#i reek with jealousy

[suitetarts]

the more i think about it, the more irrationally furious i become that shadowheart flawlessly dyed her dark hair a pure brilliant white in the ruins of some fuck off castle at night all by herself

[jewishbarbies]

not some random white girl who has “actual idiot” in their own bio proving to be, in fact, an actual idiot

[fiomeras]

Technically only got so good because my entire motivation for art was petty spite and vindication and as a result of that i won many awards however it was just exhausting and i never really did enjoy what i made at all and i was competitive to a fault. Ive since grown out of that and even though i may not draw as much as i did, drawing out of love + passion feels so much more better than trying to rise above the "competition" and more fulfilling than any award i couldve earned.

[um-vvhat]

Jarvis is the definition of you can be a person who minds their business, be strictly professional/polite, and people will STILL be haters

[xlillilith]

the way a lot of these gwi/les shippers move you would think interracial or no, white person/black person relationships are some rare never-before seen phenomenons that hardly ever get representation in media and that their relationship is just oh so unique and somehow groundbreaking which is why they cling so desperately to it and vehemently oppose any and everything that goes against it

[fcb-mv33]

“He gets everything he wants."

Yeah he does lmao cause he earned it when he took his first win after two days in a new car pls😭

[thewingedwolf]

queer dudes nearing the age of 30 are all so weird about heartstopper. did u kno that sometimes a queer show is for 14 year olds and not adults jfc

EDIT: no i think the issue is that they look at this as a teenager show but it’s a young teenager show. it’s like a half step up from no good nick or julie and the phantoms. think zachary ying by xiran jay zhao and not iron widow by xiran jay zhao. so sometimes peopled get (i think understandably) annoyed at the wholesome feel around it bc it feels like desexualizing queer relationships but it’s like noooooo. you think you’re watching sex education but we are aiming at a younger audience. if we’d gotten a fourth season of andi mack with less creator oversight & a bigger budget, their first year of high school would have looked like this.

[ladyelainehilfur]

I'm backflipping into his face btw, David get behind me

[primumincaelo]

why maskless adam gotta look so fuckin pissed. cmon man. i just want u to squint at my dash

[lowkeyren]

BUT YOU BELONG TO ME!

in which — some jealousy headcanons / scenarios for our favourite luofu men!

featuring — dan heng, blade, jing yuan (separately) x gn!reader

wc: total 1.8k, from req: here!, they're so silly goodbye, march + fu xuan cameo ;) reblogs w comments are appreciated, please enjoy!!!

#DAN HENG

look me in the eyes and tell me dan heng wouldn’t be the “i'm jealous, but i don’t wanna show it” (but it’s so PAINFULLY obvious that he’s jealous) type, you can’t.

definitely amusing to watch him play it cool, cus he has nothing else going on in his brain when you’re within 10 metre radius from him. 

honestly it would have to be quite specific situations if he ever gets jealous because he likes to keep you close by his side as often as possible. dating or not, he would have some sort of protective instinct —always making sure you’re secure and cared for. (and yes of course march teases him for it, he never admits it though.)

dan heng tries to focus on the book in his hands, but his mind refuses to make any sense of the words on the page —at least not when you’re standing so close to boothill. (too close for his liking anyway)

the cyborg sits at the opposite end of the couch where dan heng was, while you deftly adjust a compartment of his, engaging in small talk as he makes lighthearted jokes with you. dan heng hears your laughter ring out; the laughter that he adores so dearly, the laughter that never fails to warm his chest, and the laughter he wishes he was the reason for instead.

his eyes flicker up from the page to sneak a glance at you, the way your hands glide over boothill's body churns an ugly feeling, twisting in his chest. he shifts in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the unease remains.

his focus on you is suddenly shattered by a loud voice that belongs to no other than march, "dan heng, if you grip that book any harder, you might tear off a page." she stands in front of him, hands on her waist. 

“the way i am holding my book is perfectly fine, now if you will, i must get back to re—”

“oh c’mon! we all know your ass is not actually reading that book!” he raises an eyebrow, and march only rolls her eyes in response. “it’s literally upside-down.” she teases, unable to hold back a chuckle. 

dan heng glances down at the book in his hands, finally noticing the upside-down text, to which he quickly closes the book and puts it down. "maybe i was just testing your observational skills.”

march shakes her head, "yeah right… just admit you’re too busy staring at them!”

“no i’m n—” he begins to protest but is interrupted when you suddenly appear in front of him. “staring at who?” you tilt your head curiously, and he can only hope that you don’t hear the loud thumping of his heart. 

march giggles as she runs off to who-knows-where, he silently curses her for leaving him in this predicament. he manages to regain his composure, though his cheeks retain a faint pink hue. “ahem, anyway…” he trails off when you sit down next to him, your thighs brushing against each other.

alright you can’t keep doing this to him. he’s not a cyborg but it certainly seems like he’s malfunctioning at that moment. (though he doesn't mind if you have to “repair” him next; he considers it far preferable to having your hands on boothill anyway.)

#BLADE

this guy REEKS of jealousy. 

he gets jealous over anything —saying “good night!” to an acquaintance? well unfortunately, i don’t think they’re going to be having a very good night; a friendly smile from a passerby? the sudden chill in the air accompanied by his sharp glare is enough to make them rethink their life decisions. 

and the worst part? he knows it. he's aware of how irrational his jealousy can be, but that doesn't stop the surge of possessiveness that washes over him.

(deep down, he just wants to feel secure in your attention and affection, but it’s true that his jealousy sometimes gets the better of him.) 

blade’s “things to get rid of” list exponentially grows with each passing day, ranging from general items he sees no use of, to addresses of people who have wronged you in the past. 

but there’s one item on the list that stands out from the rest, the one item he can’t seem to bring himself to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries.

37. “blade plushie”

okay but what kind of website is “stellaron hunters fan merch for sell.com” anyway? since when do they have a fanbase, and why did you have to buy a plushie of him, of all things? 

he shoots daggers at the plushie sitting on your bed, on his side of your bed. while he can't always be by your side, surely there's no need for an inferior replacement?

blade sits down beside you, discreetly moving the plushie out of the way. just as you turn to reach for it, he wraps his arm around you and snuggles up to your side; you immediately pause at his affectionate gesture; his hair brushes against your neck as he buries his face into it.

“blade.. what are you doing?” you turn your attention to him, much to his delight. 

“why not spend more time with the real deal instead of… that.” he tightens his grip around you, at this point he isn’t even trying to hide his jealousy (over a plushie lmao) anymore. 

"you mean mr. edgelord...?" you barely manage to stifle your laughter as blade shoots up beside you. doesn’t hurt to tease him for a bit, right?

“what did you say… “edgelord”?” he scoffs, his face twisting into a scowl. he can’t believe you gave that thing a nickname, how ridiculous. he makes a mental note to get rid of it asap. 

“yeah, what about it? jealous that he’s better than you?” you smirk, leaning in close to his face. perhaps you’re enjoying his expression of pure bitterness a little too much, who knew such a handsome face could look so hilariously indignant? 

his eyes twinkle in amusement, before closing in the distance. “hah, never.” his tone tinged with a touch of possessiveness that he can't quite hide.

“really? you seem like you’re about to kill it.” you wrap your arms around his neck, his expression softens for just a split second, but you’re able to catch it anyway. “would you please spare mr. edgelord if i give you a kiss?”

he doesn’t respond with words; he presses his lips against yours, gently cradling the back of your head. (you quickly turn mr. edgelord to face the wall before blade pulls you away)

maybe he’ll spare “it” for another day or so, just don’t let him catch you hugging “it” in your sleep again, alas you want “it” to suffer the same fate as the others on his list.

