#It turned out less crack than i imagined and more fluff...

[lady-phasma]

Fangtober Day 5 - Impact play

Lestat x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, spanking, mostly just explicit language/descriptions, no smut, 771 words

a/n: some of this month’s drabbles will just be kinky D/s fluff, no smut, like this little one about Lestat spanking reader. fem!reader not described but human

Lestat patted his knee twice. Your face went hot, but you were exited. You enjoyed this a bit more than you were supposed to. He knew it. You hadn’t done anything wrong, but you had been a little sassy in your reply, knowing full well the ramifications.

You walked over and stood in front of him. You didn’t have to wait long before he reached up and unfastened your jeans. He pulled them down, underwear too, with his fingers hooked in the waistbands. You shivered as your skin was exposed to the air. Or, perhaps, with anticipation.

“Across my thighs, on your stomach, you know what to do, petite.” Lestat’s voice was low and trimmed with a slight growl. That tone could make you do anything.

“Yes, Sir,” you replied as you turned and arranged yourself across his legs. You wished desperately that there were a more graceful way to do this, but once you were in position you felt mostly comfortable. You soon stopped caring that your arms had to hang, not quite reaching the floor, one hand sometimes clutching Lestat’s calf. He began to smooth a hand from your lower back to the tops of your thighs. You took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was incredibly difficult because this ‘punishment’ was one of your favorites.

“I think ten will suffice,” Lestat said quietly. “Remember our word.” You nodded.

His hand was cool as it rested against your buttocks. From past experience, you knew he would restrain himself from using all of his strength. Nevertheless, this could be intense with him. The first swat against your ass was little more than just that. You exhaled a soft grunt, then counted out “one.” A gentle stroke of his hand was followed by a louder thwack on your other cheek.

“Two,” but this word came out as a groan. Lestat caressed the heat on your skin gently then another thwack, alternating sides again.

“Three,” you moaned and exhaled deeply. Your couldn’t control the slight wiggle in your hips, but you didn’t shy away from his hand.

“Four,” you said a bit louder as the sting from his hand settled into your skin. The sensation made your cunt twitch, the wetness seeming to drip out of you already.

“Five,” with this one you heard Lestat moan faintly. You could only imagine the his side of this experience: the heat of your skin against his hand, the way your thighs trembled, and his hand probably didn’t tingle like a human’s would have. But he enjoyed it no less.

“Six,” you yelped. He had brought his hand down in a way that was sharper, not harder, and this time the sound and the sting made your cunt leak down your thighs. You face was almost as hot as your ass as gravity pulled the blood into your downturned head. You felt nearly high from being slightly inverted and the near-pain from Lestat’s hand.

“Seven.” The groan that was pulled from you with this slap was obscene and you felt Lestat shift his hips slightly underneath you, a hint of his erection pressing softly into your side.

“Eight!” The crack of his hand against your inflamed skin was disproportionate to the sensation, but that sound turned you on almost at much as the feeling. Before he lifted his hand again he let his cool fingers linger over the welts that had begun to form. The last two were always the hardest.

“Nine,” you heard a whine in your voice, not quite a sob, but close. Lestat barely waited before administering the last.

“Ten!” You gasped and moaned again. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching, needy, but helpless to do anything about it. You felt his hand begin the soothing strokes again, only this time he let his fingers trail between your thighs, brushing so softly against your lips that you almost cried out. Your moan came out nearly breathlessly before he moved his hand back to your ass.

“Good girl,” Lestat said softly, affectionately. “You may stand now.”

You whimpered and let your feet rest on the floor. You pressed yourself up from his thighs and stood on slightly shaky legs. You felt your wetness sliding between your thighs. Gently, Lestat put his hands on your hips, turned you to face him, and guided you to stand between his now-spread legs. You looked down at his face, then at his pants, tight across his hard cock. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“My very good girl,” he murmured as he slid his hands to your warm buttocks and kissed your belly.

Fangtober 2024 prompt list • Main masterlist

[akutasoda]

"i think i was born wanting more, i think i was born missing you"

--he always brushed you off, pushing you further and further to keep you out of the way. yet when he sees you with someone else, he lets the bitter jealousy get the best of him - and for the first time, he thinks with his heart, not his brain. but it's too late.

--warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight crack, angst no comfort, one-sided(?) pining, maybe ooc? wc - 1.6k

--a/n: rghhh ratio. i have no clue how to write for this man.

the intelligentsia guild. a branch of the IPC that focused on it's praised academics.

distinguished scholars worked alongside the up and comings, building their reputations to start a proper career in their respective fields. it was no surprise that the guild was full of all kinds of people from every different walk of life imaginable. ratio was one of such.

although a key difference between him and the rest of his colleagues was that this was his second choice. the doctor always dreamed of being acknowledged by nous - to feel their piercing gaze and know that in their view, he was worthy of their recognition. he wanted to be a member of ths genius society, the only way was to has that recognition, a one way ticket into the society.

but he wasn't selfish. ratio believed that everyone deserved knowledge, he spread his word through his lectures and publications - ensuring that others had the capacity to be something other than half-witted. he was prideful in his knowledge, but not to the extent to be considered arrogant. not enough to be recognised - some may disagree but even ratio couldn't help but be slightly arrogant or impatient around those that couldn't comprehend him.

he wasn't a scholar that worked for petty pride, and so nous wouldn't even spare him one glance. blocked from joining the genius society, ratio turned to the next best thing. the intelligentsia guild. an organisation that's entry requirement wasn't the acknowledgement of an aeon. accepting the second best was a constant reminder to him, everyday when he arrived at the guild, he would be reminded of his failure.

it would have to do however. his goals didn't align with that of the aeon he desperately craved the attention of, sooner or later ratio would have to come to terms with this.

but is holding on easier than letting go?

---✩

you and veritas were colleagues.

he was your first ever research partner at the guild - you don't think the looks of pity on your other colleagues faces when it was announced that you and ratio would be working together. surely this “dr ratio” wasn't that bad?

well in some way you'd been right. ratio clearly lived up to his prestigious reputation but very quickly you learnt just why most people preferred to not work with him. he didn't exactly want to work with anyone there anyway, but the guild's main leaders were fed up with him refusing.

to his credit, ratio was incredibly credible and pulled his weight with the research. it was less surprising that the project was practically completed in no time than the fact that you and ratio were compatible research partners.

they still felt pity toward you, the likelihood being that you were now the fallback for ratio's research partner - a fate that they wouldn't wish upon you.

the only issue with ratio was that he could be rather stuck in his ways. most often he believed that he was the correct one, even if you reached the same conclusion but through your own credited means, he would strongly insist that his way was superior.

sure there were other minor things that could make the scholar rather unbearable to work with but he always made results. that you could respect, but you did have to question if he could do so while still retaining a shred of decency to his colleagues - especially you as his main research partner.

gradually, over time spent mainly as his research partner, you became “close” with ratio. compared to hw he treated other colleagues, you looked like his closest friend. but to him, that couldn't be further from the truth.

in your eyes, he was something slightly closer than a simple colleague. the amount of time you spent with him seemed to justify such an assumption. however, ratio wasn't as chummy. he saw you as a simple colleague, albeit more intelligent than the rest of them, but a colleague nonetheless - a favorite at a stretch.

although it couldn't go unnoticed to both the two of you and other intelligentsia guild members, that you both started naturally drifting toward one another. noticeably more you than him, but curiously he never pushed you away.

mainly it was you talking to him while he worked or focused on whatever else captured his. at first you never minded, instead finding his company somewhat peaceful. but his lack of actual engagement made you feel slightly insecure about always hanging around him.

ratio barely acknowledged you when you were around. eventually you started figuring that he didn't want you around, that you were only inconveniencing him but he was too polite to tell you that directly. his blunt words and seeming lack of genuine interest convinced you so - and not so long after, you stopped talking to him, returning back to a strictly research partner relationship.

it didn't take him long to realize the distance you quickly put between the two of you. ratio wanted to know why. he didn't understand why you suddenly became so absent. but he wouldn't ask. his natural pride wouldn't let him, he was sure enough that it was temporary - perhaps you had become busy and had no spare time, even if it wasn't he was sure you'd come back to him eventually.

the doctor couldn't comprehend the fact that he “cared” for you. that all that time spent as research partners had led to him developing somewhat of a bond with you - it'd never happened before, so why now? and why of all people, was it you?

a newfound realization occurred to him. your distance gave him time to think, time to realize just how much you affected him. and he didn't like it.

to ratio, he didn't understand why he felt that way around you. you shouldn't have been any more than a colleague and yet you were becoming more to him. that was a weaknesses. he despised the fact that his brain was betraying him. forcing him to think of you and it made him stop. why did you make him feel this way?

naturally, because of the new distance between the two of you, you grew apart. becoming more like colleagues again rather than close acquaintances. at first, ratio thought it was for the best. you were meant to be a colleague, nothing more.

so why was he longing for your presence?

why did he perk up when he saw you walking toward him just to feel deflated and jealous when you walked straight past him to someone else?

ratio found himself always looking for you in a crowd, just to snap himself out of it when he realized what he was doing. what was wrong with him? the doctor cursed his brain for thinking about you constantly - this wasn't like him, he needed to snap out of it.

but he couldn't. day in and day out, the smallest convenience brought his thoughts back to you and he abhorred it. maybe he should've fought more to stop being assigned a research partner, if he did, you wouldn't be a problem for him.

ratio carried on living in his state of denial, still completely confident that you would return to him at some point and everything would go back to normal. however, the longer he waited the more you practically infected his thoughts.

but he wasn't willing to come to terms with his feelings. it was a useless endeavor to try and comprehend such simple chemical signals in the brain, nothing more. they would go away eventually. ratio just needed to grasp ahold of his brain again. these feelings were only fleeting.

afterall, ratio didn't love you. he didn't even see you as anything more than a colleague. but why did he wish he could?

---✩

ratio paced past a group of guild members but slowed when he picked out your name among their hushed whispers and giggles. one member caught how the doctor slowed and smiled at him.

“i didn't peg you for a gossip enjoyer dr.ratio” his colleague almost giggled

ratio sighed and shook his head, ready to pick up his pace again and leave - why should he care about what your up to anyway. or that was his plan until another member of the gossip group urged him to listen which, he did, his curiosity getting the better of him.

they explained how only moments ago one of your colleagues confessed their love to you - to which you claimed to reciprocate. ratio didn't bother hearing the rest, instead opting to hurry over to the location of the confession with more urgency than ever.

he got there just in time to see you two together.

bitter jealousy bubbled to the front of his mind. it was an ugly emotion that only served to taunt his mistake. it made him ball his fist, nails digging into his palms and a twinge of disgust graced his features. ratio caught himself however, dropping his fists, shoulders slumping and letting his features twist into a sorrowful pain.

he stared almost slack jawed as you walked further away, hand in hand with someone that wasn't him.

and for the first time, ratio felt stupid.

rest of the "series"

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn, @https-sourlimes

[fluentmoviequoter]

Wintery

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!vigilante!reader

Summary: Gotham winters are brutal, but your best friend Jason Todd and work friend Red Hood know how to combat the cold. Unfortunately, you're falling in love with both of them.

