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on-leatheredwings · 8 months ago

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Meeting the Family

based off this! but can be read alone.

Yandere! Fem! Reader / Yandere! Bruce Wayne

> romantic with bruce, platonic with the boys. the boys could be read as pre-yandere if you wish. > tw/cw: reader is a yandere, yandere-typical thought patterns, implied drugging, mention of self-harm, implied drugging > request: thoughts on co-conspirator!reader meeting the boys? > a/n: Hmmmm, i feel it’d be a meeting of interrogation where they see you’re clearly unstable !! > word count: 1.4k

You walk towards the threshold of a Wayne Manor sitting room. You have this hallway nearly memorized. You’ve viewed it through your 24/7 surveillance cameras and glanced upon it during your visits, but never has this hallway seemed so daunting until now. Luckily, your lover is nearby to reassure you. Bruce slips his hand into yours, and you inwardly swoon. You share a warm glance with him.

“They’ll adore you,” he says. You let a smile peek through your anxious expression. “I know I do.” At such sweet words, you feel your cheeks heat. Ugh, this man, you think affectionately.

Your Sunday best is the armor you don to meet Bruce’s children. It seems like you won’t even be able to meet them all – only the ones in town. “They just want to interrogate me,” you whine, letting yourself be pulled towards the impeccably decorated room.

“They just want to get to know you,” Bruce returns, humming. You can’t retort because already, you are in full view of his brood. The three of them look up from their phones and books. You swallow, under the scrutiny of two pairs of blue eyes and one pair of green.

“... Hi,” you say, waving a stupid hand. One smiles in return, thank goodness.

“I’ll just let you all get acquainted,” Bruce says, retreating. You swerve to him, blinking dumbly. That was not the agreement. The agreement was that Bruce moderate the discussion– and he’s gone.

He leaves the sitting room, and leaves you in the lion’s den to fend for yourself. And boy, do the lions pounce.

The eldest, Dick – he’s positively godsent. He’s the first to shake your hand, immediately going into a friendly babble about how you’re all Bruce ever talks about and how he’s been excited to meet you. And thank God for that, because it manages to ease the tension you still have in your shoulders. He introduces himself and his brothers, melts the ice by teasing them as he does it. He offers you a seat across from them, offers you tea and cookies. He shares an anecdote of Bruce’s less polished moments to make you laugh.

You soon realize he was a sleeper agent. He was merely buttering you up, lowering your defenses with well-placed platitudes and good-natured jokes.

It’s Tim who begins the true assault.

“So,” Tim begins over a cup of tea, looking upon you owlishly. “Isolation for 10 long years… How was that?” You blink, startled, before smiling weakly. At least no one was treating you like glass. Sometimes, that made you feel even more like a freak.

You try to give him a Sparknotes recollection, but it doesn’t satisfy him. At his badgering, you do relent more details. You are slipping your innermost thoughts without much of a fight, to your surprise. Dick’s empathetic gaze and Tim’s enraptured attention have you spilling dark thoughts it took you months to even tell Bruce…

It was long. It was traumatic. Mind-altering. You have breakdown after breakdown. Self-harm after self-harm. There is a part of you you can never get back… So, 'how was it?' Why, just awful, thanks for asking!

Dick comforts you with “you’re so strong,” as Tim nods. He seems happy with his findings. It seems like you have piqued his academic interest – you can basically see the gears churning behind his mind, the factoids he’s storing for later. For what, you don’t know, but you’re glad to help. Throat dry, you down the rest of that blasted tea, but the boys aren’t quite finished.

Damian, however, is brutal in his questioning, sparing any of the pleasantries or dithering his brothers employed. He asks rapid fire about your past outside of your years in isolation. What was your childhood like? Your relationship with your parents? Did you ever graduate high school? College? What was your major? Do you like animals? His father houses two dogs, a cat, and a cow – you do know that don’t you?

“What are your intentions with my father?” At that, you flinch.

“Nothing… nefarious, to be sure,” you say, sweat beginning to bead on your temple. It’s true! Aside from all the dastardly actions you wanted to inflict upon Bruce in the bedroom, nothing nefarious!

“And his other suitors? They don’t bother you?”

At that, your smile wilts. Not from any offense… you simply don’t enjoy the reminder that others do seek Bruce’s affection.

“They… don’t worry me,” you say succinctly. Dick doesn’t think you realize how your smile has grown sharp. Damian doesn’t let on whether he approves or disapproves of the answer. And Tim simply watches.

“And my father’s controlling and possessive tendencies? You’re fine with that? What would you do if you caught him in a lie? Or if a woman he was involved with confronted you?”

You gape like a fish. Man, what a character this one was. Damian blinks slow and catlike, before he sniffs. “I’m asking for one of the siblings who couldn’t be here today.”

“Um…” you return, discombobulated. You shoot off your answers as rapid-fire as he posed them. “I haven’t noticed any tendencies. And I can handle myself! If he lied… I’d hear him out. He probably had a good reason, of course.”

“What if it was infidelity?”

You glare at them. “I’d get rid of her.” Why do they keep bringing up other women?

At the boys’ silence, you realize your mistake. You wave your hands and bluster, “Not like– not like get rid of her– I would just tell her to… Leave. And I’d be… angry… at Bruce.” God, you don’t feel like you’re doing too well in this interview. You hiccup, filling your cup some more. What is in this tea? Man, it’s delicious.

“... Interesting.”

“What if Bruce left you out of his own volition?” Tim points out, drawing your attention.

Your head snaps to him and you stare… That possibility had never even crossed your mind.

“He wouldn’t,” you say, confused. At raised eyebrows, you say, “I mean. I-I don’t think he would.” You have faith in Bruce. It’s been five months now, and your relationship has gone swimmingly. You had your insecurities… but Bruce had kissed all your worries away by now. Your fingers dig into the cushion of the couch.

He wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t. He had already reassured you, and been so kind, and wonderful, and shown you what love was like– he couldn’t just leave you now–

“But what if he did?” and this time, the question comes from Dick, who, if you recall, hadn’t asked a single question yet. He looks serious, unlike his casual air from before.

You keep the desperation out your voice by keeping it chillingly level. “Then I’d convince him otherwise.” Good answer, good answer, you applaud yourself. All the boys nod, looking upon you with varying degrees of interest, curiosity, and understanding.

“Then… I suppose we have just one more question,” Tim says, plucking the kettle of tea out your hands. You pout.

“Thoughts on having children?”

At the question, your brows shoot into your hairline.

“... Are there not enough of you already?” you blurt.

To your relief, they all relax.

After that strange encounter, Bruce shows himself and sees you out. The walk outside is quiet. Comfortably quiet on your end. You hope you did good… no, you reassure yourself. Fuck it, you did great.

“So… how were they?”

You glance at his face, and are surprised to see thinly veiled concern behind his smile. “Did any of them say anything… strange? And… did you like them?” You laugh, before floating up to kiss Bruce between the brows. Flight powers came in handy for stuff like that.

“They were wonderful,” you say cheekily. “Something they clearly get from their father.”

bonus!

Bruce re-enters the foyer. He shoots off a text, lamenting. If you hadn’t had him bug his own home, he could’ve spoken to the boys freely. He could’ve had Jason hide nearby, instead of having to listen in on Damian’s phone.

Bruce: Did that satisfy your curiosities?

Several ellipses in bubbles pop up, before his phone rattles with their responses.

Damian: Frankly, she comes off as airheaded and naive, but at least she seems to have some semblance of spine.

Jason: She’s crazy. Didn’t we tell you to stop sticking your dick in crazy

Dick: Well, I think that makes you guys a perfect match!

Tim: bruce i’m sorry, you cannot fix her. however, i would like to study her. and possibly, make her worse

Bruce sighs, albeit smiling. By all accounts, you seem have gotten their general approval.

#yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x yandere reader #yandere reader #mine #platonic batfam for once lol crazyyy #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson

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skyahri · 3 months ago

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And Suddenly |BNHA Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Shouta Aizawa, Dabi/Touya Todoroki, and Katsuki Bakugou

Summary: They proposition you for a baby.

Warnings: NSFW themes. Straight up fucking, leading to sex, foul language, you get it. Reader in Dabi's is NOT of sound mind lol.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Shouta Aizawa

He doesn't know what prompted this line of thinking. Nothing had happened, no one had mentioned anything. No, this was all 100% his own doing, and that almost made it worse.

Over the years, you'd occasionally claim to have something called 'baby fever'. There would be days when you'd send him videos of babies babbling, playing, wearing silly outfits, whatever of the sort. You'd tell him your ovaries were aching, that you wanted nothing more in that moment than to have one of your own.

Being the man of reason he is, he'd always tell you that now wasn't the time. Hero work was grueling and your studies kept you busy. You'd assure him that the feelings were always (mostly) fleeting, hormones and all that, and the conversation would end there.

It had always been one-sided, that is, until a few weeks ago when he'd finally gotten a taste of said fever. Let's just say he was not a fan.

Nothing had changed, yet he found himself hyperaware of every little human in his vicinity. It's like his brain did a complete turn around. Brief glances quickly turned into longing stares. He'd internally coo over their tiny socks and bright smiles. Hell, he'd even caught himself waving at a little girl in her stroller the other day and was still living off the high he felt when she giggled and waved back.

He'd only been getting by on the idea that this was temporary. That like you, it'd be all better soon and he can go back to enjoying the simple things in life without his brain badgering him.

But that was weeks ago, and the feeling had only solidified further into his mind.

He tried to reason himself back to normal, but was finding it increasingly difficult to do so. You graduated two years ago and have a great job in your field. He had long surpassed the rookie stage of his career and was thriving. You lived in a decent apartment in a good neighborhood. Money was no longer tight and you'd built quite the safety cushion.

And then there was you. Again, nothing had changed overnight, but he was suddenly plagued by vivid visions of you. How easily he could get you pregnant. How you'd look so sinfully pretty with a round belly. How he'd love nothing more than to take care of you while you gave him the greatest gift he could ever hope to receive.

And he knew you'd love nothing more.

Honestly, he was having a hard time finding reasons not to cave into his desires. Which is how he suddenly found himself in such a position.

He's hovering above you, his red tinted face illuminated by the moonlight. He has your hand pinned to the mattress at an awkward angle, but neither of you are willing to move to fix it. He's darting between your eyes, words caught in his throat and no way to get them out.

Thinking and doing are two very different things, and he hadn't planned on bringing this up at all, let alone right now.

"Don't."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, not quite understanding what's going on. One moment he's rolling on top of you, kissing down your neck and over your collarbones. You're fumbling around, trying to reach for the top drawer of the nightstand when his hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

"Shouta, what-"

"Don't bother with it."

He leans down to recapture your lips, but you use your free hand to stop him in his tracks. Your eyes narrow a bit as you try to get a read on him. He usually has little tells that give away how he's feeling, but right now you can't decipher any of them. He looks just as lost as you feel.

"I haven't been taking any kind of birth control."

"I know."

"Then why are you-"

"I want a baby."

Your eyes widen and breath falters. Your hand falls from his shoulder to lay flush against your chest.

"I don't understand. You said we weren't ready."

"That was then, and this is now."

"Shou."

Despite the serious look you give him, your insides are on fire. Sure, the intense and urgent feelings associated with baby fever were always fleeting, but that didn't mean that was the only time you'd felt the desire. You always wanted a family- a husband and kids to love and cherish- and Shouta knew that.

Now here he was, telling you that after a lifetime of friendship, four years of dating, and four more years of marriage, you could finally have what you've always wanted.

He leans back enough to sit on his calves and stare down at you. He seems more sure of himself now. Whatever turmoil he had been going through earlier had subsided, and he was left more confident in his decision. He swallowed hard and fiddles with his hand a bit before deciding to rest both of them on your open thighs.

"I can't stop thinking about it. I thought it would pass, but it just got stronger. I tried talking myself down, but there's nothing stopping us anymore. We're both willing and wanting, so just..."

He's leaning back down, and this time, you don't stop him. You let him kiss you, let him trace his rough hands up your sides, let him claim you with no reservations, all while the condoms sit untouched in the nightstand.

Touya Todoroki / Dabi

Dabi had a tendency to ramble. Sometimes to himself, sometimes to whoever would listen, and sometimes he didn't even realize he was doing it.

Sex was no different.

