#crazy the things you discover when you try to figure out how one of your characters dicks translates proportionally from rat to human

[unproduciblesmackdown]

lavender marriage / beard for the soulmate or timeloop au

[calciumcryptid]

Burnum Hayes: So... Is it barbed?

Will Cade: What?

Burnum Hayes: You know... *motions downwards*

Will Cade: I-No? Not currently at least.

Burnum Hayes: It spikes up then.

Will Cade: Yes, it is called penile spines-Wait, why are we talking about this?

Burnum Hayes: Look man, I do a lot of athletic activity and I got to know how many business days and hospital trips I've got to take between-

Will Cade, flushed: Okay! I get it.

Burnum Hayes:

Will Cade:

Burnum Hayes: So is it proportional or did it remain small-

Will Cade, highly embarrassed: Please stop talking.

[not-neverland06]

n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress. 

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other. 

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since. 

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn. 

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer. 

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face. 

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy. 

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face. 

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound. 

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.” 

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel. 

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now. 

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan. 

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar. 

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense. 

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her. 

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be. 

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out. 

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer. 

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here. 

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt. 

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit. 

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers. 

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom. 

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar. 

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.” 

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that. 

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him. 

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all. 

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations. 

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice. 

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title. 

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break. 

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar. 

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you. 

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind. 

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish. 

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across. 

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now. 

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him. 

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question. 

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone. 

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word. 

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you. 

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel. 

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you. 

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name. 

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside. 

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles. 

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream. 

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion. 

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away. 

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force. 

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window. 

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise. 

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation. 

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown. 

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it. 

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout. 

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid. 

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?” 

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him. 

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed. 

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you. 

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry. 

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands. 

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy. 

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore. 

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry. 

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess. 

“You look like shit.” 

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands. 

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath. 

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. 

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all. 

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head. 

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah. 

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now. 

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything. 

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night. 

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her. 

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you. 

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you. 

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit. 

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions. 

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree. 

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place. 

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside. 

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that. 

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again. 

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day. 

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together. 

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head. 

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off. 

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.” 

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it. 

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem. 

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs. 

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you. 

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes. 

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out. 

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is. 

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench. 

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan. 

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in. 

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other. 

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit. 

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead. 

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head. 

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this. 

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him. 

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out. 

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care. 

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic. 

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him. 

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face. 

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic. 

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care. 

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back. 

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care. 

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. 

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building. 

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat. 

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out. 

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over. 

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him. 

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go. 

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you. 

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him  “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you. 

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge. 

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing. 

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. 

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place. 

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy. 

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for. 

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered. 

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other. 

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back. 

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.  

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. 

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. 

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings. 

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” 

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it. 

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[notyourhetloki]

Can I request headcanons for Logan x GN Reader x Wade with Reader who's oblivious that both of them like them romantically please?

Logan x oblivious!Reader x Wade

Reader: they/them (gender neutral)

/Logan x Reader x Wade/

A/N: Heey! I know you asked for headcanons but I wrote it as a little fic... hope you don't mind!

Tags: SFW fic, poly relationship, oblivious!reader, Wade is desperate, they are NOT normal.

—

You should know by now that they liked you... right? But it was hard when they were so fricking cryptid about it! All they did was look at you longingly and compliment you and flirt with you! How were you supposed to know?

Jokes aside, you genuinely thought they acted like that around everyone... especially Wade, the guy was a flirt and couldn't be taken seriously.

As for Logan, you thought he was just being polite. Calling you pet names wasn't necessarily a way to flirt, after all.

Besides, they were already in a relationship with each other! That's what everyone imagined, at least.... so you weren't expecting them to open up a space for you in their lives.

But then you started receiving notes in the mail, written in red ink and saying things like: YOU'RE AMAZING / GIVE US A CHANCE / YOU'RE SO PRETTY IT'S HURTING MY FEELINGS / (Y/N) WE REALLY LIKE YOU.

You were a little scared at first, but soon would discover it was actually Wade sending you those! You figured it out one day when you caught him slipping one card into your mailbox, Logan was beside him and tried justifying the act. "It was his idea."

You smiled sweetly at them as they awkwardly made their way to you, Wade opening his mouth to mutter some words. "I just wanted to make sure you knew..."

"Knew what?" You asked in disbelief, still not sure of what he meant.

They looked at each other, confused at your confusion. "That we like you, (y/n)... I thought it was obvious!" Said Wade.

"But I already knew that! I like you too, boys." You would try to respond, but Logan carefully grabbed your hand and brought it towards his chest.

"I don't think you understand, beautiful... we really like you. We... want you." He said looking into your eyes as Wade shook his head, confirming.

"Ooh..." Realization hit you like a brick, they DID actually want you! Crazy right? How all those hints flew over your head... now everything made sense! "Oh, boys... you have no idea how happy that makes me! I-I didn't realize, I thought-"

"It's alright, love." Logan squeezed your hand gently, looking over at Wade and complaining. "See? All we had to do was tell them directly like normal people."

"Oh, peanut... you know better than anyone that we're not normal!" Wade whispered, turning at you and grabbing your other hand. You smiled at them and as they smiled back, Wade continued. "But I have a feeling that they don't mind..."

—

[ange1heavensent]

Jackson Girlfriend!Ellie Headcanons

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Pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

w/c ≈ 660

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☆ Entertainment in Jackson is limited, but movie nights are a constant in your relationship with Ellie. Thankfully, Ellie has a TV in her house, and many nights are spent cuddled together in her bed watching films. You two quickly discovered you don’t always agree on what to watch. To solve this, you both take turns picking movies. When it’s your turn, you sometimes choose horror films, which Ellie "watches" with her face buried in your neck, a pillow, or with her eyes tightly shut. It always amuses you how someone whose job is to kill infected can be terrified of ghosts and jump scares. Even if she’s afraid, she never complains. You would happily wrap your arms around Ellie and help her cover her eyes from what scared her. 

☆ More on girlfriend!ellie is that she cannot be quiet during movies. She loves making snarky, dirty remarks about the actors and actresses, often with a grin on her face. She also has a knack for figuring out the plot within the first 20 minutes. Sometimes she accidentally blurts out her theory, forgetting that you might want to enjoy the movie without spoilers. But most of the time, she’s mindful and keeps her predictions to herself.

☆ Ellie always has cold hands, and for some reason, they always seem to find their way to you. Whether it’s under the covers or sneaking a hand under your shirt when you're not paying attention, she loves hearing your whiny complaint when her icy fingers touch your warm skin.  

☆ Ellie has a habit of bringing you little trinkets she finds while on patrol. Broken jewelry, random rocks, tiny figurines, she always finds the strangest things, but she'll always justify bringin it home to you because she says that they reminded her of you. Over time, these trinkets pile up in your shared space. Ellie loves the cluttered, homey vibe. At this point, though, it’s more “messy” than “cluttered,” with stuff scattered all over the house.

☆ Teaching you to play the guitar is one of Ellie’s favorite things to do. She’s patient with you, gently correcting your fingers as you fumble over chords and she always insists that you’ll get better with time. Sometimes, when you’re just not getting it, she’ll take your hands and move them herself or hold the chords herself and let you do the strumming, all while smiling softly at you, humming softly in your ear. 

☆ Ellie always begs you to cut her hair when it starts getting too long. Even though you’re terrified of messing it up, making it uneven or too short, she always reassures you. "Hair grows back," she says with a shrug. "I don’t care, but you’re the one who has to look at me every day" she jokes, easing your nerves. It’s become a regular routine now, and even though you’re still nervous every time, you’ve gotten pretty good at it.

☆ Ellie is notorious for stealing the bed covers at night. You’ll wake up shivering, only to find her cocooned in a mountain of blankets, fast asleep. You always manage to wrestle a bit back, but she’s a blanket thief through and through.

☆ Ellie tries her best to comfort you when you’re sad, but she’s not exactly sure how to do it. She’ll awkwardly pat your back or try to make you laugh with silly jokes. It’s the thought that counts, and you appreciate every clumsy attempt she makes.

☆ Ellie draws you all the time. She’ll scribble sketches of you in her journal, your eyes, your smile, the way your hair falls across your face. Sometimes she even draws your hands, completely obsessed with the little details. If she ever finds an old camera on patrol, she’ll snatch it up in a heartbeat. Ellie loves taking photos of you, capturing moments where you aren’t paying attention. She swears it’s because “the lighting was good,” but you know it’s just because she’s crazy about you.

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

[etrsilk]

Could you do Main4 x reader of Y/n wearing a bikini and what their first thoughts are when they first see her!!

www.masterlist.here

₊✩‧₊˚ ᡣ𐭩 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 �� 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙨: 𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘢,𝘎𝘰𝘯,𝘒𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘢,𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘰

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 — ✘

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦

⎝ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚:: I really like this request! ✧( ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

↬ Killua & Gon is 18 here!!

 —𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐀ꫂ ၴႅၴ

❀ Killua would by far be the one who would blush and be the most embarrassed of all, fighting with himself not to look at your chest or ass.

❀ Without even realizing it, he let out a small “wow,” covering his mouth as if to contain his awe.

❀ If you find yourselves alone and you make a teasing remark about how he’s been acting since you started wearing a bikini, he might respond with a little joke or a sincere compliment, all while averting his gaze slightly to hide his embarrassment.

❀ After the 1999 version, we all know that Killua has a bit of a perverted side. So, it’s no surprise that his initial thoughts were influenced by how perfectly your curves looked and how completely crazy you made him with your sexy appearance.

 —𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐊𝐀ꫂ ၴႅၴ

❀ He would be almost as embarrassed as Killua, but with a sudden blush that would appear on his cheeks, like a touch of shy surprise.

❀ He would shower you with compliments, a lot of them. Not with sexual remarks or anything inappropriate, but with the cute, heartfelt things he genuinely thinks when he sees you. You, his girlfriend with a goddess-like figure, stirring in him sincere and tender admiration.

❀ There might be a few slightly naughty thoughts that cross his mind, but he would choose to ignore them. Out of respect for you, he would prefer not to focus on the sexual aspect of your appearance, choosing instead to appreciate the pure and natural beauty of your presence.

