#next battle is going to be nearly impossible

[st4rpiece]

needing space after an argument

SFW

characters: luffy, zoro, usopp, sanji x reader summary: an argument with the boys puts your relationship on hold CW: angst no comfort, breaking up (sanji), reader gets hurt, and over 600 words each

pt. 1 | pt. 2

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Monkey D. Luffy

The Sunny swayed gently on the open sea, the rhythm of the waves doing little to soothe the tension that crackled in the air. The ship’s usual harmony, filled with laughter and chatter, had been shattered by the argument unfolding on deck.

“You’re seriously impossible, Lu!” you snapped, your voice rising in frustration. Your chest heaved as you stared him down, fury blazing in your eyes.

“You keep charging into battle without thinking, and we’re always left picking up the pieces!”

Luffy stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his straw hat tilted forward. His usual grin—bright and carefree—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was set in a rare, serious frown.

“So what?” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “It worked, didn’t it? We’re fine!”

“Fine?!” you repeated, incredulous, your voice rising an octave.

“Sanji’s limping, Zoro’s covered in bandages, the ship’s a mess, again, and you—” you jabbed a finger toward his chest—“you nearly got yourself killed over some stupid treasure we didn’t even need!”

Luffy threw his arms in the air, his voice growing defensive. “It was shiny! I wanted it!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples as you turned away for a moment, trying to reign in your growing frustration.

“Lu, it’s not about the treasure!” you finally yelled, spinning back toward him.

“It’s about how you never listen to anyone! One day, your recklessness is going to get someone killed!”

The deck fell silent, the rest of the crew lingering nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop as they exchanged wary glances.

Luffy’s jaw tightened at your words, his posture stiffening. His carefree demeanor, the one you had come to rely on, was replaced by something cold and uncharacteristically sharp.

“You’re the only one who seems to always have a problem with the way I do things,” he said, his voice low but cutting.

You froze, staring at him as his words began to sink in.

He took a step closer, his dark eyes burning into yours.

“If the way I run my ship bothers you so much…” He hesitated, as if daring himself to say what came next, but when he spoke again, his tone was firm, biting. “…then maybe you should leave.”

It felt like a slap across the face. The air around you stilled, and for a moment, you couldn’t even process what he had said.

“Luffy,” you said, your voice softer now, as though testing to see if you’d heard him right.

But he didn’t take it back. He just stood there, his face stony, his gaze unreadable.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unbearable. The rest of the crew watched from their spots, wide-eyed and frozen. Even Zoro, who typically stayed out of these things, had shifted slightly, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana as though bracing for the worst.

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to swallow past the lump rising in your throat. The sharp sting of his words echoed in your mind, cutting deeper with every passing second. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, masking the turmoil inside you.

“Fine,” you said, the word dropping heavily between you.

Luffy’s eyes widened just enough to show a crack in his hardened expression, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t take it back.

Your voice quivered ever so slightly as you drew in a shaky breath, but you straightened your shoulders, determined not to let him see how deeply his words had cut. “I’ll be gone by tonight,” you said, firm and unwavering despite the ache in your chest.

His breath hitched, and for a split second, his resolve seemed to waver. “No wait—” he said, his voice breaking as he took a step forward, his hand lifting like he was reaching for you.

But you didn’t stop. You turned on your heel and strode toward the stairs, your head held high even as your vision blurred. By the time he worked up the courage to say more, you were already gone, leaving behind a silence even heavier than before.

Roronoa Zoro

The dim glow of the setting sun reflected off the water as you stood on the dock, arms crossed tightly over your chest. The once serene atmosphere was marred by the frustration bubbling inside you as you paced back and forth, stealing glances at the path Zoro should’ve come from an hour ago. The excitement you’d felt earlier now replaced with frustration and disappointment.

Finally, you heard the familiar shuffle of his footsteps, followed by his exasperated grumbling.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zoro muttered as he approached, scratching the back of his neck. His face was impassive, as if showing up an hour after your agreed time wasn’t a big deal.

You exhaled sharply, your patience already frayed. “Late? Zoro, you’re not just late—you’re ridiculously late. Again.”

“I got lost,” he said bluntly, like that was supposed to excuse everything.

“You always get lost,” you shot back, exasperated. “I’m not mad about that—I get it, directions aren’t your thing. But you didn’t think to ask someone for help this time? Or maybe even leave a little earlier?”

Zoro let out a short sigh, his arms crossing over his chest. “What do you want me to do? It’s not like I meant to get lost. I tried.”

“Then maybe next time we can just go together,” you suggested, your voice softening slightly despite your frustration. “That way, we can avoid all this and actually enjoy our dates.”

Your words were meant to be a compromise, a way to avoid another night like this, but Zoro’s face darkened at the suggestion. He scoffed, the sharp sound cutting through the cool evening air.

“Go together?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “What, you think I need you to hold my hand everywhere? I’m not a kid.”

“Zoro,” you blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility in his tone. “That’s not what I—”

“No seriously,” he cut you off, his voice growing louder. “That need of yours to control everything—it’s annoying.”

You froze. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped moving, his words hitting you harder than you thought possible.

“Controlling?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “Annoying?”

Zoro faltered for a moment, his expression shifting as if he hadn’t meant for the word to come out. But instead of apologizing, he doubled down, his jaw tightening. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his voice had lost some of its bite.

Your lips parted as you stared at him, completely thrown. You had only wanted to help, to make things easier—for both of you. But now, he was looking at you like you were the problem.

“I… I didn’t think trying to help you was so annoying,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “I just didn’t want us to keep missing time together because you—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as the lump in your throat grew.“Forget it.”

“Wait,” Zoro said, stepping forward, but you instinctively took a step back.

“No, it’s fine,” you said, your voice tight as you forced a bitter smile. “If me trying to help makes me so controlling and annoying, then I won’t bother anymore.”

“Babe, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice firmer now. “I get it, Zoro. You don’t need me, and you sure as hell don’t want my help. Message received.”

You turned away before he could say anything else, your heart twisting painfully as you walked back toward the ship.

Zoro remained motionless, his chest heavy as he watched you walk away. His hand started to lift, a silent urge to call out to you, to stop you—but it faltered, falling limply to his side. The realization settled in like a weight: in his frustration, he hadn’t just lashed out—he’d driven away the one person who always tried to understand him. And now, he could only watch as you disappeared.

God Usopp

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through as you sat on the Sunny’s deck, fidgeting with your hands. Usopp had been distant for the past two days, barely sparing you a glance and keeping his responses short whenever you tried to talk to him. It wasn’t like him—not with you.

You stole a glance across the ship where he was working on one of his gadgets, his movements tense and hurried, the usual care he put into his work noticeably absent. You’d been patient, waiting for him to come to you, but whatever was bothering him wasn’t going away.

“Usopp,” you finally called, your voice gentle but firm as you stood and walked over to him.

He didn’t look up. “What?”

The coldness in his tone made you flinch, but you pressed on. “Can we talk? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” he muttered, fiddling unnecessarily with the gadget in his hands.

“Yes, you are,” you said, standing your ground. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

At that, he froze, his fingers tightening around the tool in his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said flatly, but his voice lacked conviction.

You crouched down beside him, your brows furrowed. “Then what is it? Why won’t you talk to me?”

He finally looked at you, his jaw tight and his eyes flickering with frustration. “Why’d you call Luffy?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“Two days ago, when you were in trouble,” he said, his voice louder now. “You didn’t call for me. You called for Luffy.”

Realization dawned on you, but before you could respond, he continued.

“Was I just not good enough?” he asked, his tone bitter. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it? That I’d just screw it up and get hurt?”

“What? No, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, standing up abruptly and taking a step back. “Just don’t. I get it. I know I’m not as strong as Luffy or Zoro or Sanji. I know I’m not the first one people think of when they’re in danger. But I thought… I thought maybe you—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he clenched his fists. “Forget it.”

You stood as well, your chest tightening at the hurt in his voice. “Baby, listen to me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “You are strong and very capable. I called for Luffy simply because he was closer. That’s it.”

But he didn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the deck. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “I just… I need some space, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Usopp, the one who always sought you out, who always seemed happiest when you were by his side, was asking you to leave him alone.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting. “If that’s what you need,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll give you space. But I’m not giving up on this, Usopp. Or you.”

He didn’t respond, only nodding slightly before turning his back to you. You lingered for a moment, hoping he’d say something, anything, to stop you from walking away. But the silence stretched, and eventually, you had no choice but to leave him be.

As you walked away, your heart ached for him, for the insecurities he tried so hard to hide. You could only hope that when he was ready, he’d let you help him see the truth—that in your eyes, Usopp was more than enough.

Vinsmoke Sanji

The evening sun bathed the deck of the Sunny in golden light, but the sight before you felt anything but warm. Sanji stood at the railing, surrounded by a small group of women from the port town you’d just docked in, his eyes sparkling as he lavished them with compliments and dramatic promises of eternal devotion.

You stood at a distance, arms crossed over your chest, watching the scene unfold before you. It wasn’t the first time Sanji had acted like this, and you had always let it slide, convincing yourself that he would stop eventually. But now, the painful truth settled in, and it felt like a dagger twisting in your chest.

When the women finally left, giggling and waving, you stepped forward, your footsteps deliberate. “Sanji,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

He turned, his usual cheerful expression faltering when he saw the look on your face. ���Oh, my love! Did you see those ladies? They were absolute angels—”

“Why do you keep doing this?” you interrupted, crossing your arms tighter.

“Doing what?” he asked, genuinely confused, tilting his head.

“This,” you said, gesturing toward where the women had just walked off. “Flirting with every woman who so much as glances your way.”

Sanji blinked, his confusion deepening as he processed your words.“My love, what a wrong? You never complained about this before?”

Your jaw clenched, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “That’s because I thought it would stop once we got together. I didn’t think that as your girlfriend I would still have to compete with every pretty women you see.”

His eyes widened, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “But, sweetheart, it’s not like that. You’re not competing with anyone I—”

"It is like that Sanji, and honestly, I can't keep doing this," you interrupted, your voice trembling. "It's clear we're not on the same page when it comes to what’s acceptable in a relationship."

The air between you shifted, thick with the weight of your words, each one hanging in the space between you like an unspoken truth.

Sanji’s mouth opened slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were about to protest, but no words came out. He stood there, frozen, as if the reality of the situation hadn’t fully hit him yet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to say, his voice a little rough, “Why does this feel like a breakup?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. Every word felt like it was trapped, lodged somewhere deep inside, fighting its way to the surface. But you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Your eyes never left Sanji’s face, watching the shock and confusion slowly morph into something you couldn’t bear to see.

“That’s because it is,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible, the weight of the words pressing down on you.

The finality of it echoed in your ears, louder than you ever expected. You wanted to say more, to explain, to somehow make him understand that this wasn’t easy for you, that it wasn’t what you wanted. But the truth was, you had already said everything you needed to. This was the point of no return.