What he says all boils down to the kind of mood he's in. If he's angry or frustrated, he'll degrade you. He'll call you a whore, tell you that you're desperate and whiney, and will shove your face into the pillow in an attempt to shut you up so he can hear himself speak. If he's in a decent mood (or being generous, as he puts it), he'll praise you. He'll mumble sweet nothings in your ear, tell you how pretty you are, how lucky he is to have you.

All of that is fine. You're more than willing to take whatever he wants to give, but lately he'd taken on an entirely different type of rant.

The first time he mumbled something about getting you pregnant, you didn't think much of it. All men succumb to their instincts at one point or another, and Dabi wasn't excluded from that. But then he mentioned it again a few days later, this time with a little more heat behind it.

You didn't say anything, instead deciding to live in your own little fantasies as long as he wasn't being reckless. Maybe that was a mistake on your part, because it's only a few weeks later that he's completely invested in the idea.

Knees pressed firmly to your chest, he's drilling into you with a new kind of passion. His forehead is against yours, his eyes screwed shut as he clutches at the backs of your thighs. You can't hear all of what he's saying over the sound of skin on skin, but it's enough to have you slightly worried.

"Fuck, I'm gonna fill you up so full."

"Bet I could get you pregnant on the first try."

"I'd take such good care of you."

"I'd be everything he wasn't, give my kids the life they deserve."

Desires to fuck you full have quickly become promises to succeed. Your fucked out brain is urging you to stop him, that he sounds a little too serious right now, but you can't find it in yourself to comply. Dabi is, without a single doubt, completely fucked in the head. This is something you're entirely too aware of and should be the thing willing you to fucking stop him, but it's not.

So you let your mind relax. You throw yourself full force into the feeling of him hitting that spongey spot deep inside. You let him kiss you and touch you and listen to all the little promises he makes.

It's no surprise when he doesn't pull out. You don't say anything when he moves to lay beside you and he doesn't bring it up. Maybe it's some kind of unspoken agreement, or maybe you were thinking too far into what very well may just be a kink. Only time will tell.

Katsuki Bakugou

"Did you seriously not pack any condoms?"

"Why the Hell would I?"

"Is that a serious question?"

You shoot him an incredulous look. He ignores you as he enters the bathroom and begins to strip out of his suit. You follow him, careful not to snag your dress on any of the luggage stacked against the wall.

You glare at him, even as he motions for you to turn around and unzips you. The white fabric bunches at your ankles and he's quick to pick it up and hang it inside the plastic dry-cleaning bag.

"Is that a serious question? You're my wife now, I'm not wearing any more fucking condoms."

"Well, you should've said that before we got here so I could've prepared something else!"

"Why the Hell would you need to do that?"

He scoffs at you and continues hanging his suit up, folding it as nicely as possible to avoid damaging the expensive material. Any sort of frustration you're feeling has been replaced by confusion. You feel like you're having two entirely different conversations.

When he finally turns back around to face you, he's staring down at you like you're the one being unreasonable. Like he doesn't understand why any of this could possibly be an issue.

"So, what? You planned on hitting raw for the next two weeks and just praying for the best?"

"No. I planned on hitting raw for the next two weeks and prayed we'd go home pregnant."

Your mouth snaps shut. Any fighting spirit you possessed is gone in an instant and you're left at his mercy. He places one hand on the wall near your head and sets the other on the counter. He's looming over you, using his size to intimidate you.

"That's what we agreed on all those years ago, right?"

At first, you don't know what he's talking about. You racked your brain for any semblance of the topic, but when you came up short, you couldn't help but think he might be bullshitting you. Just as you're about to ask him for clarification, you remember a conversation you had not long after graduation.

You'd both had sidekick positions lined up right out of high school. Your careers were up and coming and your relationship was strong. While you were happy with the pace things were going, it didn't stop his parents from pestering you about next steps.

It was probably the hundredth time Mitsuki had asked you about grandkids. You'd given her plenty of reasonable reasons why kids were most definitely not in the cards right now- career opportunities, money, not to mention the fact that you were both nineteen and not even married yet- but none of that seemed to deter her.

"If not now, when can I expect some grand-babies, hm? I'm not getting any younger and neither are you."

"How about we focus on getting engaged and married first, then we can start talking kids."

She accepted the answer, albeit reluctantly, and backed off a bit. Later that night Katsuki had cornered you, asking how you had finally managed to get his mother off his back.

"I told we'd have to get married first."

The memory is foggy after so many years, but it's there. It was a passing conversation, an unimportant day, but it's the only time either of you had mentioned a 'when' regarding kids.

"You know, when I said we'd have to get married first, I didn't mean we'd start the same day."

He scowls and closes in on you further. He adjusts his position so you're pushed against the bathroom counter and you're suddenly very aware of just how little clothing you're both wearing. His hands land on your thighs and slowly make their way up. He grips your waist and lifts you onto the cool marble so he can stand between your legs.

"I think I've waited long enough."

Let's just say you end up with two very bold, very pink lines on the pregnancy test a few weeks after you return home.

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potlattice · 1 year ago

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She Who Brings Happiness (Rafe Cameron x reader)

Rafe Cameron x reader

Frat baby goes to her first family Christmas and Rafe's on edge...

"It's okay." You murmured to Rafe, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

He barely heard your words of comfort as his eyes were focused elsewhere.

A few feet away, Ward paraded your baby around the room, showing her off to the family members.

"She's being held hostage." He scowled, taking a sip of whiskey.

The moment you'd entered the Cameron estate, she'd been plucked out of your arms and passed around the family like a box of chocolates. However, you handled her absence a lot better than Rafe did since you were used to your friends always wanting to hold her.

When Rafe and his boys took her to golf days or the bar, she was usually in the stroller or her father's arms. He didn't trust his friends to hold her right.

You rolled your eyes at the thought. Rafe was definitely a helicopter parent, always hovering over her.

"She's fine. She likes the attention." You snorted at the sight of your happy baby. She was currently flapping her arms for Rose.

It was Rafe's turn to roll his eyes. "That's the Sarah Cameron in her." He mumbled lightly.

You noticed him fall into a painful silence and take another swig of alcohol. Although he'd never say it, you knew he was disappointed Sarah wasn't here.

Apparently, she was with her boyfriend, which Ward and Rose only accepted since he was orphaned. But when she'd heard Rafe would be here this year, she had apperently refused to come.

But it was Bea's first Christmas, and family meant a lot to Rafe.

"I think you're right. It looks like she's getting a little fussy. Maybe you should go over?" You suggested, despite the fact the little girl seemed content.

He finished his drink and set it down on the side.

"Or we can go together?" You prompted at his hesitance and he nodded, following your lead towards his parents.

You didn't take Bea from Wheezie's awkward hold, but the baby noticeably brightened up at the sight of her parents.

"I'm not good with babies." Wheezie said with a grimace, trying to bounce Bea as she babbled, reaching a chubby hand out for Rafe. "She doesn't like me."

"She does. She just likes me the most." He told his sister with a smile. "First one in the family to."

Wheezie looked down at his words, but he barely noticed as he watched Bea stare at him with owlish eyes.

"If she didn't like you, she'd spit up on you. Or pull your hair." You smiled at the thought. She'd yanked Topper's blonde hair when she first met him.

Rafe smiled too, looking to you as you shared the memory fondly.

As the evening settled, Rose announced dinner was ready and the family shifted into the dining room. Ward had forgotten that he'd thrown out Wheezie's old high chair after a leak in the basement, so Bea was plonked on a pillow on Rafe's lap because she had whined when she couldn't see over the table.

"This is so lovely, thank you Rose." You said with a smile and she returned it.

"I love cooking for the family."

All tension from six months ago had been let go when they saw the Bea. They had wanted to come to the hospital but Rafe didn't want them there, and so he didn't tell them you'd had the baby.

Since she was born quite early, it was easy to hide. And so you'd had two months of blissful silence before they began badgering about visiting, and with the winter break approaching you'd had no excuse of work or school.

You had let things go as well since you saw how eager Rafe was to be back home. He missed the Outer Banks and you didn't blame him. It was beautiful here.

He also missed his family, as much as he claimed he was hated by them. He cared for his sisters, and he sought the approval of his parents, even now; one year away from completing his business and law degree and a father at 22.

"Was that the door?" Ward asked with a frown at the sound of a lock clicking.

Rafe's head raised and he clutched Bea a little tighter as the family stared at the doorway just as a figure appeared.

"Hey..." Sarah smiled with a wave. "Sorry I'm late."

"You came." Ward said with a pleasant smile. "We'll make some room."

"Well actually...I'm not alone." She said, and looked to Rafe. "I heard from Wheezie we had a couple extra guests this year, and so I hope it's alright with everyone that I brought my own."

Her boyfriend then hesitantly appeared by her side, taking her hand in his own.

"Hi." He looked around the family dining table and then looked at Bea with a smile. "Cute baby."

"Thanks." Rafe accepted with a sharp nod, his jaw tight. You placed a hand on his knee and he sighed, looking down at the wispy hairs on the baby's head. "Do you, er, wanna hold her?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Of course I do!"

You smiled fondly knowing that this was a big deal for him as he stood up to pass the baby to his sister.

"You've washed your hands, right?" He asked, snatching Bea back before Sarah could take her.

The blonde rolled her eyes and nodded, making grabbing hands for the baby. "I'm not dirty, Rafe."

He shifted distrustful eyes towards John B but handed the baby to her nonetheless. Sarah shifted the little girl to hold her face-to-face and gasped.

"She's so tiny!" She cooed, bouncing the baby in her arms. "Ouch!"' Sarah gasped as the baby yanked on her long blonde hair. She went to do it again but Rafe stopped her.

You hid a laugh behind your hand as Wheezie cheered.

"Yay! Sarah's finally not the favourite."

"Shut up." Sarah grumbled to her younger sister, allowing Rafe to take the baby back as she started to whine and wriggle in her aunts arms.

"You're welcome to sit here." Rose said to John B, placing down a plate for him beside where Rafe was sitting.

The men stared at each other for a moment, John B hesitating to make a move for the space before Rafe nodded in approval. "You're better off next to me than Wheezie. She stinks after a few sprouts."

"Hey!"

You smiled as your baby and Rafe returned to your side and you fed Bea some mashed potato. Your eyes drifted to Rafe's face as he neglected his food, instead he was quietly watching the interaction between mother and baby before he caught your gaze.

"Don't give me that smile. I see it enough everyday." He joked in reference to your smiley baby on his lap.

"You love it." You teased and he didn't deny your words. "I'm just happy you're happy."

"I'm always happy when I have my girls." He said, leaning forward to kiss you and you met him in the middle, breaking apart at the whine that came from between you two.

"Sorry." You apologised to your baby who'd been squished in the middle.

As soft and tiny as she was, your baby managed to bring together a broken family, and build the bridge they'd take to healing its fractures.

i love frat baby...i called her bea cuz it's cute and felt right for the family Beatrice: "she who brings happiness; blessed"

#obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #soft rafe cameron #fratbaby

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

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I Gave You My Heart

14/12: Hand Holding & Dry Humping - Billy Washington Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: grinding, p in v sex, horniness as a result of drinking alcohol

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Christmas was always a difficult time of year for Billy.

To most, it was a happy, cheerful time, when families would gather, stuff themselves with as much meat as they could manage, drink as much wine as they wanted without stumbling into the garden shed (as his dad did the year before, to which his mum still hasn’t let him forget) and pass out on the sofa before the King’s speech could even come on tele.

To Billy, as with most years he gathered at his parent’s house, it was just another opportunity for his parents, sister and extended family to badger him with the usual abundance of questions.

How’s the job hunt going? Not well? Aw, well there’ll be something out there for you. Just have to keep at it.

No girlfriend yet?

You’re still looking for a job?

Lana not here yet? She’s doing well isn’t she?

He felt that if he had to go through yet another year of it, he’d go ballistic.

Aunties. Uncles. Cousins. He hugged them all on arrival, but felt very little.

But this year was different.

There was an element of protection she provided. A buffer, so to speak. And Billy being Billy, didn’t want to lean on her for that buffer, but was relieved all the same when she didn’t mind.

How did she do it?

How did she smile through it? Remain polite, despite the fact that it was socially sapping and emotionally draining to be around this many new people at once, all bombarding her with questions.

She was the shiny new item to a mischief of magpies, and all his aunties were babbling like turkeys at her, taking all the attention away from him. To his relief.

He watched her with a warmth to his face, a can of cheap beer in one hand, leaning against the radiator in the hallway to warm his backside.

