: One Load of Staples ]

Luckily for Logan, Peter and Dopinder volunteered to help Wade clothes shop when he went to Target. Apparently, Wade wanted to buy all sorts of brightly coloured cutesy shit—like much of his own clothing, allegedly so the two of them could match—but Peter and Dopinder manage to rein him in and grab a few staples. T-shirts, jeans, sweatpants, boxers, socks, and a pair of shoes that’ll fall apart in about a month if Logan has to guess.

It’s enough for him to survive on until he can buy more clothes, and enough to produce a load of laundry once the day arrives. Luckily, the apartment has a washer-dryer combo in the unit, so he finishes the single, meagre load of clothes he owns in no time. He’s bringing them to the bedroom to put away when he finds Wade already inside, standing there in nothing but the smallest pair of tighty-whities Logan’s ever seen on a man.

“What the fuck,” is all he can say.

“Hey, honey badger!” Wade greets, normal as ever, as if he’s not exposing miles of skin and taut muscle that Logan would love to—

He messily dumps his clothes onto the bed, scowling at Wade.

“Why the fuck are you naked?” he demands.

“Oh, please, I’m hiding all the goods,” Wade brushes him off. He turns back to the heap of clothes on the hamper, presumably to find something that doesn’t smell like wet dog or weeks old nastiness.

Shit. The damn briefs aren’t even large enough to completely cover Wade’s ass, and Logan can see a hint of cheeks peeking through.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Logan rolls his eyes, hoping that his frown hides the conflict inside him.

With a smirk that can only spell trouble, Wade faces him again to thumb at the waistband of his underwear. “Would you rather I take them off?”

Logan growls, averting his gaze to the small mound of clothes he has to put away. He angrily starts folding things, breath coming out in huffs that he hopes convey annoyance.

“Jeez, who pissed in your coffee this morning, kitty cat?” Wade complains, letting go of the waistband. “It’s not like I’m rubbing one out in front of you.”

“Shut the fuck up, bub,” Logan spits, throwing down another folded shirt.

The problem—like most things—is because of Wade.

It’s hard enough to share any amount of space with him, much less sleep in the same bed together every night, and Logan’s only a man. He might be too proud to admit it out loud (especially to a blabber mouth like Wade), but god fucking damnit somehow the fucker’s gotten under his skin. He makes Logan crave for more than innocently spooning in the early hours of the morning, want more than stolen glances when he thinks Wade isn’t looking.

It doesn’t help that Wade flirts with him constantly. People used to chastise Logan for how aggressively he pursued Jean back in the day. Now, he knows it’s nothing compared to the constant boner Wade has towards anything that speaks to him.

Logan needs to stop this train of thought—thinking about Wade’s boner is only going encourage his own.

“So, why are you naked?” he asks, probably angrier than acceptable for a conversation like this but, fuck, does Wade bring out the asshole in him.

“Technically, I’m not—”

“Fine, almost naked, you annoying prick.”

He looks up to find Wade with narrowed eyes, shooting him a dubious look that can only say, Are you serious?

“Obviooouslyyy,” he drawls out, rifling through the hamper again, “I thought I had more clothes left.”

Logan looks at the mountain Wade’s digging through. “Wait, you’re completely out of clean clothes? How the fuck did that happen?”

“I don’t know!” Wade throws his hands up in exasperation. “Ask the author!”

“I have no idea what that means,” he admits. “Anyway, why are you only in underwear?”

“What? You want me to steal some of Blind Al’s shit?” Wade pauses then, clearly mulling it over. “Actually, now that I think about it, her tracksuits would look great on me. They’d fit like baby clothes on a high schooler but it could be like a Y2K revival. Juicy Couture à la Wade. I’d smell like mothballs and old lady all day but it’d be worth it, I think!” He ends the rambling with a toothy grin.

Logan doesn’t dignify that with a response. He scrubs a hand over his face with a sigh.

“Just... put on some damn clothes, bub.”

“Fine.”

Wade—probably in an attempt to piss him the fuck off, as usual—stares at him with a piercing gaze, maintaining eye contact with Logan as he grabs a white t-shirt from the folded pile and slides it on.

Logan just glares at him, jaw clenching tight.

The worst part is that he’s not even mad that Wade’s grabbing shit that he just folded. For some fucking reason, there’s a small but very loud part of Logan deeply satisfied to see Wade in his clothes again. He hasn’t worn anything of Logan’s since trying on the TVA jacket that first day home, but seeing him in one of Logan’s tees is apparently doing something for him.

Wade spins in place, and Logan notices that the hem of the t-shirt barely covers Wade’s crotch, skims the peak of Wade’s pert ass. Once he faces Logan again, he pinches the sides of the shirt like he’s holding a skirt, dipping into a small curtsy.

“Is that better, oh, prudent majesty?” he taunts.

Logan finally snaps.

Before he’s even conscious of it, he’s striding over to where Wade is still staring at him, his expression turning confused though still playful.

“Woah, big boy, I didn’t think you’d be that pissed—”

Logan grabs his face and cuts him off with a kiss, Wade making a surprised noise against his mouth before finally kissing back. Even though Logan is leading, Wade still gives as good as gets, his tongue darting into the cavern of Logan’s mouth when he gasps for air. He’s not sure how long they suck face for, but when Logan finally pulls away, a satisfied noise rumbles through his chest at Wade’s stunned but amused face.

“Finally got you to shut up,” Logan teases, words coming out shallow and thin.

“Oh, it’ll take a lot more than that, old man,” Wade quips back, and another purr builds in Logan’s chest when he hears the gravel in Wade’s voice. Wade throws his arms over Logan’s shoulders and crashes their lips together again.

Neither of their laundry gets finished for a long while after that, both of them too caught up in seeking pleasure from each other. Most of Logan’s freshly laundered clothes lie wrinkled on the bed for hours until he remembers to put them away. Wade doesn’t even start on his own laundry until Logan tells him that Althea would definitely kick his ass if he wore her stuff.

But he continues wearing Logan’s shirt until his own clothes are finally clean, so Logan can’t complain at all.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Half Complete + A New Suit ]

They’re suiting up for an X-Men mission when Wade snatches the Wolverine cowl before Logan can put it on. He’s still in the middle of zipping up when he spots Wade grabbing it out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t even need to turn around to know that the dipshit’s already wearing it.

“Give it back,” he says absentmindedly, buckling in the last straps of his suit.

He turns around and shoots Wade a flat look, correct in his assumption that Wade put it on. Typical Wade, he’s wearing his Deadpool mask underneath the Wolverine cowl.

“How do I look?” Wade asks, voice lilting with anticipation.

He looks like someone threw up primary colours on his head and decided to call it a mask.

“You look like someone threw up primary colours on your head and decided to call it a mask.”

Wade gasps, clearly offended. “Rude!”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Just hand me my fuckin’ cowl, bub.”

“Mmmmm, no.”

He never makes shit easy. Logan can only sigh.

“Wade, we gotta leave for the mission brief,” Logan reminds him. They’re about to leave on time for once, and that never happens. “Gimme my goddamn cowl.”

Wade ignores him, as he often does, sauntering over to Logan with a sway in his hips, and Logan quirks a brow at him. He knows what that walk means, and suddenly heading to the X-Mansion for a mission is becoming the last thing on his mind.

Wade drapes his arms over Logan’s shoulders, and Logan automatically places his hands on Wade’s hips. Even beneath both masks, Logan can tell that Wade is waggling his non-existent eyebrows at him once they’re pressed close together. “Wanna inspect the wind resistance on these blowjob handles yourself, peanut?”

Logan snorts. “No, because I don’t wanna see my own mask sucking my dick.”

“Aww,” Wade whines, and Logan can hear the pout in his voice even if he can’t see it, “you’re no fun!”

“‘Sides,” Logan murmurs in his ear, low and sultry, as he pulls Wade closer, “I like seeing your face when we’re together, bub.”

He moves a hand from Wade’s waist to slightly lift his Deadpool mask at the collar. He then ducks his face into the curve where Wade’s neck meets shoulder, mouthing at the now exposed skin there. He smirks when he feels the catch in Wade’s throat.

“I thought we had to leave for the mission brief?” Wade mocks, but it comes out breathy and very pleased by the turn of events.

Logan hums mischievously, nipping at Wade’s neck. “Don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Cool cool cool,” Wade babbles, body pressing against Logan’s, all hot and eager. “I just—oh, fuck, honey badger—I was just thinking—”

“If yer thinking, then I ain’t doin’ this right,” he grumbles, words starting to slur together because there’s something else he’d much rather be doing with his mouth. The hand he still has on Wade’s waist travels to his crotch. Wade bucks his hips into Logan’s open palm with a husky groan, already half-hard.

“You’re doing everything so, so right,” Wade gasps, hips rutting into his grip. “It’s just—ngh—you better be the one taking off this suit, because I did not spend five whole minutes and half a thing of baby powder squeezing my ass into it just to—oh, shit!—strip it off again.”

With a final lick to his pulse point, Logan pulls away just enough to look at Wade. He smirks at the way Wade is panting, puffs of breath hitting his face in needy bursts despite the fabric covering Wade’s mouth.

“I gotta take off your clothes?” he confirms. Wade nods jerkily. “S’not a problem with me.”

And he drops to his knees, unbuckling Wade’s utility belt to do just that.

They do eventually get to the X-Mansion—just 30 minutes late, and they completely miss the briefing. Colossus looks at both of them in disappointment when he relays the abridged version of the mission objectives while they fly to their destination on the X-Jet. Frankly, Logan only half listens to the giant, completely unapologetic in his lack of focus. Being distracted is well worth it as he mulls over the events of the past hour.

Because Logan discovers that, while he might not get off on seeing his own cowl blowing him, he doesn’t mind when he’s on his knees looking up to see it thrown back in pleasure.

At least as long as Wade’s the one wearing it.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Signature Items Acquired ]

The next time they leave together, it’s to meet Vanessa and Dermot for bowling. Logan’s ready before Wade is, waiting in the living room because apparently how long it takes Wade to decide on an outfit completely depends on how he’s feeling.

Thankfully, today isn’t too awful. He’d only worn the Deadpool mask in the morning because he, quote, “felt like skewered chicken intestines,” and nearly cancelled on bowling altogether. But after an orgasm from Logan and cuddling from Mary Puppins, his mood had turned around.

All of which means that Wade is now in a mad dash pulling an outfit together. Logan knows better than to try and help him or force him to hurry up, so he’s left on the couch quietly grumbling to Mary about how he thinks Wade looks good in basically everything he wears.

He’s proven absolutely right when Wade finally steps out of the bedroom. Logan barely registers the full outfit because he’s completely focused on one item.

“How do I look?” Wade asks with a sly grin, walking over to the mirror to inspect himself. He twirls in front of his reflection while smoothing down the leather of the jacket he’s wearing.

Logan’s jacket.

He’s unable to put words together with the way his brain is currently short-circuiting. He grunts in response anyway, knowing that Wade will keep talking even if he doesn’t reply verbally.