❀ Whether through his compliments or his general behavior, he would always make sure to be respectful and polite, avoiding any vulgarity. This would often mean him trying to look elsewhere, focusing on what’s happening around him, like the children or the details of the surroundings, to maintain an atmosphere of respect and delicacy.

 —𝐆𝐎𝐍ꫂ ၴႅၴ

❀ When Gon sees you for the first time, his immediate thought would be how incredibly beautiful you are. No matter your exact appearance, he would be certain that you are stunning.

❀ He wasn't at all expecting to see you in such a light outfit; he had imagined you would at least be wearing a one-piece swimsuit. So, he was genuinely surprised!

❀ But after that initial shock, he didn't even try to hide his somewhat goofy and mischievous smile. He looking at you, your chest, your butt, or your body in general. Maybe out of curiosity, or just because he likes it... he couldn't stop showering you with compliments, clearly delighted by your presence.

❀ I don't think Gon's first thoughts would necessarily be perverted or sexual.

❀ However, being a teenager going through puberty, he wouldn't be able to help but observe. But After all, he will have time to discover your whole body in one day...in another context...

 —𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎ꫂ ၴႅၴ

❀ He will look at you as if he’s seeing a true goddess!

❀ Given that Leorio is quite openly flirtatious, it’s natural that his initial thoughts might be somewhat risqué. However, despite these bold thoughts, he will be so mesmerized by the sight of your beauty that he won’t be able to help showering you with sincere and enthusiastic compliments.

❀ It might surprise some, but Leorio isn’t the type to openly express his more lascivious thoughts. Even though his mind might wander to more suggestive ideas, he’s unlikely to voice them out loud. Therefore, he will definitely shower you with a significant number of compliments, some of which might be mildly suggestive but never truly vulgar.

❀ (He will always deliver these compliments while scratching his head and averting his gaze, as if trying to hide his embarrassment.)

❀ However, I can’t promise that he will show the same restraint once you’re alone together… It’s possible that you might catch him occasionally admiring your chest, because, after all, it’s still Leorio we’re talking about!

—English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!!

[vexwerewolf]

I’m suddenly getting swathes of Lancer hate across my feed… Has something happened in the fandom? “Union is ______ how could they paint them as even remotely good. They allow _____, and I hate the devs they are ______. The whole thing is just 40k with communist veneer”.

Like am I taking crazy pills…? I thought that all of the problems were literally like right there on the tin “we are a utopia in progress! We will obtain it by any means possible even if it means being everything we say we are not/fighting against. As the player you decide what is right. How much will you ignore for someone else’s idea of utopia?” Like doesn’t it mean all the tools to actually change are there and that is the HOPE aspect of all of this?

(Sorry if this in incoherent grammar is a weak point and I pulled something in my back simply standing up. Now I am sad and crook backed in spasmodic pain)

This isn't an argument I feel super enthusiastic about stepping into, because it gets the most annoying sort of people in your mentions eager to maliciously misrepresent what you say.

However, yeah, there are some pretty terrible readings of Union floating around. I'd invoke "media literacy" because think that a lot of this comes from people not really holistically engaging with the fictional future history of Lancer, but also from a sort of dogmatic purism that requires future societies to be flawless, else they're irredeemable.

It is important to note that ThirdComm is the direct descendant of two highly imperfect societies. FirstComm was formed as a response to the Three Great Traumas of discovering the Massif Vaults (and thus that they were the inheritors of a fallen world), the wars over the Massif Vaults, and the discovery of the lost colonies, all of which collectively showed humanity how close it had come to total extinction.

FirstComm decided that it had a responsibility to ensure that humanity never risked extinction again. It manifested this by trying to colonize every habitable planet it could find, pumping out ship after ship to seed the cosmos with as much human life as it possibly could. This led to problems when it encountered civilizations like the Karrakin Federation and the Aun, who had been carrying humanity's torch just fine by themselves, thank you very much.

SecComm was an Anthrochauvinist fascist state. The book defines it thusly:

We can see a lot of Anthrochauvinist historical romanticism in the mech naming schemes of Harrison Armory, SSC and IPS-N - the fact that Harrison Armory names its mechs after great military leaders of pre-Fall Earth history, IPS-N does the same with naval figures, and SSC uses the names of Earth animals. Even the GMS Everest is named for a mountain on Earth. It's very Cradle-centric.

Anthrochauvinism was, to be clear, largely just an excuse for colonialism and hegemony. Atrocities could easily be justified under by stating that whoever they're being committed against were a threat to the Continuance of Humanity - a term that SecComm got to define.

It's also at this point that we have to zoom in from broad sociopolitical points to address one very specific piece of history: the New Prosperity Agreement. This was signed to prevent the outbreak of a Second Union-Karrakin War, and mandated that the Karrakin Houses would maintain privileged levels of autonomy within Union, and that they would be granted colonial rights to the entire Dawnline Shore. This agreement, struck in 3007u, basically defines much of the current political situation today.

ThirdComm was a final and inevitable reaction to the atrocities, abuses and excesses of SecComm. The unspeakable horrors of Hercynia were the spark, but I need to stress how little Hercynia actually mattered in the larger Revolution - at the start of NRfaW, it's explicitly stated that almost nobody in the galaxy even knows where it is, let alone what happened there. The Revolution was a generalized response to SecComm's tyranny, with no single rallying cry.

The Revolution might also have failed entirely, but for a critical error by Harrison Armory: pissing off the Karrakin Trade Baronies. After getting kicked off Cradle, the Anthrochauvinist Party organised a fleet at Ras Shamra to try and retake Cradle. Simultaneously, however, they were attempting to secure protectorate agreements to steal worlds in the Dawnline Shore out from under the KTB. Putting these two together and making five, the KTB assumed that the fleet was pointed at Karrakis, and started the First Interest War.

The First Interest War initially favoured the KTB. They smashed the fleet above Ras Shamra and simultaneously conquered the moon of Creighton in the Dawnline Shore. However, they underestimated just how ruthless Harrison I was - he "retook" Creighton by relativistic bombardment, and then conquered four of the 12 worlds of the Dawnline Shore with mechanised chassis, a technology the KTB had not adopted and had no counter for.

To prevent further loss of life, Union was eventually forced to broker a peace agreement that saw Harrison I handing himself over to Union justice in return for Harrison Armory's continued sovereignty, and the KTB joining Union as a full member state.

So, with that historical context out of the way, let me get to the second part of this absurd essay I'm writing.

Third Committee Union isn't a civilization that arose from whole cloth. It's shaped by five thousand years of Union history, six thousand years of post-Fall history, and six thousand years of pre-Fall history before that. It is, ultimately, an extremely well-thought-out and well-worldbuilt fictional polity, in that all of its imperfections come from traceable root causes in its history.

Why does ThirdComm permit the abuses of the KTB? Because to stop them, it would likely have to go to war, and such a war would butcher billions. Worse, to do so, it would probably have to ally with Harrison Armory and make horrific concessions.

Why does ThirdComm permit the expansionism and cryptochauvinism of the Armory? Because to stop them, it would likely have to go to war, and such a war would butcher billions. Worse, to do so, it would probably have to ally with the KTB and make horrific concessions.

Nobody in CentComm likes that Harrison Armory are empire-building expansionists. Nobody in CentComm likes that the KTB has a hereditary nobility and enforces blockades against planets that rebel against it. The problem is that ThirdComm is, in historical terms, still relatively new. They've been around five hundred years, and compared to the 1600 years that SecComm was around and the 2800 years FirstComm existed for, that's not very much.

ThirdComm is attempting to decouple itself from the Cradle-first politics of its predecessor, and to amend the many, many atrocities committed in the name of Humanity. It is not easy to do any of these things. SecComm was defined almost entirely by the fact that if it didn't like what you were doing, it would send in the military as a first response. Every time ThirdComm chooses to do the same, its legitimacy erodes, because the mission of ThirdComm is to prove that diverse, vibrant and compassionate human civilization can exist without devolving into war and bloodshed. ThirdComm always tries diplomacy as a first response because if it doesn't, millions of people could die.

[cutielando]

puppy | c.l.

synopsis: requested by anon: Hi lovely, can I please request something with Charles adopting a puppy with his girlfriend, I just can't get over how cute leo is 😭🫶🏻

my masterlist

You loved your boyfriend.

Charles loved you.

You were living the life that people could only dream of living. Living with him in Monaco in a shared apartment, you traveled all around the world with him, you had a flexible job. You had everything you could ever want.

Then why did it feel like something was missing?

As you looked around your apartment, the place felt empty.

You got that feeling every time Charles would leave for a race and you wouldn’t be able to join him.

Everything was silent, so peaceful. You loved it most of the time, being a nice change from your otherwise very hectic lifestyle, but it would sometimes become suffocating, being there by yourself.

Which is what you would tell Charles whenever he would call and you would be feeling down.

He had been away for Japan this time, your university classes holding you back in Monaco for the time being. He had called you as soon as he was done with the race, instantly feeling your sadness on the other end of the phone.

“Mon chérie, I can tell you’re not okay” he said, imagining you pouting on the other end of the phone.

“Amour, I’ve told you, I’m okay. Uni is just kicking my ass and my boss is being a jerk more than usual” you said, forcing out a chuckle.

Technically, you weren’t lying. Uni always got more stressful than usual as the summer break was approaching, and it was sometimes hard balancing it out with your job, but that wasn’t the reason behind your sour mood.

You had had time to reflect on your dilemma and had finally come to a conclusion.

You guys needed a puppy.

“Mon ange, you know I don’t like it when you try to lie to me. What’s going on?” he pressed, wanting to make you feel better by any means necessary, even if he was halfway across the world at the moment.

You sighed, closing your eyes and tilting your head back so it was resting on the couch.

Maybe you should have waited to tell him in person, but you figured that he would have more time to reflect on it until he got home.

“We need a puppy” you blurted out.

It was silent on his end for a few seconds. You immediately regretted saying it, your brain started to malfunction.

That was until you heard his sweet laugh through the phone, making your nerves slightly less consuming.

“You scared me so much, amour. Is that what your moping around has been about? Adopting a puppy?” his laughter had now died down, his tone being replaced with a gentle one.

“I just - it feels like there is something missing. We’re happy, we have a very spacious apartment for just the two of us and I get really lonely when I can’t join you for races” you explained, now pacing around the living room as you made your case to your boyfriend over the phone.

