#are drabbles supposed to be this short idk sorry i tried

[synthleeius]

lee albedo im on my hands and knees 🙏 i like the idea that he'll let people tickle him bc its for Science!!!!!!!

"thahats.. strange."

"strange?" aether confirmed with a smug smile, pressing his fingertips into the alchemist's ribs gently. "its science, isn't it?"

albedo wasn't quite sure when his eyes shut, but he opened them anyways to look aether in the eyes as he attempted to explain. "well, not exactly, its more psychological tha-hah.. aether.."

"albedo," he replied, giddiness visible in his tone. never in a million years would he had ever thought he'd be asked to do this. "ohh.. did you mean a little more like this? you weren't very specific when you asked me to tickle you."

"fohor research.." he reminded, giggling softly into his hand as two sets of fingers scribbled down his sides. "ihi juhust didn't thihink it'd behe so.."

"embarrassing? flustering, maybe?" aether finished his thoughts, focused mostly on the other's expression. "maybe you'll think twice before making me your test subject now, huh?"

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Touch of Madness

Logan Howlett X girlfriend!reader

Summary: Logan comes to you after being away, and all he wants is your touch, and he knows just how to get on your good side. This is just porn without plot.

Takes place in the same universe as Too Sweet but can be read as standalone

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), fingering, couch sex, soft rough sex, Logan talks you through it, the claws make an appearance (I have a thing for his claws okay), Logan is obsessed with his girl, fluffy relationship, established relationship

WC: 3.9k

A/N: how did I make this longer than too sweet when it was supposed to be a Drabble. Hello idk how to write short shit. But like hello yall are so awesome? I appreciate all the love yall have given my first Logan fic. I also have an older Logan fic in the works but that one has plot so it’ll be a minute before its out. For now here this <3

He couldn’t take it anymore. You were driving him mad. It’s not like he deserved your anger. Not fully anyway. It wasn’t his fault he was gone this long. He had been thinking about you all week, about your soft lips, about the warmth of your thighs, about your sweet moans only for his ears to hear. And all he wanted was to pull you into his arms and take you, over and over, until you begged him to stop. 

But no. 

You were being childish. That’s what he called it anyway. 

“Sweet girl,” he called after you, like a puppy following close behind you as you strided around your apartment. He knew you were doing it on purpose, the excuse of having to do chores so you could elongate his torture. The way you so innocently looked back at him made him clench his jaw. “C’mon.” 

“Don’t sweet girl me, Logan. I told you, I’m busy.” You sassed him, huffing as you kept walking, finding the most insignificant of chores to waste your time with. He rolled his eyes at you, eyebrows furrowed into this perpetual gaze of annoyance. 

The truth was, you were aching for him, your thighs warm and your skin tingling solely at the thought of him taking you to do as he pleased. But, if there was something in this world you could be, it was petty. And if you had to suffer a whole week without him, he could suffer for an hour, even if it was also at your expense. Truly, you almost enjoyed the annoyance in his face, the sharpness in his voice, him damn near groaning behind you every time you evaded him under the excuse of needing to get some dumb chore done. 

“You’re killin’ me here, sugar.” He actually groaned this time, his jaw set. You stopped in your tracks and turned your head to look at him, shooting him a pointed look. “I said I was sorry.”

“Serves you right. And I don’t care if you’re sorry. You haven’t called me in a week.” Your words were sharp with bitterness and it dawned on him. That was why you were upset. A slight bit of humor tugged at the corner of his lips and he breathed out a laugh. You stared at him with blank eyes, you weren’t laughing. 

“C’mon, is that seriously why you’re upset? You know I was out of the state.” He tried to reason with you. Charles had entrusted him and Storm with finding a certain mutant that was causing havoc, three states over. And Logan had very much underestimated how long this would take them. So here he was, after a whole week away, damn near begging you to let him touch you. “It wasn’t like I wanted to go anyway.”

No, he would much rather be with his sweet girl, one that was being particularly difficult and making him suffer when all he wanted to do was hold you, to feel the warmth of your soft skin. 

He stepped into your personal space, his intoxicating scent almost making you give in. You counted to five in your head, eyes closed to remind yourself that you were, indeed, angry at him. 

“So? You got a phone, don’t you? You could’ve called me.” You huffed, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a small pout, Logan had to hold back the urge to laugh at you. “You can’t disappear for a week and expect to come here and do as you please.” 

You shot him a sharp glare, he just stared at you, eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden shot of confidence. His sweet girl was talking back to him? Giving him attitude? He tilted his head at you, almost as if to dare you to walk away from him.  

There was a bit of malice in your eyes as you gave him one last look before you walked away, thinking of what other useless chore you could add to continue his torture. But Logan had other thoughts in his head. If you weren’t going to behave, he would happily put you in your place. 

“Hey, c’mere or I’m gonna bring you here myself.” He called after you, the strings of his sanity hanging on by a thread, just waiting for you to tug at the last strand. He knew you too well. You turned your head, eyes big in feign innocence and you tilted your head at him in defiance. 

“Make me then.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. In hindsight you should have known better, but you also wanted to see just what could happen if you pushed him hard enough. You saw the way his eyes flashed with malice, he stared you down, and in that moment you remembered just how small you were compared to him. “Oh fuck.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest as adrenaline rushed through you, but it wasn’t like you could go outrun him, especially not in your tiny apartment. He caught you, though he did purposely chase you into your living room, simply because he wanted to get you going, pumped with adrenaline. You squealed as he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you against his chest. His sharp canines nipped at that one spot on your neck that had you whimpering. 

“You goin’ somewhere, sugar?” He husked, his lips hot on your cheek. You couldn’t help but sigh in contentment, eyes closed. God, you missed him. 

“Mhm, still mad at you.” You mumbled, barely hanging on to your silly grudge. A chuckle rumbled in Logan’s chest. 

“That’s alright. I don’t need you to be happy with me to do what I want to do.” He inhaled, breathing your sweet scent, and he spoke as he threw you over his shoulder. “Just need you to look pretty while I do it.” 

You weren’t complaining about your position, you were in fact, bursting into giggles as he effortlessly carried you to the couch, though your giggles turned into another squeal when he smacked his hand flat against your ass. Logan had a grin on his lips as he tossed you on the couch, wasting no time in spreading your legs apart to settle between them.

He leaned down, gripping the armrest above your head, caging you in as he leaned down. He brushed his nose against yours, sighing softly.

“Don’t be such a brat. Kiss me.” The words rumbled in his chest with a groan, his primal needs overcoming his senses. He didn’t have to tell you twice. You laced your fingers in his hair, pulling into a hard and heated kiss.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as he shrugged off his flannel, tossing it somewhere on the floor, his belt soon following the same fate. You tried to sit up against the armrest, but you quickly realized Logan had other plans deep in his perverted mind. With a hold of your ankle he dragged you down on the couch, your back flat on the surface as you looked up at him with big eyes.

“Stay just like that, pretty.” He spoke, pressing another heated kiss to your mouth before tugging off your sweatpants, followed by your panties. He tossed them somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere you would have to run around searching for later. But you couldn’t give a fuck about that. All you could focus on was the heat forming between your legs as Logan settled between them.

His eyes met with yours one last time before he was diving in between your warm thighs. His tongue licked long stripes from your hole up to your clit, circling around the sensitive nerve before going back down. Over and over until your soft gasps and sighs of pleasure turned into moans. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open to do as he pleased. One leg hung over the back of the couch and the other was thrown over his shoulder, and he effortlessly held you down as he shoved his tongue into your cunt. He was like an animal, insatiable as he took you on his tongue.

“Oh fuck. Shit—Logan—” Your eyes rolled back, lips parted as you whined. You gripped the back of the couch, soft twitches taking over you each time his nose brushed your clit.

It was no secret that Logan found pleasure in giving you yours, and he ate you like it. Grunts and hums rumbled in his chest as his tongue found your clit again, and he reveled in the particularly high pitched cry you let out when he slipped two fingers into your wet core. 

“Needed to taste you so fuckin’ bad. I thought about it all week.” He spat into your clit, groaning at the way your tight walls squeezed his fingers. He could only imagine what you would do when it was his cock stretching your walls. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted, fingers lacing in his hair as he lapped at your clit. You wished you could hold your pleasure, rivet in it for just a little bit longer, but the way he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot, the way his tongue was so relentless on your swollen clit, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my—”

Your words never left your throat, chest pounding with sheer adrenaline as your release coated his face and fingers. It was sudden, it left you breathless as your thighs twitched with aftershock. Your eyes were wide and glossy in shock as you shuddered with the remnants of your orgasm. It wasn’t until you pathetically attempted to drag yourself away that Logan stopped. You were shaking, gasping softly when he pulled his fingers from you, but you all but cried when he licked at your wet pussy, getting a taste of you.

“Logan, please I can’t—” Your voice was shaky as you tried to move away from his face, he chuckled at you, pressing his face against your inner thigh before he crawled up to your face.

“‘Is okay. You did good.” He kissed your lips, his large hands holding your face as he let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned, clenching around nothing already in anticipation of him filling you. “You wanna stop?”

“No, no, no! Need you, please!” You were quick to protest, wrapping your legs around his waist to prevent him from going anywhere. You couldn’t really stop him from doing anything, but he found it endearing that you tried. He bumped his nose against yours, lips pulled up into a tiny smile.

“Need me where, hm?” He opened his eyes to look at you, and truly how he didn’t bend you over the nearest flat surface the second he saw you was beyond his comprehension. You looked so perfect like this, underneath him, clinging to him. His sweet girl. He didn’t know what it was about you, but from the moment he met you he was done for. You drove him absolutely mad and now he just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Inside me, Logan. Please.” You sighed out, face flushed with embarrassment. He smoothed out the frown lines on your forehead with a tiny kiss. A sweet gesture in comparison to what he was about to do to you.

In one swift motion he had you bent over the armrest, with your ass to him and your chest flat against the armrest. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip as you glanced over your shoulder to watch as he pulled off his white tank top. Your glazed eyes fawned over each perfect muscle in his body, taking particular interest in the veins that popped in his arm when he flexed them as he ridded himself of his jeans. How you ended up with a man so incredibly hot, you had no idea, but you were thanking the Gods for that.

“I need to be inside you, too.” He rasped into your ear, groaning in ecstasy as he sank himself into your needy cunt. Your jaw fell open he filled you, inch by inch. He pulled your t-shirt over your head, instantly attaching his lips to your shoulder as he rutted his hips against your ass. 

His pace was grueling from the start, grip tight on your hips, sure to leave bruises in the morning. A little reminder of his intoxicating presence. You braced yourself on the armrest, sounds of pleasure leaving your lips almost instantly. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, the thick hairs on his chest leaving a tingling sensation across your back as he held you flush against his chest. Heavy breaths filled your ears as you so desperately reached to touch him, any of him. Your trembling fingers found the sound of his face and he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“This what you needed, hm? Maybe I should fuck sweet pussy more often? Give it more attention?” He grunted the words in your ears, lips pressed against your cheek as a sheen layer of sweat began to coat your soft skin. You whimpered and nodded weakly, your cunt clenching him with excitement. He smirked softly, his hand coming up to lace through your hair. “Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl?”

Logan held your face down as his hips drilled into you, each delicious drag of his cock bringing you closer and closer to your sweet release. God, you needed it. All you could do was moan in response.

“Y-yes! God, yes. Please Logan.” You whined out shamelessly, eyes rolled back into your head. Logan hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pressed his lips to your temple, the gentle gesture ironic considering just what he was doing to you. He said nothing as he sneaked his free hand to the front of your body, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles on your sensitive clit. Your jaw fell open, your hand flying to grip his wrist. Your thighs clenched around his hand, whining as his cock  brushed that one spot that had you seeing white. “Logan—”

Your voice was a warning, but he welcomed it. He flicked his wrist without mercy as he rolled his hips, his words only encouraging you to fall apart for him.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You can do that, can’t you? I know you want to.” He let go of your hair to turn your head to meet his eager lips. He happily swallowed the pathetic sounds that left your mouth as he flicked at your clit, his cock hitting so impossibly deep you were left trembling as your release seeped around him. 

Logan held you down on his cock, his thumb playing with your clit until you were gasping and your nails dug into the skin of his wrist. He kissed along your jaw as his hips stilled for just a second, your body still shaking underneath him.

“You okay?” He asked softly, grabbing your face to look at him. You looked at him with hooded eyes and nodded weakly, barely lifting yourself off the couch.

“Yeah. ‘m okay.” 

Logan tilted his head at you, an eyebrow raised with amusement as he leaned down to leave a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Perfect.”

He grabbed your hips, pulling out his cock to manhandle you onto your back before he was sinking himself into you again. Your slick walls welcomed him perfectly, like this was the only place he belonged, but he wasn’t complaining. If he could die, he would die happily buried deep in your cunt.

“Oh, God, Logan.” You gasped, thighs twitching as you looked down to find where his thick cock is filling you, splitting you open over and over. Your jaw fell open as you watched him grab one of your ankles and he held it up by his shoulder, spreading you open for him to dig himself deeper and deeper within you tight walls. 

“Look at me, baby.” He groaned, chest heavy as a thin layer of sweat covered his muscled body. You did your best to comply, you looked up, eyes blurry with tears of pleasure as he damn near folded your body in half. Your knees were pressed against your chest as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “Yes, there she is. My pretty girl. I missed you.” 

You couldn’t help but moan at his words, and also at the sting of his cock rapidly bringing you to your third release. The way he brought your legs to his shoulders, he sunk himself so deep within your walls you swore you felt him in your stomach. It felt so good you wanted to cry.

“Missed you too, Logan.” You brought your lips up to his, eyebrows furrowed into an expression of pure arousal as you gripped his hair, clinging to him for dear life.

Your release was quick and sudden, hitting you without a warning the second Logan pressed his thumb to your swollen clit. You were just so sensitive, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed. You clutched on to his large bicep as you spilled around his cock. The way your tight walls squeeze him made him groan, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on chasing his own release while fucking you through your own.

“Look at you, you’re just so good for me. Fuck it, I’ll just take you with me next time.” Groans fell freely from his soft lips as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one hand, and the other held the armrest above your head. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours as your sweet praises and chants of his name filled his ears. 

The sound that rumbled in Logan’s chest was animalistic, a deep growl as he coated your insides with his hot release. The metallic sound of sharp claws filled your ears once more as his claws unsheathed themselves from his knuckles, one on the back of the couch and the other just above your head, again. You gasped his name with a soft laugh, though you would be lying if you said it didn’t drive you feral when his claws accidentally came out. You brought a hand to his face as he pulled his claws out of your couch, the sharp metal once again hiding themselves within his knuckles with a sound. He held himself up on his forearm as his head fell to your neck.

