#or that i know i want to work in animation.. but i do not even know where to start

[grvait]

old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the boys who eventually got turned into doey. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

[vmpireslut]

♡.ྀི₊thinking about mean!overworked and underfucked nanami:3

it’s utterly cruel as he forces your fucked out face against the penthouse window. any other time, you'd be gushing over the breathtaking view of the city lights, but the way kento's fat tip gnaws at your cervix has your eyes rolling back in your skull.

a sinewy hand grips your throat, tightening to the point where you feel lightheaded. the other hand is firmly placed on your hip, anchoring your ass against his pelvis. you've been in this position for what feels like an eternity, pressed against the glass like an animal as he fucked you like a mutt in heat. the chill of the glass contrasts with the warmth radiating from him, each thrust causing the surface to shudder beneath you.

“such a slut, letting me use you like this—ha! bet it turns you on fucking your boss like this—god,” he snarls, voice thick with lust. the wet squelch of your slick pussy is audible in the room, only adding to your embarrassment. the shame has your eyes brimming with tears, the sting of them mixing with the ache between your legs.

he chuckles darkly. "that's right, sweetheart. i know how much of a fucking whore you are." he's relentless, driving his cock deep into your cunt as he uses your throat to keep you upright. “m’not a whore!” you try to argue, but it's incoherent due to the cock shoved in your cunt. he doesn't respond, but the grip on your hip tightens. his pace is brutal, each snap of his hips causing your ass to jiggle. your pussy flutters around his girth, sucking him in as he plows into you. the pressure building in your abdomen too much.

“don’t make me laugh.” he hisses, bending his knees slightly so that he can hit a new angle, the new position knocking a series of whines from your throat. you’re pretty sure he’s in your womb, molding your gummy walls around his length.

"always prancing around in those slutty skirts and shirts—i see the way you stare at me when you think i'm not looking. so needy. you wanted this from the beginning, didn't you?” he pauses, letting out a guttural moan.

“i knew all along. how could i not? you were practically throwing yourself at me. batting your fucking eyelashes, and now i've got you exactly where i want you. i bet it was all just a ploy to get my dick. i'm right, aren't i?"

even as he’s degrading you, you can't help but moan. kento’s hand moves to your ass, giving your cheek a sharp smack. the stinging sensation forces a cry from you, and you clench around his member, causing him to let out a string of curses.

“my point proven—ha! s’fuckin sad.”

the hand gripping your throat moves to the back of your head, pushing your face further against the cool glass.

"i'm not gonna last long," he groans, his hips beginning to falter. he's going harder, faster, and the way he splits you makes you scream. tears begin to stream down your cheeks as you come undone, the sensation of being full, so fucking full, causing you to go limp in his grasp. he doesn't stop, and the way he fucks you through your orgasm makes your vision go spotty.

he draws your hair into his hands, creating a makeshift ponytail for his fingers to weave into. then, he yanks hard, the sudden action forcing you to arch your back. “why do sluts always have the best pussy? no fair.” he sneers, he's fucking into you with such fervor that you're afraid the window might splinter.

“s-slow down, nanami-san, you're gonna b-break me," you stammer, voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn't.

the only thing you can do is take it. the way his head slams against your hilt has your body shaking, the pressure building up in your core once more. you can't hold on much longer, not with him fucking you like this.

“slow down? you wanted this! running your fuckin’ leg up my thigh at a work dinner, touching me under the table like a desperate bitch—you want this, don't you? i bet you would've let me fuck you there. i could've bent you over that table and pounded your little cunt till you were screaming my name. and now, look at you—fucking pathetic. such a pretty face, such a nice little pussy” he moans loudly, "wrecked. all ruined. and all because of me."

he pulls your hair once more, forcing a strangled sob from your throat. the sound makes him chuckle. kento uses you as a ragdoll, pulling your hair, grabbing your waist, manhandling you like some cheap sex toy. it's fucking disgusting. he spanks you when you go limp, pulling your hair whenever you go quiet. and all you can do is take it. the pain is so delicious that you're not even thinking straight. you just want to be good for him.

he's mean. but you've never been this wet in your entire life. your body is writhing, begging for another release, and when kento’s fingers find your swollen clit, you nearly fall apart. his fingers rub tight circles against the bundle of nerves, sending a surge of pleasure up your calves. his hips stutter, and he's moaning louder.

your knees buckle, another slap. “stay up i won’t tell you again.”

he's so fucking close. the tip of his cock is battering the entrance to your womb, and the way his balls are slapping against your cunt is making you sob. he nearly blows his load in you when he presses a hand below your belly button, feeling his cock through your stomach. he curses, grabbing your hand and pressing it to the small bump.

"can you feel me, sweetheart? can you feel how deep i am? can you feel the bulge?" you can't respond, too fucked out to process the words. he lets go of your hair, instead using both hands to pin your arms above your head. his face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin. “can’t even speak, sad.” he grunts, pressing sloppy wet kisses behind your ear.

you're his, all his. “mine, mine, mine.”

the way his teeth graze the skin of your neck has your eyes fluttering shut, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. you're a fucking mess, and kento nanami loves it. he can't help himself, not when your cunt is sucking him in like this. he's so close, so fucking close.

the pressure building in his abdomen becomes unbearable, and he lets out a strangled groan as his hips snap forward, his seed spilling into you. he doesn't slow down, not even as his cum overflows from your pussy, dribbling down your thighs.

"oh my god—oh my fucking god," he pants, his thrusts erratic. he's so deep inside of you, and the feeling of him painting your insides white has you on the verge of blacking out. he's filling you, stretching you, breeding you. it's too much.

his grip on your wrists going lax, you're completely boneless. the only thing keeping you from crumpling onto the floor is kento’s firm grip on your wrists. he lets go, and you fall to the ground. the only sounds that fill the air are the soft whimpers that escape your lips, and his heavy breathing.

he runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. he looks down at you, and the sight has his dick twitching.

you're a mess, his cum seeping from your cunt, mixing with your own arousal and dribbling down your thigh. the tear streaks running down your cheeks only make the scene more obscene. you're absolutely wrecked, and he's the one who did it. the thought has him grinning, and he crouches down to your level.

"you took me so well, baby girl," he purrs, tipping your chin upwards. his tone is surprisingly gentle, and you can't help but flush. his voice is a bit hoarse, a result of the noises he'd been making earlier. he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, admiring how fucked out you look. he can't wait to get his hands on you again.

[super-powerful-queen-reyna]

Reblogging that post just after season 2 finished shooting to remind people obvious reasons why some things can't happen

1) animal welfare laws. I'm not versed in it but I'm pretty sure there's no good reason to lock up animals in narrow cages and make them feel good. They couldn't CGI the animals for long scenes because most of the CGI budget goes into the volume stage (& fake distance controlled car), so they could keep most of the shooting in studio because

2) child work laws. Most of the cast is under 18 and/or 21, which means minors. They can't work as much as adults and they need time to be kids and keep up with school. You can't move them around that much and the parents stayed with them too. Slightly unrelated but controlled weather is pretty good for shooting conditions. Anyway the scenes they had to shoot were extremely demanding (lots of water and running) so they gotta keep it healthy, therefore long shooting period

3) the exposition is needed because it's not just a tv show. First and foremost, Rick is a teacher and he wants the show-only people to know Greek myths, thus skewering the show-don't-tell rule

4) the producers want the show to feel like like it's happening in the real world even though there's background elements that are Ancient Greece Easter eggs. They're to blame for the chosen lighting. If you want good night lighting, watch Netflix cancelled ghosts shows (Dead Boy Detectives, Lockwood & Co, Julie and the Phantoms). After all, light comes from the same place as the music.

5)the actors do an amazhang job but even I, a big Percy Jackson fan, can admit that in terms of good tv show the storytelling is not that great. Don't get me wrong I love the story of Percy Jackson but the show is Atlas carried by the actors. The crew did an awesometastic job too, but unfortunately you can't tell as much as the literal people on the screen. It's the editors' job with scene transitions that screws up

Source: the making of documentary of season 1 on Dis not it eeee +

Where was my zebra, Rick? Where's the fucking ZEBRA?!

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Just for Practice

Caleb x fem!reader Thank you @erensfeed for the idea and all the help she gave me!! Tysm nunnie! Hope this is a nice surprise for when you wake up <3 warnings: suggestive topics, mature, kissing (of course)

"Kissing? That’s what got you so worked up? Kissing is why you haven’t been eating my braised pork?" Caleb's lilac eyes fix on you like you’re crazy, a hint of something darker lurking beneath as he frowns.

"Ugh, I told you you wouldn’t get it." you groan, flopping onto your bed in frustration and avoiding his gaze, you didn’t want to see Caleb judging you.

Your high school graduation is just a few months away, but so far, every girl in your class won’t stop talking about the people they’ve kissed this year. Some have only had one kiss, others have had plenty, but out of all of them, you’re the only one who hasn’t had a single one yet. It’s not your fault—you’ve just never found yourself even a little bit attracted to anyone at school.

You didn’t even notice your appetite waning, your mind preoccupied with this. With graduation nearing, the last thing you wanted was to feel left out—missing out on bonding with your friends was the last thing you wanted.

“What’s so special about kissing?? It barely means anything.” his face twists into confusion and disgust, as if really trying to grasp why you’re making such a big deal out of this. Caleb silent mouths ‘kissing?’ before shifting his gaze back to you—just in time for you to throw a pillow straight at his face. But the pillow stops mid-air in front of his face, before dropping onto his lap as he leans back against the chair at your study desk.

“All of my friends have already had their first kiss. That’s like the only thing they’re talking about these days.” Your lips push up into a pout as you grab one of the stuffed animals nearest to you and hug it, allowing your head to rest on the plushie.

“And you’re jealous?” You choke on your saliva, coughing and hacking as your wide eyes meet his—one eyebrow raised and eyes heavy with disbelief. Caleb would’ve never guessed that his girl would grow up to be worried over something as minuscule as a kiss, especially a kiss with someone else.

“I’m not jealous! I mean like… It’s not like… Okay, maybe just a little?” your hands flail wildly all over as you try to defend yourself, but to no avail. Feeling a blush creeping onto your cheeks, you take a quick glance and see that Caleb's gaze has darkened.

“Do you even know how to kiss?”

“Caleb… That’s a stupid question,” you murmur, already knowing the answer. Caleb knew that too. “Why would I be so worked up if I—”

With his lilac eyes fixed on you, he tilts his head slightly, then leans forward. “Would you like to know how?” His words cut through your sentence, leaving your lips parted in shock as you prop yourself back up, still clutching the plushie to your chest.

“What? What do you mean?” your brain struggles to process his words, unable to fully make sense of them as you frown and watch him get up. Caleb's tall figure towers over yours as he steps closer, leaning casually against the wall, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“I can teach you then, Pip-squeak.” His body lowers, closing the gap between you two as your grip on the plushie loosens. You try to back away, only to find your back pressing against the headboard just inches away.

“I… I mean… does this count as my first kiss?” His right hand reaches out, gently caressing your cheek before softly holding your chin, guiding it towards him.

“Hmm. Think of this as practice.” Caleb's grip on your chin is soft and gentle, completely opposite from his hazy, clouded gaze.

“Oh. Oh…kay then-” you draw the ‘o’ out but as soon as the confirmation leaves your mouth, his lips brush softly against yours. With your eyes closed shut and brows furrowed, he slowly moves, capturing your bottom lip between his own with a delicate pull.

Your body sinks further into the mattress, plush pillows pressing against your back. The bed groans under Caleb's weight as he closes the distance between you, one large palm placed on your hips while the other rests on the headboard. You kiss him back, or at least you try to. You move your lips in the same motion of waves as he does, but everything feels so awkward and off.

Feeling quite embarrassed, and out of air, your intended gently nudges on Caleb's tank top quickly turns into desperate grasps before the kiss finally breaks. You felt like you’ve just ran a marathon—body burning up and your lungs out of breath as you pant, trying to inhale as much oxygen as you could while avoiding eye contact. Though it was harder than you thought, because Caleb was now on top of you, his smirk haunting you as your cheeks flush.

“H-hey! Don’t look at me like that. I told you I don’t know how to kiss…” Your voice grows quieter each passing second as it somehow ends up as a tiny squeak. The sound of Caleb's laughter fills your ears as you turn back to him, his knee now finds itself between your legs as his face hovers just above yours.

“You’re overthinking this, Pip-squeak. Just follow what I do.” Though his words are reassuring, that husky tone in his voice throws you off as he quickly captures your lips into a kiss for the second time. Caleb's lips move against yours in a soft, sensual way as you try your best to mimic him. Remembering what he did to you, you trap the soft fullness of his lower lip and gently apply suction to it. His hums of approval catch you off guard as you feel a subtle rumble of his chest—Caleb's hand snaking down to the small of your back, before pulling your body flush against his.

As if a flip has just been switched, Caleb's lips move frantically against yours, biting your lower lips then soothing the sting with his tongue. Your lips part at the sudden pain, allowing his tongue to delve into your mouth. Soft whimpers escape from your throat as Caleb explores you, tracing every corner and leaving an odd-yet-pleasurable feeling as he does so. Surprised, and a little scared, you push his body off of yours as you cover your mouth in shock, the faint apple taste still lingering in your mouth.

“Your tongue… Do you still use that apple flavored toothpaste or something? Because that’s all I’m feeling? Tasting?” Caleb grabs your hands, lowering it as a light chuckle leaves his lips.

“You’re a natural, Pip-squeak.” Completely ignoring what you just said as his thumb caresses your cheek and he stares at your lips, as if capturing them in a kiss with his eyes, “But I think you need a little bit more practice. What do you say?”