Charles listened to your rambling with a smile on his face. He knew how much you loved pets, especially dogs. You had grown up in a house full of them, going crazy over every dog you would bump into on the street.

He loved watching you interact with them, seeing you care for them even if they weren’t your own.

Which is why he had been planning to surprise you with your very own puppy once he got back from Japan.

Joris had taken care of everything, lying to you every time you would get suspicious or whenever he felt like he was about to be discovered.

But luckily for him, you did not suspect a thing.

“Mon ange, why didn’t you say something sooner? You know I would love nothing more than to adopt a puppy with you and grow our family” he said, already mentally coming up with the best plan to surprise you when he got home.

You sighed, realizing that you had been worrying for nothing. You knew Charles loved pets, and you had always talked about adopting one in the future, so why had you been so nervous to bring it up with your boyfriend?

Nobody knew, really.

“How about we talk some more when you get home? I don’t think this is a conversation to have on the phone” you chuckled, not wanting to delve into the topic too deep.

He agreed, wishing you a good night before he hung up.

But, despite what he had told you, he didn’t go to sleep. No, there were more important matters to be handled. Like figuring out a way to surprise you with your new puppy without getting detected. 

He thought it over and over again, and the only answer that he came up with was picking up the dog on his way home from the airport from Joris. He figured there was no need to complicate things, you didn’t like complicated stuff.

The next day, you had woken up to a text from Charles telling you his plane would land in a few minutes time and that there was no need for you to pick him up from the airport as Joris had agreed to give him a lift.

You didn’t think anything of it, Charles always having made it clear you would never have to drive him anywhere, you were his passenger princess.

Figuring he would be hungry when he got back, you got started on a simple but filling breakfast, Charles’ favorite breakfast that you made when he would get back from good race weekends. You put on some music and started cooking, not even noticing the time passing by quickly.

You were in your own little world when you heard the front door open and close, calling out your boyfriend’s name.

“Charles? I’m in the kitchen” you called out into the hallway, returning to flipping the last of your pancakes before turning off the stove.

Charles didn’t say anything, afraid not to disturb the small puppy nestled in his arms and prompt it to start barking. He had discarded his luggage by the door, now only holding the little dog and slowly walking over to the kitchen.

He could have sworn that your reaction to seeing the puppy was priceless and forever imprinted into his brain. The way your eyes lit up and filled with tears upon seeing him was nothing like he had ever seen before.

“You did not” you said, too shocked to even move from your spot.

“I did. I’ve been secretly arranging some things in order to adopt this little guy. We were supposed to get him in a couple of weeks, but when you told me yesterday that you wanted a puppy, I figured I would speed things up a little bit” he explained, walking over to you.

You cooed once he got close enough, gently taking the puppy from him and nuzzling his little body to your chest. There were no words to describe how you felt holding your new dog, the amount of love you already felt for such a little human being. 

The little dachshund puppy looked up at you, its deep brown eyes already having you wrapped around his little finger. You nuzzled your nose with his, internally screaming because of how cute he was.

“What’s his name?” you asked, not even looking away from the little guy.

Charles chuckled, knowing your reaction was exactly what he had been expecting from you. Already doting on the little dog nestled in your arms, like you had had him forever.

“Leo. Leo Leclerc” he answered, watching your eyes light up even more.

“Leo” you whispered, looking down at the newest addition to your little family. “Welcome to the Leclerc family, Leo”

You spent another minute or two gazing at the dog, Charles not moving an inch from his spot as he admired you interacting with the dachshund. He knew, in those moments as he watched you interacting with the dog, that you were the woman he was planning on spending the rest of his life with.

“I’ve never loved you as much as I love you in this moment” you told him, shuffling closer to him and stretching your neck so you can press a lingering kiss on his lips.

“I love you too”

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[lvndosnorris]

take it • l. norris smut headcannon

paring: female reader x lando norris

authors note: i think i've discovered my love for writing headcannons... they actually allow my brain to concentrate!! anyway thank you for all the love on my first ever piece eeek <3

warnings:

inbox: open

you'd been waiting for him all day — constantly checking your phone to see if he was on his way back, jumping at every sound outside your apartment. glances at the clock soon becoming some type of chore as you'd stifle a sigh and try to concentrate on the tv instead

shifting on the sofa once, twice; thighs squeezing together in a sly attempt to try and find some sort of release

"i've been waiting for you-" smothering lando as soon as he threw his keys down, arms outstretched in your direction as you bound up to him with a whine

and of course he looked all confused; lips pouted, eyebrows knitted as he cocked his head trying to figure what you meant and why you were all over him within a matter minutes

lips attached to the corner of his mouth in a hasty kiss as you fisted the material of his shirt. it was needy, hot, messy; your lips clashing with his as you tilted your head back so that his tongue could slip deeper into your mouth

"and what have i done to deserve this type of welcoming baby? hm?"

the idea of answering your boyfriend's cocky question not even crossing your mind as you backed the two of you to the sofa, the back of your knees hitting the cushions as his fingers splayed over the bare skin of your thighs

silently waiting for him to take a seat — bottom lip sucked between his teeth as he stared up at you. vision hazed and completely blinded by intense lust for you

perching on his lap as you'd kiss him silly

a mixture of slow, languid kisses where his tongue stroked against yours. savouring each second of one another as you whined impatiently because the heat between your legs was becoming more and more obvious

"you want it? you want it so bad? take it baby, go on"

gripping your waist as he chuckled at the way you avoided eye contact, face burning as you toyed with the waistband of his joggers before finally shifting them loosely down his hips

struggling to drag them any further as lando brushed his mouth against the spot on your neck that always drove you crazy — pushing your internal buttons all in the right way as your head lulled back, fingers pinching at his taunt flesh, moaning

your noises soft, yet laced with hunger

not even bothering to undress yourself fully, thumbs pushing your sodden underwear to the side as he clicked his tongue in his mouth - "naughty girl"

a silent sob itching the back of your throat as he slipped his tip inside of you

barely inside of you, yet here you were; clenching around nothing, bucking your hips to try and meet his half-attempt at a thrust

only giving into you when you begged him to, his name falling from your tongue like it was the only thing you knew how to say

and oh, how sweet it sounded

your body completely folding as he held your hips for you, blunt fingernails digging into you as he pushed your against him — not letting you wriggle or writhe away

simply making you take whatever he had to give

lando's grunts deep and guttural, like he'd been holding them back just like you had all day

each thrust of his cock sending your spiralling: every time he bottomed out he found himself going deeper, obsessed with the way you fluttered and hugged his shaft so tightly

"if you keep doing that i'm not going to last long at all angel"

[dolliels]

I'VE BECOME THE FIANCÉ OF THE VILLAIN?!

leona x gn reader

synopsis: going to bed after reading a horribly self indulgent romance novel, you seemed to wake up as an extra of the series. what stories will unfold while on a mission to find a way out?

author’s note: this is a mini series. no idea if i'll finish it tho.

[one] [two] [three] [four] [epilogue]

the whirring of the fan was the only other sound that you could other than your nail tapping on your phone. 

it’s been a full day now and you’ve done nothing except lie on your couch and read a horribly self indulgent novel. the weather was too hot and the chewed up popsicle stick flung around in your mouth.

I’ve become the fiancé of a villain?! was an all-time hit novel, written by an anonymous writer. you’ve heard about it and the plot clearly interested you, but there were only 5 chapters when you discovered it so you let it marinate for a while. today you found out it was completed, so you sat down and spent your entire day reading.

much to your disappointment, the story sucked.

it was about the main character, roselia, who fell asleep in the middle of class and woke up in the middle of a fantasy world that she wrote when she was bored!

leona kingscholar, a jealous second-born son who wanted to be king more than anything, devises a plan to kill his older brother. fortunately, roselia wrote the story so she knew leona like the back of her hand. unfortunately, she was the betrothed fiancé of leona, someone he took advantage of to execute his plan. when she found out about his goal of murdering the king, the fiance tried to warn everyone and leona finds out, killing her. the novel focused on roselia trying her best to not get murdered and falling in love with leona in the process.

it wasn’t like the idea was bad, you’ve read thousands of stories like that before and enjoyed them all. it’s just that this one was incredibly self-indulgent, with leona’s cold, merciless eyes that turn into metaphorical hues of warmth when he sees the girl he used to hate, the girl he was reluctantly betrothed to, the girl who is now the woman of his dreams. (you almost threw up reading that)

how was this novel even popular? with plans to complain about it tomorrow, you passed out on your bed.

birds chirped and you soaked in the warmth of the sun. you felt incredibly gross and dirty that morning, and wanted to freshen up. heading to the bathroom, you tumbled your way to the door (was the floor always this slippery?) as you groggily looked into the mirror, you saw yourself………..? huh? is that you? wait no, you don’t look like that…. what?!

after much looking around, you figured that this wasn’t your body (obviously) but you were you, and the body you were in definitely wasn’t what you remembered looking like the other night. you examined your face carefully, you frowned. what is this? some sort of isekai? it has to be. but that sounds completely unreal! aren’t isekai’s…fake? you felt way too overpowered knowing what an isekai even is in the first place. most leads in these novels don’t know what the word means at all. you felt too advantaged.

what crazy novel were you reading…?

you frowned until an imaginary light bulb popped up.

i’ve become the fiancé of the villain!

does that mean you’re roselia…?

no, that couldn’t be right. roselia woke up in a grand but empty bedroom that she shared with leona. you… woke up in a boring commoner’s room.

you looked around your messy bedroom, trying to gather any hints of who you are and what you do.

after rummaging through the entire house, you concluded three things.

1. you ran a small bookstore. which is honestly a win because you’ve always wanted to run one without financially skinning you alive. you seem to be stable so that’s a pro in your head.

2. you were just some character extra that didn’t matter to the plot.

3. you were assigned to stock up some books for the royal library. the kingscholar royal library.

from reading the novel, you knew leona did nothing but stay in the castle all day. that gives you a glimmer of hope that you’d see roselia.

the things, there are two possibilities as to where the story is going.

the first possibility is that the roselia in this universe is the roselia that you read in the novel. which is more likely, because it is the story that you read.

the second possibility is that this may be the original story and you might be the only person in this whole story that has been isekai’d. which means leona would kill her eventually.

either way, you had a strong feeling that roselia was the key for you to get back home. and that was the only thing that was on your mind right now. and no, you are not going to be like those other leads that just settle for a life in another universe that does not belong to them. you are determined to go back.

on that fateful morning you luckily packed the boxes of books the day before, or any other day, you can’t recall anything in your current self. but the person who held consciousness of this body already packed the books, which means you should be able to just drive your cart to the castle. the castle is huge and you can see from your window. there should be no problem getting the, right?