He’s proven right yet again because Wade continues without missing a beat. “You think I should switch styles? Give yours back and get my own? Jackets aren’t really my thing though... Oh! What if I got a cape instead? It’d help for ‘no capes’ AUs to actually shed a cape, huh? Has there ever been a DP with a cape? I don’t remember seeing one when we fought the Corps.”

He hums a contemplative sound as Logan stands up from the couch, making his way over to Wade.

“Maybe I need to test trial this,” he continues to ramble, “maybe I can borrow Cable’s shawl-cape thing!”

Even Logan is surprised when he immediately interrupts Wade’s babbling with a stern: “No.”

Wade’s eyes snap to his, confused by the sudden harshness and increased volume in his tone. He makes a questioning noise and shoots Logan a displeased look.

Remembering that Wade will only ramp up how annoying he is if Logan bosses him around, he shakes his head and tries again. “I mean, just—you can, uh, keep mine.”

He clears his throat, eyes darting away to take in how the jacket fits on Wade. It’s a little loose on him, a little too broad because Logan’s chest is a bit wider than his, but it sits well on his frame nonetheless. After awkwardly patting Wade on the shoulder, Logan’s hand slides to Wade’s bicep, then down to cuff where Logan thumbs at the leather there. His fingers bump Wade’s hand and he feels electrified by the touch.

When their eyes meet again, Logan’s relieved to find Wade’s face as red as his own cheeks feel. He’s not entirely sure who leans in first but their lips meet halfway. The kiss isn’t demanding or dirty, neither of them trying to turn it into something that would lead to sex for once. It’s different from when they usually make out, just soft and lingering, and Wade gasps when Logan’s tongue gently licks at the seam of his lips.

At some point, they wrap their arms around each other, because when they finally part for air Wade’s cupping Logan’s jaw and his hands are on the small of Wade’s back.

He eventually grumbles out, “Keep it, it suits you.”

“Oh.”

It takes a moment for Wade to shake the dazed look off his face, but he recovers by flashing Logan a knowing grin. Logan rolls his eyes fondly.

Of course, the little shit did it on purpose. He should’ve known the moment Wade stepped out with that giant smile.

Afterwards, when they finally meet with Vanessa and Dermot at the bowling alley, Vanessa’s smirk and raised eyebrow are well worth it because Wade keeps the jacket on.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Full Closet ]

Logan’s been gone for almost a month because of an extended X-Men mission. Between stakeouts, recon, strategizing, and actually nabbing the bad guy, it’s the longest he’s been away since Wade and Althea’s apartment became his home.

He walks in and unceremoniously dumps his duffle bag and the rest of shit by his shoes, throwing his keys on the sidetable by the door. Despite it being well into the afternoon, the apartment is surprisingly quiet. He figures Althea is out for “bingo” (likely a coke exchange) but Wade and Mary Puppins’ lack of noise makes him suspicious.

Until he hears the snoring.

He pads over to the pull-out bed to find Wade and Mary napping together. Wade’s curled around her, snoring with his face buried in her very sparse amount of fur, and Mary’s tongue sticks out as she huffs out quiet, little snuffles of her own.

But what catches Logan’s attention is Wade wearing one of his flannels.

It’s one of the thickest he owns, made for colder weather and blistery autumn breezes, a dusty yellow and blue with snap buttons. It’s large on him—like everything else Logan owns whenever Wade wears his clothes—but this particular flannel is loose on Logan, so the fabric almost drowns Wade in a pattern of faded checks.

And like every time the moron steals his crap to wear, Logan’s stomach flips in a way he can no longer ignore.

He’s not sure if they’re exclusive or not. They fall into bed together as easily as they fight side-by-side on missions. But it’s impossible for Logan to tell if Wade is serious about half the flirtations streaming out of his mouth when the idiot’s easy affection gets directed at anyone that looks at him twice.

And as much as he’s loathe to admit it, Logan wants so much more than that. He wants Wade’s lingering looks to mean something other than platonic nothings. He wants the softer kisses they share to be more than a break from sex. He wants Wade to need him the way Logan needs him. Hell, he wants Wade to annoy him in ways that Wade would never bother anyone else, because at least then Logan would know that he means something different to the motherfucker, something more than a roommate he hooks up with.

He wants just Wade, all of him, full stop.

He gingerly sits on the mattress, trying not to jostle the two napping Deadpools too much with his weight, and he reaches over to gently stroke Wade’s cheek with a thumb. Feeling emboldened when Wade doesn’t stir, he leans down to press his lips onto Wade’s forehead.

“Well, g’morning to y’too, honey badger,” Wade slurs at him, voice thick with sleep.

Logan abruptly jerks away, eyes wide, and the movement is enough to jostle Mary Puppins from her slumber. She hops off to nap in her own bed after a grumpy growl, leaving Wade alone on the mattress. He attempts to swallow the sudden lump in his throat before clearing it with a cough.

“S’four in the afternoon,” Logan mumbles. Pinching his lips into a flat line, he awkwardly sits next to Wade rustling around in the sheets. His eyes catch the flannel falling open to reveal that Wade is also wearing one of his tank tops.

Logan takes a deep, stuttering breath.

Eyes still closed, Wade blindly flaps his hand around until finding purchase on Logan’s shirt. He tugs Logan back down, and Logan curls over to kiss him softly.

“Welcome home, peanut,” Wade breathes onto his lips. “Missed you.”

He touches his nose to Wade’s. “Missed ya too, bub.”

Wade’s face splits into a slow, easy grin, pulling Logan into laying down. Logan follows him without a thought, gathering Wade into his arms.

“You’re wearin’ my clothes again,” he whispers.

Wade hums, nuzzling into his chest. “S’cold, and it smells like you.”

A pleased purr escapes Logan before he has a chance to stop it, and Wade giggles at him, kissing his collarbone before falling right back to sleep.

They don’t talk about what they are after that, but it’s at that moment when Logan finally realizes that maybe, somehow, Wade feels the same way about him too.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Wearing Wade’s Clothes (Again) ]

The TVA brings them in because they need help with some lady going after Deadpool variants. It would be a fruitless endeavour since Deadpools can’t die (well, except Nicepool) if it weren’t for the fact that the fucker apparently stole a weapon that disintegrates things to oblivion.

“Shouldn’t the law of physics stop that from happening?” Wade asks, gesturing at the screen when B-15 presents the mission to them. “‘Matter can’t be created or destroyed’ or something like that?”

“That’s energy, idiot,” Logan corrects him.

Wade just shrugs. “Hey, don’t blame me for failing physics twice!”

He turns to Wade with a confused grimace. “Who else would I blame then?”

“The teachers, duh!”

“Anyway,” B-15 interrupts, hitting a button to show another slide, “this variant’s got a fascination for destroying the indestructible, but she’s going after Deadpools because she has tritanopia, or blue-yellow colour blindness. She can see shades of red the easiest, hence, sticking with Deadpools as her target.”

“That’s so stupid,” Wade says and Logan can only agree. “There are, like, dozens immortal superheroes in red and she chooses li’l ole me? Seems like the writer copping out of coming up with a better plot, I-M-O.”

“We also believe Mary was double-crossed by the Deadpool in her timeline, giving further motive to go after his variants.”

“Hmph! Now isn’t that just convenient?” He crosses his arms. “Wait, ‘Mary’?”

“Yes.” B-15 shows another slide, this one a close-up of the woman—Mary’s—face. “She’s a Typhoid Mary variant. Have either of you encountered her before?”

“Not in my world,” Logan answers.

“I admittedly did not keep up with Netflix’s Daredevil long enough to meet Bloody Mary, no,” Wade says.

B-15 presents them with further details: Typhoid Mary’s known abilities and weaknesses; how she has dissociative identity disorder on top of her colour blindness; how she managed to acquire the worst weapon available from the arms dealers she was supposed to take down; how her alter apparently took over and decided to go after invincible mutants until she finally got even with her world’s Deadpool. The TVA did try to intervene, but she ended up killing every agent that went after her before stealing one of their TemPads and consequently going on her multiversal manhunt. B-15 makes it absolutely clear how imperative it is that they do not kill Mary or destroy the weapon so the TVA can keep them both under tabs.

Then, she reveals the TVA’s plan to capture her: They want Logan to pose as a Deadpool variant in the timeline they believe she’s going to strike next. Typhoid Mary’s current M.O. doesn’t account for superstrength so he should be able to break out of anything she traps him in. Meanwhile, Wade will be in the shadows, using a tranquillizer gun to incapacitate her once she’s busy with Logan.

Logan groans internally while Wade claps his hands in delight.

“Ooh!” he practically squeals, patting Logan on the shoulder with unrestrained excitement. “Finally, it’s my turn on the other side of this trope!”

B-15 shakes her head and sends them on their way.

The suit the TVA provides him fits perfectly, and he notes Wade’s heated, lingering gaze on him once he steps out of the dressing room. Luckily, another agent gets them through a portal before Wade starts on a tirade that would no doubt be filled with inappropriate innuendoes about Logan.

The mission is executed almost laughably easy. Typhoid Mary’s telekinetic and telepathic abilities are so low-level Logan’s shocked that the others she went after were able to be taken down so quickly.

(“Plot armour, peanut,” Wade said when Logan had asked B-15 about this. “She needed to last long enough to meet us!” As usual, Logan had chosen to ignore him.)

Like the TVA discovered, she lures Deadpools by spreading rumours he can’t ignore, adding a honeypot stash filled with weapons he loves. Geared up in Wade’s suit, Logan “falls” for her trap: entering an abandoned warehouse meant to shelter an upcoming gang targeting Deadpool, but secretly only houses her. Once Logan finds the crate of weapons meant to entice Wade, Typhoid Mary wastes no time in capturing him. She points a giant ray-gun of sorts at his face after wrapping him in the warehouse’s chains with her telekinesis.

He feels the faintest compulsion to stay still, which is probably her telepathy trying to subdue him. But she’s nowhere near the level of other telepaths Logan’s encountered, like Jean or Cassandra Nova, and the compulsion is easy to ignore. The chains are slightly harder to deal with in comparison, but he’s certain he can get out of them without too much trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Wade moving into place.

During Logan’s silent assessment of the situation, Typhoid Mary apparently began monologuing. He doesn’t let her get a chance to finish though, breaking out of the bonds around his torso with sheer force and grunting at the exertion. He slices the chains around his ankles with his claws, the metal cutting like butter against the adamantium.

“What?!” she screams. “A Wolverine-Deadpool variant? How?!”

Logan doesn’t even open his mouth for a reply because Wade shoots a tranq dart in her neck. She falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Wooh! No scope oneshot K/O, baby!” he hollers, skipping over to pick up the weapon Typhoid Mary dropped. “God, I’d love to take this home with us,” he bemoans as he assesses it, “I can finally stick it to Cable and show off my own badass, futuristic gun!”

“That won’t be necessary,” B-15 announces, suddenly next to them. A group of armed TVA agents begin to file in from the portal behind her, a few of them attempting to grab the weapon from Wade while others lift Typhoid Mary away for custody.

The aftermath of the mission would be just as easy if isn’t for Wade bitching about giving up the gun. After B-15 debriefs them, she and Logan spend entirely too long demanding that Wade hand it to her.