She entertained them with brief, vague answers, but still somehow managed to keep that smile to her face he loved so much. Perhaps he was just wavy from the alcohol, he couldn’t tell. But he did realise he was flushing with embarrassment when her eyes clapped on him from across the room, and he realised he’d been caught staring.

His heart rate skyrocketed as she excused herself and crossed the room like she was floating, the Christmas cracker tissue paper crown was still somehow perched on the top of her head, whether she realised it or not.

“What you doing here by yourself, Wash?” she smiled.

He’d almost forgotten to move his lips to reply, his face was so hot.

“Making use of the central heating to warm your arse?” she prodded with a cheeky smile, turning to stand beside him, pressing her own back to the radiator and sighing as the warmth spread through her body from the middle outwards.

“Have my aunties bored you to death?” he asked, smirking beneath the rim of his can as he sipped.

She laughed through her nose, “That obvious?” she smiles, “Nah, it’s alright. Much better company than my house on Christmas Day, anyway. At this point, my dad’d be a snoring mess on the sofa and mum’d be fretting about Boxing Day lunch”.

In his alcohol-addled state, the raising of Billy’s eyebrows was a bit unmatched, alongside the lazy smile on his face, “I can picture that”.

She raised her own eyebrow at the way he seemed to subtly sway, despite being stood.

“What number’s this?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

And she watched with amusement as the cogs inside Billy’s head visibly turned, trying to form a memory of how many cans he’d swiped from his dad’s fridge before now.

“Um…4? I think?”

“You think?”

He pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh out of embarrassment.

The heat once again rose to his chiselled features, something she would never not find endearing about him. Sometimes it was worth saying something risque or embarrassing just to see this beanpole of a man blush.

His baby blue’s glimmered with drunkenness as he looked over at her, for a moment searching her face as if he was ticking off all boxes that were labelled with her features. Her eyes. Her lips. The gentle slant of her cheeks. The shape of her nose. How her dimples sank in when she smiled lovingly at him.

He was sure nobody in his life had ever looked at him the way she did.

It made him feel good and also like he wanted to hide at the same time.

“You wanna get home soon?”

He nodded without even thinking. God, he fucking loved her for that. The way she was able to know when he was socially complete without him having to say it.

Leaving in any British household, especially on Christmas Day, is an event in itself.

It takes twenty minutes minimum, to pack up all the things you have, piling the presents you’ve received into various bags for life, and giving a ceremonial hug and a peck on the cheek to all who are still awake and present. Often people who you’d circle back to once you finally made it to the door, graced with yet another hug goodbye.

It was solemnly enchanting, the clear roads on Christmas Day, the ice that clung to the side of the roads, and the grit that coated the middle. Christmas music blared through her radio, muffled by static, and about the sixtieth time that BBC Radio 1 had played ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’. And they’d both laughed, delirious from over-socialising, when she’d realised only halfway through the drive back home, that she was still wearing the shoddy tissue paper crown.

“Was Santa good to you this year?” she’d asked jokingly, briefly turning her head from the red light.

He huffed a laugh, “He’s about to be when we get home”.

She rolled her eyes, shifting the car into first, but unable to help the smile that rose to her face.

Billy’s flat was donned with the basics of Christmas decorations.

Fairy lights along the headboard of the bed, a tiny plastic tree on the side table, several tea lights along the TV stand and finally, the pièce de résistance, the scented faux pine candle sat in the middle of the coffee table. Lit and extinguished this morning, but still managed to fill the room with a pleasant woody fragrance.

Billy talked big when he was a bit drunk. But she knew him better than that.

And though Billy might have wanted to tear all her clothes off, pull her to the nearest flat surface and let her know all he’d wanted for Christmas, all he was able to do was snuggle in behind her on the sofa, throw one arm around her waist and kiss the top of her head as his brain swam.

It was just noise mostly, something to fill the comfortable silence as the late afternoon became late evening, the tea lights illuminating the front room with a pleasant atmosphere. She was sure he’d fallen asleep, the hand that was over her middle now firmly in hers, his long digits intertwined with her small ones. Not that she minded. She simply held his hand, using her other to scroll through her phone with the volume turned down so he wouldn’t wake up.

She clicked her phone off when she felt his arm tighten around her middle, tugging her back closer to him and turned her head up to smile at him, “Billy”.

His eyes were closed as if half asleep, his dark blonde eyelashes moving to betray the fact that he was indeed awake, but he only hummed, his hips chasing hers to grind against her backside. The alcohol had fuelled his desire, but had hindered his actual ability to act on said desires, and he made a noise of frustration when his body hadn’t reacted the way he wanted.

“...‘m sorry…”, he mumbled quietly, speech slurred endearingly.

“For what?”

“...’ts my little soldier…can’t…”

She had to press her lips together to stifle a laugh, not used to or remembering Billy being this loose-lipped under the influence of alcohol. All the while he was still pressing his soft and clothed length against your backside, willing his ‘little soldier’ to life, to no avail.

It was both endearing and amusing, that even in the state Billy was in he was trying, and god he really was trying, to initiate intimacy, fully knowing that the likelihood was that he wasn’t going to be able to. Much much too drunk to even think straight.

“It’s alright, Billy, just go to sleep, ok?”

He huffed much like a child would when you refused him something.

“...but it’s Christmas…”

“Sex on Christmas Day is no better than sex on any other day. Just get some sleep, okay?”

He sighed, slumping his head onto the cushion in something akin to defeat, fingers still threaded through hers on her stomach. But not a moment later, she heard his steady breaths and threw the blanket over him as well as her and laid her head down as well.

Waves of consciousness kept pulling her to the surface, a pleased sound falling from her lips as she parted them, feeling all warm both against her flesh and tugging in her gut as well.

She could feel Billy’s hot puffs of air against her neck and ear, the hair there reacting to his quickened breaths as they stood on end, her brain failing to realise quickly enough what was going on, and why her boyfriend lay behind her, was breathing so quickly.

That was until she heard him whimper, a stuttered moan following it.

“Mm…Billy?..”

Her eyelashes fluttered open, and instead of the warm ropes of sleep tugging her down it was something else, something hardpressing against her and chasing friction. His grip on her hands was so tight, his knuckles were almost white from the effort of holding back.

By now the candles had all burned out, save one, and the sky outside was pitch black, with the smallest flurry of snow decorating the darkness.

Hours had gone by.

She jumped when she felt his hands, colder than she expected, dip beneath her jumper and shirt, pressing his large palm against the flesh of her stomach, his little finger teasingly sliding beneath the waistband of her underwear.

“Sorry - babe, I need you…”

She could feel how impossibly hard he was through his jeans, chasing friction with every cant of his hips, using one hand to unzip them with difficulty as his other held onto her like she might disappear.

Freeing his length from his boxers, Billy almost moaned aloud when he saw that she was pulling her own jeans down as well, having woken more than aroused at the idea he was grinding against her searching for pleasure. So he made use of his hand and turned her face towards him, enveloping her soft, puffy lips with his own in a warm, wet kiss, not pausing for a moment to think about anything else other than having her right now, as he’d dreamt of doing since Christmas morning.

She nearly gasped when he slid his thick manhood into her, sheathing himself inside her in one, smooth confident movement, as if nothing, nothing, was going to stop him from basking in the warmth she offered.

In this position, with her thighs squeezed together, and his hand on her hips, pulling her back to him with each desperate thrust, it felt like so much more. And every blow to the sweet spot that lay deep inside her felt so utterly maddening, that her brain, still rising from sleep, felt like it was being shaken around.

She came with a choked cry, her grip on his wrist where his nimble fingers were applying frustratingly little pressure to her bud as he continued to piston into her. And when she was so close to begging him to stop from overstimulation, Billy leaned back a little, his teeth grazing against her neck and one hand palming her backside to push himself deeper as he too came with a long, broken whine.

His chest moved against her back with his heavy breathing, sucking in air into his lungs after the craze he’d just fallen over.

Billy pressed kisses to her neck and jaw in a sort of admiration, moving slightly with his length still buried inside her, eliciting a whimper from her as well as the friction.

She felt his eyelashes move against her cheek when he opened his eyes, “Did we really just shag with Die Hard on in the background?” he chuckled breathily.

This time, she couldn’t hold back her tired laugh, swatting his arm playfully, “you’re such a dickhead.”

He smiled wearily, turning her face once more to capture her swollen lips in a kiss, more tender this time without the urgency of desire.

“What was that about Christmas Day sex?” he prodded.

She furrowed her brows and double-tapped her phone.

23:49.

Cheeky fucker.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

#12 days of smuff #smuffmas #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #billy washington x oc #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington x y/n #billy washington smut #trigger point billy washington #trigger point series #trigger point fanfic #billy washington fluff #billy washington fic #billy washington fanfic

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bonefall · 10 months ago

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Cat? Gray. Eyes? Blue. Hotel? Trevago.

Design babble stuff below

BLUESTAR

Good god it's been over a year since I last drew her. I can do so much better now

I give her a wolf motif for BB, because in my mind it's about the myth of the lone wolf. Lone wolves aren't normal, they're pack animals. At first, Firestar sees her as this ideal, strong leader who stands independently of everything... but he's wrong!

She's NEVER acted fully alone! She's always been devoted to her family, even as it dwindled. Her ruling style is to protect other Clans, unlike any leader who's come before her. In BB, she even had a mixed-Clan friendgroup called the Forget-Me-Nots.

She helped to depose ShadowClan's tyrant. She sent Firestar to fetch WindClan, even against the wishes of the other two. She even fought Nightstar and Crookedstar when they tried to drive them out again.

She even takes the code SO seriously that she refused to kill Brokentail, extending a mercy that ended up backfiring.

And Firestar learns everything about leadership from her. Grace, diplomacy, fairness... and she was fair to a fault.

Both her and her apprentice would eventually face down Tigerkin, Bluestar during the coup and Firestar even lost a life after defending Hawkfrost for several books.

The only time Bluestar ever became a "lone wolf" was in her cruelty arc, when she was dragging everything she ever stood for down with her.

Her wolf motif shows up in her entire family, to connect them. It's in her nephew Whitestorm, her uncle Goosefeather, her daughter Mistystar, even all the way down into Curlfeather and Frostpaw who are descended from Reedwhisker in BB.

The scar comes from her fighting a badger to rescue Darkstripe and his sister, Cricketclaw, when they wandered off as kittens.

CROWFEATHER

He's a mix of spiky and swirly, as a cross between his dad Deadfoot and his mother Ashfoot.

He's older in BB to change that he was an apprentice on the Great Journey, and also to fix an inconsistency where his dad would be dead when he was conceived.

I think it was a huge missed opportunity that Crowfeather's bond to his mentor, Mudclaw, is barely mentioned in-canon. In BB they were VERY close and Mudclaw was incredibly influential to his personality.

Deadfoot is dead-- Mudclaw was like a father to him.

Crowfeather is torn between the influence of his mother, who was a Forget-Me-Not in her youth, and the hard ideology of his mentor. All the while, the ego boost he got from being selected to go on the Great Journey massively affected him, in a bad way.

He ended up taking Mudclaw's side in the rebellion-- not because he believed that ThunderClan had told a lie (in fact he defends his friend's honor) but because he believed Mudclaw would be a better leader.

But eventually, he found himself surrounded by cats he didn't want anywhere near WindClan. Good intentions or not, Mudclaw was willing to work with cats like Blackclaw and Hawkfrost-- people who want a second TigerClan.

Crowfeather betrayed the rebellion, running to fetch Brambleclaw and ThunderClan reinforcements. In the fight, his nose was scratched in a chevron, the shape of Mudclaw's stripes.

I like the idea that he carries it with him, but always tries to put it off his mind. He mistreats and misuses other people, ignoring the reminder that he is a fallible person that's carved onto his nose.

died of infection. Sad!

All of his kits resemble him in some way. Lionblaze inherited his tail, Hollyleaf has the spikes, Breezepelt has the build, Jayfeather is a miserable git has the ear swirls

He was head of Kitchen Patrol until BB!OotS, but I'm actually planning for him to NOT be deputy in BB. His character growth feels a lot more satisfying in realizing he really doesn't handle power very well, and should stay away from it.

He has old relationships and burned bridges to mend, and staying part of Kitchen Patrol seems like the way he should plan to do that.

I talked about him a lot in Nightcloud's summary and he's going to be coming up in the outline of Nightcloud's Pannage a lot. Much as I love taking potshots at him, he's got a very kind arc laid out.

CINDERPELT

She is the daughter of LIONHEART whY don't you people give her A MANEEEE

let her be THICK

In BB, the Frostfour are actually from two different litters. Cinderpelt and Brackenfur were in the older one.