“Oh….Um…” Your voice comes out as uncertain mumbles and murmurs while his face only inches closer to yours. That’s when you realize how Caleb's body is pressed against yours, radiating heat—how heat crept up his neck and spreaded to his ears. How his lilac eyes were still clouded with a hazy and clouded look.

“I think you need more practice.” Caleb already had a taste of you and now he can’t get enough. Your scent seeps into his senses, impossible to ignore—like an addict chasing his next fix. He took your first kiss and now he’s going to take your every first. He was going to make sure of it.

A/N: Ughhh, this was quite hard to write considering I’ve never kissed anyone before. BUT. I have read many writings about kissing so I hope that’ll make up for this. Stay delusional ya’lls! (*´∀`*) Dividers by @omi-resources

[arc-misadventures]

Shark Teeth

Jaune was sitting at a library desk, working on a join project with, Weiss. He was tired from all the work he was doing, so he let loose a tired yawn, when...

Jaune: Yawwwwwwww...ERK?!

Weiss: Whoaaa....

Jaune: Yiss... wha ar ehh doin?

Weiss: You have shark teeth...?

Jaune: Ehhs.

Weiss: Are you a shark faunas?

Jaune: Ehh's dat a hobrlem?

Weiss: No, no well... not at all... It's not a problem at all! D-Do you mind if I ask you some questions?

Jaune: Illa ya reoove yer annd irst?

Weiss: Ahh?! Soryysorrysorry!

Jaune: Ahh?! Okay, why did shove your hand into my mouth?

Weiss: Oh, I s-saw your teeth, and I was surprised that they were shark teeth.

Jaune: Are you upset by that?

Weiss: What, no not at all, why do you ask?

Jaune: You're not upset I'm a faunas?

Weiss: No, a little upset since you didn't tell me, any of us that you were a faunas.

Jaune: My teammates know. I just never brought it up to others. Never cared to tell other people since they'll only know I'm a faunas if they see my teeth.

Weiss: I see... Have you lost teeth like normal sharks do?

Jaune: And, have them grow back? Yep, that's has happened before. I'm regrowing some right now; See?

Weiss: Whoa... Wait? Those shark tooth necklaces you gave your teammates... Those were from your mouth?!

Jaune: Yep. I made a side hustle selling my teeth in jewelry online, they learned about it, and demanded some of my of my merchandise.

Weiss: ...

Weiss: C-Can I have one too...?

Jaune: A shark tooth necklace?

Weiss: Yes!

Jaune: Sure, I can do that for you. Do you want to see my merchandise?

Weiss: That's wonderful! I really like sharks! I have all sort of shark plushies at home, I even have a shark onesie too!

Jaune: Oh...? You like sharks, and have a shark onesie? That's adorable!

Weiss: It... It is...?

Jaune: Yeah, I can imagine you holding a shark plushie while curled up in bed. Sounds adorable. Makes you seem more... more human.

Weiss: More human? Well... I suppose that makes sense... I do have a standoffish air about me. Can I ask you one more question?

Jaune: Sure.

Weiss: Does... does blood effect you? Like, does it send you into a blood rage, or something?

Jaune: Oh, well... I've ingested animal blood before... I got into that blood frenzy before; Ripped that poor deer to bits... I've had human, and faunas blood before. Male blood is rather disgusting, made me throw up after ingesting it.

Weiss: And, female blood?

Jaune: Uhhh... Well... It's made me rather... energetic...

Weiss: Energetic?

Jaune: Yeah, energetic... let's just put it like that...

Weiss: Oh, so what would happen if I did this...?

Jaune: Did what?

Weiss then pushed her finger into, Jaune's mouth again, he was going to ask her what she was doing, but he felt her run her finger across his tooth, and then he tasted it.

Blood.

Weiss blood.

It tasted sweet, and delectable. But, as the taste of her blood flooded into his senses she removed her finger from his mouth. Jaune watched as a deep blush spread across her face as she looked on at him wanting.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: You're going to regret that, Weiss...

Weiss: H-How am I going to regret that, Jaune...?

Jaune: It depends...

Weiss: On what?

Jaune: How bad you're limp will be~!

Weiss: I don't know, but it will be worth it~!

Jaune: Well then, Weiss; It seems like there's blood in the water, and the sharks have tasted it... you ready for the hunt to begin, Weiss?

Weiss: Always~!

[capellla]

What is the reputation of your future spouse?

Choose whichever you are drawn to. This is a general reading and there is less options so this may not suit everyone. Take what resonates only.

Pick an Image

Paid Readings Feedbacks

1

This person is definitely a playboy and someone famous for his relationships. I definitely didn't expect to see this energy so clearly on the cards. Maybe meeting you will change him, maybe you're not attracting the right people right now. This person is someone who gets bored easily and sees people and his relationships with them as games. Additionally, this person is known for being rebellious and not listening to what people say, especially sincere suggestions. He does whatever he wants and no one can restrict him, even with good intentions. This person is also known for his wildness and lack of seriousness, he has a strange sense of humor. They have sharp eyes and draw you in, and it's hard not to be drawn or impressed by them. And those eyes are always on the people he attracted to and examining them. I can see why it's attractive. This person may also be famous for his relationship with his mother (for some of your future spouses). He may be working with her and may be notable for his relationship with her. This person has very advanced and big dreams. And he doesn't hesitate to follow them. This person may not like his father and may be doing his best not to be like him. This person is known for his luck and possessions.

2

This person is known for his financial acumen and the right choices he makes. This person is very well-read and knowledgeable. He may have completed more than one university. This person is also known for being distant from his family. Maybe he doesn't get along well with a sibling. This person is known for his serious relationships and taking his relationships very seriously. Additionally, this person may be an animal lover and whenever he sees a living creature on the street, he cannot help but love it. This person may have had difficulties in his youth and lived life a little more on the edge. Or, on the contrary, he may have spent his youth alone and questioning with a lacking perspective. This person respects the opposite sex. He has a broad perspective and is known for it. People also respect him, but some also pity him. (You shouldn't take people too seriously at the end.) This person is also known for a significant relationship, sex life, or empathy. (may vary for everyone.) This person will worship you and show you great respect (I had to write this message).

3

I don't know why, but Van Gogh comes to my mind. Maybe this person is known for his art, his diversity, his hard work, and yet he does not receive enough attention. He may have too many relationships. But this may be related to him not finding the right person or not believing that he will find her. Gorgeous, that's the word I hear and I see the sun card. This person is amazing. Very authentic and distinctive. He has a lot of potential and has a significant destiny. Many people may oppose this person or have difficulty understanding him. Because he is sincere and has a very different world. And it's a very special world. That world has deep oceans and bright stars that ordinary people cannot see or feel.

[eleclya]

My parents adopted a 5 year-old border collie whose entire life to that point had been lived in town with no access to countryside, never mind livestock animals (why would you get a collie and never take them out into the world?)

For the first few weeks my mum was just taking her to parks and the small local woods to give her a chance to settle in and get used to her new home without overwhelming her with too many experiences. And she was doing great! By week 3 she had near perfect recall, she never barked at anyone, she never pulled on her lead.

Then they slowly started venturing out to more interesting places to give her a chance to see more of the world. Still doing great, was walking with us absolutely fine, but then suddenly started pulling on her lead out of nowhere, which she'd never done before. We came around the corner to find... a field full of sheep.

This 5 year-old dog who has only ever met other dogs and maybe a few street cats instantly starts crouching down to the ground, crawling along to the maximum length of her lead, stalking the flock, and if any sheep was a bit too close to the fence she would yip and dart towards them until they scampered back to the rest of the flock. No one has taught her this! She just knew, her job was to make sure them sheeps stayed in line, and she knew how to make them do it. We've even had farmers ask us if she was a working dog bc she has such great herding instincts.

The first time we introduced her to my horse she absolutely lost the plot. It was like she wanted to herd him but he wouldn't go where she told him (bc I was holding his leadrope). Fortunately my horse is the most chill creature on the planet and literally couldn't give less of a fuck about this weird dog barking her head off at him, so it gave us a chance to let her have her big tantrum about it and then slowly come around to the idea that he's allowed to just exist near her. We went out with me riding him and my mum leading her, and since she was reasonably settled down and we know he's reliable as anything, we tried letting her off lead to see if she was happier with more freedom.

She INSTANTLY went back into herding mode. She must have run 5 times the distance that we walked, coz she spent the entire time literally running in big circles around him. Luckily since we were all together he was going in the direction she wanted him to go, so she got to happily carry on thinking she was "herding" him, while he mostly just ignore her. That turned into her happy place, where she got to spend all her vast amounts of energy doing her "job" during the day and then go home and sleep on the sofa.

I think it's so funny how we bred JOBS into dogs. I have two shih tzus and they were bred to be lap dogs. All they care about is looking cute and cuddling with people. Meanwhile my grandma has a border collie and that dog needs to feel so useful all the time, he acts like he will pass away if he doesn't have a job to do constantly

[igbylicious]

consumed: first taste (san x reader)

pairing: vampire San x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, angst, vampire au

summary: You were supposed to be nothing but a pleasing meal to sate San’s unruly appetites. He was never supposed to lose himself in you. (prequel to ‘consumed’ but no context necessary)

wc: 6.8k

general warnings: dubcon w/ vampiric persuasion, blood drinking, supernatural strength, alcohol consumption, pov switches, your blood is like catnip to vampires, San is obsessed with you 👍 (and almost kills you by accident 😬 )

smut warnings: rough sex, piv, marking, biting, pussy job, cum shot (stomach), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, somnophilia if you squint, nicknames for reader (darling, good girl, love)

a/n: reader uses she/her pronouns and wears a dress

a/n²: welp i told myself i’d ease back into tumblr real slow but the brain weasels demanded to post this fic as soon as it was finished oop. hope you enjoy ♡

The thing is, San has a soft spot for humans.

Wooyoung always teases him it’s because he grew up in the countryside; his parents kept chickens and goats, the farm two miles over had a herd of Hanwoo. He’s used to being surrounded by livestock; already had a soft spot for them when he still was human himself.

Maybe Wooyoung has a point. It never mattered to San that any of those animals might end up on his plate; that didn’t stop him from laughing in delight when the chickens tried to jump on his shoulders, or break out in a dimpled smile when the cows meandered over for headpats if he stopped by their field.

Now, San will admit; humans, for all their inferiority, are still more… entertaining than the livestock he grew up around. More complex. He’s still young enough to remember the fleeting depths of a mortal life, turbulent emotions packed tightly into a mere century, often less.

They have their enjoyable charms — and San can’t deny he enjoys humans the most when they enjoy him.

The other members of his coven never really understood; Hongjoong scolding San for playing too much with his food, increasing risk of exposure. Yunho winking knowingly at him, thinking they are the same because he does play with his food. Or Jongho’s bafflement, who sees feeding as little more than a practical necessity.

And Seonghwa? Seonghwa always smiles with love at his fledgling, the approving mother whose sons can do no wrong in his eyes. Humans are a curiosity to him, not quite worthy of San’s fondness but enough to permit him his eccentricities — as long as San does so responsibly.

San does. He picks his hunting grounds with care.

Nightclubs are among his favourite, the alcohol and drugs doing much of the work for him to take his fill without consequence; but if he wants something quieter, more personal, then a nice hotel bar fits his needs perfectly.

It has the same element of alcohol, while access to a private space is just an elevator ride away. And even if something does go awry, the disappearances of people on their travels is easier to cover up. (See, Hongjoong? There is no need to scold San like an eighty year old child. San knows what he’s doing.)

Besides, if someone comes to a hotel bar alone… they are always looking not to be. Who is San to deny a lonely soul the pleasure of his company, in exchange for a little sustenance?

Smooth jazz breezes through the luxurious interior of the grand hotel that San chose for tonight’s hunt.

He crosses over the elegant floor tiles to the bar with its marble countertop, the soft tinkling of glass and snatches of murmured conversation reaching his ears. If he focused, he could hear every word perfectly, from the man ordering his drinks at the bar, to the couple privately whispering on the other side of the room, to the gabble of ladies chatting in the corner.

San takes place at one of the art deco stools nearby a lonesome man, at a nice corner seat that allows him clear view of the venue.

Behind the bartender, who is fixing a gin and tonic, large gleaming windows expose the skyline of Seoul. The windows cover the full length of the room and reach all the way up to the high ceiling, allowing for a panoramic view of the city at night, alive with glittering, artificial lights that drowns out the stars — for human eyes, that is.

San can still see the faint constellation dotting the night sky, though even his supernatural vision can’t appreciate their full beauty in the bustling cities of humankind. Thankfully, these cities bring something of their own to appreciate.

He breathes in a deep whiff of air, catching notes of drinks and food, perfume and cologne, but all of those are swept away by the overpowering scent of human. His gaze wanders over the venue, eyeing the scattered people chatting or staring at their phones, then back to the other man seated at the bar.

The lonesome man looks appetising enough to meet San’s standards, even if he smells a little bland. Not unpleasant though, and just as San considers whether the sweet eye-candy weighs up against a so-so meal, his attention is noticed.

The man gives San a slow smile and, well… he has had far worse fare in the past.

Like his scent, the lonely man is a little bland in conversation, but San tries to find it in himself to look past the boredom. He’s hungry enough for it, anyway. His body craves sustenance, impatient for fresh blood. He’s not used to the way he’s been rationing, not wanting to get scolded by Hongjoong again. (That’s how their coven operates; Hongjoong keeps his brothers in line, so Seonghwa can be their forever indulgent mother in peace.)

While San bargains with himself to accept this easy meal, pretty but uninteresting, it happens.

A new presence enters the bar.