Warnings: reader and Jason don't know the other is a vigilante, fluff, brotherly teasing, kissing, more fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I have no idea where this idea came from but it wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it. I hope it's okay and feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

Picture from Pinterest

Gotham winters are cold, windy, and relentless. There are few places to find refuge from the harsh bite of the chilling wind and fewer remedies to the wind-burned skin and seemingly permanent chapped lips.

Jason Todd, however, is a Gotham boy, born and raised, so he knows the importance of staying moisturized and protected in the winter. So, it's no surprise that he keeps lip balm in his pocket all winter.

No, it isn’t intimidating to see Red Hood putting Chapstick on, but having cracked lips is far more frightening. He finds quiet alleys, tipping his helmet up to combat dry lips before returning to his vigilante duties. Nightwing has only caught him once, and Jason is intent on never experiencing that level of brotherly torture (teasing) again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Since joining the small group of vigilantes, Red Hood has captured and kept your attention. Never saying more than a few words to you, he always seems nearby and eager to help you out of trouble, but you can’t get past that point.

Nightwing and Robin occasionally tell you their ideas to get him to open up to you, convinced there’s something between you, but you brush it off and admire the man in red from a distance.

The night wind is blowing hard enough you’re uncomfortable standing on such a high roof. You tuck yourself behind anything stationary, including Red Hood. 

Under the hood, Jason smiles to himself. He knows why you’re standing close to him, your concern for the wind mixing with an irrational idea that he will allow anything to happen to you. But, if you want to use him to block the wind from your pretty face, he’s happy to stay perfectly still. However, his gaze keeps dropping to your lips.

Jason watches you; he has been since you first stumbled upon them in a less than satisfactory suit. You were bleeding from a run-in with several muggers but smiling through your pain because you managed to make someone feel safe in Gotham; a rare feat unless you’re Batman. Instantly drawn to you, Red Hood has let himself get close enough to consider you a friend but not close enough to talk to you or worry incessantly about where you are through the day.

You say something, and Jason shakes his head to escape his memories of you, focusing on you and your dry-lipped smile. The winds are blowing up the building and into your face even as he blocks the worst of it, and your rosy cheeks amplify Jason’s growing concern. He wants to offer his jacket to you, even his chapstick – an unwelcome idea of kissing you to share it enters his mind, but he shoves it away. Or tries to; the imagined feeling of your lips on his is hard to shake.

After your question goes unanswered the second time, you wonder if Red Hood fell asleep under the helmet. He jerks sideways when you slide your hand into his pocket. His grip falls away from the holster on his thigh when he realizes it’s just you. (Though he’d never think 'just you' about anything.) You pull your hand out of the worn leather jacket, a small white tube in your grasp. Keeping your eyes on the small eye slits of the mask, you uncap the balm and put it directly on your lips.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling as you place it back in his pocket before turning away.

Anyone else, and he’d throw it away, unwilling to share such a personal item, but since he just thought about sharing it in a much different way, he doesn’t mind the idea of you doing it again. He’ll have to remember which pocket he put it in and leave it there for you, he decides.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s freezing,” you groan, rubbing your arms as you walk inside the warm apartment. “Why can’t we move to Metropolis?”

Jason laughs at you, his best friend. Since he developed what Dick refuses to call anything but “a crush” on his vigilante partner, he’s wondered what this thing with you is. You are his friend, of course, but there is something more there. Jason has never been good with feelings, and he’s in a strange spot between two women who affect him, similar yet completely different in how he responds.

“Because we can’t afford it,” Jason hums, welcoming you onto the couch beside him.

You slide your cold feet under his sweatpants-clad legs, sighing when he lays his arm over your shoulders.

“We who, Mr. Trust Fund Wayne?” you tease, leaning your head against his upper arm. “Thanks for inviting me over, though, even if I did get frostbite on the way.”

Jason chuckles, stopping short when he remembers something someone else said after fighting Mr. Freeze during a riot at Arkham. Shaking his head, he determines that he has a type.

“I’m stealing this,” you interrupt his reading, pulling a hoodie from the back of his couch.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, watching you pull it over your head. You feel warmer beside him after a few minutes, and when you dig a small tub of lip balm out of your pocket, Jason wonders if he should move to Metropolis.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where did it go?” Jason says to himself, barely audible through the voice modifier of the mask.

“Whatcha looking for?” you ask, dropping to the fire escape beside Red Hood. He doesn’t answer, but when you realize all his attention is focused on one pocket, you know. “Really? I need it again, too,” you lament.

Red Hood sighs, turning toward you. Your lips still look fine, with no sign of chapping in sight. Deciding he needs it more than you do, Jason seizes the opportunity.

Pushing his helmet up, he grabs your face between his warm, gloved hands. Pulling you against him, Jason presses his lips to yours, moving with you as the moisturizing gloss spreads across his lips.

“Better?” he asks, smirking before his face is hidden behind his helmet again.

Your face is still in his hands as you nod. “Nightwing took it,” you whisper.

Jason rolls his eyes and leans forward, whispering, “Who needs it when I have you?”

“You do,” you reply, dumbfounded and breathless from the kiss you’ve admittedly been daydreaming about. “I got mine from you.”

Red Hood laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. You think for a moment you’ve heard that laugh before, but then the idea disappears.

✯✯✯✯✯

The next day, you beat Jason back to his apartment after leaving the manor. Letting yourself in, you walk to his bookshelf to see if he’s gotten any new books. A leather jacket is lying on the floor beside the shelf, and when you pick it up, something falls out of the pocket.

“Hey,” Jason greets, closing the door behind him.

Turning, you hold the chapstick up, looking at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“Yeah?”

He comes to your side, his brows pinched. 

“Are you-“

You drop everything in your hands before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to you. As you kiss him, everything clicks into place.

Falling in love with Jason and Red Hood simultaneously wasn’t some cruel trick of fate or a mistake… you’d been with the same guy all along.

Pulling back, Jason takes a moment before opening his eyes. He blinks at you several times, trying to speak and failing.

“Really?” you ask, tilting your head. “I see that made a much bigger impact on me than it did on you.”

Jason still can’t answer, his mind going over each similarity that he should have caught on to, each mirrored movement or similar response. Your kiss, though… your kiss is unmistakable. He believed his lies about the touches and the words, but nothing can compete with your affection.

“Thank you,” Jason whispers, pulling you close again.

“For what?” you ask, brushing your fingers through the white streak in his hair. “It took me way too long to realize.”

“For everything,” he answers before kissing you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your first patrol after learning not just Red Hood but everyone’s true identities is interesting. Bringing your own protection against the current blizzard, you're grateful for the foresight after you get separated from Jason.

Waiting near Arkham and shivering in the cold, you don’t hear the crunch of boots on snow until Red Hood grabs your waist and spins you around. Without his helmet, only a domino mask to protect his identity (pointless in the dark storm), he doesn’t wait before pressing his lips to yours, eager to try a new flavor and get more of you. After waiting so long and being tortured by his tragic decision to love two women at once, Jason deserves to show you how much he cares for you twice as often as he wishes. And if you start buying crazy lip balm flavors to mess with him, he’ll love you even more for it.

[jasminsstories]

[01:22 am]

pov: you want to wait until zayne comes home, but he works overtime again. when he comes home he finds you asleep already.

fluff. just pure soft fluff. use of pet names (angel, love). zayne x reader

your tired eyes wandered to the top left of your smartphone screen where the numbers of the current time was displayed. “seems like zayne is working overtime again huh”, you muttered to yourself and a yawn left your mouth. your fingers opened the message from him earlier that day where he wrote how we wanted to come right to your place after he is done working. those were the last words he left you. it seemed like the cardiologist got too busy right after. you didn’t even realize how your heavy eyes closed on their own while you read the message again and your phone display darkened right afterwards.

you didn’t know what exactly woke you but you noticed a shifting on the bed and a rustling of the bed sheets. “mhmn..?”, you turned on your back and managed to crack your eyes slightly open. however due to the darkness of the room you couldn’t see or make out anything. “go to sleep again, angel”, you heard a familiar low voice whisper and the warmth of a hand caress your cheek, “sorry, i didn’t want to wake you up.” your drowsy eyes closed again in relaxation, because you were now certain who the person next to you was. so you just leaned your head into his hand and rubbed your cheek slightly against it with a soft sigh, “zayne.. you late.” your sleepy brain was not quite able to form a coherent sentence, but the chuckle from your lover revealed that he couldn’t care less and probably even found it adorable. “i got a sudden emergency operation and it took longer than expected”, the raven haired doctor answered and that’s when he made out your phone right next to you, laying there discarded. carefully he picked it up to put it to safety on your bedside table. you could feel the warmth of his body loom over you while he did this. “…you waited for me?” “mhmm.. yeah” “i didn’t want to make you wait, i’m sorry” you could already imagine his furrowed eyebrows and the apologetic gleam in his orbs behind your closed eyes, so you just shook your head and reached your arms upwards in hopes to find his body. you were lucky and without hesitation you enclosed his broad form to pull him towards you. he let out a surprised sound and instinctively quickly propped his hands against the mattress to prevent his weight completely fall onto you. “doesn’t matter- you are here now”, you mumbled and nuzzled your nose into his hair. a fond smile spread across zayne’s lips and he felt how his exhausted body absorbed the warmth and comfort you provided him even when you were half asleep. slowly he shifted his weight to lay down beside you, snaking his arms around your body to completely engulf you in a hug. you felt his familiar smell and warmth wrap around you and you immediately nestled your head against his chest. the rhythmical, strong beats of his heart, pulled you to sleep again. “i will always come back to you”, he said quietly, not sure if you were still able to hear his words. “good night, my love” zayne pressed a loving kiss on the crown of your head, before he closed his eyes and the world of dreams called him.

✨ note: this got way longer than i thought and intended to, but i’m so down bad for this man. had to get my brain rots out somehow. it’s been really long since i wrote something like this and english is not my first language so excuse me if there are mistakes or it’s a bit wonky on some ends. thinking about writing more zayne stuff in the future, but i’m not sure if there are people who would want to read these ><

[chimielie]

sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince���s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?” He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

[yallthemwitches]

The Storm

Some fluff for @jilytoberfest Day 29: Cold Winter Nights.

AO3 Link Here

“Alright Potter, if you are going to tease me then I will just go home—”

She turns on her heel to find that he’s now close—too close for them to be in a sitting room where Mr. or Mrs. Potter could walk in the door at any minute. 