Frostfur was head of Kitchen Patrol at the time, and very overworked lmao

So Cinder and Bracken both have an "older sibling" energy. Their mom was usually involving them in every little activity to get some help. Brackenfur is over-responsible, and Cinderpelt was always trying to help out other people and prove herself.

Of course, it also lead to her running right into Tigerclaw's trap which was set for Bluestar-- she wanted to be helpful.

The injury didn't heal right and she has chronic pain. She has severe mobility issues in the hip, and usually keeps the leg bound to her body so it doesn't drag or hurt.

She could have still been a warrior if she wanted to, but discovered while healing that she loved working with Yellowfang. I also interpret it this way in canon, to be fair, but TNP decided to remember it completely differently.

After saving Littlecloud's life they became absolute best friends. They worked on a mobility device for Wildfur together.

They style their manes in a similar way, pushing it up into that "spike" on their heads and out of their faces.

ASHFUR

Moonkitti's blonde Ashfur remains iconic, I fear

I draw him like a cheetah so he has the funky cheetah cub hair

I'm a HUGE fan of what the Erins did with the direction of Ashfur's story, with him being an obsessive spurned lover, but that's not really the sort of story I tell in BB!

So I approach his obsession on Squirrelflight as being very... Judge Frollo-esque.

Frollo's ultimate goal isn't to possess Esmerelda. He wants her, but it's a wrench in his plans to commit ethnic cleansing using his religious justifications. Hellfire is about how he finds a way to shift the blame for his own lust onto her, and offers an ultimatum; "She will be mine or she will burn (along with everyone else I plan to slaughter)"

In Frollo's mind, he "forgives" her for what she's "done to him." For what she is. He sees what he's doing as giving her an "escape."

It's not for her benefit. It's for HIS. By giving her this "escape," if she takes it, he gets to think of her as redeeming herself (and thus being worthy of him).

If she does not... then it's no skin off his back. He's Done His Part. Everything was always her fault. He is blameless.

Either way he gets to walk away feeling justified.

All that to say-- that's how I approach BB!Ashfur.

He wants to punish codebreakers. He wants the Clans to suffer for how far they've fallen from where they should be. They've become vulgar, ungrateful, unworthy of StarClan's grace.

He tried to kill The Three because he'd learned of the Fire and Tiger prophecy, and was only trying to protect the Clan. If Squirrelflight had CHOSEN HIM, then none of this would have happened.

He was righting a wrong, you see, and StarClan understood, in his eyes.

When Hollyleaf slaughtered him, violating the Code, it only confirmed he had been right all along.

And again and again and again, he offers Squirrelflight what she needs to redeem herself. He wants her. He wants her to "be better."

When she lets him down... then it's not his fault. She's forced his paw.

SO the blonde hair isn't totally just a fun reference, I also find it fitting because aside from the cheetah motif, he sees himself as angelic.

It's also why I don't portray him as "grubby" like some folks do, BB!Ashfur is much more vain than Canon!Ashfur, caring immensely about his appearance. Thinking about it, he probably won't even let his Bramblefake vessel fall into disrepair, he'd feel more grossed out than usual.

He also gets a very cool boss fight form at the end of BB!TBC which I still need to design lmao.

#better bones au #fennelposting #gray cat blue eyes challenge #warrior cats

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fandomfics · 3 months ago

Text

Please Don't Leave Me

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett

Based on this post from @wolvesofinnistrad

Description: Wade and Logan are stuck in the bodies of their variants, who also happen to be grossly lacking in the mutated gene department.

Masterlist

⚠️Warnings⚠️

Angst, fluff, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt, PTSD, violence, language, lgbtq, 4th wall breaks.

. . .

"Papa! Daddy! Wake up!" 11 year old Laura says as she bounces onto the plush mattress holding her dads.

Logan's eyes shoot open before scanning over the handsome man that lays next to him. The other man does the same as Laura babbles about how excited she is to spend the weekend with "Auntie Vanessa".

"Hey hon, why don't you go get yourself ready?" Logan says softly without taking his eyes off the other man.

"Okay Papa!" She bounds off again out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"What the fuck?" Logan sits straight up exposing his chest.

"Mornin' Peanut, treating me to a show so early? Really know how to make a girl feel special."

"Wade?"

"Who else would it be sugar tits?" Wade says, bringing a hand up to rub his face. He feels the smoothness beneath his fingertips and lets out an almost inaudible gasp. His eyes widen as he looks over his hand and arm before feeling all over his body. He's like he was before. The shock keeps him quiet until he feels Logan's hand on his shoulder.

"You alright bub?" He knows Wade's internal struggles with his appearance, he covers it with self loathing jokes at his own expense, happy to bury it deep down, still, it creeps up on him.

"Of course. Look at this beautiful fucking face!" Wade jumps out of bed to spin around like a princess in a flowy skirt before grabbing the hem of his boxers to curtsey to Logan.

"Okay, but what the fuck?" He looks over himself again, his eyes drawn to the ring on his left hand. His eyes widen as he looks up to Wade once more, a similar band adorning his ring finger. Wade snaps out of his reverie when he catches on and jumps back onto the bed on his hands and knees, crawling towards Logan.

"Wanna put a baby in me honey badger?" He says seductively, "We are married... and maybe Laura needs a sibling!"

"Shut the fuck up Wade." Logan moves to extend his claws and stab him for his comment but nothing happens. He feels his hands. They're gone, he doesn't feel the adamantium beneath his skin, "something is wrong."

"Yeah, you haven't stabbed me yet."

"Exactly! My claws are gone."

"Your claws are gone, I don't look like ground beef, we're married...sounds kinda nice to me." Wade says as he grabs a photo of their little family with a small smile. Logan sits there aghast, why is Wade so...relaxed?

. . .

"You're stuck. At least until Ouroborus recalibrates the rogue tempad that did this to you. Until then, just play house. This is a fairly innocuous timeline you happened to get stuck in. Just don't go looking for trouble. We'll arrange for time off from your variants jobs and give you additional funds, hopefully this will lessen the disturbance of the timeline." B-15 says sternly through the communicator.

"How long will that take?" Logan says, turning to Ouroborus.

"A week or two maybe to source all the components and get everything together. Here's the address I'll be at if you need anything." He slips Logan a piece of paper before exiting their apartment.

Logan growls in frustration before turning to Wade, "This is fucking ridiculous. How did you manage to grab the wrong Tempad?"

"Fuck if I know, I can't be held responsible for my own actions! Let's snoop around, find out about ourselves, shall we?" He says with a small clap.

"Nah, I'm going to the bar. Don't wait up."

. . .

When Logan stumbles back into the apartment around 2am he finds Wade asleep on the couch, photo albums scattered around the coffee table and floor, open to various pages. He glances at the album laying on Wade's stomach, their wedding. The images of happy people surrounding the couple as they take their first dance together sends a pang of sadness to his heart. These are all people he recognises, people that he let down. He packs up every album, doing his best not to look at the photos, desperately wanting to avoid feeling his past.

He doesn't want to be here. He wants to go back to what he knows, not live in this weird fairytale where everything is normal and perfect. He leaves Wade where he is and lays in bed staring up at the ceiling, contemplating what he's going to do while he's stuck like this.

. . .

The smell of breakfast food makes its way to Logan's nostrils as his eyes flutter open in the soft morning light. He groans heavily before standing and making his way to the kitchen, when he rounds the corner Wade yelps in surprise.

"Damn it Wolvie, warn a girl you're coming! Now there's blood on the cantaloupe!" He raises a finger to point out a cut. When he looks at the area again his eyes go wide. "It's not healing."

They didn't think about the fact that they were entirely human. No mutation whatsoever, they could die. They risked everything to save Wade's timeline, and as difficult as it is for Logan to say out loud, he has found his family. Both he and Wade had found something to live for again. Neither of them wanted to lose that now.

"Fuck. Wade, you need to be careful." He starts to move towards him but stops short, turning towards the fridge instead. "You need to stay out of trouble."

"No Merc work for me then." Wade sighs before cleaning up the cut and returning to the task at hand. He plates the food and places the meal on the table where Logan now sits with a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." He mumbles.

Wade is quiet as they eat, deeply unsettling Logan. "Awfully quiet over there bub." He tries to look Wade in the eyes but his head remains down and focused on his food. "Wade. Earth to dumbass. Hello?"

His head snaps up and he smiles at his breakfast companion, though Logan notices it doesn't reach his eyes.

"You're too quiet. I don't like it."

"Eh, you're always telling me to shut the fuck up! Maybe I've finally taken your words to heart." He grasps his chest in mock pain. "Anyways, I was just thinking of all the boring normal people stuff we get to do while we're here! Really get to see how the other half lives!"

. . .

Throughout the day Logan catches Wade drifting off with his thoughts, a deep sadness glazing over his eyes.

“Get up pretty boy, we're going out.” Logan says shrugging on a jacket, he feels a desperate need to cheer him up, help him work through whatever is going on in his head.

Wade's eyes snap up from the TV show he's not really watching, and he blushes, “Nah, I'm good here for now.” His gaze returns to the show.

“No the fuck you're not.” Logan steps between him and the TV.

“Let me watch Gilmore Girls in peace, Logan!” His voice is raised, anger contorting his features.

“Not until you let me take you out. Or tell me what's wrong. Or both! Fuck, Wade, you've been miserable all day!”

“I have not, I've just been… contemplative.”

Logan rolls his eyes and grabs his hands, pulling him up from the couch. He pushes him towards the bedroom, “get dressed, or I'll do it for you.”

“Jesus, okay.” Wade complies.

Nothing about Wade is normal right now, no witty comebacks, not sexual innuendos. Logan's worry only grows with each moment his friend is not his usual talkative self.

“Where are we going anyway?” Wade asks as they walk out the door.

“The boardwalk.”

“Why? That's like top date ideas for fanfic writers.” He says plainly, disturbing him further.

“Just let me take you out.”

“Like a date? No thanks.”

“I- what? You wouldn't want to go on a date with me? I-” Logan stops, he doesn't know why he said that, or why Wade saying no sent a sharp pain through his chest. “Just come on.”

Logan walks faster, wanting to forget the feeling of Wade's rejection. When they finally arrive at their destination they are met with a colorful atmosphere with bright lights and the sound of joy framed by the deep blue black of the night sky.

“Come here.” Logan grabs his hand and pulls him to a dart toss game. When they stand in front of the booth Logan drops his hand, a light blush creeping up his neck.

“I'm gonna win you that giant unicorn right there.” Logan says with a smile. When he looks at Wade he sees something other than sadness finally, his eyes light up and a smile starts to form.

. . .

“That game is rigged.” Logan snarls as they walk away.

“Yeah, this unicorn is definitely not worth anywhere near the $200 you spent trying to win it.” Wade beams as he squeezes the plush tightly. “Thank you.”

“I didn't exactly plan to spend all the money I brought trying to get that unicorn…” Logan looks sheepishly to Wade.

“S’alright honey badger. We can go home and play poker.” Wade winks. “There’s a specific one I’m thinking of that doesn’t involve money.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

There it is.

. . .

“So are you going to tell me what's going on?” Logan breaks the silence halfway through their walk back.

“I-” Wade stops and Logan follows suit, turning to look at him. “I didn't think it would be like this. I didn't think I would feel disappointed being…normal. Maybe it's because I know I'll have to go back to my regular ol’ ugly mug when this is over.”

“That's what this is about?”

“And…”

“And what Wade?”

“You don't like that me.” His answer is nearly inaudible, “but clearly you like this me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You married this me. Called me pretty boy. This version of me is what you want. The one you want to hang around, try to cheer up. The one you won a stupid stuffed unicorn for.”

“That's what this variant wants. I don't want this. I don't want to be stuck here where everything is normal and you aren't you.” Logan continues enraged, “I'm trying to cheer you up, I won that for you. Not your variant. I can't wait to escape this hell and go back to normal.”

Wade's eyes glisten with tears, one spills over and Logan wipes it away before cupping his cheek. “Come on, let's go ho-”

A sudden scream from a nearby alley echoes through the quiet. Wade runs full speed towards the sound, Logan hot on his heels. When they reach the source they find a woman being held at gunpoint.

“Gimme your purse lady!” The man dressed in all black pushes her against the brick building behind her.

Before she can comply the men catch the robbers attention, “Cliché much?” Wade yells out.

“Mind your business asshole.” The man retorts.