Tendrils of a luscious scent wraps around him, singing to his deepest, most primal instincts. San draws a shuddering breath, his chest glowing as his lungs fill up with the sudden rich fragrance that invades his senses. It overwhelms all else, his companion’s voice fading into a far distance.

A blurred figure moves in the reflection of the windows, and the world slows down to a crawl as San turns his head to see this alluring creature in the flesh. To see you.

You’re a vision as lovely as the sunrise, glowing with a brightness that blinds San to all but the sway of your hips as you walk past. His heart pounds at this feast for the eyes as well as his soul, wrapped up in an elegant cocktail dress, and his hunger rages at him to pounce when you glance back at him with a cheeky, inviting smile. Already his canines threaten to elongate, and San bites down a frustrated growl at his poor show of control, like he’s some teenage boy popping a boner at the mere sight of a little cleavage.

You make a point of arching your back as you sit down just a few seats away. San hears you order a whiskey, licking his lips at the thought of that smokey flavour dispersed through your fragrant blood.

San barely hears the man next to him anymore.

The boring handsome man tilts his head, perhaps sensing that he is about to lose his one-night stand. (What is his name again? Did San ever really remember it?) “So… I’ll be going up to my room …” he suggests, the implication obvious.

“Sure,” San hums, trying not to be unkind but he can barely think, starved and agitated; his world is turned upside down, like you and your blood are the ones consuming him from the inside. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Oh. I, ah, I thought… perhaps…” the man tries, dejectedly.

San tears himself away from you, giving his former target a mournful smile. “I can’t, not tonight,” he soothes, giving a light outward push of his pheromones. “But… if I happen to make it here tomorrow… and if I happen to see you…”

His ambiguous promise and coercive pheromones are enough to render the man pliant, his disappointment morphing into a hazy smile. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll see you,” he says, his speech a little slurred as though drunk, and he slinks off. Leaving San free to aim all his attention at you, the delectable meal that just fell straight into his lap.

…but your attention is not aimed solely at him, San is a little miffed to discover.

You’re slowly nursing your whiskey with your phone at your ear, staring off at the city skyline while you chat away at some inconsequential nobody, undeserving of the pleasure of your voice.

Sharp jealousy stabs through San’s heart like a wooden stake. Angry hunger coils deep in his stomach, to tear apart the worthless lowlife on the other end of the line for daring to keep you from him. To throw you onto the bar and claim you right here and now, to sink his fangs in your neck and his fingers in your tight cunt as he proves that whoever you’re talking to, they could never give you what he can, drowning you in sublime ecstasy as he takes his fill.

—Fuck, wait what’s wrong with him? San tightly squeezes his eyes shut, trying to reign in his hunger. He hasn’t been this volatile since he was a Newborn, with Mother Seonghwa’s blood pumping fresh through his veins. He feels dizzy, weird, this is—

“Okay, so when you texted ‘hot guy’, how hot are we talking? Spill.”

A distant voice pierces through San’s dark discorded thoughts. His eyes snap open, meeting yours.

“Hm… the weather has been pretty balmy. Can’t remember the last time we had a summer like this,” you muse to the person on the phone. You take another slow sip of your drink, licking your lips as you put the now-empty glass back down, never breaking your studious gaze away from San.

San’s strange dizziness evaporates in the blink of an eye, all his agitation relaxing into slow amusement now he knows the true motive of your phonecall. Sweetened indulgence fills him at your little game. Cute. Thinking you can toy with him like this, oblivious to his true nature; that his augmented hearing allows him to listen in on the full conversation, not your side alone.

“Girl, then what the hell are you doing, talking to me? He can’t rizz you up while you’re on the phone!”

You giggle, “Oh, I think this nice weather will stick around for a while, I’ll have all the time in the world to check out the local sights. Besides, what good ever came out of rushing anything?”

San scoffs lightly, shaking his head in amusement. He orders another drink from the bar — and sends one your way too. You blink in surprise when the bartender brings you a new whiskey, but then pause your conversation to tip your glass in thanks.

You make a good show of pretending to be unaffected by him, but San is fully tuned into you now. All other noises have faded away, allowing him to sense even the slightest speeding of your heartbeat. He did not think it possible, but your scent sweetens even further at his attention, enriched with whole new depths of tangy aroma as your arousal stirs.

“What was that?” the voice on the phone demands. “Mr Balmy Summer is looking at you, isn’t he? Babe, hang up the damn phone or I’ll do it for you. I swear, if your bratty ass ruins a sure thing just because you wanna—”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, a silver tinkling sound that dizzies San all over again. “Too bad you have have to go… Talk to you later, alright?”

You smile at San as you put down your phone. “Thanks for the drink,” you say, a lively gleam in your eyes. “I suppose I owe you now.”

San’s hunger flares anew at the suggestive purr in your voice, urging him to take all he is owed. No one is watching. No one would notice a chaste kiss on the neck, lips lingering, a subtle hand on your mouth to stifle your moans as fangs pierce flesh. You’d like it. He knows you would.

Temptation plucks at the weakened strings of San’s self-control — but he manages to overcome it, Hongjoong’s warning for discretion yanking him back.

Besides… you had a point. What good ever came out of rushing anything? A treat like you deserves to be enjoyed at his leisure.

“Nothing owed,” he says with a grin, the one he knows makes his dimples pop. Predictably, your eyes light up at the sight of them. “I like taking care of people in need.”

“Oh? I didn’t realise I was in need,” you smile slowly, tilting your head to rest in the palm of your hand, elbow on the marble countertop. Your neck is on full display, leaving San with no choice but to contemplate the delight of your exposed jugular.

San licks his lips, trying to remember why he didn’t want to rush. “Yeah, I think you are,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. “Of a little attention, maybe.”

“‘Maybe’? So you’re not sure then?” you tease, but your heartbeat jolts, heat searing through your veins. “I didn’t take you as someone with a lack of confidence.”

San takes his drink and stands up, unhurried as he walks over and sits down right next to you. His knee now brushes against yours. He wonders if you realise you’ve leaned in closer.

“Confidence is not an issue,” San hums, darkened eyes tracing the motion of you raising your glass to your lips. “I just like to get to know people a little more before making too many assumptions.” “I’d like to know you more,” he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to.

“You don’t make too many assumptions?” you ask, coyly brushing your foot against San’s leg. Your heart pounds. “Then what do you assume?”

San’s intense gaze is heated as he looks you over, his nod slow but decisive as he comes to his conclusion. “That you deserve someone who’ll take good care of you tonight.”

“Hm,” you hum, lazily circling your fingertip over the rim of your emptied glass. “That’s a fair assumption.”

San’s smile widens with a flash of teeth. He recognises an invitation when he hears one. “I could take care of you. Could treat you real good. Give you everything you deserve.”

There’s the tiniest hitch in your breath when his hand rests on your knee.

Your head spins from just a light touch. Fuck, this guy wasn’t kidding about his confidence. His dark eyes have you pinned, his overwhelming aura threatening to swallow you up whole. “Everything…” You savour the way the word tastes on your tongue. “Bold. You think you have what it takes?”

Your handsome stranger doesn’t answer, gently rubbing his hand over your leg instead while the other clasps your chin. Your breath hitches a little sharper as he leans in for a kiss, slow but assured you will accept him.

Anticipation buzzes under your skin, all else fading from existence as his lips slot over yours perfectly; warm and soft, pressing into you with a firm, languid intensity that has you melting into him. You taste the liquor on his breath, inhale the dizzying scent of his cologne, smokey vanilla along with something you can’t quite identify, alluring and irresistible, a strange fuzziness coating your mind. More drunk on him than you could ever be on the alcohol. The kiss is far too brief but he lingers close, gently nudging his nose against yours.

“What do you think?” he murmurs, a light rasp in his voice that sparks through you, igniting a pulse of heat between your thighs. “Want to give me a try?”

You shudder, struggling to keep up your facade of nonchalance. You had your fun leading this stranger on a playful chase, but he is right behind you now, breathing down your neck, his claws catching on your heels. You’re struck by the distinct feeling that he’s been the one playing with you all along; merely entertaining your need for a chase, a sleek panther who knows he’s leading his prey into an inescapable trap. He could have gone for the kill at any time.

To think, you hadn’t even meant to pick up a one night stand. You were just looking for a fun flirtation to chase off the boredom, maybe pick up a few drinks free of charge. Get a little confidence boost before your work conference kicks off tomorrow.

A stolen kiss at most, you’d told yourself — but your handsome, perfect stranger has stolen his kiss, and you’re aching for more of his thievery.

“…I’m willing to give you a chance to prove it,” you say, a poor final attempt at pretending to be in control.

He knows it too, a cocky curve to his smile that has no right to be so attractive. Dammit, you don’t even know this guy’s name. And so you ask, shivering as he murmurs “San. Call me San,” in your ear. His eyes burn hotly when you give your own name in turn.

“So, San… do you want to get out of here?”

His grin widens, and you can’t help but feel like a mouse who has pried open the cat’s maw, crawling between rows of sharpened teeth of their own free will. Offering yourself up to be devoured whole.

San does not hesitate for even a second.

Your mouth is claimed in another kiss, rougher than before, and that fuzzy feeling returns as his odd cologne washes over you again, flooding your brain. Like a fog rolling over your consciousness, the world disappears in a blur. All you know is your mysterious stranger, San. San. You cling tightly onto his wide shoulders, deepening the kiss with a needy moan.

The wet heat of his lips is scorching, and you whimper when he breaks away, his giggle dizzying. “Fuck, maybe I overdid it a little,” he laughs huskily, his words as confusing as his insistence to pry your lips off the freckled expanse of his neck. “Sorry about that, darling. Come, let’s find some privacy first.”

“San…” you whine, and he groans at the sound.

His name sounds perfect from your pretty lips, the crotch of his pants uncomfortably tight already. You’re so beautifully responsive, grasping at him with needy fingers after barely a nudge of his pheromones; like this chance meeting was meant to be, you were meant to be found by him. Fuck, you smell so good. You didn’t need the extra push to be compelled, he knows that — but San just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t afford any risk to have you slip through his grasp. He has to taste you.

Still, he eases back on his preternatural influence. Already he notes the bartender’s raised eyebrow; there is no need to draw more attention as he guides you to the hotel’s wide hall and into the elevator.

You stumble only once on the way there, and again when San crowds you into the cabin before the door even fully opens. You fall into him with a broken moan and shakily press the button for your floor. He shudders at how your skin burns up under his touch, radiating heady arousal in deep waves, just for him, all for him.

He roughly turns you around, your hands pressed against the mirrored elevator wall as his arms lock around your waist. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck with a growl, taking a deep inhale of your pure scent, no longer blemished by food and drinks and other, inferior humans.

You’re something special, that much is undeniable by now. More than just a quick meal — though that won’t stop San from taking his fill. No, it’d be a crime against his morals not to feed from you, like leaving an exquisite culinary dinner untouched to be wasted and thrown out in the garbage.

He laps at your pulse point, whining impatiently as he grinds against your backside. Soon. Soon he will familiarise himself with every fragrant note of your blood, a sure feast for his discerning palate.

"W-wait,” you suddenly whimper, pushing at his hands. “Stop, I—”

Your eyes lock with his in the mirror, but San already knows what’s wrong. Bitter tints of confusion and doubt taint your sweet aroma; his feathery touch of pheromones has worn off, leaving your emotional state vulnerable to crash down. A budding anxiety is etched into your face as the ecstasy starts to fall away, trying to comprehend what is happening to you — but you do understand one crucial thing;

A predator has his lips pressed right against your jugular.

“I— I think I left my phone downstairs,” you stammer, uselessly squirming against your hunter’s grip. “I have to go back.”

San growls into your neck, yanking you closer. He’s transfixed on your face in the mirror, how you whine at the sudden firm pressure of his fingers on your clothed slit, bunching up your dress. How you shudder and relax in his hold as he flares his scent again, generously this time. Enveloping you with him until all doubt is washed away, leaving only the certainty you are right where you belong.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, rubbing circles into the growing dampness of your panties. “I’ll take real good care of you tonight. You want to be taken care of, don’t you?”

You whimper, instinctively arching into his hand. “Y-yeah.”

“Are you sure you need to go back?” San purrs, his tongue darting out to tease against your frantic pulse.

Your eyes roll back with a decadent moan when San’s fingers push past your underwear, finding slick arousal. “…I… mgh, ah ahh… N-no, need to stay, stay… San…”

He groans at the stuttered plea of his name, desperate with want. “Good, such a good girl,” he rasps, pulling his hand away from your leaking cunt. You whine in complaint and it’s not easy to deny you pleasure, but San needs something of you on his tongue before his self-control shatters apart.

He sucks off his glistening fingers with an indulgent moan; your slick is not what he truly seeks, but it’s enough to tide him over.

The elevator opens with a soft ‘ping’, and the way to your hotel room is a messy scramble, your lips unwilling to part from San’s heated skin. So deeply entangled that you almost trip over one another, until San puts his preternatural strength to its best use and hoists you up with ease. Instinctively you curl around him, burrowing your face into his shoulder as your legs lock around his narrow waist. He doesn’t even know if he and you were seen, too distracted by more important things;

Things like your gasp when San shoves you against the door the instant he’s made it inside your room. Or the way his fingers push into your soft thighs, your body pliant to his touch. You cling onto him with an eager moan as he rolls his hips into you, dragging his achingly hard cock against your soiled panties.

Your head rolls back against the door, and everything inside San sharpens at the sight of your vulnerable neck. A wild snarl lacerates across his face, his vision narrowing with jagged intent.

“S-San, please—”

Bright and searing, your desperate voice cuts through San’s blind hunger. He presses his forehead into your shoulder with a whine, sinking his teeth into his own bottom lip to drive off his frenzy for just a little longer. Not yet. He promised he’d take care of you and fuck, he will do just so. He will give you everything you want, all of him, anything to repay your unvolunteered generosity of sustaining his life.