“I’ll give it back if we can keep this suit for pookie here,” Wade eventually offers, pointing at Logan.

“What?” Logan asks. The suit’s not bad but he has no reason to wear it again once he takes it off. “Why—?”

“Deal,” B-15 immediately agrees.

Wade begrudgingly relinquishes the gun, giving it a flying kiss goodbye before taking Logan’s hand. B-15 opens a portal to their apartment and guides them through. “Thanks for the help, gentlemen!” she says, waving a hand at them. They both wave back, and the portal closes.

Logan looks down at the Deadpool suit he’s still wearing. “Why the hell did you want—mmph!”

His lips are suddenly bombarded with hot kisses, and he growls when Wade opens his mouth his tongue. He didn’t even notice that Wade took off his mask.

“God, you look so fucking good in my colours,” Wade moans, hands roaming all over Logan’s body. “Is this how you feel whenever I wear your things?” Logan makes a noise of assent, too busy mouthing at Wade’s jaw to give a proper answer. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Logan starts moving them towards the bed—Christ, he hopes Althea is gone because there’s no way he’s stopping what Wade’s started. His cock is already taking interest, and only gets harder when Logan bumps his hips into Wade’s. They tumble onto the pull-out in a feverish heat with Logan straddling Wade’s thighs.

He’s licking at Wade’s pulse when the dumbass gasps, “Oh my god, I’m gonna fuck a variant of myself.”

Used to Wade’s non-stop yammering even during sex, Logan mindlessly replies, “‘S still me, bub, I ain’t a variant of you.” Foolishly, he adds, “Besides, that’d be weird.”

“What? Why?”

With Wade groping his ass, Logan actually has to pause getting his hands under Wade’s suit to think about an answer.

He finally lands on: “It’d be like fucking your own clone.”

Wade actually stops everything he’s doing—hands no longer kneading his cheeks, mouth pulling away from him. Logan groans, knowing his brought this on himself, and dips his forehead to rest on Wade’s shoulder.

“What? You wouldn’t?”

“No, because that’s weird.”

“I’d fuck my clone.”

“Course you would.”

“T-B-H, I’m so pro-clone fucking I’d just have an orgy with all of them. Who’d be better to fuck me than me, right?”

This, by far, is one of—if not the—stupidest conversation Logan’s ever had with a person. Somehow, his dick doesn’t flag, and he’s still irrevocably fond of Wade’s random chatter. He kisses Wade before he can start on another tangent, cupping his perfect idiot’s face softly.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, but knowing the smile he’s got on, Wade isn’t going to listen to him.

Wade’s answering smirk is a challenge. “Make me, peanut.”

——————————————

(More notes on Ao3.)

[scary-lasagna]

hi if you still do yandere can I have some yandere EJ? your version of him is my favorite !!

Thank you!! :] I like writing for him, he's fun to play around with, just as he does to his victims darlings. It's a little long but you know I love setting the mood.

tw: kidnapping, semi-nekedness, dead bodies, family death, noncon kissing

Yandere!Eyeless Jack

Quivering. Shaking. Only shreds of your clothing remained in tact to cover whatever was left of your modesty.

You sat in a cold, dead corner. There was no light whatsoever. Even if you could move your hand, you'd no doubt wouldn't be able to see it right in front of your face.

It smelled pungently of rancid rotting meat, urine, and what you believed to be the underlying metallic smell of blood.

It was hours ago that Jack climbed in through the basement window, and started dumping dull, heavy, heaps of garbage bags across the floor of this abandoned basement.

You didn't want to think about what was inside them.

Jack didn't eat food, he ate humans. You could only assume this was his calorie income for the next week. But, six bodies? You only hoped he wasn't hosting a party for any other freaky demon friends he might have.

You hoped you weren't next.

Jack had already ripped your clothes to shreds in an effort to get you to shut up about the damp basement. He was the one to ask if you needed anything in the first place. Kindly. Foolishly, you thought he had somewhat of a change of heart.

"Ohhh, I see. The dampness is making you so miserable down here, isn't it? If you had no clothes, you wouldn't be so damp, now would you?"

It taught you quickly not to ask for things.

If his talons could easily shred through the fabric of your denim, there would only be a grim end if he decided your life was making you miserable.

And there it was, the jiggle of the basement window latch. The horrors beyond your imaginative mind terrified you.

This man, no- this creature, this monster, plucked you from your safe haven and dragged you kicking and screaming into an abandoned house in the city.

You didn't know where he received the supplies, or if they were already there and he decided on a whim to tie you to a pipe with a heavy rope.

The rope thickened with both blood and that black tar that leaks down Jack's mask. There was no escape and the only time you tried biting off your restraints, the black tar almost choked you to death, worming its way down your tongue and into your throat.

"Good evening, my precious gem." The bastard cooed, and slithered down the wall. The floor squelched as he paced across it toward you. It was wet over there. Luckily, whatever it was hasn't reached you yet.

You knew it was blood, but deep down you just hoped it was a leaky pipe.

"How are you doing today? Less damp, I hope."

He must be able to see in the start, noting the uneven steps mostly stepping over the garbage bags of dead bodies.

You couldn't manage anything but a fearful sob, choking out past your puffy and cracked lips. Jack's shoes squeaked as he squatted, a small puff of breath ghosting on your face.

"I asked you a question." Jack quickly grasped your jaw, squeezing it with such force you were afraid the bone may snap. You cried out in pain, desperately pulling away from his claws.

"Better, but not exactly an answer. I'm in a good mood today, so I'll let it pass." He coos. His grip softened, but by no means did he let go.

"From now on, I expect a loving kiss when I get home. Let's start now, hm?~" Despite the darkness, you could hear the end of his sentence upturning into a snarky smile. He quickly pinned you down with his weight, sitting on your lap.

That's when you started thrashing.

You weren't even sure if you could stomach the kiss alone. His mouth smelled of rotting meat and blood, but the teeth, those were a problem. One swift bite and you're left choking on your own blood pooling in your windpipe, whenever he decides to bite the bottom of your jaw off.

You kicked, you screamed, you punched, and you even attempted to rip his hair out. It was all futile; This creature was inhuman. Your stupidly weak attempts were no match to this demonic being.

Your head suddenly met the pipe ungracefully, and Jack's lips smooshed against yours in the middle of a curdling scream.

Multiple meaty, fleshy tongues jousted forward between your teeth, assaulting your own tongue, gums, cheeks, and eventually sliding down your throat to trigger your gag reflex.

You punched his collar bone and attempted to bring your knee up hard enough to push him off but to no avail. If anything, you were probably tickling him.

Your chest convulsed as you attempted to breathe, until you realized he was blocking your entire airway with his tongues. You desperately hit him with the last of your remaining strength, and pushed him. Even going as far as shoving your thumb into on of his eye sockets.

It only made him hungrier for you, pressing his body against you and tilting your head upward for a better angle to reach your throat with.

That's when the power to the building finally flickered on. You stopped fighting. A spotted haze worked it's way into your vision, locking eyes with the naked corpse hanging from the ceiling above you.

Dead, yet familiar eyes, of the person that you loved most in this world. Gone.

You gave up. There was no escape. Never will be. The power went out again, or maybe it was the darkness of death finally engulfing you.

You hoped you were dead.

[argisthebulwark]

Time Moves Slow - Cicero

sfw, gn reader, depiction of delusions/recurring nightmares Summary: After returning from Sovngarde the Dragonborn finds that a handful of hours for them has been years for those in Tamriel and reunites with their loved one.  Others Linked: Vilkas, Brynjolf, Farkas, Teldryn, Miraak

Trudging through the endless sea of snow, you thought only of what awaited you at home. Northern winds whipped loose hair around your face and fat flakes of snow left speckles on your stained armor. You reminded yourself that the hardest part was over - Alduin and Sovngarde would be forgotten once you got into a steaming bath. All you had to do was make it back to the Sanctuary. 

Luckily you were able to avoid trekking through Dawnstar. The Dragonborn showing up in shredded Dark Brotherhood armor would raise more questions than you could answer. The sea crashed at your side when you stomped along the frigid beach, sending a fresh blast of cold air through the rips in your armor. Ducking out of the storm you collapsed into the silence of home.

Sparse echoes revealed very few were in the Sanctuary - new recruits were on trial contracts and your fellow assassins were hard at work. Banners lining the Sanctuary's blank stone walls seemed worn, some patched in places you'd never noticed. You'd have to ask one of the others. Nazir would likely tease you for paying so little attention to your surroundings.

Hauling your broken body down the hallway the hairs on the back of your neck rose - something felt off. The voices floating through the stone halls were unfamiliar. The candles flickering on a nearby table smelled floral despite Cicero's preference for unscented. Strange cloaks were piled near the staircase.

Panic chilled your blood. Memories of the Penitus Oculatus came flooding back. Without thinking your blade was in your hand, heart racing as you stalked deeper into your home. Ears strained for any sign of battle you slid toward the central hub of the Sanctuary.

No one in the kitchens. No sign of danger in the main hall. A few calm murmurs behind closed doors were all you found when you slunk down the final corridor, the one home to each assassin's private chambers. That deep sense of dread was unshakable, gut sinking when you noted the unfamiliar names scrawled over previously empty rooms.

Thank the gods your chambers appeared untouched. Without alerting the rest of the Brotherhood you tiptoed into your bedroom, releasing a shaky breath after clicking the lock in place. Perhaps you'd simply forgotten the names of a few recruits. Nazir must've approved them in your absence. Nothing was wrong. You just needed a bath and a long nap.

"Listener?"

Mere steps from the bath you halted. Cicero's voice stopped you dead in your tracks. You hardly heard his movements when he sat up from your bed - you should've known. His own chambers hadn't been touched since the first night together, of course he'd wait in your bed. Separation wasn't his strong suit.

"Hello my love." Despite your attempt to quell the nervousness your voice sounded shrill. You didn't want to turn to him, didn't want him spotting the anxiety in your expression. It would only worry him further.

“Silly Listener, you’re teasing Cicero again.” His laugh was high pitched and dreamy, sending shivers down your spine. What had he meant by that? Again? “Stop being mean to your loyal Keeper.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You always do this!” Any hint of his laughter was gone. Your blood chilled when the bed creaked, your only sign that he'd gotten to his feet. “You show up just to taunt and silly Cicero falls for it every time. Go on, say it and disappear! Leave poor Cicero alone!”

“Say what, Cicero?” Something was clearly off. Your heart ached for your poor, lonely Keeper. Turning toward the bed you tried to find him in the oppressive darkness, barely able to make out your beloved's frame through all the shadows.

It was all wrong. Cicero's wavy hair was cropped short, his familiar smile reduced to a mean smirk. The gash on his face you'd dabbed clean that morning was nothing but a nasty scar. His eyes pinned you in place when he stepped into the faint halo of candlelight. Your gut had been right - something had gone terribly wrong while you were in Sovngarde.

“What is a Keeper without a Listener?” His nose wrinkled, tone a taunting mockery of yours. It hurt to see his brows furrow, so clearly confused. "What is Cicero without his Listener?"

“What, my Cicero?” His shoulders sagged, all the rage disappearing as he sunk to your bed. Cicero’s watery eyes stared at your boots and you dared another step closer. The urge to touch him was overwhelming, to prove that you were really with him.