“Watch your fucking mouth in front of the lady!” Wade charges full force towards the man unicorn still in hand.

Logan follows yet again, he flings his fists out before recalling that he is powerless. Fear courses through his body as he yells, “Wade no, you can't!”

Just then a shot rings out through the alley and Wade falls to the ground, stuffing and blood flying everywhere. The man runs off and Logan drops to his knees next to Wade, screaming for the woman to call an ambulance. He puts pressure on the wound in his stomach, tears stream down his face as Wade looks up at him from below.

“Fuck, don't do this to me, please.” He pleads

“It's fine, I'll heal.” Wade says weakly.

“No, you won’t, you idiot. You can't leave me like this.”

. . .

Logan is a mess of emotions, his mind continuously revolving around one thought. This is his fault. If they had just stayed home… if he hadn't spent all their money on the one stupid game so they could stay longer… if he had rushed the asshole with the gun before Wade could, he would be the one on death's doorstep instead. He deserved it, he fucked up plenty in his life. Wade didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his mistakes.

After hours and hours in surgery the doctor enters the waiting room, “Mr. Wilson, your husband is in recovery now. He's got a long road ahead, but he'll be fine.”

“When can I see him?”

“He won't be awake for a while, but you can stay with him, come this way.”

. . .

Logan sits in a chair beside Wade's hospital bed. Head in his hands, contemplating everything he's feeling at the moment. The relief is there, but something else nags at him, eating away at his insides until it bursts forth in a fit of word vomit.

“I’m so sorry Wade, this is all my fault. I should have just stayed home with you. I just want to go back to our home, in our timeline, with our people. I don't know what I would do if I lost you too. I've lost so many fucking people, but I don't know if I could survive losing you. I don't know if I'd want to.”

He sighs heavily as the weight of his words settle in his chest. Exhaustion takes its hold and he finally drifts off, sitting up in the chair.

He's standing in the alley again, the moment Wade gets shot replays in slow motion, again and again. He is unable to move from his spot as he watches on in horror, entirely useless. He jolts awake to find Wade safe in front of him, happily snacking on jello.

“Hey Peanut. Are you good? Looked like one hell of a nightmare.”

He nods his head, relief seeping through his pores as he looks at the man in front of him. “I'm fine, I'm just…happy to see you awake.”

“Is she okay?”

“Who?”

“The woman, from the alley?”

“Yeah, she made it out without a scratch thanks to your dumb ass.”

“Then it was worth it.”

Logan's face falls. His head and his heart conflicted by Wade's words. Sure, he's glad the woman is safe, but at what cost? Is it selfish to wish they never came across the situation?

“Hey, I'm fine. I did hear everything you said Logi Bear…” Wade says as he focuses on getting the remains of the Jello. Logan's head snaps up, a look of panic on his face, “The clown strippers, the giant hot air balloon that looks like a dick, the thing with the birds…”

Logan rolls his eyes, realizing Wade is fucking with him.

“So you did say something vulnerable and touching! I was just taking a guess. You know, it's guaranteed when any character is asleep in a hospital, whoever is with them makes some grand confession.”

“Maybe I'll tell you when we get back home.” He says with an air of finality.

. . .

“Daddy!” Laura runs into the room ahead of Vanessa.

“Whoa there,” Logan catches her before she attempts to jump onto Wade's bed. “We have to be very careful, Daddy got hurt. You have to be gentle when you sit with him, okay honey?”

Laura looks up, big doe eyes full of confidence, “Okay Papa!”

His heart melts at the sight as he places her next to Wade on the bed, he wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head. He's enjoying every second of the part he's playing, something Logan never would have guessed.

“Thanks for bringing her by, and taking care of her while we're here.” Logan says to Vanessa.

“Anything for the two of you. I'll be back for her in a few hours. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

He nods a silent thank you to her, eternally grateful that he doesn't have to deal with all of this alone.

Laura presents Wade a book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. “Can we finish it?”

“I just hope this timeline’s JK isn't a terf that our variants are supporting.” He chides, “but yes tiny peanut, we can finish it.”

He opens the book and reads to her as Logan watches in awe. He's different again, but not in a bad way. In a way that Logan appreciates, his voice is softer, his usual asides are a bit more kid friendly, and he's smiling. A lot. Logan can't help but smile too.

The happiness doesn’t last long as the time drags by, days passing so slowly it’s torturous. The smells and sounds of the hospital igraine itself on Logan's senses, grating his nerves more by the day. The monotony does little to alleviate the worry building through him every moment his thoughts are allowed to roam.

He puts on the mask of a brave face for Wade but the cracks become more evident the closer they get to the two week mark.

“Peanut,” Wade says softly, breaking his blank stare at the TV, “what's going on, you've been… broody. Like, the kind of broody you were when we first met.” his voice trails off as he makes the connection between his history and his behavior now.

“Leave it alone.” Logan says gruffly, fighting against every fiber of his being to go find a bar to drown his feelings. It was easier without the healing factor, cheaper too.

“No way. You tried to help me so–”

“Yeah, and look where it got ya! You could have died, and it would have been my fault. Again.”

“Lo, stop-”

“No, you stop! You pretend everything’s peachy, but I could have got you killed. It doesn't matter where I am, destruction follows. I'm fucking cursed.”

Without another word Logan leaves. He can't stand it anymore, he needs to get away from the people he cares about. Wait the rest of this hell out, then return to the void and let Alioth take him. It's what he should have done before.

He hides in the home their variants share, every call and knock on the door goes unanswered. It's only a few more days before Ouroborus arrives to return him to normal. The relief that washes over him nearly brings him to tears when he opens the door.

“Let's make this quick. You step through the portal, your variant will stay behind, you'll be you again.” He says as he crosses the threshold.

“Wade?”

“Already home.”

“Can you send me to the TVA? I have something to take care of.”

. . .

Logan opens his eyes to a familiar sight, 20th Century Fox.

He doesn't really know where to go from here, so he wanders the vast open plains, hoping that Alioth will swallow him whole sooner, rather than later. Eventually he comes across a welcome familiar sight, Sister Margarets.

He enters the dilapidated building surprised to find plenty of liquor still available, maybe Remy hadn't found this place, he thinks to himself. He grabs an arm full of bottles and situates himself at a table to await the sound of his impending death.

He drinks heavily straight from the bottle, trying hard not to think about the pain he brings wherever he goes. Eventually, with enough alcohol, the numbness overtakes him, his vision goes fuzzy at the edges and his head spins, another deep gulp sends him over the edge and his head falls to the table with a thud as he passes out.

Eventually he wakes to the sound of rumbling thunder roaring towards him. A mixture of relief and despair pulses in his chest as he steps out into the open and takes in the view of the monstrous clouded being in the distance. Slowly he walks forward, allowing his mind to wander to Laura, Vanessa, Al, dogpool, Peter, Wade. His family. He closes his eyes, allowing their images and happy memories to play in his head as the beast approaches quickly.

“Logan!” he hears Wade’s voice calling to him as his face appears in his mind's eye.

Suddenly he’s pulled back towards the bar, entirely caught off guard by the change. His eyes shoot open and he turns to see wade, “Logan, what the fuck are you doing? Come on!”

Logan pulls away and faces Alioth again, “Let me go Wade, you’d be better off without me around. Everyone would.” “You selfish fucking prick, no. We wouldn’t be.” A loud shot resounds and Logan’s vision goes dark.

. . .

“Oh, look who’s finally awake.” Wade stands over Logan as his eyes flutter open and he lifts his head. “Did you shoot me in the fucking head?”

“Yeah Peanut. I shot you in the head to keep you from unaliving yourself. Ironic, but it worked.” Wade Scolds.

“Why couldn’t you just let me go?” He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back to the floor with a thump.

Wade scoffs and walks towards the bathrooms of the bar. The dread Logan feels at this moment makes him sick to his stomach, he knows he needs to do something to convince Wade to let him do this, he'll waste too much time fighting him otherwise. Logan makes his way to the door of the bathroom he entered and sits just outside the door.

“I can’t keep living like this Wade, I just hurt everyone around me. None of you deserve whatever comes for you if I stay. If I’m not around you can all live happy lives.”

Wade exits the bathroom and sits next to Logan, with his mask removed he can see the tears that glisten in his eyes. “I’m going with you then.”

“No Wade, you’re not. You’ve got plenty to live for, you’ve got Vanessa.You’ll be happier without me.” Logan stands and returns to the entrance of the bar. He opens the door to see that the danger has passed and he allows a heavy sigh to deflate him.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to see Wade, tears freely flowing. “I will not be okay without you, and Vanessa is just as much your friend as she is mine.”

“Wade I-”

“Please don’t leave me.” Wade’s words strike a nerve, the visual of him the hospital bed invading his mind, bringing tears to his own eyes.

“You almost died, and it was my fault!” he shrugs his hand off his shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault Logan!”

“If I hadn’t taken you-”

“It was my fault. I knew what I was doing when I took that tempad.” Wade looks down in shame, “I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in it too. It was just supposed to be me. I wanted to be normal for a bit. Know what it was like.”

“You risked your life to feel normal in a timeline that you were stuck with me?”

“You say that like you're not a total catch.”

“I'd say I can't believe you'd do something so stupid, but I'd be lying.”

Wade chuckles, “Please, tell me you'll stay.”

“You can't change my mind. It was still my fault, I couldn't protect you. I don't want to be the reason the people I love die.”

“You…love me?”

“Fuck, of course, you're…my best friend.” Logan whispers, rubbing his face in exasperation as he turns back to the bar. “It doesn't matter, I'm not good enough. Go back home to Vanessa.”

Wade’s face drops, “I don't want her, I just- If I can't leave with you, I'm not going.”

“Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?”

“Because I love you, and not just because you're my best friend, I'm in love with you, and I can't do this, I can't watch you destroy yourself like this. It fucking hurts Logan. I wouldn't be okay. I don't care if you don't feel what I feel, I just… I can't lose you, please. We can get you help…please, come home.” Wade sobs.

“Okay.” Logan is just as shocked by his answer as he is by Wade's confession. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up, but when it does, he finds himself with his arms wrapped around Wade, profusely apologizing. Wade settles into the crushing hug, holding on tight.

. . .

A four month hiatus from TVA work, therapy, and no alcohol. Logan was feeling lighter, better equipped to handle the fierce emotions he felt at his lowest. He still has so much work to do, but he was well on his way.

The initial embarrassment of needing the help quickly fell to the wayside when Wade offered to keep quiet about the situation until he was ready to talk about it himself. The whole experience helped him see Wade in a new light, he was still the same off the wall merc with a mouth, but he cared deeply for Logan's well being, and it showed more and more as every new challenge arose.

Soon after their return Wade gave Laura his spot in the apartment with Althea and proposed a new living arrangement to Logan. Just the two of them, he could still have Wade for support, but his own space to escape to if needed.

. . .

One afternoon as the light streams into the living room, casting an angelic golden glow on Wade as he sits on the floor playing with dogpool, Logan admires him. His soft smile as he talks to her about the upcoming doggy pageant she'll be a part of, the ridiculous plan to dominate the competition, the weird references he makes that Logan doesn't understand. Over time things that he once found annoying about the Merc he came to appreciate.

Logan is too lost in thought to realize that Wade has spoken to him. “Huh?”

“I was asking what you think would be best for the talent portion Wolvie! Knife throwing or a gymnastics routine?”

Logan snorts a laugh, “Why not both?”

“Genius!” Wade looks down to Mary, “ohh, someone's butthole’s puckered! You need to go for walkies?” Mary prances around in reply.

“Mind if I tag along?”

“Wolverines need walkies too!” Wade smiles up at Logan, “let's make it kinky, I'll get your leash.” He says with a wink.

Logan rolls his eyes, “Watch it, mouth.”

. . .

“Wade?” Logan stops and turns to him as they make their way back to the apartment.

“Yeah Peanut?”

“I want to thank you.”

“No need to thank me, I'll take you for walkies any time. Exercise releases happy chemicals that make your brain go brrrr. You know what else does? Fu-” “Wade! Listen to me.” Wade puts his hands up in mock surrender and allows him to continue, “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me in the last year. Bringing me into your home, helping me through… everything.”

“It’s what you do for the people you love.” Wade says with a smile. “Keeping that sweet ass around for eye candy is just an added boner, I mean bonus.”

Logan chuckles at the crudeness he’s come to expect, “There was something else,” he moves closer to Wade, searching his eyes, “I-” Logan closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Wade’s waist and pulling him close. “I’m in love with you Wade. Please tell me you still feel the same.”