“You wanted to stay the night.”

“Mum, it's all right. I spoke with Mrs. Potter and she said that I can stay over without a problem. God knows they won’t even realize I’m here with a house this big—”

She feels weird talking on a phone in an otherwise aggressively ‘wizard’ sitting room, but both James and Mrs. Potter had been delighted to hook up their ancient telephone so she could ring home. 

“I’ll be back in the morning when the storm lets up.” She hangs up the phone and turns to find that she isn’t alone. James stands in the corner, arms folded behind his back, face cut in half by a wide grin. 

“Do I want to know?” She lifts an eyebrow and his grin gets impossibly wider. 

“Storm will make it hard to get home, eh?”

She ignores him, pretending to become fascinated with the book selection.

“Because it’s not like floo powder still works in a storm.”

She hopes that if she remains silent he will let up—a rookie mistake.

“And it’s not like storms effect apparition—”

“Alright Potter, if you are going to tease me then I will just go home—”

She turns on her heel to find that he’s now close—too close for them to be in a sitting room where Mr. or Mrs. Potter could walk in the door at any minute. 

“You wanted to stay the night.”

Her throat goes dry, cheeks burning. She could deny it, push him away and tell him to get his thick brain out of the gutter, but her brain is going fuzzy with his body heat leaning into her. 

“I just figured that since Sirius is at his uncle’s, I could just bunk in his room. Mum’s very nervous when I travel—”

He hums in dissatisfaction, close enough now that the sound vibrates across her skin. 

“Sirius’ room—you definitely don’t want to go in there. Merlin knows what he’s been up to.”

“Then I’ll ask your mum to make up one of the other rooms—seems like you have an endless supply.”

He nods, taking a step back. The distance creates a visceral reaction and she fights the desire to take him by the shirt and press their bodies together. 

“Definitely the reputable thing to do—ok c’mon then.”

She follows on his heels as he lopes his way through what feels like labyrinthine corridors, passing portraits of men with familiar untidy hair alongside elaborate paintings of mythical creatures. They get to the east side of the house and James stops at a heavy set door that is left ajar. A glint of red and gold peeks out from the crack. 

“Is this where I’m staying?” James cheeks flush. All of his cockiness drained into a bashful expression.

“No—this one’s mine. But there’s a room right next to it that you can use.”

She can’t help herself. She presses on the door and it groans open. It's like his dorm room but with grander treatment—similar quidditch and music posters line the walls but instead of a modest four poster bed, a much too large mahogany one takes up most of the room. 

“Quaint.” She can feel him watching her and she turns back to him. He’s straight as a board, face a deep crimson as his eyes search her face. 

“It’s—my room.” He says weakly, like this wasn’t already known. “We can…go in if you want.”

Her heartbeat quickens. There is little left to the imagination when the boy you’ve been snogging for months invites you into his very big, very welcoming bedroom. Her mind wanders a floor below where she knows his mum and dad are both sitting in the study, simultaneously too close and far away.

“Maybe you can show me the other room first? That way I know where it is–”

“Right.” He turns quickly, movements more erratic than they were down in the sitting room. 

He walks a couple of steps to the nearest door and turns the knob. Inside is a mirrored bedroom, but with significantly less character. For Potter standards it’s a simple guest room but it surpasses any room the Evans’ house could dream to have. 

She sticks her head through the doorway to scan the room. It’s good, a comfortable and safe option—but that’s not what she wants.

“I like yours better.” She states plainly, but her whole body flushes crimson. His head whips to her, eyes blown wide. 

“Yeah?” He steps close, confidence mounting with each second. She can feel a warm hand hover at the small of her back and his face looms so close she can see the flecks of gold in his irises.

“Just because it’s supposed to be a really cold night.” Her brain is swimming, vision now being taken over by him and his hovering lips. 

“Would hate to have you freeze to death on my watch,” he murmurs, lips grazing hers, eyes closing. His other hand curls into her hair and she leans into his touch.

“---and I’m not very keen on storms.” 

“Me either—terrified of them.” His lips skim past her mouth and drag a path up to her ear, a smile evident.

“You don’t think your parents-–” but he’s already grabbing her hand, ushering her back towards his room. He walks his way backwards so as to not remove their distance from each other, lips finally making contact. 

“Don’t worry Evans,” he says, a smirk forming against her, “Just like you said: with a house this big, they won’t even realize we’re here.”

[lefarte]

Hallo, may I make a soft Levi funger x reader request? 💜

So polite heheh yes of course. My first request, is it cause he’s my profile picture 👀 ? You didn’t specify if you wanted headcanons or more of a ficlet (is that a word?) so I just sort of did my best I hope this is decent 🩷

Under the cut ^_^ no content warnings, just fluff, gender neutral reader

When Levi got clingy (which is often) it rarely manifested through physical touch. He’s hardly willing to do any more than tug on your sleeve to get your attention, and even this is a very small action that you could easily miss. More than anything, he liked to watch and guard you. Even if you kept telling him it wasn’t necessary, you always found him awake at the small hours of the morning over your bed.

“…I… I was awake anyway, so…”

He muttered something like that and then turn away. What would he do if not watch over you? Oil his gun? Count the windows in the building, count the entrance and exit points, think about his life up until this point? Since the war, even his mind became something of a problem. Always rearing its head at inopportune moments.

When he looked at you and the way your hair is fussed up first thing in the morning, he could almost imagine… domesticity. Something like this; he wakes up, and your hands are entangled from the night before, and you yawn and rub your eyes. You would eat breakfast together and talk.

“…How long have you been up?” You pulled the blankets off. “Did you sleep at all?”

Levi nodded. “I did…”

“You’re getting tremors in your hands again.”

He looked at his hands, cracked and dirty and covered in dry blood, bitten and shaky. A telltale sign. Within a few hours, maybe less, the nausea would come, and then the cravings, the sweat and the migraine. He shrugged.

You rolled out of bed. The bed squealed as you got off. To his surprise, you came to him.

“Don’t bite it,” You said, looking at his hands.

He blinked.

“You bit so hard you’re bleeding,” You reiterated, touching his fingernails.

He cocked his head, much like a dog. “S…Sometimes I wonder if you’re a… real… person.”

…Or a figment of his imagination. The first time he saw you, he ran away. You must have been some ghost of his past, one of the many dead faces brought animate by the withdrawals. And you kept pursuing. He thought for sure you wanted to kill him for what he did. Instead of that, you gave him heroin. And then you gave him food, and took him in, for absolutely no cost.

He decided that you must not know, and you should never know.

“Don’t be silly.”

You put a bandaid over his finger.

“…No…really… you shouldn’t be here…” Not in Prehevil. It’s a rotten place, for bad people. “And… um… I don’t need a bandage… you should save that.”

“You say weird things sometimes. It makes me want to squeeze you.”

He couldn’t respond to that. “Huh.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“Stay here...” He croaked.

He had to admit that you were being sensible. The lack of sleep had been getting to him. He was saying things he shouldn’t say. The sun hadn’t fully risen, so… he could afford himself to rest for maybe another 20 minutes. Being generous.

It felt pathetic to beg.

“I’ll keep watch.” You promised.

Swallowing his shame, he slipped under the covers. It was still warm from your body heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of a human, even if it was just the lingering traces from your pillow. He almost felt excited like a little kid. Its like an indirect hug, he thought.

You sat at the foot of the bed. You had no rifle to polish or any way to keep yourself occupied, except to listen to the soft breathing of Levi next to you. The way he curled up was soft, never like how a soldier should sleep. He left his rifle.

“Sleep well,” you said softly.

“….yeah….”

[activesplooger]

ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴏᴜʀ | ᴠᴏx x ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Notes: (MDNI) SORRY ITS ALMOST BEEN A MONTH I'VE BEEN BUSYYY. feedback is greatly appreciated!

Summary: Confronting Vox and attending a meeting! CW: Angst, platonic heartbreak, fluff, reference to pt. 3 paragraph 2 (hint hint). Word Count: 2,626

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Masterpost!

The room fell dead silent. Vox sat in his chair looking unamused and bored as he waited for you to speak. A hint of dread in his eyes, like he knew this was coming. You open your mouth to speak, yet, no words come out. It's hard to articulate everything you need to say along with how you should even start a conversation like this.

All these years of anger and a hankering for confrontation. Yet, here you are, the opportunity laid out in front of you and all you can do is stare in silence.

Vox exhales roughly in impatience, "Are you gonna talk or-". "What's wrong with you?" you blurt out. Yeah... That was definitely not the right way to start this conversation.

Vox quirks an eyebrow and glances at one of his monitors displaying the time, "Can you speed this up?" he huffs dismissively, "I have things to do.". At that moment, his audacity led you to find the words to speak, "No! I can't!" you step closer, waving a pointed finger at him sternly, as if you were a mother scolding a child, "I have waited far too long for you to just disregard this as if it's some type of chore! Now, you are gonna sit there and listen while I talk!." Vox's eyes widen as he straightens out his posture. Surprisingly, your little rant seemed to catch his attention. Taking a deep breath, you begin to speak calmly, "Look, ever since that day- the one with the whole Alastor thing- you've been... different, to say the least. Meaner, colder-". "Like I wasn't those things before then." he chimes in defensively. "Don't interrupt!" you begin, "And, you know what I mean... Even if you weren't the greatest person before, it got way worse after... It wasn't just that either... You're more distant now... and cruel..." "Well, what am I supposed to do about it? You think I'm gonna do a 180 just because you 'called me out'?" Vox laughs bitterly, "Nice try, sweetheart, I've come up with worse things to say about myself." Your face contorts to one of confusion and concern. Did he just openly admit to self-loathing? And brag about it?! This was gonna be a long talk... "Was that supposed to be a flex? You know what, that's beside the point," you say.

"Then what is the point?!". he says exasperated.

"The point is that ever since your fight with Alastor you've been a major shithead!" You snap, narrowed angry eyes meeting his red ones. "So what?!" Vox pushes on the arms of his chair as he gets up, a frustrated scowl etched across his features. "So? SO?!" your eyes bore into him with a fierce glare, stepping closer until you're less than a foot apart from him, "So I wanna know what happened! I wanna know what Alastor did to make you such an INSUFFERABLE PRICK.". Vox looks at you as if you had said the most offensive thing imaginable, "I'm the bad guy? I'M THE FUCKING BAD GUY? No, you don't get to do this. You don't KNOW me. You don't know what happened that day!". "Then tell me!" you plead sharply. Vox's voice glitches as he speaks, "₦Ø!".

"Why?" you ask, pretty much at the end of your rope," you can't put all these walls up and act like a douche for some big ominous reason only to shut people out when they ask!". "You don't know what you're talking about!" he dismissively replies. Letting out a sharp huff, you repeat, "For the love of Lucifer- Then fucking tell me!"