“Nothing.” His broken little whisper wrecked you. Swooping down before Cicero you heard him muttering, tears streaking down his cheeks. “The fool is nothing. Nothing.” 

"You are my whole heart." Your voice wobbled with the immense weight of emotions threatening to reduce you to tears. You couldn't comprehend what he'd been through - visited by horrible visions in your absence. "How long has it been since we last met, my Keeper?"

"Years." His voice was flat, eyes tracking each of your movements. You couldn't push him. "Cicero let the real Listener go years and years ago."

"And what of the fake Listeners?"

"The real Listener would never talk to loyal Cicero like that."

"That's right." Stubborn arms wrapped around his middle, protecting himself from you. Cicero sniffled, staring down at the hands you kept in your lap. "Who do you think I am, my dear Cicero?"

Finally, he met your gaze. The unfathomable pain you found in his eyes knocked the breath from your lungs. Your absence had clearly wrecked him.

"My Listener?" The tiniest hint of hope resided in his words. You wanted to hug him, to tackle him onto your bed but you couldn't spook him. Tucking the messy hair away from your face you leaned closer, banishing any fear from your mind. No matter what had changed he was always your Keeper, your Cicero.

Tentative fingers brushed over your cheek. Cicero's hands shook when they cupped your face, wide eyes reflecting the lone candle. You took in every bit of him you could - the scars, the hair, he'd changed. You'd been gone years.

"My Listener." It was no longer a question. Needy hands dragged you closer, laughs blooming against your skin where Cicero smothered you in kisses. He murmured your title over and over as he came to terms with the fact that it was truly you, not some nightmare.

Nimble fingers made quick work ridding you of the ruined armor before his limbs enveloped you. Cicero's warmth and the soft mattress were wonderful under your aching bones. Humming happily Cicero draped a blanket over you, gentle touches roaming over your body as he confirmed your presence.

"I'm sorry for leaving, my love." You spoke into his skin, pressed firmly against him. "I'll never leave you again."

"My funny Listener." Cicero sighed, finally content. His hands stroked through your tangled hair and you heard a displeased grumble. "You made a lot of work for your Keeper. Laundry, mending, bathing."

"I'm sorry, my beloved." You mumbled, on the verge of sleep. You wanted to apologize for that and so much more.

"Loyal Cicero forgives you, Listener."

[daughterofcain-67]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊 : 𝖕𝖙1

(MOC!Dean Winchester x Female Reader)

(Raised in Blood Masterlist)

(The Curse Masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it had been several months since you left Sam and Dean behind in the bunker and Dean has had enough of the mark on his arm. Luckily for him, Dean has a brother who is willing to help him find a way to get rid of the Mark of Cain, but there are only so many leads and who’s to say that all methods out there are useful?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: spn level violence, gore which may be graphic for some audiences, an addition of characters that are not in the show

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is a sequel to the Raised in Blood series, masterlist is linked at the top. In order to understand some of the references to the reader’s past and her relationship with Dean it would be advisable to read the first story. Hope you all enjoy! ❤️

Previously…

“So, Y/N… Why don’t you stay with us for a while? Get some rest and get used to this new body of yours?” Sam asked.

“Sam…” Dean said in a solemn tone.

“Oh.. right. I’ll leave you two to uh.. I’ve gotta go umm… I’ve got a thing.” Sam said as he awkwardly left, and you gave Sam a little grin.

You looked up at Dean and he cautiously stepped closer to you.

“You aren’t staying.. are you?” Dean asked softly.

“You know that I can’t…”

“Y/N, those things I said.. None of that was all me. Being a demon changed almost everything about me. Honestly I don’t even think before I turned you and I even had a chance to really learn about each other.”

“Then how much of it really was you, Dean? Tell me? Was it the sleeping around with other girls? Was it the anger you felt when I was trying to look out for you? What was it?”

“That night in the hotel between us was real… the moments before the battle with Metatron were real when you were telling me about what the mark would do to me, those were real. When I thanked you for staying when Sam and I were split up, that was real.”

You shook your head. “It may have been real for a moment. But like you said, you and I didn’t have the time to really learn. All of this has been nothing but a scrambled mess and there was nothing solid for us.”

“If you go out there, it will be a lot more dangerous. You’re human now and there’s a lot more than just the First Blade that can kill you now.” Dean said, and you could detect the very same thing that he argued with you about - worry.

“Dean? I’ll be okay. I’ve had several centuries if not millennia of experience in combat. Plus I have this.” You said and you held out your arm. “You know it won’t let me die.”

Now

Dean felt like his arm was being engulfed in flames. For the past several months since you've been gone it had felt as if the mark on his arm had been enraged - as odd as that may even sound.

Although, he had been trying to keep his irritability intact, and trying even harder not to fall into that dark path again. He knew he couldn't afford to become a demon once again and he didn't want to become a monster that kills people without a second thought. Not after he'd been down that road once already.

Dean was sitting down at one of the several tables in the library drinking a glass of whisky neat while Sam claimed he was running off doing some errand with Castiel.

Dean wasn't exactly sure what the two of them planned on doing but whatever it was, he knew they were at least trying to help Dean finally get the mark off his arm. He couldn't take it anymore, not after what he did to those men that almost hurt Claire. It made Dean sick to even think about what they could've done. A part of him delighted in the thought of ripping them to shreds all over again but as soon as those dreadful memories started to come back, the more guilty Dean began to feel and the more desperate he became to be rid of the curse.

As he lifted the glass up to his lips he finally heard a door open, only to hear the sound of the most annoying, aggravating voice he'd ever heard.

"What makes you think I'll ever help you after you imprisoned me?! You and the angel are both crazy!"

"Metatron?" Dean grumbled under his breath but rather than going over to Sam to confront him, he just watched as his little brother took him down to the dungeon they had there in the bunker.

As Dean listened to the way that God-forsaken angel grumble and complain, Dean started to remember the last fight he had before he became a demon. He remembered the adrenaline coursing in his blood, the determination he had to gut the bastard until his insides were on the outside.

He remembered being so close to finally killing the bastard only for the blade Metatron had to go through his chest. And the very second that happened, everything began to change.

Before his mind could dwell too much on that transformation, he heard his phone buzz while it was on top of the table just for Sam's name to show up.

SW: You may wanna come in here if you want to help me find answers.

Dean had to admit, he was a little astonished that Sam even wanted Dean to help with the interrogation. Even then, Dean knew Sam wouldn't let him take things too far. All Dean could do was hope he wouldn't take things too far in the first place, but when it came to someone like Metatron, there were no promises to be made.

Dean got up from his chair, downed the last if the whiskey in the glass before he set it back down on the table and started making his way down to the dungeon.

Sure enough, Metatron was still babbling on about his bullshit on how he was guessing was a demon, wanting to know if he had finally snapped - which the answer to all of those questions were a simple 'yes' whether Dean wanted to admit it or not.

But when Dean finally made his appearance, he saw the baffled look on Metatron's face. The initial reaction was nearly worth all the Hell Dean had been through with this whole ordeal... almost.

"So... you found your way back to the land of the living... well isn't that a bitch." Metatron finally said as he looked over at Sam.

"How'd you manage to pull that off? Did you actually get your hands a little dirty for once instead of making Dean the black sheep of your little family?"

"You know what forget the mark and kill him now." Dean grumbled, not even wanting Metatron to be the one that helped him. There was no way he'd be that cooperative anyway.

"Oh man.. he must really be a mess. Who knew the mark was so toxic?" Metatron said before cutting himself off.

"Actually, maybe I did. But nobody likes a spoiler in a story." He continued and Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes as Sam started to talk.

"Yeah so how do we get it off?"

"What? No more social hour? Come on, I've just been out of prison where no one would talk to me. Maybe I have more to say than you think."

"Well we're not here for socializing so we're moving on to the next part of the agenda." Sam continued on.

"That part would be us asking the questions, you give us the answers, unless you'd rather do things the hard way where I beat the answers out of you." Dean glared.

"What makes you assume I won't help you right away? Don't tell me you're truly that easy to antagonize now. Are you really that irritable with all of this? Gosh that mark is probably going to own you sooner rather than later if you keep that up." Metatron continued then he looked up at Dean and gave him a knowing, sly and nearly malicious smile.

"Imagine how agonizing it must be without its other half."

Somehow Dean knew exactly what this angelic son of a bitch was referring to and with two mighty stomps and a large hand suddenly around Metatron's throat he spoke, "You leave her name or any implication of her out of your damned mouth before I carve out your tongue."

"You do that, and you'll never know how to get that mark off your arm."

"Then spit it out already. It's not like it's that much of a pleasure keeping you down here." Sam said.

"Speak for yourself Sammy. I'd love to let him rot." Dean said and removed his hand from the angel's throat.

"Okay than..." Metatron cleared his throat to the best of his ability.

"Well.. the first thing you need is going to be an old friend of yours. And that would be the one, and the only, First Blade."

Dean heard the two final words that came out of Metatron's mouth, and it was like the mark began to pulse on his arm just at the mention of the name. Dean's hand slowly formed a fist and he could practically feel the familiar touch of the blade's handle as if he truly had a grip on it, then he looked at Metatron.

"As I said before... isn't life a bitch?"

"Son of a bitch..." Dean muttered as he walked out of the dungeon.

Sam watched Dean turn on his heel and walk out before he glared at Metatron.

"That's all you can tell us? The only thing you can come up with?" Sam asked and Metatron gave an 'innocent' little shrug.

"It's all you're getting out of me for the time being."

Sam's jaw tightened before he got up from the table he'd been sitting on and he followed Dean out of the dungeon, slamming the door behind him.

"I thought you and Castiel said you had an idea of how to get the mark off. And you brought Metatron? Didn't you tell me Y/N told you something that could help? There's no way in the darkest part of Hell that she'd suggest this bullshit." Dean said.

"If you hadn't let her go then we would've been a Hell of a lot further in looking into her lead but as of right now there have been no leads on the Book of the Damned she was talking about. Metatron is the best we've got and even then his plan is a terrible idea." Sam retorted.

Dean went quiet for a moment, brows knitting together as the mark on his arm pulsed in anger yet again and felt like it was burning all over again at the thought of letting you just leave. He wanted so badly for you to stay but he knew you had your reasons. He just hated that it felt like he hadn't tried hard enough to make you stay.

Then there was the matter of the First Blade. He knew it was more than just a 'bad idea' for him to wield that weapon again. Especially when he killed several men practically the first chance he got when he was left alone.

"Don't tell me you're actually giving the Frist Blade a legitimate thought. You know it's horrible and you can't be trusted with it!"

"I'm not saying I have to use it or that I need to be in any kind of contact with it, but what if this is the shot we need to take? Yeah, Metatron can be a lying son of a bitch, but if we can't even find a single lead on the Book of the Damned then this might just be the next best thing we can come up with." Dean tried to explain while Sam ran a large hand through his hair.

"How can we know whether or not this will actually work? We don't even know what he wants us to do with the damned thing."

"So for now we just play it safe, alright? We obtain the blade, you don't tell me where it is, we learn the spells and that's that. We don't even know if I even need to touch it."