#JING YUAN

hmm our beloved general… well he trusts you, and believes that you won’t do anything rash; but on the other hand there are just some things that neither of you can control, whether it’s letters sent in to ask for his hand in marriage or admires trying to sweep you off your feet (before he can). 

though not many people would approach you once your relationship goes public, given that he’s the general and all. but imagine him before the two of you became official, clinging to you to fend off your admirers, and the expression on their faces when you shake your head, denying that you’re dating at all. 

“as for the situation at cloudford— general, are you even listening?” fu xuan furrows her brows, and crosses her arms, clearly annoyed. “ah my apologies lady fu, please keep going.” jing yuan only flashes a half-hearted smile at her before glancing over to your direction again.

you feel a pair of eyes boring into your back, undoubtedly jing yuan’s; but you pay it no mind, choosing to focus on the discussion at hand. his grip on his teacup tightens when he sees the foxian talking to you leans closer to catch your words. fu xuan raises an eyebrow in concern, unaware but still sensing the rising tension; his eyes visibly twitch the moment their hand brushes against yours.

“lady fu, let’s reschedule our meeting for another time. i believe i have some… important matters to attend to.” jing yuan rises up from his seat before fu xuan can reply, swiftly making his way towards you.

you’re startled by the sudden feeling of jing yuan’s arms around you, his chest pressing against your back, as he places his chin against your head. “sorry to interrupt, what’re you two discussing about?” the foxian is taken aback by the general's sudden appearance, and especially by your current position with him. 

“n-nothing general!” the foxian seems to hesitate before continuing, “if it isn’t rude to ask, are the two of you…in a relationship?” jing yuan’s face lights up with his usual lazy smile, but this time it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

your eyes widen in surprise as he presses his lips against your nape, you shiver at his touch, a rush of warmth spreads across your cheeks. you should deny it, to say that you're not in a relationship at all, but you can't bring yourself to. instead, you divert your gaze from the foxian, hoping to spare yourself any further embarrassment.

“go on, tell them.” he whispers lowly so that only you can hear him. this bastard, you’re going to give him a stern talking to after this..! “sorry to cut this short, please excuse us.” you give a polite nod before pulling the general away.

two days later, as you’re walking along the streets of central starskiff haven, you come across a group of people gathered around a stall. curious, you head over to check out what’s happening. —you’re absolutely mortified to discover stacks of articles detailing recent events of you and jing yuan.

“breaking news! the general is secretly married?!” / “the truth behind general jing yuan’s relationship status” / “rumours confirmed: a detailed guide to the general of luofu’s relationship saga”

well at least the pictures of you and jing yuan got your good side… and your bad side, and your “i definitely did not sign up for this” side. and oh look, there’s one of you dragging jing yuan by his ponytail too, how wonderful, you’re definitely purchasing that one. 

but yeah no, you’re not beating the allegations after this. 

masterlist

[moonlight-prose]

i’d love to see your take on #15 from the prompt list: “jealous sex in the alleyway behind the bar” w logan 👀 i’m picturing logan in xmen 1 or 2 specifically 😫

have a cigar

a/n: i am such a fucking sucker for the jealousy trope. especially when he's the idiot who doesn't realize he's the only option. the best one in my opinion. but of course he's got his own hangups and his own issues. so i've thrown a bit of angst in here with the spice. enjoy darling! (the title is based off the pink floyd song which gives massive logan vibes.)

summary: everyone knows who you belong to. if the jacket you wore that left you drowning in the soft leather wasn't indication enough, then the claws attached to your guard dog certainly was.

word count: 3.3k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, possessive logan, violence, tw: blood, animalistic tendencies, cigar smoke, alcohol, harassment, spitting, exhibitionism, p in v sex, rough sex, bruising, choking, logan kinda refers to them as an object (out of love), he's literally unhinged.

The bar reeked of spilled beer and shitty cigarettes. A rock song from the seventies blasted from the speakers—crackling every time the front door was jostled open, another patron stumbling in for a night of fun. Raucous cheers erupted from the corner where four men in leather jackets had taken up residence at a pool table; each one betting higher than the other.

You were perched on a stool. A heavy brown leather jacket wrapped around your body, a half finished whiskey in front of you, and a cigar clutched in your fingers. Neither were yours.

Yet you couldn't help but sip at the drink with a happy sigh, the smoke curling down your hand with a familiar scent that twisted your inside.

For the past ten minutes, you'd been staring at the menu. Trying to discern if ordering the mini plate of nachos was worth it before Logan waltzed back in from the bathroom. He muttered about there being a fucking line due to someone locking the damn stall. But you didn't mind.

Time spent with him was worth sitting here alone.

That is until you heard the telltale familiar scratch of a stool being dragged away—someone sitting to your right with a heavy grunt.

You flinched slightly, turning your back towards them, but their knuckles were already rapping on the bartop. Demanding your attention with another grunt. You could smell the alcohol on their skin, the glaze in their blue eyes as you turned, but that isn't what sent fear curling low in your spine. It was the sleazy grin on their lips.

They wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doin' sittin' here alone?" he slurred, eyes trailing down your form.

Suddenly wearing the simple sundress for Logan felt like an awful idea. Your stomach turned with nausea as he ogled your body without shame. To him you weren't a person. Fuck you'd be lucky if he even asked for your name before he spewed bullshit about taking you home.

The bartender eyed him with a glare, nodding his head in your direction for some affirmation of safety. He recognized you, knew Logan from the countless times he'd been here, and that left you with some peace to cling to. It wasn't much, but you grasped at it blindly. Offering an awkward smile to appease the victim of Logan's fist when he finally returned.

"I'm with someone." You hated how meek your voice sounded; how small you felt sitting here like prey.

He shrugged, leaning close enough for you to smell the vodka on his breath. "I won't tell if you don't babe."

Heavy boots thumped against the floor and you visibly relaxed in your seat as Logan's form filled your peripheral. He stood stiff at your side, hands curling into fists at the sight of a man practically laying across your lap. Your eyes met his, guilt bleeding into your pupil. Only for anger to fill his. His hand pressed to your back, thumb rubbing into your side softly.

"You got a problem boy?" he snapped.

The man sat up too quickly, his body swaying as he met the guard dog attached to your back. "Just talking to the lady man. Fuck off."

You sighed, feeling Logan's hand freeze. Out of all the mistakes that could be made—that remained the worst. The man had dug his own grave. Logan was merely the executioner tasked with bringing this man to his awaited appointment with death.

Who were you to stand in the way of that?

You slipped off the stool, moving with speed to get out of the way of Logan's claws. Slamming the man against the bartop, he set the blades to his throat. A snarl resonated in the place, forcing everyone to go quiet, as you watched in rapture at the sight of Logan pinning a man. Daring him to move.

He cried in pain, blood dripping from the split open wound in his forehead. But mercy wasn't something Logan gave willingly. You felt his love in the form of wrath. A weight against your chest that you sunk your teeth into with a smile.

He was willing to kill for you.

To spill blood for your lips to curve into a pleased grin.

You were breathless even thinking about it.

"Now," he growled, pressing the man down until he heard the snap of a bone. "Wanna repeat that shit to my face motherfucker?"

"N-No." The scent of copper tinged the air, laying on your tongue. "I'm—fuck—I'm sorry! I didn't know she was yours man."

He lowered his face, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood permeating the air. "Touch her again and it's your arm."

Nodding frantically, you watched as the man practically slid to the floor in a mess of tears. Part of you wanted to feel bad for him. A pathetic soul who couldn't find joy unless it was preying on others. Logan's hand wrapping around the back of your neck is what killed those feelings with a swift slice of an axe. The heat of his touch became an anchor against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Sick, twisted, inhumane. You attempted to label the feelings that catapulted right into your chest at the sight of Logan's red stained fist. There had to be an explanation in the back of your mind. A missing piece as to why you felt such exhilaration in the face of violence.

"Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath, slamming the back door open with his foot, his fingers digging a bit deeper. "Thinks he can take what's mine."