“I’ll pay for it.” He muttered a chuckle into your neck, leaving a soft kiss to your jaw. You laughed, draping a hand over your forehead, breathing in deeply as you felt your mixed releases seep around his cock and drip onto the couch. He should just buy you a new couch, he thought.

“Wanna buy me a new body while you’re at it?” You teased him, already sensing you would have bruises and your thighs would ache for days.

“Did I hurt you?” Concern filled his voice as he lifted his head to scan your face for any discomfort as his hand came up to graze the thigh draped over his waist. You scrunched up your nose at him and shook your head.

“Of course not hun. Don’t be silly.” You traced your fingers over his face and gave him a lopsided smile.

“I did miss you, for the record.” 

You pressed a kiss to his lips. “I missed you too Logan.”

“Lemme clean you up sugar.” He sneaked a kiss to your cheek as he untangled himself from you, much to your protest.

You whined at the emptiness he left you as he stood up. Though you did quite enjoy the sight of his perfect ass he walked off to find something to clean his mess with. When he came back, he had a small towel and he cleaned you without protest, he left warm kisses on your face as you talked to him about your day. He ultimately tossed the towel aside and slipped on his boxers, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his still hard cock, but you needed a break. You didn’t let him leave though, reaching to grab his wrist with soft eyes

“Wanna watch a movie? I miss watching movies with you.” You mumbled, voice soft as you looked at him with pleading eyes. He laughed softly at you, you made it sound like you hadn’t seen him in a month.

But, how could he ever say no to his sweet girl?

“Mhm, put on somethin’ .” He gently moved you so that he was lying behind you on the couch, his big arms wrapped around you as he held you against his chest. Though you were still completely naked, you paid no mind to it. It actually felt kinda nice to be so close to him and feel the warmth of his body in such an intimate way.

He covered you both with the throw blanket you always kept over the couch for days exactly like this, for those days you wanted to feel warm and close with him on the couch. He ignored the three holes where stuffing was coming out of the ripped fabric as he pulled the soft blanket up to your chest and as you happily settled in his arms, clicking away at the TV. He would buy you a new couch, just as he bought you new pillows, and new blankets. And anything you asked him to, really.

Logan wasn’t used to domestic, the soft touches, cuddling, but he liked doing it with you. He craved it actually, probably just as much as he craved the sex.

“Next time you’re away that long, just give me a call? Please? So that I’m not worried sick thinking you died.” You finally said, the whole reason for such intense feelings merely an hour ago finally surfacing. He laughed softly at how ridiculous you sounded. He technically can’t die, he thought.

“I wouldn’t.. I can’t…Y’know what? You’re right. I’m still getting used to this whole having a girl thing. But I'll do better, yeah? Don’t need you to be mad, sugar.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, settling his face on your neck as he attempted to pay attention to whatever horror movie you decided to watch today. “But if you’re gonna let me fuck you like that when you’re mad, get mad more often.” 

“Logan.” You scolded him, nudging his ribs softly as a warm blush coated your cheeks, knowing you wouldn’t hurt him, but it still made him chuckle. 

He had to admit, he lasted way longer than he did last time. He lasted almost halfway through the movie before the feeling of his cock sitting hot and heavy in his boxers became apparent to him again. He inhaled your scent softly, his lips ghosting over your neck as he rolled his hips softly against your ass. And while you did try to protest, whining that you wanted to get through one movie with him, the sting of his cock was better than any movie in this world. The credits rolled, the soundtrack now drowned out by the sound of your sweet moans. Logan would be damned if he let you leave the warmth of his body for even just one second tonight. Or maybe ever. 

[wintaerbaer]

bottle up old love (jjk) (m)

summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff

word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)

prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)

warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol

MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.

“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”

The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.

“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.

There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.

“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.

And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.

Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”

Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

Then he spins and takes off running down the street.

Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.

He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”

“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”

“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”

“So I should be worried about you then?”

He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”

You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.

It’s how he broke up with you after all.

You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.

“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”

But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”

Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.

Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.

“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”

And you close the door in his face.

The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and cast away the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Not allow it to linger like the shadows at the edges of the room.

You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).

The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.

Or so you think.

After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.

And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.

Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.

Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.

“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.

“He might come back.”

“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”

He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”

“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”

If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.

Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.

“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.

There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.

Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.

You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.

“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.

You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.

“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.” 

It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.

Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.

“What?”

He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”

You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.

“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”

Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”

“Yes.”

He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.

“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.

“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”

This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.

“So then why?”

He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.

The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”

It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.

Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.

“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”

You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”

Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”

His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”

“No, shit.”

“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”

The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.

“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”

His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”

His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.

“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”

He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”

And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.

You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.

Speaking of.

The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you gloss over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like you.”

You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.

“You left.”

“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”

“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”

And it’s all you need to hear.

You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.

You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”

Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.

“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”

A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.

“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.

You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”

“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.

Like you said. Insane.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.

“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”

He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.

“Fuck, me neither.”

You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.

“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.

“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.

So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.

“You?”

It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?

You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”

This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”

A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.

“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”

“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.

“Ride me, baby.”

You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.

“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.

He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.

You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.

“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.

Hard.

You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.

It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.

The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.

“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.

“I missed you.”

You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”

He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”

“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”

A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”

“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.

“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”

a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3

[sceletaflores]

it’s the easiest thing (just love me and eat me)

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader

wc: 6.1k

anon says: nat pls speak on sub!logan...people are hating on the sub!logan agenda and someone needs to show them that they're wrong and it can be done cuz if anyone can convince them it's you mommy!

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, crimson! again! she's back!, slight angst, swearing, violence, light gore, somewhat dark content, religious symbolism? (idk this one got weird babes), established relationship, lowkey a toxic relationship but you didn't hear that from me, sub!logan-ish, handjob, p in v, slow sex turned rough, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, pain kink, scent kink, blood play, blood...eating (drinking? idk), porn with a tiny bit of plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: anon i'm so sorry this took me so long...i hope it was worth the wait! it started as a short smutty drabble that somehow turned into…this? idk it got out of hand so fast. i am a proud member of the sub!logan nation but that's mostly because i think that ALL men have the potential for sub vibes like doesn't matter who he is if i want to fuck him he's probably a little subby. special shout out to my baby boo and fellow sub!logan truther @avocado-writing <3 tysm for sharing anon! xoxo mwah.

dividers by icon @saradika-graphics!

psst! want more logan and crimson? here's the to the bone au masterlist!

it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…

The team had a big scare earlier in the day.

It was supposed to be an easy mission, bust a mutant trafficking ring in Albany. You do assignments like these every week, and as sick as it sounds, it’s almost routine.

But this one was different. It was an ambush, and you were compromised.

Only humans, but they were smart. Waited until the team split up to attack. They had tech, things you'd never seen before.

Big guns loaded with tiny darts full of an ominous red liquid.

It was your fault really. You didn't clear your surroundings, so focused on getting to the kids that you let yourself get sloppy.

The tiny sting in your back barely registered, you don't think you would have even noticed if it didn't kick in so fast.

You'd never felt anything like it before in your life.

It didn't hurt. The rush of pain you braced yourself for never coming.

The sensation was strange—like your body was shutting down, piece by piece. You fell to your knees, shaky legs folding under you in less than a second.

You felt empty, wrong. An eerie silence trickling in to fill your insides.

Panic bubbled beneath your skin, but you were too numb to feel it. Trapped in the mounting weight of your limbs, the slow blink of your eyes, the shortness of breath despite hardly moving.

Your hand slipped across the gritty cement, reaching for support that wasn't there.

That was when you saw it, the shock of it was enough for your heart to drop. Your skin, blanched and sallow, the veins in your arms black and spreading like spilled ink.

You tried to fight it, tried to will your body to move, to react, to do something. You had to get up. You had to. The kids.

As hard as you willed yourself, there was nothing. It was like your body wasn't your own, like it had become something completely foreign.

You could barely make out the tiny voices calling for you. Pleading, frantic yelps of your name fading into a dull hum as everything went hazy. The edges of your vision blurring into a narrow tunnel.

He stepped in front of you, the same one who shot you. A cynical grin on his face and collar in his hand. You'd seen collars like it before, used on mutants to muzzle their abilities, to weaken them.

You tried, fingers barely twitching by your. Nothing. Just another shock of that cold, unfamiliar feeling shooting through your body.

“Got a big one, boss.” The man boasted into a comm strapped to his wrist, his voice sharp and grating. He took a single step towards you, smug grin still stretched across his face. “Yeah, real nice lookin' one too. She'll sell for—“

A muddy roar pulsed through the molasses filled haze of your ears, six claws flying through the air to embed themselves on either side of the man's skull with a wet, stomach-churning sound.

The collar dropped from his slackened grip with a dull bang, shattering into different pieces that slid across the floor haphazardly. A mess of wires and metal.

There were rushed footsteps before he dropped to his knees in front of you, his torso bathed in a dull glow from the overhead lights yellow shine.

There was blood splattered across the side of his face, slicking the front of his suit enough to reflect light off the leather.

Logan, perched in front of you like an angel.

Not one with a golden halo and a harp, but a indescribable mess of eyes and wings looming over you calling 'be not afraid'.

You'd never seen him so shaken before. All wide-eyed and pale as he checked you over for any major injuries. His breath coming in short bursts, hands frantic and shaky as they skated along your body for the viscosity of blood or uneven shift of a break.

He refused to let you even try and walk on your own, swept you off the floor and cradled your trembling body to his chest as he called for help. The beat of his heart was fast beneath your cheek, strong enough that you could feel it even through the thick leather of his suit.

You buried your face deeper in the crook of his neck, the pit in your stomach barely warmed by the feel of him. His scent is strongest there, so much so that in a room full of spilled blood, you could only smell him.

He was careless stepping over clawed up bodies littering the floor like a messy maze of twitching limbs and entrails. You didn't even know there was more than one guard in the room.

The evidence of his love for you, of his devotion, oozing red on the concrete.

Logan didn't even give the carnage a sideways glance as he raced you outside, back to the jet.

Trusting Scott and Jean to take over getting the kids out. The unsteady murmurs he pressed to the top of your head the last thing you heard before there was nothing.

You woke up six hours later.

The sterile hum of medical equipment was the first thing you heard. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nostrils, and the faint pressure of a needle in your arm confirmed that you were hooked up to an IV. 

Your muscles felt heavy, like someone had filled them with lead. But you were alive.

You could feel your body working overtime, fixing itself. The sickening shift of your insides falling back into place. 

It took a few more moments for you to realize you weren’t alone.

A low, familiar rumble caught your attention. You turned your head to see Logan slumped in a chair by the bedside, his face buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His hair was mussed, his usually sharp features softened by exhaustion. 

He looked different, smaller, as though the weight of what happened was pressing down on him, making him fold in on himself.

You’d seen him bloody, beaten, on the verge of death, but you’d never seen him like this–completely and utterly human.

Your throat was too dry to speak, but a small sound escaped you, and Logan's head snapped up. His eyes met yours, and in a heartbeat, he was at your side, his large hands hovering over you, unsure where to touch, like he was afraid you’d shatter under his fingers.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. His voice was hoarse, cracked with a mixture of relief and something else, something deeper. His eyes darted over your face, your arms, as if memorizing every detail just to make sure you were real.

“I'm sorry,” you managed, your voice barely more than a rasp.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed, the lines in his forehead deepening. "What the hell are you apologizing for?" His voice was gruff, but there was a tenderness beneath it. A gentleness he only reserved for you.

Your lips cracked into a weak smile. "It was my fault. I messed up."

A growl rumbled low in his chest, and you could feel the anger simmering just beneath his skin, not at you but at the situation, at whoever had dared to hurt you.

“Don’t,” he said, voice like gravel. “Don't start, none of this is on you.” His voice softened slightly as he leaned closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “What matters is you’re here.”

The reassurance wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you.

Logan’s thumb traced the line of your jaw, his touch sending a spark of warmth through your veins. “When I saw you on the floor like that…I thought—” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he forced himself to meet your gaze again. “I thought I lost you.”

Your fingers twitched slightly, managing to catch his wrist, squeezing it with what little strength you had. “I’m right here,” you said softly, voice clearer than before. “I’m okay.”

Logan’s gaze softened again as he looked down at your hand, his rough exterior cracking just a little more. He gently pried your fingers from his wrist and pressed your hand to his chest, right over his heart. “You scared the hell outta me, you know that?”

You tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a breathless huff. “Didn’t mean to.”

He shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You never do.”

You were fine an hour later. 

The color of your skin had returned, glossy and like new. The hollow emptiness inside of you long gone. Your abilities passed every test Charles threw your way with flying colors.

Fully recovered and finally excused from the med-bay after Hank and Jean checked you over one last time, you were given your strict marching orders in the form of extra fluids and bed rest, no matter how much you argued that you were fine.

Your health was the last thing on your mind, just a distant phantom ache each time your eyes would find Logan.

He was still shaken up, even after all the reassurance from Charles and Hank. He kept close the rest of the day, hovering, his presence more protective than usual, but he didn’t talk much.

You could see it in the way he moved, slower, less sure, like he was carrying around something too heavy to shake off. It lingered in the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands flexed as though still looking for something to fight, to protect you from.

It wasn’t hard to guess what it was. 

You hated seeing him like this, burdened by a guilt he didn’t deserve. 

It gnawed at you, that heaviness. The way he started to shut down, to close himself off in the face of fear. It was the only way he knew how to cope.

After seeing him like that, bed rest was the last thing on your mind.

You knew Logan. Knew what he needed when his thoughts got tangled up like this, dragging him under. He wasn't the type to sit and talk through it, not easily anyway. 

And even though you know he’d never ask for it himself, you knew what he needed—to be reminded, physically, that you were still here, still his.

Later that night, when the mansion had quieted and the others were tucked away in their rooms, you found him exactly where you thought you’d find him—in the room you shared, sitting on the edge of the bed. The yellow light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his face, the tension in his jaw still there.

A frown tugged the corners of your mouth as you moved towards him, catching his attention with the rustle of the sheets as you sat next to him.

“Logan,” you say softly, breaking the stillness. He doesn't respond, only the slightest twitch in his shoulders indicating he even heard you. “Hey,” you try again, your voice a little firmer this time.

He turns his head just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile, the crease between his brows, weariness etched into his features.

But he still doesn't speak.