“Wait,” he said, stepping closer, his voice desperate. “Don’t do this baby, please. I didn’t know it bothered you. If I had, I— I would’ve stopped. I’ll stop now. I swear.”

You looked away, willing yourself to stay firm despite the raw emotion in his voice. “It’s not just about stopping, Sanji. It’s about the fact that you didn’t even realize that your actions would hurt me. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see a problem with flirting with others.”

“Please, my love,” he said, reaching for your hand, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

“I can’t, Sanji,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, each step pulling you further from him.

Sanji stood there, his hand outstretched for a moment longer as if he could reach out and somehow make you stay. But the weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had lost you—not because he didn’t care, but because he hadn’t shown you he did in the way you needed.

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one piece masterlist

question! how do you guys feel about a queer version of the smau’s with fem or gn reader (idrc) for nami, robin, vivi, perona, boa, and yamato?

it’s in my drafts and i’ll still post it when done just wanted to see if the gays see my vision 🤭

i have two more (one request) for angst but i'll have those up soon now that i’m free from the shackles of school.

anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed :).

not proofread and caps may look weird typed this on my phone and computer 😭

(had to re-upload this didn't realize it posted before I was done)

[touchme-teezme]

I'm Sorry.

PAIRINGS | collegeboy!seonghwa x fab!reader

TAGS | plot with some porn, strangers to lovers, one night stand situationship, idk man he came over to build legos, there’s some attempted flirting and teasing, lots of making out, lots of tongue, unprotected vanilla sex, seonghwa lowkey a bop, bruh i am so bad at tagging bye i give up

RATING | NSFW 21+ (Minors pls DNI/if it makes you uncomfortable don’t read thx)

SUMMARY | Seonghwa needed a break. He also decided something had to change — and that led him to a few unexpected places in one night, including something dangerously close to his disaster feelings and while you were clearly the escape, he ran the other way.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | …hey…. how y’all doing?… sorry i was getting cheated on and also started a really important internship. It just ended (the internship and the relationship) so… we’re so…back? Thank you for being so sweet in the inboxes, this was a long one. i finished editing during valentine’s day i think? i was thinking about hwa’s slutty fingers after seeing that one concert video and ugh my mind went places oK omg i will shut up now. Bye, enjoy.

Inspired by 'Do You Like Me?" by Daniel Cesar. I have been listening to that NEVER ENOUGH album so much lately.

💌 click here to see my Love Interrupted series masterlist [ot8] — check out the other parts!

This was going to be the first and last time Seonghwa ever took advice from Jung Wooyoung.

In his defence, he’d hit a new low. Lower than rock bottom. Which is why the resident exemplary student, honour roll with a self-imposed 9 p.m. bedtime was standing outside the hottest nightclub in Itaewon, sporting a fresh haircut and an outfit entirely stolen from his roommate’s wardrobe.

His dating life chewed him up and spat him out, and now he was determined to do the absolute most to cope. He was hurt and hell-bent on distraction from whatever the fuck was even going on in that part of his life.

How he ended up getting ghosted by his situationship wasn’t nearly as baffling as how Wooyoung had somehow convinced over half their friend group to spend their Friday night here, of all places. They weren’t really party people — well, half of them weren’t. The ones who were into it had conveniently been excused from showing up.

Yunho, on the other hand, had been on the dance floor non-stop, while Wooyoung played hype man from the booth, cheering him on like it was a solo concert.

Wooyoung nudged Seonghwa’s shoulder with his knee from the top edge of the booth like a gremlin surveying chaos.

“Dude, she’s been staring at you all night.”

Seonghwa shot him a flat look. “And?”

“And,” Wooyoung slid down from his perch and dropped onto the seat beside him with a dramatic sigh, “Yunho and I are taken, and those two are a lost cause.”

Seonghwa glanced across the table. Hongjoong looked like he was losing a battle with sleep, while Yeosang scrolled through his phone, sipping from Hongjoong’s drink. He hadn’t smiled once all night — clearly here for the same reason Seonghwa was: moral support. But the chaos of the club made heart-to-hearts impossible.

“That leaves you,” Wooyoung said matter-of-factly. “Dude. She’s hot and interested. You’re hot and miserable. Classic rebound opportunity.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” Wooyoung shrugged. “But I’m also right. Just look.”

He reached over, grabbed Seonghwa’s chin, and turned his head toward the bar.

And there you were — leaning back with easy confidence, swirling your drink, eyes locked on him with a smirk that stole the air right out of his lungs.

“Trust me,” Wooyoung grinned. “She’s perfect for helping you forget that loser.”

This would go down as the second and definitely the absolute last time Seonghwa ever took advice from Jung Wooyoung. Five minutes later, he’d been kicked out of the booth with one order: Don’t come back without her number.

That’s how he found himself now, seated next to you, drink in hand, trying to remember how to function like a normal human.

“Not a fan of clubs?” You asked, leaning slightly nearer to him to yell over the loud music.

“I hate it. I think I’m having an identity crisis,” He blurted out as he shook his head, the liquor loosening his lips faster than his brain could catch up.

You laughed, but not unkindly. “I'm sorry to hear that. Well… I don’t live far if you wanna have some peace and quiet.”

“Oh. Uh…”

“I…have a cat, too. She loves company if you like cats.”

Your invitation slipped past his defences smoother than the drink in his hand. One last sip, and he was already on his feet—jacket in one hand, your purse slung over the other shoulder.

That was all it took.  Seonghwa couldn't help but wish it was the way you were looking at him or how your skirt was riding up coincidentally the longer he sat next to you. But nope, it was the thought of being able to distract himself and pretend like this night out never even happened and getting him far away from whatever this hellscape was.

Clubs really weren’t his thing.

He barely registered the triumphant double thumbs-up from Wooyoung or the way Yunho covered his dropped jaw as he watched the two of you walk out together.

Seonghwa’s heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears. Taking a cab to your place with a confident, effortlessly cool girl like you was far outside his usual playbook. For a second, he wasn’t even sure what to say.

Thankfully, conversation came easily to you.

The ride melted into light chatter about university — shared gripes about professors, mutual hatred for certain classes. You discovered you were in the same course but at rival schools, which only added to the banter. There was laughter, playful jabs, and an unexpected comfort that settled between you.

By the time the cab pulled up to your place, Seonghwa was far more at ease than when he’d left the booth.

Your apartment was warm and cosy, lit with soft golden light that cast slow-moving shadows across the walls. Seonghwa stepped inside and hesitated in the middle of the living room, awkwardly stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, unsure of where to stand or sit.

You smiled as you hung up your coat, amused by his stiffness.

“Relax. Make yourself at home.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry.” He took in the space again, then gave you a sheepish look.

“So… is this the part where you admit you don’t actually have a cat?”

“Would you be mad if I did?” you teased, stepping a little closer.

His heart stuttered. He opened his mouth to respond, but then-

“Oh, shit!”

His eyes went wide as they landed on something across the room — a pristine box of a Lego orchid set sitting on the coffee table. He practically rushed over.

“I’ve wanted this for so long!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, his excitement too endearing to be upset over what the box represented.

“Oh, yeah. It was a birthday gift for someone… but I never got to give it to him. I was going to return it tomorrow or something.”

He glanced down at the box in his hands. “Have you ever built a set before?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t have the patience for Lego,” you admitted.

He held out a hand, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “This one’s easier than my last build. We’ll be done in no time. I promise.”

Somewhere between sorting bricks and swapping stories, Seonghwa realized he was actually getting to know you. What started as throwaway chatter had spiraled into a shared spiral; bad dates, worse decisions, and the Valentine’s Day disasters that landed you both at that club.

Now sitting cross-legged beside you, he was down to the last few pieces, fitting them together with ease —until your voice cut in again.

“I still think it’s insane how yours just ghosted you,” you voiced your opinion once his story was over as you laid on your stomach, “If I was in that position, I’d be running for a second chance, like that wouldn’t have even been a question.

Seonghwa’s hands faltered, fingers tightening around a tiny brick as he felt heat rush up to his cheeks. He let out a breathy laugh, snapping one of the last pieces into place. Then, a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it was my fault. I come on too strong sometimes and… it just didn’t work out.”

“Which is exactly why I think it’s crazy,” You clarified, with your chin resting in your hands, propped up on your elbows. “Like, if I had you chasing after me? Wow.”

You were only yapping away, if anything it was to keep yourself awake. You let out a quiet chuckle at the absurdity of saying something like that to someone you literally just met, but you caught the way he was looking at you. And maybe… the way you said it didn’t sound so hypothetical anymore.

His fingers tightened around the last brick in his hand, looking down at it.

“…What would you do?” he suddenly asked, the words slipping out before he could think them through. “If I was chasing you?”

You shrugged, still focused on finishing your flower, but there was something different in the air now. You could feel it. The way his voice had dropped, how his eyes lingered just a moment too long.

“I don’t know… anything you’d want. Like, come on.” You tried to brush it off with another laugh, but even you could notice the shift in the air between you both.

“Come on… what?”

He didn’t laugh back. Instead, he leaned in a little, just enough to close the space between you. His gaze was intense as it focused on you but the question still hung in the air.

You slowly looked up at him, you knew exactly what he was doing.

“Seonghwa,” you whispered, barely above a breath.

He huffed a quiet breath, trying to ground himself. “You didn’t invite me here for some peace and quiet, did you?”

You felt your carpet under the palms of your hands as you sat up, still watching him. “Technically… I invited you back for peace and quiet away from everyone else.”

“To do what?”

“You really want me to spell it out for you?” You couldn't bite back that smile. “Me inviting you is one thing, but why did you come?”

He didn’t respond, just held your gaze. You leaned in and your fingers found his jaw, light and slow. With that, you closed the gap, pressing your mouth firmly against his. Your hands roamed down his hard chest, tracing the contours and marvelling at how he flexed beneath your touch.

A low moan escapes his throat as he returns your kiss with equal fervour, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your tongues moved together, exploring every nook of each other's mouths.

The kiss momentarily broke for him to trail his lips along your jaw. You slowly rose up from your knees with his guidance. His hands firmly on your sides with no signs or intentions of letting you go just yet. His lowered eyes focused on you as you helped him out of his black tank top, throwing it off over the jacket he laid out neatly on your couch.

You took his hand straight to your bedroom door. Opening it, your tuxedo cat jumped out before making its way to the zip line for the kitchen where her bowl of water and food was waiting. You turned to Seonghwa who looked back at you, delightfully surprised.

“So you do have a cat.”

“I was lying about her being a fan of people though,” You shrugged. “Come on.”

He smiled as he looked down at you, his gaze locked on yours with a mix of curiosity and anticipation and as you both reached the edge of the bed, you gently pushed him down onto the mattress.

His lips pressing together nervously as his eyes drank the sight of you stripping down.

“Have you ever done anything like this?”

“Yeah… just not… it’s been a while…” Seonghwa was blabbering.