With a few urgent, long strides, San carries you over to the hotel bed, falling into the soft sheets of Egyptian cotton together.

The breath is knocked out of your chest with a sharp moan as San descends on you, swallowing all your noises with his hungry mouth, famished for you. He forces your thighs apart with his knee, groaning in satisfaction when you spread yourself open for him willingly. San vaguely hears fabric rip as he pulls at your dress and his own clothes, but he pays it no mind, too caught up in the slide of skin against skin, the arch of your spine pressing your chests together, the wet heat that slicks up his fingers as he rubs between your lower lips. You cry out when he finds your clit with every stroke.

Fuck, the room is hot. San feels dizzy, his body like a furnace, endlessly burning with your cries to fuel him. “What do you want, darling?” he rasps between kisses. Two of his thick fingers press inside you, curling in search of the spot that twists your face into wretched pleasure. “How do you want me? Tell me, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all.”

San doesn’t expect you to answer, the way you’re gasping and trembling underneath him, already overwhelmed by this small taste of his boundless gratitude. No, he expects to take matters in his own hands, to seek out your pleasure points by chasing the rich arousal in your scent — but then your hand suddenly presses against his chest, and San freezes as you try to push him off.

Frustration itches at him like an ache. Why? Why would you push him away? San’s brow knits with agitated hurt, trying to understand why you’d refuse him now. Isn’t he giving you exactly what you desire, feeding into your cravings so he can sate his?

You whine when San doesn’t budge. “Please, wanna—” you strain, uselessly trying to move him, “—on top, please—”

Oh.

You grasp at San’s chest, your plea jolting through him; all irritation and distress is pushed aside at the realisation he misunderstood you for the second time tonight. San melts into a pleased, languid smile, now knowing better than to think you would ever deny him — so why would he deny you? He pulls you along as he lays on his back, leaving you to straddle him just as you want.

“Of course, of course you can, my darling,” he coos, his eager fingers creating indents in your sides as he firmly rocks you into him. “That’s it, take me,” he rasps as his flushed cock pushes at your entrance, “take whatever you fucking want. It’s all for you, anything for a sweet, perfect thing like you, f-fuck—”

His voice breaks into a low groan as you sink down on him, your plush cunt swallowing him up. You’re still so tight — but even your body seems to understand that you’re meant for him, leaking around his aching cock as your snug walls part for him, inch by delicious inch.

You bow over with a whimper when you bottom out, arms shaky as your hands lean on his chest to steady yourself. The roll of your hips starts slow, testingly, your eyes fluttering shut like you’re trying to memorise the feeling of him, every vein rubbing inside your twitching cunt.

San lets out a pained groan from the effort to allow you this moment. His fingers dig harder into the soft meat of your waist, leaving deep crescents. Hunger roils through him, growling at him to try and break the skin under his nails, lick your blood off his fingers. It’d be so easy to tear into a vulnerable human like you…

The animalistic urge claws at San’s ribcage, rattling to break free. He burns with the effort to hold it off, gritting his teeth, a hint of fangs prodding at his bottom lip.

You gasp at the force of his grip on your waist, eyes snapping open. But there is no fear as you clasp your hand over San’s, all wiped away by the hazy veil he’s drawn over your mind. No, San’s desperation only brings a dazed smile to your face, fingers squeezing around his hand encouragingly — blissfully unaware of the violent struggle behind his heated gaze.

San can’t tear his eyes away from your smile; your innocent delight at his relieved whine when the roll of your hips finally picks up.

“Oh you’re needy, aren’t you?” you tease, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, and you giggle when he instinctively snaps at your fingers, trying to catch skin between his teeth.

You’re right, of course. San is needy. For you, more of you, more than the warmth of your sweet cunt leaking around his cock, more than your pitched breaths as pleasure builds. Your head falls back when you find an angle, shameless moans spilling past your pretty lips.

Unlike San, no inhibitions hold you back; riding him with mindless intent, sweat beading on your skin as you bounce in his lap, lost in the pleasure of him.

San aches from it, down to his core, shaken by the perfect equilibrium of your desperation matching his, needing him as much as he needs you. Your eyes squeeze shut, face contorting with pleasure like the way he fills you up goes beyond the physical, nourishing an empty aching cavity inside your soul.

And for one quiet moment… San’s violent hunger is appeased.

It’s the eye of the storm as he looks up at you in your blissful state. Time dilates and stretches to a slow crawl, all sound dampened into a dreamlike hush until he can hear only two things; your ragged breaths, echoing in his head like soft whispers, and the thumping of your heart, rapid and slow all at once.

He sits up to wrap his arms around you, unable to bear the distance between his mouth and your body.

You whine at the strength of his grip, forced into a shallow rut. “Please,” you gasp when he noses at your neck to seek out your pulse again. “Please.”

“Sweet, smells so sweet…” San groans, clutching tightly onto your wriggling body. Soft lips and sharp teeth tend to your delicate skin. Should he here…? Now…? Your heartbeat pounds faster, faster, the drum of it sending a sharp rush through him. His grip tightens, like you might slip from his grasp like a dream. Eagerly he suckles at the tang of your sweat, his canines scraping over heated flesh — until your rich scent is invaded by a sour note, and a whimper of pain cuts through his ravenous haze.

Slowly, he comes back to himself, just enough to realise you’re barely able to breathe, smothered bruisingly against his chest.

He feels his nails digging into your skin, your weak attempts to create enough space for your lungs to pull in air. It takes a long, strenuous moment before San can convince himself to relax his hold, but your eyes tear up, your breaths wheezy, and sharp lashes of guilt break you free.

“Shh, it’s okay, darling, it’s okay,” San murmurs soothingly, apologetically gathering you in his arms again; gentle this time. He encourages you to tuck your head under his chin, his hand stroking your sweaty hair. “It’ll be better now, I know just the right spot for a tasty thing like you.”

You make a faint, confused noise at his phrasing — but it turns into a startled yelp when San tosses you onto your back.

Firm hands knead your thighs, pushing your knees up against your chest as he spreads them. San groans as his cock slides through your glistening folds, sucking him in every time he rubs over your entrance. He lets out a pleased hiss when you grab at his ass, trying to pull him even closer, to split you apart on his cock.

You whine in frustration when he resists. “Please, inside, inside me, please,” you sob, begging deliriously for him; but this is your one desire he’s too selfish to fulfil.

Still, San does not leave you wanting. Your mouth falls open as he ruts against your needy cunt, whimpering as the underside of his slick cock catches your clit. San bucks harder into you; he does not intend to last. Sweat drops off his face onto your trembling body, arching up as you desperately claw at him — until all your whimpered moans are strangled in your airways, your cunt clenching around nothing as you convulse underneath him. San’s eyes roll back with a snarl at the overwhelming spike of arousal in your scent, his hips stuttering as he finds his release together with you, spilling hotly over your stomach.

He gives you no time to catch your breath; San yanks your hips up and dives down to plunge his tongue in your weeping hole. Revelling in the taste of you, purely you, unsullied by his seed. He laps at your fresh slick as your cunt flutters around his ceaseless tongue, drinking in your hitched cries.

Half-lifted off the bed, there’s nothing you can do but succumb to San’s feast — but you don’t resist even when he lowers you back down, instead freely allowing him to devour you. Your fingers tangle through his hair, desperate to keep him right where he is, but again San is forced to disregard your wishes.

He groans as he sucks a messy wet patch into the soft meat of your thigh, inhaling deeply. Here, the blood just underneath vulnerable skin sings out to him, right here.

San catches your arousal on his fingers, then smears it generously over his chosen spot. It’s time.

His thumb rubs at your clit, almost absent-mindedly while he uses his other hand to easily pin down your waist. “P-please, please,” you mewl, uselessly bucking against his hold.

“Do you want it, darling?” San rasps, his pupils completely dilated as he looks up at you, at the beautiful wreck he’s turned you into.

Your teary eyes cause a twitch in his cock, your hair a mess, lips puffy from his earlier kisses. You sob at his question, furiously nodding your head. “I do, I do.”

San hums blissfully at your consent, even if given in ignorance of what that truly means. Finally, his fangs sink into your thigh—

—and releases with a startled growl when your blood hits his tongue.

With shaking eyes, he stares at the crimson rivulet trickling down your marred thigh. He knew you’d taste sweet, he knew, but… but…

The last ragged thread of San’s self-control snaps. You cry out as his fangs plunge back into you with a feral groan, far greedier than he ever intended to be. Your scent had called San like a beacon, but nothing prepared him for the divinity pouring forth from your broken skin.

He disappears into his hunger, in the way you convulse against him with pleasure and pain. Too deep under San’s control to fully grasp what’s happening to you.

With visceral clarity, San remembers the first time he ever fed on a human being. Arteries torn apart by his fangs, fresh blood bursting in his mouth. He’d never tasted anything like it, pure vitality in liquid form — but he never thought of blood as more than food before now. Never thought of it as beautiful.

Your moans grow weaker as San takes and takes from you, though he is always sure to give too, his thumb still on your swollen clit, coaxing you towards your peak.

San has always prided himself on his self-control, feeding with discipline; knowing when he’s had enough and when to release his prey back into the world. He tries to treat you with that same discipline, he really is, but there is no taking his lips off of your skin, not when you whimper and shake underneath him, feeding him your cresting pleasure as if it is his own.

Your steady climb pulses through your blood, thrumming vibrantly, until you fall apart with one last burst of energy. He whines at your gasped cries of his name, jolting against his steel hold on your waist, your essence flooding with a rich heat that warms him from the inside, saturating his own inferior blood with your perfection.

Finally San manages to tear himself away from the fresh wound on your thigh, contenting himself with sucking your slick off his fingers instead. He groans at the mingling of tastes. His stomach is full, his body sated, and yet San still finds himself hungry.

He should stop. His tongue darts out to lap at the bite mark. He has to stop. His red-smeared lips suck at the dried blood that dribbled down earlier. Why can’t he stop—?

A stubborn grogginess clings to your consciousness, struggling against your body’s attempt to wake. There’s a nagging headache that filters through the fog, a faint pain in your chest, and a more immediate throbbing on your thigh. Your hands feel cold, but there’s a welcoming warmth pressed against your back, a solid presence spooning you. Th-the guy from last night? Memories only come back to you in pieces, strange and blurry. Dammit, why is it so hard to think?

Ragged breaths fall on your ear, joined by a soft whimper when you feel a hard pressure against your ass. Clumsy fingers grasp at your thigh, and you wince as they dig into that painful mark to lift your leg, opening you up.

A thought of alarm tries to form in your head, that something isn’t right, but the thought is snuffed out by a whiff of your handsome stranger’s cologne. You’re dizzy, too weak to question the soothing warmth that seeps through your mind and body.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” the man whimpers between nips at your neck. San, your shattered memory faintly remembers. “I don’t usually feed twice, but— but fuck, you— you’re—”

“F-feed?” you gasp, trying to understand what he’s saying. His canines are strangely sharp as they scrape over your skin. Like they’re…

The thought flees away from you as he rocks his hips, his thick cock nestled between your sensitive, fluttering walls. You moan lowly, struggling to catch your breath even at the light stimulation. Everything feels so heavy, so sluggish, you can’t move—

“I’m sorry.” San tenderly strokes your arm. “Sorry sorry sorry—” babbling pleas until he silences himself by plunging those sharp canines in your neck.

There should be pain, some distant part of you realises. It should hurt, to have him break through skin and flesh, sucking at the wound. There’s a numb ache, but it comes from far away, just like the sparks of pleasure of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot with every upstroke. You feel fuzzy and safe, like you are exactly where you belong. Something about that doesn’t make sense, but you can’t question it.

San’s moans raise goosebumps on your skin, muffled whines as he shudders and spills inside you. He stays there, but his teeth finally detach from your neck, replaced by gentle kisses.

“S-Sannie…” you sigh out as blackness drifts into your vision.

His voice is the last thing you register before consciousness fades again, softly murmuring, “So sweet… Fed me so well, my love…”

You pass out with a smile.

San snaps out of his euphoria when you go limp in his arms, his own heart racing as yours grows fainter, slowing down until he can barely sense your weak pulse. Panic grabs at his throat as your pulse continues to fade, along with your shallow breaths.

“N-no, wait,” he stutters, sitting upright and taking your feeble body with him, clutched tightly against his chest. “Don’t— no—”

Cold dread trickles down his spine, freezing his newly imbued blood. Mindless, San presses frantic kisses against the wound on your neck, like he can return all he drank from you. Too much, he took too much. He can’t hear your heart anymore over the hammering of his own, guilt rippling through him with nauseating waves. He hasn’t killed any prey in decades, and you are so so much more than mere prey. Fuck.

“Don’t go, don’t go, I’ll do better,” he chokes, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I’ll take care of you, I promise, promise. J-just don’t go. I’ll keep you safe, please don’t go.”

San nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder with a soft whine, his eyes prickling. He fucked up. He fucked up. Tonight, the most perfect creature fell straight in his lap and he instantly lost you again to his own brutal impulses.

His arms tighten around you, willing you back to him — and some part of you must have listened, a weak moan escaping past your lips.

San’s heart soars as you blink at him with bleary eyes, unfocused and confused. You try to move, but San shakes his head, keeping you in place. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures, squeezing his arms. “You’re back, you’re okay.”

He breaths heavily, but slowly calms as he hears your heartbeat again. Weak, but hanging on.

San has always prided himself on his self-control. On his ability to feed with discipline. To know when he needs to release his prey back into the world. That’s the way of things, how it has always been.

He can’t. He can’t let go of you, ever again.