You shift, moving closer until your fingers brush his arm, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his shirt. “Look at me,” you whisper, and finally, his gaze lifts to meet yours, guarded and pained. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Logan shakes his head, bringing a hand up to run it through his already messy hair. “You could’ve died,” he bites out, tone rough and low. “We should've never fuckin' split up. I should’ve been there faster, sooner. I should’ve–”

“Logan.” Your voice cut through his, sharper than you meant it to. You catch his hand in yours, thumb brushing against the pulse point of his wrist. “You saved me, I’m not going anywhere. I need you to hear that.”

He meets your gaze then, eyes dark with something vulnerable, something raw. He nods weakly, like he only half-believes it. You can still see the hesitation swirling through his eyes, the reluctance in the stiffness of his muscles against yours.

He needs something more than words, something to bring him back to you.

With that, you move to straddle his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs. His body stiffens under yours, his breath hitching slightly as his hands fall to your waist almost instinctively.

“Hold on,” Logan starts, tone hesitant and hands light as they hover over your hips like he’s still scared to touch you. “You heard what Hank said–”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, finality lacing your tone and leaving no room for argument. You reach down, taking his hand in yours and bringing it up to press flat directly over your heart. The very same way he did your first night together. "Can you feel me?”

The question hangs between you, soft but weighted with purpose.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat, fingers splaying wider across your chest. The heat of his palm sinks through to your skin, lighting a fire in you. 

The steady beat of your heart under his touch is an undeniable reminder–alive, strong, with him. You can feel him relax, just a touch.

The tension in his muscles breaking down beneath you piece by piece as the rhythm grounds him, helps to pull him out of his spiral.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, barely audible. His eyes drop to where his hand rests, his thumb absently grazing the space just above your sternum. “I feel you.”

“Then trust it,” you murmur. “Trust me.”

A deep, slow breath escapes him, and something in his eyes softens just enough. You lean closer, your fingers trailing up his arms, over his shoulders, until they thread into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

You smile softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He sighs deeply, leaning into your touch like a dog starved of attention from its master. His grip on your waist finally tightens, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to feel that edge of need—the need to let go.

“You’ve been taking care of me all day,” you murmur, scratching your nails along his scalp softly. “Now let me take care of you.”

You feel him shudder, a weak groan escaping from his slack lips. His hazy eyes search your face, pupils blown out and seeping into the warm hazel color like an oil spill over a lake.

You tilt your head, lips grazing the stubble on his jawline, moving slowly, deliberately, until you can capture his mouth in a kiss.

It’s soft at first, gentle, but you feel him melt into it, the sharp edge of his restraint crumbling as he kisses you back with a kind of hunger that fuels you.

Logan’s hands slide up your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as you take control, deepening the kiss, coaxing him further into the moment.

His mouth is warm and wet and urgent against yours, the scrape of his teeth along your bottom lip sends a thrill down your spine. 

His lips move over yours with a reverence that makes your chest tighten, as if each slick glide of your lips together is an apology, a promise, and a plea all rolled into one.

But you don’t want his apologies. You want his surrender.

His breath stutters in his chest when your fingers twist in his hair, tugging just enough to remind him who’s in charge tonight.

When your hand finds his chest, pushing him down gently, he goes without protest. His eyes never leave yours as he settles against the pillows, following your every movement as you crawl closer.

Climbing over him to perch on top of his thighs, you waste no time in reaching for the hem of his shirt, gently tugging on it in a silent question. Logan’s breath comes in shallow puffs as he nods, fingers twitching on your hips. 

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls under the tips of your fingers, the sharp intake of air when your hands ghost across the skin of his lower stomach as you lift his shirt up and over his head.

You toss it over your shoulder carelessly, it lands with a muted thump somewhere behind you, leaving his chest bare. His muscles taut and rippling as he forces himself to stay still, the dim light plays across his skin, highlighting the contours along his torso.

You take a moment to just admire him, trailing your fingers along the familiar planes of his skin. Your touch is feather light, tracing over the spots that should be littered in scars. 

The place in his shoulder where he got shot two weeks back, or where the loose shrapnel that embedded itself in his side on the last mission should be, or the skin where his shoulder meets his neck after you dug your teeth into it hard enough to bleed a few nights ago.

The way his body responds to you makes your pulse quicken—the way he finally relaxes completely under your touch, melting into the mattress. 

You continue your path down, fingers slipping through the ridges of his abs, scratching your nails through the dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his bottoms teasingly. The muscles of his stomach jump under your touch, the power of his need thrumming beneath your touch.

You drag your hand over the hard length of him, his cock thick and hot as it twitches beneath your fingers. There’s a sharp hiss bleeding through grit teeth as his hips twitch up off the mattress ever so slightly.

You lean forward, hiding a small smirk in the crook of his neck. “Logan,” you whisper, voice dripping with intent, “I want you to beg for it.”

A deep, guttural growl rumbles through his chest. It shakes your body like thunder, finding a home between your thighs. Logan’s head falls back against the pillows, exposing the tan column of his throat to your hungry gaze.

It’s almost immediate, your reaction, your bodies reaction. The pulse of your blood starts to simmer with that telltale heat, slowly bubbling beneath your skin in anticipation.

Your gaze traces along where the vein of his jugular presses against his skin enticingly, barely suppressing a full body shiver at the sight.

You slip your index and middle finger beneath his waistband, brushing against his hard cock with barely any pressure. His hips buck up again, seeking more friction, but you pull back slightly, making him chase it.

“I said beg, Logan,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, a sharp edge to it now. Your free hand comes up, gripping his jaw tightly, forcing him to look at you.

His eyes, dark and blown wide with lust, meet yours, and you can see the war raging inside him—the urge to dominate, to take control—but then he’s giving in to you, surrendering so beautifully.

“Goddamn,” he rasps quietly, his voice rough, broken. It’s barely a word, more of a growl torn from his throat. He bites it out, quiet and foreign sounding coming from his tongue. “Please, I need—”

“Good boy,” you purr, and finally, drag the soaked fabric of his bottoms down. His cock springs free, slapping against his stomach lewdly.

You moan softly, deftly wrapping your fist around him loosely. Logan groans, you swear you can hear his teeth grind together at the first feeling of your touch where he wants it most.

He’s scalding to the touch, velvety skin throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Rock-hard and flushed an angry red, darkening even more the closer you get to the tip.

You keep the pace of your strokes tortuously slow, letting him feel every movement, teasing him. It’s addictive, watching the way he starts to unravel beneath you at the slightest touch.

His legs kick out against the mattress minutely, hands falling from your hips to grip the sheets as hard as he can in a failing attempt to calm himself.

You lean down, slick lips brushing against his as you speak, your voice soft but commanding. “You’re going to let me do whatever I want to you tonight, aren't you?”

Logan nods, his breath coming in quick pants, his sweaty chest rising and falling rapidly. “Yes,” he chokes out, eyes brimming with need. “Fuck, do whatever you want, baby. I’m yours.”

The usual dominance he carries like a second skin has been peeled away, leaving him vulnerable, laid out beneath you, at your mercy.

Your hand speeds up, grip tightening as you twist your wrist over his leaking tip. Your knuckles shine with pre-come, slick from the gratuitous amount of wetness steadily drooling out.

“You’re being so good for me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice soft and laced with praise. “So good, letting me take care of you like this.”

His response is a loud moan, his hips arching up off the bed, but you’re quick to press them down with your free arm, your thighs tightening around him.

“Not yet,” you warn, strength on display as you stop his movements. “You’ll come when I say.”

A strangled sound escapes him, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, and it sends a thrill through you. He’s right there, teetering on the edge, but he’s holding on—for you.

“Poor thing,” you mumble, idly pressing your thumb into his slit, gathering the precome there to spread it along the flushed crown. “So hard, so needy for me.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Logan whines, his head tipping back against the pillows a second times, eyes squeezing shut tighten enough to wrinkle the skin around them.

You smile, your nails digging into his chest as you shift, positioning yourself above him. The heat between your legs is unbearable now, slick all along your inner thighs as it pools from your aching cunt, drenching the soft cotton of your panties.

So desperate to be stretched around Logan’s cock, to be filled the only way he can. You roll your hips forward, the hard jut of his cock sliding through the sticky mess of your panties.

“Shit, baby,” he groans, loud and hoarse. “Fuck, give it to me, I’m ready–”

You press your finger to his lips, silencing him as you hover over him. “Not yet,” you whisper, a wicked grin on your face as you slide your panties to the side and take him in your hand, letting the tip brush against your soaked entrance, still not giving him what he craves.

Your own patience is starting to run thin, but the sound of his begging is too good.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” you say, your voice sharp and commanding as you rub the tip of him along your cunt, teasing. “Tell me what you need.”

He’s trembling beneath you, a soft whimper leaving his lips as you sink down slightly, barely letting him inside. "Please, darlin'," he groans, voice rough with need. "I need to feel you—need you so fuckin’ bad."

You finally give in, sinking down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion.

His body jerks beneath you, a choked growl spilling from his lips as you take him in, inch by inch. You don’t stop until he’s buried deep inside you, your walls clenching around him as you settle into his lap.

The feeling is overwhelming, the stretch, the heat, the way he fills you completely.

You both groan at the same time, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you roll your hips, savoring the way he pulses inside you, how his entire body reacts to every little movement.

“God, you’re so big,” you whisper, your voice heavy with lust as you look down at where your bodies meet. “You gonna be a good boy and let me ride you?”

“Fuck,” he grits, voice like gravel crunching underfoot.

His hands slide up your back, desperate and needy as they cradle the back of your head softly. “I’d kill them all,” he pants, lips messily searching for your own, desperate for more frantic kisses. “Fuckin’ all of them, all for you.”

You moan loud and unabashed, eyes screwing shut as your nails rake down his chest hard enough to break the skin. The smell of his blood breaks through the air, heady and sharp. He throws his head back, a broken gasp dragged out of him as his hips speed up.

You think back to the room in the warehouse, the floor slick with stray remains and viscera. Think back to him lifting you to his chest, of the blood spattered across his suit and face slipping against your own clammy skin.

Flashes of Logan running to you like a loyal livestock dog, covered in the blood of any wolf that dares attack his precious sheep. Staining the white of your wool red with the righteous wrath of his sacrifice. 

You roll your hips faster, bouncing with enough force to have you crying out. The tight suction of your walls pulling him as deep as he can get at this angle.

The coarse hair along his stomach drags against your throbbing clit, making white hot sparks of pleasure zing up your spine to light up each vertebrae. 

Logan presses his forehead to your chest, hot breath puffing out over your sweaty neck. You tilt your head to the side almost subconsciously, bearing more of yourself to him.

“Can’t hold back much longer,” he admits weakly, blunt nails digging into your skin sharp enough to sting. “Feels so good, so fuckin' good."

He trails off, face pinched with ecstasy as he gazes up at you. You smile, rolling your hips slowly, tiny figure eights that let you feel every inch of him pressing against your walls.

“You're not supposed to hold back," you whisper, your voice thick with need as you lean down, kissing along his jawline. "I want you to let go, Logan."

His eyes snap open, the hazel gone wild and desperate, and it’s like you can see the exact moment he breaks. The tiniest shred of self control finally crumbling under the weight of his instincts. With a low, feral growl, he surges up.

You’re on your back quicker than you can blink, stomach surging with it. You hardly have any time to react, Logan punching all the air out of your lungs as he sets a brutal pace.

The sudden intensity has you gasping, your body jolting as he takes over, fucking you like his life depends on it. 

Each thrust is hard and deep, hitting the spot inside of you, over and over again until you’re a trembling mess above him, moaning his name, your nails digging into his chest.

Logan’s grip on you is ironclad, pulling you back onto him harder, faster, his breaths coming out in ragged pants as he loses himself completely in the heat of your body.

"That's it," you pant, feeling the way your body tightens around him, the tension building deep inside you. "Fuck, Logan, just like that—"

He growls again, the sound vibrating through his chest as he slams into you harder, his pace relentless. You can feel the sweat slick between your bodies, hear the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies coming together as his control snaps completely.

“Mine,” he growls between thrusts, voice low and rough as he pounds into you, his eyes locked on yours, full of possessive need. "All fuckin’ mine."

Your body responds to his words, tightening around him as your orgasm builds, every nerve in your body on fire. "Yes," you gasp, your voice barely more than a broken moan as he hits that perfect spot again and again. "Yours—only yours."

Slowly, deliberately, you bring your hand to your mouth, biting down on the pad of your thumb hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

The scent of iron fills the space between you, mixing with the musk of sex and sweat. Logan’s nostrils flare as he takes in the scent, his pupils dilating further, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You raise your thumb to his mouth, sliding it along his bottom lip to leave behind a thin trail of red. “Suck,” you whisper softly, pressing your thumb into his mouth ever so slightly. 

And he does, without hesitation. 

Logan’s lips part, and he pulls your thumb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the taste of your blood. The look in his eyes as he does sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

The pure devotion of the act thickening the air around you to coil the spring of pleasure winding in your lower stomach tighter.

You groan, your own restraint folding like a house of cards as you drag your nose down the column of his throat, stopping right at the base. You press a quick kiss over the rapid fluttering of his pulse before you bite down, hard.

Logan keens around your thumb, teeth digging into your skin roughly as his blood floods your mouth. 

You get lost in it, the familiar taste of him seeping onto your tongue as his cock jerks and pulses in your clenching cunt. Getting lost in the way you can feel the rhythm of his heart against your lips, each strong beat sending more blood pumping out to leak along your taste buds.

You press your chest to his, not leaving an inch of space between you. It’s still not enough, it will never be enough.

You need more, so much more.

You want to encompass him completely, to be encompassed by him.

You want to dig your hands into his skin–to peel back each layer of flesh and fat and muscle, snap each of his ribs back so you can bury yourself in the cavity of his chest before you bend them back into place. Burrowing yourself deep enough inside him to watch him heal all around you, to watch his skin stitch itself back together.

It’s a sick feeling, the need to take and take until he has no more left to give. Sick and all consuming, lighting you up like the raging flames of a forest fire that destroys everything in its path. 

When you finally pull your hand away from his mouth, he lets out a breathless moan, and you lean down to press your lips against his in a bruising kiss.

The coppery tang of your blood lingers between you, mixing with Logan’s as your teeth clash together violently, as you devour him, pouring every ounce of your control into the kiss.

You press your palm to his chest, powers surging to life over his heart. You don't need to open your eyes to see what you leave behind, the red and blue pulse of his blood lighting up beneath his skin like the neon sign hanging outside his favorite bar.

Logan moans into your mouth, tongue dragging along the point of your canines. "Don't stop," he pleads, “Please, baby, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

You can feel the energy coursing between you, a tangible thing that's threading itself between your fingers. It’s intoxicating, a connection deeper than flesh, a binding of souls fueled by blood and lust. You lean into the heat radiating from him, urging your energy to flow freely, wrapping it around his heart like a warm embrace.