"Wait a minute wait a minute, what if this is really the mark trying to get you to get a hold of it again? How do you know it doesn't have a stronger hold again?" Sam asked, the skepticism evident in his tone.

"It's not the mark, and no I don't trust anything about this Sam but this is the best thing we can come up with right now."

"No it isn't." Sam said and Dean turned around for a moment.

"I'm not doing that and you know it."

"Why the Hell not? Maybe she's had more luck on finding the book than we have and we can get you safely out of this mess without the blade!"

"I'm not calling Y/N - that's final."

There were terrified screams all around you, tortured voices of men, women and children all crying out in agony. There was red everywhere as you walked around your surroundings. The boots you wore were sticky with blood as a result of each step you took. The metallic smell invaded your senses and yet you didn't have much of a reaction. You'd grown accustomed to the aroma of death all your life and this was just the beginning.

"M-Mama, I'm scared. Mama, please, w-wake up!" a little boy, not much older than you said with tears in his eyes as he gripped tightly onto the collar of his mother's dress.

You walked over to the boy and he must've seen your shadow. He slowly turned around and you could see the fear in his eyes.

"Y-You.. You're just a girl."

"Don't worry... you'll get to be with your Mama soon enough." You said and you pulled a knife from the pocket of your blood-soaked dress.

When the boy tried to run, your demonic speed allowed you to speed up and appear in front of him and you slashed his throat without giving him a second to blink. You could still feel his last breath brush your cheek as he tried to gasp for air before he fell to the ground.

You turned around and looked up as a demon with fiery red hair walked up to you. Her eyes black as onyx and lips as red as crimson tugged upward into a smile, a sickeningly prideful one at that.

"Well done, Y/N. You've passed this exam. Once you return home we'll begin the next steps in your training." Abaddon said.

Your mother stepped behind you and placed her hands on your shoulders before turning you around so you could see your reflection in one of the windows that somehow remained intact after all the chaos you'd spread.

The reflection showed a little girl who's eyes were glowing red yet there was no expression on the little girl's face. Her dress was once white and it had been stained in various shades of red. In her hand, there was a knife and on her arm, there was a cursed mark that the girl had been cursed to bare since birth, the same mark her father was cursed with by God himself. The blood was spattered on her face and yet it seemed to be another ordinary day for this girl without a soul.

"To this day, no one truly knows what really happened to the people who disappeared on Roanoke Island."

You blinked once or twice as the voice brought you out of your trance and you suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit you. The tour was over anyway so you rushed off to the nearest bathroom and locked yourself in one of the stalls.

Once your stomach contents were emptied, you slowly rose back up and wiped your lip with a Kleenex tissue from the packet you had stored in your pocket. You were glad you were at least prepared, but you hadn't anticipated something like this happening.

You were visiting the place where your first exam took place. Apparently, it was currently known as Dare County, off the North Carolina coast.

You weren't sure why you thought visiting such a morbid place was such a good idea for you. You hadn't expected the impact of the memories to hit you the way that it had. Then again, you were still trying to grow accustomed to human emotion now that you were no longer a demon thanks to the Winchesters.

You tossed the Kleenex into the bowl and flushed before exiting the stall to clean yourself up. The sickening feeling never left you though.

Now that you were visiting this place once more, you could almost hear all of the voices and the screams again. You could even remember that little boy's expression before he died.

Being human sucked, now that you know what guilt felt like. It didn't help that you were beginning to learn the emotional aspects of what trauma could do to a person. Abaddon truly was a monster for raising a child the way she did.

You were nearly glad Dean was the one that killed her. If it had been you, the result may have been more disastrous.

Once you had washed your hands and your mouth, you took some gum you had in your pocket and placed a piece in your mouth before tossing the trash away and you made your way outside.

"Hey there, you alright?"

A voice startled you, causing you to glance over. Upon seeing an ordinary looking man, you calmed down a little. He seemed to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties but not likely.

He was tall, had short dark hair and deep brown eyes that seemed to be filled with some sort of concern. Although you thought he looked familiar... maybe he was a part of the tour you were just on.

"I'm fine, thank you." You finally answered and you saw a small grin appear on his face.

"Here, let me get you some water or something from one of the vending machines. You look kinda pale, maybe some hydration will help."

Your brow arched upward. You had to admit you were still trying to get used to the kindness some humans seemed to show. Nevertheless, you decided to take this stranger up on his offer. Anything was better than the current taste in your mouth despite the spearmint gum you were chewing.

"Sure. Thank you." You followed this man to a nearby vending machine and he grabbed a dollar bill, inserted it into the machine and once he selected a water bottle he grabbed it from the dispenser and handed it over to you.

"Thank you again.. umm...."

"Ab- uh... Abe."

"Frog in your throat there, Abe?" You asked with an arched brow and he simply smiled at you, broader than the smile from before. Then you saw something in his eyes.

His gaze seemed warm but they looked as if they held so many secrets from literal eons ago. He may have looked young physically, but there was definitely something about him that was ancient, seemingly as old as time.

"Take a walk with me. It's getting too crowded here." Even though this felt more like a demand rather than an invitation, you didn't quite feel threatened by this man. So you followed him outside so the two of you could take your stroll and you drank some of the water he'd bought for you.

"So, what brings you to this part of town? I don't think I've seen you around here." Abe asked.

"Oh, um... I'm taking a bit of a road trip and I have a bit of a n interest in history and this mystery has always fascinated me." You said, trying to come up with something on the spot wasn't always easy but you hoped he'd leave it at that.

Shockingly, all he did was hum before he started to speak again.

"There have been a lot of theories about what may have occurred in Roanoke. I think one of the more hilarious theories is the involvement of extraterrestrial beings." He spoke, holding up the conversation.

"You're not one to believe in aliens?"

"I didn't say that. I believe God has a creative, even imaginative mind. I'm sure He grew curious as to what other intelligent life He could make worship Him even if they aren't in His likeness. But no, I know His other creations haven't come to meddle in the matters of Earth back then."

Okay, this conversation was beginning to take a weird turn. Abe started to speak as if he knew the All Father and it was a little unsettling. Had you come across an angel? This couldn't be a safe situation considering you had been nothing but a demon up until this point.

"Look, I know you angels aren't fond of demons, especially since the Winchesters foiled the plans of the End Times, but I've done my best to keep out of your mess for centuries." You stated, prepared to get onto the defensive. Yet all Abe did was let out a chuckle.

"You know very little despite living for a long time, Y/N." Your eyes widened for a moment. You didn't recall ever giving Abe your name in response, so how did he know who you were?

"Who are you?" You asked warily.

Abe glanced down at you r arm and you watched as his gaze seemed to soften, "Someone who should be the one carrying your curse."

Your brows narrowed with confusion but the man looked at you again and he took a gentle hold of your hand before lifting your arm up to him as if to get a better look.

"May I?" His tone was shockingly soft and you had a feeling you might've known who this was, yet you didn't want to admit it for yourself. Instead, you just nodded and he let his fingers graze over the mark your family shared.

Your arm tensed and you nearly hissed in pain as the skin burned with sensitivity, "Relax, I'm not here to harm you."

You looked at Abe again and you slowly began to relax. As you continued to observe, Abe closed his eyes and you could tell his shoulders were tensing up a little and when he opened his eyes again, you could see the white glow in his eyes, the same as any other angel.

"A child should never have had to gone through what you did. A child like you should never have been brought into this world for such malicious intensions. Your father would never had stood for this, only because he knows what a curse this is to begin with. He would never want such a thing passed on to anyone with his blood." The glow in his eyes dissipated once more.

"I'll ask again, who are you?"

Abe let out a scoff before he lifted his hand, placing his palm on your forehead, then you began to see something you hadn't anticipated.

"Abel, what are you doing?" A man with black hair and pure blue eyes asked while he walked towards another man at the altar.

Abel was bowing down, muttering a prayer, ignoring his brother's question as he continued his form of worship.

"Abel, this is Blasphemy and you know it. You know God could kill you for this! Look at what He did to Mother and Father because of their disobedience!" Cain reached down and pulled Abel up from his worship and Abel glared at Cain.

"Must you interrupt everything I do, Brother? This is an important meeting! I can get us back into Eden!"

"Ahh, this must be the brother Cain you were speaking of, Dear Abel."

Cain's eyes widened as he heard the voice. It was the same voice his mother Eve had heard hen being tempted to eat the forbidden fruit. The same voice Adam and Eve both had warned their children to ignore.

"Abel this is madness. It was because of Lucifer that we they were cast out! The very reason why we never got to see the Garden and more than likely never will!" Cain tried to reason.

"Cain, I'm far from seeing the garden. I'm far from God's grace as it is. Let me do something to help the three of you go back to where you were always meant to be."

"Abel this is wrong. Turn back from this path. This is your very soul you're talking about! Are you really accepting that you could be cast down with the other angels that fell from Grace?"

"You brother is right, Abel. You will never get into Paradise; you're practically leaving all of your family behind. You'll belong to me for all of Eternity." Lucifer interjected.

Then an idea appeared in Cain's mind. He knew Abel was the favorite of the family. Most even believed Abel was God's favorite. He deserved to go into Paradise.

"Lucifer, let me offer myself in my brother's place. He's young and knows not the mistake he's making by even meeting with you at an alter built for God." Cain began and Abel shoved Cain's shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing? You're going to ruin everything!"

"Lucifer, please. He's a boy and doesn't deserve an eternal damnation. Take me in his place and find a way to get Abel into Heaven instead." Cain bargained.

There were a few moments of eerie silence before Lucifer spoke again.

"I'll accept this bargain. However there will need to be bloodshed." Lucifer finally spoke.

"You must be the one that send your brother into Heaven yourself."

Abel's stomach sank down to his feet at the words. What had he done? Maybe Cain was right? He should have never summoned Lucifer in the first place, and now not only would Abel have to die, but his own brother would have to kill him only to go to Hell for something Abel brought into this world.

"No, I can't be the one to do this." Cain said.

"If not, then an illness will kill him during the evening anyway and Abel will go to Hell despite your plea." Lucifer threatened.

Cain and Abel exchanged glances but Abel was the first to look away, "You don't have to do this. I've brought this upon myself."

"I have to. You deserve to be in Heaven with Mother and Father once they go. You had good intentions even if executed poorly." Cain spoke solemnly before the older brother looked at the reddened flames that personified Lucifer.

"I accept." Cain finally replied.

With that, the reddened flames parted to reveal the skull of a donkey, "Take the bones and manufacture a weapon of choice. This will be used to kill your brother."

Cain swallowed harshly before he walked to the alter and took the bones. He took the jaw bone then he got to work.

He took the jaw bone fragment and a rock to sharpen it the best that he could by grinding the rock against the bone, an attempt to sharpen it, hoping it would speed the process of Abel's death so he wouldn't feel so much pain. After that, Cain took the leather belt from around his waist and wrapped around the section of bone that would serve to be the handle.

Thus.. the First Blade had been created.

With a heavy heart, Cain stood up and he looked at his brother. Abel's jaw was clenched as he tried to put on a brave face.