-

“…you’re late.”

you huff and puff as you bend your knees. you got lost as to where to go and ended up carrying the boxes of books yourself around the place before finding the area.

“i’m sorry. i got lost.”

“lost? you’re never lost. you’ve been here plenty of times.”

you had no excuse for that. but whatever, you got the job done, right?

the man with neat blue hair clicked his tongue and scratched something off of his paper.

“well?” he said, staring you down.

“well what?”

“aren’t you gonna go bring the books inside?”

oh, right.

-

you weren’t a huge bookworm, unless you count the copious amounts of isekai novels you’ve read. but looking at the glamorous library, it suddenly made you thirst for all books that exists, even the classics, something you’ve tried to enjoy but struggled to fully digest. hey, don’t blame anyone! thou shall not lie, thou shall not cheat aren’t the best ways to use english in the modern world.

as you stack the books into the shelves, you find yourself browsing through the already existing books, browsing your fingers across the spines, feeling each and every gold brim.

maybe this world isn’t as bad.

you were originally under the assumption that you had to just drop off the books and go, but you soon found out that you’re also responsible for the library archive, not like you needed to keep track anyway.

you sighed and smiled. so a small bookstore wasn’t enough to hold you up financially after all. you ended up getting a side in the royal palace of all places! the pay must be pretty good.

you know… as you think back, you remember roselia coming into the library, attempting to find any other information of escape and accidentally bumping into the book stocker… could that possibly be you?

then that means roselia is bound to bump into you any moment!

as you eagerly keep your eye out for the pretty princess, you take your time putting the books away. there should be no problem how long you take, right?

“hey.”

roselia? no. the voice is gruff, and deep. that… no. roselia is definitely a girl… so that is not the lady you are waiting for.

you turn around.

leona kingscholar. 

he’s exactly as he’s described. the novel mentions leona’s good looks so much it was practically shoved in your face. but you felt like the words itself couldn’t properly describe his beauty.

he had the kind of hair that gently parts around his shoulders, comfortably setting itself down on top, a sleek, shiny glow to it that is only prominent and glittery at certain angles of the sun, making you want to stare at his hair alone even more.

his skin was smooth, almost doll-like with little to absolutely no imperfections. it scrunched up perfectly, creating deliberate folds across his face as his eyebrows pursed together, frowning. his emerald-esque eyes staring directly at you. he looked like the kind of guy you’d want to make a good impression to.

unfortunately, you don’t look like you’re doing your job, with a book open and a box full of them that haven’t been organized yet, and your mouth… was agape. it seems like you forgot that you are actually in the universe, looking directly at what you deemed to be the handsomest man you have ever met.

you seemed to thank the skies and above for gracing you with an opportunity to be able to place your eyes on someone so perfect that your brain completely lagged.

you had to remind yourself, leona is not real! and you won’t ever see his kind of beauty anywhere in the real world. he’s a fictional character!

suddenly, you felt like you were pulled back into reality.

oh right, in the novel, leona is actually a huge dick in the novel!

before leona fell in love with roselia, he was demanding, lazy and scheming. he was smart, and used his wits for his own gain (ultimately leading to roselia and his brother’s demise in the original story.)

speaking of, where is roselia?

you distinctly remember that roselia was supposed to bump into you and then afterwards leona walks in on her.

it seemed as if the story was going as planned, but without roselia.

“well?” the same voice caught you alert again, and you remembered that you had to act like a normal person.

“oh. uh. hello…?”

you didn’t know what to say. you spent the entirety of the day before in your world reading about him, his backstory and everything else that talking to him as if he’s a treasure box to be unlocked was surreal.

“hello? hello??” leona scoffed. “first, you’re not doing your job properly, snooping around the royal collection and no etiquette remaining at all.”

you bowed down, trying to look as shameful as possible. there was no hierarchical respect for him lingering at all. you assume this is because you saw him as a fictional character first and foremost.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“psh.” he replied, waving his hand back. “hurry up. I’ll come back later.”

you snickered to yourself as leona walked away. the clacking of his fancy shoes on the glass floors echoing throughout the library. when you snorted, you heard the walking pause then continue again, as if leona heard the laugh but wasn’t bothered enough to say anything.

-

you sat in your chair, frowning, your elbow propped up against the table under your chin.

it has been nearly a week since you woke up in this world so far, and you haven’t seen roselia anywhere.

of course, roselia being a princess after all, rarely ever left the palace, but in the novel, the new roselia went out and about in many places.

after you were able to catch up to the timeline when leona walked into the library, you tried to follow your memory as much as possible and wasted your time lurking in places roselia should’ve been at.

could this possibly not be the novel you read after all? maybe… this roselia isn’t the roselia you know.

you shake your head. your hopes were diminishing, but it wasn’t like there was no hope at all!

plus, the bookstore you ran had minimal conversations, people would browse through and purchase. this meant you had all the time in the world to try and figure out other alternatives.

cling

the bell of the door clang a few times before quieting down. the array of bookshelves blocked your few from seeing whoever entered, but you could hear the pitter patter of rain hitting the ground outside when the door opened. you hoped they didn’t get anything wet.

“welcome!”

no reply.

you shrugged and went back to scribbling down on your paper.

stomp, stomp, stomp

you looked up. something was oddly out of place.

holding the nearest weapon you had (a paper cutter, ridiculous.) you slowly got out of your seat in between the many shelves of your bookstore.

the paper cutter firmly between your hands, you pointed it out just in case.

“who’s… who’s in here?”

no reply.

stomp, stomp, stomp

“I said… who’s in here?”

no reply, but you heard an annoyed grunt.

BOOM!

just as the thunders outside clashed, you finally reached the last shelf to see a figure entirely hidden by the lightning.

as it died down, you saw the trail of blood on the floor under your soft yellow lights and an injured man who stood right in front of you.

before you could react, the man completely slumped to the ground, giving you an opportunity to safely approach him.

you lifted the familiar locks of chocolatey brown hair to see… leona kingscholar. bloodied, injured and unconscious.

TO BE CONTINUED...

an: lowkey really got into the story rather than the romance... oops. if this fic receives well i'll focus on romance on the next part :)

[alphajocklover]

Genie Glory the Game

(A [Very Late] Trade with @bigwishes. I hope you like it!) 43 followers. Rich Donaldson, also known as TF2Twink on Twitch, had 43 followers.Rich had been streaming for over 3 years now and only had 43 followers. 43 measly followers. It made him feel pathetic. It made him feel like he was useless. Yet at the same time, Rich was incredibly grateful for every one of those followers. 

Rich Donaldson had wanted to become a gaming streamer since he was a kid. It hadn’t really been a real thing until he was a teen, and most people thought he was crazy for thinking he could make money that way. Some people doubted it was a real job, some thought it was too competitive, some thought it was just a dumb idea in general. No matter what the reason, everyone in Rich’s life agreed that Rich wasn’t going to make it as a streamer. Especially his hyper religious, video game hating parents. Still Rich refused to give up. He knew it would be hard, maybe impossible, but he was passionate and felt like he had to follow his dream. That was what everyone in the movies did after all. Rich moved out, cut contact with his parents, went into debt buying the best streaming gear he could… and immediately regretted it. Rich didn’t mind losing contact with his parents. They had never been the most loving people, so he hadn’t really lost much. Except things weren’t working out like they did in the movies. Rich wasn’t making it, and worse than that he wasn’t getting any better at streaming. He was good at the games, so he knew that wasn’t the issue. The issue was… he was incredibly, painfully, horribly shy. Rich didn’t have the confidence that a streamer needed. He could barely get a word out during the stream without starting to awkwardly ramble, and even when he did he came off as awkward and weird. He wasn’t just unconfident, he was a downright nervous wreck. Still he didn’t give up. He couldn’t after everything he had thrown away to get this chance… all the sleepless nights working part time jobs to stay above water… he was in too deep. So he kept going “Hey chat! S-so t-today…” Rich took a deep breath, trying his best not to ramble “T-today I’m going to be playing a new game. I-it’s not very well known, but i-it looked cool and I’ve heard a lot of people are playing it… S-so let's get into ‘Genie Glory the Game!” Rich said, trying to be excited. Barely anyone was watching, and it was getting hard to pretend he wasn’t incredibly depressed, but he kept smiling. Genie Glory was a pretty simple game with a simple premise that had been baffling gamers for months. It was a pretty simple idea based on a classic scenario. You play a random guy who has discovered a genie’s lamp and now has 3 wishes. You make a wish by typing it into the computer, and the genie grants the wish, but usually in some twisted way that is accompanied by a pixelated animation of the player's fate. The goal is to get through all 3 wishes alive. What made the game so popular was that no one had beat it yet. Whatever AI the game used was incredibly clever and strangely creative, and to make it even more difficult, the game only allowed you to play it once. Popular streamers, actually geniuses, and even philosophers hadn’t been able to beat the game, so Rich knew beating it would make him famous.

“Ok chat. I-it’s time for our first wish… And I’m taking suggestions…” Rich said. Rich wanted to beat the game, but… he wasn’t sure how to beat this game, so he’d take all the help he could get. A few suggestions actually came across the screen ‘BasedBro69: Wish for your muscles to grow!’

‘GenieGay33: No way, that's the way to open ended! The Genie will make him grow until he pops or something’

‘MissTaken27: That's such a basic idea. Might as well ask him to wish to be a frat boy or something.’

Rich laughed at this. He knew most of his followers' usernames by heart, but BasedBro69 was new. Still the conversation he had started was kind of funny, and he figured… why not? “Ok then, why not! Lets make me a frat boy!” He said, snickering as he typed in his computer. He tried to be as specific as possible to avoid the spell being twisted “‘I wish I was an attractive, stereotypical frat boy.”