“Logan,” you whisper breathily, breaking the kiss just enough to look into his wild, pleading eyes. “You feel that? You and me, we’re connected.”

“I feel it, honey,” he groans, bucking his hips, forcing you to take him deeper. “You’re everywhere. It’s all I can think about all the goddamn time, drives me fuckin’ crazy.” His words tumble from his lips, raw and unfiltered, sending another thrill of desire through you.

You whine, head tipping back to the ceiling. Drunk of the feeling of him, of his cock, of his blood on your teeth.

You've come to think that being in bed with Logan is like being in church.

There's a holiness to the way he holds you—like you’re the only thing worth believing in.

The familiar weight of his body pressing you into the mattress is the alter. The heat of him like laying in the burning flame of a candle. The strong planes of his muscles each a different scripture that you take in by touch alone, skating your hands over his skin with something close to worship.

Each bead of sweat on his skin feels sacred, a testament to the intensity between you, as though every part of him has been crafted for this moment of devotion.

The hard length of his cock carves a place for itself inside you, each heavy smack of his hips punching another desperate sound out of your slack lips. 

His breath, deep and ragged, is a chant that pulls you into reverence. It puffs against the wild beat of your pulse, his lips brushing over the fever hot plane of your skin. 

The sound of your name falling from his mouth sounds like a prayer answered.

You can’t help but close your eyes, not in exhaustion, but in a kind of spiritual surrender, like by shutting out the world, you can truly grasp the divinity of it. His blood, mixing with yours on your tongue feels like a sacrament—an unholy communion.

The air between you crackles with heat, your bodies moving together in perfect sync, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Logan’s head tilts back, his mouth open in a silent scream as he claws at your hips, pulling you down harder, deeper.

“I’m close,” he groans, his voice strained, desperate. “Please—fuck—I need to—”

You reach up quickly, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at you. “Look at me when you fuck me,” you demand, your voice sharp, dripping with authority. “I want you to watch me when you come.”

That’s all it takes.

 Logan’s entire body goes taut, a strangled roar tearing from his throat as he buries himself inside you one last time, the force of his release crashing through him. The hot spray of his come floods your insides, drenching your walls in thick spurts of white. 

His hands grip you so tightly you’re sure there’ll be bruises blooming later, but you don’t care. You wish they wouldn’t fade. You want them. You want to wear his mark, to feel the evidence of this moment lingering on your skin long after it’s over.

His hips don’t stop even as he comes, a sharp cry ripping its way from his throat as he keeps fucking you, pumping you full of him like he can’t stop. 

When you feel him start to lose control like that, feel the frantic twitch of his cock inside you, you finally let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. The force of it rips a scream from your throat as you clench around him, your body spasming with the intensity of it.

Your abused cunt gushes around his cock to seep into the mattress, soaking both the sheets and his lower body all at once as you let out a weak mutter of his name.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the ragged, uneven breathing between you as you both come down from the high. Logan collapses on the bed, arms circling your waist to drag you along with him. His cock stays inside of you, plugging you full of his come.

Your body trembles with the aftershocks of your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. 

Logan is warm and grounding under you, soft and lax. You can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath your cheek, and you press a soft kiss to the skin there, a silent reminder.

His hand comes up to thread through your hair, his touch gentle now, his body relaxed in a way that it wasn’t before.

“I love you,” he whispers against the crown of your head, his voice soft, vulnerable in a way that makes your heartache.

You smile, soft and secretive in the valley of his pecs, “I love you too.”

It’s a quiet admission, the first time you’ve ever said that to each other with words. The first time you both felt the need to, because it’s nothing you didn’t already know.

Your blood dripping from his teeth lays the same claim over you as his come dripping down your thighs.

It means you're his, and he’s yours.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[maximoffwitch]

Glad your back! Hope all is well and continues being so!

For any drabble or blurb, I’ll just be really happy with some Natasha x avenger reader, fluffy stuff with Nat being a little spoon? If possible please! Thank you! 🙏🤍

After a Hard Day’s Work

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff

summary: After a long day, Natasha comes home to the best thing she could ask for: you.

word count: 660

a/n: at this point idk how long or short a drabble or blurb is even supposed to be?? anyways pls enjoy this and keep sending me some short ideas :))

Natasha let out a long sigh, as she stepped into the New York apartment she shared with you. A year into your relationship, the two of you decided to finally move out of the compound and settle in a home of your own.

Dropping her bag and keys next to the door, Nat couldn't stop the small smile from creeping onto her face when she heard you humming along to music playing in the kitchen.

"Nat?" you called out, knowing your girlfriend had come home, having sense her energy. You tried not to use your powers when they weren't necessary, but telekinesis wasn't something you could just easily turn on and off.

"Hey, detka," she entered the kitchen, wrapping her arms around your waist, careful not to distract you from whatever you were stirring on the stove.

"Hi, my love," you sank into your girlfriends embrace and turned your head to greet her with a quick peck. "Hard day?"

"Mhm," Natasha hummed against your skin, as she nuzzled her nose into the crook of your neck. "It was hell. Fury and Hill piled on the paper work from last mission, which took forever, so I'm sorry I'm a bit late."

"No worries," you clicked off the stove and turned around to face the redhead. You did well to hide your frown, but your heart ached, as you could see the exhaustion radiating off your girlfriend. "I drew you a hot bath so it's warm when you get in and dinner is almost ready."

Natasha returned your beaming expression with one of wonder. She would never understand how someone like her could ever deserve someone like you, and yet here you were.

Pulling you closer by the pockets of your apron, Natasha kissed you, pouring all of her appreciation and love for you into the kiss.

"You are the absolute best," she whispered, tenderly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "What would I do without you?"

"Hopefully you'll never have to find out," you gave her a cheeky smile.

"How about," Natasha's voice dropped an octave lower, as she moved her hands closer to your ass, "we come back for dinner later, and you join me in my bath?"

Never one to refuse your girlfriend, you fondly rolled your eyes and smirked, "If you wanted to see me naked, Romanoff, all you had to do was ask."

Natasha chuckled heartily and pulled you by the hand, dragging you towards the bathroom. The two of you quickly stripped your clothes before sinking into the warm bubbly water.

"Thank you for this," Natasha leaned back against your chest, intertwining your fingers with hers.

"No need to thank me, Nat" you beamed down at her, her moist skin positively glowing in the dim candlelight.

Leaning her head back so she could look up at you, Natasha bit her lip, "I love you."

"I love you too," you kissed her forehead, as the redhead contently closed her eyes.

You basked in the comfortable silence the two of you shared, taking great pleasure in the feeling of Natasha's skin against your own.

"Sometimes I wonder," you hummed, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "what the world would think..."

"What the world would think about what?" Nat sat up to lean her head back against your shoulder, furrowing her brows slightly.

"What would people think of the mighty, formidable Black Widow being the little spoon in a lavender-scented bubble bath with her girlfriend?"

"Oh, shut up," she bit back a grin and pinched you.

"Ouch," you pouted playfully, giving her your best doe eyes, "that hurt."

"I'm sorry, lyubov moya," Natasha atoned, as she turned so she now straddling you, her nipples barely brushing yours, causing you to inhale sharply.

You gulped, as you recognized the sultry look in your girlfriends eyes.

"How can I make it up to you?" she huskily whispered, pulling your earlobe between her teeth.

"I can think of some ways."

[luvfy0dor]

“We Still Worship This Love...♡⁠˖” Fyodor Dostoevsky x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; Suggestive, maybe a little toxic, wine but it's not prominent

Description; A very short drabble about Fyodor and Reader's way of fixing problems and arguments HEAVILY based n False God. I think on the citrus scale this might be lime. (Edit like 2 months later- this is not lime I was just nervous to post anything suggestive at all 😭)

A/n; Okay, so basically the rundown on this is this was the first idea I had that I was supposed to write and post here all the way back in August omg. Obviously I haven't until now so here you guys go! I know it's not the best but I also wrote this at 5 in the morning lol. Also might rebrand to pink idk how I feel

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Though you and Fyodor had your differences through arguments here and there, you made sure to make it up to each other at one point or another. They were things you both tried pushing past, feeling as though arguing with him was comparable to an eternity in hell; he's both stubborn and you hated the feeling of guilt that would build up in the pit of your stomach if the ordeal wasn't resolved. You thought that you could patch it up pretty well with the soft kisses and caresses that were shared after the fact, the temporarily forgotten about wine glasses shimmering on the table under the dim light while the two of you got caught up in yourselves. Every encounter of this sort gave you some sort hope, although it was proven to be blind everytime the cycle repeated. You had put so much faith into your love for him that you started not caring that it was comparable to worshipping a false god. You believed that your relationship was true love, and that was all that mattered.

Fyodor loved that you felt that way, returning to him even after exchanging harsh words with eachother. Most nights the both of you would take time to calm down on your own first, gathering your thoughts and sipping on a glass of something, anything that would act as support. Sometimes it was water, sometimes it was wine. You'd try talking it out with eachother, and everytime it worked you ended up entangled in his arms within a matter of minutes; his hands on your waist and back as he softly kissed on your neck while whispering and murmuring quiet apologies to completely win you back over. As did you the second you saw an opportunity, your hands were placed on his shoulder and chest while you straddled him. Your trail of bite marks always made their way down his body throughout nights like these when you showed each other the softest love possible.

→ Fyodors hand rested on the small of your back as you stood between his knees, tilting his head up in order to plant gentle kisses to his lips, only ever pulling away in order to get air but occasionally mumbling against them. "I'm sorry, I get a little dramatic sometimes, but you know that, don't you?" You ask quietly, your eyes flickering from his pretty violet ones to his pink lips that contrasted his pale skin well. That porcelain color was now tainted with hints of pinks on his cheeks and purples on his lower neck and chest. He hummed, a small but visible smirk plastered on his face as his thumb rubbed up and down against the skin of your back underneath your top. "You're forgiven, moya lyubov." He quietly accepts your apology, his hands snaking further up your shirt, pulling you further towards him. You laugh a bit and lean further into him. "Lay with me, my dear." He asks, to which you comply with a smile. Wherever that night takes you would most likely only add to your will to stay with him, but that wasn't your biggest concern in this moment ♡⁠˖

A/n; This isn't to glorify toxic relationships at all if this could count as one. I've just wanted to write this for a couple months now and I'm finally getting to it.

[ticklish-n-stuff]

ooh okay actually i just saw your post about suga and how you love him and the post was about him having a ticklish back 👀 okay okay

how about.. ahh i don’t just wanna say “daichi is giving suga a massage but he’s really ticklish” but like… it’s a classically cute trope, but idk if that’s the kind of prompt you want???

Haikyuu! drabble #1

You kiddin'? This is one of my fave tropes ever!! As basic as it might seem, it's just so cute so thank you for sending this in uwu

Again, haven't watched Haikyuu! in so long so sorry if characterization is off, enjoy!

This is extremely short btw im sorry 🫠 so I'm gonna put it as a drabble fufu

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Suga x Daichi (interpret as you wish)

Lee: Suga

Ler: Daichi

Warnings: Tickles!

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"D-Daichihi... hohow much longeheher?!"

"If you keep squirming like that, I'll just have to start all over again~" the captain whispered close to his teammates ear, earning a flustered whine.

What was supposed to be an innocent massage turned into... whatever this is. Suga trying and failing miserably to stay still while Daichi tormented his sensitive back. Short nails scratching between sensitive shoulderblades.

"Yohou're dohohoing thahat on puhurpose!" Suga tried to pout through his giggles, wiggling all the while.

"So? I don't hear you complaining~".

Well shit, got caught redhanded.

"H-hmhmph! Pfftehehehe!".

Maybe massages aren't so bad after all.

___________________________________________

[trashlama]

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ROR (Record Of Ragnarok) headcanons/IDK drabble turned one-shot

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Jack The Ripper

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This is definitely not for kids!

Like if you're under 18 please just turn back. This is 18+ only!

Just to warn you guys, I literally watched this show almost in one night yesterday so bear with me. And then proceeded to write this. It was supposed to just be some headcanons. And then it turned into drabble and then one shot.

Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh

I re-read this thing a couple of times. I tried to search the internet for quotes that would fit. Cause his character is really into quote'in and shit. I'm sorry if it isn't great I don't usually write so I tried my best. I just was filled with so much simpin' juice for this man at the time so I had to write cause I have no confidence in drawing his character with how badass he is.

Please enjoy!

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Really into aura shit

You got a nice aura? Better watch out. He might seek you out for that warmth if it's too similar to his mother's. Before she went kray- kray-.

Brah has a thing for cute shit

Based on his reaction with the Valkyrie chick he Völundr with. He's definitely into Lolita's.

I'm not a hundred sure what else he might be into. I feel like he's into the whole pure thing and wanting to A.) Corrupt it or B.) Cherish it.

Totally see him as a creep/closet pervert

Too much of gentlemen to be straight up creepy, buuutt still manages to push boundaries, tho whatcha gonna do

Brah is V from V for Vendetta but, minus the whole fuck parliament and being a charred turkey whose like woof- woof- for Evee Hamond.

Brah kept giving me flashes back to Batman by Gaslight.(Really good movie, guess what? Fet. Batman & Jack the Ripper. It's some badass shit.)

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Brraaahhh imagine just being some poor samp having to make ends meet in like one of the recognized most shittiest times. And its the dead of the night, walking home after your shift at the pub that ran later than you would prefer. But hey, money is money.

Everything is quite aside from the inebriated stumbling to their choice of den and the ladies of the night who waited on the curbs for potential customers. Preferably the quick and wasted ones.

Although the lamp wicks were burning bright thanks to the caretakers that serviced them. You being a dumb b*tch just trying to get home decide to pull the white girl move in the horror movie and walk into one of many dark decrepit alleys in London that were spread out like a cobble stone labyrinth.

Only to come across this motherfucker while passing through. Humming the London bridge is Falling Down while hunched over something behind one the local comunial waste bins. Obviously whatever it was had the bizarre-o ivory-haired man distracted enough to not notice your initial presence. If you were a normal self-preservation instinct still intact person you would've ran back the way you came.

Buuut that's too easy sooooo, no.

You—, you decide to play Blue's fuckin Clues and go stroll by the dude to see what he dooooin'.(Kinda like when there's a crash and everyone is like yoo I wanna see. But there's traffic so they slow just a little bit down when passing the crash to see what's up. Cause we all nosey b*tches. Don't lie.)