"I CAN'T" he yells, breathing heavily before speaking in a softer tone, "I can't... you don't know how badly he fucking hurt-" a voice crack cuts him off. Bringing a large hand to cover his mouth, he swiftly walks past you to avoid you seeing him. You weren't certain, but you could've sworn you saw his eyes water... Turning your body to face him, you watch as he walks to the edge of the platform and sits, legs dangling off the edge just above the water. He watches the sharks swimming below him, taking a deep breath before he murmurs, "Just- Drop it. Okay?". Ugh. You hated that you felt bad for the fucker. You shouldn't feel bad, you had every right to leave him here wallowing in self-pity. But, you didn't. Despite everything, you just couldn't leave it there... You kept telling yourself that you just wanted to yell and make him feel horrible for everything he did but, in reality, you wanted him to go back to normal. At this point, you wonder if he can be normal anymore... Still, there was no harm in trying... Curse you and your savior complex.

Before you can second guess yourself, you walk over and sit beside him. Your hand reaches out and hovers over his shoulder hesitantly. After a brief moment of contemplation, you shake your head and rest your hand back down beside you.

"I really loved him, you know..." Vox quietly admits. Eyes widening to the size of bowling balls, your head sharply turns to face him. Vox looks back at you and groans, "Not like that!". You let out a soft "oh" in response, your expression relaxing as you turn to look back out at the vast array of sharks.

A sharp exhale leaves Vox's lips, "What I meant was that he was my best friend... I told him everything, trusted him, loved him... I loved him more than I've ever loved anyone or anything in my life.". You nod and gaze sympathetically at him as he explains. "I was too blinded by this idea that Alastor could never hurt me to realize that the whole thing was completely one-sided. I told him everything, but I was too dense to realize that he didn't tell me ŞⱧł₮! That smiling bastard just wanted me to spill my guts so at the right moment, he could use it against me... and he did..." "Oh," you start, "so that night is when he-" "Yeah.". Vox rests his elbows on his knees, hunching over and resting his head in his hands, "I invited him over to join the Vees and- fuck.". As he cusses, his voice croaks, and tears well up in his eyes once more. "And," he proceeds, "he denied me. When I got mad and asked him why he said, "Why would I ever want to do something so frivolous as working with a vain incompetent TV? I know you Vox. And this isn't what you think it is."". You speak, a bit astonished, "Shit... And that's all because he didn't like your business proposal?" "Yeah, I mean, I didn't react calmly to his rejection by any means but still. Nothing warranted that kind of reaction... Anyway, then we got into an argument. I said horrible things I didn't mean, and he said even worse things that he did mean... As a last resort, I tried hypnotizing him, I was just so desperate, I couldn't believe what he was saying to me... And that didn't go over well since he beat the shit out of me after..." As he explains, the pieces of information start clicking together in your head, "Oh yeah... and that's when I found you-" "Yep. That's when you found me."

…

A familiar silence fills the air after Vox stops explaining. His expression is thoughtful as he looks down at the sharks below him, as if he’s debating on whether or not to break the silence.

Your eyes are fixed on him as he looks out, unable to look away. Before, you saw him as this powerful, callous, sadistic overlord… But now, all you see is a broken sinner. A tired defeated sinner. Just like everyone else in Hell. Just like you.

A few minutes of silence roll by, the only sounds being the buzzing of monitors and the occasional quiet splash of water. Vox takes a deep breath, “I almost died that day… That is if you hadn’t saved me.”. Not knowing how to respond, you stayed quiet.

He turns to meet your gaze, “I never thanked you.”.

“You did not.” you respond matter-of-factly, with a hint of bitterness in your tone.

Vox’s eyes meet yours with sincerity, “Well, thank you.”

A soft smile grows on your lips, “You’re welcome.”

Looking back out at the water, he apologizes, ”-And sorry.”. Your eyebrows furrow, “For?-“.

“For being an asshole,” he states flatly. "Oh yeah..." you reply with a casual tone. Vox looks at you with an almost-offended look. "No hesitation, really? No, "Mr. Vox you could never be an asshole!"", he says half-jokingly. You chuckle and roll your eyes, "No way in here would I ever say that.". The two of you share a short-lived bittersweet laugh before Vox's tone grows serious again, "Seriously though, you didn't deserve that... no one did...". You sharply exhale, not saying anything in return. He was right. He was an asshole and he wasn't off the hook for it because he had some backstory to prove it. You felt bad for him, but it felt worse to be mistreated and see others be mistreated by him.

"Earlier, when you said I grew distant... You're right, I was- or, am," he affirms... "I know," you respond, not making eye contact with him anymore as your mind races with thoughts of his maltreatment. "Yes, but do you know why?". This seems to snap you out of your thoughts. Your mind is screaming 'YES', however, you keep it casual and nod slowly.

Vox takes a deep breath, "I stopped being friends with you and well everyone because I don't want another Alastor in my life...".

"What about Val and Vel?" you inquire.

"That's different" he shifts over, swinging his legs over the edge and onto the platform, sitting crisscrossed in front of you, "Val and Vel are... business partners. I only really keep them around for appearances.".

"How charming," you say sarcastically.

"I just thought you should know," he says softly, eyes never leaving yours, "I didn't want to hurt myself again, so I distanced myself and didn't give anyone a reason to like me.". Fuck. You wanted to just forget everything and go back to normal, but you know that can't happen. After all, these are just meaningless words. He hasn't even promised to get better or at least try to! You need time to process everything and he needed time to get his shit together. Not everything could be fixed in this one moment, and you both knew that.

Silence fills the room once more, there's nothing left to say now that everything is out in the open. 'It's not your job to fix him' keeps repeating in your head, as if to convince yourself of it. His eyes stay fixed on you with a slight frown on his face. Maybe you should go.

Pushing off the floor to get up, a large hand grasps at yours, "Wait-". You stumble a bit when he grabs at your hand, "Wh-".

"I really need you to know that I'm sorry," he pleads, "Y/N I know I'm an asshole that you could never forgive but trust me, I hate myself just as much as you hate me... please...".

Taking your hand back, you sigh and step back. You look down at his pleading, desperate form, "I never said I didn't forgive you... but that doesn't mean that what you did and what you're continuing to do is okay by any means... I can't keep forgiving you Vox, and frankly, I'm the only person that will even forgive you to begin with. You need to change. You can get better, I know you can. I've seen you better...". And with that, you leave, not bothering to turn back. You know that if you look back now at his sorry-ass you'd stay. And what good would staying do?

You've done enough. The rest was up to him.

-- The blaring sound of your alarm wakes you up. Groggily sitting up, you rub your eyes and hop out of bed. Today's an important day, you had to accompany Vox to an important meeting with the overlord Carmilla Carmine.

After a much-needed cup of coffee, you take a shower, letting the soothing hot water wash the grime of yesterday off you. As you wash up, you can't help but wonder what today would be like... 'Would Vox be nicer? Would he stay the same?'. Questions plagued your mind throughout getting ready.

Stepping out of the shower, you put on a robe and plug in your hair dryer to style your hair. You style your hair and put on your make-up after. Glancing over to check the time, you panic a bit, 'Shit, I'm gonna be late if I don't haul ass!'. Hurriedly, you put on your uniform: a form-fitting white blouse and navy blazer, a teal and navy tie, navy pants, and black stiletto heels. Taking one final glance in the mirror, you leave for work.

Pulling into your parking space, you speed walk into work, worried that Vox will be pissed if you make him late for his meeting. You push open the large circular doors to his office and hurry down the walkway. Vox is sitting in his chair with an annoyed expression as an employee stands beside him. Of course, your nosy ass wanted to see what was happening, so you stood and watched.

Neither Vox nor the employee had noticed you as you eavesdropped. Vox sits with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth as he holds back his anger, "You want a what?". "A raise, sir." the employee squeaks. The hand that was previously pinching his nose drags across his face as he tries to restrain his anger, "Why the ₣Ữ- ahem- Why would I do that?".

You could tell Vox was trying to not berate the employee. An involuntary smile crept across your lips. 'He's trying...'. "W-Well because I've been working here for a long time and-" the staff member goes on and on, stuttering about why they should get a raise. Vox felt frustration rising in him as the employee went on. Vox rose up from our chair quickly before the staff member could continue any longer, "Fine! Just-" he pointed a large teal claw towards the door, "GO!". The employee says their thank-you's as they swiftly rush down the walkway.

His eyes land on you, standing there with a grin, "What that look for?". "What? Oh! Nothing, just here to remind you of your 10:00 meeting with Carmilla," you respond. "Oh," he begins, "right, let's go.".

-- A sleek black VoxTech limo chauffeurs you and Vox to the meeting. The ride was fairly quiet, and a tad awkward since you both didn't know how to talk normally after what went down yesterday. Luckily Carmilla's office was a short ride from the Vee Tower, so you didn't have to sit in awkward silence for too long. Upon arrival, the two of you briskly walk into her office so as to not be late. When you walk in, Carmilla and Vox exchange formal greetings and pleasantries 'How are you' 'Nice to see you' blah blah blah. Carmilla's sharp eyes fell on you after they finished the courteous exchange, "And who would this be?".

Vox's eyes flicker to you, then back to Carmilla, "Oh. This is Y/N, my assistant... and friend."

-

ITS DONE WNIWEHIWHFOUIWHEI. i hope you guys liked it! lmk if u wanna be tagged for future chaps! if theres any grammar mistakes or parts that dont make sense lmk!

-

TAG LIST:

@lovelyemily, @preppyfellaa, @diffidentphantom, @lil-glum, @leonotlara,

@matpatsstuff, @rapunzelbro, @n0tmentallystable, @that-one-person-blue If I missed anyone or incorrectly added anyone, let me know!

[qqtxt]

omgomgomg i cant let this thought go help meee but imagine the cliché bad dream trope with txt specifically the one where reader wakes up from a bad dream where the dream version of bf!txt was cheating on them then they wake up and get angry at irl txt lmao (im not really thinking angst but lighthearted and soft hours)

*smacks them awake with a pillow*"WHO IS SHE?!"

Them: 👁👄👁 "Babe I just woke up wdym..."

oh my goodness this is too real. i have done something similar to my bf before and he's really just 💧👁👄👁💧 this made me giggle so i just had to write a little something! I'm still a little stumped with my studies but i really wanted to write something out so this is a bit short and not really proofread! so apologies in advance but i do hope it's okay! 💖

[🌸] bitter dream, sweet reality w/ txt

✿ pairing: ot5 x reader / fluff, crack 🌸🤡 / idol!txt / non.idol!you / soobin and yeonjun get roasted for nothing ✿ mini-fics with each member for the same situation / less than 400 words for each member / altogether, word count: 1,591 words ✿ in which you dreamt that he cheated on you and you smack their face with a pillow [masterlist 🌸] / other members under the cut!