He was in the middle of an internal battle, wondering if this was a mistake. You were just nodding along to his words, finally slipping out your skirt before straddling him, hooking your arms behind his head to continue kissing those lips of his.

Seonghwa was without a doubt a kisser. He knew exactly how to do just how you like it, how to hold you and move his tongue – the way he moved with yours with practiced precision sent shivers down your spine.

It was no wonder you were already getting soaked between your legs, and he wasn’t even naked… but he was hard, and from how he was rubbing it up against you, you could tell he was more than eager.

His kisses felt tender yet intentional, and it was driving you insane. He was holding down the sides of your throat to kiss your neck and collarbones.

“Fuck, Seonghwa please—“ You reached down to the bulge clearly wanting to be freed, looking up at him when he had you pressed against the mattress on your back.

It felt good to be wanted and to be desired. He wasn’t lying when he said it had been a while, especially with someone like you, who carried yourself with such certainty.

“Shhh… let’s take our time.”

His hands found their way onto the mounds beneath the lace of your bra which he had pushed above your breasts teasing your left nipple with fingertips he had wet with his tongue. Your knees pressed together, as he showered the other one with feathery kisses.

He took your hand from behind his head, intertwining it with his fingers before planting it right above your head. When his skilled tongue found its way against yours again, you had to let out a deep moan in his mouth — especially with his fingers teasing your slick folds through your panties.

“Oh my god…” You rubbed up his arm in encouragement.

“Where do you want me, beautiful?”

You swear you could’ve melted from how gentle his voice was and how his eyes were glossing at you.

“Anywhere.” You unhooked your own bra out of sheer impatience, getting chills from how he smiled at your shamelessness. “Everywhere.”

“Let’s start… here.” His hands dipped in between your legs.

Seonghwa's hands moved with a confident grace, exploring every inch of your core with a precision that spoke of practiced skill. His thumb traced gentle circles over your clit, eliciting a soft grunt from you as the sensation washed over you. Your core tightened in response to his focused attention, and your hips began to move involuntarily, grinding against his fingers.

You were lost in a fit of absolute pleasure and enjoyment, your body arching off the bed as Seonghwa's fingers delved deeper into you. In a moment of pure instinct, you grabbed his chin, pulling him closer. His mouth was open, and before you could think twice, he sucked your fingers into his mouth, his lips and tongue working over them with a hunger that mirrored your own.

You noticed the glint in his eyes as he watched you, his gaze flickering between the action and your reactions with a possessiveness that lit up his eyes. "Are you just going to watch?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

Your fingertips brushed his smile, his lips brushing against yours as he leaned down. "But I like watching you," he murmured, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His fingers continued their tormenting, curling and twisting inside you in a way that had you squirming beneath him. He could feel your wetness coating his fingers, and it only spurred him on further.

"I n-need a little more," you whispered, but your words were swallowed by the intensity of another finger joining the first, and everything around you seemed to fade away.

Seonghwa groaned, quickly undoing his button and fly with one hand, while the other ensured your legs remained parted. Before you could compose yourself, he dropped his head and began lapping at your clit as if he were starving. At first, it was just his tongue and lips, but when you felt his fingers curl back in, you let out a loud moan of pure pleasure. You didn't even notice his growls of approval as he continued the motion, flicking his tongue faster and faster, as if you might run away at any moment.

The sight and feeling of having such a beautiful face devouring you distracted you from how he was advancing towards you, appearing in front of your face just to dip down and kiss your chest. Distracting you, he was getting ready to take out his hard-on, pumping it in his hands, coating it with your own slick.

“Do you have uh…” He started to ask, but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about that, just… now… p-please,” you urged, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled a little at you, leaning down to hold you with one arm snaked around your waist and the other hooked under your knee as he laid you both on your side. Holding onto him by his broad shoulders, you braced yourself for what was to come.

“Ah, fuck..”

He took your lips between his as he finally had you around him. The way he teased your bottom lip with his teeth, the way his tongue had explored every crevice of your mouth — it reminded you just how much you personally missed the feeling of being this intimate with someone.

Seonghwa groaned into another kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he rolled his hips, grinding his slightly curved cock deeper into your stretched folds.

"Mmm,” he murmured against your lips, nipping at them playfully before trailing his mouth down your neck. "Is this what you wanted?”

You bit back a grin, nodding aggressively as you continued to moan out all while his shaft slipped in and out at a steady pace with your hands clutched onto the back of his neck.

He caught a pert nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “You smell incredible, I’ve wanted to tell you that all night.”

You scrunched your nose, “I smell like the club.” Cigarettes and liquor.

To emphasize his point, he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before placing an open-mouthed kiss there. “I mean your skin, babe. Fuck me…” He suckled lightly, intent on leaving a subtle mark.

"How does that feel?" He asked in a low, seductive rasp as he continued his sensual stroke a little quicker.

Your breathy silent approval ignited something primal in him.

“Yeah? Faster?” He complied, increasing the pace of his thrusts. The new rhythm had him driving into you harder, deeper, the thick ridge of his cockhead kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips.

It was wild how he seemed to anticipate your every move before you could even react or give him instructions. The fluidity of his actions felt almost surreal, which sounds absurd when you consider how quickly everything unfolded. You had just met this stunning stranger, with hair flopping over his eyes – you were building brick flowers merely moments ago and now here you were focused on a different set of bricks.

One large hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as the other tangled in your hair, resting his forehead against yours intimately as he pounded into you. His lips brushed yours in fleeting, feverish kisses between ragged breaths.

"Yes, just like that," you grunted, feeling the sweat on his brow against your forehead. “Whatever you want, just take i-it.”

You felt Seonghwa's hands curve around your skin, to press down on your stomach. As his fingers dug in, it was as if they were anchoring you to the moment, making it impossible to escape from under him. Not that you even planned to.

He rocks into you with an increased urgency, driven by the overwhelming desire of how your body is responding instinctively. His eyes locked on yours, a mix of possessiveness and adoration that made your heart race. The way his muscles flexed with each thrust, sweat glistening on his skin, and his lips parting in a shameless moan.

"I-I’m…i’m almost there," He rasped, while his hot breath fanned over your skin.

Just as you're teetering on the brink, he slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt. With a guttural roar, he stills, his cock twitching as he fills you.

When the pulses gradually slowed, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer intensity of you both unravelling at the same time. His lips sought yours in a tender, lingering kiss, pouring all your affection into the simple gesture.

"Oh my god…" he breathed, still reeling as he brushed a strand of sweaty hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of your cheekbone.

“God…” You chuckled, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “I needed that so badly.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement with an eyebrow raised as your bluntness, “Glad I could’ve helped–”

You placed a finger to his lips, silencing him momentarily before you flipped him over to straddle his chest. Your eyes sparkled with mischief despite the exhaustion etched on your face. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and the sight of you climbing atop sent a thrill through his veins. His semi-hard cock twitched in anticipation as he idly watched you position yourself and slowly shift downwards, making sure to plant butterfly kisses all over his lower abdomen as you made your way down his happy trail.

You looked at him with a playful smile, your eyes glinting with excitement that you were going to taste yourself off him. Then you leaned in, capturing his cock in a deep mouth. Your tongue danced with the tip, exploring every inch of it as you savoured the taste of yourself and him. He groaned softly, his head falling back against the pillow as your warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock.

You took your time, lavishing attention on every inch, your tongue swirling and dancing along the sensitive underside. The sensation of tasting yourselves together was intensely arousing. He threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

"Mmm, shit, that feels incredible," he praised, his voice thick with pleasure. "You look so good with me around your mouth."

You hummed in agreement, the vibration sending shivers up his spine. You picked up speed, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder, your saliva coating his shaft.

"Don't stop," he gasped, his fingers threading through your hair, guiding your movements. You could feel the tension building in his body, the muscles in his legs and arms tensing as he neared his climax again.

With a final, powerful thrust of your throat, he let out a guttural roar, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he released once more. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, and then pulled back, licking your lips clean. You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with satisfaction and a hint of mischief. He was breathless, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"You're something else.” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and admiration as he watched you clean after yourself so well.

You smiled, leaning into his parted lips.

The whole thing was deliciously reckless… Yet, easy. It started off as one of those nights where the music was too loud, the drinks too strong, and yet somehow it led you here – it led him here. Seonghwa didn’t plan on meeting anyone, let alone ending up tangled in someone’s sheets, laughing at your terrible jokes between kisses that felt way too good to stop for the rest of the night.

By the time the sun started creeping through the blinds, you were both wrecked in the best way. Not just tired, but happy-tired. Wrapped up in each other like it was the most natural thing in the world — just easy conversation, lazy kisses, and that warm, quiet buzz of maybe-this-could-actually-be-something.

“So, what do you think about dinner? My place this Saturday?” you asked, looking up at him.

“Isn’t it Saturday already?” he replied with a chuckle.

“Then I guess you’ll have to stay.” You muttered with a cheek pressed against his chest.

He let out a small laugh, pulling you closer. You drifted asleep first, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back as his chin pressed lightly down the top of your head. He wasn’t tired yet, but he had a few things on his mind until his phone started going off in the other room.

He carefully untangles himself from you. His movements were quiet, practiced. He slipped his boxers on and cracked the door open to quietly head over to shut that stupid thing off.

It had to be one of the guys. That’s what he told himself. It had to be them asking if he got your number, if last night was good, if he was even still alive after stumbling out of there with you.

That’s why it came as a shock when he finally registered what he was reading on his phone.

DO NOT ANSWER Missed call (2)

DO NOT ANSWER I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to but Donghyuck said he saw you and your boys last night and… that you left that trash place with someone?

Did not know you were that kind of person…

Can we talk? I need to see you. I’m at your dorm.

It didn’t matter if it was inappropriate, offensive, or downright insane to come back after all the mental acrobatics Seonghwa was put through because his body was already moving, back to your room to quietly pull on the rest of his clothes. Every few seconds, he glanced back at you, at the way your hair fanned across the pillow, at the warmth still lingering in the sheets. With a quiet sigh, he grabbed a sticky note from your desk.

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what felt worse: leaving you, or running back to the person who only came back when he was one foot out the door, just to prove how wrapped around the finger he was. He didn’t know how to feel about any of it — but knew that he had to go. Because even if this could’ve been the start of something real, something he might’ve actually needed… he thought he needed to be there, chasing the comfort of old chains that he knew all too well.

By the time you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the emptiness beside you. The second was the way your lips still tingled from the night before, still smiling as it remembered what he tasted like and how he treated you, recalling everywhere his lips grazed, even though he had already left. He had been for a while, he could’ve woken you. He also could’ve taken the Lego orchid with him. The day was almost already gone by now, but a part of you was looking forward to seeing him again later.

It wasn’t until you reached for a glass of water that you noticed the note, neatly pressed under a fridge magnet in the kitchen that the hopeful smile you carried around your apartment dropped instantly.

"Thanks for last night. I don’t think I can stick around for that dinner. I’m sorry."