Didn't even take five steps before this crackhead whipped around to see who was approaching. And in the same short amount of time it took the mustached hetero-chromatic eyed dude to analyze your fluctuating aura of emotions. Meanwhile your ass noticed how this dude was fist deep in this lady's guts playin' doctor with a satchel of equipment at his side. Outfit drenched in the same burgundy colored ooze that flooded from the ripped open abscess in the abdomen of the obviously recently deceased women that was prompted up against the corner where the waste bin met the structure.

Before you could even think of back pedaling out of this situation. The pale haired man had launched himself on you. Quick to restrain you against the gross ass cobblestone wall of the ally way. In the right hand a common barbers knife that'd you find in any supplies shop in london—hovered threateningly above the thin skin of your throat. While the other was kept busy planting you against the wall by the roots of your still pinned up hair.

The desire to allow fear course into your veins was strong as you stared trapped in the heterochromatic pools of mania that belong to the person infront of you. Pools of crimson and glacier keeping you pinned. The former of the two holding almost supernatural glow to it. The gleam of it's light piercing through the veil of fog and darkness like the knife he so carefully wielded.

"What's a young maiden like yourself walking around at this hour in a place like this? And without a chaperon?" The mustached man inquired though obviously not out of interest but, amusement. Maintaining the manic look upon his pale aging features as he peered back into orbs of (y/e).

"It is a blind goose that cometh to a fox's sermon." The older gentleman cooed. Warm breath fan across the skin of your face leaving behind goosebumps in its wake.

The guy was definitely creepy.

Though not keen on being a damsel in destress of any kind. Your ass knew you wanted to survive this counter. And no one from the London yard to the hooker you passed on the corner is gonna help you now.

You had three options:

Scream

Fight

Reason

With a blade at your throat you might as well call yourself Marie Antoinette 2.0, if you chose the first option. Fighting with this dude would definitely be one-sided. From the fact that it took him 2.5 secs to over power you and contain you to a single spot. Yeah that's a no-go. And to be honest you weren't a hundred percent sure if reasoning would work on the psycho in front of you. Based off the fact he's staring at you like a mustached Cheshire Cat with a Mad Hatter's attitude. This is one fucked game of perseverance that you wish hadn't walked into.

Your last resort? You weren't completely sure what yet but one thing for sure; the way this night was looking so far this might be your last time underneath the moonlight. You might as well try something. It's not like you have anything left in your life to lose.

As you steeled your resolve in your mind. Your aura told the middle age man everything he needed to know.

At first glance it was nothing special. Just a cesspool of emotions primarily exhaustion and the normal stress that lays beneath every worrisome thought of the future and tomorrow's problems.

He was just going to rip her up like the predecessors that came before her. However, it was when he pinned her to the putride wall of the alleyway that he saw her true colors.

They shifted like a marvelous rainbow. One moment they were a stressful cobalt. The next a surprised cyan. Than a thoughtful calculative lime green.

However resting a deeper emotion sat next to the core in every flash of color. Remaining vigilant against an invasion from outside forces that threaten to penetrate the brigade that kept them at bay. Was a spec of regretful indigo. There it sat safe guarding the very thing that created its very being. So the same thing wouldn't happen again.

The array of sensitive colors dazzled his senses. The alternating emotions keep his interest peeked and the knife from laying any more pressure on your artery. His receptors in his nerves soaking up the vivid feelings like a dry sponge in the bath water. However unlike the sponge, his body just craved more.

He wanted to see the violet purple. The despair fill her heart. It was his favorite thing.

Swallowing a thick glob of saliva your (y/e) irises began to what you think is nonchalant but, isn't very chalant— scanning your surroundings. Looking for an opportunity to present itself despite the current obvious disadvantages. -cough- knife at your throat -cough- head at risk being slammed -cough-.

The creepy-ass grin from the creepy-ass man in front of you didn't help easing any tension in the little space between you two.

" Sir I nought know why you're doing this but, please allow me to pass onwards on my path. I cannot convict you. I don't even know your name nor what you look like." You reasoned (y/e) eyes filled with earnestness and your soul mirroring the same in a vivid courageous orange and a trepidious magenta.

Eyes trained with one another never breaking for a moment. Not even when his hand with the knife pulled away and was swiftly replaced with the left grasping your windpipe.

He hummed amused with your statement. How foolish you were to think ignorance could save you from your sealed fate.

" How rude of me..." He began.

Successfully instilling even further the threat that was to her life tonight. Not the drunktards who came in on a regular. Not the slim shit wages that barely kept her afloat. Not cholera(that one is a joke because of the time period and where they're at).

The mustached man right in front of her.

Typically he just kills whores. The women who remind him the most of his mother. Though if their soul shines a true brilliant viscous scarlet.... he doesn't mind making an exception or two. After all at the end they all become such a beautiful violet before it ends in white.

Taking an actual intake of her appearance she was certainly not a prostitute. Her bosom was properly strapped down by the corset underneath the fabric of her appropriately length dress that clung to her desirable frame. No cheap lard products to cover her natural appeal.

Only upon closer exception does he notice the faintest of a tan line from a band that has long since been removed.

A ring.

There had been a martial union and as evident with the lack of a band clasped around her dainty finger. It has been terminated. Divorced. Day-old goods that no one wants to touch.

The absence of it told him she had no one to return too.

That she was also abandoned.

That she was free for the taking if he pleased.

But, unlike most Lodon's fine selection of men. Jack actually did have manners.

And a criteria.

And before taking her in he needed to test her.

Can't have distrust in a budding relationship now can we?

" My name dear unwanted maiden is.... "

Hands like snakes from Garden of Paradise enclosed around your tranchea . Effectively sealing away the opening for the air to travel into your lungs.

"....Jack,..."

Cheshire Cat grin stretched across his pale complexion. The insanity in his eyes burning red hot like the poker in the fire.

"... Jack The Ripper! " He said with a joyous glee. Finally leaning in close enough that you could finally make out his full features.

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest"

Pools of (y/e) widen with surprise as they maintained the direct line of eye contact with the killer who has been stalking the streets of White Chapel.

Tears fell from (y/n) sockets. Not out of fear or the tragedy of your death. But rather the hurt of knowing you'll never get the chance to have a family.

I'm sorry this next part is ridiculously darker than the rest of this one shot/drabble. IDK how I went down this path but, just warning the next part includes talks of divorce, implied inf@cide, implied ch!ld murder, mi$carriage, oh and I almost forgot just dap of pedo alert.0

Please continue with your own discretion!!!

Since the start you never got to have that family. You never knew your parents. They had left you at an orphanage. Lucky for you that they had room to spare. Most became water logged coffins sealing away the babes from undesirable fates.

It wasn't sunshine and rainbows at the orphanage. You had to pull your weight from a very young age. Those who didn't contribute didn't get food, those who resisted got sent away, anyone who didn't listen came back from lectures with welts and concussions. You pick and choose your battles. And you chose them very carefully for the first fifteen years.

Until you felt the need to defend yourself against one of the caretakers who wasn't so noble. You had shed first blood the summer before. And ever since had been on the edge due to prying eyes and wandering hands.

That summer you left the orphanage and headed to London. Hear say from villagers say all the jobs are in the cities now. Thanks to the Industrial revolution offering more opportunities than ever before.

You had gone. Worked at a textile plant for some time until you met your first husband. And became pregnant with your first kid.

....only to lose the fetus three months later due to the stress your body was under. Children take so much. Even before their born. The nutrients get sucked from the marrow and slowly you lost the battle.

Your husband blamed you, and you did too. You tired, tried, and tried. But, they just couldn't be kept.

It wasn't even a two years later that your first husband divorced you.

You always wanted to be able to try again. To have that child to love and hold, to cherish unconditionally like you wished you had been.

Though staring into those mix-matched pools of insanity. In one last attempt to not give into the fear of the impending end. You thought one last time about your dream.

Jack was both pleased and mystified

Instead of the violet purple he saw within most of his victims. He found a light source that resembled the embers that kept the Londoners warm through the ruthless winters. An eradecent hue that blend yellow and pink into what can only be described as a hug to the senses.

Relaxing and comforting. A guiding light to ease one to rest.

"And light is mingled with the gloom, And joy with grief; Divinest compensations come, Through thorns of judgment mercies bloom In sweet relief ".

Slowly hands like steel latches released their grasp from around your neck. Skin already blossoming with bruises in the shape of handprints.

Without the support holding you up your body slid towards the alley way floor to only be scooped up into Jack's arms, as if weighing nothing more than a few sheets of paper.

"There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."

Too exhausted to fight off Jack's tight embrace between the near death experience and the shift you had worked before ever traversing down this alleyway.

(y/e) drifted shut as you listened to Jack whisper sweet quotes of adoration as he took you away. Going only gods know where.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd."

As the morning sun rose above the thick pea soup fog. Londoners would be too enthralled in the newest victim of the ripper to notice that there was another woman that the ripper had stolen. With no body to be found.

The five quotes here are quoted by(as in order of appearance)

John lyly

William Shakespeare

John Greenleaf Whittier

Mary Shelley

William Shakespeare

My other fur-baby is fed up with me editing this thing.

[hideyseek]

3, 29, and 30 for ao3 wrapped please!

craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaab hiiii hi hi hiiii hi hiiii hi hi hi hiii !! :3 hehe of course i love to fucking TALK about writing myself.

putting this under a cut bc it is the longest fucking thing in existence ahahaha. and also um, its moderately pretentious sorry! i sure am a guy who can talk about writing for like, seven bajillion years

ao3 wrapped

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

oooough hmm, kind of a tough one for me since i feel like there's a couple. but i'll go with this arthur/cobb drabble i wrote for wicked inception week 4. i hadn't known prior to this that i could write smut without writing it specifically to like ... be hot in some way. but in the end this was so much more like, emotions / character stuff happening and the sex was just a way to get to that information. that was cool. and secondarily, the process of writing this was one draft of like, technically a fic but genuinely incoherent, and a second draft of, oh, okay, this is different but its way more clear. which is also just like, a really nice reassurance that all the craft book reading and trudging through rough drafts of other projects really has strengthened my ability (for short fics at least) to get to the understanding of what i'm really trying to do in a fic. (it's here on the gdoc w/ everyone else's submissions if ur curious! warnings: semi-explicit sexual content, unequal power dynamics)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

hmm aha, well. this year i wrote a LOT of not-quite-there rough draft material for a bunch of different projects which mm, if i comb through it all i will explode out of poorly timed insecurity. so, maybe a bit of a cop-out but here's a bit i wrote yesterday night that made me go: ohh okay, this is going to be fujioka's relationship with violence in this fic. so, favorite recent thing, i suppose:

Fujioka reaches over to take the last section of Haiji’s tangerine. Clean hands, trimmed nails. “We got one,” he says, chewing. “One— what?” There’s a bandage on Fujioka’s cheek, bloody at the edge. Haiji looks at it, and something chokes its way up his throat.  “One of their guys, of course.” Fujioka’s face shifts into a grin, boyishly pleased with himself. A stitch breaks under the bandage and the gauze bloodies. “He tried to make a run for it, and you know we couldn’t have that.”  Kakeru, Haiji thinks, and he can’t say a word.

favorite line in ^ is probably "A stitch breaks under the bandage and the gauze bloodies." i just. love VERBS!!!

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

ok truly SO MANY FUCKING SURPRISES while writing this year!!! but here i'll talk about all the smut writing, hehe. like!! the fact that i sat down and went "ok i guess i'll learn to write smut" is still SO surprising to me (crab this is like. 88% your influence i must tell you!!! like i guess the spark was in me all along or whatever but if u didn't run bcsdp this would never have happened to me, or would have taken much longer, etc). which then led to like ... some really wonderful conversations with irl and fandom friends, and then led to me doing wicked inception (smut drabble fest) and developing OPINIONS on how i like my smut written which i had NEVER HAD BEFORE IN MY LIFE (which. idk maybe i will go into later haha, probably i'll end up blogging about it as i write this arthurcobb fic). SPEAKING OF! wicked then got me to unlock a crucial emotional component to this arthurcobb fic that i've been trying to write since like, 2021!!! (this is long to me) and now -- that whole fic is ... WRITABLE. like i still know next to nothing about it except the premise and that there needs to be fucked up sex in there haha, but like. I HAVE ENOUGH SKILLS TO START IT NOW. like bwaaaaa truly it was just this INCREDIBLE domino effect from like, august (???) through to now that i would never have expected in my life whatsoever!!! ah so i guess really, thank you very much, i'm really glad you did that!!!! (<- bit of an understatement)

[chess-writes]

UNO

SoraKasa

💜Warnings: potentially ooc, no confirmed relationship, confirmed crush

💜Summary: Tsukasa and Sora play UNO. that's it

💜Note: this is so so so short but i've been so drained recently 😭😭 please forgive the underwhelming drabble. i wrote a horror-ish RitsuMika but idk if i like it enough to post

The cards had been dealt, and the game was on.

An intense game, relying on skill and understanding of human nature.

"Tsuka.... your color is very intense!"

Tsukasa looked up from his cards. Sora looked concerned, his cards held to his chest.

"Ah- sorry, Harukawa! I didn't mean to scare you..." he smiled, glancing at his own cards once more.

Sora tilted his head, placing down a green 3. "Sora is not scared. You seem very intense! We do not need to pl-"

Tsukasa shook his head, placing a green 1. "No! It's alright! No need to stop playing Harukawa, I am quite ALRIGHT!"

Sora tilted his head from the sudden English, but seemed to understand from context clues. He placed a yellow 1.

Tsukasa frowned. He only had one yellow card. This was bad, this isn't part of his plan! They were supposed to stay on green for two more turns!

He placed his card, and tried to not grimace when Sora followed up with yet another yellow.

How was he supposed to beat his crush with a righteous and bloody battle when he had to draw cards?

Sora glanced at him again, watching him closely. The flares of his color were a bit startling, but Sora hoped he was enjoying their game like him.

________

Tsukasa lost. Hard.

"Tsuka did well! Sora enjoys playing with him!" Sora gently pat his shoulder, trying to help him feel better.

Tsukasa kept his head in his hands, his color a dark and depressed shade. His remaining cards lay in front of him, a painful five red cards and one green.

"Sora just got good luck this round, Sora is sure Tsuka will do better next time...!"

Next time...

Tsukasa sat up, hhis color flaring to life.

"Harukawa, I challenge you to a rematch! I swear, I will not lose again!" he grinned, very confident.

Sora started to shuffle the cards again after sitting back down. "If you wish..."

Poor Tsukasa, even after five matches he refused to admit that UNO simply isn't his strong suit.

[burninlovebutler]

Hi bestie! 11 for the drabble prompts?