You stare up at San with shaky eyes, but there is no fear in them, no anguish over your close brush with death; still safely enveloped in the comforting influence of San’s pheromones. How could he ever take that safety away from you? No, no it’s better you stay by his side. You need to stay.

“I’ll do better,” San promises, gently kissing your temple. “You’re safe, you’re safe now. I’ll take real good care of you, okay? You’re right where you belong. Always.”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Whistleblower

Weapon X! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: This is really different from what I usually write but I had this idea and I wanted to get it out there. I MAY make a smutty alt of this lol...

Plot: You're a doctor recruited to work at the research base Lake Alkali, where you eventually become the whistleblower on the immoral experiments used on mutants held inside, one particular man being the reason you finally spilled the secrets....

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, mentions of experiments, descriptions that could be a lil disturbing? reader get attacked (not by Logan teehee), reader is a mutant but no powers mentioned, reader feels bad for Logan lol, more of a plot based fic with some future romance implied?

Word Count: 4k+!

Fingers tapped rhythmically against a stack of papers. Jazz played in the background. A hot cup of tea, slowly cooling off as it becomes forgotten. 

You were sitting in your shabby little broom closet of an office. A ceiling light flickers above you. Filing cabinets stuffed full of documents and manilla folders lined the walls. A laptop sat on your desk, open to an email that you have typed out, attached to the email was files, and pictures.

Lots of pictures.

You looked up, at a shitty motivational picture of a person looking at a landscape of a mountain, and a quote plastered in bold text at the bottom, 

“AN IDEA WITHOUT ACTION IS NOTHING”

You had an idea. 

Whether you were brave enough to take action is the issue.

You’re a doctor. A scientist. Majored in medicine, and went back to grad school for biology, and even dabbled in some psychology. Your name was… controversial. Your studies and research revolved around mutants, and supported mutants. You have been torn down by other scientists, doctors, and even colleagues for your work. You didn’t care.

 A few years later your work got noticed by some higher-up government officials.  Another scientist by the name of William Stryker recruited you into his mission. A top secret base located at the beautiful and scenic lake Alkali. You were told that you would be helping the future of mutants and humans alike.

That was a fucking lie.

Initially, you didn’t know anything. You were moved onto the base, given your own personal quarters, something with a bedroom and bathroom and a space big enough to be a living area. You were given small amounts of clearance. You had weekends off. It was a 1 year contract.

 Your job at first was to check the physicals and health statuses of soldiers, give out flu shots, and occasionally run a physical on a “volunteer” for the experiment programs they ran in the base, experiments you didn’t have clearance on. You didn’t think anything of it at first, everything you saw seemed clean, and people were treated with respect. Time went on and suppose they began to trust your persons, so you moved up the ladder and took part in studies that were more your style. That’s when you began to feel like something was wrong.

Some of the research didn’t feel…ethical. It felt that the mutants were being treated like..animals. They talked about them like animals. At face level, the people who came in were volunteers- participating in studies in the name of science, sometimes a monetary reward was offered. Then you would notice that said volunteers never officially left. 

It was when you did some snooping around that you discovered some horrific truths. You found files, pictures, classified things that weren’t meant for your eyes. You were caught- of course you were caught. This was a top secret government research base. There were eyes everywhere. 

You were taken to Stryker, who gave you a firm lecture- as if he was scolding a child. He then asked you if you were still wanting to stay a part of the research team. He had noticed your wonderful work ethic, and your bright mind. Thought you’d do great to help out. He also implied your inevitable murder if you were to say no.

You said yes.

Not because of the bullshit excuse of “This is for the best of humanity and mutant-kind”. To perform immoral and cruel experiments on mutants in the name of discovery and America. Fuck that. You were smart, you had ambition. You also had empathy and a moral compass, unlike these arrogant pricks. 

They didn’t know you were a mutant too- at least, they never implied they did. Not that it matters. You were raised to be accepting of everyone, to treat people with kindness, to lend a hand. That’s why you became a doctor. You were half tempted to use your powers to create a rebellion, take the place out. There were too many people though, all prepared, they had weapons and tools meant for controlling mutants and subduing them. It would be over before it started. You weren’t exactly a fighter, even though your powers were strong, but you were clever.

You reread the email you have written out for the millionth time. You used a fake email. You had multiple VPNs and several other spyware you installed in an attempt to hide where the email came from. Honestly, though, it probably wouldn’t matter. They’ll know it’s you the second you hit send. They’ll come in, knock you out, and use you for their sick experiments too. 

Perhaps though, if this email goes to the person you’re hoping it does. Maybe it won’t take so long. It won’t be so bad.

You agreed to stay for a reason. For information. For evidence. You had to be careful of your reactions, of your words. They watched your every move. Looking for signs of any infractions against them. It took time but you earned the trust of the staff and the mutants. 

You were kind, you provided comfort to them. You whispered promises that you will help them and that they will be free. All the while you took discreet photos and made copies of files and reports secretly. You’ve been storing them in the vent next to you; you made a secret compartment inside so that when the head of security comes in for their monthly inspections they never find anything. Chief Hanlon. That guy is a huge dick. 

You thought back to the faces you’ve come to know. People with tortured eyes and permanent scars. It tugged at your heart. You felt guilty, for ever taking part in something like this, for ever agreeing to come to this hellish place.

The next face you think of is what pushes you to hit send. 

“Weapon X-” 

Dr. Stryker was walking you down a long, poorly lit, concrete corridor, guarded by men in military gear, holding assault rifles- all of them eyeing you suspiciously. Stryker was walking with a cocky smile and a swagger. It was 2 weeks ago, before you had been pushed to finally compile your evidence and find someone who could help you.

“My biggest achievement in my career.” He continues. You both stopped at the end of the corridor, and he punched a code into the keypad. The metal doors open, and you step into a large room. Surrounded by large machinery, scientists, and guarded personnel, sat a huge glass tube, filled with some kind of substance, and a man who sat suspended inside it. He motioned to the tube, almost like he was presenting it grandly to you. “My pride and joy.” 

It made you sick to your stomach at the sight. He was suspended in the tube- floating in the clear liquid-like substance. He had no clothing on, and you could make out the tense muscles of his body. Despite his burly appearance, he looked unhealthy- his skin was pale, his hair grown out, wild and untamed, from his head, down to his chin, his beard scruffy and long as well. Even his stomach seemed sunken in. 

Are they even feeding him?

 The metal wires that were attached to his skin went in various places, his arms, his chest, his legs, and his head. The Holter monitor at the bottom that sat in front of you reads his heart rate; It was faster than it should be for an average person. You made out dog tags around his neck- the only article of clothing on him. There was a large oxygen mask, covering his nose and mouth. 

His eyes were open- and staring at you. 

“A soldier I met in Vietnam. He’s a mutant- obviously, claw-like appendages that protrude from his fist.” Stryker explains. “He has an extraordinary ability to heal. He can recover from anything- bullets, stabbings, broken bones. He has heightened senses, incredible strength, and a fierce rage, making him the strongest weapon in the world.” He says proudly. “A few years ago, I convinced him to partake in an experiment that bound adamantium metal to his bones. He’s indestructible.” 

You swallowed, not taking your eyes off of him. This poor man, what must he feel? How much pain is he in?

“The machine keeps his body supported and alive, but the substance- something I invented- keeps him frozen in place, which is why the machine is needed. He wouldn’t be able to breathe, no heartbeat or anything. He’s come back from death plenty of times, we’ve researched that- but we rather not risk fully killing him, y’know?” Stryker laughs. You grimaced at him, your eyes turning to look at the man, examining his body - that’s when you saw the twitch of his pinky. 

Didn’t Stryker say he was frozen in place?

“What’s his name?”

“Name?” Stryker says, a bit surprised at your question. “Logan.” 

You were glad to have a name for the face. Calling him Weapon X, felt nothing but wrong.

“What is his…purpose?” You ask, tearing your eyes away, not mentioning the twitch. You knew what Stryker would say. 

“We use him to carry out missions that cannot be failed,” Stryker says. “He’s nearly impossible to control, hence why we keep him in this- and when we send him out, he’s equipped with a helmet that helps us keep track of his whereabouts and sends signals to tell him what to do.”

“Mind control?” You asked. You use him to kill people.

“Kinda.” He says, turning to the computer and typing in a few things. “Your job here will be just to monitor his vitals. We noticed spikes in heart rates and blood pressure lately. Rare moments, but something we’d like to keep an eye on. If it gets worse, you’ll be tasked to come up with a solution. He’s too valuable to lose.” 

You nodded. You could still feel Logan staring at you. 

After Stryker finished explaining everything, you were sent back to your day. Logan's face lingered in your head. The way his eyes stared at you. What was he thinking?

It was that night you began looking for help. Your mind would wrack through people you have met through your years when you remembered someone- someone from when you were in college. A kind man, who approached you regarding your paper of mutant psychology. A paper you wrote in research regarding how mutant lifestyles can be affected by their powers. It was widely controversial, considering mutants weren’t- and still aren’t- quite accepted in your society. Your peers and professors had tried to sway you from writing it, but you refused, not caring about the consequences. Mutants were forever treated as evil people, the news constantly reported the “bad” mutants. Nevermind the fact that there were still plenty out there, living normal lives. 

The man wanted to know more about you, your paper, and what you wanted to do after college. He confided in you that he had a school for mutants and invited you to come see it. At the time, you were too busy- but you always kept his card. You didn’t know how or why- but something about him told you that maybe he could help. You prayed to whatever God was out there, that this man, 

Charles Xavier

Could help you, Logan, and the others who were trapped here. 

After that, you spent the next week discreetly putting together everything to send to Charles. Anxiety wracked your head. What if he can’t help, what if he doesn’t help? Maybe he confided in his secret school of mutants, but what if he was just like Stryker and it was all a sham? 

You were doing your usual responsibilities when you went to check on Logan. It was two weeks ago today that you were in charge of monitoring his health. Your intuition told you that his spiked heart rates, the twitch of his pinky, and the way his eyes watched your movements- even though he shouldn’t be able to move at all, were not a coincidence or a sign of a failing health state. 

It was just you and a few guards that were stationed at the door.  You were observing the latest changes over the last 24 hours. The two guards were silent, and then one of them started talking, bringing up some workplace gossip.

“Hey, y’know, me and Miranda, we got a date Saturday night.” 

“Shit, she said yes to your dumbass?” 

“Man fuck you.” 

They were talking, and distracted. You turned to scowl at them, which they didn’t notice, both facing each other wrapped up in their own conversation. You looked back at the monitor, tapping your fingers on the table when you noticed movement. Your eyes glanced upwards, and you noticed the twitch of his toe. You looked farther up and his eyes were staring down at you. 

You looked back at the guards. Hesitating before silently standing up and moving closer to the tube. Your hand went up to the glass and gently pressed. You looked back at the guards once more, still gossiping and distracted. You looked up at Logan. Staring right into his eyes, and you mouthed to him, 

“I’ll get you out of here”

You’re not even sure if he would have understood you, if he could lipread. The others say his mind was too far gone to understand what’s going on around him, and the helmet is what gives him directions. They called him an animal.

“He’s a man. Not an animal.” You corrected them. They simply stared at you. You could feel their silent judgments. Has everyone lost their humanity here? How could you look at him and not see a person?

The way his eyes moved- staring at you, you felt there was something there, someone there. He was thinking. He was observing. You wanted him to know you were on his side. 

You had no other choice at this point. You were at your wit's end. Who cares about your safety, your own life if you get caught. These people deserved better. 

Now back in your office, you sent the email. Hopefully, Charles is good about checking his email- that he knew what to do, or you and everyone else here is fucked. You went to bed that night, unable to sleep, Logan’s eyes tearing through your mind. 

You walk on eggshells for three days, waiting for the moment someone confronts you, for them to break into your room and stick a bag over your head and throw you into a jail cell where you get to await whatever Stryker thinks you’ll be good for. 

You were starting to wonder if anything was going to happen, while you were sitting at your desk once again in your little office. Filling out various medical files- one on a woman who had snow-like powers. Stryker had ideas to use her against hot and dry environments, turn them frigid cold, in order to incapacitate enemies who were prepared for hot weather. At one point you believed this research wasn’t about warfare, or violence. You thought you would be helping mutants, understanding what made you, you. How you managed to let the wool go over your eyes you didn’t know. 

The blare of the alarm startled you out of your thoughts. Announcements of guards and soldiers to get into position, alerts of intruders coming to the base. 

You thought you were going to puke. 

You got up from your chair, unsure of what to do. Another announcement told staff to stay where they were. You tapped your fingers on the desk behind you as your brain wracked for ideas, should you go out and see what’s happening? Who were these intruders? 

Maybe it had something to do with the whistleblower email you sent several days ago.

You could hear footsteps of soldiers running down the hall past your door. 

What if this is my chance?

You could help them escape the mutants. The soldiers, the security, they were distracted by whoever was attacking - people you hoped were on your side. You knew the codes, you could fight a little bit yourself- even if it wasn’t your preference. You grabbed your lab coat off your chair, making sure your badge was still attached for access, throwing it on and you opened the door, peeking out into the hallway- empty.

Your heels clacked on the floor as you ran down the maze like hallways that you’ve become familiar with the last 6 months towards the elevators. The lights shut off suddenly, leaving you in darkness until emergency lights kicked on. The alarms were off now. The only thing you could hear was faint gunshots happening thankfully far away from you. 

You could barely see, the red lights of the elevators and stairway signs led you to the direction you wanted to be in. You carefully walked towards them, your heels clicking against the tiled floor as you went to the stairway door, pushing it open. 