Rich laughed as he watched the pixelated version of himself grow muscular, his clothing changing to a tank top and backwards cap. He watched as the other version of him rushed a frat. Rich was certain something would go wrong, afterall he knew from first hand experience that hazing could get fucking intense, but surprisingly his character survived and got through the first wish without any incident. Rich grinned widely. Most people never even made it through the first wish, but he, a relative nobody, had managed! He stood up straighter as he watched people start to flood into the stream. He checked the chat happily. ‘GenieMan33: He actually made it with that wish? I’ll never understand this game, but good for you!’ ‘MisterRichD27: Kind of an ironic wish considering you are a frat boy. No offense.’ ‘BasedBro69: I fucking knew that would work bro! You can do this!’

Rich blushed slightly at MisterRichD27’s comment, and his flirty name. While he didn’t tend to think of himself that way, he was technically a frat boy. He had joined one after heading to college in the hopes of finding some friends. His frat brothers could be… kind of obnoxious, and very stereotypical, but they had helped him come out of his shell somewhat and even get in shape. He was still fairly shy, but he never would have gotten this far in college or with his streaming if it wasn’t for them. He chuckled at the chat, slightly embarrassed “I’ll admit, that was a weird wish, but hey, it worked so who cares!” Rich said cheerily “Ok, so what's the next wish going to be? I’m trusting you on this chat!” Rich said with what he hoped was a charming wink. ‘GenieMan33: Maybe something basic like money? That doesn’t usually work but you seem to be on a hot streak.’

‘BasedBro69: No way bro. He only gets to play once. Wish for something like fucking confidence or something. Something fun!’

‘MisterRichD27: IDK, Basedbro69 was right last time. Maybe you should wish for confidence?’ Rich shrugged. He could think up even more ways that this could go wrong, but this game had never seemed to work on logic in any of the videos he watched to prepare for this. So with a grin, he typed in his second wish “I wish I had the kind of cocky confidence that ladies love.” he said with a chuckle. He hoped it would be obvious that it was a joke, since his Twitch username, FortnightOtter44, made it obvious he was gay. He watched as the little version of him grew a big head, quite literally. Rich was worried this was leading to some type of game over, but his head deflated, his muscles grew, and a bunch of pixelated girls in bikinis ran up to the pixelated him. Rich grinned wide and tried not to cuss in celebration, not wanting to get demonetized (again). He had fucking done it! He fucking got past wish 2! He smirked as he watched the chat explode as more people tuned in ‘GenieStud33: Fuck yeah! RDH fucking did it! Knew you had it in you bro!’

‘MissRichD27: RDH is the best gamer ever! And the hottest! DM me!’

BasedBro69: HELL YEAH! You can do this bro!’ Rich, known as RDH to his fans, or RichDaHunk on Twitch, smirked, as he saw the comments roll in. He fucking knew he could get this game. He may not have been the most popular streamer on twitch, but he was a fucking good gamer and a total stud. He flexed his biceps, getting the chat riled up again in a frenzy of lust and admiration. Rich didn’t bother to look at the chat this time. He gave a smarmy, cocky smirk at the camera “I know what to put in next bros. I’m gonna wish for something fucking inevitable.” he said cockily.

He quickly typed in “I wish I was the most popular gaming streamer on Twitch”, and watched with a practiced cool confidence as the pixelated version of him gained millions of followers. The chat exploded with awe and wonder as what Rich had always known was going to happen, happened. He had won the game. He flexed his muscles for the stream, celebrating with his 43 million followers. He didn’t understand why they were all shocked. He was the coolest, hottest, douchiest gamer on twitch. Of course he fucking won!

[jaylver]

NO COMPETITION SERIES

— a series of 3 hockey boys and an aussie footballer trying to win over the love of their lives

PAIRINGS: enhypen!hyung line x reader

GENRE: college sports au, romance, angst, humour

STATUS: completed

NOTES: set in the same au, but some of the timelines are different!

© jaylver 2023

WIN ONE WIN ME — L.HS

SYNOPSIS: who knew being angry and impulsive can get the captain of the hockey team to notice you? cussing them out when they were losing wasn't the best idea, but it definitely made lee heeseung's head turn, leading to him making a deal with you to win a game in order to get your number. but that wasn't enough for him, he was determined to make you his.

READ HERE

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL — P.JS

SYNOPSIS: Beach parties are supposedly fun and exciting, aren’t they? Wrong. Experiencing college parties is rare for you, but you decided to give this one a go after your best friend’s constant pleas. Things were alright until everything turned sour when trouble found you and eventually you were roped into a fight alongside the campus’ famous hockey playboy. As if that wasn’t enough, the devil himself conjured up an idea that you found yourself being entangled in. It was all fun and games up until confusion arose, feelings being confessed and played, in the end, Jay had to learn how to get the girl, his girl.

READ HERE

MIDNIGHT RAIN (BACK TO YOU) — S.JY

SYNOPSIS: You declared to the world that this summer will be yours. Ever since you’ve left home to chase your dream further in Europe, you never dared to look back, leaving your friends and family along with the precious memories there, including your silent love for your closest friend. Years passed, you were making a name for yourself and chasing that fame, settling in perfectly fine and eventually moved on with life. All was well until the transfer window came, announcing a new addition to the men’s first team, who also happened to be your childhood best friend, Jake Sim. Summer in Spain wouldn’t be what it is without experiencing lots of rekindling, heartbreaks, fallout but also a shot at love.

READ HERE

CRAZY, STUPID, LOVE — P.SH

SYNOPSIS: Having a one night stand wasn’t your forte, but with the help of adrenaline, and most definitely not alcohol, you managed to rope yourself into one. Worst part of all was the fact that you didn’t even know his name! The only distinguishable part of him was his blinding white hair. You figured you will never see him again after, but you were so wrong. Your friend practically set you up for failure after convincing you to take her place on a blind date to try and drive the guy away, only for it to be the one you slept with, who also happened to be your mother’s best friend’s son that you met right before that. 

READ HERE

——

( © jaylver all rights reserved. do NOT copy, plagiarise or edit my work and repost whatsoever. once discovered will be exposed and blacklisted. )

—

( taglist CLOSED!!! : @1800-beomgyu @yawnzshit @shinrjj @skzenhalove @taekwondoes @lalalalawon @ce1ight @enhacqke @winteringdream @strvlveera @rikisly @rikakhai @renchai @sievenderz @fariylixie0915 @enhastolemyheart @ckline35 @eulris @yenqa @jayfrvr @tobiosbbyghorl @liikno @vizstars @kells5595 @addictedtohobi )

——

[girlfromthecrypt]

Note: This is merely a pitch introduction post. My main project remains Such Happy Campers. I have no title in mind for this IF (suggestions are welcome), although I am very passionate about the idea and will work on it on the side while I write SHC.

You are... or were one of the most famous yet mysterious characters in the 21st century pop-rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. Your friends agreed… and that is how your band came to be. After years of practice in your friend’s mother’s garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It's a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has withdrawn from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music, lyrics and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac

TW: themes of mental illness, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation and self-harm, unhealthy relationship dynamics

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget. 

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them. When they first walked out onto that stage, it felt like my heart was going to explode.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Others:

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they tried to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

[dividers by @thecutestgrotto]

Please consider reblogging if you like my work!

[eufezco]

THREE LIES AT ONCE

FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!STYLIST!READER

this is based on a prompt from character.ai c:

SYNOPSIS -> You're his stylist and you discover bruises.

You liked it when Finnick visited the Capitol and Finnick hated doing it except for the fact that he knew you would be there.

You had already earned a reputation as a stylist in the Capitol when you two met. And it had been four years since Finnick won his games but President Snow had kept him close because nothing was more appealing than a charming boy in his twenties to the people of the Capitol.

You learned from the best. Cinna taught you everything he knew about fashion and then made you forget about it all so you could build your own style. It actually worked quite well because your designs were sold in the Capitol as if people needed them to live.

Your colors and characteristic shapes, your outrageous skirts, your long dresses, and your headdresses were worn by everyone, men and women fought over your designs and they spent all their savings on your clothes. President Snow was more than delighted with you, not only because his granddaughter deeply admired you but because you knew how to be liked, and he loved that about you.

That's why President Snow found the perfect match with Finnick and you and for once in his life, he did something right.

Finnick became your muse. From the moment you were introduced at the Capitol and you saw him walking towards you with those bright green eyes, his perfectly messy blonde hair, his tanned skin thanks to the way the sun in District 4, and his body that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods. You knew you never wanted to design anything else but for him.

―When did you arrive and how is it that you haven't come to see me earlier? ―You threw yourself into his arms, your fingers dug into his blond locks of hair. This was not the typical relationship that stylists used to have with their models but after working with him for a couple of years now, it was inevitable that some affection would grow between the two of you. Especially when, during his stays in the Capitol, you spent most of your time together. You were the only thing that kept him from going crazy.

He would sit and watch you while you sketched out his next outfit. You would share a drink and ask him questions about how his life was back in District 4. Finnick loved to talk about his home and you loved to imagine yourself there, in the places that Finnick described to you so precisely. The sea reaching your feet, the sun shining against your skin, the sound of seagulls flying across the bluest sky you had ever seen... And for some reason that you were still trying to figure out, every time you imagined yourself in one of those scenarios, he was by your side. District 4 seemed like a lovely place.

Finnick's arms wrapped around your waist while his face hid in the crook of your neck. He inhaled your familiar scent when you hugged, too sweet for the Capitol, not like the perfume people there used to keep up with their continuous call for attention.

―Yesterday but I was too tired from the trip.

That was the first lie that Finnick told you that night.

There was an expression of relief on your face with something like a small smile on your lips, grateful to see him again after such a long time and when everything in your life was chaos thanks to the preparation of the next games. Your eyes were closed, enjoying him holding you until you heard him say those words and then they opened in a combination of surprise and confusion.

―Don't think that being tired is an excuse for not coming to see me, Finnick Odair. That should always be the first thing you do as soon as you set foot here. ―You said, still thinking about why would he lie to you.

You moved apart from the hug and Finnick had a big smile on his lips that inevitably made you smile too. ―I'm sorry. ―He apologized.

―You better be. But now I need you to tell me if you like it.

You turned to grab your notebook and showed him the sketch you drew. Finnick took the notebook from your hands so he could take a better look and admire every detail.

―This is beautiful. You're an artist. I doubt there is anyone half as good as you in the whole Panem.