- Sage 💚 (@sagesolsticewrites)

prompts here✨

thank you sageykinz for the request 🥰

why i thought reblogging FLUFF and DRABBLE prompts was a good idea when i can’t write anything sweet or short 😭 idk but here it is

this came out kinda long so it’s actually more of a drObble , i apologize - also sorry if it sucks 😅

[i also kinda changed the wording of the actual prompt sorry 😅]

-

‘We’re friends now, sorry, there’s no escaping it.’

-

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do that.” You frustratingly grumbled looking over at your irritating co-camp counselor Austin’s dumpster fire that didn’t resemble neither an art or a craft.

You two were sat at the back of a cabin monitoring the adolescents messing around with glue and glitter in front of you. It was only about a week before camp was over and you never had to see this annoying blonde ever again. Between the kayak incident – which you were still finding chunks of seaweed out of your hair – and then there was the bonfire incident… and he even cost you the ‘Most Honorable Camp Counselor’ award. You couldn’t wait to get home and start your summer internship. But here you were, building popsicle stick huts with the menace that had been assigned to you.

“You ever think maybe I want it to look this way?” He gave a sly smile back, carefully placing a glue covered stick atop the mess he called a house.

You glanced over and tried to stifle a giggle at how ridiculous it looked, but promptly regained your composure.

“Ah see!” He laughed nudging his boney shoulder into you, “You do think it’s a masterpiece!”

How someone could be so infuriating and have such a cute laugh, you had no idea. But you hated it. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself all summer.

“I never said that,” Returning your attention to your pristine popsicle stick home. “But maybe yours isn’t that bad.” Hiding a tiny smile as you added some puffballs to your roof.

Just as you were about to put your final touches on your wooden home, the blonde stealthy slid your homes together, gluing them to one another. “Austin!” You gasped and smacked his arm, “I worked hard on that!”

He just gave you a playful smirk, “Look we gotta be friends, we’re neighbors now.” Then shrugged with a big grin, “There’s no escaping me.”

Even more annoying than the boy himself was the flutter in your tummy when he smiled at you like that. But you rolled your eyes with a groan, “Fine. But if we’re neighbors I have two conditions.”

“Shoot.” He said confidently like he was on the edge of a victory, ready to cross the finish line.

“No parties,” You pointed a finger at him and narrowed your eyes, “And no kayaks.”

He chuckled remembering the entire boat tipping over and your high pitched screaming, “No promises.”

(i was also requested a Part 2 to this, if you wanted<3)

[jinmukangwrites]

Wanted to challenge myself and write something under 500 words. Honestly just proud of myself that I managed to keep it below 1k. This is a win for me regardless. Sorry for the lack of writing from me lately, idk why I haven't been in the mindset to write. I've been doing nothing but rewatching Naruto lately, but idk I was in the mood to write something tonight so I chose a random prompt and challenged myself to keep it short. Enjoy!

Prompt: "i can't believe that you lied to me." w/ Legend and Hyrule.

Warnings: description of minor injury, fever, infection

-o-o-o-o-

They're trekking through the woods when it happens. It's sudden and unexpected, the sound of a body hitting the ground coming so much quicker than anyone can react. Fear shoots through Hyrule's veins as he spins around; his eyes immediately locking onto the very still and very limp-looking Legend.

"Vet!?" Warriors shouts out, but Hyrule is the first towards his body, skidding to his knees and grabbing his shoulders to push him onto his back—that way he's not breathing in lose dirt with his suddenly very quick and very short inhales.

"He's unconscious," Hyrule calls, his voice more shaky than he'd like. However, he can already feel worried tremors attacking his fingers as he desperately tries to figure out what's wrong.

The others urgently gather around one-by-one. Warriors pushes to the front of the others—and they willingly part as they know he has the most knowledge in field medicine. He presses the back of his palm against Legend's head and swears. "Fuck. He has a fever."

"What's wrong?" Wind asks in a small voice somewhere behind Hyrule, but his question goes unanswered as Warriors presses his fingers against Legend's neck to count his pulse.

However, the question doesn't go ignored. Not by Hyrule. His stomach tightens in a knot and he finds his bottom lip being worried between his teeth.

Legend told Hyrule not to tell the others... not to worry them with something trivial. But... there can't be any other reason he'd randomly pass out like this.

Hyrule shoots his shaking hands forward and grabs at Legend's belt. Warriors makes a shocked, inquiring shout as Hyrule unbuckles the belt and tugs the outer layer of his tunic up to expose his side. Warriors confusion quickly turns to intense concern as he sees what Hyrule has just exposed. In Legends side, near his hip, is a large cut in the fabric that reveals bandages underneath with stains of a sickening, unhealthy red.

Soon, at Warriors demand, Wild is cutting open the tear in the tunic even larger. Legend will be pissed at the loss of his tunic, but Warriors doesn't seem to want to jostle him around too much by removing the tunic normally. Once Legends chest is bare—covered in nothing other than a one-handed attempt at bandages—Warriors takes the dagger from Wild's fingers and carefully finishes the job himself by slicing open the white-stained strips of fabric.

What meets them under the fabric is festering, bloody, and bad.

"It's infected," Warriors snarls.

From there, it's Warriors commanding the others to get water and various ingredients for a makeshift wound cleaner as they're all out of red potions thanks to their last big ambush.

All Hyrule can do is sit there, unsure if the weight in his stomach is worry for his friend... or anger that he had been lied to.

It must be both, he decides.

-o-o-o-o-

Legend wakes up with a headache, feeling hot and cold all over. There's something wet on his forehead, but when he groggily reaches up to grab at whatever it is, a hand wraps around his wrist and pushes it back down. "You have a fever, dumbass."

Ah. Legend remembers now. He creeks his eyelids open and sure enough, a very unhappy Hyrule sits above him, his glare as sharp as daggers.

"You're an idiot," Hyrule says coldly. "You said you'd be fine. Next thing I know you're passing out in the middle of the trail. I can't believe you lied to me."

Legend sighs, and leans further back into the blankets spread under his body and rolled under his neck. He can only see Hyrule from where he weakly lays. He wonders where the others are... and if there's any chance they'll be able to save him from Hyrule's justified rage. Nah, they're all probably just as pissed.

"I didn't want to make anyone worry," Legend whispers, his voice scratchier than he expected. He supposes it's what he deserves—hiding his wound from everyone like that. It was by bad luck Hyrule caught him wrapping the wound after the ambush. He just... everyone else was much more wounded than he was, and he preferred the rest of their dwindled supplies be used on them. He's taken care of himself before.

He... just must have underestimated the state of the wound on his side. Perhaps the sword the moblin got on him wasn't as clean as it should have been?

"Well, looks like you royally failed, you shit-brain martyr," Hyrule hisses. "Now everyone is worried."

Legend desperately wants to sink into the ground and cease to exist. However, all he can do is try a weak "I'm sorry."

And bless Hylia for Hyrule being such a gentle soul. His eyes immediately soften. "Just... just don't do it again. We're... a team here. Your wounds are our wounds. We want to know when your hurt, no matter what. Warriors just barely managed to save your life this time."

Legend takes a shakey breath. "Okay. I promise."

Hyrule nods his head, all anger that had painted his body is now gone, replaced with companionable, smothering worry. "You should rest some more. It'll save you a little longer from the lecture Cap and the old man have for you. I heard Time practicing his, and it's not pretty."

Legend lets out a startled, exhausted laugh at that. It tugs on his side, but thankfully it's not as painful as what it was before he lost consciousness. Whatever Warriors had given him, it must be very good. Goddess above, his an idiot. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Something you need to learn how to start having," Hyrule teases, a twinkle in his eye.

Legend hums and closes his eyes, sleep already luring him in. "No promises there," Legend manages to mutter. He's completely overcome with unconsciousness before he can hear Hyrule's scolding.

[alengmae]

Every Story Is Us (CH 5)

(AN: I was convinced by Jess to post this here. IDK why Jess but you work in mysterious ways. To read this in AO3 and my other drabbles, visit here.)

“What you seek is seeking you.”

~Rumi

Penelope choked on her the tiny sip of wine she took. She started coughing but her date carried on like nothing was amiss.

“Yeah, you remind me so much of her. You should meet Mother. I just know she will love you,” he gushed further. He gave her an expectant grin.

She gaped at him in astonishment. They literally just sat down not fifteen minutes ago, yet he was already talking about her meeting his mother on their first date. She knew it was a bad idea to trust Eloise and Fran’s idea. Tinder dates were really not her style. And, based on her first date, she felt vindicated.

She was about to set the record straight when the server came to their table and took their order. She opened her mouth to speak but her date was a lot faster.

“She’ll have the Steak Diane. You don’t mind me ordering for you, right?” he asked as he turned to her.

Penelope was too dumbfounded to respond. He was hitting all her red flags and he was completely oblivious to her irritation, which was awfully apparent since the server’s professional smile turned into a wince. She only raised her glass of wine to the server, who understood immediately her need for more booze. If the server were considerate, she would bring an entire bottle for her.

“Oh and separate bill,” he added before explaining to her with a hint of condescension, “I like to go Dutch on the first date. You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t!”

Honestly, she didn’t mind at all. If anything, she would have insisted on it. She felt that he was the type to lord it over after dinner, expecting for something in return. But the way he went on another tangent about his mother, she just knew she was not going to last the appetizer course.

She cursed Eloise and Fran heavily in her head. They insisted she try out the app and look where it got her. She should have followed Daphne’s instructions, to never get caught up in her younger sisters’ shenanigans. As she listened to her date drone on and on, one thing became clear in her mind. She needed new friends.

Nay, better friends.

She just moved from Ireland to London for work. And she met Eloise, a fellow teacher, not too long ago and they clicked immediately. Soon, she was invited to all their brunches and dinners. She fell in love with her family instantly, all eight of them. Although, there was a Bridgerton brother she has not met yet. Seemingly, that Bridgerton was off traveling the world and was on a lengthy tour this time around. And, if he was anything like his siblings, she knew she would come to love him too. But, right now, that love she felt for all things Bridgerton started to wane. She said she didn’t want a date but no, Eloise and Fran had to drag her kicking and screaming into one.

She was pulled out of her reverie when her date grasped her hand. He gently caressed her with his clammy hand and she nearly shivered from disgust because why was his hand so wet?

“I just knew as soon as I saw your picture you’d be the one. Even mother said you’d be a good wife with your wide-set hips,” he beamed at her.

“Oh my god,” she gasped out loud. She tugged her hand back and excused herself to the restroom. She needed to get out of this date. Never in her life had she felt so uncomfortable. She frantically dialed Eloise to come save her but there was no reception at all. Her annoyance reached an all-time high. Was there a fucking signal blocker installed in this facility? She lingered outside the restroom, hidden by the stately plants decorating the restaurant, and repeatedly scrolled through her phone for a miracle. She was close to screaming in frustration.

It was then she felt a finger lightly poke her back. She swiveled around and saw the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. He was exactly her type: tall, dark and handsome. He was incredibly fit, and wearing clothes that highlighted his muscular body. He had on a sympathetic smile and lips that were begging to be kissed. Well, hello there. Maybe his attractiveness short-circuited her brain because she just stood there gaping at him like an idiot.

“Sorry,” he modestly started, “I couldn’t help but notice. Are you alright?”

Penelope nodded, heat spreading on her cheeks. She must have looked like a mad woman, pacing to and fro in front of the restroom. She smiled weakly at him.

“Are you sure?” He glanced in the direction of her date and she grimaced. Her date was openly picking his nose in public at the moment. Penelope had to close her eyes in an effort not to shudder in repugnance. “Anne told me you might need saving.”

She perked up at the name of her server. She might have found her salvation after all. “I…actually, I might,” she bashfully admitted. “I need rescuing from my date. It’s a Tinder date.” She felt the need to explain why. Obviously, this handsome man in front of her probably think she was crazy for going on this date in the first place. And, just in case he might be interested, she wanted to make herself appear saner.

“No worries. I’m your guy,” he reassured her. When he grinned at her, she swore it went straight between her legs. The pull of her attraction to him was insanely intense. She had never felt anything like this before with other men.

“Colin, by the way,” he held out his hand, which she met coyly. “Penelope.”

She marveled at how long his fingers were compared to hers, how rough his skin was against hers and how dry his hands was compared to her date. Her mind started to wander to more wanton thoughts as he shook her hand. His fingers should be illegal, she mused. When he let go, she already mourned the loss of contact.

“Alright, Penelope. I’ll be your knight in shining armor tonight,” he stated excitedly.

Ugh, and he’s charming too? How the hell was he real?

He urged her back to her date without a game plan, only a wink. She got too pre-occupied with said wink to even ask about how he planned on rescuing her. She reluctantly sat down across her date again.

“You sure took your time there,” her date stated said evenly. “I hate waiting. Be more prudent next time.”

She almost threw the basket of breadsticks to his face. Colin better come right away or else, she will stab the man in front of her in the eye with a breadstick. Before she could openly berate him, Colin marched to their table purposefully. He stopped with a loud dramatic gasp.

“Penelope, how could you?” he bellowed scandalously. “After ten years of marriage, this is what you’re doing?”

“What the fuck…” she mumbled in shock at his theatrical display. Her date appeared to be equally confused at the scene in front of them.

“And you left Colin Jr at home by himself to meet up with this man?” Colin continued his melodrama without pausing. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“Wait, you have a kid?” her date’s furious question jerked her from her bewilderment.

“I-“

“I thought you were a virgin!” he cut her off, for the nth time this night.

“That’s where you draw the line? Me not being a virgin?” her incredulous voice was shrill in affront.

Even Colin stopped with his dramatics with a revolted, “Dude.”

Thankfully, this was the moment her date decided to storm out. “Mother was right, after all. Never trust anyone from the internet,” he spat at her before he left.

Penelope hissed back, “It goes both ways!” She clutched her wine glass and chugged the contents in one go.

Colin took her date’s seat and stared at her, eyes twinkling in amusement.

She glared at him. “And you, Colin Jr really?” she asked with a huff.

“I got carried away. You should have seen your face!” He laughed out loud. But she had a sneaking suspicion that he planned it all from the start. She supposed, once that her outrage had passed, it was hilarious. She started giggling with him.

He was about to stand when the food came out, along with a bottle of wine. Penelope stopped him from leaving. “It’s a shame to waste all these food I’d end up paying for. And really want to thank you for saving me from that horrible date.”

He appeared hesitate so she added further, “After ten years of marriage, this is the least I could do.”