Oh. You liked that.

The click of his lighter and spark of a flame illuminated the shadow of possession that lingered on his face. His eyes watched you, trailed down the form of your body beneath his oversized leather jacket. The soft echo of love was swapped out for something tenebrous—something raw.

"C'mere." He spoke the word as if his hand wasn't still around your neck, leading you into his vicinity.

You stumbled over your own feet, eyes wide with the type of veneration he felt slam into his chest. Such a pretty thing, so lovely and soft for him to caress. To call his.

Perhaps this need to claim you stemmed from an animalistic urge he should have tamped down. He knew he looked like an asshole back in the bar, knew that you weren't a fan of when he got his fists dirty. But the need to sink his teeth into the side of your neck until blood poured into his mouth overtook him on his worst days.

It was fucked to even think about. Harming you, marking you, all to make sure that drunken idiots knew to keep their hands to themselves.

That thought alone was enough to make him feel a hint of disgust over his own fantasies.

Until he smelled it.

Cigar smoke unfurled from his mouth, curling low and falling across your face with a soft brush of air. Your eyes fluttered from the scent, mouth filling with saliva at the thought of him blowing it between your parted lips. All you had to do was ask him—place your hands on his cheeks and press your lips to his. He certainly wouldn't be against kissing you.

But something darker swirled to life in your chest. A hidden truth you felt far too ashamed to reveal that you started to tuck away in the back of your mind.

That didn't stop your scent from growing thick in the air, filling his nose with the sharp tang of your sweetness. He could practically taste it on the tip of his tongue. The ache to see it for himself nearly overwhelmed his body.

Something shifted in the time it took for the both of you to get outside away from the prying eyes inside the bar. Everyone knew you were Logan's. That became clear the second his jacket draped your shoulders—his hand a permanent fixture on your hip as he saw with you at the bar. But seeing him confirm a truth already known.

The spillage of blood was a small price to pay to set his words into stone for those to read. Logan was prepared to do far more than that; the need to bend you over the bar and make you cry those pretty little tears only meant for him growing each time you came here.

"Logan," you murmured, eyes half lidded with lust.

"Yeah you liked that huh sugar."

"I–" What could you say to him? I loved seeing you claim me like an animal in front of everyone. That alone felt too fucking embarrassing to admit out loud.

His thumb pressed into the back of your skull, releasing what tension built up. Moaning softly, you curled your body into his, eyes fluttering shut as he massaged that spot until you purred. You were so pliable under his hold, willing to leap when he said the word, and Logan could feel his cock throb at the sight.

His pretty girl.

"Liked seeing me beat a man cause he touched you." Lips curled into a smirk around his cigar when your mouth parted, breaths coming in harder than before. "You'd let me fuck in front of all of 'em wouldn't ya. Just to show them you're mine."

You went lightheaded, slick pouring out of you, as a soft whine broke through the still night air. Something snapped in your mind at the thought—images of Logan pulling your skirt up and fingering you at the bar. Thoughts of him settling you on his lap to cockwarm him as he smoked his cigar at a table. Entirely at ease with the thought of everyone seeing you leak around him.

They all curled low in your belly, cracking open the door of desires you kept locked shut. Pandora's box was finally about to be pried open and yet all you could think about was his eagerness to show off what belonged to him.

Use me. Mark me. Take me however you want to.

Saying them with a shaky voice and shot nerves would do nothing for that unfathomable throbbing between your legs.

Not when he could see it written across your face with a clarity that should have scared you.

"You're my fuckin' filthy girl aren't ya," he muttered, drawing you close enough to taste the cigar smoke off his lips.

"Uh-huh." The dazed lilt of your words made him smile.

So needy for him even in the proximity of a disgusting alleyway in the back of a bar. How could he resist such sweetness?

His hand moved, closing around your throat, as he plucked the cigar from his lips. "Here's what I'm gonna do sugar." Your open mouth gave him enough leeway to blow the remainder of his smoke past your lips—forcing a gasp past your throat. "'M gonna fuck you right here. And I want you to make them hear it."

"A-Are you sure?"

He smiled, pushing you towards the wall and stubbing his cigar out on the brick. "What? Don't you wanna set those fuckers right?"

Nodding, you let him tug up the hem of your skirt of your dress, fingers delving beneath the lace panties you wore specially for him. With a groan, his eyes fell shut at the feel of you dripping so messily for him. Leaking across his hand even before he pressed the rough calloused pads to your clit—drawing a soft cry from your mouth.

"You get this wet watching me sugar?" he grunted against your cheek, mouth hovering right where you wanted him. "Poor thing. Didn't mean to make ya wait."

"Oh fuck," you gasped, fingers curling into his flannel. "L-Loved seeing you Logan."

He chuckled—degrading yet filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "I should fight in front of you more often. Get you nice and ready for me to fuck you whenever I want."

Whatever response you might have been able to form died in the back of your throat. A choking garbled moan of his name pierced the air when two fingers plunged into you knuckle deep. Curling roughly at your walls with a determined flare. This wasn't him trying to get you off. This was him proving he could.

"You hear that? She's singin' for me baby." The wet squelch of his fingers pounding into you left heat blooming beneath your cheeks and down your chest. "Beggin' for my cock."

"Need it Logan–"

A hand hiked your leg up to curl around his hip, lips finally slotting against yours with a stunted groan. Any coherent thoughts you might have had died with his tongue. He licked into you as if he was looking for something. Claimed your mouth with harsh moans and deep hot strokes against the roof of your mouth.

"I'll give it to you," he bit off, sucking your tongue into his mouth until you trembled in his hold.

He was everywhere. Pulling his fingers free and swallowing your whimper, he hoisted you up and shoved you against the wall so hard your back hurt. The pain quickly dwindled into a dull ache when the familiar clink of his belt buckle hit your ears.

Swallowing his harsh growl, you canted your hips against his. The growing heat in your body fanned into a fire you could no longer ignore; his touch echoing with the embers of something disastrous.

You knew you craved him, but this felt like a baseline urge your body couldn't give up. Some neolithic part of your brain that got off on being protected, possessed.

"You've got no idea how badly I wanna give it to ya," he muttered, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. "Gonna drive me fuckin' insane."

"Yes." The word felt diminutive compared to his, but everything else tapered off into garbled moans of his name.

"Already beggin' and I haven't even started." He smiled cruelly, cock sliding through your slickened pussy with a stuttered grunt.

If you were standing, your knees would have buckled. Even now they locked against his waist to keep him from pulling away. Secrets scratched at the nearly open door as he lined himself, fisting his cock with bared teeth and a throaty growl. There became no use in keeping them at bay. Not when Logan shared the fantasy in his own mind—playing it out like a film projected on your heart.

His hand slapped against the brick wall beside your head, the other snuggly resting at your throat. The flutter of your heart pulsed beneath the vein on your neck, directly along the jugular he often nipped and sucked at. The pad of his thumb pressed down against it—tongue swiping at his bottom lip when you moaned. Broken, pitched high enough to bounce off the alleyway walls.

"So pretty when you're needy." His lips caught yours, spit a glossy smear on your chin. "Can't even think straight without it."

You wanted to agree, to tell him you were nothing if you weren't his.

With a snarl pressed into your mouth he sunk into your pussy in one thrust and your mind went numb. You sagged against the wall, a splintered cry resonating in the air when he bottomed out. Your name a harsh groan—his neck strained and eyes squeezed tight.

"Logan," you sobbed loud enough for it to echo back into the bar. You could practically see them sitting there. Eyes wide and they fought the urge to get off to the sound of Logan fucking you within an inch of your life.

Nails scratched along his clothed shoulders in a desperate attempt at getting him closer when he began to pound into you. Hips slapped against yours with each roll of his hips, his hand slowly tightening around your throat. Even now you stared at him with wonder in your eyes. The glimmer he adored finding its way back into your iris as you admired how he looked.