Soft orange glow lit up the otherwise dark and very cold stairway. You could hear more gunfire. You turned to look back at the hall you came from, searching for any signs of people that may have been around, before going into the stairway, and climbing down the stairs.

With the power off, the captive mutants are likely escaping themselves already, which may explain the occasional gunfire. People fighting back you can only assume. If they’re fighting, you’re going to fight with them. 

You carefully made your way down the stairs, cautious to not trip due to the lack of lighting. You reached the floor that would lead you to the captive mutants. Your mind wandered to Logan. He was a few floors down. Maybe you can help him too?

You chose to go farther down the stairs. You had to do something. How could you not? 

You reached the floor you wanted to reach, and carefully pushed the door open, peeking out into the hall. Only small red emergency lights lit the dark empty halls, but they provided enough light for you to make out multiple bodies strewn across the floor. They were still, unmoving, and against your better judgment, you moved inside into the hall, checking one of the bodies.

It was one of the soldiers that usually stood guard in Logan's room. You kneeled down to check his pulse. No pulse.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, as you carefully walked down the hall, checking each body for pulses. You may have thought everyone who worked here was scum - but you were still a doctor and if there was something you could do, you would do it. 

After the 5th body you could confirm was dead, you quickly walked down the hall to Logan’s room. The door was wide open - and you could see from where you were, the tube that kept Logan immobile and suspended was broken apart. The substance that kept him frozen was leaking into a large puddle on the ground- where you could barely make out several more bodies on the floor. 

He was free

Judging by the state of the soldiers, you’re not sure if that’ll be a good thing for you. 

You took a couple of steps back, only to feel a hand on your shoulder, swinging you around- you felt a sharp punch to your face, knocking you harshly to the ground. Pain radiated from your nose down to your jaw, and you felt blood trickling down your nose over your lip as you brought a hand up to it. Looking up fearfully, you recognized him, the chief of security.

“You bitch.” He hissed, fists clenched at his side. “You fucking did this didn’t you? I told Stryker you couldn’t be trusted. I should have put a bullet in your head when I caught you sneaking around the first time.”

“No-!” You yelped as he reached down, hand against your throat and pinning you to the floor, your head banging against the concrete making you yelp in pain. You clawed at his arm, kicking your legs in an attempt to get free as you felt his fingers tighten against your throat. You looked up at your attacker, his eyes furrowed, as he gritted his teeth, squeezing your throat tighter as you began to gasp for air- your chest growing tight.

In a flash, you heard a scream, and something warm and wet splatter on your. His hand was gone, and you watched in horror as he was lifted into the air, sharp metal points sticking out through his chest, and you saw Logan, holding him up in the air- a sharp snarl escaping him.

You heard a snikt! And you crawled away as the chief's body fell to the ground. Your heart pounding out of your chest, tears fell down your face, as a shaky breath escaped you- looking up at the towering and terrifying presence that now stood above you.

The red light illuminated him, making him look almost devilish. He was hunched, hands in fists, covered in blood, completely naked. There were a few wires hanging haphazardly from his arms and legs - and the helmet, the one you assumed is the one they use to control him. 

They’re not controlling him now, are they?

You waited, waited for him to kill you next. Surely he will?

He straightened himself, a scowl on his face as his nostrils flared, his chest heaving with deep breaths. He stared into your eyes. You swallowed, and pushed yourself up from the ground. Your body was shaking, and you stepped forward towards him, over the body of Hanlon. 

“Logan?” You said his name, your voice hoarse, and cracked. He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. You blinked a few times, and you reached your hands up, they’re shaky and unsteady, but you reached towards him- to the helmet.

He flinched back a moment, before stopping, letting you do whatever you were going to do. His eyes unceasing their hard stare, his nostrils flaring with every breath- making you nervous that those famous claws you’ve heard about - and just seen in action are going to make their appearance and turn you into a shish kebab. 

He didn’t do anything, and you finally made contact with the cold metal. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, as your fingers found bolts and clips, undoing each one until the helmet came loose from his skull. 

You saw relief flood his eyes, his hands reaching up as you slowly moved yours back, returning them to your side shaky as ever, as he pulled the helmet off and dropped it to the ground. 

He blinked a few times, looking around, a small breath of relief escaping him before looking at you again. 

You both stood there, unsure what to do next.

1 Year Later

Your fingers nervously tapped along the files in your lap. Your leg crossed over the other as you sat on the very uncomfortable chair provided to you while you waited. You laid your hands flat across the folder, as anxiety twisted in your gut. 

“Nervous?” 

The voice drew you out of your anxious thoughts as you looked up and smiled.

Logan stood there in front of you, clean, healthy, happy. He wore a clean dress suit, his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed. He gave you a thin lipped smile, his eyes regarding you with softness. 

It had been a long year to get to where he was, with you there to support him as best as you could.  

It was Charles Xavier's people who came and caused chaos at the base. A group called the X-men, a group of talented and powerful mutants who work in the name of helping mutants- which is right up your alley. You- nor Logan didn’t join right away, but accepted Charles' invitation to stay at his school, alongside other mutants who were rescued, in order to wait for the dust to settle. 

The dust was finally settling. Stryker and his men were on trial before congress. You were the piece to finally put things to rest. The evidence you compiled, the things you witnessed. You were about to go before congress, and speak on the behalf of mutants that had become victims to Stryker. 

You stood up from your chair, hugging your files to your chest. “A little bit.”

“Don’t be, you’ll do great.” He says. “You always stood your ground about things like this. Just cause it’s a bunch of assholes in Washington don’t make it any different.”  

You got to know Logan, who he was. He became someone you admired like no other. He rose up from the trauma and pain he suffered in Alkali, refusing to let it harden him. He was still a bit rough around the edges- but for you he was soft. 

During his time in Lake Alkali, he was waiting for a chance to escape. The scientist said he couldn’t think clearly but it was far from the truth. The only time he went into an animalistic haze was when the helmet was on- it blocked his vision and his senses, made his brain fuzzy. 

When the X-men breached the dam, they were about to let Logan out to wreak havoc on the intruders. They put the helmet on him and he managed to keep himself together that time- escaping and slaughtering guards along the way. It was hard, it set his teeth on edge, it made him confused, unsure of what he was doing.

It was you that kept him from losing himself again. He heard your heartbeat, and your cry when Hanlon punched you. You removing the helmet was the final step for his freedom.

“I just hope it’s enough. You know politicians, how they are. You saw how they treated Jean.” You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing.

“You’ll convince them bub.  Quite worrying.” He says. His hand reached out, placing over your arm, his thumb running across your skin in a soothing motion. You nodded, attempting to let his reassurance calm your nerves. “After this, we’ll get some lunch, yeah?” 

You smiled and nodded, Logan paused, observing you before he stepped closer. It made your breath hitch, his proximity to you, your nerves becoming more worried about him now, instead of the trial. Lately, you and Logan's friendship that has formed over the last year has felt to be turning into something more. You weren’t quite sure what yet, and Logan didn’t seem to know either. 

You had an idea though.

The door behind you opened. 

“Ma’am? They’re ready for you.” A young man greets you and you nodded, looking back at Logan. He smiled supportively, and you quickly leaned up to kiss his cheek, before turning to walk into the room. 

“Wish me luck.” You called after you, before the door shut behind you, leaving Logan alone in the hall, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, thinking about how nice your lips felt on his cheek.

You were led to a desk, where the young man- you believed to be an intern pulled the chair out for you allowing you to sit. You quietly thanked him, smoothing your skirt out and setting the papers you were holding on the desk, you looked up and stared at a room full of men in suits. 

“You are here today to present evidence before congress against Dr. William Stryker, as well as numerous other names in this trial. Do you have that evidence before you?” 

You opened one of the files, and one of the first things you see is a picture of Logan. Weapon X. It made you sick to remember him like that. You looked up, lips pulled tight, eyes filled with determination.

“Yes.”

[nortism]

I wanted to talk about @pilferingapples ‘s autistic Fantine headcanon that has been brought up in the Les Mis Letters server because it has rewired my brain and the more I think about it the more I can see my own experiences as an autistic woman reflected in Fantine’s story.

Fantine is introduced as being an outsider amongst the other grisettes. I think Hugo’s intention here was to paint her as innocent and virtuous in comparison to them but the way it reads to me is that she is someone who just can’t quite connect with her peers. She is described as being dreamy and “always having a queer look about her” in the words of Favourite.

The way Fantine is treated by the other girls rings very true to me as an autistic woman in my experience with friendship. She does consider the other grisettes her friends yet they speak cruelly about her behind her back (Favourite saying she puts on airs) and to her face (Dahlia mocking her for crying over a dead horse). Yet she offers no resistance, in fact she barely seems to acknowledge these things as offensive, because that’s just what being friends is.

The friendship between the four grisettes is shown to be truly shallow when after Tholomyes’ “prank”, they all go their separate ways, with Hugo saying it was like they’d never been friends in the first place. Realistically, one of the few examples of female friendship in the brick being portrayed as shallow and catty is most likely down to some lingering misogyny on Hugo’s part but it is something I find relatable as someone who has allowed myself to be treated poorly by others because I thought that’s how friendship was supposed to be. I’m sure a lot of other autistic people can relate to this as well.

Additionally, I think it’s interesting how the other grisettes criticisms of Fantine come down to her not acting in the expected way and fitting in with group. Favourite accuses her of putting on airs because she won’t swing like the other girls (therefore let the men look up her skirt). Dahlia laughs at her for getting emotional over the dead horse because her emotions are tainting the happy outing they’re all having. Fantine being empathetic towards animals isn’t an inherently autistic trait by itself but her inability to suppress her emotions or just go along with what everyone else is doing is something I think a lot of neurodivergent people can relate to.

Her relationship with Tholomyes is probably the biggest example of Fantine not understanding unspoken social rules. I’m no history expert and people have definitely written more in depth posts on the relationships between upper class men and working class women in France in this period but from what I’ve gathered it was understood that these relationships were purely transactional. The men got sex and attention and the women got gifts and nice days out to places they couldn’t afford by themselves. There’s more nuance than that I’m sure but that’s the gist.

We know the other three grisettes are aware of this aspect of the relationship. They are eager to receive a “surprise”, an expensive gift they could later sell on. Favourite flatters her lover to his face and says all the things he expects of her but confesses to the other girls that she doesn’t like him because he isn’t playing his role of spending money on her.

Fantine is seemingly oblivious to all of this. Maybe it’s her ostracisation from the other girls that is keeping her ignorant or maybe she knows how it is for them but genuinely believes she and Tholomyes are different. Either way it’s clear to me that her and Tholomyes have very different ideas about their relationship and that subtext has not been picked up by Fantine. For the record, this is completely on Tholomyes, even if he’s supposed to be playing the expected role, leaving his mistress without any financial aid for their child together is bad even by the standards of the time. However Fantine is definitely naïve.

Also if you read Fantine as autistic, her reasons for being in love with Tholomyes make a lot more sense. From Hugo’s description, it doesn’t seem like Tholomyes has many redeeming features: he’s balding and missing teeth, he’s a student in his thirties and he is in poor health. Yet he pays attention to Fantine, he flatters her and spends money to keep her in a nice apartment.

If we assume that Fantine is autistic and has spent her life being an outsider, this onslaught of affection would lead her to let her guard down and believe that this is what love should look like. Even without the autism, Fantine was an orphan, she didn’t have any examples of what a marriage was supposed to look like growing up so how could she possibly resist a man who seems to be doing and saying all the right things?

I think my conclusion is it doesn’t really matter if you want to read Fantine as being autistic or not. I think all the factors I’ve outlined in this post can be explained by her upbringing and her still being very young during her relationship with Tholomyes rather than having to be neurodivergence. However, I think looking at Fantine through an autistic lense has given me a new appreciation for the character and being an outsider in society, a big theme in Les Mis, is generally a relatable sentiment for neurodivergent people and I think it’s interesting to explore that in the context of Fantine.

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

For the drabbles, maybe Tyler realising he’s been neglecting you and your relationship because he was getting excited about Kate’s experiment and everything and realising that he needs to focus more on you or else he could seriously lose you? Little Angst but with a good ending for Tyler and reader

Tear Stains on a Flannel Shirt

Twisters Masterlist

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader

Summary: When a new message pops up on your phone, you don’t even bother to read it. You know what it will be. Tyler’s working late… again. But are his new work habits just a means to a devastating end?

Author’s Note: Anon, I’m so sorry this took so long! I literally had to rewrite it three times because I kept backing myself into a corner. 💀 It’s possibly OOC and I’m really not happy with a couple of things, but I didn’t want to postpone it any longer. I hope you enjoy it anyway! 🫶🏻 (P.s. I feel like Tyler would text using yellow hearts… idk why, but that feels right.)

Warnings: Angst, but with a happy ending. Intense Descriptions of a Panic Attack, (aka, I almost gave myself one writing this). Tyler uses both “baby” and “sweetheart” as terms of endearment. Swearing. Brief Mention of Death, (it’s literally just a passing thought, but better safe than sorry).

Word Count: 756 (I’m trying to cease being surprised—I have come to accept the fact that literally none of these are drabbles. 😆)

———————————————————————————

New Message from: T 💖

You sighed as the notification popped up on your screen, swiping it away without opening it.

You already knew what it would be.

Sorry, baby. Kate and I are on the verge of a scientific breakthrough—please don’t wait up.

It was the exact same thing he’d told you every other night this past… week? Two weeks?

Tears flooded your eyes, your mind falling into the one-track record it’d been playing for the last three days.

He’s going to break up with me. He’s going to break up with me.

The thoughts raced a thousand miles a minute, no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself otherwise. No matter how many times you tried to rationalize the feelings. Tyler was a good man. He wouldn’t just leave you without a word of explanation.

And yet, panic clawed at your throat like a deranged animal.