The words weren’t sloppy or rushed. He had taken his time. Like he meant it. Like that had made it better.

[imaginedisish]

Inside Out (Logan Howlett x f!reader)

A/N: Oh my god I'm back again. This is another soft!Logan fic. I couldn't hold myself back from writing this one. The next fic I have planned is going to be devious and diabolical, I promise, but for now, here's another angsty, soft and smutty Logan one shot. Couldn't stop listening to "Inside Out" by Duster while writing this one. I think it fits. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Summary: After a tense battle, you and Logan have it out (in more ways than one).

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ Minors DNI! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, PIV (unprotected...wrap it up, this is fiction!), Allusions to PTSD/mental health, Frenemies to Lovers, Fem!reader, AFAB!reader, Mutant!reader, Telepathic!reader (with heightened senses/visions), cannon typical violence/allusions to death, non-sexual intimacy becomes sexual intimacy (not sure if that warrants a warning), angry!Logan, reader has hair (length/texture/color not described!) major angst, probably grammatical errors, I think that's everything.

Word Count: 4477 wow

You and Logan are surrounded. You can hear the other members of the team nearby in the forest, screaming, grunting, fighting. Guns going off, ricocheting against trees. And now, there is a circle of government-sanctioned mutant hunters pointing their machine guns and rifles directly at the two of you. 

Your heart beats out of your chest. How the fuck are you going to get out of this? It seems impossible. Sure, you and Logan can regenerate, but not nearly fast enough. You’re outnumbered 2 to at least 40, and more to come. Maybe this is the end. Maybe there’s no going home this time. 

But then, an idea crosses your mind. Briefly. A flash. A shot in the dark. But it’s there. And if you’re strong enough, it might just work.

You wince as another presence weaves itself through the fabric of your thoughts. No, Charles shouts in your mind. It’s too dangerous. 

You shake him off, forcing up your mental shields. Logan recognizes that look on your face. He can tell you’re up to something. He has always been able to read you like a book. 

“Don’t you dare put yourself in danger,” he mutters under his breath so only you can hear him. “We are all walking out of here, and you’re no exception.”

You close your eyes. “When I tell you to get down, you get down.”

“Absolutely not!” His nostrils flare. The government agents cock their guns. 

“Lo, get down.”

“Fuck no!”

You can feel it coming—feel their fingers bracing their triggers. Pulling. Pulling. Pulling. Everything is silent for a moment. You can hear everything. Nothing. There’s a squirrel running up a tree just a few feet away. A cold breeze sweeps through your legs. Peace. 

It never lasts long, does it?

“NOW!”

BANG! The shots ring out, echoing against the branches, the sound shaking the trees. 

With half your focus, you shove Logan to the ground, and with the other, you stop each and every bullet pointed in your direction. You stop the agents too, freezing them in their places. Dense, heavy sweat builds upon your brow. You’re trembling, your hands stretched out towards Logan and the agents, but you’re still in control. You can hold on a bit longer.  

You swallow harshly, forcing the bullets to rain down to the ground. With the twist of your hand, you remove the magazines from each of the guns and unload them, the ammunition falling to the ground, too. With the agents still under your control, you bend their wrists just enough so that they sprain; just enough so that they can’t fight back. 

And then comes that sudden, familiar shift in your body and in your mind. You’re weakening, losing control, struggling to breathe. You growl in agony, your head ready burst from the pressure of hanging on too long—but you have to finish this. You have to save your friends. 

You have to save Logan. 

With one final push of your hand, you send the government agents flying deep into the forest, screaming in pain at the sheer force it takes. You fall to your knees, down on the ground next to Logan. You try to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly. You cough, choking on your own breath and saliva as the taste of metal burns at the back of your throat. You swallow it all down. One more second of that, or a few more agents to fend off, and you might not have made it. You might have died trying. 

You regain some of your energy after a few moments on the ground. It’s not until you try to stand that you notice Logan’s hand on your back. He tries to help you up, but you shake him off. 

“I’m fine,” you protest, dusting off your uniform. 

“Fine?” Fuck. He’s angry. “You call that fine? You almost died!”

You turn to face him. He wants anger? Oh, you can show him what anger fucking looks like. “We would be dead if I didn’t do that! I did what I had to do!”

He prowls toward you. His claws are still out. “Are you fucking crazy?” He’s backing you into a tree now. “Tell me, what the fuck was that? What did you think you were doing?” He retracts his claws as he pins his hands into the tree, right next to your head. The bark scratches into the rips in your uniform. 

You condescendingly poke his chest with your pointer figure. If he’s going to treat you like a child, you’re going to do the same to him. “Saving your ass, that’s what!” You shout back. 

“This is not the time or place for you two to have it out.” Scott’s grating voice fills your ears. He is the last person’s opinion you’d like to hear right now.

You and Logan snap your heads to face him. “Shut the fuck up, Scott!” You spit in unison. He throws his hands up and backs away. 

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Logan practically growls. 

You shake your head, your nostrils flaring. “I was protecting you!” You shout. “And I did! It worked!”

The rest of the team starts to board the jet, but Logan shows no sign of budging. Storm crosses her arms as she stands in front of the ramp. “Logan, let’s go.” 

He doesn’t move an inch, still caging you in. “I’ve got the bike. I’ll take her with me.”

“My bike!” Scott calls from just inside the ship. Logan shoots him a death stare. Even you roll your eyes at the comment. 

“Logan,” Charles chides from next to Storm, his voice a warning. 

You tilt your head past Logan to see Charles. “It’s fine. I’ll go with him. We’ll meet you guys at the mansion.” 

Charles nods. You swear you can see a faint smirk spread across his face, but he’s turning around and wheeling himself up the ramp before you can truly make out his expression. 

The ramp shuts behind him, and the jet powers up to leave. “So how are we settling this, hm?” You ask, cockily. Logan works his jaw, staring down at you with a fury you’re not quite sure you’ve seen before. “What would you like to do, bub?” You smirk. “What, you gonna tell me we’re supposed to be a team or something? Thought that wasn’t your style.” You know you’re being harsh, using his own words against him, ripping into him, but you don’t care. The jet takes off, but neither you nor Logan pay it any mind. 

His tongue swipes his bottom lip, and you can’t help but watch. You try to ignore how much you like the sight of it. Of him. 

“Never,” he seethes, not wavering an inch. “Never do anything like that again.”

“Why?” Is all you ask, knowing full well you’re poking the bear. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done.”

He ignores you and presses on. “I swear to God, if anything ever happens to you, I will punch a fucking hole in the goddamn universe so big that…” He trails off, his eyes searching your face. There’s a shift in his expression. ��So fucking big that…” But he still doesn’t finish the sentence. His eyes are glossed over, like he’s holding back tears. 

You’re suddenly embarrassed. You can’t keep his stare, his eyes locked on you. You look down at the leaf-covered ground, and you realize just how dirty you are. Blood on your hands, under your nails, caked into your skin. You’re finally understanding the gravity of the moment—of what could have been if your plan didn’t work. 

“It was the only way,” you pause, feeling tears sting behind your sinuses, burning as they reach your eyes. “Only way I saw it ending without you d-dying.” You have to choke the words out. “C-couldn’t lose you,” you mutter, hoping he can’t hear you. 

“And what?” He says, not backing down. “You think you’re the only one with something to lose?”

“N-no,” you stutter softly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just—”

“I’d rather die than live in a world without you.” He says finally. He pushes himself off the tree and away from you. He turns, walking towards wherever he parked the bike. 

You look at his back in disbelief. “W-what?” “You fucking heard me,” he shouts, not bothering to stop and wait for you or to elaborate further. You push your back off the tree and follow him through the forest. 

“Slow down!” You call out, still not quite fully recovered from using your powers. But he keeps pressing forward. “Logan!” You call again. “Please, I—” You stumble a bit, almost falling over, but you catch yourself just in time. You reach out to a tree for support, gripping a low branch tightly in your hand. You suck in deep, shaky breaths as you let your eyes fall closed. 

Logan shouts your name in the near distance, his voice filled with panic. His footsteps crunch the leaves of the forest floor. You can tell he’s sprinting with every twig that cracks beneath his boots. “Fuck, are you okay?” He’s next to you now, his arms enveloping you, reaching around your waist to offer you support. 

You can feel your tears bubbling to the surface, threatening to burst. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, opening your eyes to look up at him. “I just didn’t see any other way.”

“I know.” His voice is gentler now, calmer. He helps you straighten up, taking a tentative step and watching as you take one too. He walks slowly, making sure not to rush you, keeping an eye on your every move. “I’m sorry too,” he says. “What you do…you just scare me sometimes.”

You hope he doesn’t see the tear that slips out the corner of your eye and down your cheek. “I scare myself. I still can’t control my powers. I know I’m a monster.” You can see the bike in the distance, so you take another step, but Logan stops. “I just feel so inside out sometimes, like I can’t be comfortable in my own head never mind my own skin.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice is steady now, firm. His grip around your waist tightens, keeping you in place. “You’re not a monster. You’re beautiful—” He cuts himself off. “What you can do, is beautiful.”

“Then what is it that scares you?” You need to know. 

“You’re just so selfless. What you did back there…” He pauses. “You knew you could die. I saw it in the way you were standing. The way you looked at me. It was reckless.”

He searches your face, your eyes, your lips for an answer. “You’re no better,” you huff out. Logan smirks, guiding you towards the bike yet again. “It’s just what you do when you care about someone.”

“I know.” His lips are pressed against the shell of your ear. “I know,” he repeats. 

He helps you onto the back of the bike, holding your hips as you straddle the seat. His hands linger longer than they should. He squeezes softly before letting go and walking to the front. He straddles the bike himself, grabbing the key from his jacket pocket and turning it into the ignition. The bike springs to life. 

“Hang on, alright?” He calls out over the roar of the engine. You nod against his back, slipping your arms under his jacket and around his waist. He kicks the stand up, and the bike rumbles underneath you as he presses on the gas. You tighten your hold on him as the bike jolts forward. 

You rest your head on his back, letting yourself fold over him completely. He’s warm and solid underneath you. You shut your eyes, too tired to watch the tires speed across the black pavement. Aside from the engine, the tires against the street below, and the wind, there’s no sound. No one around. It’s just you and Logan. Alone. 

You feel him breathe in deeply. “Don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t make it.”  You can feel the words reverberate in his back. “I mean it.”

“But I did,” you say, lifting your head so that you can speak against his ear. “I’m right here.” He hums in affirmation, and you rest your head on his back again. You hesitantly reach your hands under his shirt this time, arms wrapping around him as tight as possible. You know this is pushing the boundaries of your “friendship,” but he doesn’t stop you—doesn’t push you away. He just hums again. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, and shut your eyes. 

“Good.”

The ride back to the mansion isn’t terribly long, and you wish it could’ve been longer. Logan drives the bike into the garage, taking the keys out of the ignition and kicking out the stand. You lift your head, and before you can even think of getting up on your own, Logan is wrapping his arms around your body and lifting you off the seat. 