The way his teeth grit together, nostrils flaring as your scent all but drowned him. He was a mythological being who'd come to declare that you had always been his. That this was merely an act of fate; the strings drawing you two together so tight it cut through your skin and bled you dry.

The hand on your throat shifted higher, prying open your mouth. "C'mon baby. Let 'em know who you belong to."

A ragged moan ripped free from the shackles of your chest, your eyes rolling back as his cock brushed against raw bliss. He smiled, forehead pressed to yours and hips shifting to keep the angle. Even when you began to cry loud enough to alert people on the streets Logan refused to give you a chance to breathe.

This wasn't the man you came with. This was the animal buried deep within his heart; the Wolverine snapping at anyone who dared to come near his other half.

"That's it," he bit out. "You gonna be a good fuckin' girl and cum for me?"

"Mm-hm."

He panted against your lips, tongue licking behind your front teeth. "Can feel her chokin' my cock."

You couldn't breathe. Each thrust sent what little air you had out of your lungs in small breathy whines. He fucked into you with abandon until you swore you felt him in your throat—the echo of skin against skin and the scrape of his boots on gravel when he shifted you higher became your gravity.

With a sharp intake of breath, he dropped his hand from the wall to cup your ass. Swiftly dropping you on his cock to force a scream from your mouth. It clawed up your chest, that familiar aching pull in your torso. The burn you clung to as he tipped your head back and messily spit into your open mouth. You swallowed it with a moan, thighs clenching around his hips.

"That's it," he rumbled, thumb finding your pulsing clit with ease. "Give it to me, yeah? Make a fuckin' mess on it."

A harsh thrust sent your head flying to the back of the wall. Logan was quick to slam his hand behind you, giving you a cushion to stop from severely hurting yourself. His mouth sought out yours with a mumble of your name, hips grinding deep as you came apart with a broken shout.

Bliss tore through every nerve in your body; your pussy now coating his throbbing cock in a fresh wave of slick. Logan moaned high and desperate against your tongue, following you quickly. Neither of you could tell if it was from the adrenaline of the fight or taking you out in the open, but he wouldn't stop coming.

"F-Fuck." He gasped, eyes rolling back as his head tipped. He filled you so much you could feel it leaking out, dripping down your thighs and coating the front of his jeans.

A nasty thought of dropping to your knees and licking the fabric clean filled your head—your walls spasming around him hard enough to make him hiss in pain. You quickly stored it away for later. When the feeling eventually returned to your legs.

"I think they know not to touch what's mine now," he mumbled, stealing a chaste kiss as he rubbed a soothing shape in your hip.

"Logan." He cupped your chin, lips curling into a dopey smile that bled warmth into your chest. "Take me home?"

His nose nudged yours in an act so gentle you nearly forgot how he fucked you a minute prior. "Sure thing sweetheart. Kiss?"

You grinned, eyes still shimmering with that love-struck awe; he felt it clench around his heart. "Well come here baby."

In the dark of the alley his lips found yours, sealing the deal of fate with the fulfillment of a life spent in each other's arms.

[sacredsorceress]

Spell on You / Logan Howlett

pairing: bestfriend!logan x f!witch!reader summary: when logan finds out another man bought you a drink at a halloween party, your relationship changes word count: 2.2k a/n: scott is an ass because i just know movie!cyclops would love to mess with logan's love life ('97 scott stays too busy for this). this is a bit rushed but i hope you enjoy!! warnings: reader wears a dress and thigh highs (slay), alcohol consumption, mention of smoke, jealousy, fluff, classic bff to lovers trope

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

The bum. bum. bum. of the music echoed throughout the establishment, vibrating against its walls and floorboards. The sea of bar-crawlers intent on having the worst of hangovers in the morning were shoulder to shoulder, bumping against Logan as he made his way through the crowd to you.

The room reeked of smoke of various kinds and if it hadn't been for the overworking of the fans above, Logan was sure he would've gotten high secondhand. But it was Halloween night- certain factors were out of his control.

Though, like a lighthouse in the night, Logan heard your voice beckoning him over to the bar.

"Boooooooo!" You shouted, glass in your hand. "You were supposed to dress up!"

Logan smirked at your complaint, leaning against the bar.

"Yeah?" He asked. "'Cause you're so original?"

Logan's eyes trailed from your thigh high boots to your dress to finally, a witch's hat. Being a witch yourself, the irony was unavoidable.

"Very creative, sweetheart."

You felt a heart skip a beat at your best friend's pet name.

In shock of many, you and Logan had become fast friends. The man who had always managed to have a perpetually grumpy demeanor about him had paired perfectly with you. You were able to brush off Logan's jokes, matching them with your own in a way that had escalated so far as to make your fellow X-Men wonder if the two of you had begun to speak your own language.

"At least it's a costume, Logan." You argued. "What are you meant to be?"

"-Oh I've got this one."

Scott.

Any inclination of joy written on Logan's face was quickly erased.

"A dick?" Scott said, slinging his arm around your shoulder. "I've gotta say Logan, you've nailed it."

Logan rolled his eyes, inching closer to the two of you as a couple nudged against him to order at the bar. Noting the drink in your hand, Logan shifted the conversation.

"I thought I told you I was buying tonight?"

Your eyes lowered from Logan's to the drink in your hand. You traced the rim of the glass as you shrugged.

"Oh this-“

Scott interrupted:

"Guy over there bought it for her." Scott said, a shit-eating grin on his face as he pointed to the opposite end of the establishment. "Told her he'd be back later 'to get to know her better'."

You felt yourself grow warm under Logan's gaze, refusing to meet his eyes.

Lately yours and Logan's relationship had become more complicated, blurring the lines between friendship and something more. Pet names like sweetheart and princess flowed out of his mouth without a second thought. You had stopped going on dates with new men- something about it feeling wrong when you and Logan had... whatever you had. He was your best friend, that you were sure of. But, with Logan's eyes burning a hole through you, you wondered if he still felt that way.

You had been hoping to keep the drink a secret and avoid speaking to the man later in the night, but you should've known that Scott and Logan's rivalry would make any chance of that impossible.

Logan's eyes trailed from you to the man Scott was pointing to across the room. He looked about your age, dressed with a cloak around his shoulders and a pair of cheap plastic teeth slipping from his mouth as he laughed with his friends.

Logan scowled, raising his eyebrow at you.

"You into... that?"

You shrugged, hiding your eyes beneath the rim of your hat.

"It's just a drink, Logan." You said. "He probably forgot about me anyway."

Holding his gaze, Logan slowly nodded, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"You want your usual?"

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"What are you talking about, Lo?" You asked. "I have a drink."

Logan shook his head, tapping his fingers against the bar to get the bartender's attention.

"I'm not gonna sit here and watch you have some other guy's drink." Logan said firmly. "Now, what are you having? 'Cause you either tell me, or I'm ordering for you."

You felt a burning sensation in your chest as your pulse quickened.

You were used to Logan's stubbornness and protective regard for those he cared about, but you had never seen him so firm with you before. You were someone who could handle yourself and as much as he worried about you, he had never claimed you in such a way as he did now.

If you hadn't known better, you would have thought he was jealous.

"My usual."

You watched as he leaned over the bar, ordering the both of your drinks from the bartender.

The lighting in the bar was dim. Most of the things that you could make out were highlighted by an array of multicolored LED lights that had been flickering throughout the room.

The light above Logan's head flicked from green to purple, showcasing the sheen of sweat that had begun running down his temple from the capacity of the party. His sleeves were rolled to his elbow, the veins in his arms protruding as he leaned against the counter top.

Sometimes you wondered what it felt like- to be one of the women who had the opportunity to touch Logan. You had had passing touches here and there but you wondered if you could feel the weight of his adamantium bones in your hand- whether his skin remained rough despite his regenerative abilities.