[🐰] soobin  soobin lets out a whine when he feels a smack to the face. as he opens his eyes, he flinches when he notices you're already looking at him with a frown on your face. the worry overtakes him too quickly as he sits up, hands to your shoulders, "hey... you okay?"

"how can you ask that when you did what you did?" you mutter under your breath, looking away from him with a huff. he gapes, blinking a couple of times to recuperate. 

"i-i just–what did i–"

"you cheated on me. in my dream. you suck."

initially, soobin's stumped. listening to your words, he was ready to apologise until he realises that–"wait, in your dream? i cheated? on you?" he chuckles when the words sink in, and he watches how you cross your arms in front of your chest. "you can't be serious, right? why would i ever cheat on you?"

when you press your lips to a thin line and refuse to look at him, he takes it as his cue to–"ah..." he hums softly, relenting as he wraps his arms around you. it was easy enough to curl you in given that he makes use of his figure; effectively nudging you towards him and engulfing you in his embrace. "i apologise on behalf of dream soobin, but real life soobin won't ever do that," he gives you a gentle shake, "hm?"

"hm," you nod, putting your arms around him to snuggle closer towards him. sure, you might've hit soobin in the face with the pillow but the way he's able to hug you like this might've been all the more worth it as he smiles into the side of your face like a hopeless romantic.

[🦊] yeonjun yeonjun nearly falls off the bed as he comes to wake from the hit to the face. he can't quite believe he's woken up just from a hit but when he snaps his eyes open and turns to the side, he's a mumbling fish.

"what?! who? what's going on?" he frantically looks around, and then he spots you sitting up with a pillow in your hands, nearly looking like you're about to squish it to death. "yah..." he murmurs, a hand reaching out to you but his brows furrow when you dodge his touch, "what's wrong?"

"you cheated on me."

his eyes visibly widen as he swallows.

"me? when?"

"in my dream. last night. i don't like you."

he didn't intend to but you make it very, very hard not to smile. the corner of his lips already tug upwards at the thought of you being frustrated at the fact you thought he would cheat on you, or even comprehend that.

"look at me, please?" he tries to reach out to you and this time he manages to put a hand on the pillow you're holding. he tugs at it and you let go of the pillow so he can put it back next to him as he puts his hands in yours to give a squeeze. "c'mon now, the quicker you look at me, the faster we can go back to sleep."

you reluctantly look at him and that's when you see it. the way his eyes look at you with love, overflowing with warmth. the way he's so infatuated with you that he couldn't ever, possibly do it.

"how could i ever cheat on you when i get to look at you look at me like this? do i need to run up to the rooftop to profess my love to you to the entire world? because i would, let me just grab my slippers and–"

you make a noise that crosses between a whine and grumble, squeezing his hands. that alone was enough for yeonjun to be able to get you to lie down next to him as he cuddles you in bed until you fall asleep with a smile on both of your faces.

[🐯] beomgyu  beomgyu merely groans at the soft plush feeling he feels on his face. he doesn't bother opening his eyes, only reaching out blindly until he hooks his arm around what feels like your waist and he pulls. he whines a little when you don't oblige it makes him peel one eye open to see you frowning at him. instinctively, he shrugs it off and shifts closer towards you instead, nuzzling against the side of your arm, "what time is it? it still looks dark to be awake..."

when he doesn't hear a response, he huffs and opens his eyes, now noticing the way you're still frowning.

"nawh... what's wrong? can't sleep?"

"i was peacefully sleeping until you decided to cheat on me in my dream."

his first instinct is to laugh, then drag poor, innocent yeonjun into this.

"the day i ever cheat on you is the day that yeonjun-hyung turns into a bird,"

"..."

"...okay, not funny. but look at me," he sits up on his elbows, turning to look at you properly even though he has crust in his eyes and he looks like he needs to sleep for another year and a half. "i'm so hopelessly in love with you that i still feel like i don't see you enough,"

"i'm with you every night," you counter, with a scoff of laugh that he holds onto with a grin, "exactly," he nods. "so how can i possibly cheat on you?"

when you don't respond, he knows he's won when he's able to lay back down and lure you into his arms.

"better?" he hums, burying his face in your neck as you cuddle against his chest, as he moulds into your back with a sigh. "better."

[🐿] taehyun  taehyun's half-sleepy, half-confused when he wakes up from the fluff of a pillow that greets him awake. it takes him a while to process that okay, i'm awake and to notice that oh, you're the one who woke me up when he notices the pillow in your hands, a frown etched to your lips, brows furrowed. he sighs and sits up, tilting his head at you, "can't sleep?"

you keep silent, fidgeting with the pillow that taehyun shakes his head.

"c'mon, pretty thing. i can't help unless you tell me what's wrong," he shifts a little closer, placing a hand on top of yours, lifting his brows just a little on instinct, "hm?"

he sees how your features change in the dark and he shouldn't laugh but he does when you're all pouty and sulky.

"you're a cheater, kang taehyun."

"me?" he snorts, giving your hands a squeeze, "since when?"

"since last night, in my dream."

you watch as your words seep into his brain, and it shows on his face when his lips turn from an 'o' to a small smile.

"that's not fair, now is it? i can't control dream taehyun, but at least i can control real-life taehyun," he moves to wedge his hand between yours and grips onto one of it, his thumb brushing the back of your hand, "and real-life taehyun would never do that to you."

"promise?" you know you sound childish, maybe even a little irrational but it's the way taehyun nods with such firmness and genuity, even locking pinkies with you that makes you feel at ease, "promise."

[🐧] kai kai is the definition of clueless and flustered upon being smacked to wake with a pillow to the face. though, he's surprisingly not as panicky as imagined when he sits up with a sharp intake of breath, eyes rapidly blinking as he adjusts to the darkness of the room and calls for your name softly.

"are you okay?" he mutters, rubbing his eyes as he sits up, half-lidded.

"no, because you," with another pillow hit to the chest, he oofs back onto the bed despite trying to sit up, "cheated on me."

he remains laying down on the bed, moving his hand from his eyes with a chuckle.

"what's so funny?" you huff, nudging him with your weapon (pillow).

"me cheating on you is like saying soobin-hyung willingly signed a gym membership."

"...do you think this is funny?"

"y/n," he sits up, testing the waters to see if you'd hit him again but when you lower your weapon down, he smiles at you so sweetly, it's making you feel a little guilty for waking him up like this and he's still so sweet to you. "i literally flew back ten hours just so i can be with you for two days before i'd have to leave again. i'd still do it again and again because i love you so much. do you think i'd cheat on you?"

"then why'd you cheat on me in my dream?"

he shrugs, "i can't answer that. that's not me."

when you don't say anything, he sighs and peels the pillow from your hands so he can place it back on the bed. then, he crawls over to you, wrapping his arms around you to carefully lure you back to where you belong; in his arms, side by side in bed.

"you don't actually think i'll cheat on you, do you?" he murmurs, rubbing your stomach as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.

you shake your head and lean back to his touch, "no, but it felt real. and i didn't like that feeling..."

"mm..." he hums, "that doesn't sound like it feels nice. but do you feel a bit better now?"

you nod, lapping your hands over his as your eyes close, "yeah, much better now."

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

“Tell me, where did you sleep last night?” (Colin Robinson x werewolf!reader)

Word count: 1,142

Age restriction: 16+ (vulgar language)

Tags: Fluff, crack, teasing, implied romance.

Synopsis: Your work doesn’t let you go home early on a full moon, so now you have to rush away from the office building to transform. Unfortunately one very nosy colleague won’t leave you alone.

Author’s note: Cringe culture needs to die. Let’s enjoy werewolves and balding men.

_____________________________________________

You tapped your fingers on the table. At first it was rhythmic, almost like a military drum, but with time it just started to sound unsteady, matching the beat of your own heart. Anxiety filled you up so strongly, that only the tips of your fingers were loose enough to move. The rest of the body was tense and getting tenser, as you watched the sky gradually darken and a faint silhouette of the moon appear.

“Only five minutes…” you mumbled to yourself. “Only five minutes…”

“Five minutes ‘till what?” Someone popped their head into your cubicle. You didn’t have to look, to know who exactly it was.

“The end of my shift, Colin.”

Your insides churned violently, as you noticed new dark brown hairs pop out on your hands. So thick and dense, it looked nothing like human hair and you knew it, so you haphazardly tried to cover them with the sleeves of your office shirt. It was getting late. Too late for your liking.

“Oh, right. It sucks to be you, huh? Working, because you have no more sick days to slack off.” He chuckled. “Well, I could keep you company until the end of your shift. You know what they say, good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter, am I right? That’s a quote by Izaak Walton. Oh, by the way, interesting fact about Izaak Walton! Did you know that his wife and seven kids died almost at the same time? Yeah, can’t imagine being that poor fella. Probably way worse, than sitting in this office.” You felt your eyelids start to get heavy as Colin kept on ranting about stuff you literally couldn’t care less about, but the good person in you didn’t allow the pleasure of shutting him up. “… Why are you wearing sweatpants by the way? Wee-ooh! Wee-ooh! Dress code violation detected!” He laughed to himself.

You barely even listened to whatever Colin was saying at this point. The hair on your hands started to become more noticeable and you felt the same happening all over your body. You stood up, ignoring the fact, that your shift wasn’t over as well as your very annoying colleague and hurried towards the elevator, leaving behind your belongings. There was no time to think of this.

“I gotta go.”

“Go where?” Colin wondered, as you stomped onwards.

This was incredibly frustrating for him. He heated being ignored, because that was the only way to counter his powers. Now it was more of a challenge, than a need to actually drain you. It was a matter of honour, that Robinson had very little of, but still wanted to protect, so he followed you into the elevator.

“Oops, wrong floor! Didn’t mean that.” He smiled, as he pressed several wrong buttons.

You felt your face flush with annoyance and his eyes briefly flashed bright electric blue. The matter was too urgent for his dumb tricks, so you left the elevator at the next floor and started running down the stairs, because you felt your body slowly starting to expand with muscles and fur. Of course, Colin persisted as well. Turns out, it is way more fun to insensibly break you down and watch you slowly loose your cool.

You ran out onto the street and shouted into the alleyway. Robinson looked at you, scrunched on the pavement. Tossing and turning, as if you were possessed by something ungodly.

“Hey there, friendo… You’re good?” He walked a bit closer.

“Get the fuck away from me, you imbecile!” You cried, before completely turning into a Northwestern wolf, being ready to attack at any moment.

You howled and shook, making it seem like your whole body was in intense pain, trying to retain your human consciousness and stop yourself from tearing Colin to literal shreds. He saw how you aggressively turned your head from side to side and whinged. Usually, he’s not too keen on helping random humans, but this instance felt like a symbiotic relationship.