You let him hold you there for a moment. You try to tell yourself that this is just a hug between friends, that this whole situation is what happens when you care about someone too much. But it’s hard to lie to yourself when you feel so impossibly strongly about someone. 

He drops his arms from your body and silently takes your hand in his. He guides you to the door that leads to the mansion, keeping you close. 

It’s dark once you step inside. Everyone must have gone to bed. It likely took you and Logan five times as long as the jet to get back to the mansion. Quiet fills the halls. There’s not a stir, not a creak, not a step. You can sense that everyone is asleep, or at least in their rooms. 

“Lo?” You whisper. He squeezes your hand. A surge of confidence racks through you. “Can you stay with me?” You’re not quite sure what you mean by that—what you expect him to do if he stays. All you’re certain of is that you don’t want him to leave. 

He nods, leading you up the stairs. “Won’t go anywhere, sweetheart.” He guides you down the hall towards his room. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?” 

He opens the door and guides you in, shutting it carefully behind him. He lets go of your hand, the sudden emptiness making your palm feel cold. How do people become so important, so quickly? How can someone letting go of your hand hurt so bad when they’re still just a few feet away? You’re not sure, but you know this feeling is dangerous. 

He’s rummaging through his drawers for a few seconds before he pulls out a t-shirt and places it on the dresser in front of him. He grabs another set of clothes, closes the drawer, and carries them over to you. He extends the shirt out to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. That’s what he is right now: soft. You’re not used to this side of him. 

You take the shirt from him, smiling back. “You should shower. You can use mine.” His head tilts towards the bathroom on the other side of his room. You nod and pad over, opening the door, turning on the lights, and closing the door behind you. 

You keep moving, undressing and turning the water on. It doesn’t take long for the water to heat up, the steam fogging every inch and surface of the room. You step inside the shower, letting the water run down your body. Your eyes fall closed while your mind searches for some kind of peace. You try to recall what Charles often told you: Calm your mind. But it isn’t working this time. Your mind is racing. 

You envision Logan’s angry, fearful face; his concern and panic. Charles’s call that it would be too dangerous echoes and reverberates. You see yourself dead on the ground, Logan holding your lifeless body in his arms. Even worse, you find yourself imagining that it didn’t work at all—that you couldn’t save the team, never mind yourself. This time it’s Logan’s body you see, on the ground, dead. Just like that, your whole world can slip out of your hands and turn to nothing. 

Choked sobs escape your throat as you let yourself fall to your knees. There’s a piercing, splitting pain somewhere deep inside your head. These visions, these feelings, this pain—it’s physical and mental. And it’s too much. It’s not the first time you’ve had visions like these after a fight or a mission, but it is the worst episode yet. 

There’s a knock on the door, followed by Logan calling your name. You try to answer, but your voice is caught in your throat. Logan knocks harder, but you still can’t speak. “I’m coming in!” The door swings open and his eyes widen as he sees your crumpled form on the shower floor, face stained red with tears. 

He shoves the shower door open, practically cracking the glass in the process. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how naked you are, but it’s clear Logan isn’t. His gaze is trained on your face. “I-it happens, sometimes,” you stutter, reassuring him that this is normal. “A-after missions.”

Logan’s shoulders relax, his eyes softening with understanding. “I know what you mean.” His hands come up to your arms, rubbing gently. “Let me help you.” He gestures with his head toward the shower. You nod and watch as Logan takes his shirt off. He stands to take off his jeans, and you look away, taking the moment to force yourself to stand. You hear him step into the shower and slide the door shut behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, swallowing harshly. 

Logan stands behind you, less than a foot away. The shower is just big enough for the two of you. “Nothing to be sorry for. Just let me take care of you.” 

“Okay,” you whisper. You hear him shuffle a bit, squeeze a bottle, and shuffle a bit more. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks. 

“Y-yeah,” you answer. You wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating. But before you can think about it too much, his hands come up to your wet hair. He massages shampoo into your scalp, his fingertips scrubbing ever so gently. You feel your shoulders settle—your body relax. No one has ever done anything like this for you before. 

You watch as the dirt trickles down your body to the drain. After a few moments of massaging, Logan nudges you forward a bit, and you take the hint to step under the water fully. You close your eyes as he scrubs the shampoo from your hair. 

When he’s done, he removes his hands from your hair and slides them down to your neck, and then to your shoulders. You step away from the water, almost bumping into his chest in the process. 

“’M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“No more apologizing, darlin’.” His hands come off your shoulders. You feel lost without the contact. You listen as the bottle pops open again, and Logan quickly scrubs the shampoo into his own hair. You instinctively step forward to let him rinse, and he does.

You take a deep breath, trying to concentrate and calm down now that his hands aren’t on you. But it doesn’t last long. He opens another bottle, pouring more liquid into his hands. 

He rests his hands on your shoulders again. You can feel the body wash run down your arms. “Can I…” Logan trails off, his hands firm, unmoving until you give the word. 

“Mhm,” you hum. His hands start to work the soap into your arms, up to your neck, your collarbone, stopping just above your chest. “Logan,” you murmur, letting yourself lean into him. You feel his heart beating against your back. His breath fans over your shoulder.

You can tell he’s losing his composure, the way he slouches around you, inviting you in. This isn’t something friends do. You two aren’t friends. This is something more. 

And he knows. 

“There’s no coming back from this,” he whispers, his lips at your temple. “If we do this.”

You push back further into him. “Who says I’d want to go back?”

Your back is suddenly met with the cold shower wall, your chest flush with Logan’s. His lips press into yours, swallowing your moans as his hands come up to your breasts, pinching your nipples lightly. He moves down your body quickly, leaving a trail of kisses down your jawline, your neck, the center of your chest, your stomach, stopping just above your clit. 

“Relax,” he soothes, his thumbs brushing your hips. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands before pressing a kiss to your clit. You shudder at the feeling, whispering his name and throwing your head back. 

He licks a long stripe up your cunt, landing on your clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking roughly. He laps at you hungrily, like a man starved. One of his hands resting on your hip comes down in between your thighs, experimentally sliding through your folds, teasing your entrance. 

It feels so good, but you want him—need him—closer. He inserts two fingers, gently pumping in and out, flicking your clit with his tongue at the same time. 

“Logan,” you whine. You look down at him, his head buried in your cunt. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with lust. You’re already close. But it’s not enough “Need you, now. Want you here.”

“I’m here,” he mumbles against your core. You’re shaking, melting underneath him. 

“N-need you,” you beg again. “Please.” 

He sucks on your clit one last time before removing his fingers from your cunt and standing up to meet you.

His hands rest on either side of your head. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice wavers just a bit, a slight tremble shaking the usual steadiness of his words. He looks down to your lips and back up to your eyes—his jaw working, as if he’s searching for a sign that you’ve changed your mind—that you don’t want him anymore. 

But you’ll always want him. You always have. 

“Y-yes,” You stutter. He wraps one hand around the back of your neck and uses the other to hoist one of your legs around his waist. His hard cock rubs against your stomach as he moves to line up with your entrance. 

“Wanted you this whole time, pretty girl.” He thrusts into you, sinking down to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, pulling you into him, his free hand grabbing your ass and picking you up so that both legs wrap around his waist. 

He uses the wall as leverage, fucking you into the tiles at your back. Once he’s sure you’re stable against him, his hand leaves your ass and comes in between your bodies, searching for your clit. He begins to stroke, drawing perfect circles there, while his cock hits that sweet spot inside you. 

It’s perfect, everything about this moment is perfect. It all feels so good. You moan his name, his hips rutting into you over and over again.

“Doing so good for me,” he husks, biting the skin just under your jaw, licking the spot where your pulse point is, peppering kisses there. You wonder if he does it because it’s a reminder that you’re still here, still alive, still breathing. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.” 

His words work to coax you off the edge, each swipe of his fingers and thrust of his cock bringing you closer to your orgasm. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his name—him—the only thing in your normally noisy mind. This is what peace is. This is the calm you’ve been searching for your whole life: it’s him. 

You can feel his pace growing faster, his cock pushing deeper, stretching you out as he plunges into you. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, kissing your pulse point again. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Your walls flutter around him, your clit becoming overstimulated and sensitive as he flicks roughly. You’re so close. “Lo—” but you can’t find the words. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he mumbles, his forehead pressing to yours. “Want you to look at me when you come. Can you do that for me?” 

You moan a yes as he buries his cock deep inside you, before pulling out and pumping back in again. 

You can feel your eyes growing heavy, but you keep them open, watching Logan as he pulls your orgasm from you. “That’s it. I’ve got you.” His words, the bass of his voice, him, it all sends you over the edge. He works you through it, still circling your clit, his pace growing sloppier as he chases his own orgasm. 

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist. He knows what you want. “Inside,” you whisper. 

“Oh f-fuck,” he moans, coming inside you, filling you up. 

His thrusts begin to slow, his hand leaving that space between your bodies. You feel like air, weightless, drunk off the way he makes you feel. He carefully slips out of you, but he doesn’t put you back down on the ground. He simply readjusts, picking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the shower. 

He sets you down on the bathmat and crosses the tiled floor to the towel rack, where two towels conveniently hang. He wraps one towel around his waist as he strides over to you. He starts to dry you off, rubbing you gently, kissing each spot he dries as he goes. He’s worshipping you, taking care of you. No one has ever taken care of you like this. 

Once he’s finished, he wraps you up in the towel, and picks you up again. He carries you back into his room, resting you gently on the already turned-down bed. He crawls in after you, discarding his towel in the process. You toss your towel to the side, too. You nestle in under the covers, and Logan does the same. 

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You can feel that peace again, that calm from before, when he was buried inside of you. It was him. It was always him. Your mind is quiet, no longer all loud and inside out. 

“I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, his legs tangling with yours. 

You bury your face into his chest. “Don’t let go.” But you know you don’t need to ask. 

His mind is already made up. 

“Never will.” 

[mostly-imagines]

Scenes From an Afternoon Odyssey

jason todd x fem!reader

aka a day in the forest

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: reader wears a bra

middle picture art by spaceboykenny

You’ve nearly reached the peak of the slope, the uphill trek putting quite a toll on your legs. Jason insisted on holding your hand because his longer stride tends to put him several steps ahead of you. The sun beats down on your backs, the uptake in the heat of the day actually feeling quite nice compared to the chill that’s swept over Gotham recently.

Upon arriving at the flat plane, you take in a pretty array of sunflowers and a thoughtfully placed bench.

Jason halts his steps, looking back at you. “You need a break?” He asks, noting the way your breathing has become a bit labored.

You hum, taking a deep inhale. “Just for a second,” you say, plopping down on the bench.

He reaches behind him to fish the water bottle out of the pocket of his backpack. “Drink some water.” he says gruffly, holding the bottle out to you.

You don’t particularly feel like you need water again just yet, but you know better than to try and fight him on something related to taking care of yourself. It’s a losing battle and he’s proved it time and time again.