―Oh, there's Cinna. I haven't managed to dethrone him yet.

―Come on, you outdid Cinna a long time ago. He says so himself. The student surpassed the master, there's nothing wrong with that.

You shook your head and said nothing. Finnick rolled his eyes, he knew you didn't like hearing from him or anyone else that you were better than Cinna. Not even when Cinna himself tells you.

―Have you started sewing it yet? Can I see it?

―That's why I needed to see you. I haven't started yet because I need to measure you again. The last time you wore one of my garments it was too tight. I don't want to risk it not fitting you this time. ―You grabbed the measuring tape and pins from the table in your studio, full of fabrics and patterns for the new tributes. Cinna had given you his notebook with some beautiful sketches and had told you that he needed something similar but for the male tribute, a guy named Peeta Mellark from District 12, and you had been working day and night to meet Cinna's expectations. ―The robe is behind the dressing screen.

―Yes ma'am.

Finnick walked over without saying another word. You admired his figure as he walked away. Finnick's back was twice as wide as when you met him, his arms had grown stronger, now you could identify each of the muscles in them and his legs had also doubled in size, unfortunately, Finnick loved to wear long skirts, if it were up to you he would be showing them all the time. The features of his face had also changed, now they were more pronounced. Finnick's dimples were more visible and his jaw was so sharp you'd swear if you slid your finger along it you'd cut yourself.

―This looks great on you. I don't know why I try to design you something new every time. I should let you go around with that.

Finnick shook his head, failing in his attempt not to laugh at your stupid joke. ―You are not only the best designer but also the funniest one, huh?

You rolled your eyes. Finnick knew you didn't like it when he told you that and he did it on purpose to tease you. ―Come on, take it off.

Finnick stood before the mirror as you stood behind him. Once he slipped it off, you gasped and jumped back, horrified.

―Gosh, Finnick, what is this? ―You took a few steps backward at the sight of the bruises that trailed down his back. By their bright red color you would say were rather recent. You didn't know how to react, you were petrified staring at his back.

Finnick smiled, dismissing what you just saw with practiced charm. ―Ah, just a little souvenir. My lovers like to play rough. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.

That was the second lie Finnick told you that night.

Finnick's chest was heavy but he was trying to keep his cool. He had assumed that by the time the two of you saw each other the wounds would have healed, besides the fact that he didn't think he would have to undress in front of you.

―Your lovers? This absolute atrocity was done by one of your lovers?

―They were probably just a little too... enthusiastic. Besides, I don't have a problem with it, I like it. My skin heals fast so I'll be all good in no time.

And that was the third lie. His skin did not heal fast. You had always told him off for coming to dress rehearsals all bruised up from his training sessions and those bruises had lasted for days. These new ones were sure to stay on his skin for at least a month.

―How can some one like this?

Finnick could hear the disdain in your voice. You should be disgusted, horrified and definitely judging him, but don't worry, so was he.

―Honey, if you don't understand it's not my problem.

―No, you're right. I don't understand. I don't think you enjoyed that.

―Oh, you're gonna tell me what I can or cannot enjoy?

―Have you seen your back? Have you seen how bad this looks?

Finnick chuckled. ―I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of this. Do you need all the details? Is the life of a stylist so boring?

―Finnick, listen to me. I don't want all the details I want the truth, and now it's the perfect time to start. ―You said. You grabbed him by his shoulders and turned him around to look at you. Finnick groaned as your hands were placed on his shoulders and when he stood face to face with you, he could see how upset you were.

―I don't know what you're talking about. ―He bit the inside of his cheeks, that was just what he had been told, not to tell anyone the truth about what had happened. He saw you roll your eyes and let all the air out of your body through your mouth, annoyed.

―I know that you didn't arrive yesterday. Cinna told me. Do you really think you can go unnoticed? Here? And I know for a fact that those bruises are not from one of your lovers, let alone that they were done to you a couple of days ago.

Finnick swallowed, looking at you with his head held high. He tried to keep the smile on his lips, pretending that everything was okay, that he did enjoy it when those bruises were inflicted on him, but his lower lip betrayed him and began to tremble. You bent down to pick up the robe and carefully threw it over his shoulders so he wouldn't feel so exposed. Finnick's head was bowed. You lifted it using your thumb and index finger on his chin very gently.

―I need you to tell me who did this to you. I can't help you if you don't tell me.

Finnick chuckled amid the sadness and shame he was feeling. ―Help me? You can't help me.

―I'm sure there's something I can do. I could―.

―They were Peacekeepers following Snow's orders.

Your jaw dropped and your heart rate accelerated. It was the first time that Finnick was admitting that to someone. It had been impossible to tell anyone, let alone a citizen of the Capitol like you. Finnick couldn't possibly admit that without compromising his carefully cultivated image. Besides, if he made himself out to be a victim, the Capitol would never allow someone they saw as weak to perform the role of the Golden Boy and all the people he cared about in District 4 would die. At that moment you realized that all the times he showed up at your studio claiming that his injuries were from training were not true and you felt sick to your stomach.

―How did it happen? ―You asked, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat

―I tried to leave the Capitol. Before I could get on the train back to District 4 I was arrested by Peacekeepers and they took me to Snow's mansion. A lot of people came and when I refused to see them... I've been locked up there since then, that's why I couldn't come to see you earlier.

You shook your head, feeling awful. ―Don't worry about it, Finnick. I'm so sorry this is happening to you. ―Your stomach complained and begged your brain to stop imagining everything that Finnick would have been put through since then. The beatings, the strangers paying to sneak into his bed, the Peacekeepers bursting into his room and leaving him bleeding on the floor...

―Snow likes me. There has to be something I can do for you.

―You don't understand. It's not something that I can quit.

―I can spend all day designing and sewing to pay Snow the money he would make with you. I can talk to Cinna to raise the price of our designs. People here are rotten with money, they'll keep buying them anyway.

―It's not that simple. You can't just buy my freedom.

―Has anyone tried before?

Finnick thought about it and shook his head. ―Snow wouldn't allow that to happen. ―You ran your hand over your face in despair, not knowing what else to do to help him and feeling a responsibility to do something about it. You were the citizen of the Capitol, the one who had superior status and the favor of Snow, there must be something you could do.

―What if I buy you?

Finnick's eyes widened in surprise. ―Buy me?

You nodded and realized how bad that sounded. ―But not in like, a slave type of way. Gosh that sounded awful. I would just― Do it so you can live your life in your district. I wouldn't― keep you here, no. You'd just have to come to the Capitol a couple of times, make a few public appearances, and leave again.

―Why would you do that for me?

You bit the inside of your cheeks and nodded. ―You're my friend. I care about you.

You had managed to give him something he had long been missing. Hope. Maybe what you wanted to do would work or maybe not but at that moment Finnick felt that someone cared and that gave him hope that everything would work out.

Finnick took a step forward and placed his hands on your cheeks. He leaned in slightly and connected his lips with yours. Your hands ended up resting against his warm bare chest, closing your eyes and allowing him to kiss you. You knew it was the emotion of the moment, the adrenaline rush of knowing that maybe he could live his life in peace. You had given him hope and he was happy that someone had shed some light on his situation.

When you parted ways after the kiss, you both were smiling.

―Go and put your pants on, I'll treat your bruises.

―Do you know how?

―Well, not really, but I'm not short of needle and thread and I still have some alcohol from last night.

Finnick pressed his lips together and nodded. That would work. He walked to the dressing screen and you watched him as he walked away in the mirror's reflection. Before hiding behind the dressing screen, he said something that lit up a flame in your heart and made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

―I wish you would come with me to District 4.

my requests for the hunger games are open 📥

[armandclocksitall]

Object of Your Pursuit (Chapter 2)

Armand x gn! reader (no y/n used)

Warnings: mentions of suicide, depictions of death

Read Chapter 1 Here

“You want to see me again?” they said with disbelief. “You were trying to kill me literally 24 hours ago.”

“I didn’t try to kill you, I simply planned to.” He spoke plainly. “And then I chose not to.”

They were taken aback. “Those are,” they paused for emphasis, “the exact same thing.” Their eyes were wide with bewilderment at what they were hearing.

“They aren’t. ‘Trying’ insinuates that I went to attack you. I never did that, I just observed you throughout the night and discovered I had no use in taking your life.”

“You were hunting me. You hunted me like an animal, and then for some–” they were at a loss for words, grasping at air to make their point, “crazy mysterious unknown reason, you just let me live. Which I would seriously appreciate some clarification on that by the way. That doesn’t seem like something that you just switch up on after a second's thought.” Their hair was wild, sticking up in every direction after being run through repeatedly with their hands.

“I don’t see why the reasoning matters.” Armand was unimpressed. “Human life means nothing to me, so it’s nothing for me to choose to spare a life when I see fit.”

“If human life means nothing to you then it would’ve been nothing to kill me.” The student’s anger and frustration seeped into their words.

“Did you wish for me to kill you then?”

“I just want answers.” Their eyes narrowed, “And I still don’t see why you would want to see me again after you tried– sorry planned to kill me. Why would I agree to see you after that?” Their arms were crossed over their chest, the stance giving off a facade of stubbornness.

“I will provide answers in due time, when I know you can be trusted.” He stepped closer, matching position. “And why wouldn’t you? You invited me into your home, you demand explanations. You don’t fear me.”

“You were going to–”

He interrupted. “Kill you? Yes, you’ve said that already. But again, you do not fear me. You wish to know me.” His eyes scanned their face emotionlessly, “As I wish to know more about you.”

He was right, they realized. Despite their pushback to meet again, they couldn’t deny how badly they wanted to figure him out. He could very well be some monstrous serial killer; but the way he spoke, even the way his body moved, signaled that he was more than that. He was something much more sinister and they wanted to be consumed by it. When he left them on the steps of the church last night, they could think of nothing else. Nobody else. What made him spare their life? The man standing in their living room inspired a million questions. For the second night in a row they came to the terrifying realization that though this decision could lead to their demise, they would accept.

Armand was smug overhearing their thoughts. He knew it would come to this. Humans always hunger for more; more money, more sex, and in this case, more knowledge.

The student’s eyes were hard staring into his own. He was right and they hated it. “When do you want to meet up again?” They were oblivious to his intrusion on their mind, putting up the front that they weren’t desperate for the slightest information he could give them.