"I'm sorry to do this, Brother.. but it's for your own good." Cain said and Abel held up a hand to pause Cain from speaking further.

"I've already said I've brought this upon myself. Though you should not be the one going to Hell for this." Abel continued and Cain gripped the handle of the new weapon.

"What's done is done, Abel. Once Mother and Father make it to Heaven.. let them know how much I'll miss them. They won't forgive me for what I'm about to do." Cain said and Abel gave Cain a saddened smile.

"Maybe not... But I do. And you'll need to learn to forgive yourself." Abel said and he walked over to Cain. He lifted his brother's hand that was holding the weapon and pulled it up to his chest.

"I'll explain my mistake once they arrive. Now please, if I'm not going to see the sun rise tomorrow, I'd rather it be by your hand." Abel insisted and Cain looked at his younger brother.

"Please.. close your eyes. I don't think I can do this if they're open." Cain insisted.

Then, with a nod, Abel's eyes closed and Cain plunged the weapon into Abel's chest. Abel let out a hiss in pain and gripped his brother's shoulder so tightly. Then he opened his eyes again to look at Cain one last time.

"I'm sorry to have forced your hand..." He admitted then he let out his final breath, dying in Cain's arms.

Cain gulped harshly as if holding back the emotions he was feeling before he laid Abel on the ground, knowing he would need to tend to the body later.

"Now... since that's finally finished. Now it is time for your end of the deal." Lucifer said and Cain had this unsettling feeling.

"A part of Abel's deal was that he would do something for me. This task is an important one to have and yes, it will come at a cost greater than killing just one person. You're much stronger than your brother, and you seem to be more of a soldier, a might soldier that I'll train you to become and you'll be the leader of a malicious army one day." Lucifer continued, though Cain hardly had the heart to listen to everything. He no longer had the choice to refuse whatever task Lucifer asked of him.

"There is a mark I will give you. Consider it a gift. It will make you stronger than you are now. And this gift will pass on to your direct offspring. They will inherit this gift and they will be stronger and your entire bloodline will last eons."

Whatever gift Lucifer was about to give Cain, he knew better than to know this would be anything good. And he knew he would never want this curse to pass on.

But before Cain could protest or voice his concerns, the reddened fire seemed to take on a life of its own and wrapped itself around one of his arms before one of the flames branded Cain's arm. Cain let out a cry in agony as the flames burned his skin, forming the very mark that would taint him and his actions for the rest of his life.

It was a tragic day as murder entered the world, just as the sin of disobedience had entered the world.

And Cain would forever be known as the Father of Murder from that point on.

As Abel let down his palm from your hand, you opened your eyes and you looked at him with shock.

The man in front of you.. He was your uncle. He was the reason why your father had the mark on his arm. The reason why you were stuck with it because Abaddon wanted to use you to kill Cain because he had killed the Knights of Hell.

"You.. If you hadn't made that deal-" You could feel the anger residing in you and the mark was beginning to ignite in you once again. Everything in you was feeling that human temptation to fall into your murderous ways.

"In your human state you would never be able to kill me. You don't have an angel blade, the First Blade, or any other weapon specializing in celestial slaughter. Think carefully." Abel warned you.

You closed your eyes and you turned away from Abel and pinched the bridge of your nose. You had to collect your thoughts. He was right, you couldn't kill him in this state, and even then you were trying not to fall back into those ways in the first place.

You owed that much to both Sam and Dean since they were the ones that gave you the chance to be human in the first place. After letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding in the first place, you turned around to face Abel once more.

"What did you do? Come all this way to look for me or something? You didn't find me by coincidence." You told him.

"I know you're searching for a way to be rid the mark. You can't get rid of it. It's impossible. Otherwise Cain might've gotten rid of it a long time ago." Abel said to you and you shook your head.

"Cain didn't try hard enough. He didn't want to get rid of the mark badly enough. A third party has received the mark from Cain himself and he doesn't deserve such a curse, and I'm going to find a way to get him out of this mess because it's not his cross to bear. It's mine and Cain's."

Abel softened once more and he rubbed his temple. You could tell there was something formulating in his mind but he was hesitant to tell you.

"If you have something to say then spit it out. Otherwise I need to get back to work." After all, your day off from researching was pretty much shot and it'd been that way since you'd vomited before this encounter.

"You're looking into the Book of the Damned, yes?" Your eyes widened at his words, how did he know about that? And what did he know about the book?

"You need to be careful when you get your hands on this book. I don't know where it is but there are spells within that book that are more dangerous than you can imagine. You and your little friend should consider a different way to get that mark off his arm." He advised and you lifted a brow.

"What could be so dangerous about a few spells?"

"Y/N... There are things in this world that should never be discovered. Some things should remain hidden. The Book of the Damned, the First Blade, even Cain himself should've remained hidden."

"The book is only a few hundred years old. I'm older than that, you're ancient compared to it. When it was created there wasn't any world crushing disasters. It's been hidden this entire time and it's important that we find it because there might not be any other way to get the mark off him." You explained.

"Witchcraft can be just as deadly as some of the seals broken during the end times which your friends managed to stop somehow. There is a reason why witchcraft is a force to be reckoned with. If you do continue looking for this book, be aware that you will not be the only one looking for it. People would kill for it. Not all humans are kind and fragile. Some are monstrous and will sacrifice everything to get what they want."

You listened carefully and you wished that something this important would be just a little bit easier to handle. But you had made up your mind on this already. Even if you could get killed with this human form, you would be able to come back. But Dean deserved better than this curse, so you would do everything you could to spare him from this specific sort of Hell.

"Thank you for the words of caution, but he is a friend. He should not have meddled in things he didn't understand and I'll face the consequences for him." You said before you turned your heel and walked away.

Abel watched as you walked away before he shook his head before muttering under his breath.

"You're more like your father than you realize, child."

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @johannelis2302nely @justtrying2getby-blog @alternativeprincess94 @doctorlexilouwhosblog @deangirl96 @nancymcl @hobby27 @muhahaha303 @k-slla @winchestergirl2

[apocalypseornaw]

Bad Idea

Bobby told you to stay away from Sam. You knew he wasn't the same man you'd known after Dean's death, you knew he was involved with Ruby but despite all of that you had to make one final plea rather to say goodbye or remind him of who he was

Warnings: cursing,mention of blood drinking?, NSFW stuff happening

It'd taken you two days to track Sam down between hunts. You weren't sure what you would say when you got to him or even if he'd speak to you, chances were Ruby was following him around like an annoying evil bitch of a puppy that you'd love nothing more than to stab with her own knife.

You pulled up to the outside of a motel that couldn't be described as anything but shitty and you had squatted in a few abandoned houses with the boys and Bobby in the past on hunts. You weren't sure what to expect but you parked your mustang next to the impala which would always be easy to spot. You'd called ahead and had luckily guessed what alias Sam had used.

You locked your car then walked to the door of room two fifty five. You owed it to Dean and to Sam to at least try to get him to come to Bobby's with you. You knocked after checking that you had holy water in your jacket pocket and the feel of your gun at your back was a familiar weight.

----------

A moment later the door opened to reveal a haggard looking Sam. Dark circles under his eyes along with a hollow look in them. It hurt you to see him like this. "Y/N what are you doing here? How did you find me?" You pushed past him into the room, clocking every corner to ensure it was just him before you said "I may not be Dean but I do know you pretty well"

He raised both eyebrows slightly then a smirk almost appeared on his face but he quickly buried it "Well you found me. What do you want? I mean I'm not coming back to Bobby's" you nodded turning to face him "I figured that. Look I just wanna talk. Is it just gonna be you? I mean can I take my jacket off or am I gonna have to fight that black eyed skank before the night's out, cause honestly I haven't been having the best last few weeks either so I'm down to play either way"

He laughed at that, the sound was a hollow echo of his usual laugh. "She's not coming here" you nodded. You pulled your jacket off and draped it across his duffle bag. "Gonna lay your gun down or am I a threat?" You shrugged "I don't want to consider you a threat" you laid the gun down on top of your jacket then turned to face him. He wasn't high, he looked like maybe he'd hit withdraws, rather lack of blood from Ruby not being around or his own choice you weren't sure.

----------

"Why are you doing this Sam? I get it, losing Dean hurt. Hell it hurt me and Bobby too" he cut you off by shaking his head "Y/N no offense but you didn't watch your only family get ripped to shreds by a hellhound because he made a deal to save your life"

His words hurt on some level of course but you knew the Winchesters well enough to know their defense mechanisms. "He might have been your only blood left but he's not your only family Sam. I'm here, Bobby would be there for you. We love you"

He took a step towards you and it took everything in you to keep your feet planted. He wouldn't normally be a threat to you but this Sam? The air around him felt off, wrong. He wasn't quite the man you'd known for years but you knew that man was still in there. "Then why did you just drop into a fighting stance?" He asked glancing down towards your body. You hadn't realized you moved until he pointed it out, you'd done it on instinct alone.

"I haven't seen you in weeks Sam. I want to trust that I'm safe with you but some of the choices you're making doesn't help" He nodded stepping even closer to you and this time you allowed yourself the movement of stepping back, putting breathing room between you and him put also putting your back to a wall.

----------

You glanced towards your jacket and the gun that laid atop it. You had a knife stuck into your boot but could you really use it on Sam?

He chuckled darkly placing a hand on either side of your head meaning he effectively had you trapped between his body and the wall "You forgetting I know you too? You just clocked your gun and the knife that's in your left boot" the last words he spoke you could feel his warm breath fanning over your neck "Could you kill me? Be honest"

You turned to meet his eyes. Fuck he was close and despite everything you could feel your stomach jerk when his eyes trailed over your body. Why the hell had you come here alone? You swallowed hard "To save my life? Yeah I could kill you" he smiled "I've always loved that damn fire about you"

His head lowered to your neck, causing a gasp to escape you when his tongue flicked out over your pulse point. "I've always thought about how it would be" "What?" You asked, trying to control your breathing. This wasn't how you expected the night to go.

---------

He leaned back to be eye to eye with you "Why did you really come here? When I know for a fact Bobby would've told you not to, that I'm too unpredictable and unreliable now" "I couldn't say goodbye to you without it being face to face" you replied and he smiled again "So you're here to say goodbye?"

You nodded, your gaze flicking down to his lips then back up to his eyes. "Yeah, I am" "I don't think that's all you want" you couldn't think straight. So much had happened in such a short time. You'd fucking missed him so much and damn you'd wanted him for years.

"Fuck it" you muttered before pulling him down to you. The moment your lips touched his he groaned into the kiss. You tangled your fingers into his hair tugging roughly as he deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue against yours. His large hands gripped your hips tightly causing you to gasp against his lips.

He broke away from you long enough to rest his forehead against yours "You want this?" You nodded, not trusting your voice but he shook his head "Verbal confirmation Y/N" "I want this" you spoke and he grinned "Good"

His hands went to the hem of your shirt and you moved to help him pull it over your head. He chucked the thin material behind him then leaned down to take one of your clothed breasts into his mouth. "Fuck Sam" you groaned, feeling your knees weaken and the wetness between your legs grow. He smiled against your chest "I love that"

---------

Before you knew it he had your bra off along with his shirt and was moving to pull your jeans off your legs. "I'll take my time later but right now I want to feel that pretty little pussy stretched around me"

He kicked his jeans off then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and lining himself up with your opening "You're sure?" He asked one final time "Just fuck me Sam" you begged and that was all it took. He buried himself inside of you with one thrust.