He laughed out loud again. It definitely was her libido acting up because she felt herself swoon slightly to his baritone laughter. She found herself wondering if he had a Tinder account. He gestured for her to pick which plate was hers. She gratefully took her previous date’s salmon dish and pushed the steak towards him. They ate, happily chatting about everything under the sun. He regaled her with stories of his vast travels, one story similarly exciting as the next. She offered her childhood tales from her Irish motherland. He started talking about his work, and how he just came back from Morocco after missing his boisterous family. And she started opening up about her insecurity of being in an unfamiliar country all by herself. He held her hand in consolation as she admitted succumbing to homesickness sometimes. He comforted her by recounting comical anecdotes from his travels.

If she was awestruck by his good-looks, she was even more enamored by his wit and sense of humor. He made her laugh so hard but he also made her think. There was nothing sexier than a sharp intellect. He was becoming more dangerous to her as more times passed.

They stayed together until it was closing time. And she barely noticed the passage of time. It wasn’t until Anne cleared her throat in front of them that they noted that they were the only patrons in the restaurant left. She awkwardly asked for the cheque but Colin stopped her.

“This one’s on me, Anne.”

Their server nodded and bid them a good night before leaving.

“What? Wait, Anne!” She tried stopping her but her pleas fell on deaf ears. “I was supposed to treat you,” she grumbled lightly to Colin.

He shrugged. “How can I ask the mother of my child, Colin Jr, to pay for our date?”

She paused, blushing profusely. “Even if she dared to date someone else tonight?” she teased playfully.

He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Even when she tried to date someone else tonight. And might I add, she looks absolutely lovely tonight.”

Smooth like fucking butter. Her face must be red as a tomato right now, she reckoned. “Well, Colin Jr’s dad is not bad looking either.”

He beamed at her. She wanted to look away because he was too beautiful, it’s just not right. But he gently grasped her hand and asked softly, “Can I have your number? I really liked our time together and I really like you.”

“I like you too,” she replied, breathless.

He started leaning towards her, eyes locked on her lips. She did the same, magnetically slanting her body closer to his. Just when they were a fraction of an inch away, the kitchen door busted open with Anne bustling out.

“Boss, do you want-oops! My bad!” She retreated as fast as she came.

Damn it, Anne! Her scowl must have been a sight since he started chortling. He kissed the back of her hand reverently after to assuage her.

“Wait, she said boss?”

It was his turn to be sheepish. “I own this place.”

She blinked. That explained his intervention. “I clearly chose the wrong place to cheat on Colin Jr’s father.”

“I don’t know. I thought you were at the perfect place and time. I think I’m plenty lucky tonight,” he said sincerely.

She didn’t think she should voice out that if he kept on being sweet like that, he will get even luckier tonight. She only replied, “I’m glad.”

She exchanged numbers with him eagerly before bidding him a good night. But before she could step out from the restaurant, he gathered her in his arms and crashed his lips against hers. And it was magic and satisfaction and bliss and release all rolled into one. She clung to him, desperate against the tide of overwhelming emotions. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, she was completely swept away. It felt as if she would come undone with just a flick of his tongue. When they broke apart, they were gasping for air and sporting giddy grins.

“Good night, Colin,” she called out sweetly.

“Good night, Penelope.”

She didn’t sleep at all that night. The butterflies in her stomach were too flighty. And her excitement could not be abated, even as she knew she was attending a Bridgerton brunch the next day. She was groggy when she came in but a smile could not seem to leave her face.

Eloise pulled her aside to interrogate her about her Tinder date last night but the flurry of excitement filled the room. Everyone was enthusiastic for some reason. “The long lost Bridgerton is finally coming home. The prodigal son has returned,” Eloise said wryly. But Penelope detected her friend’s delight beneath all the sarcasm.

“Oh, that’s good,” she could not help but mirror her friend’s pleasant demeanor. She was already riding the high from last night. Another cause for celebration was just the cherry on top.

“Yeah, apparently he came back yesterday from Morocco in secret so he could surprise us. But Hyacinth still can’t keep her trap shut, ruining the surprise.”

“Morocco?”

It was then that she heard a familiar voice bellow out his greetings. She whipped her head fast and her eyes met his across the room. It was cliché but she would swear to anyone who would listen that at that moment, time slowed down. When their eyes met, it felt like nothing else mattered. And her heart leapt in anticipation as he crossed the sea of people to meet her.

“Penelope?”

“Colin.”

“You two know each other?” Eloise asked, awed.

She smiled brightly, eyes locked onto Colin. “Of course! We’ve been married, what…ten years now?”

He snickered harder upon seeing everyone’s bewildered faces. “Colin Jr missed you last night.”

Eloise interrupted again, “Is he talking about his dick?”

Penelope chose to ignore her friend now that Colin intertwined his hand with hers. “Did he now? I should go visit him some time.”

“I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic with your visit.”

“So how does tonight sound?” she asked, playful in her inquiry but nervous with his answer.

He kissed the back of her hand sweetly. “Perfect. I know a place. They serve the best Steak Diane.”

She laughed.

[dioko]

If it's not a bother, could you maybe do something for Dabi with a Shy s/o who's scared of the other members of the league? Just some slightly angsty comfort fluff? It can be headcanons or a drabble, whichever you feel like! Thank you if you do write this!! :))))

it's never a bother, i like requests v much >:)) i hope it isn't too short, enjoy!

Dabi x Shy! s/o Reader

Pairings : dabi x gn! reader

Genre : headcanons

Includes : fluff, swearing, kind of angst idk | lemme know if i missed something!

Summary : above request

i would like to put it out there that i am obsessed with how dabi's fire looks. it's gorgeous omg

so the two of you had been dating for a while now, and this is how him convincing you to join the LOV went:

"quit work."

"why?"

"join my emo band."

and so you did

ahaha, easier said than done

dabi didn't let on that much, but he was extremely excited to have you by his side for more than a couple days a month

half way into their hideout, it FINALLY hits you that you would be hanging out with a group of villains doing villain things

at first, he was able to weasel his way out a few plans to spend more time with you

obviously, this wasn't going to last forever, and he had to return to his missions sooner or later

you spent most of your time huddled in dabi's residence when he wasn't around, and even after weeks of being in the LOV, you'd barely made contact with them

your chest tightened a little every time you remembered you shared your new residence with several other people

"Y/n, you can't keep staying in here," dabi says. He was never good at feelings and he barely understands himself -- how could he process your fear?

"I know! I know, I need time to... adjust-"

"It's been three weeks."

"I'm just scared, okay?" You can't help but flinch a little at the look of disdain on Dabi's face, "not everyone is as aloof as you."

you watch him waver a little bit, and you brace yourself for whatever venom he might hiss back at you.

"I'm sorry." you hadn't been sure what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn't an apology.

"what?"

"M'not sayin' it again," he mutters, taking your hand, "I'll... I'll introduce you. I should've done that in the first place."

You aren't quite sure what to say, for a few seconds. "Thanks, but-"

"If that crusty asshole tries to disintegrate you, I'll burn him and this entire dump down. You've got nothing to fear."

Of course, this leaves you feeling quite warm and fuzzy as he leads you down the drafty halls; who wouldn't feel cared for? After all, he had promised that if anything happened to you, he would find a way to fix it, and turn shigaraki into pre-colossal titan armin

not to feed into the stereotype, but dabi had to peel toga off you while you were frozen in shock? fear? who knows, a combination of all negative emotions, he supposed

"Aw, y/n, you're so cute! Why are you with that scab?"

"Don't call me that," dabi seethes.

"Care to share?" She ignores his reply and eyes you like food.

"NO."

[commanderserwin]

half a heart.

↦ pairing(s): levi ackerman x reader

↦ word count: 2.7k

↦ anon request: 

hi, ik request is open so could i request: unrequited love + levi / eren?? u can make it a fic or like short drabble idk lmao ur choice bubs!! idk why i'm asking for angst and sadness *sobs* 🥰 btw i absolutely love ur writings!!!! luv ya xx

↦ author’s note(s): i chose levi, i hope that it’s okay! also feel like this started as unrequited love but then i lost control and was like yeah ? 

ps. i hope u still enjoy and thank you very much ♡ i appreciate it !! LUV UUU

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It wasn't supposed to be like this. How could a simple crush turn into a somber love, as you lay in bed thinking of him. The little smiles, nods, greetings, was all you could harbor your feelings into. The simple late night teas, sitting in the mess hall, exhaustion creeping in your bones— but still here you are. 

Whenever you see him, your heart dances. 

Whenever he acknowledges you, your lips betrays into a smile. 

Whenever he talks to you, your mouth stutters. 

Whenever he's near, you can't help but move in closer. 

There comes a day when you don't speak to him, wondering if he does think of you. While you currently lie awake in the deep night, thinking and fantasizing what it could feel like to be called theirs. How it feels to hold him in the night, mumble about your days, kiss his lips, hear his stories, listen to how your name echo in his voice, know his flaws and insecurities, and how you would hold them as you accepted all of their good and bad even before you'd even know him. 

You could still remember the first time that you saw him. The first time that you heard his voice. The first time he practiced with you. The first times-- while he became the sole reason for the butterflies in your stomach. 

It was a simple crush. 

You admired him from afar, gush over his looks and skills.

But once you tapped on his shoulder, as bravery took over your body when you walked towards their table, you finally said, "Can I sit here?" 

He only nodded his head, scooting over so that you could sit beside him. He even helped you placed your tray when your hands almost dropped it. Heart beating so loud, you could feel it pump through your chest, the tips of your ears red, as well as the blush creeping into your neck. 

"I'm Isabel," the girl gushed, offering a hand. The new recruits. "And this is Farlan, and my big brother Levi." 

"Oh," you nodded, lips turning into a smile. You shook her hand, "My name is [Y/N]. It's very nice to meet you all." 

"Hi," Farlan mumbled, smiling right back at you while Levi only nodded, staring at his food. 

He is so stoic, calm, cool, and impassive that it attracted you more to him. 

That night, you wanted to beat yourself up for thinking about him, Levi running through your mind, holding on to the way his hand brushed against yours to help you and the way he nodded, and made space for you. 

It was a simple crush. 

Something that you'd look forward to after a long and heavy expedition. After training. After dinners, where you would take a sit beside him, talking with Isabel while you subtly glanced at him while you take a bite. 

Then comes the day when he doesn’t step out of his room, with worry filling you up. The deaths of Isabel and Farlan drowning him with sorrow. All you could do is knock on his door, carrying a tray of food for him. 

“Levi?” You called out, knocking again when there was no answer. “I’m coming in.” 

He was sitting on his bed, his head facing the door as he waited for you to enter. He couldn’t even muster up a nod as you softly padded towards him, placing the tray next to him. 

“I thought you might be hungry,” you whispered, sitting on the floor, as he hung his head down. 

He didn’t say anything, not to even take a bite of the bread you reserved for him. 

You handed him the fresh cup of tea, placing it over his clasped hands. “Why don’t you take a sip,” you said, folding out his hands, taking note of the callouses in his fingers. “Just to fill your stomach.” 

Levi nodded, wrapping his fingers on the cup, as you pulled away. He quietly sipped, still looking down. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, holding your legs close to your chest as you looked at him. “I’m sorry that you have to go through that.” 

Levi nodded again, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He finally looked at you as he broke the bread in half, handing it to you. “You didn’t have to do this.” 

“I want to,” you admitted, smiling gently that he’s eating something solid. You wanted to initially say something else, but turned your mind away from it. This isn’t the time to confess and it was selfish to say it now. “I’m your friend. I’ve got your back.” 

The next day, Levi waited for you at the usual table. You tried to suppress your smile at the sight of him, but you failed. Once you were seated, he proceeded to wait until you took the first bite. He listened to you ramble about your day, occasionally grunting in response, and it was better than nothing.

You finally opened your heart at the prospect of love, daydreaming, what it would mean to share that with him. 

And it is always like that. Both of you stuck together, that nobody would even come between the two of you. 

He was there when you complained about one of the soldiers; then the next day he’d have bruised knuckles while the one who bothered you had a cut on his lips. He was there when he urged you to punch him harder so that you could protect yourself. He was there when he grabbed you by the waist, surprising you, as he carried you from branch to branch to protect you during expeditions.

For the love of everything, he was there. 

He’s the reason why you couldn’t sleep, reliving how his warm his touch were on yours. 

He’s the reason why you couldn’t stop smiling at him whenever he waits for you so that the both of you could eat together. 

He’s the reason why you always looked forward to the next day; envisioning what would happen. 

But the heartbreaking truth is, he doesn’t see you that way. 

Levi let you chase him each way, oblivious to how you felt, because in his eyes, that’s what friends are for. He paid no attention to how you smile, how your stares lingered, or how you leaned in a bit closer when it was just the two of you. Or was it because, he was hiding it better than you are? But you still curbed the idea because it was ridiculous. 

Then he wanted to feel something. 

He knocked on your door, and once you opened the door on him, he nodded towards the mess hall, asking you to join him. 

“What is it?” You whispered, wrapping your robe tighter around your body as he lead you away. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Levi muttered, crossing his arms as he felt you behind him. He turned his face, almost brushing his lips on your cheeks as he did, but you scurried away. 

He didn’t miss the way you blushed. 

“Oh,” you shuddered, hand going up to you cheek. A simple crush, you thought. Perhaps? “And you thought that it was best for you to wake me up?” 

Levi nodded, pointing to the bench. “Wait here.” 

That you did, while you hurried to fix your disheveled hair, your clothes that are way to thin for the night, then you licked your lips just enough for moisture. 

It was a long two minutes. Heart-pounding. Nerve wrecking. While you waited for him to emerge. 

Levi finally reappeared, holding two cups. With all the space available, you thought that this was it. 

Finally, you thought nervously, maybe this isn’t a simple crush anymore. 

He made your tea just the way you like it, blowing off some steam as you placed it against your lips. 

“Be careful,” Levi whispered against his cup, as he sipped. From the corner of his eyes, he watched you blush again. He isn’t really thinking, but he wants to try. He’s known you for a long time now and maybe this is right. He's got to make a decision and this is his choice. 

"Bad dreams?" You asked, wrapping your hands around the warm cup as you turned to him. 

"Something like that." 

"Oh," you nodded, worry filling your eyes as he stared his greys at yours. "How can I help?" 

Levi thought hard, his mouth drying up as he setlled his on his choice. 

He inexplicably leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours as his nose touched yours. 

"Levi?" 

He felt your lips brushed against his when you whispered his name. He looked down at your lips, licking his own, as he looked up at your eyes again. He noticed that you stopped breathing, and gently placed his hands on either side of your neck. 

"Levi?" 

Is this happening? you thought. Oh, he is so near. 