“A week from tonight. Let’s meet in the park around 11pm. You know which park I’m referring to, yes? The one you went through to get to the church, with the bridge?”

He had seen them in the park. The thought sent a shiver down their spine, recalling that as they approached the church the previous night they had thought he was nowhere near them. They hadn’t seen him at all that night, but they became increasingly aware that he without a doubt saw them.

“Yeah, I know the one.” Their resolve was shaken with the realization. “I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful,” he grinned. The look in his eye was slightly unhinged. He had something planned. A test. How far could he bend this human before they broke? “I should be leaving now, enjoy the rest of your evening and until we meet again.”

They were glued to the spot as he bowed out the door saying his farewells. It was a full minute before they could move again, peeking out the window to try and catch a glimpse of his retreating figure in the street below. He was gone, without a trace, just like the night before. They had a week to figure out what to ask him, a week to wonder what he was, and a week to figure out why he wanted to know them so badly.

The week dragged on, and every new day felt like it spanned a decade. The student had come no closer to figuring out why their life had been spared. He claimed he wanted to know more about them, but why? They were no different from any other person in this town, they didn't lead an exciting life, they didn’t have an exciting job, not even their work at school was anything to fawn over; so why them? It haunted them to know every night he was out there. Was he killing other people? Was he sparing other people? Was this his own fucked up social experiment? The only conclusion they came to is that he was no ordinary human. He looked like one and at times moved like one but there was something very dangerous lurking right below the surface of who he was.

They laid up at night wondering what would’ve happened if he hadn’t allowed them to live that night. The way in which he would kill them. He didn’t come off as the type to leave a large mess. Would he kidnap them? Slice them into bits and feed them to the fish? Would he torture them for days before finally delivering that killing blow? All these possibilities should’ve scared them straight. Don’t go to that park. Use the money. Leave town. Don’t look back. It could only end in disaster but the thing they most desired was to know what would happen next.

The student was preparing to leave and set out for the park when they caught sight of their own reflection in the mirror. They had pulled themselves together from the mess of frustration they had been when he left their apartment a week prior. Hair had finally laid in its right place, skin had scabbed and healed from where they picked at it in a nervous habit. Yet their eyes, still a wild inquisitiveness, sat behind their irises. They would get their answers tonight. They would get them, even if it killed them. They were a slave to their curiosity and it would take them out the door that night.

11:08pm. He was late. Not too late yet, but still late. They sat on a bench under a glaring streetlight in silence. Maybe this was another case of him observing. The thought unsettled them again, prompting them to survey their surroundings once more. There were plenty of bushes and trees along the walkway that he could be hiding in, waiting, watching.

They wiped the sweat from their hands on their jeans before deciding to make their way to the very same bridge they stood on just over a week ago. They recalled their thoughts from that night. If they had disappeared how long would it be before anyone had taken notice? With how flighty they had been recently they had wondered if people would just assume they had up and left for another city without warning. A fresh start had sounded like heaven to them in recent weeks, though they’d settle for a swift end just as well. They knew this thinking wasn’t healthy but it came to them so easily.

Their thoughts were cut off by a scuffling in the distance. It was a hurried noise that couldn’t have possibly come from– him. A week since that night in their apartment and they still hadn’t even learned his name, yet they knew he’d never move in a way that would signal fear. The source of the struggled noise came apparent when a boy just about their age came barreling through the park towards them, a panicked look in his eye.

They gasped as he tumbled into them, grabbing their shoulders. “Please–” he was heaving. “Please, you gotta help me. There’s someone after me.” Tears were welling in the boy’s eyes. “He’s gonna kill me. He’s after me and whenever I think I’ve lost him, he’s always right there. I can’t die tonight, please, call for help!” He begged, grabbing onto the student’s shirt.

They stuttered, unable to put together a sentence before deciding a frantic nod would do the trick and pulled out their phone beginning to dial.

Tears were now streaming down the face of the boy, thanking the student profusely for saving him. His gratitude was cut short when he stared in blank terror over their shoulder. They stopped dialing, their hands shaking as they turned to see what stopped him.

11:23pm. There he was.

Leaning against a streetlight, his long dark coat waving slowly around him in the cool night breeze. This statue of a man, devoid of impurity, devoid of emotion there, staring back at the boy who was quickly falling backwards. A startled noise left his mouth as he clung to the stone beneath him stumbling away. “That’s him!” he screamed. “He’s gonna kill me!” He choked on a sob.

The student was frozen in place. Their brain, short circuiting on what to do. He floated towards the two unbothered by the screaming that exited the boy’s mouth. He stopped in front of them, examining their features. Only the slightest bits of fear, not nearly the amount he was used to seeing in a human that could be facing their imminent undoing. They had expected to die tonight just as they did the night they first met. His eyes wandered to the blubbering boy again.

He was now speaking in hoarse whispers. “Please don’t kill me; I don’t wanna die. I won’t tell anyone about this, just let me go.”

Armand tipped his head sideways mockingly, approaching the boy. “If I don’t kill you then who else should I feed on tonight? It’s very important that I remain fed, the consequences of me going hungry could be quite dire.” He squatted next to him.

The boy's eyes widened in horror before coming to a quick solution. His arm shot up with a pointed finger at its end, “Them! Kill them! Let me live and I’ll never speak of this night again!”

The student broke from their trance upon hearing his suggestion. “Kill me?” They were offended. “I tried to save you!” They would not be condemned to death due to the poor decisions of someone who knew nothing of them. They knew in doing so they condemned him just the same but if he had made the exact deal they had all those nights ago, he knew the terms of it and accepted them with all the risks in consideration.

Armand tutted, sucking on his front teeth and ran his hand down the boy’s face smoothly. “Unfortunately Ethan, that’s simply not an option. I can’t kill them.” He turned briefly to look at the student, “At least not yet, not until I figure something out.”

The boy, Ethan, started shaking. His tears resumed. “I can’t die like this.”

“No, no.” Armand’s words were soft, caring almost. “It’s okay. I know you’re scared but you have no reason to be.” The words were hypnotic, like a song working its way into your ear. “You’ve worked so hard to make it this far, it’s not your fault that you didn’t quite end up where you wanted to be. Not everyone is destined for greatness, or a long prosperous life. A young death is nothing to fear or be ashamed of. It’ll be a warm welcome, I promise.” The boy’s tears quieted as his thumb softly brushed his cheek back and forth, back and forth. The feeling lulled him into a silent acceptance. “It’ll be like the first warm day after a long, cold winter. Sweet like the piece of halloween candy you saved for last to savor the most. A long awaited rest after a lifetime of sleepless nights. There will be no pain.” Armand softly tugged the boy’s head to his shoulder.

“No pain,” Ethan whispered, giving himself fully to the vampire.

The student again frozen on the spot watched as the man they so wished to know tore into the boy’s neck. They watched in silent horror the ritual as he lured him into his own suicide. They imagined plenty of ways that he could’ve killed them that night but never did they imagine this. They watched as the blood drained from the boy’s face, his jerking body had grown still. It was in morbid fascination they watched as he pulled away from the boy’s throat, a single drop of blood at the corner of his mouth quickly licked away with a darting tongue. Fear was not present.

The boy’s now lifeless body fell to the gravel below as the creature slowly rose to its feet and turned to the student. Tears sprung to their eyes as a sick feeling rose in their throat. They could not move, alarm bells were ringing in their mind screaming at them to run and get as far away from this thing as they possibly could but they could not shift an inch. This was not fear. It was sadness. It was vulnerability. He could see all the negative thoughts that plagued that boy and used them to put him to a calm and soothing death. Did he see that in them?

Once again, Armand was fascinated by this human’s lack of fear. This was a new side to them he had not seen outwardly portrayed before. This was a crack in the facade, a peek into how they viewed life and just how sorrowful it made them. He grabbed their hands in his own, rubbing soothing circles across their knuckles.

“You have questions. I feel now I can provide you with answers. Let me clean this up and I will meet you back at your apartment so we may speak.”

They nodded numbly, not daring to glance down at the body just feet away from them. They had seen enough and could not bear to face their feelings. They weren’t scared, not of the man at least. Maybe only scared at the fact that despite seeing him kill somebody, they still wanted to know everything about him. The lone walk back to their apartment was silent, their mind completely quieted.

They sat in their living room on the couch staring into nothingness. An hour of stillness passed as they waited for his arrival. A quiet knock came from the door, and they gulped before slowly standing and shakily making their way to answer it. He stood there, casual as ever waiting to be invited in before they slowly shuffled out of his way.

They sat back down where they had been for the past hour, silent once again but now observing the man’s movement. It was like he wasn’t walking but gliding smoothly to his intended destination. It was inhuman. Since the murder, they could not think of a single question to ask him. All thought had ceased to exist in their mind. They could not help but to just stare up at him in petrified awe.

Armand realized they were not going to break the silence and decided to address the basics of his existence that he knew they wished to learn. “I am the vampire Armand. I am 514 years old. I feed off of human blood, that is what you witnessed tonight.”

The student blinked. They were dazed at his confession. “What you did tonight,” they could not bring their voice above a struggled whisper, “is that how you planned to kill me? Before you spared me?”

Armand rolled the question over in his mind. “Yes. It’s how I kill most of my victims. I prefer to bring death quietly when I can. I usually pick them if they are committing some atrocity in the world, though if I cannot find someone like that I usually prey on those who have their foot in the grave already.”

“Is that why you picked me that night?”

“Originally, I had thought you were like any other human with a death wish. You had a general distaste for living and seemed like a simple victim. I had heard your thoughts that night though. Death was your easy way out but it’s not what you desired. You didn’t wish to be dead, you wished to have something to live for. The idea captivated me; I so rarely meet mortals who think in such a way so I chose to spare you.”

They were clutching themselves in a self soothing embrace hearing his words. They had felt completely seen and for the first time since meeting him, fear struck in their heart. How could he possibly understand them so quickly?

He answered their unspoken question, “I understand because I’ve felt this way before.” He allowed himself to be vulnerable for only a second before steeling himself again.

“You said you heard my thoughts?” they questioned.

“Yes, it’s one of the many abilities I possess as a vampire.”