The thoughts were cruel. He was your friend.

But then again, were you really his?

Logan handed you your drink, leaning the small of his back against the counter. Gingerly taking the glass from his hands, your fingertips graced his skin.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, feeling the vibrations of the DJ's music against your feet. You listened to indistinguishable chatter rattle throughout the building.

"He said he liked the 'juxtaposition of my face to the costume'." You said, referring to the man who bought you a drink. "I'm not even sure that he used the word right."

A smirk rose onto Logan's face.

"What a dick." Logan scoffed, nursing his whiskey.

You laughed along with him, nudging your elbow into his side.

"He is, isn't he?" You joked. "I bet he's super pretentious."

Logan glanced down at you, noticing the small smile that graced your lips as you met his eyes.

God, he felt silly. He was over two hundred years old and yet, he found himself with a crush on a woman and unable to tell her. With anyone else, he would have made a move the second he saw them. But you were his friend- his closest friend.

You had a relationship that meant more to him than anything in his life. Did he want you? Yes, but he wasn't going to be the one to admit it and scare you off. It had to be you.

So Logan put out his feelers and afforded himself plausible deniability- calling you sweetheart, buying you drinks... sitting by your side after a mission went sideways. However, there was something about the two of you sharing a life in the mansion that made him forget that other men could see you the way that he did.

Seeing the multicolored lights illuminate your skin and the way your eyelashes batted as you smiled up at him, Logan was reminded that he didn't have forever.

"Not your thing?" He asked.

Logan asked it casually. He was still leaned over the bar, but his body had turned to encase yours- one arm snaking itself around your back while the other held the whiskey glass.

The space between you grew hot and you could feel his warm breath against your face. The scent of the cologne that you had gotten him for his birthday drifted up your nose as he hovered closer.

Sometimes you felt that Logan was off living a dozen lifetimes in his head despite standing directly in front of you, but here... now... his focus was entirely on you and you knew he was waiting on your answer with bated breath.

You don't know whether it was the liquor or the realisation that the wolverine had placed you at the center of his universe, but you gained a confidence you had lacked in the weeks since your relationship shifted.

Glancing at his empty glass, you flicked your hand, filling it up.

"No," You sighed as your eyes trailed up his body. "I like them a bit... rougher around the edges."

This, Logan decided, was your sign. You were pushing the boundaries just as he had done, seeing if he'd take the bait.

Logan's eyes narrowed as he leaned in further. The music in the bar was getting increasingly louder as the night went on and Logan's lips were now inches from your ear, sending goosebumps down your neck.

"That right?" Logan asked.

"Mhm."

Logan could hear your heart pounding in your chest and felt peace in knowing that his was doing the same. This wasn't the same as his other ventures- he wouldn't wake up in the morning to find an empty space in his mattress where you had been the night before. What you two had would be permanent, he told himself; a fixture in an otherwise chaotic life like his.

In the life of a man with regeneration, he rarely worried about what happened next. But with his lips grazing the skin of the woman he loved most, Logan could feel a drop of whiskey hit his skin- fallen from the glass that sat in his shaking hand.

Then, he felt your hands push gently against his chest. And his world came crashing down.

Your eyes meeting his, you shook your head.

"I love you, Logan."

For anyone else, this would've been confirmation. But Logan had heard these words from you a hundred times. You loved him... platonically. He felt the wind knocked out of him at what he thought was resignation.

Pulling away, Logan nodded.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Hearing him say it in the same voice he always did- the dismissive tone meant to mask any indication of care- you gripped his shirt, forcing him to look at you.

"No." You said firmly. "I love you. I'm saying this can't be a one night thing, Logan. I love you."

Logan saw the desperation in your eyes and couldn't hold back. He slammed his drink against the bar and held your face in his hands.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, thinking that as silly as it was, what he had been waiting for was finally happening. No matter the amount of times he had touched you, this time was different. As strong as you were, he was afraid to ruin the precious object he was holding in his hands- you and your future.

Logan swore your cheeks were softer and the scent of your perfume had wrapped himself around your finger.

"Say it back, Lo."

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue was enough confirmation he needed. Pulling your face to his, Logan's lips crashed against yours.

Your fingers never left his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you hummed into the kiss. Logan's hands moved to lay against your waist. The noise of the bar fell away as Logan focused on your breathing and the skip of your heartbeat as he squeezed you tighter.

When he heard the familiar, hypnotic hum of your magic, he pulled away only slightly.

In the heat of your kiss, a forcefield had formed around the two of you. When you noticed the golden shimmer of your magic, you pulled your hands way from Logan, bringing the forcefield down with it.

"Sorry."

Logan smirked.

"Don't gotta be worried," He said, running his thumb against your cheek. "You're safe with me."

Logan wasn't sure if he'd be able to always keep you safe in the hectic life that you two shared, but he would be damned if he wouldn't die trying. You two fit together like pieces of a puzzle and although he wasn't sure how it would work, if one thing was for sure- you weren't losing him.

"I love you too."

Holding you in his hands, the knowledge finally settling in that you were his, this dingey bar was the last place he wanted to be.

And it was as if you read his mind.

"Can we get out of here?"

Glancing around the room, Logan noticed two things: one being that half the eyes in the room were on you since your accidental forcefield, and the other, Scott barreling over through a crowd of college girls towards you. These two things paired with the fact that the woman of his dreams was standing beside him, Logan was more than ready to, kindly, get the fuck out of there.

Logan wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you out of the bar.

"That's my girl."

author's note: thank you for reading! just a short lil oneshot for spooky season

[ohproserpine]

ii. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3

tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, unsettling & obsessive behavior, jealousy, possessiveness, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, unwanted advances (not by alastor), murder, graphic descriptions of injuries

As the days unfolded into weeks, Alastor remained true to his word. A routine soon formed between the two of you: he would make regular visits to the speakeasy, engage in polite conversations with Mimzy, and take his usual seat to enjoy your performance.

In time, Alastor's interactions with you grew more intimate. And one night, following the success of one of your busiest night and biggest show, he surprised you with a beautiful necklace. Pulling you into your dressing room, Alastor asked for permission to formally court you. Without hesitation, you agreed, and in a burst of affection, proceeded to kiss him within an inch of your life. 

Since then, Alastor had begun to take you on dates outside the speakeasy. He whisked you away to quaint diners, lively jazz joints, and even introduced you to his mother—a sweet woman who welcomed you with open arms.

Throughout your time together, not a single one of your performances escaped Alastor'. Why would they? For him, your shows were the very essence of color in his otherwise dull and monotonous existence. His devotion to you almost mirrored religious fervor as he attended each of your shows like an impassioned disciple in the dimly lit speakeasy pews.

Your voice became a spell, luring Alastor like a foolish sailor drawn to a siren's call. In those moments, the world faded away, and he followed the melody with an irresistible pull, captivated by thoughts of you, you, you.

Only you.

Tonight, however, was anything but ordinary.

Alastor, following his usual routine, occupied his customary spot at the pub, savoring his whiskey with slow sips from his glass. However, the comforting rhythm of the night, which he had grown used to, was broken when the band screeched to a halt, the shrill notes of the violin cutting through the air. Immediately, the pub erupted in a chorus of boos and shouts.

Alastor blinked, his smile turning strained as he noticed a man stumble onto the stage. It was clear that he was intoxicated, moving about as gracefully as a headless chicken, as he made his way towards you, nearly knocking you off your feet.

Noticing the commotion, Mimzy clicked her tongue, slammed her drink onto the counter, and swiftly rose to her feet. She rushed to the stage, the glitters on her vibrant dress catching the dim lights of the speakeasy.

“Why, I oughta—" she began to seethe, as she stomped towards the stage, finger wagging in the air. “That’s the fifth time this week, Giovanni!”