Like a fool, you waited. Then on a second, you felt him close the gap between the two of you. It wasn't fireworks that you felt, it was fucking more than that. His lips moved against yours as he guided you closer to him. His hand went lower to your waist, closing the gap even more, while he continued to kiss you. 

Just like a fool. That's what you felt when he pulled away, his hands off of you like hot coal. Levi shook his head, his bangs curtaining his eyes as he scooted away. Levi gripped his cup. He couldn't meet your eyes. 

"Levi?" 

"That was a mistake," Levi muttered, pushing himself off of the bench. 

He left. Just like that. He left you on the bench. 

The tea he prepared grew cold as you sat there. The walk back to your room was humiliating. So fucking humiliating that you bit on your lower lip to not disturb the hallways with your cries. Just like a fool, you waited for the fantasy that you thought was going to come when he pulled you in. You waited for the sparks to happen, but instead it felt like someone dampen it. He did. Levi did. 

You can't even get to be mad at him, because this was all your doing. 

You didn't know when that simple crush turned into something when he finally kissed you. It had transcended those means when he kiss you. It went above and beyond, and the fantasies you've had slowly sunk into the ground, writhing at your feet. 

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Days turned into years, and years, and years, and here you were. 

Captain Levi. 

It was late at night, the distance between the both of you widening, your feelings working its way down, but love stayed where you held on to it tightly, still fucking blindly holding on to it. Levi silently accepted your reluctance for him, the hesistation from you, fully knowing that he did it to the both of you. 

Levi kept thinking about that kiss that night. He thought that kisses shared would emit joy, happiness, smiles, but all it did was fill him with regret, guilt, and worry. It was his choice because he wanted to feel something, but he doesn't have it in himself. He didn't want to feel anything, he didn't want to feel the infatution. He ought to talk to you that night, but you disappeared from him. He watched you ignore him, avoid him, lose the smile on your lips, and he thought that: 'It's okay. It's for the better.'

But still it was hard, because after all these years, it was still the both of you. 

The feelings has numbed down. But it was still there, waiting to be poked with a stick to be awakened once more. Still, the half of your heart laid out for him.

"Levi?" 

Levi stopped writing, hesistating to answer. But in the end, he made his choice. "Come in." 

He watched the knob turned, as you joined him for a quiet company. He pushed away his papers, helping you with the tray. He watched you pull forward a spare chair, moving it closer to the desk. He smiled at the gesture, then his eyes softened as you smiled. 

"How are you?" You asked, noticing the paperworks. "Erwin gave you more work?" 

"Yeah," Levi answered, taking his tea. His heart is pounding. "How are you?"

"Couldn't sleep," you said, sipping your tea. "Then I saw the light from your office." 

He nodded, sipping his. No one said a thing, until the both of you finished your teas. You slumped against the chair, crossing your legs as you smiled sadly. It hurts. 

Years into years into years, and it still hurts. 

Levi caught on to your face, his heart gripping his thoughts into something that he cannot untangle. 

"What happened to us?" 

Levi only looked down, "I don't know." 

"No," you smiled, tilting your head. "You know, Levi, you just don't want to talk about it."

"What else is there to talk about?" 

"Where did we go wrong?"

"It was just a kiss." 

"It was the kiss for me." 

Levi looked up, watching you fiddle with the fingers on your lap. You looked up, resting your arm on the chair, as you sighed deeply. The memories from that night crashing itself on to you. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Ah," you sighed deeply again, smiling fondly at the man before him. "I waited years for me to hear that." 

"I'm sorry," Levi whispered, guilt eating him up. He still couldn't erase the look on your face when he pulled away from you. 

The sadness, confusion, and anger twirled into one that it kept him up that night and the nights after, thinking of a way to apologize, until it flitted into something that is unspeakable as the both of you grew apart. He still wouldn't miss the way you would stare at him. He doesn't know what's wrong with him, thinking of a way to push him towards you but his feet wouldn't move. 

His heart doesn't beat the same way as yours. His eyes doesn't linger at yours. His mind isn't filled by you, as he tried to stomp on it.

"Thank you," you murmured softly. 

The love inside you died. But you were happy, for some reason, you were happy. It was the closure that you needed after all these years. 

"I'm sorry that that's how you felt." 

"It's okay," you chuckled softly, eyes twinkling with warmth. Levi smiled a little, heart bursting that he finally heard you laugh. "It started as a little crush, anyway." 

"I noticed," Levi admitted, his eyes matching yours. He hid his eyes as you blushed again, real laughter coloring the room. 

Just like the old times. He remembers when you blushed during the first time he met you, the way he helped you because the food was close to falling, he couldn't shy away at the way your cold hand brushed his, he didn't miss the way that he actually liked your company. The feelings bubbling up like a well-kept treasure that's bound to be dug up either way. 

"Can I tell you something?"

He looked up at you, curiosity displayed in your beautiful eyes. Just like the old times. He hid the key for his well-kept treasure, hesistantly opening it for you. He wants to say it, to keep it equal. To call it quits, now that everything is being said. It was his turn to feel his heart pound crazily. The nerves turning on and on, making him feel nervous. 

But he saw the look on your face. Levi noticed that you feel more at peace. Happy. Contented, and he didn't want to pull it away from you. 

"What is it, Levi?" 

Levi leaned on his chair, silent for a minute as he watched you. Peace colored your aura, as you tilted your head again. He watched you arch your brow, lips slightly open, your chest rising up and down evenly. 

Your heart doesn't beat that way anymore, he thought. 

He had to make a decision. Go and live with his choice. Should he tell you or not? Levi thought hard and long, watching you intently. 

His stares doesn't work on you anymore, as you only waited for him to continue. There was something different with the way his words hang in the air. It was the sheen sweat on his forehead and the unaware nibbles on his lip that he does rarely, when he's deep in thought. 

Finally, Levi stared at you. 

Levi smiled softly, shaking his head, as he went back to work. He made his choice, finding peace with it along the way to not tell you, "I forgot what I was going to say. It's nothing." 

[annabethy]

Okay so idk if you're taking requests but we don't talk enough abt the fact that percy was jealous of luke too so can we please get a jelly percy drabble from your marching au because annabeth was worried about him in college but like what about him leaving her? Also your writing is god tier

jealous percabeth!

Percy whistles in appreciation, wrapping his arms around Annabeth’s waist from behind. “Damn, girl.”

Annabeth turns her head and elbows him fondly, turning around in his arms to give him a quick kiss. Percy tries to hold it for a bit longer, but she pushes him away after a few seconds with a sweet smile.

“I know I’ve only seen you in this uniform, like, a million times, but it just keeps getting better and better every week,” Percy says. “Drum major fits you.”

“Mh-hm.” Annabeth tilts her head, blatantly scanning him up and down. “Says you.”

“Oh? Are you saying my uniform gets you going?” he teases.

“I’m saying it makes you a little less ugly than you normally look,” she says. “Why do you think I started dating you in the first place?”

“Because I’m your best friend and you love me.”

“Because you were drum major and I loved competing for you with the other girls,” she corrects.

Percy sniffs. “I see how it is.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes, wrapping one arm around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. She holds this one longer, and Percy can’t help the smile that forms on his lips as she does so.

“You know I love you,” she says, muffled against his lips. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not silly,” he protests, pulling away when he hears Chiron yell at them from somewhere over his shoulder, saying something about not wanting any band babies. “Would a silly man go get you skittles from the concession stand during break?”

“Not a silly man at all,” she says, playing with the silver sash on his uniform. “Unless you only get me skittles and not a sprite.”

“And to think I was going to let you conduct fourth quarter,” Percy laughs, looking over her head as someone dropped an instrument down the stands. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes, please.”

Percy nods and places his hand on the back of her neck to drag her head closer and press a sweet kiss to her forehead before he turns around to stalk to the mess of band kids.

He was a man with a mission, dodging around the students at the football game. He was a bit surprised that there were so many people there this time, but he plows through them, wanting to get back to Annabeth before third quarter ended. The lines of the concession stand were long, and he stood there impatiently, shifting from one leg to the other. He genuinely believes that there should be some rule that seniors get to skip the line because right now, it was just filled with a bunch of freshmen who thought going to football games would get the seniors to notice them.

Well, he supposes it did, but not in a good way. More of a I-want-to-throw-this-fourteen-year-old-in-a-trashcan kind of way.

By the time he finally had the sprite and skittles in hand, it was almost five minutes later, which left him only fifteen minutes of a break before he had to be back on the podium.

He hurriedly approached Annabeth from behind, a wide grin on his face because let’s face it — he was kind of in love with her — but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed a guy standing tall in front of her. There was an uncomfortable feeling building in his gut as he took in the way the unfamiliar face looked at her. Percy stood out of her sight for a few more seconds, trying to control whatever was bubbling under his skin before he made his presence noticed.

“Hey,” Percy says lightly, glancing at the guy before turning to Annabeth. “Who’s this?”

Annabeth’s face falls at his tone of voice for a split second, and if he didn’t know her as well as he did, he might not have noticed at all. “Oh, uh— this is Ethan. He’s the drum major from the other band. Ethan, this is our other drum major Percy.”

Alarm shoots through Percy as he notices that she didn’t say boyfriend.

Ethan sticks out a hand in greeting, but Percy just stares at it, unaccepting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he was being irrational, but right now, all he can think about is how much he hates the way Ethan is looking at her.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ethan says, retracting his hand awkwardly. “You guys had a great show. You’re definitely going to be getting a superior at MPA.”

“Thanks,” Percy says shortly, trying to stifle the fire inside him. Ethan’s eyes were still on Annabeth and that needed to end now. “We’d say the same, but we weren’t actually watching your show.”

Annabeth blinks at Percy, surprised. “Well, I was paying attention and I thought you guys did amazing,” Annabeth clarifies.

Percy sees red. “You weren’t watching their show,” he says with a tight smile. “We were sitting in the back messing around the whole time, baby.”

Ethan’s face falls and Percy feels a twinge of victory. “Are you two dating?”

“We are.” Percy’s arm snakes around her waist as she stays silent. This time, there’s an unreadable expression on his face, but he’s too busy trying to make it known that Annabeth’s his girlfriend that he doesn’t pay it any attention.

“I’m sure your director loves that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Having both of your drum majors date? Sounds like a bit of a mess if you ask me.”

“No one did,” Percy says, a glare in his eyes.

Annabeth’s hand rested on Percy’s back, rubbing in a calming manner. He could tell she was trying to warn him.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You brought it up.”

“Actually, you did,” Percy points out.

“Okay,” Annabeth interrupts, turning to Percy. “We should be heading back to the stands.”

Percy doesn’t even try to respond, instead pointedly laces his hand with hers and turning around to stalk off, not giving Annabeth a chance to say goodbye to Ethan. He pretends not to notice Annabeth’s rushed wave over her shoulder.

He had planned on going back to the stands, but last minute, he decides to walk right by it and towards the dark area behind the football field. It takes Annabeth a minute to catch up, and then she’s looking at him, confused.

“Where are we going?”

Percy doesn’t answer. He keeps leading her into the unlit area of the field, treading through some unkept grass. There were no students over here as he brought her behind an empty building.

“Why are you—” Annabeth was cut off as Percy pushed her against the building and settled his mouth over hers.

Percy could still see Ethan behind his eyes, staring at Annabeth in a way he shouldn’t — in a way Percy found repulsive. He tried to forget it, to remember that she chose him, as he kissed her hard, pouring everything into it.

“Percy—” Annabeth breathes against him, her hands pressing to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. “What’s going on?”

“I love you,” he says instead, his hands travelling down to settle on the backs of her thighs. He bites on her lower lip, worrying it until he catches a little sigh coming out of her mouth.

“You’re jealous,” she notes breathlessly as Percy trails featherlight kisses down her neck. “Why— are you jealous?”

Percy goes back to her lips. “He was staring at you,” he says with one kiss to her lips. “And it wasn’t in a friendly way.” Another kiss.

“You were jealous,” she teases, pausing as his hand palms her thigh. “But we probably shouldn’t do this right here.”

“Are you sure?” Percy reaches behind her to unzip her uniform’s jacket. The zipper disengages silently. “You don’t want my lips on your throat?” His words were punctuated by a sharp kiss to her neck. “My hand between your thighs? Are you sure you don’t want that?”

“We only have five minutes before we have to be back in the stands,” Annabeth protests.

“I can make five minutes work.”

“Percy,” Annabeth gently pushes him away. “We’re in the middle of a dark field during a football game,” she says, and the spell breaks.

Percy steps back to press his hands into his face. This feeling inside of him wasn’t going away, and his brain is on fire. He needs to feel her beneath his fingers, to be reminded that she isn’t going anywhere, but she was right. They were at a school event, and if someone was to catch them — he didn’t even want to know what would happen.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

“Hey,” she says softly. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t like that guy,” Percy admits, dropping his face onto her shoulder in embarrassment. “He was looking at you gross.”

“He was being friendly.”

“He wasn’t,” Percy says miserably. “We’ve met a lot of guy drum majors, so trust me when I say he wasn’t looking at you as a friend.”

“How was he looking at me?” Annabeth manages, stifling a laugh.

“Stop teasing,” he groans.

Her hand comes up behind him to trace the small of his back. “I’m not teasing you. I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that he was staring at your boobs, and I wanted to punch him.”

Annabeth does laugh this time, and he pinches her side. “I love you.”

“You’re making fun of me,” he says. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“You wanted to have sex in the middle of an empty field during a football game,” she points out.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were jealous,” she says again.

“I was jealous,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be jealous or sorry. You know why?”

“Why?”

Annabeth brings Percy’s face to look her in the eyes. He feels a warm feeling race down his neck as she gazed at him softly. He can feel a calm breeze blowing through the night sky, ruffling his hair. The moonlight shines on her blonde hair, making it look silver in the dark, and it feels nothing short of perfect.

“Do you remember what you said to me on senior night?”

Percy smiles, remembering their first night together. “What did I say?”

Annabeth squeezes his forearm, knowing very well that he remembered. “You said that we were forever. You’re not getting away from me so easily.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did, and I believed you.”

“Good, because I meant it.” Percy leans in close so he could see her individual eyelashes and smell her clean hair. “Forever.”

And he really likes the sound of that. He can see himself in five or six years with a ring for her, and in a decade with a kid or two. He can see a family with her — a future with her — and he knows that no one person who probably plays trumpet is going to change that.

“You’re stuck with me,” she whispers, leaning closer and breathing slowly.

“That’s not a bad thing at all,” he says, closing the gap between their lips. Finally, the thought of the other kid is not on his mind. The only person he’s thinking of is Annabeth, and he may only be eighteen with barely any wisdom about the world, but this sure does feel like forever.