Your head fell back in a silent scream. Fuck he was big. He moved to support your back against the wall, catching your lips in a hungry kiss while he let you adjust to him. You chased his lips even as he pulled back to look at your face "I'm good. Just move please"

----------

He sat a grueling pace, each thrust of his hips making you see stars despite the chances of your back being bruised the following day from it digging into the wall behind you.

Your fingers dug into his forearms, looking for something to ground yourself amongst the pleasure coursing through your body. "Can you take more baby?" He asked and you nodded "I can take it" he shifted his hips just slightly but it was enough to push you over the edge. Your vision went hazy around the edges when your orgasm washed over you, your fingernails biting into his skin.

You could feel his thrusts getting sloppily and knew he was close. You moved your hand just enough to push his sweat soaked hair out his face "Come for me Sam. Fill me up, let me feel it" at your words his thrusts got harder and faster, his eyes screwed shut as he chased that release. His hands were gripping you hard enough to leave bruises but you didn't care. When he buried himself deep inside of you with one final thrust the feeling of his release pushed you over the edge causing you to tighten around him as another orgasm washed through you.

He laughed breathlessly leaning his forehead against yours "Was that our goodbye or can I have a little more time with you?" You turned your head to catch his lips in a lingering kiss "You can have a little more time"

---------

He turned with you in his arms to walk over to the bed. He laid you down, gently pulling out "I was hoping I'd get a little longer with you if this is goodbye" you reached for his hand and pulled him onto the bed with you "No more talking"

The only proof Sam had of the night between you and him ever happening was a letter he found a week later in his jacket pocket that read "Find me if you figure out where you truly belong"

He shoved it back into his pocket before following Ruby out the door of the place he was currently squatting at. He had to do things his way and you deserved better than he could give.

Part 2

[captainjacklyn]

Hey, yo, you probably saw me on one of your posts. I was wondering if you could do the arcana twilight characters reacting to reader training Precious to destroy sisuris's balls l, I'm so sorry for this post, but I had to. You could skip if you want to. Also, sorry for misspelling sisuris name.

HAHAHAHAGHDJWEH- no worries my friend, there is absolutely no harm done on your part, I'm glad you enjoy that crack shit post and I hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it.

character(s) : spica, alpheratz, arcturus, pollux, vega

warning(s) : someone's balls being obliterated, a feral ferret and a vengeful summoner that just wants to see blood.

Spica

Speechless and just straight up lost, man is just looking at us for a good minute before continuing to walk down the aisle like nothing happened.

for reference his face looked like this :

He says nothing, he's just confused and tells himself that he needs coffee thinking he's hallucinating due to all the work he has to do.

don't even bother explaining, Spica will pass out and Precious is going to take that opportunity to destroy.

"Wrong target Precious I'm not letting you hurt rapunzel."

"AHDJEREJHR !"

Alpheratz

Hype man right here, he's literally helping you coach that killing machine to end Sirius.

Precious actually stops trying to rip his wig off and is now accepting him as a friend, sort of.

I love this trio ! A batshit crazy animal, their batshit insane owner and the owner's boyfriend who hates the same person they hate.

Once precious is released into the city to found that sexy gun man, it's over for him.

It crawls it's way through the streets, hissing at anything in it's way until it finds the legs of the enemy..and CRUNCH GOES THE BALLS OF THE ASSHOLE-

*screams in agony*

Arcturus

[Name] I don't think you have to- "HAJSKFBEFUEKR-"

Precious held on to his leg for a week, it didn't wanna let go for even a minute. Had to constantly keep this ginger man in a hospital because the moment he got out he would bleed extensively.

Once it got off of him, you just continued to train your unhinged creature.

Precious is really going balls out for the game I'll tell ya that, we're not just speaking about the nutcracker here we're talking about the sacrifice of future generations as well.

This poor dude is just standing on the sidelines like : you don't have to do this but I still support you because that's really all I can do...

Pollux

Oh he means business.

We got another coach right here- bro is going to ANNIHILATE sirius and whatever is left.

Although he keeps wincing whenever it actually happens, I mean they're both guys he knows just how painful it can get.

It's really terrifying to be honest just witnessing something that violent.

I mean who would expect this :

to act like THIS :

That's pollux trying to hold it, Precious is completely calm and rational with it's beloved owner.

Vega

._.

wut ?

like Spica, he will stand there, but not like Spica, he will remain standing there for a very long time.

Even Precious stops bitting the plastic toy that now looks like it's been shredded, even you stop encouraging your cute psychopath of a beast.

why are you giving it more attention ? HIIIIIISSSSSSSS-

He doesn't give a shit, we all know just how much of a simp he gets when it comes to you.

I love how I skipped the part where Precious tried to lunge at him and remove his eyeballs from his eye sockets.

You luckily managed to avoid that, but now you got an animal and a touch-starved white boy clinging onto you for dear life.

Vega I need to proceed with my ferret's training so could you please ? no. ...You're lucky you're just as adorable as my electric saw. BFUKETGEHTK$#$ PRECIOUS STOP SWEARING-

Have a good day I hope you liked it.

[miscellaneoussmp]

Did Bad and Bagi interactions inspire this? Yes. Do I expect this to be anywhere close to Canon? Nope. Anyway, here's the story of The Grim Reaper meeting a set of twins (cw/tw: blood/violence/death mentions, general Cellbit fuckery):

In war, a lot of horrible things happen. That's just how it is. People die, and it's a tragedy, as it always is. Bad always finds himself on the battlefields. His duty to the world beyond demands it of him. Reaping the souls of those who have unfortunately passed on during battle is as simple as it's always been. It's just more time-consuming than usual. Bad can't find the energy to mourn every single soul he takes. He mourns for souls he's yet to take, instead.

Bad likes to believe he's seen everything in this world. He's just as old as it, if not even older. This world shouldn't hold many surprises. As always, he's proven wrong. In the woods not incredibly far from a main battlefield, Bad finds two people. They look young, really young. One sits next a body that is ripped to shreds, and the other sits further from the body. The one closer to the body wipes blood from his mouth as he looks up at Bad. His brown hair was held out of his face with a set of goggles. The one farther is chewing on what looks to be stale bread. She looks between the other and Bad, through her ash blonde hair. They look like siblings, twins maybe. These two are the types of souls that Bad mourns. He can feel they're destined for greatness, yet they're stuck here.

The young duo looks absolutely terrified as Bad approaches them, two sets of wide bright blue eyes stare at him. The one next to the body stands, holding his knife in a shakey white knuckle grip. The one farther grabs a sword in an equally shakey grip. Bad points to the body, and he tries his best to explain that he's just here for the soul. The young brunette nods before turning to his companion, his sister Bad assumes, and translates. Bad recognizes the language as Portuguese, but he doesn't have any hope in understanding what was actually said. Both lower their weapons, the closer sits back down, and both look in amazement as Bad tears the soul from the body. Simple as that. He jokes about soul, luckily, being left in tact. Neither one of the younger two laugh.

Bad stays after his job is complete. He's curious about siblings. He's still guessing at that fact. He wants to know more about the young soldiers. He wants to know more about the young souls he's mourning for. Bad asks about their names. The demon wants to know what names he needs to plead cases for in front of Death, herself. The brunette looks to his sister, a guess still, before turning back to Bad shaking his head. Neither has a name. Bad didn't have one for a while either, so he doesn't push. Next, he asks about their ages. How young are they truly? They can't be much older than eighteen. Bad hates the answer he receives. Quinze, the blonde, speaks finally, her voice shakes. Fifteen, the brunette translates in unsure tone. Was Bad ever that young? He can't remember. Finally, he asks if they're actually siblings. There wasn't any hesitation, both nod.

Bad is taken a back when they question him in return. He really shouldn't have been. They ask–the brother mostly asks, but the sister speaks, as well, in their native tongue–about his name. He shares with them his name and a few nicknames he's gotten over the years. There's a hint of recognition in their expressions with a few of his names. After a few more questions, some of which Bad doesn't answer, he offers the siblings non-stale bread. The brunette doesn't take it, instead licking his lips that are still covered in blood. Bad gets it. He really does. The blonde cautiously takes it with her hands still shaking as she does so. She examines the bread for any tampering. Bad gets that, too. He really does.

The Grim Reaper takes his leave after the siblings fall asleep, it was hours of a futile struggle to stay awake. He knows they sleep light and fearful. Bad mourns for their souls before he ever needs to reap them. The demon curses whoever or whatever has forced these nameless teens to fight. He mourns for the day he'll take their souls. At least they'll know peace then.

After nearly eleven years, Bad meets one of the young souls he mourned for, once again. He took the name Cellbit, and Bad thinks it's a fitting one. Cellbit is a investigator now, and his face holds a relaxed smile. He thanks Bad for being kind to him all those years ago. He doesn't mention his sister.

After nearly eleven years, Bad meets the other young soul he mourned for, once again. She took the name Bagi, and Bad thinks it's a fitting one. Bagi is a pacifist now, and her bright eyes are full of curiosity and determination. She thanks him for being kind to her now. She doesn't mention her brother.

[brainrotbunny]

library love (blurb?)

chapter one out now!

remus lupin x slytherin!sirius' sister!reader

synopsis; remus lupin and yourself, find a common interest in coffee, books, chocolate, and annoying your eldest brother.

warnings; school, sirius being sirius, swearing?

A/N: this is just a test blurb it's unedited (and pretty boring) for now, its just to see if anyone would be interested in this lmk if you are but trust me the next chapters will be much better!

your fifth year was off to a rough start, you knew it would go this way but you hadn't expected this. being a black was difficult, and you could say being sirius' sister was just as hard, after all he was known for his dramatics, that being said even after he had run away from your unfortunate home situation the tension between you and your brother didn't subside.

in-fact it felt as if a bigger rift had opened between you and your eldest brother, now being divided by more than just opinions and school houses, but by space as well.

so as you stand in your first class of the year, which happens to be a year above your own it doesn't shock you when you see your brother and his "marauders" as they call themselves, but what does shock you is the glare hes casting your way, grey eyes splintering into your own.

now you were used to sirius' glares and his comments by now, it never helped that you had made a few of your own but it looked like he was ready to rip you to shreds, as if you had imposed on his space and that was in-fact what he thought of this new arrangement.

your professors had agreed your marks in transfiguration, herbology, potions, history of magic, and oddly enough divination were exceptional and you were eligible to move up a year.

you cast a glare back at your eldest brother before taking your seat, the spot beside a rather gaunt looking slytherin whom you hadnt spoken to before. the class was clearly divided by house not done so by the professor but rather the students who all had separated besides a select few.

mcgonagall stood tall at the front of the class room her judging eyes assessed the classroom, before promptly stepping back to her desk and beginning the lesson.

your second class of the day was luckily free of your brother, watching as other students filed in by the door you were relieved when lupin, evans, and mary mcdonald appeared lacking a certain long haired boy who had made sure to stare daggers through your head all through transfiguration. you were also relieved to find rosier was in the class with you, now you weren't exactly friends but you got along just fine after all he was close friends with regulus.