“Ah, it’s one of those dreams.” Wade says disappointedly.

“I understand.” Logan hangs his head and releases Wade before walking into the apartment building. Wade stands where he left him in shock.

“That’s never happened in these dreams before.” Wade pinches himself, “Ouch! Oh, fuck.”

He runs up the stairs and slams the apartment door open, catching sight of Logan just as he slips into his room and closes the door.

“Here baby.” He releases Mary Puppins to run free before going to knock on Logan’s door. “Lo, I’m sorry, I was confused. Can we talk?” The door swings open and Logan leans against the frame, eyes red and glistening with unshed tears.

“You don’t wanna be stuck with this do you?” Wade points to his face with a sardonic chuckle, “You’re just confused right? My feelings never changed, but you don’t need to do this out of some sort of weird obligation for helping you, I know this-”

He’s cut off when Logan crashes into him, an arm slipping back around his waist with the other resting against the side of his neck as he pulls him into a searing kiss. A year of longing funneled into a passionate embrace that neither wants to break as Wade clutches onto Logan.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but I need to be better for you.” Logan says after finally breaking the kiss, “I fucking love you.”

-End

. . .

WHOA WHOA WHOA, you can't just leave a glaring plot hole like that. Come on, tell us what happened to our variants after we left! One of em woke up in a hospital after getting shot, two weeks of missing time, and a raging hard on!

Bro, no one cares about that, they just wanted to read about Logan realizing he caught feelings for you. They honestly might have wanted smut too, but I thought it might cheapen the story. I was focusing on your pasts and insecurities, really wanted to hone in on that, explore those thoughts and feelings.

You write so much fucking smut and you couldn't do me a solid here? Plot hole and a cock block. I'm with everyone else on this site, I WANNA FUCK THAT OLD MAN. no lube, no protection, all night all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to bedroom, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air and scream the lord's prayer, HE CAN TOP ME.

Look, I get it. Me too, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I'd tap that. I'm sorry, but you're not fucking in this one.

How about part 2, ALL SMUT.

Maybe if I can get a few comments or reblogs asking for it.

I BESEECH THE, USERS OF TUMBLR, PLEASE, GET ME LAID.

Wait, I thought you wanted to know about the plot hole.

Nah, I'm too horny now.

41 notes · View notes

artinvain · 7 months ago

Text

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔩𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱 (pt. 1)

sevika x reader modern au (fluff & weed smoking… mdni)

characters: sevika x reader, silco & vander .

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓₓ˚. ୭

when sevika joins one of the biggest financial firms in her district, it’s not a big deal to her. it’s not her passion, but she makes money, work is stupidly easy for her, she lives way over comfortably and if she wants she can choose her own hours. of course — she keeps to a basically military routine, she likes it, it helps her stop thinking. about her dad, where her mom could be, the last person she loved.

she’s waiting to meet up with the same old college buddies she always does. they meet at a dispensary cafe maybe once or twice a week. but sevika goes almost everyday — because it also helps her not think.

when she walks in vander and silco are making a noise in their usual nook, greeting her with hugs and a cig to start. when they were all together like this they became idiots. usually intellectual conversations about philosophy or politics, the latest in news, the latest in their lives and careers. but here it was babble filled laughter and no thoughts at all.

“do you guys want coffee or some of the stuff on the munchies menu?”

your voice is new, vander and silco quieten down in her ears as she looks up at you, the sun shining like a halo bouncing around your locs. she wants to say something, tell you you’re pretty. It’s what she usually does when she sees a girl she likes. flirts like crazy but now sevika can’t say a goddamm thing.

it’s the way you’re looking at her and only her. your lip bitten and a small smile poking through as you notice she’s staring. and you can’t help but look on with some strange affection, her soft dark skin, muscles underneath it flexing. her grey eyes — so unusual, smoky and cool. your manager had told you she was a regular so if you wanted a tip you needed to be nice. to sevika you are lovely — she can’t really describe it but you make her blush.

when you walk away with their orders, the boys are immediately hounding her. “would you have preferred vander and i left the both when you did all that?”

“I - did you - are you fucking blushing?” silco laughs so hard he’s coughing and slapping vander’s arm when she rolls her eyes. “my hearts, my stars, my god — you are! I haven’t seen you look like this in years,” he gasps.

“weed makes you overly dramatic, silco,” she retorts gulps gratefully at a bottle of water while vander continues

“seriously though, you’re looking at her like you have something other than ice in your veins” vander howls at himself

silco lights up his cigarette and leans back, “come now vander, sevika’s just afraid of her feelings, if anything — her blood burns too hot-“

“shut up.” sevika mumbles. it’s not untrue, she’d bounced around from girlfriend to girlfriend, but no one ever stuck and she never seemed to mind. the sex was good — sometimes okay. they never could quite match her though. “it’s not my fault I don’t get along with them,”

“oh yes it’s always something - no banter, not intellectual enough — but I think -“

“yes, what do you think vander?” sevika spits with a snarl

“I think you’re sabotaging yourself.” he says more seriously than intended. she has nothing to say. no remark - she can’t explain away a truth they’d been skirting around whenever it came to sevika’s love life. they’d been badgering her about settling down for once, let herself be known outside of their little trio.

“drop it, vander,” she glares and he only rolls his eyes leaning forward to snatch a lighter in her hand for his joint.

it just has to be then that you walk back to their table, startled by the sudden silence as you hand out their snacks. “is everything okay?” you ask and Sevika’s smile is small but fleeting.

“do you have a strain that can lift the mood?” ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

sevika greets you by name every time she comes in now, over tips you, pulls you into conversation when she knows you should be working but she knows your boss and he’ll let it slide for her.

“so, how’s the wolf of wall street?” you whistle handing sev a clear vile with her joint in it. “you have to stop calling me that,” sevika laughs, loosening the deep blue, tie, embroidered with silver stars around her neck. “but you are! you told me yourself you’re up at 6am every day to make your matcha latte before gym, and you look at your stocks, in your giant loft —“

sevika laughs albeit a little nervously at your teasing “I did not say I had a loft,” and you smile at her coyly scratching her neck. “but am I wrong?” you ask and she ducks her head, her shoulder moving with her laughter.

“ah fuck,” she groans with a smile “leave me alone,” sev says jokingly, and you roll your eyes “okay, if you really want me to.”

but you don’t move, and sevika doesn’t say anything. she’s just looking at you, taking you in — grateful your job doesn’t have a uniform so she can see you in your wide leg pants, dark green flowers springing forth and your tight top — purple, strappy and your breasts, pressed up against them. she looks away from a moment and you chuckle having seen where her eyes ended they’re tour of you.

“you look pretty today,” sev mumbles, taking a sip of water.

“thank you sev, you look pretty put together yourself — meeting with investors ?”

“yeah,” she grunts, “something like that — I don’t know, first time I’ve felt off my game. the company’s just very white and male. I don’t know if I got the deal.” she stretches her neck, “and I hate failing,” she lets slip. furrows her eyebrows at herself because why would she tell you that?

“hey, you’re good at your job, or you wouldn’t be up for a promotion,” she shrugs at your response “plus,” you sit down next to her, “if anything you can depend on the diversity token,” you smirk and nudge her with your elbow, smoke billows out of her mouth as she laughs. coughing slightly before sitting up straight.

“I know it must be annoying, always having to shape yourself up into this heterosexual role,” you sigh, sev offers you some of her joint and you take it without question, knowing it was just you and andy your co-worker today,

“and your jobs are always with all these white, men determining whether you look good enough or if you’re well spoken enough, it’s bullshit,” you sigh and sevika nods

“it’s like I’m never doing well enough I’m tired of it,” she responds.

“you should be tired of it, but you are,” you say firmly, “good enough — don’t let them define you sev, your work shows that you’re good for it.”

“thanks,” she smiles, she’d heard it before but it felt different coming from you, because you understand her. you’re not just trying to make her feel better. it is bullshit and you let her know that it’s okay to feel that way.

“vander and silco don’t really understand it. i mean don’t get me wrong they try. but they’ll never really know.” sevika sighs and takes the j back from you when you offer it with a smile.

“I get that,” you nod and tie your locs up out of your face. “hey, I have to go check on that table,” you spot a couple with their coffee cups empty. “but I’ll be back,”

she turns the words over in her head. she didn’t ask you to, but you were coming back to her — like you always did. the first to check in on her when she came in and rarely did you leave her without at least some conversation, even when the cafe was busy. you grab sev’s hand and give it a tight squeeze and it jolts sevika’s body feeling your soft hand in hers, so warm and you trace a circle on the back of her hand that she can feel long after you’ve pulled away.

sevika should be at home by now, instead she’s following you around, watching you clean counter tops and pack away snacks for the night shift to open later.

“so, I told andy like I can’t take her every table just because she doesn’t feel like serving — do I have something on my face?” you stop rubbing at a sticky spot on the table where someone spilled something, staring at her quizzically as she looks down at you.

“no,” she smiles and then her eyes dart nervously around the room, “sorry, I was just… looking at you.” you don’t say anything for a moment, “I think you’re really pretty,” she says nervously. she hadn’t complimented someone so gently in a while. it’d all been heated praises while her hands were guided to someone’s neck. so sev chuckles uncomfortably and turns her head to stare at a painting when you say forger.

“I could have painted that. like better probably,” she says and when she looks back at you, your standing so close to her she can feel your breath on her neck.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you say, and sevika chokes on her words. she’d always been “sexy” or “hot” or “super attractive” but no one had called her beautiful. cupping her cheek so softly and with no intent.

“I just was never sure how you felt, so I didn’t say anything,” you said, and sevika holds her hand over yours, looking down at you and smiling sheepishly as you lean up and kiss the side of her mouth. “I like you,” you grin at her blush and the way she tumbles over her words.

“of course yeah, i um - do you want to come back to my place?” she rushes out and a pit forms in her stomach when you blink slowly and swallow.

“I’m sorry, did I just ruin everything?” sevika asks bluntly and you shake your head, she holds your hand to her cheek, hoping you don’t pull away.

“no it’s fine. I want to, I do. but, I’ve done that a lot recently, I mean finishing my masters it was really bad. I kind of want something real,” you say shyly, trying and failing to pull away from sevika,

“we can take it slow,” what the fuck is she thinking. she’s never taken it slow. her longest relationship was three months and she fucked it up because she always priorities work. but, you’re beautiful and kind and smart and funny and she doesn’t know if she can just let you go. at least not that easily.

“let me take you home,” sevika offers as you lock up, the sun’s not down yet but she doesn’t want you to go. you agree and whistle when you jump into her jeep.

“wolf of Wall Street— this is impressive,” sevika rolls her eyes with a smile and turns her car on.

“just fucking give me the directions,” she answers and you laugh, getting your maps out “it’s not far from here,” you say.

“if you’re not busy, maybe you can come inside, talk and have some tea or — I don’t know, maybe not-“

“no yes. I would love to,” she replies eagerly, making her way down to your place, following the maps stoic directions.

“so you said you could paint something better than what’s in the shop?” you turn to her and she blushes — she shouldn’t have said that.

“I used to paint, and sketch,” she admits, used to as if she didn’t pick up her charcoal for the first time in months to sketch every detail of your soft face.

you nod, looking around her clean car, it didn’t look like one of an artist “you should show me sometime,” you mumble and flick the boulder of the sisyphus bobble head stuck to her dash. “this is a really fucking specific bobble head,”

sevika laughs and agrees, “I got it in greece at some really overpriced tourist shop. I don’t know, vander and silco got something too, all philosophy shit because we’re—“

“really pretentious,” you laugh and she nods along “yeah yeah. we all met in our first year greek mythology course and then again in philosophy and we kind of just stuck together. and I never buy myself anything so I figured.”

“why this though? why the reminder of eternal punishment on your dashboard, every day?”

“other than the fact that it reminds me of my oldest friends?”

it’s not like you didn’t understand. you have an embroidered quilt of plath’s fig tree poem hanging in your kitchen.

“yeah, other than that,” you dig, you know there’s something more there.

“I don’t know, I felt like I was sisyphus for a long time,” she admits. something about your aura was so damn relaxing, like she could say anything around you and you wouldn’t care. “I had accepted that I had to suffer.” she drums her thumbs on the steering wheel, “that being who I am was some cosmic punishment, but then. I don’t know I figured if my boulder was who I am, I’d have to keep pushing it, even if people failed to see how light it is to me,”

you nod, finally satisfied with her answer and look over at her. she doesn’t feel like she has anything more to say. and for once she isn’t scrambling for charmed words or flirtation, she just lets herself listen to you breathe.