"Ah, Mimzy! Jus' wanted to surprise my sweetheart," Giovanni slurred, his thick accent muddled as he clumsily leaned into you, head tucking into your neck.

Snap.

Alastor felt a visceral reaction, something within him snapping as the glass in his hand cracked under the strain of his grip. The fractured crevices dug into his skin, and golden liquor seeped out, mixing with crimson red blood.

As a regular performer at this pub, your popularity was unquestionable, and Alastor was not entirely pleased with the attention you garnered from other men. If given the opportunity, he would have you whisked away from this place. In his eyes, your voice was too lovely for a place like this. Your talent deserved a grander stage than the confines of this tacky establishment.

“Ahah,” you smiled awkwardly, shuffling away and shrugging the man's arms off of you. “Not your sweetheart, Giovanni…”

"Are you not happy to see me, carina?" Giovanni’s voice dropped to a whisper, his hand dropping to grip you by the waist. He leaned his face in closer, and you cringed. The man's breath reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were a bloodshot red. “Come on~ I came all the way to see you.”

“Ya' can go see and do whatevah the fuck you want with her after the show!” Mimzy scowled, stomping her heels onto the wooden flooring. “Can't have a moment of peace in here. Someone get him off my stage!”

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want!" Giovanni retorted, his anger bubbling over as he lashed out, kicking the microphone stand in Mimzy's direction. She barely dodged in time, the crash of the mic hitting the floor drowned out by the screeching feedback.

"Please. Just go," you pleaded, your patience wearing thin. "Why? Why do you always have to make a scene?"

"Ay, carina, don't get bratty with me. Let's talk in the back," Giovanni insisted, his grip on your shoulders tightening as he attempted to pull you off the stage. But before he could, Mimzy's guards intervened, forcefully yanking him away.

"Hey! Get ya' hands off'a me!"

Turning around, you rushed to get off the stage, but Giovanni somehow managed to break free and extended his hand, trying to grab onto you. Panic welled up within you as his hand reached out, but relief followed when he was abruptly stopped by none other than Alastor.

"Now, now," Alastor's voice had a lilt as he held onto Giovanni's wrist, but the venom woven into each word was unmistakable. His ever-present smile stretched wide, serving as a clear warning. "Causing a commotion isn't the best way to impress a lady."

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wring his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled and adjusted his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wriggle his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled, adjusting his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"Ha ha! Kind sir, when someone disrupts a delightful performance, it becomes everyone's business," Alastor laughed, the sound of it tinged with sarcasm.

"But I must commend you. My, that impromptu performance of yours was quite remarkable; you truly made a wonderful spectacle of yourself!" Alastor's grin widened, his mocking tone drawing out laughter from the crowd.

Then, Alastor bent down to meet Giovanni face to face, his amusement fading. 

“Though I think you've overstayed your welcome, no?” Alastor's grip tightened around Giovanni's wrist, the pressure leaving bruises in its wake, hues of purple, green, and blue blossoming beneath the skin.

Alastor's grin turned sharp. "You will leave. Now."

"F-Fuck are you gonna do if I don’t, aye?" Giovanni spat, attempting to maintain a façade of bravado despite the pain. He tore his hand away from Alastor's grip, cradling his wrist. "Ya' think you can tell me what to fucking do?!"

"Hmm. I would at least advise you to salvage whatever dignity you have left and leave. If you had even a dust of intelligence in that hollow head of yours, that would have been the first thing you'd have done," Alastor chuckled.

“Damn right. Ya ain't got no fuckin place in my establishment,” Mimzy scowled, snapping her fingers and gesturing towards the men surrounding Giovanni. “Take him away, boys!”

As Mimzy’s goons surrounded him again, Giovanni sneered, "This ain't over."

"Oh, my dear pal, I assure you, it is very much over. The lady has made her wishes very clear," Alastor grinned.

With a final snarl, Giovanni was forcibly led away from the scene, his protests fading into the background as Mimzy's guards escorted him out. Mimzy wasted no time, bustling backstage and barking orders to her staff to clean up and prepare the stage once more.

Alastor's charismatic facade returned as he turned to you, though a glint of irritation lingered in his eyes. "Apologies you had to see that, cher. Let's hope the rest of the evening proceeds much more smoothly."

"I hope so." With a sigh, your gaze shifted downward, and you spotted his injured hands. The glass he had broken earlier had left wounds all over his calloused palms — not deep, but enough to draw blood.

Concern etched across your face, and you gently touched Alastor's hands. The radio host, accustomed to your touch by now, allowed you to inspect the damage.

"You're hurt," you pointed out, caressing his skin.

Alastor met your gaze with a reassuring smile. "Ah, this is just a trifle. A mere inconvenience, I assure you! My, I've endured far worse during hunting, darling! This is hardly worth mentioning."

"But—" you began, only to be interrupted by his finger pushing against your red lips.

"Worry not, cher. I'll take care of it. There's no need to play nurse," he spoke with finality, as if this was a matter not open to further argument.

"Alright," You managed a small smile. "I am really sorry things turned out this way, Al. I didn't know Giovanni was going to show up again. He's always been like that for as long as I can remember. I told him to stop but he never does."

"No need for apologies. None of this fault is on you, darling. Though it does add a touch of excitement to otherwise mundane affairs, doesn't it?" Alastor chuckled heartily, though you sensed there was a bitter undertone to his laugh.

"Excitement? That man is a shitshow just waiting to happen," Mimzy returned and walked up to both of you, rolling her eyes. "And I thought I got rid of him for good..."

Suddenly, she leaned in with cosmetics in hand, deftly swiping lipstick across your lips and delicately brushing blush on your face. "Now come on, dollface, let's get you back to that stage."

You realize you're still on shift, but the thought of performing feels nearly impossible at the moment, especially with all this lingering adrenaline in your system. Admittedly, you're a bit shaken up, and all you want is to curl up by Alastor's side and savor the night with a drink in hand. 

"Oh, Mimzy…I'm not sure I can really perform right now, love. I feel…" you slowly trailed off, faltering under the weight of Mimzy's hardened gaze.

The blonde cooed out your name, her fingers gently wrapping around your arm, soothingly rubbing it up and down. "Dollface, you're not here to question; you're here to perform! Alastor here has been so kind to get rid of your little problem. Now, let's get back up on that stage and do what you're good at."

"Pardon?" Alastor snapped with a raised brow, his usually jovial tone replaced by a sharper edge. "Well, I don't mind in the least. In fact, I rather enjoyed putting that simpleton in his place. I'm sure your patrons can afford to wait, can't they? This poor dear is still shaking in her heels!"

But you intervened, mustering a smile and smoothing down the wrinkles on your dress while nervously tending to your hair. "Oh no, Al, it's alright. Mimzy's right. I can't just let one man ruin my entire night."

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, taking a moment to compose before adding, "Besides, the show must go on, right?"

Alastor paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied your nervous tics. The radio host silently appraised your form for a few more seconds before eventually giving in. "Hmm, very well. If that's what you wish."

"Thank you, Al," you whispered with a smile, tilting your head up to press a kiss against his cheek. Your lipstick had left an imprint on his bronze skin, but he made no move to wipe it off.

With a chuckle, Alastor leaned back into you and returned the gesture warmly. 

"I'll take care of everything, doll," he whispered, voice low, before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "He won't ever bother you again."

Confused, you blinked up at him with those bright eyes he loved so much. "How do you plan to do that, Al?" you asked, but he ignored you, staring at you with that unsettling look in his eyes again.

Alastor suddenly raised your hand to his lips, brushing the knuckles with gentle pecks, causing your mind to blank and cheeks to go aflame. 

Tapping her foot impatiently, Mimzy's irritation grew as the display of affection lingered longer than she deemed appropriate. With a swift swat of her hand against the man's shoulder, she hissed at him. "That's enough outta you!"

Alastor smirked to himself and began walking back, seemingly satisfied with the subtle disturbance he had caused. He was such a bastard, but he was yours.