You take the drink from him, taking a couple sips. He eyes you with disapproval, bringing his hand up to tilt the bottom of the bottle up more. You down a few gulps, trying not to smile.

He takes the bottle back from you, taking a couple gulps of his own. Once the water returns to its pocket, he sits down next to you, hand massaging your thigh. In turn, your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, playing with the short hair there.

Despite your claim, you sit for longer than a second, listening to the birds chirping and the leaves rustling in the wind. It really is a beautiful day and Jason knew a great trail that’s hardly ever busy. It’s aways away from Gotham, but any excuse he can take to get the two of you out of the smog filled city, he’ll take.

Between the serenity of the scene in front of you and the warmth of his touch on your thigh, your breathing steadies pretty quickly.

You peer at the path ahead, taking note of how level and easy it looked. Your hand flattens on the base of his neck as you turn to him, “I could beat you in a race.” You say decidedly.

He huffs out a laugh, meeting your eyes with a glint of amusement shining in his own. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile, nodding, “Been waiting for a chance to prove it.”

You stand up, turning around to take his hand and pull him up with you. He does most of the work for you, pulling his weight up himself.

“You wanna go?” He smiles, looking down at you.

“Do you wanna go?” Your smile grows impossibly, and Jason decides right then and there that he’d do absolutely anything to see you light up like that again.

You figure a sprint is your best chance, you’re not willing to bet that you can beat out a vigilante when it comes to endurance. Especially considering the uphill incline almost took you out.

You settle on a finish line about 30 feet away, and as you position yourselves to start, you feel your overconfidence begin to cave back in on you. His stature swamps you out, and it's becoming clear that you’ve got no real chance here. In any case, you’ve committed and this is happening.

“Ready…set…” both of you have the idea to start before you say go, taking off with haste.

You’re laughing as you run, which isn’t doing you any favors with keeping ahead of him, though you’re able to maintain a pretty neck and neck match.

Did he let you win? Yeah. He’s a gentleman, of course. He’s right on your tail though, and lifts you up from under your arms as you cross the finish line, nipping at your neck as you giggle.

He sets you back down gently, “Alright, fast girl. You need a drink?” He tucks some stray hair in your face back behind your ear.

“No, I’m...” You pause, scanning around. You point at a big tree along the side of the trail ahead. “You see that tree right there?”

He glances over, “Yeah?”

You take off sprinting for it without another word. And apparently cheating is a quick ticket to him dropping the act and beating you without an ounce of mercy.

You’re sitting on a relatively level branch in a tree next to Jason, one of your legs resting on top of one of his. You swing your free leg back and forth, biting into your sandwich.

There’s a couple juice boxes balancing in the small space between you, both half empty. He’d laughed at you when you picked them up from the store on the way there, but he drinks it all the same.

He holds your ziplock bag of chips out to you and you take a small handful, popping them into your mouth. When your hand moves to return to your side, he takes it in his own and presses your knuckles to his lips gently.

With a sly smile, you watch butterflies dance around each other and listen to birds singing their offbeat songs. And you think about Jason. You think about how he held you in his arms last night so you could fall asleep while he read. How on the way up here he’d held your hand as you balanced across the stones, forcing him to walk at a much slower pace than he’d probably prefer. You told him he could walk a little ahead, but he’d insisted on holding your hand so you didn’t “slip and bust your head open” in his words.

You wouldn’t know it, but he’s combing through his own set of memories of you too. It’s a bit silly to spend so much time dwelling on these warm memories about someone that’s only right next to you, but you’ve both found it’s hard to stop.

It used to scare Jason, how often you occupied his whole mind. He’d never felt such intense adoration and devotion before that he’d nearly mistaken it for fight or flight. It was foreign and strange, and it felt like danger. But it didn’t take long for the effects of his love to kick in like a drug, and now he can’t get enough of you.

But you don’t feel like a drug, you feel like a cure. You make him feel like himself again, like death never got a hold of him and like he’s an innocent soul anew. You treat him like it, at least.

Maybe it’s silly to fall into such a deep pit of thoughts about you when you’re right there, smiling so bright over at him and gleefully pointing out a couple of squirrels that are fighting over an acorn. But he’s happy to let you take up as much space in his head as you want.

You sit with your legs dangling off the pier, shoes cast aside so you can enjoy the cool water. Jason sits a few feet behind you, laying down against the wood of the dock, the sun beating down on his face.

The water is a beautiful blue marble reflection, and the sun radiates down on your skin, sending warmth throughout your body which combats the light breeze handily. You lean down and dip your hand into the water, letting it run between your fingers like thread.

“Can we swim?” you pipe up, looking over your shoulder at Jason.

He raises his eyebrows at you, “You didn’t know there was a lake up here.” He means he knows you don’t have a swimsuit under your clothes.

You shrug, “There’s no one up here.”

He scans around mildly, before looking at the water. “Yeah, okay.” He tugs his shirt off his back, coming to a stand.

You grin, pulling up the material of your own shirt from your waist. Once it’s swept over your head, Jason’s left in just his boxers and not a moment later you’re in a similar state.

He smiles at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and it takes you no time at all to realize where he’s going with this. He lifts you up off the ground and dives off the dock, submerging you both in the water.

You bob back up out of the water, not even trying to suppress the glee on your face. And somewhat to your surprise, neither does he.

You’d had dinner at the manor with his family last night and you were still a bit attuned to Jason’s closed off, stoic mood that he gets in around them. He feels something akin to insecurity when he openly emotes around them. Vulnerability, maybe. Either way, you know he hates the feeling and will avoid it at all costs so it’s nice when it’s just the two of you and he gets to act like himself.

Unlike Jason, you can’t quite touch the floor of the lake, so you tread with the water wavering at your neck. The water barely reaches the start of Jason’s shoulders as he stands before you.

He closes the small space between you before his arms make their way under your thighs, lifting you up out of the water slightly. He looks up at you with a lazy smile as you wrap your legs around his body. Your cheeks warm and you hold his face in your hands, leaning down to kiss him with heat.

He deepens the kiss, thumbs rubbing at your thighs as his head tilts back. Your thumbs stroke at his cheek in turn, smiling against his lips.

He actually whines when you pull away, chasing your lips. You rest your hands on his shoulders, simpering down at him.

“Alright, slow down, hotshot. We’re not doing anything in a lake.” You laugh, pushing the dripping white streak back with the rest of his wet hair.

He huffs, “If there was anyone around here I promise you would not be half naked right now.”

You push yourself off of him, dropping back down into the water. “Other people are the least of your concerns,” you say, grinning and splashing him in the face, backing away with haste.

He blinks the water out of his eyes, laughing. “That’s how it is?”

You bite your lip as he approaches and you continue to retreat. “Can’t have you losing focus.”

He raises his brow at you, wearing a smile that says that you should know that was a mistake. He proves it as he dives after you, lifting you up over his shoulder and tossing you into the water with an unfair amount of ease.

You’re a bit hidden away in the tall grass, the scent of lavender flowers placing you in repose. You’re laying with your head in his lap, eyes closed as he pages through his book.

He’s reading out loud, though if you’re being honest, you haven’t fully processed a single word he’s read in at least ten minutes. He’s good at making you relax with his voice, and the amount of exercise you’ve gotten in today is doing nothing to slow it down.

You can’t think of when he started playing with your hair, but it feels soothing and frankly it’s making you very sleepy. Between the gravelly lull of his words and the rustling of the flora throughout the field you’re about to pass out.

“I’m gonna fall asleep.” You mumble, eyes shut.

His hand stills and he extends his book away from his body so he can see your face. “Sweetheart, there’s not a chance in hell you were awake that whole time.”

“I was,” you say, blinking up at him blearily. “I was just resting my eyes.”

He looks down at you skeptically. “How long have we been here?”

You click your tongue, “Like fifteen minutes.”

“It’s been an hour and a half.” he says simply, flipping his book shut from the last page as proof.

“It has n—” you look up at the sky and notice the sun is in a wildly different spot than it was when you’d first laid down. You’re almost completely in the shadows of the trees now. “Wh—why did you let me sleep for so long?”

He hums lowly, “You looked peaceful.” He pauses, “Pretty.”

He looks at the sky, squinting. He nudges you off his lap gently, coming to a stand. “Come on. The sun’s gonna start going down soon.”

You groan and he pulls you up to join him, your fatigue tailing after you. You lean your weight against him and rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes again. “Let’s just stay here.”

You feel him shake his head. “Can’t stay here, sweetheart. Who’ll feed the strays back home?”

He’s right. You can’t leave them to dumpster dive again.

You groan louder as you pull back and stand up straight. “You did not mention that the trail was so long.” You look down at your sore legs and try to stretch them out a bit to get energy back in them.

When you look back up at him, he’s swinging the backpack on, but he stops midway, dropping it to his side again.

He slugs his backpack over your shoulders, turning his back to you and bending down a bit. You take the hint and jump up. He catches you with ease, hoisting you up higher.

He starts down the grassy path out of the field, sidestepping flowers and bumblebees as he goes. Your head lulls to the side and ends with your cheek resting on his shoulder.

He bobs you up, “If I’m carrying you all the way back to the car you have to stay awake.”

“If you’re carrying me all the way back to the car, what difference does it make?” you grumble, eyes fluttering.

“Keep me company.”

You pick your head up and press a kiss to his neck. “I can do that. What do you want to eat tonight?”

He hums thoughtfully. “You wanna get pizza?”

You nod, pleased. “Big day for us.”

You have one arm draped loosely over his shoulder and the other lags by your side. “Are you going on patrol tonight?” You ask him.

He peers back at you haphazardly, “Uh, no—will you hold onto me, please?”

You’re nowhere near falling, but you know that’s not why he wants you to hold onto him. You’re happy to oblige though. You wrap your arms around him, crossing them over each other so you can hold onto his shoulders.

Seemingly content, he continues, “No, I’m not. Wanna stay in with you.”

“Aw. Going soft on me?” You rag.

He hums deeply, “Or maybe I'm just sick of being around Dick.”

You scoff, “Well, if you’re gonna be mean.”

“I’m literally carrying you right now.” He shrugs you up a bit in emphasis. Fair enough.

You look up and can see the pinking hues of the sky in between the leaves of the trees, glowing down softly on you. Your mouth twists into a contemplative frown. It takes you a moment to piece together where you’re at, but you eventually realize you’re only halfway back to the car. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it back before sunset.”

“That’s okay.” He tells you.

You rest your chin on his shoulder, a bemused pout on your face. “You hate it when I’m outside after dark.”

“I hate it when you’re alone outside after dark.” He corrects.

“Ah.” You nod, thoughtfully. “But now I’ve got my strong boyfriend to protect me, right?”

He scoffs but you’re just upset you can’t see the flush on his cheeks that you’re certain is there.

Though he shows no signs of struggling, you’re beginning to feel guilty that he’s spending his day off lugging you around.