“paradoxical but that’s what it is to be brown and queer in this world huh,” you say and sevika nods falling into a comfortable silence until you reach your flat.

a small victorian brick building, that’s much bigger when you’re inside. stairs leading up to what you explain are two other apartments. the tenants quiet but very nice and hardly home. you walk her down the passage to your apartment door.

she’s greeted by warmth and the smell of fading incense. you turn on orange lamps and a sunset one in the living room,

“you can put your jacket on the stand there,” you say, looking at her from over the kitchen island. “and take your shoes off, please,”

sevika complies and feels a tight knot it her stomach. nerves. why is she nervous when she knows you two won’t be doing anything. the way you’d seen through her in the car, you wanted to know her, not just her body and that scared the shit out of her. should she just leave? she’s ready to put her shoes back on when you walk past her into the living room with a tray, a teapot and two cups and some honey. it’s so sweet she decides against herself to sit down on your couch beside you.

she looks around while you pour her tea, the couch is plush, you’re venitian carpeting soft under her socks. you have a feature wall painted dark green and covered in abstract paintings and one family portrait.

“that you?” sevika asks, making out our plump cheeks and toothy grin, as you lean over who she assumes in your father. she thanks you for the tea and takes a sip of the warmth,

“yeah,” you smile, “my brother is late, but my sister lives like two streets down,”

“I’m so sorry,” she offers and gently lays a hand on your shoulder. you take it and kiss the back of her hand.

“shit, sorry,” you apologise and let go off her, but she wants you to do it again, can feel the outline of your lips tingling on her hand. “s’okay,” she nods and keeps her hand on your shoulder.

“viktor was my adopted brother, he was really sick.” you stop there and turn to her with a watery smile. “I loved him a lot,”

she can tell. nods solemnly and lets you have a moment, and then your laughing a little embarrassed and wiping your eyes.

“It was a long time ago, sorry,”

“don’t be,” sev says, “I wanna know you,” she smiles and you smirk back at her, your cheeky attitude back in play, “then ask me a question,” you say, she doesn’t know where to start because she has a million.

“how’d you know you were… I don’t know sapphic?” she asks tentatively. “well, I’ve known I was a lesbian since I was like twelve. there was this girl I alway hung out with —“ you’re smiling fondly and sevika lays over your words.

“yeah?” sevika answers getting ready for your story.

she leaves way too late, all you two did was talk and laugh and she hadn’t checked her stocks or taken any calls and she can’t remember the last time she wasn’t always working, even partially, even in her free time. when she gets home she’s on her laptop until midnight, taking an international meeting and all the while, all she can think about is sitting and watching the rest of the stupid magician show she’d started with you before she saw the time.

when she clambers into bed, for the first time she notices how cool the spot beside her is. she bundles herself up in pillows and falls asleep with you on her mind.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

”I wanna take you on a date,” sevika smiles leaning on the counter where you’ve just finish letting a group of friends pay.

“you do?” you ask, “you doing it because you think I’ll give you discounts ?”

“I know you’ll give me discounts,” she laughs “I got something for you,” she pulls out a novel from her work satchel. “I know you wanted a physical to have, but you said you were too distracted to get one so”

the picture of dorian gray. inside the first page were names of people who had had the book before you, dating back to ‘97. you’d wanted a hard cover since you’d read it a year ago. but she’d gone above and beyond getting you a thrifted version, you liked the idea of a hand me down of something so many others like you had enjoyed and now you had one and she knew that. the thought made your heart thump.

“where did you get this?” you ask, touching over the names of all the people who’d signed it,

“just looked at like four different second hand book stores,” she shrugs and looks on fondly as you excitedly flip through the annotated pages.

“thank you!” you lean over the counter and kiss her cheek.

“and not that that was a bribe or anything but-“

“I obviously want to go on a date with you vika,” she blushes at the nickname, her heart beating a little faster. “yeah?” “yeah,” you nod and jump at andy’s snide remark for you to start your shift.

“I’ll pick you up after work,” she taps on the counter and smiles widely, the bell on the cafe door ringing loudly in her ears as she exits. for the first time in a long time, she’s more than just living. the air smells fresh, colours and bright and her heart is pumping hard, hot blood coursing to her cheeks as she thinks of you. tonight, tonight, tonight.

okay next chapter is the date and maybe a sexy little smut scene hehehe or angst. who knows? not even me. 🏷️ @iamaboringrattat @archangeldyke-all @sevsbaby @sapphicsgirl @bimboprincezz @opropheticsoul @ariariarr @sexysapphicshopowner

#lesbian #sevika arcane smut #sevika arcane #Sevika arcane fic #sevika arcane au #sevika arcane x reader #Sevika arcane x reader fic

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comfortless · 8 months ago

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omg your könig posts just heal me. how do you think he’d deal w/ someone who just gets sad a lot?

He’s just awful!

König has braved an eternal winter his whole life. He knows what depression feels like, knows how sadness and badness can creep in even during your happiest moments. Considers that he’s already met the demiurge and is punished with an everlasting purgatory.

And König also knows loneliness intimately. He never had an arm around him those nights he spent curled in his bed sobbing far away from where any eyes could see. His “comfort” came in the form of demands from both internally and externally; his father’s voice always rung out far above the rest. Be stronger. More of a man.

With you, a part of him breaks.

Because despite knowing these things down to the marrow, helping with them has never been a skill of his. He can kill a man in seconds, ram through a door with practiced posture in less than a minute, but helping you when you’re sad is entirely foreign to him.

It’s hell entirely, because you’re sad so often. He does what a good lover should: fetches you gifts and food, holds you tight, buries you in nothing but words he deems sweet enough (even if they’re a bit crude).

And often you don’t want any of it.

You shutdown when he hovers and badgers, always pleading with you to explain what’s wrong. You’re curling into yourself, facing away when he tries his best to pull you in. Sometimes it’s an aggressive sort of love — forcing you into his lap and holding your face while you cry your little heart out, dragging you out of the house to sit in the sun while you babble about your woes (or even lack of, really, he just wants something to go off of), and an abundance of unsolicited advice as to what may help your mental state (as though he himself has not ghosted every poor therapist he's ever had). The gifts only increase and your every need is taken care of as though you were physically ill.

He’s aware enough to know that he’s being a total nuisance, too. He expects you to lash out, tell him to stop his pestering and coddling. And König would even enjoy your anger, because it’s something other than being sad and withdrawn. All of this only stems from what he felt he may have needed when he was a pitiful, lonely boy.

So, he holds you close, pampers you like the finest treasure, speaks softer and chooses his words a little better. There are no threats of hours of unhinged sex now, but he’s still a pervert: offers to lick you to take your mind off of whatever is going on. It’s a good distraction, he’s certain, because a wank in the barracks usually does aid him when you’re apart and that sadness creeps its way in.

And more often than not, he’ll question if it’s he who caused all of this. He’s not a good man, never pretends to be. He’s brutish and socially stunted in ways only seen in feral people or beasts in myth. König won’t ask for reassurance directly, very rarely wants you to see him seeming so vulnerable and small, but it’s evident how this growing aching reflects your own. The confessions of love come tenfold, not just for you, but because he needs to hear you say them too.

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blendinblandin · 2 years ago

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Taylor’s NYU speech changed my life like for real tbh it’s been a year and literally ever since she said “you cannot carry all things” that’s what I tell myself when I’m so stressed about so many things that it’s making me physically ill. and sometimes it helps

#I have had a tension headache for over 24 hours 😀#but anyway I think about ‘you cannot carry all things’ and the knowing what things to let go and what to keep bit of her speech genuinely #nearly every day #that’s Something to me idk #badger babbles

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iwantjaketosullyme · 2 years ago

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𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅳ: ᴍɪʟᴋ, ʜᴏɴᴇʏ, ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴɪᴇꜱ

➺ pairing: aged up!lo'ak x f!metkayina!reader (fluff) ➺ series summary: lovesick!lo'ak does all he can to win the heart of oblivious!reader ➺ chapter summary: ❝ Sullys stick together, so he knows that his disappointment will be cut into little pieces and divided equally amongst his family members, another burden shared. ❞ (w/c: 3.1k) ➺ warnings: kiri nd tuk bullying lo'ak (he had it coming), throwing up (minor), lo'ak is still a silly billy🤭 a/n: sully shenanigans continue ! i'm making tuk 10 yrs old in this even tho everyone else is 5 yrs older. if she was human, tuk would defo mutilate her barbie dolls then beg jake to buy her more. someone needs to save lo'ak, reader rlly thinks everything is life or death lmaooo. na'vi dictionary at the end :)

« 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬┃𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭┃𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 »

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

It is evening. Eywa has strung the stars in the sky, illuminating her dear Eywa’eveng with the same tanhi that litter the skin of her children. The constellations are visual retellings of the stories of humble Na’vi made legend after achieving exploits for their people, a reminder of the greatness found in unity.

All clan activities have wound down – the fishers have hung up their nets, divers have inspected their findings and hunters have laid down their spears. At the centre of the shore blazes a strong and defiant bonfire. Its flames are fanned and fuelled by the life that pulses in the Metkayina gathered around it who convene to share tales of the day’s events.

The soft scraping of fingertips on wooden bowls fills the air as separate family units come together to share a communal meal and enjoy the spoils of the day’s hunt. A myriad of voices can be heard; the croak of an aged elder, the babble of a babe and the peeved huff of a particular young Na’vi male.

Over the din of the clan’s combined chatter, Lo’ak’s expression of his annoyance is only heard by those that are sat right next to him. On his right-hand side sits Neteyam, who is half-concerned about what it is that has his baby bro so upset, but simultaneously trying to keep up with Tuk’s recounting of the scenarios she had made her figurines act out today.

On the other side of Lo’ak sits Kiri, who is praying to the Great Mother in her head, begging for the grace not to hit him if he sighs one more time.

“Hey Lo’ak, are you going to tell us what’s wrong or are you going to keep sitting there with a face like a slapped palulukan’s arse?” Kiri’s voice cuts off Tuk’s rambling, the girl deciding to take matters into her own hands. She couldn’t bear seeing his pinched expression in her peripheral vision for a second longer. Her remark brings the attention of the whole family onto Lo’ak, whose brow only furrows further in lieu of a response.

Scandalised by such a comment from her daughter (who typically had her head too high up in the clouds to engage in petty name-calling), Neytiri’s face flushes in shock. At the same time, Jake struggles to suppress a chuckle and manages to cover it up with a faux-stern “Kiri!”, forehead creasing into a frown that is nearly convincing enough. Nearly.

It was easy to see that something was off with Lo’ak – where he would usually have scarfed down his helping of food in the first five minutes of the meal and spent the rest of it badgering Tuk and Kiri for the food in their bowls with a cheeky ‘are you gonna eat that?’, he’d been pushing the same piece of fish around for the past thirty minutes.

If that was not enough of a sign, the clearest indication of his displeasure could be seen in his tail that hangs limply in the sand behind him, or his folded-back ears that had not even perked up at the sound of Tuk’s stories, for which he usually provided the sound effects.

It was for these reasons that nobody was truly surprised at Kiri’s outburst. They had just been hoping that Lo’ak would open up without being prompted first.

With the hubbub of the clan’s numerous conversations in the background, Lo’ak’s silence is loud. While he is embarrassed to have been caught in the act of sulking (Eywa, he couldn’t even mourn a love that died before it lived in peace), he is more so hesitant to declare his premature failure to the people who had been so ardently supportive of his romantic pursuit.

Sullys stick together, so he knows that his disappointment will be cut into little pieces and shared equally amongst his family members, another burden shared. But Lo’ak is tired of being a burden, and has been for a while.

Ever the attentive older brother, Neteyam recognises the resignation in the hunch of his shoulders. Planting a warm, comforting hand on one of them, he chances a gentle coax, “Tell us what’s up baby bro, I’m listening.”

Realising that the family will not be satisfied until he supplies an answer, Lo’ak heaves a final sigh before revealing what has been troubling him – to nobody’s surprise, you. He relays an abridged version of the conversation the two of you had in the afternoon, purposefully leaving out the part where he too had laid his soul bare.

As he discloses his grievances, Lo’ak’s eyes are cast downwards, anxious fingers fiddle with the songcord attached securely to his tewng. His new favourite pastime is pondering over which trinkets he will choose to signify your and his union, your first child and the countless other life events he longs to share with you. What he would choose, he corrects mentally.