With a shake of your head and a smitten blush gracing your cheeks, you returned to the stage. The blinding spotlight enveloped you as Mimzy tossed the microphone back into your waiting hands. 

Meanwhile, Alastor reclined in his seat at the booth, his gaze fixed intently on you as you resumed your performance. The audience, having brushed off the brief interruption, eagerly redirected their focus to you.

Rabbit, rabbit! Won't you run away? Don't give the farmer all his fun today~ He'll get by without his rabbit pie. So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run!

As you neared the end of the song, Alastor joined the crowd's applause, rhythmically snapping his fingers together.

Wonderful, as always.

.

Snap.

The sudden, jarring sound shattered the stillness of the forest, followed by a shrill scream that seemed to shake the trees. Giovanni's hands instinctively shot down to his ankle, where his bone had twisted in a gruesome sight that sent bile rushing to his throat. However, he had no time to inspect the damages as a rustling bush caught his attention. Desperately, the man began crawling on the ground, doing his best to move farther away, dragging mud and dirt all over his body.

"Don't give the farmer his fun. Fun. Fun," emerging from thick shrubs, Alastor sang lowly as he continued his slow advance, relishing in the fear that emanated from his prey. He raised his hand, fingers idly tracing over the red mark on your lips, and if he focused hard enough, he could still feel the burn of your affections. "He'll get by without his rabbit pie."

The dense forest around them seemed to close in, casting eerie shadows as Alastor's menacing silhouette moved closer. Giovanni, now gasping for breath, cast terrified glances over his shoulder, desperately searching for an escape route.

"So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run," Alastor continued to trail after the man, his axe slung over his strong shoulders, a sinister grin etched on his lips.

Ah, it had been so long since he last pursued larger prey, opting for smaller catches like rabbits and squirrels lately. This, however, was a different kind of pursuit, and the thrill was delicious.

“It's rather unsavory to disrupt a live performance,” Alastor mused, gripping his axe and running his bandaged palm along the side of the blade. "Oh, the misery! Each performance interrupted, a masterpiece marred!"

“Though I suppose you redeemed yourself with your own impromptu circus show,” Alastor snickered, reaching down and seizing Giovanni’s sprained ankle, dragging the screaming man back toward him.

"Good show!" The radio host grinned as he pressed his feet against Giovanni's back to prevent him from escaping. Alastor raised the axe high, the glint of the blade reflecting the crazed gleam in his eyes.

"Now, let's see how this act ends."

With a practiced swing, he brought the blade down, chunks of flesh and blood spraying onto his clothing and skin from the impact. Alastor laughed as the light gradually faded from the man's eyes, his once-struggling arms and legs now falling limp.

“What a show!”

[anchoeritic]

sweet cherry chapstick

pairing toxic!ellie + fem!reader

synopsis finding yourself in another late night "talk" with ellie, she reminds you of her jealousy and you can't help but counter it.

warnings eighteen plus content / minors do not interact. reader & ellie switch, cursing, dirty talk, dry humping, jealous/toxic ellie, possessive ish reader, rubbing through panties.

"feel like you're doin' this on purpose. you like makin' me watch you flirt with other girls, baby?"

she didn't seem to let a word escape from you, only wanting to hear those sweet noises you seemed to make when you rocked back and forth against her thigh.

the waxy, delicate taste of your own cherry chapstick coated your tongue, as did hers. ellie groaning at the sweetness, brushing her nose against yours.

using the hoops of your jeans to pull you deeper into a kiss, making sure you don’t catch a single breath between. her kisses rough, hungry to taste more of you. it doesn’t help how your hips already have a mind of their own, grinding down on her lap.

why was it that she always caught you in such a predicament? always in a time of need. something desperate of the sort. there was no denying of the heat pooling between your thighs just feeling her lips on yours. it didn't help that she could feel it too.

"been watchin' you for so long. can't keep you away anymore" you can hear her barely mumble out, lips trailing down your jaw. she watched as you let out a couple more moans, continuing to kiss along your jaw.

her hand found its way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making your whines grow louder. needier.

"do you even deserve to feel good, do you really think so?" you can feel her fingers creeping down your jeans, wrapping themselves along the lace of your panties. "I know you like me watchin'."

the reality is, you do. everything you do is for her entertainment. you know she watches your every move. your every kiss.. but you knew she would always end up taking it up with you. that's why you do what you do.

she finds it amusing. thinks it's cute that you're trying to get her jealous because, the fact is, she knows there's no one you'd ever want but her.

there was no one else you needed more than ellie.

"don't act like you don't do the same to me, williams." you managed to whisper, keeping your head tilted up so her kisses travel along your neck. "see you kissing those girls. I'd say that's worse than me flirting with them, hm?"

you could feel her grip on your panties tighten, pulling the lace off your skin just to let it sling back on your skin. a hiss was heard from you. the sting was as unexpected as her reaction to your mockery of her.

"what i do isn't your concern, sweetheart," ellie hummed against your skin, "but what you do is mine because you are mine."

the kisses are intoxicating, the reek of marijuana coming off from her clothes as they were slowly discarded from the scene, thrown off to the side.

but you were next; your shirt was pulled off your body, pants coming in just at second, the two of you making out under the moonlight in just your lacy undergarments.

"that's my girl.." you could hear her muffled moans in between your kisses, her quiet words of reassurances were enough to send shivers down your spine.

"god, just fucking kiss me," you mumbled out.

she gripped at your ass again, holding onto a thigh to wrap it around her hip. "so impatient already, baby?"

"c'mere, pretty. you loved to tease me, now you owe me." you felt your cheeks grow hot at her words. still straddling her hips, your hands cupped her cheeks firmly.

her eyes were droopy, soft. tired. she was on the high of marijuana and lust, that was no kidding.

With the grind of her hips, she started to rock against your lap, hiding your moans with her mouth.

Not many sounds were heard except for the creaks of your bed and the occasional breaths Ellie took every few seconds. Sweat beaded down her forehead, the ache between her legs bothering her just as much as yours did.

She couldn't ignore it anymore

“fuck, i need to feel you now,” she pulls away for another breath, pressing her forehead against yours. the bed had stopped creaking, the only sounds heard were your heavy pants.

it took her by surprise when you quickly understood her, towering over top of her body, sitting tall on her lap with a shy smile along your lips.

ellie never understood how your lips still looked inviting with lipstick smeared all over your face. you could say the same about her: the same lipstick marks on you matched hers.

spreading her legs a little wider, you cupped over her warm cunt softly, earning a quiet mumble from her. “don’t get used to this…” she whispered, putting her arms behind her neck as a headrest.

your hand presses harder against her, making sure your fingers apply pressure especially. "why can't i? you seem to be enjoying yourself, honey."

"bet your other girls don't touch you like i do, do they?" you teased her, speeding up the pace of your rubbing. "they don't touch you like i do because they aren't me"

moaning, she wraps her hands around your wrist trying to slow you down. only making you go faster against her.

you could feel the wetness of her boxers coating your fingers, the smell of her arousal getting you worked up.

"I know I'm the one you think of when you touch yourself. every night before you fall asleep, I'm what you think about." you could feel her getting closer to the edge.

"even when you fall asleep," you quickened your pace, keeping eye contact with her, "i'm your wet dream."

she's gasping for air this point. "fuck," thighs shaking around your hand, trying to fight against the edge you're bringing her to. her whines of your name making your smirk grow.

moving your face closer to hers, your lips brush against her cheek. kissing the soft skin just beside her lips, tasting the same cherry chapstick once again.

"and you're all mine."

[sweeterlovers]

FLOWER GIRL / OLLIE BEARMAN

ollie bearman x rosberg reader / SMAU FIC

FACE CLAIM / eva meloche

WARNINGS / hate comments, skinny shaming, and google translated german

based off of this request!