“I can walk.” You offer, pushing yourself up a bit, ready to jump down.

“I know.” He says simply, shrugging you up higher.

[bitter-me]

Flustered Biker Boy

Lighter | M. Reader

----------

Based on one of his Trust Events, where he got flustered/shy from being called handsome. So I took it and multiplied it by three.

----------

"The Red Scarf," "the Undefeated Champion," "the Champion of the Sons of Calydon."

So many titles just for one man. He must be a legend if people speak of him in such a way. Someone that could be considered as a myth. So surreal that there's no way someone like him truly exists. It's impossible to think one person has the ability fight at least 50 men. Alone. All at once. And emerge victorious.

Yet it's all true. That man does exist and that man...

Is currently trying to hide his face with his scarf.

[Name] laughs at Lighter's reaction. He had just called him handsome and he's already so flustered? Is this the same Champion they talk about in the Outer Ring? But hey, he's not complaining. It's cute~

"Is something wrong? Your face is red." To see Lighter's face slowly rivaling the red of his scarf is a sight to behold. A sight.. only for him to see. Oh what privilege.

Lighter didn't respond. Instead he just cleared his throat. "Anyways.." He tries to act all cool and suave. As if being called handsome earlier didn't affect him in such a way which only earned him another laugh from [Name].

----------

Hanging out with Lighter had always been a joy. Despite his appearance and the whispers about him. He's quite the character. A man of power who sometimes has a childish streak. Someone who can play along and have fun but act all serious when the situation demands it. Who wouldn't love someone like that? Someone from the Outer Ring?

"Oh, they have a couple discount on the milk tea." [Name] thought out loud the moment he read the sign in front of the store. With a cheeky grin he glances over at Lighter and instantly links his arms around the other, making a B-line to the store.

Lighter was about to ask what's wrong only to be cut off by [Name]'s next words. "Excuse me, we like to take the couple discount, please."

Heat instantly makes its way onto Lighter's face. He originally thought that they were in some kind of danger. That someone was stalking them and planning to strike, which is why [Name] linked their arms like that. Trying to lead both of them to safety or something, but no. He was wrong. There wasn't some bad guy for him to fight. No, this is a different fight. A battle against..

..Economy.

Oh the things they do for a discount.

Meanwhile [Name] is extremely happy with himself. They've gotten milk tea for half the price and saw Lighter trying to hide his flustered face by drinking his milk tea.

What a great day to be alive.

----------

In this quality time of theirs. The two decided to go to the Outer Ring. So far [Name] had always suggested something in New Eridu, making excuses that Lighter should learn a few things about the city. But this time it was his turn to learn about the Outer Ring with Lighter as his guide.

But of course, time flies by fast when you're having fun.

Getting off of the bike [Name] stretched out his limbs with a groan. He had nearly forgotten how long the ride was from the Outer Ring to New Eridu. However it was more than worth it.

"You know, I had fun today." He began slowly before planting a small kiss on Lighter's cheek and pulls away with a cheeky grin. "See you later, biker boy." And with that he went straight towards the front door. Leaving an obviously red Lighter alone on his bike.

The red scarf had always suited him. Making him quite the eye candy. But a red face would definitely make him ten times more handsome.

[dragonridersandhighlords]

To Reach You | Garrick Tavis

Garrick Week Masterlist

Summary: When a mission takes a dangerous turn, Garrick is forced to make an impossible choice—and proves there's no distance he wouldn't cross for the person he loves.

Note: For Garrick Week Day 3: Distance - @empyreanevents

Pairing: Garrick Tavis x Reader

Warnings: battle injuries, hurt/comfort

Word Count: <1k

They were surrounded.

The hillside, once quiet under gray skies, now thundered with the screeches of wyverns and the deafening crash of spells colliding. Garrick’s blade sang through the air as he ducked, pivoted, parried, but his gaze kept flicking—again and again—across the battlefield, seeking only one thing.

You.

Your dragon Aestra’s furious roar cuts across the noise, and Garrick’s heart seized. She wouldn’t scream like that unless—

Then he saw it.

Your dragon’s wings faltered mid-air, a sharp veer to the left before she managed to stay aloft. Garrick’s eyes dropped to the ground below and found her—collapsed in the dirt, unmoving.

“No,” he breathed.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. One moment, he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Xaden, defending the eastern ridge.

The next, he was gone.

There was a thundercrack of air collapsing behind him, a pulse in the threads of time and space as Garrick wielded his hidden signet, ripping through distance like it was nothing but paper. It burned through his body like wildfire, but he didn’t care. He would pay the price later. If there was a later.

He landed in a crouch beside you, knees slamming into the blood-soaked earth.

Your eyes were closed. Blood streaked your temple, shoulder twisted unnaturally, and your side was already dark with soaked-through fabric.

Garrick’s hands were trembling before they even touched you.

“Hey. Hey, no, come on—” His voice cracked as he pressed two fingers to your throat. Your pulse was there, weak but still there.

Relief hit so hard it nearly knocked him over.

“Chradh,” he called, not lifting his gaze from your face. “Get us out. Now.”

The dragon didn’t hesitate. Chradh shrieked alongside his mate, protective and primal, lowering himself as close as he could. Garrick barely managed to lift you—cradling your body like you were made of glass—before hauling himself into the seat. He held you against his chest the whole flight back, his clothes stained with your blood and his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

He didn’t realize he was whispering, over and over again, “Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me,” as the air around him shifted with the use of his signet again.

It took Brennan and two more healers to stabilize you. Garrick stood outside the infirmary, fingers twitching like they were still coated in your blood, feeling like he might tear through space again just to rewind the day and fix it before it ever happened.

Someone from the squad found him eventually, probably Xaden. Told him the enemy was driven off. That the rest of the mission had gone sideways without him, but they'd made it out alive.

He just nodded once and walked into the healer’s ward like he hadn’t heard a word.

When she finally woke, pale and quiet against the linen sheets, Garrick was already beside you. He looked like a ghost with dark shadows under his eyes. His hand was wrapped gently around yours, and the look on his face—when your fingers twitched against his—was the most human he’d looked in days.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

He leaned closer, forehead brushing against yours for the briefest moment.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, low and broken.

You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“You used your signet,” she murmured. “Someone could’ve seen—”

“I don’t care.”

“Garrick—”

He pulled back, gaze sharpening. “I don’t care about orders. I don’t care about secrecy. I don’t care what Brennan or Bodhi or even Xaden says. I felt our bond snap like lightning through my spine and I knew you were down. You think I’m going to stand there and wait for permission to save you?”

You blinked at him, lashes wet. “You could get court-martialed.”

“I could survive that. I won’t survive losing you.”

Silence fell between you, thick and raw. Your breath hitched, and Garrick leaned forward again, one hand cupping the uninjured side of your face with devastating gentleness.

“I don’t care what it costs. I’d do it again. Every time. I’ll always come for you.”

A tear slid down your cheek. “You’re such an idiot,” You whispered.

He smiled faintly. “Your idiot.”

You squeezed his hand with what little strength you had. “Perfectly mine.”

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse @poisonivy2267

[moluvies]

time ꔛ armin arlert x f!reader

a/n: first time writing straight smut i fear and it's also not proofread😿🙏‼️

words: 4.6k

cw: reader with fem anatomy, soldier!reader, friends to lovers, takes place a bit before s4, SMUT!!, pinv sex, fingering, confessions, MDNI !

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

"Hey, you're doing fine. Seriously," Armin said, hoping to calm your nerves as you practiced aiming at the cans off in the distance.

"I'm missing everything," you sighed in frustration, placing the end of the rifle on the ground in front of you. "How is it possible I even graduated from the 104th when I can't even aim?"

"You saw Connie yesterday, right?" Armin pointed out with a small smile.

"Yeah, but he eventually gets the hang of everything." You felt utterly defeated. For the past 3 days you were practicing with guns, the anti-Marleyan refugees supplying them and Commander Hange encouraging you all to find the time to practice with them. After all, now the battle wasn’t simply exclusive to fighting titans.

Armin had been sitting with you at the unofficial shooting range for nearly an hour now, and you've successfully knocked a whopping 5 cans so far.

You go on to miss another, causing you to sigh again dramatically. Armin stands, chuckling more to himself as he steps closer to you. "You're overthinking it," he states simply. You ignore him, shutting one eye as you aim. Armin covers his ears before you pull the trigger, grazing the next can with the bullet but not fully penetrating it.

At that point, you couldn't even sigh. It was getting ridiculous and quite frankly super annoying. Titans, whatever. They were big - a big, open target that was pretty much impossible to miss. Cans were another thing entirely, and you couldn't imagine being in a scenario where you were obligated to shoot at a moving, living being.

Armin takes one look at your pouting face and grins, trying to hold back a laugh in order to not make you feel worse than you already were. "Just relax," he says gently, reaching out and adjusting the posture of your shoulders before pulling away. "Don't squeeze the trigger too hard, either," he adds, covering his ears in preparation for your next shot.

You take a deep breath in, trying to relax your mind and body, before you pull the trigger. And what do you know? You still missed.

It took everything in you to not crash onto the ground and throw a tantrum, but your reputation would be in shambles if Armin saw. Not that he'd tell anyone, but it still took a lot of strength to hold yourself together and not completely crash out.

"It's okay," he laughs, taking the rifle from your hands. "Just give it time."

"What if I don't have enough time?" You ask, taking a few strides to the table to pick up a canteen of water.

He hadn't thought about it lately, but it all was dawning on him that time was very limited now. It could happen in an instant that something could change for the worst. With the knowledge of Marley and the impending war between the nation and your little island, it was tough to stay laid-back or even think of time as something unlimited. As a child, it was so easy to imagine time as something that never ran out. Here in the current situation, though, that wasn't really an option.

"I get what you mean," Armin finally replied, the silence thick between you two.

It seemed you both thought of things you haven't done yet, seen yet, or even said yet. And that feeling was nauseating, causing your own heart to swell and your mind swim with the thoughts of things you'd do if you had all the time in the world.

But you didn't. And that realization was panic-inducing, to say the least.

"Dinner's ready! Unless you two plan on starving out here!" The voice of Jean provided a momentary distraction, allowing you both to move on from that conversation.

You wait for Armin to start moving towards the mess hall first, then you fall into a stride beside him. "Well, if time's running out I better start hitting those stupid cans," you joke, making Armin let out a laugh.

ꔛ

The evening went on relatively normally after that. You sat with your usual friends at dinner and hung out near the training grounds for a bit before you all eventually decided to call it a night one by one.

You sat in your room at the barracks alone, your rank granting you a separate bedroom (which was just implemented largely due to all the new buildings seeming to sprout up all over Paradis). The setup was similar to a dorm, with a small cubic room to sleep in but shared bathrooms and shower spaces. It was nice and definitely an improvement to being forced to listen to Sasha's snoring every night.

A soft knock on the door made you perk your head up from the book you were reading. You stood up and walked over, only to be greeted by Armin standing on the other side.