This is how it starts. This is how it always starts.

Late nights, early mornings—more time spent at work, less time spent at home.

Soon, you would be two strangers living in the same house. And then, not even that.

He’s going to break up with me. He’s going—

Pain blossomed across your chest, stabbing, constricting. Oxygen refused to enter your lungs, or perhaps your lungs refused to utilize it. Black dots crowded your vision.

I’m not—I can’t—I’m going to die!

“Sweetheart?” Tyler’s voice echoed in the entryway, bouncing off kitchen walls and landing undisturbed on the living room carpet.

His boots thumped against the hardwood floors as he passed through the kitchen into the living area. Whimpering greeted him from behind the corner of the couch, tucked up against the wall. Urgency kicked his pulse. “Baby? Is that you?” He rounded the corner of the couch… and was immediately on his knees before you. “Shit! Shit, sweetheart, talk to me. Talk to me! What’s going on?”

“Tyler, I—“ The panic in your eyes as you gasped, clinging to his arm, knees tucked up to your chest and tears streaming down your cheeks, seared itself in his mind. He wouldn’t be able to unsee it for a while. “I can’t breathe. I can’t—“

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, you’re gonna be alright. Breathe with me.” He ran a hand up and down your arm, inhaling a deep, exaggerated breath, trying to still your racing heart.

But his own pulse thrummed.

What is happening? Should I call an ambulance? There’s no blood… but she can’t breathe. Shit, shit, shit!

“Follow my lead, sweetheart. C’mon.”

A sob broke out of your chest, but you followed.

In… and out. In… and out.

“Good. That’s good, baby. You’re doing good.”

He sighed in mental relief as your body slowly started following the pattern.

Okay, she can breathe. She can breathe. She’s gonna be okay.

“T-Ty?”

“Yeah?”

He dragged a thumb across the back of your hand, attempting to ground you from what he was now recognizing as a panic attack. Swimming eyes locked onto his, despair tracing a threatening line around the edges.

“Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

Tyler couldn’t have been more shocked if you’d punched him in the gut. He sputtered, mouth moving, but with no sound coming out.

Finally, he managed a choked, “What?”

“It’s just—” You swallowed, looking away. “It’s just you’ve been gone so often, staying late at work, leaving early, sometimes even before I wake up, and I thought–-I mean—” Your face crumpled, and Tyler’s heart with it. “I mean, every other relationship I’ve ever had—that’s how they did it. That’s how it always started, and I thought—” A sob, deep and resonant, wracked your body.

“Hey. Hey, shhh. Shhhh.” He pulled you close, pressing you firmly against his chest, a tender kiss planted swiftly atop your head.

Your hands fisted in his shirt as you sobbed. Tears stained the front of his flannel.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay. I’m not—” His hand rubbed soothingly up your back. At least, Tyler hoped it was soothing. But your tears never slowed. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

You pulled back, your face a mess of snot and tears. “Promise?”

Tyler smiled gently, wiping your face clean with his sleeve. Because if that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was. “Promise.”

You fell back into his arms, a shudder shaking your frame as you sighed.

And he just sat there with you, for as long as you needed, his message from earlier playing in his mind.

Coming home early today, baby. I love you. 💛

[midnight-mourning]

Build-A-Bot (With Lots of Love)

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 5💘💘

Ohhh i had a lot of fun with this one hehe, silly shennaigans but also, a bit of fluffy sweetness, perfect for a build a bear aslkdjflkasjdfl, hope you like it!

Prompt: Y/n takes Sun and Moon out to someplace like build-a-bear (or a fnaf brand adjacent lol) to make each other lovely valentines day plushies! Sweet audios, noise makers, fun plushie outfits, and of course hearts! Maybe a sweet confession in the mix too hehe <3

Word Count: 2467

Read here if you prefer ao3!

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"Sunshine, I mean this with the best of intent, but why are we here on our day off?"

You turn to him as you walk. "What do you mean? What's wrong with the mall?"

"What Sun is trying to say is that we work at a mall, Star. Spending the day at another one seems, impractical confusing even."

You stop walking then, realizing that that's indeed the case as you're surrounded by shops and a food court, people flitting about and chattering. 

"Oh. Right. Well, it's because there's somewhere specific in here that I wanted to take you both!" You start to move again, pulling them both along by their hands. 

The mall is busy, though given it's Valentine's day, it's not surprising. Other patrons mingle about, families and couples alike. 

The entire interior is decorated for the holiday, red and pink streamers hang from the ceiling, hearts across every possible surface. It would almost be suffocating if you weren't someone who desired to be in love yourself. Instead, you're able to enjoy the festivities to—almost—full capacity. 

You finally make it to the store you were looking for. Children can be seen running around inside and coming in and out, stuffed animals in their arms. Even a few couples meander about, which is what you were secretly hoping for. If you'd been the only ones in there you'd be slightly more embarrassed about taking them here. 

But, regardless of your feelings, that wouldn't have stopped you. You'd been wanting to come here with the two of them for a while now. You knew how many plushies and the likes Sun and Moon had in their room in the Daycare, ones they unfortunately couldn't bring with them when they moved into your home. 

Stupid fazbear entertainment rules and such. The animatronics could leave, but all their belongings had to stay. It made no sense to you, personally. But rules were rules. Their collection at the Daycare was massive, and you think deep down they missed it in comparison to your space at home. Someone else might think it was far too many, but for you, you knew it was a comfort, and it upset you that you couldn't provide that for them. 

Not at first, at least. 

Thus, your plan to gain them a collection just as impressive—but now in your home—was put into place. Starting with here. You think a stuffed animal they could chose and 'make' for themselves, would help with the loss until you could purchase them more. Not to mention, you wanted to make one for them yourself. 

You'd been struggling with your feelings towards the two for some time now, and living together hadn't helped matters. The brief moments in the hall, the small touches here and there. The quiet evenings spent together in a manner that you couldn't have otherwise gotten when they were still in the Plex. 

You couldn't help it, not realizing just how much you cared for them until it was put in front of you in such a manner. You wanted more than anything to tell them, to let them know that they were more than just friends to you. But you relented. You had to, you felt. 

While they had gotten some freedom, getting to live with you, it came at a price, and they were still adjusting. So, you'd held your tongue. Kept your feelings to yourself, it was for the best. Waiting until the moment was right. 

And now, after a couple months, you think it was time. To try, at least. You could never get a read on whether they felt the same for you or not. Always overthinking every little interaction. But with this, you'd find out for sure, and finally have the ache in your heart quelled.

One way or another. 

You enter the store with them, ready to get right to it, only to halt when you realize you spy a shelf full of Bonnie plushies staring back at you. And Chica, and Roxy. You quickly realize that this isn't your typical build-a-bear. Or at least, it's changed a lot in the past several years since you've been in one. 

"What, is this place?" Sun asks, glancing around. 

Moon picks up one of the Freddy plushes laying in a bin nearby, chuckling. "You brought us somewhere that would remind us of the Daycare? How... kind, Starlight."

You groan internally, this is not what you wanted to happen at all. 

"Um, not, quite... I wasn't expecting there to be, so much,"—you glance around to the sheer amount of Pizza Plex merch—"Of it to be here. Honestly. This wasn't like it when I came here as a kid." 

You shake your head, turning to them and clapping your hands. "But! That's okay. We can still have fun. I'm sure there's got to be some non-work related plushes in here. So let's get to it."

You explain how this is supposed to work, taking them around the store to show them all their options for plushies, clothes and accessories, and so on. They take a particular interest when you stop at the voice boxes and explain that they can use a pre-recorded one or record their own sound if they'd like. 

There's some non-Plex related animals you find, to your relief. You let the boys go off on their own, deciding to focus on the task at hand. You want this to be perfect, as perfect as it can be at least. 

You start with your choice of animals for them both. For Sun, you found a golden lab, and Moon, one of the last raccoons, stuffed away near the back of the shelf. Fitting for both of them. After that, came finding the proper accessories. You chose a red bowtie for the lab, and the racoon, a black top hat. Though, you struggled for it, you will admit. 

There was only a singular top hat left. Resting in the middle of a bin, standing out amongst the others lying there. 

Your eyes locked onto it, but become acutely aware that you're being watched. You glance up, locking eyes with someone across the floor from you. Specifically, a child. She couldn't be more than 10 years old. Her eyes shift, and you notice the tuxedo cat in her arms. 

You were not going to lose this one. 

At the same time, you both lunge towards the bin. You grip the small hat with both hands, lifting it up. Unfortunately, you find that there's a—surprisingly—strong force pulling back against you. Looking down, you see that the girl is gripping the hat just as tightly as you are. 

You tug again, but she holds firm, mouth set in a scowl you didn't think possible for a child. 

"Excuse me, I'd like this please." You say, trying to be gentle.

She huffs, sneering. "Too bad. I had it first."

"No, I think I did. Look, how about I help you find another—"

"No!" She interrupts. "It's mine. You can't have it!"

You sigh, you really don't want to fight a child, you really don't want to fight a child—

She takes one hand off and digs her nails in your arm, scratching you as you hiss. 

Okay, that's it. 

You rip the hat from her hands, stepping back and clutching your now stinging arm. Thankfully, it's not a deep set of scratches, but damn if it doesn't sting. The child starts bawling, now sitting on the floor, her mother coming over with a look of confusion and slight anger. 

Before she can say anything you just raise your arm, showing what her daughter did, and walk off as she starts to scold the girl. 

From there, it's not too much trouble to gather the remaining few things to complete your presents. You find the perfect little hearts, hesitating for a moment, but pressing a quick kiss to the yellow and blue hearts before inserting them into the plushies. You hope no one saw that as you make your final decision; whether or not to use a pre-recorded message. 

After several moments of heavily debating, you decide that if you're going to commit to this, you're going all the way. 

It takes a few, awkward tries, but you finally get a recording that you're happy with for both stuffed animals. 

 Satisfied, you decide to go find Sun and Moon.

When you turn around and look for them, it only takes you a few mere moments, as they make it quite obvious where they are. 

You're, a bit shocked to see the two of them, arguing over by one of the counters. Not unsimilar to your own experience earlier, the two of them are fighting over something, you can't see what from here. 

The people around them seem unsure what to do, either ignoring the argument or just watching from afar. 

You realize you have no choice but to intervene, lest it escalates and you get kicked out. You hurry over, breaking the two apart. 

Your gaze flits between them, confusion in your eyes. "Guys, guys, what's going on?"

"Somebody is trying to take something that doesn't belong to them." Sun scoffs, crossing his arms. 

Moon tsks. "Not yours. Haven't bought it. Therefore, it's up for grabs."

They start bickering once more and you have to step in again. "Okay, okay. Why don't we take a moment here." You turn to Sun. "What's the thing that's the source of trouble here?"

They both choke up at that, avoiding your gaze. 

"It's—"

"—nothing."

You open your mouth, only for someone to slap their hand down on the counter. You jump, turning to see a frazzled employee.

"There. We had one more in the back. Now please, I don't want to have to ask you to leave."

They move away then, revealing a small heart that happens to be your favorite color. Your eyebrows shoot up. And sneaking a peek at Sun's hand, still held high above his head, there's another that is also that same color. 

Before you can think, Moon scoops up the heart, and hurries off, Sun following suit soon after. 

You, don't know what to think of that, but your face is burning now. 

You're finished up well before them, so you wait outside the store for them, fidgeting with the two stuffies in your arms. You accidentally squeeze one too hard, your own voice suddenly erupting from it and startling you. 

As you calm down again, you look up in time to see them walking towards you, a bag in each of their hands. They seem, nervous as they approach you. Both stop in front of you, gazes on the ground. 

"All done—oh!" Without a word, Sun and Moon present their bags to you. You're… more than surprised. "I, for me? Really?"

Both nod, again not making eye contact, it makes the heat on your face grow worse. 

You take both bags, and nod once yourself. Now or never. "Thank you, boys. I, wasn't expecting this. These um, are for you." You present their respective plushes to them both, and they snap their heads up, eyes wide. 

"Oh, you didn't have to—"

"—get us anything."

You smile, laughing quietly. "Of course I did. That was the point to this trip, truth be told."

As they admire and fawn over their new stuffies, you pull your own surprises out of their bags. 

It's… the two of them. In plush form, of course. But they've got accessories. Over top their usual Daycare attire is more casual clothing. Sun is wearing a little silly t-shirt with a jacket, Moon a hoodie. Jeans and little sweatpants, and shoes to match. It takes a moment but it clicks that both outfits are similar to their current looks. The stuff they wear when home with you. 

Something compels you to hug both plushies tight, and you're shocked to hear their voices come from both. Not catching what they say you pull away, squeezing Sun's plush, then Moon's. 

"Love you more than all the stars in the sky, Sunshine!"

"Love you to the moon and back, Star."

You freeze at the words. You press play on both once more, hearing those same messages. 

'Love you.'

'Love you.'

You tune back in then, realizing that there's a sound playing nonstop in front of you. Your voice, doubled. 

Looking up, you see both bots are laser-focused on their respective stuffed animals. Both pressing the button to hear your voice say "Love you always Sunny!" or "Love you always Moony!" respectively. Over, and over, and over again. 

"Um... guys?" You ask. 

Instantly, they both whip to look at you. 

"Sunshine..."

"Do, do you mean it?"

You start to nod slowly. "Do you um, also mean it?" You lift your gifts from them. 

Moon nods, and Sun hums. 

Before you can say anything else, you're being picked up and spin around by Sun, he's laughing and yamerring on but you can't fully understand him. He sets you down after you protest, but you're pulled into a hug by Moon soon thereafter. Sun joins as well, and you're left standing there, hand reaching up to hold onto both of them in your slightly dazed state. 