“Woah… Okay, that was not on my 2024 bingo card.” He chuckled. “Uhm… Did you know, that there is a very rare condition called hypertrichosis - which causes sufferers to grow hair all over their body, including their faces! It's also called werewolf syndrome for obvious reasons.”

His eyes flashed blue again and you felt yourself getting tired. It became a bit easier to suppress that primal urge to attack.

“You know, your kind might have an Ancient Greek origin. There's a very gory myth that Zeus turned King Lycaon into a wolfman as punishment for eating human flesh. In fact, this is where the fancy term for a werewolf comes from - Lycanthrope. From King Lycaon!” Once again, the alley was slightly illuminated by a bright blue light.

You laid down on the pavement, feeling less and less feral. Your consciousness was more present than ever before in this state.

Colin slowly walked over to you and crouched down. “Not looking very good, are you?” He poked you lightly and smiled. You were a bit too tired to react. “So that’s why you’re wearing those ugly sweatpants. Well, it’s nice to know that I’m not the only supernatural creature in the office. You’ve probably guessed what I am by now, right?”

You looked up at his face then nodded slightly. To be honest, you weren’t sure what exactly he was, you just knew that something wasn’t human in any way shape or form.

“Say it… Out loud.” He pronounced dramatically, with strobe lights reflecting in his glasses. “Oh wait, you literally can’t, I forgot. Shit. Anyway, I’m a vampire. An energy vampire to be precise, so it means I’m a day walker. I feast on your life energy by either boring you or annoying you. As you can see, I’m a professional at both.” He grinned with joy.

That definitely made sense for you. And it definitely made sense why he would choose your office as the hunting ground. He crawled even closer to you and started gently petting your fur in steady motion.

“Aw, this feels nice. It’s like petting a dog.” He started to brush you against the grain and his eyes flashed blue again at your irritation. “You know, this is calming. I could get used to doing this once a month.” You looked up at him once again, amazed. He returned your gaze with a shrug. “If you need it I mean, because seeing you fight your own self is kind of pathetic.” He chuckled.

You leaned your head a bit more into his touch and he continued to pet you the proper way. The night was spent in that cold alleyway with Colin slowly putting you to sleep with random babbling. Ironically, one of the most infuriating people you know created one of your most comforting memories.

[strkyoo]

ok but how about reader who wants to court lynette but has to get approval from lyney first (protective big bro is always the best)

— enchanted approval

PAIRING ; lynette x gn!reader (ft. lyney)

IN WHICH ; you want to take your relationship with lynette to the next level, but will her twin brother approve?

NOTE ; yea i think lyney would be a little protective for lynette bc of their past,, ngl i feel bad for both of em :(

// FLUFF? — established relationship, more focused to lyney and reader, protective lyney — wc ; 1.2k

you are currently at the debord hotel, waiting for lynette and her twin brother—lyney. this was the day… where you will try to convince lyney to let you take your relationship seriously with lynette.

you gulped nervously, sitting on the fancy chair, folding your hands together and tapping your feet in unison, staring at your empty plate because you literally have nothing to do now besides waiting for the twins.

few minutes passed, and you could hear footsteps leading to your seat. you turned back to see who it was, and it turns out it was lynette and lyney.

they dressed in a fancy outfit, making you blushed furiously especially when you saw how beautiful lynette is in that dress. gosh, can’t wait to see her in a wedding dress, or maybe in a suit— wait, s/o! don’t think that way! not yet, just… not yet…

“ehem.” lyney’s voice called, with the speed of lightning you snap out of your imagination. “oh— uh… bonjour….”

“bonjour.” lynette added, making you smile in relief. you silently begs her to sit beside you by tapping the chair beside you while looking at her with a pleading gaze, which caught her off guard when she saw how panicked you were right now.

with a soft sigh, she took a seat beside you, her hand clasping yours as your fingers intertwined together. her grip was gentle, as if telling you it’ll be just fine. the way she holds your hand is enough to make you feel less anxious and nervous. you appreciate her small effort to calm you down, even if it’s only a simple gesture— they always work, no matter what.

lyney, who secretly watched as she tried to soothe you, smiled softly, yet he tried to hide it in order to look professional. “so,” he began to speak, “i assume you’re s/o? lynette’s lover?”

“y-yes,” you nodded a little as you shifted your gaze to lyney, your hand still holding lynette’s hand for some support. “we’ve been dating for years… and i have deep feelings for her so i wanted to speak with you before moving forward.”

a mixture of nervousness and a tiny bit of determination coursing through you when you say that. you swear to the archons you’ve never said anything related like this to anyone before. this is so awkward.

lyney also looked a little different than usual. he looked more stern, more serious… almost like a different person without his usual cheerful aura and teasing personality.

you wanted to sigh in relief when you saw how lyney’s expression softened a bit at your statement, your shoulder dropping slightly in order to be more relaxed and comfortable despite the awkward situation.

“hey, relax, will ya? i don’t bite.” the awkward and tense atmosphere suddenly being cracked by lyney’s playful grin.

“but still. i don’t need to tell ya’ how important lynette is to me,” his tone suddenly became serious, “she’s my sister, and i’ll do anything to protect her at any cost.”

lyney’s intense gaze locked onto your eyes, making you feel even more tensed than before. but you managed to calm down as you took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts together as you try to think of some fitting and convincing words.

“yes… i’m completely aware of that, and i respect that. i would never do anything foolish to hurt her.” you muttered out, trying to offer a friendly smile to him.

lyney’s gaze softened again as he leaned back to his fancy chair, crossing his legs and arms together. “ooh, is that so? tell me, then. what do you see in her? what makes you think you’re the right person for her?”

these questions. these questions you’re super afraid of but the ones you’ve been waiting for too.

lynette looked at him with a frown, thinking that the question might be a bit far. as she was about to excuse her brother, you took a deep breath one more time— your heart pounding hard inside your chest as you spoke from the bottom of your heart:

“lynette is more than just an… incredible magician’s assistant— she’s kind, she’s passionate… and… and she has a heart that shines brighter than any magic! i want to stand by her side, to support her no matter what, and cherish every moment with her.”

“and if you allow me, lyney, i would start by getting to know her better, spending more time together outside of her performances, and showing her how much she means to me. i want to build a strong foundation of trust and understanding.”

it took some time for lyney to understand what you mean— he nodded, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table, while lynette sighed in relief and blushing madly at your remarks about her.

after a few more moments of intense scrutiny, his stern façade cracked, and he chuckled. “very well. i appreciate your honesty and determination.”

you couldn’t help but smiled at his response, “i promise, i’ll do my best to make you proud.”

he sighed, “you better do your best,” a playful glint is clear in his eye. “well then, if my sister’s heart is in it, who am i to stand in the way?”

relief and gratitude washed over you as lyney’s stance softened. you tried to wipe away the cold sweats on your forehead with your handkerchief, mumbling a soft ‘thank you’ to him.

after a few moments, lyney excused himself to buy the three of you some food and drinks after the tense communication, his playful side is now back to normal. as he left his seat, you let out a huge sigh of relief and leaned back to your chair.

“oh thank the archons… i feel like i would’ve passed away.” you breathed out, still trying to control your ragged breath.

lynette chuckled as she squeezed your hand again, this time she does it gently, pressing a subtle kiss on your cheeks. “don’t worry, my brother really likes you. he just wanted to hear your perspective.”

you smiled at the kiss, nodding your head slowly. “i’m glad to hear that. like, super duper glad.”

“mhm. he’s always been protective, but i trust his judgment,” she added, her fingers still intertwined with yours.

as you held her hand, the stage lights casting a soft glow on both of you, you knew that this was the beginning of a beautiful journey. well, hopefully.

likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated ! ♡

— © strkyoo.

[themareverine]

Mare & the Wolverine ▹masterlist | Logan Howlett x fem!OC

summary: The Northern Territories were the last place Mare McAffery ever imagined herself, much less a prize fighting bar with characters the likes of the one they call the Wolverine. A logging community and living out of a Motel 6—it wasn’t exactly Shakespearean. But sometimes, survival calls for a tooth and nail fight—even for a preacher’s daughter.

warnings: AU, age gap, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, eventual romance, violence, angst, trauma, religion, self-insert, self-esteem issues, chance meetings, alcohol, grief/morning, mutual pining, falling in love, slow-ish burn, fluff and angst, canon-typical violence, virginity, reposted from my old account.

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | NEXT

PROLOGUE

“—don’t touch me, Logan!” 

Shoving his hand off her arm may as well have been shaking off the weight of the sun. To his credit, his hand lifted away at just the moment she spun away, chest heaving as the burn for oxygen seemed to almost bleed from between her ribs. Tripping over her own feet she stumbled against the rear fender of her Jeep, grounded by the steel. Cool to the average touch, but inferno fire to her flaming skin. 

“Listen, kid, I–” reaching for her again, his eyes are hard. Deep. Pleading as his hand extends to her, bridges the gap hanging between them like an endless abyss. It would take a lifetime for him to cross it, she knew—a lifetime he couldn’t give. Wouldn’t.  

“Don’t call me that, Logan—I am not a child. I am not one of Charles’ students you get to lecture, to correct,” her voice cracks under the effort of containing a sob, but tears were a giveaway long before the rage in her voice. Betrayal—it bites like a whip. “I’m not on your damn grading curve, Logan!” 

“I don't—”

“Shut the hell up!” 

A single finger flung his direction pulls him up, to a stop. Brows raise in surprise, at her language no doubt. Akimbo, his chin levels with the floor. Hands find his pockets, lost for a moment as they sink low into the leathers. A six foot frame always meant he was peering down at her, but it was more than that—Logan had been looking down his nose at her from the first moments, the heartbeat of their relationship. From the jump, the gap between them had always been galactically broad—two surviving suns, revolving around the other. Fighting for gravity. For purchase. For life. 

Charles had only made it worse. 

“Mare,” he hesitates, she can almost feel him breathe. “You’re gonna regret leavin’ things like this, bub.” 

Her name, soft and considerate from his lips like it never had been—it…it makes it worse. Slap of reality that cuts like a knife. The sting of what wasn’t, couldn’t ever be. Churning like a tidal wave in the base of her gut, it simmers low. Systolic in her chest, it spikes up to kiss the base of her ribs only when he takes half a step forward to her. 

An effort to meet her halfway—halfway to somewhere. Halfway to anywhere that wasn’t here. 

“There’s a lot of things I regret.” 

Heart ricocheting off the bones in her chest, her eyes moved beyond him—beyond him, the mansion. Xavier. Jean, Scott, Hank, all of them. Beyond them, to the darkness; midnight abyss that seemed to spin in and out of itself in a way that sent shivers down her spine. The river of sweat racing down her spine was cold, raising gooseflesh to her skin even beneath her jacket. Jeans and boots—see-ya-later, hit-the-road clothes.