After your proclamation of seeing him as merely a friend earlier today, his future projections of a life with you are now conditional, a distant alternative in the far-away realm of possibility.

Eventually gaining enough courage to look up from his lap, he shares the news of his relegation to the dreaded friend zone, which to him is a fate more damning than exile. He finishes by imploring somewhat desperately, “So how do I make her want me back?”

The most unlikely of advisors in the affairs of romance answers. “You can’t. And you will never be able to,” Tuk declares. Quite frankly, she is already tired of this conversation and has not forgiven Lo’ak for indirectly interrupting her storytelling. His moping around has shifted everyone’s attention away from her and onto him. She will make him pay, if it’s the last thing she does.

Flabbergasted to the point of agitation, Lo’ak’s head whips to the side to grill Tuk, beaded braids smacking his face in his haste. “And how would you know, huh?” He continues with a sing-song quality in his voice, “You’re still a baby.”

After releasing a petulant huff of indignation, Tuk replies, “Because you’re a boy so you have cooties, duh!” Endlessly tired of having her opinions disregarded because of her young age, she drives her point further. “I bet she won’t even talk to you if you don’t talk to her first!”

Lo’ak’s initial reaction is one of hurt. Still insecure in the status of his relationship with you, he is especially sensitive to criticism, even if it comes from his kid sister. In spite of this, although he would never admit it, Tuk’s childish banter breaks Lo’ak from the bondage of his melancholy and is a welcomed reprieve from the unchartered waters of love he has been struggling to navigate.

Thus, he allows himself to be enraptured by the familiar push and pull of sibling rivalry and resolves to do all he can to prove that his belief in your love is not just fuelled by fantasy.

“Oh, you wanna bet?” His sudden determination to make your feelings towards him evident becomes a quick priority, even though he is not too sure of them himself and that was the exact reason for his previous sulking. “Go on,” Lo’ak goads, “pick the forfeit.”

Knowing that there is no way that this will end well but also knowing both siblings are too far gone to be dissuaded now, Jake, Neytiri, Kiri and Neteyam separately reach the same conclusion. Better to sit back and watch it all unfold than attempt to meddle. This is gonna be a long night.

“Loser has to give up their yovo fruit for a month!” Tuk responds, a challenging glint present in her large eyes. She is well aware that yovo fruit is Lo'ak's dessert of choice and cannot wait to delight in the pained look on his face when he is denied of it.

Spurred on by the flair for showmanship that he most definitely inherited from his father, Lo’ak shakes his head and demands higher stakes. “Nah, that’s too easy. What’s something you really want?”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,Tuk responds, “Well…I do need some new figurines to play with…” and looks at Lo’ak expectantly, waiting for him to connect the dots.

“Already??” Lo’ak asks, confused. “I made you a new ikran toy like two months ago, what happened to him?” Blessed with an uncanny knack for woodwork, Lo’ak was Tuk’s preferred manufacturer of the figurines that were the subjects of her elaborate storylines, some of which were cause for concern.

“She was a girl. And I just lost her tragically in battle. IED. You would know if you were listening.” Tuk likes her play time to be as realistic as possible. She quite literally simulated an IED explosion by throwing the figurine in the central fire of the marui used for cooking, when nobody was looking. All that remains of the fallen comrade is the pile of ashes Lo’ak stares at accusingly later in the night when he returns home.

“Okay, what about the toruk Dad made for Neteyam that was passed down to Kiri, who passed it down to me, who passed it down to you?” Their father had spent months crafting that particular piece and it was a cherished part of each of their childhoods. There’s no way Tuk would dare destroy it.

Undeterred, Tuk answers. “He’s senile. Not fit for flight and too slow for guerilla warfare. It’s an ikran eat ikran world out there y’know.” She completes her explanation with a casual shrug, as if to say ‘well, what can you do?’

Caught in the crossfire, Jake willfully ignores that she looks at him when saying the word senile. She had been taking advantage of every chance to remind him of his age ever since he and Neytiri made the terrible mistake of trying to introduce her to the idea of them having another baby. Her firm belief in her right to be the baby of the family was not to be questioned. Ever.

Lo’ak groans and throws his head back in exasperation. He misses the days when the best comeback Tuk had was sticking her tongue out at him. As the years go by, more and more of Kiri’s effortless sass rubs off on her and he always seems to be her victim of choice. Eywa’s justice for him teasing her mercilessly when she was little, he admits to himself, albeit begrudgingly.

“Fine!” He relents, “bet’s on! I’m gonna make her fall for me and you’re gonna kiss my big, blue, striped a-”

“Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk’itan!” “Boy if you don’t-”

Neytiri and Jake’s respective exclamations of admonishment cut Lo’ak off swiftly, identical disapproving glares putting an effective end to the verbal tug of war he and Tuk had been engaged in.

Naturally assuming the role of peacemaker, Neteyam raises both his hands in a sign of caution, attempting to diffuse the situation before it escalates any further. He then turns to Lo’ak and with a teasing smirk tells him, “Forget all this bet talk, bro. You’d better go pray to the Great Mother because your skxawng ass needs all the help you can get.”

His gaze softens when he becomes serious again, smirk melting into a genuine smile. “If you get her blessing, your courtship is sure to succeed, baby bro!”

Ruled by his propensity to act rashly, Lo’ak does not detect the sincerity in Neteyam’s advice and brushes him off. “Nah bro, I got this. Lemme let Eywa have a rest day for once, alright?”

Neteyam and Kiri share an incredulous look; was this the same man that looked one prod away from tears a few moments ago?

He will do this his way. A Sully man through and through, Lo’ak ups the ante.

With renewed vigour, Lo’ak crams handfuls of fish into his mouth as he devises a plan to get your attention, his appetite returning with a vengeance. As he plots, Tuk resumes her storytelling and the family falls back into the lull of easy conversation.

(*for atmosphere, you can play 'na'vi river journey ride through' here*)

Soon after, the long, low and heavy note of the clan horn carries over the shore, signalling the end of the communal meal and the prompt beginning of communal worship. Designated Na’vi make their way around the bonfire, collecting the gourds that the meal had been served on. The gathered Metkayina set their used bowls aside, placing them behind the logs they are sat on before rising to their feet.

This moment coincides with Lo’ak’s thoughts aligning, finally settling on the plan he will put in motion.

Subtlety is key, he surmises. He needs to be suave, mysterious, intriguing. No lady can resist the charm of a smouldering gaze, after all. With the image of every elusive male protagonist in the tawtute romance films he had watched at the forefront of his mind, Lo’ak fixes his face into what he thinks to be a firm, guarded expression and sets his gaze on you. To him, he looks like he is brooding in the corner of the evening gathering, veiled countenance emitting an allure that is sure to attract you to him.

When the singing has commenced and you still have not turned to face him despite him practically burning holes into your face with the strength of his stare, he beckons you over in his head. As he struggles to keep the intense look on his face for an extended period of time, a vein bulges prominently from his forehead. For the first time, he finds himself jealous of Payakan, wishing he had the ability to communicate with echolocation like the tulkun.

Swaying in time with the rhythm of the beat being drummed by the clan percussionists, you are brought out of your reverie by a short nudge from Tsireya. Once she has your attention, she points a clandestine finger in Lo’ak’s direction. Focus shifting to where she is pointing, you observe Lo’ak and the expression on his face. He appears to be…pained?

Your eyes are full of concern as they meet his, look to your left, look to your right and meet his again, noticing that his unwavering gaze remains on you. You pat Tsireya’s back, indicating your exit before crouching down and slinking towards Lo’ak, weaving between the singing Metkayina around you.

He sees you coming his way and thinks well, looks like Tuk owes me a whole lotta yovo fruit. As the distance between the two of you reduces, his anticipation for what you will say mounts to the point where he feels he could almost burst. For the second time today, he awaits your words with baited breath.

“Oh my Eywa, Lo’ak are you constipated?” Up close, he looks even more disturbed than he did from afar. The pinched together eyebrows, clenched fists and pursed lips – from your training as a healer you recognise these as the telltale signs of constipation. “Good thing I always keep a stash of paywll leaves on me!” You reach into the pouch of herbs slung around your torso, medical mode activated and ready to treat him.

His hand shoots forward to stop you from going any further with your movements, touching yours in the process. He becomes so overwhelmed by the direct skin on skin contact that he gets all flustered, looking worse than he already did. He wants to tell you that he’s perfectly fine and this is a big misunderstanding but he can’t. Riddled with nerves, his throat swells up and blood rushes to his cheeks in embarrassment. He’s blushing.

Continuing your spontaneous medical examination, you press a hand to his cheeks. His temperature is burning hot. How could you be so silly? You chide yourself mentally. He’s clearly suffering from food poisoning!

Thinking back, you remember that the hunting party had returned to the village with the catch of the day a little later than usual. Perhaps the cooks were in such a hurry they undercooked some of the fish?

Before he can so much as say ‘I’m a silly skxawng’, you’re dragging him by the wrist until you are a short distance away from the gathered clan, behind the cover of a tall tautral plant.

He does not get the chance to ask you to explain yourself before you turn him around to face you and shove two of your three fingers down his oesophagus. If he thought the first time he met you was the most embarrassing moment of his life, this current moment quickly proved him wrong.

Not only was he forced by the triggering of his gag reflex to pass up the contents of his stomach, he was doing it in a spot that was not far enough away to ensure no other clan member would hear the nauseating sounds, even over the sound of singing. Making matters worse, in his sorry attempt to psych himself up before executing his plan, he had eaten a behemoth amount of food. And now, there is a behemoth amount for him to pass up.

When he appears to have fully emptied the contents of his stomach, you crouch down to be level with his bent-over figure.

“All better?” You ask.

“Y-yeah,” his voice cracks pitifully. “Much better.” He nods his head, as if convincing himself. “Thanks.”

Lo’ak looks up to find a dopey smile on your face and he knows that you must be happy to have saved him again, because he is happy to have been ‘saved’ by you again. Even though things didn't go as he had planned, as he looks into the depths of your eyes he cannot bring himself to regret a single thing.

He returns to the fellowship after a little while, painfully aware that at least parts of the debacle had been audible. He is met by sympathetic looks from his family, barring one person. Tuk.

She refuses to give him anything even though he had technically won the bet – you did talk to him first. Adamant, she insists that he still owes her a month’s worth of yovo fruit and a new toy. When he presses, attempting to stand his ground, she narrows her eyes menacingly and calls for Neytiri with a mighty “Sa’nu!” and Lo’ak knows that the odds are woefully against him.

As he predicted, Neytiri forces him to make the toy for her anyway.

Knowing he is now at her mercy, Tuk demands, “I want this one to be a tsurak. Blue, yellow and green.” Lo’ak turns to leave, but she is still going. “And don’t you dare cut corners this time!”

He turns back to find her in a bossy little pose, arms crossed over her chest. “I noticed the smudge in the paint on the last one, penis face.”

Lo’ak pivots to look to his mother for support, but she is already walking down the pathway, inwardly questioning why she decided to have four children.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

na’vi dictionary

eywa’eveng- na’vi word for pandora // tanhi - na’vi bioluminescent freckles // palulukan - thanator // tewng - loincloth // yovo- type of Na’vi fruit // ikran - mountain banshee // toruk- great leonopteryx // marui - tent // skxawng - idiot // paywll - dapophet (healing plant) // tautral- beanstalk palm // sa’nu - mummy // tsurak- skimwing

☼ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵:

@heirtothekingdom , @bebkyu , @amiah24 , @inlovewithpandora , @alathan13 , @girlnred , @ggujkie , @aemondhoe , @malandrinhass , @itsyagirl01 , @mookiepookiesblog , @idekstopasking , @thelxnelyworld , @whitch123 , @camila-alejandra26 , @draiochtwrites , @leoloeleosworld , @seokmin130 , @apple-law-pie , @daddyvinniesleftnut , @flwrsatsuns3t , @thehoneymushroomhealer , @marsbars09 , @andraga12 , @randxmthxughts , @awriana , @izuoyarmin , @cumikering , @manzana-nita , @sakura-onesan

𝘭𝘮𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰/𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 <3

#✦•·.· 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 ·.·•✦#lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fic #atwow x reader #avatar imagine #atwow fluff #avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatar x reader #lo'ak x fem!reader #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak fanfiction #lo'ak fluff #atwow #avatar twow #avatar x you #avatar x y/n #avatar x metkayina!reader

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