You speak first. "So, you like your presents then?"

"Oh I love love love it! But I'm far more excited to get to say I love you." Sun squeezes you tighter. 

Moon snickers as you squeak. "I have to say the same. The gift is nice, but I prefer the real thing, personally."

"Un-understood." You mumble, burying your face in their combined arms as they both chuckle. 

Yup. You were definitely going to be doing this again. Make it a yearly tradition, even. 

A kiss is pressed to one of your cheeks, then the other soon thereafter. 

Changed your mind. Make it monthly. Maybe weekly. 

They were going to have to build up their collection again somehow, after all.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you for the super sweet request @luckyyyduckyyy!! I had a lot of fun being silly and fun with these guys hehe, esp the bits at the end there ashfkljsdlf

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS WITH A FEVER BC IM DYING.

scout: it’s kinda heartbreaking. he won’t wake up on time, and when one of the team goes to figure out what’s wrong he’s hacking his lungs up, shivering in bed. he’s tried at least three times to actually get up, and he hasn’t succeeded at all. they tell him to take the day off, and he almost gets pissy. he insists he’s fine, and he’s good to fight; but as he struggles to his feet the body aches shock him back onto the bed. he’ll take the day off.

soldier: nobody will get near him if he’s feverish. he’s delusional, and increasingly aggressive. but he’ll take a moment to hide in an alley, wiping off the sweat from his brow and letting out a shaky breath. he’s getting through it, but he’s gonna pay for it later.

pyro: up all night, feet slamming against the floor as they trudge from the bathroom to their bedroom back to the bathroom. more prone to vomit when they’re feverish. eventually soldier or scout will walk them to the infirmary; knowing the doctor is probably up, and can care for pyro properly.

demo: he’s taking the day off. he doesn’t care if he’s at 99.1, that’s a fever and he’s taking the day off. truthfully he’s fine. he could probably fight and be fine. but guess where he is anyway. asleep in bed, that’s right. he’ll whine to the doctor about how he doesn’t feel good, he feels a chill, he’s sweating a lot, until a note gets written.

heavy: asleep. almost dead. you would be a little worried that he is actually dead until you approach him and you feel that he is overheating. and he groans. his eyes barely open, and his face is scrunched up in an attempt to not show that he is in pain. “i don’t feel good. get out.” continues to sleep until he feels marginally better. takes a couple days. pyro will drop off a stuffed animal, and if you go in there to check on him he’s clutching it like a lifeline. but his face doesn’t relax. even in sleep.

engineer: he’ll continue to work until he’s actively stumbling and shaking and rubbing his temples. then he’s gotta stop. medic is begging these men to take their physical health seriously. engie will ask why he won’t just heal them from a fever, and medic has to be the bearer of bad news that the medigun doesn’t work that way. come back when your guts are actively necrosing and then he might be able to heal the fever as well.

medic: nobody except heavy is brave enough to go into the infirmary if the doctor is sick. he’s kind of dramatic. the cold of the infirmary is not doing his any favors. he’ll sleep in his little closet bedroom, door closed, shaking and groaning. god, he’s so cold. he knows he isn’t, in fact he’s feverish and overheating, but he’s so cold. appreciates a little back rub. he’ll sleep a little better.

sniper: hides in his van and doesn’t come out. locks the doors. if one of the team goes to find what’s going on you can hear the wretching about twenty feet from the door. “go away.” is the only thing he’s able to groan out before you hear his head back in a bucket. poor guy.

spy: dead in his smoking room. like eyes open, staring at the ceiling. he’s breathing but very shallowly, the coughs hurt so much he doesn’t even want to move around too much in case he starts coughing again. he looks like he’s actively dying or dead. a hesitant “you good…?” gets a very weak thumbs up. he’s okay, just give him a day or so to recover.

[jubileesstuff]

I love Fics where Damian gets carried around. So here is a HC from me.

Bruce is at a meeting with the JL, and he brings Robin with him. Why doesn't it matter? He just comes along. Bruce shows Damian the watchtower, and they run into Hal and Barry. Hal and Barry never met Damian, and they think he is a normal child that fights crime with Batman. Well, they are wrong. They ask Damian which his favorite is, Flash or Green Lantern. Before Damian can say something, Bruce picks him up and carries him away; Damian is too stunned to say anything. This was actually smart, because Damian definitely would have destroyed Hal and Barry with words. Even if Bruce thinks that they're idiots sometimes, he still needs them, and he can't just let his son destroy their mental health with one sentence.

Later in a meeting something similar happens, but it's Superman asking. Before Damian can say anything, Bruce picks him up again, sits him in his lap, and starts patting his head. None of the heroes knows it's for their own good; they think it's cute.

The picking up Damian thing also goes for the others. Once Duke and Damian are in the Gotham Library, because Damian has a group project and he refuses to go to the houses of his classmates and he also refuses to bring them to the Manor. Duke is also there just because he also has some homework to do (and because Bruce told him to supervise).

When one of Damian's classmates says that he doesn't like some random animal that Duke hasn't even heard about, he starts to sprint over to Damian and picks him up. Duke knows that Damian would have verbally destroyed the other kid, and he doesn't want to take care of a crying child.

This picking up and making Damian shut up thing works for everyone except Dick. The others say it's because Dick doesn't hold Damian tight enough or because he is too used to getting randomly picked up by Dick. He is a little bit salty about it when he learns during a mission that this also works with Stephanie.

The entire thing was first discovered by Alfred and Tim. Damian and Tim were alone with Alfred at the Manor, and they nearly got into a fight; however, Alfred walked in on them before something happened. He sees that they're both going to explode soon and that they will start fighting. So he decided to just take Damian and place him in a different room. He crouches down to Damian, ruffles his hair, and holds him, then takes his hand and leads him away. For some reason that completely resets Damian's brain (it's probably because in the league no one ever held him, except for training, and then it was violent).

Tim is like, 'What just happened with the Demon Brat?'.

And from that day on, they figured a way out to make Damian shut up.

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

My Best Friend’s Brother (Part 5)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You, Jun Ho, and In Ho walked to your apartment, grabbing clothes, your favorite throw blanket, and stuff for your cat.

“Why do you need so much shit?” In Ho, who seemingly had something to say all the time, spoke. He rolled your suitcase.

“She’s gonna be staying with us all month, dim wit” Jun Ho replied.

“Well that’s stupid. Don’t touch my shit while I’m at work.”

“Our room, our stuff” you said cheekily before you shot a look at him.

“No. My room, my stuff” he said.

“Wellllll I am staying there for a whi-“

“Whatever. Don’t touch my shit.”

“She touched your shit yesterday…” Jun Ho said.

“I dont give a fuck, i gave her permission to touch my shit.” In Ho snapped back. “Now, im telling her not to touch my shit when I’m not home”

“I don’t want touch shit at all”

“You literally scoop cat shit” Jun Ho says. In Ho snickered.

“Good one” he gave a fist bump.

“Can we stop talking about shit?!” You ask heatedly. The boys shut their mouths before In Ho whispered:

“Someone’s losing her shit.” Jun Ho laughed loudly, In Ho following suit.

“Seriously, In Ho? You’re literally older than us, get your shit together” they both snorted before laughing even louder. Making you laugh too.

Jun Ho left almost as soon as you guys arrived to the house.

In Ho pushed you against the door, barricading it shut. Breathing heavily in your ear, his cock leaking in his pants.

“I’ve been wanting to get ahold of you since you got out of bed this morning.” He growled in your ear. “I shouldn’t have let you go”

“No, you shouldn’t have” you reply, helping him out of his pants. You dropped to your knees. In Ho pulled your hair up, as you licked his tip. The feeling making him throw his head back, a low grumble from his chest accompanying it. You took his length, putting his cock deep in your throat. In Ho grunted primally as he pushed his cock in deeper. Forcing your head to hit the door. He pinned your hair up, thrusting into your mouth.

“Oh god, (y/n), why does your mouth feel so fucking good?” He coaxed in a low tone, fucking your throat. “I almost want to cum right now, fuck” the foreign feeling of his cock in your mouth was a long awaited day dream, you began to gag and choke on his thick member. The vibrations sending him into overdrive. He sped up, chasing his orgasm now, continuing his brutal assault on your throat. He braced his hand against the door, his hips stuttered. His body tense and convulsion with every thrust into your mouth. A low grumble”oh god” was uttered in the most sinful groan as he released cum down your throat. Thrusting slower now to fully empty himself inside you before putting himself back in his jeans.

“Your cum tastes almost like whiskey” you giggle.

“Well, according to last night… you really fucking like whiskey” he said. Your watery eyes looked up at him. “Ready to go pick out a new mattress your-annoyingness” he joked. You slapped his shoulder as you stood.

“Shut up.” You squint at him.

“Sorry” he kept laughing. “Mom, tell your son to stop laughing at me” you said as you walk into the kitchen.

“I would but, I haven’t heard him laugh this hard since he was younger.” She giggled lightly.

“Where Mr. Hwang?” You ask. “we might need his help.”

“He’s out betting on the horse races. Just have them deliver it to the house, the boys can do all of that.”

“Okay.” You shrug. You hear a loud groan as your cat emerges from In Ho’s room.

“Come back! I wanted more cuddles!!” He shouts chasing after the animal.

“Awww he’s so precious!” Mrs. Hwang exclaims. “What’s his name?”

“Wiseuki” you say aloud. The cat rubs against her legs as she repeats his name, looking at you knowing why you named him that… after her whiskey drinking son.

“Come on (y/n), let’s go pick that mattress” In Ho says pushing you out the door.

As soon as you entered the mattress store, he threw himself onto a bed. Immediate disgust etching on his face. You could tell this was going to be a long trip.

Taglist

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @player279achlys @watasinekoru @galaxygurlll @angelofthorr @whamzou

[aquamarixx]

the homeowner effect

Niko Ikki never knew owning a house could be such an icebreaker—until his blind date’s flustered, accidental comment leaves him wondering if this might be his best date yet. pairing niko ikki x reader tags post manga timeskip, aged up characters, fluff, happy birthday niko! navigation

Your friend, Otoya, sets you up with someone he knows. According to him, his friend is a “nice guy”—a term that usually makes you suspicious. Otoya isn’t exactly known for being a stellar matchmaker, after all. But so far, the guy in question, Niko Ikki, is polite, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to.

He likes anime and manga. He has pretty good taste in music, too. He seems too good to be true, and you can’t help but test the waters a little to get him a little bit better.

“So, where do you live?” you ask, stabbing the carrot cake you’ve ordered to share.

He casually name-drops a notoriously expensive and quiet neighborhood. “It’s nice and peaceful there,” he says.

You nearly choke on your drink. “Wait, seriously? You live there?”

He nods as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah.”

Curiosity gets the better of you. “So… do you share the rent with someone? Like a roommate or…?”

He blinks, looking slightly confused, as if the thought hasn’t even occurred to him. “No. I, uh… I own the place.”

Your fork clatters onto your plate, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. You don’t care. “You own it?”

“Yeah,” he admits softly, the tips of his ears turning red. “I bought it last year.”

“You bought it last year?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

He tilts his head slightly, as though he can’t quite understand why you look so shocked. “Yes.”

“Wait, you’re 27, right?”

“Yeah, 27,” he confirms, taking a sip of his drink.

You stare at him in disbelief, the pieces of information refusing to settle in your brain. “Okay, so… you own your place in one of the priciest neighborhoods in the city. How? I mean—are you, like, a trust fund baby or something? What do you do?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “No, no trust fund. I just… work hard and save. I play sports.”

“Like professionally?” you ask, your voice laced with amazement.

“Kind of,” he says with a small shrug. “It’s for a local team.” Well, technically, the Japan National Team is a local team, Niko thinks.

Your gaze drifts over him, noticing for the first time how well-built he is. He catches you looking, and you quickly cough, averting your eyes. But your thoughts linger on the bigger revelation: he owns his place.

And you’re impressed. Stunned, really. Here you are at 25, living in a shared house with your best friend and still making payments on a car loan your parents had practically forced you to buy. And meanwhile, Niko—calm, humble, and ridiculously cute Niko—is out here playing sports for a living and owning a house in this economy.

“You own your own house,” you repeat, almost in disbelief.

“Yes,” he says again, his voice steady but his ears now bright red under your scrutiny.

Before you can stop yourself, you mutter, “Wow, that’s hot.”

Niko freezes mid-sip, his eyes snapping to yours. His cheeks turn a deep pink, and his lips part as if he’s not sure he’s heard you right. “H-Hot?”

You groan, slapping a hand over your face. “Oh my god, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He looks down at his glass, his fingers brushing the edge nervously. But then, a soft smile tugs at his lips, and he lets out a quiet laugh. “I mean… thanks?”

Peeking at him through your fingers, you find his shy but amused expression making your heart flutter. It’s not fair. Not only is he financially stable and smart, but he also has this quiet, unassuming charm that makes you want to know more.

“So, uh,” you say awkwardly, trying to recover, “what else are you hiding? Do you, like, run your own company on the side or something?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. I’m just a regular guy who likes anime, gaming, and reading manga. And plays sports for a living.” He pauses, his gaze meeting yours, and his tone softens. “And I think this is the first time anyone’s ever called me ‘hot’ because of where I live.”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, trying to act cool despite the warmth creeping up your neck, “there’s a first time for everything.”

He laughs again, the sound warm and genuine, and you feel yourself relax. This date isn’t just going well. It’s easily the best one he's had in a long time.

amari's notes: happy birthday to one of my faves and fellow aquarius baby, niko! i am going all out celebrating his birthday. made a fanfic, made a cake and commissioned an art! there are some niko merch i managed to get and hopefully i get more!

taglist: @inu1gf