Ironically enough, the same ones she’d arrived at the mansion wearing. 

Turning to throw her purse over the side of the open-air Jeep door, it hits the seat with a muffled thud as she all but rips the door open. Eyes not moving from him, she takes his frame in, head to toe. Toe to head and back again—and he looks so good, standing in the growing darkness. Under stars cut in the sky, maybe just for her. This moment. Maybe just for right now, to lock this in the vault of her memories she know she won’t be able to shake here to eternity. 

Heel of her boot grinding into the gravel of the drive, she hesitates. Hand on the frame of the Wrangler, they curl around the cool steel, already slick with evening dew. It cuts right to the bones in her hand, the ache in her joints that burns like volcanic poison. Waiting to explode, to corrode the rest of her time had all but forgotten. Gnawing at the inside of her cheek, she swears to God any moment she’ll taste the spring of copper on her tongue, the blood she wills into her own mouth with every inhalation of life-preserving oxygen. 

Pushing her weight off the frame of the Jeep, she turns to face him. Shoulders back, chin squared. Breathing hard, breathing slow—any kind of breathing to keep her two feet under her on earthquake sands. The lump forming in the back of her throat threatens to throttle the steel will dropping into her spine like an eye beam, and before she can even recalculate, think it through—she’s crossing the night between them. Grabbing the front of his flannel shirt, she’ll never forget how the brush of her fingers against the peek of hair on his chest feels for all the rest of her living nights. 

Kissing him—quickly, roughly, hard—has never felt so wrong. Or so right. It solidifies every thing. Shatters every other. Unable to think straight, unable to breathe beyond the taste of him, she releases. Let's go when that thing that everyone talks about—when he breaks, when that every-so-little shift of his jaw—tells her, for the first time, that he’s hungry. Hungry for this, for her—

—for what can’t be. 

The arch of his hand from the corner of her eye is possessive, wanting—she ducks, backstepping away before he can reach her. She’s already flicking the keys of the Jeep forward, feet planted on the brake and clutch, when he comes to a stop at her door, hands on the frame. 

Her name from him, a second time. “Stay.” Stay, stay, stay. 

I can’t, Logan. "No."

It’s painful between the mesh of her ribs, the one she’s missing. The one that belongs to him, had belonged to him since the beginning. God’s design.

Damn him for being so stubborn, so—Logan. 

“I’ll see you around, Logan. Take care of yourself.” 

He won’t.

And, a faraway part of her knows that. Another part wills that it won’t be–can’t be–her problem anymore. She has to stop caring about him, about his life. Where he goes and what he does, whom he decides to love and where he decides to stay. 

She has to stop loving the Wolverine. 

contents �� good poison

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00

[b33zlebubz]

RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER EIGHT

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | 18+ MDNI | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, fluff angst & eventual smut, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment, flashbacks “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past." CHAPTER CW: IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT ((not from simon))

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14TH 2016 NORWAY, 1400 HOURS

"You're movin' too much, still."

"You are quite literally breathing down my neck.  Kinda hard not to."

"Yeah, well, get used to it, love.  'Cause at this point you're always gonna have someone looming over you."

You huff, unamused, and it clouds out in front of your face as you squint through the scope of an unloaded rifle.  Gloved hands grip the machine as you focus the scope on a point far-off at the other end of the course. 

Four hours you've been out here, now, running a sniping simulation.  The rest of your squad was split up in pairs across the vast landscape.  You were left as the odd one out and, seeing as Walker had originally planned to just stick you carelessly in with another group, Simon volunteered to partner with you instead.  Keep things equal.  Which basically—as your superior—meant he had an excuse to sit back and smoke while you did all the work.

The exercise was simple; climb the mountain, find your post, sit and keep watch for flags until the next team tags you out.  A sniping exercise as well as a strength and conditioning one.  

You both made quick work of the mountain, ice picks cracking against the ice.  Simon never really considered himself the competitive type, partially because he never needed to be and partially because there was no point—he's worked hard to ensure he's always the biggest guy in the room.  Today, though, something in your growing annoyance as he yelled down keep up, sergeant or watch your footing every time you lagged behind stirred something in you, which in turn stirred something in him.  It quickly became something of a race.

When his pick slipped and you finally surpassed him as he skidded down a few meters, he heard your laugh for the first time against the wind.  For some reason, it made him smile, too.

"I hate sniper duty," you grumble.  "Don't know how you do it—sit in the snow for hours."

"Same way I put up with your whiny ass."

"And what's that?"

"Patience."

You roll your eyes, but your lip quirks up into a smile nonetheless.  A sight he's grown more accustomed to over the course of the past couple days of training and conversation.  He's helped you out in little ways, stopping by the shooting range to offer some constructive criticism as you practiced, offering dietary and training advice to get your strength up, sticking his neck out for you when he could around Walker…among other things.  As it would turn out, you were good company.  Whiny, maybe—but good company, nonetheless. 

You were improving, too.  Temperament and strength-wise.  How much of it is due to his company rather than his guidance, though, he isn't sure.

"You're not funny," you retort.

"You complained the whole way up the mountain, love."

You huff and shoot him a look.  "Did I get it done?"

"Affirmative."

"And did I beat you while doing it?"

He shrugs.  "More or less."

"Then you should watch your mouth, Lieutenant."

His eyebrows raise, amused.  "Is that a threat I hear?"

"It's a promise to beat you again sliding back down the mountain, sir."

He imagines you throwing yourself down the snow in order to beat your own speed record, and he chuckles a little at the thought.  "I'd like to see you try, Angel."

You smile, gaze focused through the scope.  You've spotted three flags already, and you spot two more as another hour passes.  The team that's supposed to take your place is getting closer, Ghost thinks it'll be twenty minutes before they rendezvous, and you both make your way back for the day.  

"Ghost."

"Angel," he exhales another cloud of smoke and vapor when you speak, breaking the comfortable silence that's washed over you both.

You maneuver awkwardly to position your hand behind you, opening and closing your fist a few times.

"Hand me one of those," you say, your breathing puffing out into the freezing air.  "And my lighter."

He shakes his head with an amused smirk.   "You're supposed to be focusing."

"Can't focus if my hands are shaking."

"And what if this is a real scenario?  You're not gonna have cigarettes in a life-or-death situation, sergeant."

"Yeah, well, you do," you flex your hand again.  "So gimme."

He figures you're the only Sergeant on base he'd let order him around, but he doesn't let that thought take root in his mind. Instead, he shifts closer so that he's lying on his stomach next to you in the snow.  

"Keep still," he tells you, plucking a cigarette from his pack.  "You miss a flag Walker won't let me hear the end of it." 

You seem slightly surprised, but you don't say anything as he slots himself next to you.  He offers you the cigarette as you keep your gaze in the scope, and you use your free hand to slot it between your lips before he lights it.  You inhale slowly, and he watches your lips as you do so; watches the tips of your fingers through the clipped tips of the gloves he gave you and watches you exhale.  When he looks up, you're already looking at him.  He's close enough to see where snow clings to your lashes.

A beat passes where you both just stare at each other.  Simon finds he can't read your expression.  Then, you shake your head and clear your throat, which in turn snaps him out of his daze, before you take another drag and lock your focus in once more.

"Another flag," you say, your brow furrowed.  "At your twelve o' clock.  About four kilometers out."

Simon shifts, putting some space between you both as he clears his throat because fuck.  What the hell was that? 

"Copy that."

You're quiet for the rest of the exercise, only speaking whenever you spot another flag.  For some reason, Simon still finds himself fixed on the cigarette in your hand as you work.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14TH 2016 NORWAY, 1800 HOURS

Whenever both return to the base, there's a lot of whispering.  He doesn't notice, at first, too busy sorting equipment and putting it away.  You don't notice the lingering stares or the hushed voices either; or you're just pointedly ignoring them.  Sorting through your own gear nearby, you're quiet, and you're done and ready before he's even folded his snowsuit.  Nevertheless, Simon doesn't pay much mind to the name being whispered around until he can put the face to it.

Roger's Back.

Now, if there is one thing Simon isn't—it's humble.  After years of hard work he's managed to pack on an impressive amount of muscle, taking him from a lanky, malnourished teen to the legend he was now.  Not since Roba has he ever had an issue taking down anyone with the same experience, or sometimes more, than him.  He's made sure of that and intends to keep things that way.  

That is, until Simon happens to lift his head and peer down the hall towards someone he, for once, doesn't have to look down to meet the gaze of.

He's massive, is Simon's first thought.  The same height as him, he wagers the bloke might be the only lower-ranked soldier here who actually matches his strength enough to maybe have the upper hand in a fight.  

Simon's second thought is that bloody hell.

There's a long scratch across the man's cheek and the remains of a bruise around that of an eyepatch.  There's a still-healing gash on the side of his head, scar tissue fresh and thick on the temple of a shaved head, flesh stretched inward from staples freshly removed.

Ah.  Roger.  The sergeant who's skull you cracked against the edge of a bar.

The man approaches you from behind and Simon stops in his tracks just down the hall, eyes flitting over to watch the scene unfold in the corner of his eye.  

Keeping his face hidden had its cons, sure.  Maybe he did nearly suffocate himself every time he sweat his ass off in the desert.  Maybe underwater tasks were difficult and maybe he had to jump through all kinds of hoops to avoid getting his picture taken.  In hiding his own emotions, however, he's become quite good at reading the body language of others.

And you're uncomfortable.  Tense.  Ready to bite at a moment's notice.

You stand rigid still as you sense his presence, your back to the man as he approaches lazily to stand behind you.  Some words are exchanged.  You, biting retorts that just barely count as professional and him…standing too close for comfort.  

You hold your ground.  You don't punch first—just like Simon told you.  He watches the man's lips move, reads the threat that crosses his lips.  Still, you hold your ground as Simon's fists clench and he realizes what's happening—why you punched first.  Why you're struggling and why you put your training on halt for leave.

Next time, the man says.  Next time, you're not getting away so easily, bird.

Simon watches you think about it.  He watches your hands ball into fists, watches your eyes narrow and your nose scrunch with disgust.  But you don't move, no—you don't shrink away in fear and you don't immediately go for the kill.  You stand your ground just as Simon told you to.

You do so until the man looks away first, sauntering off.  Simon watches you let out one breath, then another, before you grab your pack in a shaking hand and sling it over your shoulder.  His eyes linger on you as you quickly leave the room, barely noticing how Roger approaches him to introduce himself.

It's not until the door shuts behind you that Simon grabs the young Sergeant by the front of his shirt and slams him against the wall.  Roger lets out a startled yelp.