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y/n.rosberg moved into my apartment in monaco 🫶🏻🤍

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user5 gorgeous

user12 i’m in love with this kitchen

user567 i need my kitchen to look like this 😭

user9 i feel so unaccomplished at 19 cause how is she moving into an apartment in MONACO and i can barley get myself to go to class

user72 to be fair she’s the daughter of nico rosberg soooooooo…..

user3 oh to be a the daughter of an ex f1 driver 💔💔

user942 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

user138 lando norris is in her likes 😭

user5 lets bffr he’s in every girls likes

user01 LMFAO

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y/n.rosberg summer love 🤍☀️💐

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user42 the flowers??????????

user2 WHO’S THE MAN?????

user92 my girlfriend 💔💔💔

user2 all these drivers in the likes 😭

user134 first it was lando now it’s ollie and arthur

user092 my girl is PULLING

user5 i mean have you seen her?????

user7 true

user13 so pretty

user13442 🌸 🌺 🌻🌷🌹🌼🪷🪻

y/n.rosberg that’s a whole garden

user6 LMFAO

nicorosberg Ich liebe dich und bleib bitte in sicherheit [love you, and please stay safe]

y/n.rosberg Wie immer mein liebster Vater [as always father dearest]

user53 I FORGOT THAT NICO IS HER DAD

user621 girl it’s in her username 😭

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f1gossip SPOTTED: y/n rosberg and ollie bearman kissing each other on vacation in Monaco!!!

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user22 random

user662 damn he’s tall

user8 it’s clear that she’s using him

user3 how is she using him?

user8 probably to stay relevant in the f1 world

user38 BRO HER DAD IS AN EX F1 CHAMPION???

user44 why is this our business???

user4 interesting…….

user0 well he was liking her posts

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y/n.rosberg can you tell that i love flowers?

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user4 i had a hunch

user2 GIRL WHATS WITH THE SOFT LAUNCH???

user6 like we know who it is???

user99 probably because of those obsessive fan girls

user90032 someone tell ollie to feed her 😭

user2 stfu

user777 what is wrong with you??? you don’t have to like her but that’s too far

user5 your comment reeks of jealousy

user2 🥹🫶🏻

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olliebearman posted on their story!

liked by y/n.rosberg and 12,723 others

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y/n.rosberg i love you 🫶🏻

olliebearman i love you too, you mean the world to me

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y/n.rosberg some pictures from this summer 🪷🤍

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user23 you give off such good vibes!!

y/n.rosberg your so sweet 🥹

user6 wow wow wow 🤩

olliebearman prettiest girl

y/n.rosberg I LOVE U

olliebearman i love you too

user3 love her style

user4 for real!!!!

nicorosberg Ich liebe dich, du wirst immer meine Blume sein [i love you, you’ll always be my flower]

y/n.rosberg Ich liebe dich [i love you]

user7 my flower 🥹😭

user45 it’s so cute!!!

user0 and fitting!!!!

user4572 nico is such a girl dad!

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olliebearman my flower girl 💛💐🤍

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y/n.rosberg this is so sweet of you

y/n.rosberg god i love you 🫶🏻🥹

olliebearman i love you too, my flower girl

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TEAM RADIO / SWEETERLOVERS - i love nico rosberg

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Killer

tw: female reader, murder (not reader), jealousy, captivity, slight gore

The cabin is warm enough - and that's one good reason to be grateful. Sitting by the fireplace brings you a slight twinge of comfort, reminds you of savage winters and hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows swimming on top that your mom would make on Christmas Eve. As you bring your hands together to rub them, you know your eyes are watering up - and you try to dispel the nostalgic memories, but you've always been a crybaby. The heat quickly spreads around the small room, burning your cheeks.

You hold your breath, your whole body stiffening with gripling fear as you hear that familiar sound of heels crushing ice, of twigs breaking into pieces under his heavy uniform step. You immediately stand up, rushing to dust off your long skirt, and for a split second every worry under the sun floods your dizzy head. Is the dinner too salty? Did you burn the meat? Is your apron clean and tidy? Is he still angry, just as he was this afternoon before storming off?

You don't need to fight your invisible fears much longer, because the very source of them, the monster in the shadows, kicks the door open. Your blood runs cold at the very sight of him - despite being in his loving arms for almost two years, fear remains your most loyal companion, if not your only. You never touch him without your old friend whispering deadly in your ear, and he never kisses you before he makes sure fear's taken comfort in your eyes. But something is different today - something about him feels off.

His boots are soaked - but outside it's freezing drought. His coat is stained, although you clearly remember washing it thoroughly a few days ago. The smell coming off him, usually awfully sterile, much like a hospital, with a singular note of wood - now reeks of something human, something musky and fleshy and moving like a thumping heart. And his eyes... they're smiling, oddly. He seems content, satisfied even. In one hand he's dragging a big black sack, and he uses the other to pull you in. You get light - headed by the proximity alone, but you know you have to act quickly. You've never seen him in such a mood, so you have no idea what to expect.

"D-darling, let me take your coat off. You must be tired, let's go to the firepl-." You try to take his garment, but he grabs your wrist in the motion, forcing you to stay still. You can feel your legs begin to shake. "What's the rush, pet? Let me take a good look at you." Daniel orders with bared teeth, making you do a spin for him. It's so deeply humiliating you can feel your cheeks heat up, but the man doesn't notice your discomfort as he wraps both his hands around your waist.

"You're wearing the red skirt." The man observes emotionlessly, taking in your form with a cold hard gaze. "D-do you like it?" You ask quietly, and he only humms in approval. "It will do. It is a special night after all." He replies shortly, slowly walking towards the table. You run after him to set the dinner, heart pulsing out of your chest. "Special n-night, you say?" You inquire, unable to remember exactly what day it is. In fact you stopped counting them a long time ago.

He nodds, gray eyes following your every movement, and through sheer panic you have to ask yourself once again whether he's truly human. He licks his lips, still staring right at you.

"Yes. I brought you something." Daniel starts off, still holding onto the sack. The corners of his lips start curling up ever so slightly, but the dim light hides most details of his face, while leaving you fully exposed. "Consider it a wedding gift." His smile gets crooked and all twisted. "For a beautiful, beautiful bride."

Your gaze is reluctantly drawn to the black bag, and suddenly you notice the red stains following it all over the pristine floor, leading to the table. Only once your eyes widen in horror does he untie the blue string holding it together, dumping the contents on the ground with a loud splash.

You can see it on your walls. You can see it on the carpet. You can feel it on your face. You open your mouth, ready to scream your guts out, but his hand clamps over it, rough fingers digging into the soft of your cheeks with pure hatred.

"Shut the fuck up. Don't you dare scream - and don't even think about turning your head away." Daniel hisses in your ear, keeping your head sternly in place as your whole body shakes like a leaf, guttural sobs threatening to burst out of your vocal cords. Laying before you on the ground is the head of... of... "This is what you wanted, isn't it? It's what you dreamt of. Don't you dare call me selfish now - see how much I fucking do for you, princess." He growls, caught between manic rage and primal agression as he tears into your throat like a wild animal. Now your neck is as bloody as your fiance's.

"You kept calling out his name last night - and then I remembered! Today marks two years since your engagement." The man strokes your chin, cooing at you mockingly. You, on the other hand, are completely frozen, unable to process the nightmare you've been thrown into. "So it makes sense, really. You must miss him oh-so-much. So I thought," His voice gets lower, sinister - taunting. In that moment he's more beautiful and more cruel than any God, deadlier than any weapon. "Since I am such a considerate lover, why not bring him to you?"

He's missing both his eyes, they've been torn off completely out of the socket. His tongue is sticking out grotesquely, but his skin is still warm. His hair, once soft and silky smooth under your gentle fingertips, is sullied with blood and filth.

"Happy anniversary, love."