They shakily nodded, attempting to wrap their mind around all this new information. Vampires are real. Armand. His name was Armand. He can read minds; he has read their mind. They shivered feeling the slightest bit violated now knowing of his intrusion.

“I can stop reading your mind if you wish. I didn’t realize it would upset you like this.” he interrupted their thoughts.

“Have you been reading my mind this whole time?” Their arms dropped from their shoulders, now sitting up straight and disgruntled.

He shrugged now, sheepishly. “You think very loud.”

The student’s jaw dropped. “I think loud? What does that even mean? How do you ‘think loud’?” They scoffed.

“I just mean your thoughts are very unguarded. If you’d like I could teach you to at least somewhat block them from being read. And like I previously offered, I could stop reading your mind if you’d prefer that.”

“Yes. I would prefer that, thank you.” The words were short. They think loud. The comment was bothering them much more than they’d like it to as they felt their face fall into a pout. “Wait. you said you could teach me to block my mind? So you would see me again?”

“I would like to see you again, only if it is your wish though. If you wouldn’t like that I can leave.”

“No!” The word tumbled from their mouth. “No. I’d like to see you again. I have more questions, if that’s alright. I just can’t ask them tonight. What you did– what I saw was a lot and I need time to work through that I think. But I would very much like it if we could meet again.”

The corners of Armand’s mouth quirked up the tiniest bit in a smile that was almost warm. “Of course, I’ll allow you a few days to think on it and we can meet again. Same spot?”

The spot where he killed someone? “Yeah, same spot.” They stood from the couch meeting his gaze. “I should probably get to bed now.”

He nodded, understanding it was time for him to leave. Before he opened the door to make his exit he turned back towards the student. “Goodnight. I’ll see you again soon.”

They nodded before pausing to glance back at him. He stood there completely still. Like a statue, like a painting. His skin was smooth like well blended strokes of a paintbrush, and he was pretty. As pretty as a Botticelli angel. They had wondered if all vampires had ethereal beauty or if it was exclusive to him. The thought was interrupted once more by a clearing of the man’s throat. Heat rose to their cheeks as the comment appeared in their mind once more. They think too loud. “Goodnight Armand,” they stuttered as he shut the door.

“Like a painting.” Armand stood in the street below, their subconscious words echoing in his own mind. They couldn’t have possibly known the relevance of that statement. The power it held. He hadn’t been painted in centuries, the last one to do so– He couldn’t bring himself to think on it, they couldn’t have meant anything by it. It was a simple observation on their part and he needed to move past it.

With one haunting thought came another. What was he doing? The ancient laws meant nothing to him tonight as he revealed his being to this human. He thought of Louis’ interview with Daniel now on its way to print. He thought his former lover was being reckless, a kind of begging for death. He wanted no part in that interview but gave in thinking it would crumble Daniel’s resolve to no avail. And now here he was, his old ways out the window. He had made a fledgling of the journalist, his words were in that book to be published, he was sparing the life of a human and revealing himself to them. He even had a moment of vulnerability towards them, this was unheard of for him. He had told himself he spared their life based on a kinship for their ways of thinking but what if there was more to it? If there was more than even he knew?

(A/N): And that’s chapter 2! Please let me know if you enjoyed it because I really do love talking to you guys. I’m gonna be off at a friend’s house for the next week and then I’m starting classes right after so it might be a little before I’m able to put out a third chapter but I promise you guys I’m working as quickly as possible

[justwinginglife]

Is this how I request? I'm a boomer, I dunno how to work these fancy gagits xD

Bbuutt you know what would be an amazing oneshot? Jealous!reader BUT Hoshina loves seeing her assert her dominance over other girls so he doesn't stop her (unless she's going too far)

I know you're busy so take your time with this ^.^

I love how this was your first request for me and I answered most of your requests first LOL. Finally coming back around to this one. Mature content mentioned.

Crazy

One of Soshiro's favorite things about you was your attitude. He loved the way your eyes burned bright, the way your lips dripped with sass, the way you spoke your mind about whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. He thought it was sexy when you told people off, and even sexier when you told him off. And he let you run wild most of the time because it was entertaining; it would be all the time if you didn’t know how to use your fists, and if he wasn’t nervous that you’d use them freely if provoked enough. 

One time, a dog bit you and you bit it back. Soshiro was both shocked and amused, the dog was less amused and more shocked. Either way, that was the day Soshiro discovered he had a biting kink. After that, he frequently nibbled and chomped on any accessible part of you to elicit a bite back. And when you did bite him, he felt like he was a dog, wagging his tail, overjoyed from the delicious attention. 

But as sexy as he thought you were, he knew you could get a bit too rowdy at times and the situation could quickly spiral out of control. He didn’t mind being the one to leash you, it was his intention to stay by your side at all times anyway. He was obsessed with you. And he counted himself lucky that you were also obsessed with a bastard like him. After all, he was the only person you’d ever listen to; even your commanding officers held no sway over you. It was just lucky for them that you happened to agree with their decisions most of the time. But you made damn sure they knew when you disagreed. 

Sometimes you teased Soshiro that the only reason he was a Vice Captain was because the promotion was out of gratitude from his superiors for him keeping you in line. Some days, he’d pout, going off about all the reasons why he deserved to be Vice Captain besides babysitting a little shit like you. Some days, he’d smirk, telling you he’d put you in your place right then and there on the conference table or in the training room, wherever you were. But every day, you enjoyed his banter. You wondered why no one else’s company was as valuable to you as his. Sometimes, half the shit he said drove you crazy and if anyone else had said them to you, you’d knock their teeth out. But for some bizarre reason, your heart ran marathons in your chest every time he talked to you, whether he was saying something annoying or not. And you didn’t have the time or energy to waste figuring it out, so you gave into the feeling. You let yourself love him. 

But you sure as hell didn’t let anyone else love him. 

He’d been getting rather popular lately and lots of news reporters had been poking around the base trying to snag an interview with him. Sometimes he gave them the time of day and sometimes he didn’t. But either way, it drew attention to him. Attention that you didn’t like. 

You thought you had finally established to everyone in the Third Division, no, to everyone in the entire Defense Force that he was yours. And he let you. But now, thanks to all the paparazzi, you found yourself having to defend your place by his side to all of Japan. To all the horny women (and a few horny men) looking to get a bite out of your man. 

But it had been slow at work lately, and the kaiju that had been popping up were unimpressive, leaving you bored. Maybe this was a way to vent your energy. Let them come at me, you thought to yourself. 

The opportunity came sooner than you would’ve liked. But you were ready all the same.

You were out running errands with Soshiro over the weekend and you asked him to take your groceries up to check out. You just wanted to grab a drink from the fridge real quick and you’d meet him up there. When you found him, he was getting hit on by the cashier.

It didn’t matter that he said no, it didn’t matter that he tried to shake her off, she continued with her pursuit of him regardless, and it pissed you the fuck off. He had finally finished paying and she had written her phone number on the receipt. When you saw that, you went up to her, wrapped a possessive arm around his waist, and then splashed the fresh soda you had just grabbed into her face. Then you slammed the exact change for the drink down on the counter and snarled at her, “Don’t ever talk to my man again,” before hauling Soshiro out of the store, leaving her stunned and him smirking. You, of course, immediatley ripped up the receipt with her number on it and Soshiro, wanting to tease you a bit, asked as innocently as he could, “Aww, but what if I needed to return something?” You glared at him and ignored him the whole ride home until he was literally begging on his knees for you to talk to him again. Once you’d seen the sorry sight, you immediately went back to acting like the whole event had never happened, humming happily as you cooked dinner. Soshiro questioned if you were ever even actually mad at him and if you purposely gave him the cold shoulder just to see how much he’d whine for you. He wasn’t wrong but you’d never admit it.

Another time, you were in a movie theater with Soshiro, simply trying to watch some romance together in peace. The couple in front of you was trying to fuck and when the girl threw her head back to moan, she caught sight of your boyfriend. She had the audacity to ask if he wanted to join, completely ignoring you snuggled up against him so that no one could mistake you for anything less than his girlfriend. You ripped the blanket off of them, snapped a photo of their half naked bodies mid-fuck, and showed the theater manager, getting them banned from the place for life (for shits and giggles, you even coaxed some free movie tickets from the manager to make up for such a “traumatizing experience.”) And then, when the bitch thought that was the worst you could do to her, you went and posted her shame online and let the internet do the rest of the work. Soshiro thought that last part was a little cruel, but the worse the crime against you, the harder you fought back. You didn’t feel remorseful in the slightest.

On a good day, you’d just stick your tongue down Soshiro’s throat, forcing whoever was hitting on him to awkwardly make their exit. On your worst day, you drove a cab driver’s car into a river because she had left the car unattended, keys still in the ignition, to step out and give Soshiro her number. When asked why you did it, you simply shrugged, saying you were in the mood for a swim. It was a good thing Soshiro had friends in the police department. Not that you needed them, he was sure you could gnaw your way through the cell bars anyway. 

But each and every time someone would flirt with Soshiro, he was grateful for it, because it turned him on watching you assert yourself over all these other women, and, having pent up energy after such frustrating encounters, you’d take it out on him, reminding him who he belonged to. He was having the time of his life. He’d only stop you if you were on the verge of injuring someone physically (you injured a lot of them psychologically) but part of him wondered if he’d still find that attractive. He did get horny whenever you beat a kaiju to a pulp. He wondered if that made him just as fucked up as you. You were a match made in heaven. 

And though he teased you relentlessly about your jealousy, you never failed to remind him just how envious he could be as well. 

If someone touched you during a sparring match, and they kind of had to if they were going to win, he would lose it. If someone asked for your name just to put it on your food order, he’d give them his instead, snarling that they had no business talking to his girl like that. And it wasn’t just the men. Hoshina was convinced that every woman was a lesbian and they were into you. If someone walking by stopped to comment on how they liked your hair or your lipstick, he’d immediately turn you around and steer you in the opposite direction, calling over his shoulder to them that it was too bad that your hair and your lipstick would be fucked up by the time he was finished with you. And you’d let him fuck you up too because his jealousy turned you on just as much as yours turned him on. For him, you turned into a raging, filthy slut.

And, after watching his possessiveness get the better of him, time and time again, you finally figured out why you worked so well together, why you were so obsessed with each other, why thoughts of him consumed you on a daily basis.

His crazy matched your crazy.