"You lay another finger on her," he snarls.  "And I'll fuckin' cut it off, Sergeant, you copy?"

Roger's eyes are wide.  The breath knocked from his lungs, he's panting, and his mouth opens and shuts again in shock.

"I said do you copy?"

"Yes—yes, sir.  Copy and check."

Satisfied that his warning is taken seriously, Simon turns him loose with a hissed, "piss off."

Roger stumbles.  Disoriented, he continues down the hallway, and Simon is still seething as his boots carry him down a wrong turn to Walker's office.

He doesn't walk out until your safety is guaranteed.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

would you still love me if i was a

[bavis gavis voice] happy post-white day you sick Fucks.

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, crack treated seriously, inspired by fulgur’s white day stream, maybe canon compliant?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It takes Fulgur some time to weigh the question after you repeat it again. Even so, it’s less of the sweet thoughtfulness you were hoping for and more just trying to wrap his head around it.

He’s so confused that not only does he look away from his computer screen, but he pivots his chair around entirely to face you. “…A worm.”

“Yeah.”

"Like a pest? Or a vermin."

"If you wanna call them that, sure."

“Why would you turn into a worm?”

“I dunno, maybe I’m secretly Gregor Samsa?”

“What does Kafka have to do with anything?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You spend a lot of time thinking about things that don’t matter.”

“Hey, it does too matter.”

“Kafkaism is fiction that reflects the surrealism of reality. We’re not fictional.”

“Cap.”

“What do you mean, cap, I’m a real— oh, never mind.” He pinches his nose again, and this time you must’ve gotten under his skin, because he even lifts his glasses up to rest on his head as he looks at you. “Why are you asking me about worms?”

“No context allowed! I’m suddenly a worm. Would you still love me, yes or no?”

“Why would I have to answer? You’re not turning into a worm.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Wh—“ Fulgur stares at you. “Yes, I do?! I live with you!”

You look off to the side and smirk. “Heh. You don’t even know about my double-life as a decomposer.”

“The only decomposing you do is when you lay in bed for three hours on your phone.”

“Fuu! Answer now!”

“No comment!”

“You are so unromantic!”

“You’re just now realizing this?!”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

This is ironic.

Delightfully so.

Not exactly as you imagined, however. Rather than a worm, right in front of you is…

“Please don’t make this any worse than it is, Reader.”

A small seahorse, prostrated on the ground and somehow capable of breathing despite being very much above air. The gray ponytail and stubble around his snout was jarring, but there’s no mistaking the lifeline of red around his eye.

You let out the fourth-loudest laugh of your life, effectively wrecking Fulgur’s request before you even accepted it.

You cackle for some time until your side hurts and you tear up. Seahorse Fulgur levitates up to eye-level (somehow??) as you wipe your watery eyes. “Are you still mad…?”

“Mad?" You ask. "Why would I be mad?”

He hesitates. “The worm thing?”

It takes you a moment to remember the conversation you had almost exactly a week ago. You haven’t forgotten it nor how amused you were during it, but who’s to say the feeling was mutual?

Your lips press together. Did you misread the situation? “No, I wasn’t mad at all. It’s a silly question with silly answers.”

“Oh.” Fulgur sounds almost as small as his seahorse body, just the right size to cup your hands around him. Your fingers serve as a headrest. "Well, now I feel silly, too."

"It's okay, I don't mind. It was funny watching you get confused even if I didn't get an answer." You pat him on the head with a finger. "I'd still love you even if you were a seahorse, though."

Fulgur shuts his eyes. "You're making fun of me."

"A little."

"Would you let up if I answered the worm thing?"

"Maaaaybe." You pat him on the head again. "It doesn't matter now, we just need to find Legatus."

"Well, I would," Fulgur admits.

"Pardon?"

"Even if you're a worm," the seahorse says. He lays flat along your palm, yet his tail stretches out, wrapping around the edge of your thumb. Can seahorses blush?

You'd like to put that question to the test. "Full sentences, please, Fuu."

"I'd love you even if you were a worm," Fulgur says, and even with a snout and two beady eyes, you can just hear the way he presses his lips together and averts his gaze, dedicated to whenever he says it and all the courage he has to muster to be honest.

If he knew how he had you wrapped around his finger when he gets this shy he'd never let you hear the end of it, and still never be able to abuse that privilege. He's true to himself, even if it's at the expense of his pride.

So the urge to tease passes. Instead, you lift your hand up to your lips, press a kiss onto your fingers, and poke him gently on the side of his face. "Let's get you fixed up, Fuu."

"Please." His tail tightens around your thumb. "I'm afraid if we wait any longer I might give birth."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[cocojimin]

Flaws&All

↣ pairing: idol!yoongi x gn!reader ↣ genre: established relationship, slight angst, fluff ↣ warnings: alluding to depressive states ↣ word count: ~600 ↣ song inspo: Beyoncé - Flaws and All a/n: hello all! this one-shot is apart of my new series, 'Song Shuffle One-Shots' or SOS where I shuffle my library and write based on the song. hope you all enjoy the first installment.

You catch me when I fall.

Accept me, flaws and all.

And that’s why I love you.

Loving Yoongi has never been an easy road, but it is a road you’d happily trek down without question. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Coming into a quiet home was not often a marker for something being amiss. Usually when you got off work or back from an outing, the house would mainly be darkened, save for soft light spilling from underneath a certain door.

Yoongi’s Studio.

Tonight, however, there was no signs of him within the walls of his personal domain. The door was slightly cracked, computer off, no sounds of keyboards or groans of frustration.

Moving slowly through the dark home, you brought light with every wall you touched. Light began to flood the various rooms in search of your lover.

Living Room.

Kitchen.

Studio.

Bedroom.

Brightness revealed the bed, completely made, save for a heap of gray occupying the same side Yoongi usually sleeps on. This particular scene wouldn’t have been a cause for concern if you didn’t know Yoongi inside and out. Around this time, he would either be in his studio finishing up his latest obsession or in the living room, complaining about the show he purposefully turned on.

Head tucked under the gray throw blanket.

Feet incased in the fabric.

Yoongi was in the fetal position, so cocooned from the outside world that he didn’t register you being home, or the lights being turned on. Pulling back the blanket, you finally locked eyes with your lover. Red rimmed and tired, he passed you a soft smile, muscles slightly relaxing as he didn’t have to hold his protection taunt anymore.

“I didn’t hear you come in. I’m sorry about that”, Yoongi spoke through a puff of air.

Carding through his hair, you caught his wandering gaze.

Yoongi has bouts where he falls into himself. 

Drowning in inconsistencies. 

Sometimes silence is key, or maybe comforting words. Other days its soft touches and whispers of incoherent thoughts. Words jumbled together that spell out ‘I Love You’ in every language imaginable.

Tonight, you could tell he need to be grounded through touch.

“Why didn’t you call me, honey boy?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you, you know how I get”, he says as he leans into your touch. “I thought doing this might help”, he chuckles humorlessly, “I just look silly though, don’t I?”.

Shaking your head, you fully unwrap him in more ways than one. Taking in his flaws and insecurities without passing judgement, knowing they all combine to make the amazing human you know and adore.

“You know you can call me for anything”, Yoongi begins to interject, but you quickly stop his incoming ramblings, “I don’t care if you just get a papercut or you just needed me to keep you company, I’ll answer.” Yoongi’s small smile let you know he understood exactly what message you were trying to get across in a less blunt way.

“Come on, honey boy”, rising to your feet, you outstretched your hand. “Let’s go wash the day away, I’ll let you use my new scrub that you like so much.”

Yoongi giggled.

His face lights up as he takes your hand, thanking whatever powers may be for sending him an angel. No matter how many times he sits and ponders on how you continue to love him despite him lacking on days, he can’t figure out what you see. Your belief and love for him never wavers as you continuously reassure him and shows him that he is worth loving.

And that, is why he loves you.

[frickingnerd]

lying is the greatest kind of love

pairing: trucy wright x gn!reader

summary: trucy interrogates you, when she suspects that you're her secret admirer! and you crack as soon as she start pulling out the evidence…

tags: silly & wholesome fluff, (best) friends to lovers, secret admirer!reader, trucy roleplaying as a lawyer/police officer, confession (reader to trucy + reciprocated)

“why am i here…?”

you anxiously sat on the couch in the wright anything agency. trucy stood in front of you, a file with tons of papers inside of them, that she rapidly flipped through. and it was just you and her in the entire agency, with everyone else out for the day. it was only natural to become nervous in a situation like this!

“this is an interrogation. you have the right to remain silent. anything you say can and will be used against you. you have no right to an attorney…”

“wait, that's not how it goes–!” you protested, as trucy went on reading you your miranda rights. or rather, her version of them.

“if you cannot afford an attorney… oh, skip that part.” she mumbled, before getting to the last point. “do you understand these rights i have just read to you? with these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

“no–!” you whined, which in turn made trucy sigh and complain as well.

“hey, play along here! this doesn't work if you don't say the right things…” she sighed and sat down across from you.

“trucy, what are we even doing? what are all those papers?” you asked, pointing at the file in her hands. trucy hesitated, before she sighed and opened the file once more.

“i am investigating you, under suspicion of being my secret admirer!” trucy said, before handing you the file. in it were tons of love letters that should seem rather familiar to you.

“o-oh.” you quickly closed the file as soon as you recognized the first letter. taking a look at the cheesy things you wrote in there now made you cringe, knowing that trucy had figured out it was from you.

“do you have anything to say to that?” as soon as you closed the file, trucy took it back and opened it once more, skimming through the pages. “how about i jog your memory?”

“no, i really don't think that's necess–”

but trucy had already started.

“life feels empty when i'm not with you.”

“you take my breath away.”

“i'm so into you.”

“i can't imagine my life without you.”

she could've probably kept on forever, but before trucy could remind you of anymore of the cringey things you wrote in those letters, you broke.

“stop–! i admit it, i wrote them! just… please, stop reading…” you whined, your will to fight back gone.

trucy chuckled and closed the file, placing it on the table in front of her. while you seemed embarrassed about it all, trucy seemed to enjoy doing the questioning for once. she really had spent too much time around lawyers…

“why didn't you just tell me that you liked me?” trucy asked softly, finally being her old self again and dropping her lawyer act.

“i… i didn't want to ruin our friendship. but now i'm starting to think getting rejected by you outright would've been less embarrassing than this…”

“who says i'm rejecting you?”

your head had hung low to avoid eye contact, but as soon as trucy said that, your head shot up.

“i figured after those embarrassing things i wrote, you wouldn't want me around anymore…” you mumbled, awkwardly rubbing your neck.

“i think what you wrote was really sweet!” trucy smiled. “just next time, feel free to say those things to my face, instead of putting them in letters. i'd like to hear you say them, you know?”