"hello class, welcome to year 6 advanced potions, now remain standing while i just-" slughorn pauses "try to finddd" he drags out as he shuffles around his desk opening drawers and sorting through a mess of papers "ah-ha, the seating arrangements"

"yes, yes i know but it must be done" slughorn says as grumbles ring throughout the classroom, he gets up from his desk albeit struggling a bit before walking over to the first desk in the room and calling out two names you hadnt heard before, a light-haired ravenclaw sat down followed by a short and pudgy slytherin.

he continued calling out names, one by one student sat down followed by their pre-picked partners.

"snape and mcdonald"

"evans and hedgeflower"

"lupin and black"

fuck.

[sapphic-woes]

When You Met Her pt. 2

A/N: Thank you guys sm for the encouragement, I was real nervous posting the first chapter so I'm so happy it was well received! Every tag was dear to my heart <3 Anyways, onto Sevika's pov. MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1k. AO3 Link

___________

Sevika doesn't know what to do with you.

The–her omega is sound asleep. You look almost peaceful. No fear contorting your face. No horrible shaking. Viktor cleaned you up and treated what he could, but even he was shocked by your condition.

Seven years.

Sevika wants to gag. Most omegas trapped as illegal sex slaves lasted a year. Two if they were lucky. The x-rays done on you make her see red, broken bones and fractures all poorly healed. Bruises cover your body from head to toe. Even asleep, the bitter smell of fear clings to your body as if it were permanent, and Sevika can feel her blood boil. 

She wants to rip every alpha who ever touched you to shreds. You were her mate, her fated person, and yet you were tortured for so long, and only now was Sevika able to save you.

Is it too late? Viktor said they'd gotten you high on shimmer. From the marks, they'd drugged you with the heat inducer countless times. It was no wonder you didn't smell sweet to Sevika despite being on the drug, probably used to its effects by now. Luckily shimmer wasn't addictive, but it fucked with an omega's heat cycle badly. The longer the use, the harder it was to get back to a natural pattern.

However, what had really affected Sevika was when Viktor said you were her bond. 

Mates were made through either bonds or claims. Claims were more common, and could happen between any of the designations. However, bonds were extremely rare, and only occurred through alphas and omegas. They were intense and primal, driven by instinct more than anything. Sevika had only met one bonded couple in her life, and that was Caitlyn's parents.

"Damn. You stink." Vi's mocking tone has Sevika rolling her eyes. Her right hand soldier saunters into the room, hair wet after scrubbing all the scents of the brothel off her body. Sevika knew exactly why Vi was so quick to shower–Caitlyn was the type to get possessive when the smell of another alpha was on Vi–whether it was from an operation or not. 

Too many times Vi went home soaked in pheromones only to call in "sick" the next day. Now, Sevika finally understood what drove Caitlyn to react like that, and they were only a claimed couple. When the level-headed leader inhaled the thick scent of various alphas stuck to your body…

It made her jaw lock, to put it lightly.

This bond would be her undoing. Sevika was usually more in control of her emotions. She had to be in her line of work–specializing in uncovering the illegal exploitation of omegas. It was a job with sleepless nights and little results, but tonight had been better. 

Shutting down that infamous underground brothel was definitely the highlight of her unit's last month. But when she'd sensed a sliver of your scent under all that fear and found you? When she'd seen what they'd done to you?

"Can you blame me?" Sevika mutters, and the smirk on Vi's face falls.

"No. Looking over her file…she's a worse case than most. Dunno how she's even alive." The beta shrugs, cracking her knuckles, "if it was Caitlyn, I'd be seeing red."

"She'd be seeing red." Sevika snorts.

"Same thing." Vi shoots her a pointed glare. "Look, I'm just saying that with the condition she was in and the fact that she's your bond?  It's a miracle you only beat that alpha up. I was expecting you to go on a rampage." Sevika shakes her head.

"I would have if you hadn't stopped me. If she wasn't–if she didn't react like I'd hurt her–" Sevika finds her throat choking up, and Vi places a hand on her shoulder for comfort. Her calming scent helps to cool the alpha down, though Sevika is still on edge. 

"...It'll be a while before she can recognize that your anger isn't dangerous for her. You know how bad the abuse can get." Sevika's lips press into a thin line. She nods once, then twice. Then she nods with a hand pinching the bridge of her nose and her other at her hip, restlessly pacing.

"I know. But fuck. I'm not meant for this part. Rehabilitation is what your girl is good at. What Vander and Mel can do easy. But me? I find them, I bring them back here. End of story. I don't help them heal. I don't stay." Vi sighs.

"Sev. She's already scenting you." The alpha groans.

"I can see that. Shit–believe me, I noticed that. It felt so right, and I was proud knowing my scent helped her calm down, let alone sleep."  Vi raises an eyebrow.

"So what's the issue again? Most omegas in her position would do anything to get away from an unfamiliar alpha. You have, like, a headstart dude." At Sevika's exasperated stare, Vi snorts.

"It's not like you don't have us to help guide you. Plus Sev…" the beta looks up with a small smile, reassuring her team leader.

"You aren't going to hurt her. Not with that attitude. So try a little bit, okay? She needs you." Sevika swallows. She's certain the sound is loud enough to echo in the room. She isn't the gentle type. She's a dominant alpha in every sense of the term. Her aggression, strength, and stature make her a damn near unbeatable opponent. Adding the natural desire to control she has, there's little Sevika can't do.

But this?

You're frail. So small under the blankets of the hospital bed, tiny breaths making her check over and over again that you're even alive. How can she come near you? Let alone be your mate? 

"I…I'm gonna report to Vander." Refusing to answer Vi, Sevika walks out of the room. She ignores the beta's loud, obnoxious sigh, head pounding with the stress of the night's events.

[local-diavolo-anon]

thinking about some scene from my Prehistoric Mermen AU because i like brainstorming worldbuilding and random stuff

Y/N would probably be asked to send long reports on what they found to be edible for human and what wasn't, how they examined it, how accurate the examination was and how it has been prepared

time traveler scientists always had rations with them and were intructed not to eat anything from the geological era they were sent into because of of risk of food poisoning or straight up eating shit that they can't digest

Y/N had rations as well but those ran out after one week or two since they were not made for stops longer than a few days (again for safety reasons, you have no idea what might be lurking in the shadows of a prehistoric jungle or what illnesses dinosaurs got that never survived until our days)

so once those rations ran out Y/n had to rely on their inboard analyzer to individually separate the chemical components of plants and animals to determine what they could have eaten and what was going to kill them instantly

most of the food they found to be edible was probably sea food, and not because they might particularly enjoy it but rather because going into the forest was not an option and Sun and Moon absolutely bombarding their ass with extra food to make sure their weird land friend didn't starve

(and also because sharing food is a sign of affection among predators; Y/n knows this but things Sun and Moon just see them as a weirdly shaped possible mate, like ostriches do in their era with humans)

Probably all of Y/N reports are a bit chaotic, especially the videos

Some videos that they sent slong with written reports include:

Them screaming maniacally that they managed to find something akin to potatoes and that made them "unstoppable" (they weren't properly potatoes an tastes slightly more sour, but still acceptable)

Extremely out of focus clip of them dancing on the beach with a piece of salt they managed to make by drying sea water

Several harpoon hunting videos where all you can hear is them cursing at some smaller predator stealing their catches constantly

A Few videos of them screamind directly at other creatures like calling 'bitch ass motherfucker' a raptor that showed up, stole their blanket, ripped it to shreds and chased them until they were on top of a tree

first person video of them playing dodgeball in the sea with Sun and Moon using a poor ammonite

First person video of them chasing away a flock of small pterosauruses after the little asses started stealing their food like seagulls

But the reports on their diet always look the funniest because they took the iron as it was hot and beat the shit out of it, so now each video looks like a youtube mukbang; full on table with food displayed in front of them and camera as they describe what everything tastes like

sometimes Sun join them on their improvised table by the beach and snatches a bite because everything smells good, but only Sun because Moon can't stay on land (too big)

Moon however is sometimes visible in the background splashing around in the deeper ocean where he hunts

in a video or two he is probably visible straight out jumping out of the water to snatch pterosauruses fresh out of the air, having hands is a big advantage when your natural competitors only have their mouth

Y/N has many other logs and videos of things they did or accomplished, but some of them were supposed to be about other things and suddently stuff happened

like a video of them trying to fish and see what worked as a bait and what didn't, and then Moon drops a full ass squid by their side (it was later identified as a Tusoteuthis and luckily safe for them to eat)

as a conclusion: Y/N sending back home to their friends and colleagues chaotic videos of them having a blast with their prehistoric reptile friend

Y/n making a log diary of everything they did with Sun and Moon so they can remember them when and if they have/can to go back home

[whatiwishfanfiction]

Chapter 8 is up!

EXCERPT:

He'd finally become such a joke to the townsfolk, it seemed they'd entirely forgotten he was human.

Instead of just tomatoes, the grocer volunteered wheelbarrows of spoiled produce that some teenagers mixed with glass and rocks. A particularly well aimed stone knocked out a tooth as he was belting out his favorite jingle:

"The Thneed is good, the Thneed is grea—YOW!"

Once-ler usually didn't stop for anything, but the taste of blood made him drop his guitar on his foot. This hurt even worse, so he sprang up and down. The guitar bounced onto the concrete while the crowd laughed and cheered.

Once-ler didn't get a chance to see if the instrument had broken, because, in a fit of enthusiasm, the mean little girl with red hair ensured this was the case. She smashed it on the ground with the second worst noise Once-ler had ever heard.

A tomato landed in his stunned face, but he didn't even feel it. He just watched open-mouthed as fruits and vegetables pelted him and the girl stomped on the pieces, giggling with her parents who stood back and watched.

"Alright, sweetie, that's enough, we have to get to Grandma's house," the mother finally told her. She smiled and pulled out a big bag of chocolate-coated pretzels for her daughter as they walked away.

Once-ler's last shred of optimism finally evaporated. After his father had passed away, the guitar had been the only good memory he'd had from home.

"THAT'S IT!" he roared. "I've had enough!" He stormed from the gazebo with tears in his eyes.

Only the baker looked slightly sympathetic. She twisted a strand of curly brown hair around her finger as he strode past.

"Is this really the way to treat a stranger?!" he heard her yell at the grocer.

"Oh, come on, Norma, he's just a self-centered out-of-towner." The grocer sounded slightly abashed.

Once-ler turned to see Norma stomp her foot. "I know he is, and I know that piece of junk he's selling looks like a wadded up piece of bubblegum with hairs stuck in it, but you just gotta understand! Homeless mentally ill folks need to be shown charity..."

Her words just infuriated Once-ler more. "My family was right. I quit!" He ripped the Thneed from his neck, and accidentally whipped the baker in the face as he threw it away. It knocked off her glasses, which fell to the ground and shattered. Oops.

He walked away faster. Luckily his long legs took him back to the forest before anyone could call the police.