"Hey," you said with a smile, "can't sleep?"

Armin, a grin instantly tugging at his lips at the sight of you in your pajamas, nodded in response. "Yeah. I have been staying up pretty late, though, recently," he added the last part almost shyly, as if to justify being up at the late hour.

You step out of the way after opening your door wider, allowing Armin to take a few strides inside. Your dorm was equipped with all the things a soldier might need to pass the time. A bookshelf next to your small bed and a desk in the corner with papers scattered along the surface. A dim lantern gave the room a warm glow and a cozy feeling, along with the dainty curtains that covered the window that were thin and soft but nice for the warming weather.

"I was just reading," you say, shutting the door. "Sometimes I miss the training days where all of us girls would stay up late talking, but also I could go without a lot of things from then."

Armin laughed, taking a seat on your bed and eyeing the book you were reading previously. "You're telling me. The boys' barracks were always full of surprises, often not good ones," he replied.

You dropped next to him, letting the silence begin to stretch and envelope around you two before Armin cleared his throat.

"Listen," he started, head turning toward you but eyes not meeting yours as if he was nervous. "I was thinking a lot about our conversation earlier," he admitted. "About... time. And it kind of scared me a bit, if I'm being honest."

You nodded, understanding what he was talking about. "I know, me too," you replied. "Who knows what'll even happen tomorrow, let alone years into the future? It's scary."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It got me thinking about things I put off doing because I assumed I'd have the opportunity to do them later. I always assumed these were things I would always have time for, but that's just not the case. With the lives we live, as Eldians and as soldiers, it's tough to say if we'll have time for anything."

The words hung in the air between you, carrying the weight of a truth both of you had been avoiding. You nodded slowly, understanding exactly what Armin meant.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is..." he hesitated, his voice faltering slightly like he was holding back. He paused, taking a deep breath as he finally turned to meet your gaze. His blue eyes, usually so calm and kind, were now swimming with a mix of fear and determination. "I'm done wasting time."

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the look in his eyes. "What do you mean?" You asked, eyes never leaving his.

"You know what I mean," he said, his voice a bit rough with nervousness and something else.

Your heart fluttered when the meaning of his words started to sink in. The vulnerability in his expression, the way his voice trembled ever so slightly, the way his fingers curled into fists on his knees as if trying to muster up courage—it was all so... Armin. And it made your heart ache.

"Armin, I..." you started, unable to really find the words to reply with anything else. Especially when he began to shift closer.

With a whisper of your name, his hands gently cupped your cheeks as he slightly leaned in as you felt yourself do the same. Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours.

The kiss started soft, almost cautious, like he wasn’t entirely sure if this was okay. But the moment you responded, your hand slipping to the back of his neck to pull him closer, all hesitation melted away. It was like something inside him snapped, and suddenly the kiss was anything but cautious.

Armin kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment forever, like he was terrified it might be the only chance he’d ever get. One of his hands moved to hold you at the waist, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were certain he could feel it. There was nothing gentle about the way he kissed you now, nothing reserved. It was desperate, heated, and filled with all the emotions he had been holding back for so long.

When his tongue slowly traced at your lips you were unable to decline, your mouth parting as it gently slipped inside to meet yours. Armin let out a soft sigh at the feeling of your tongue and lips, his grip on your waist tightening just a bit. Your fingers tangled into his blonde hair as you kissed.

Armin’s hands slid down from your waist, his fingers brushing over the soft fabric of your sleep shirt—thin, worn, and barely concealing the warmth of your skin beneath. His touch was teasing, exploratory, as if he was mapping every curve, every breath you took. His lips never left yours, though the kiss had slowed into something deeper, more deliberate, his tongue tracing lazy patterns against yours.

When his fingers grazed the hem of your shirt, he pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice rough with want but still laced with that careful consideration. "May I...?"

You nodded, breathless, and he didn’t hesitate any longer. His hands slid under the fabric, palms skimming up your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the swell of your breasts. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a quiet laugh escaping him as his fingers traced higher.

"No bra?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his cheeks were flushed. "I mean... I get it. Comfort first." His thumbs circled your nipples, already stiffening under his touch, and he smirked. "But damn, is it convenient."

You huffed a laugh, but it dissolved into a gasp as his fingers pinched lightly, rolling the sensitive peaks between them. "Armin—"

"You okay?" he asked, though his hands didn’t stop, his touch alternating between soft caresses and firmer pressure, testing what made you shiver.

You nodded, biting your lip as his mouth left yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your throat. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you arched into him instinctively, your fingers tightening in his hair.

"Good," he breathed against your skin, his hands sliding fully up to cup your breasts, kneading them with a slow, deliberate rhythm. His thumbs flicked over your nipples again, and he grinned when you whined. "I’ve thought about this. A lot. Way too much, if I'm honest. How you’d sound. How you’d feel."

His lips found the dip of your collarbone, sucking lightly before dragging his tongue over the spot, soothing the sting. One hand left your chest to trail lower, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your sleep pants. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You shook your head, your hips shifting toward his touch. "Please don't."

Armin laughed, low and breathless, before his hands slid further down into your waistband, fingertips tracing the curve of your thighs. "Then let me—" His breath hitched as his fingers dipped lower, brushing against the heat between your legs—only to pause.

His eyes flicked back up to yours, wide with disbelief. "...No panties, either?"

You grinned sheepishly, shifting just enough to press yourself against his hand. "They're uncomfortable, too," you protested.

Armin groaned, dragging his fingers through your slick folds with a shudder. "Fuck, you’re killing me." His touch was featherlight at first, teasing circles around your clit before dipping lower, just barely pressing inside.

"Armin—please—" You whimpered, hips rocking against his hand.

He kissed you again, swallowing your moans as his fingers continued their exploration. "You feel so good," he breathed against your lips. "Tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything. You know that?"

His words made your heart skip a beat. You instantly leaned forward, pressing your lips to his roughly as his fingers rubbed circles over your wet clit.

Armin’s breath hitched at your kiss, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your slick folds, each stroke teasing another desperate whimper from your lips. His thumb pressed firm circles against your clit while his middle finger teased at your entrance, dragging up and down in slow, torturous strokes before finally—finally—sinking inside.

"Fuck—" His voice was rough, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watched your face contort in pleasure, your thighs trembling around his hand. "You’re so tight…"

The first push of his finger was slow, deliberate, letting you adjust to the stretch before he curled it just right, rubbing against that sweet spot that made your back arch off the bed. His lips crashed back onto yours, swallowing your moans as he added a second finger, stretching you even further, his palm pressing firmly against your clit with every thrust.

His fingers worked you with relentless precision, curling and scissoring inside you, each movement sending sparks of white-hot pleasure up your spine. Your nails dug into his shoulders as your hips rocked against his hand, chasing your release with desperate, broken gasps.

His fingers curled inside you, dragging against your walls in slow, deliberate strokes, each one making your hips jerk against his hand. "Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, (Y/N)... like you don’t want me to pull out."

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as he added a third finger, stretching you just enough to make your breath stutter. His thumb circled your clit in tight, relentless motions, matching the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. The slick sounds of your arousal filled the room, obscenely loud in the quiet space between your ragged breaths.

"Come on," he urged, his voice thick with lust as he watched you unravel beneath him. "Let me feel it—let me feel you come on my fingers. Please."

And God, you couldn’t hold back any longer—not when he was touching you like this, not when he sounded so desperate for it. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your back arching yourself into him as you cried into his shoulder, your pussy clenching around his fingers in rhythmic pulses, soaking his hand with your release.

Armin didn’t stop—not even as you writhed beneath him, oversensitive and shaking. He kept fucking you through it, fingers still buried deep inside you, his thumb still working your clit until you were sobbing, your legs twitching with the aftershocks.

Only then did he finally slow, pressing a kiss to your parted lips as he pulled his fingers free—glistening with your arousal. He brought them to his lips, his tongue darting out to lick them clean with a low, satisfied groan, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

"Armin!" You scolded, embarrassment seeping in at the way he tasted you.

"I'm sorry, was it too much?" He asked softly, one hand placed gently along the curve of your hip, and his eyes full of consideration and care.

You shook your head, unable to resist anything about him when you saw just how much he cared for your comfort. Remembering him being here wasn't just about fucking, but because he was trying to tell you something without using words. Something you similarly felt, but were never brave enough to act on.

Your heart pounded wildly as Armin leaned down to press another tender kiss to your lips, his fingers brushing along your heated skin with a reverence that made your stomach flutter. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to taste you," he admitted softly, breath fanning against your mouth.

The words sent another rush of warmth between your thighs, but before you could respond, his hands were already moving—slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. Your breath caught as he tossed it to the floor, revealing the lean, toned frame of a soldier who had long since shed the softness of his cadet days. His skin was marked with faint scars, the proof of battles fought and survived, but the way he looked at you—eyes dark with need, lips slightly parted—made him seem almost vulnerable in this moment.

His hands slid up your body, fingers tracing along your ribs before tugging at the waistband of your loose sleep pants. You lifted your hips, letting him peel them off slowly, his breath hitching as he revealed the bare, glistening heat between your thighs. "You're beautiful," he breathed, before he moved his hands to the waistband of his own pants.

Then, his pants slid down his legs, and your gaze dropped.

His cock stood fully erect, thick and flushed a deep red at the tip, veins running along the length of it. It wasn’t massive, but it was perfect—curved just slightly upwards, the head already glistening with precum as it twitched under your hungry stare.

You bit your lower lip, your fingers reached out, ghosting along the length of him—just once—before he caught your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm before gently guiding you back onto the bed beneath him.

The weight of his body settling over yours sent a shiver down your spine, the warmth of his skin pressing against yours as he leaned down to capture your lips again. His hips rocked forward, the hard length of his cock dragging through your slick folds, spreading your arousal along his shaft in a slow, torturous glide.

He leaned in to kiss you slowly, savoring the taste of your lips, your skin, the way your body molded so perfectly under his. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, hands pushing your hair back and out of the way of your forehead.

"Mnh... and... you're so wet," Armin groaned, slowly sliding his erection through your dripping slit. His hand held onto his cock, guiding it as he rubbed the leaking head over your clit before pressing it down to drag it over your entrance. Up and down he teased you maddeningly with long sensual strokes, his shaft growing damp and slick from your juices.

Armin grunted as he continued to slide his cock back and forth between your glistening folds, teasing and stimulating your clit as well. "Oh, my God," Armin shuddered, his member throbbing almost painfully in his grip, the broad crown glistening proof of your arousal.

Armin couldn't stop thrusting his hips now, the tip of his cock fluttering just slightly as if trying to push past your entrance and dive deep into your tight heat. He fought the urge to simply drive forward and bury himself balls deep inside you. He wanted to do so badly to watch you come undone beneath him. But even so, he wanted to savor you. Savor the moment.

"Armin," you whimpered, thighs and hips trembling every time the tip nudged at your clit, feeling wetness still seep onto the flesh of his dick. "Stop teasing, please," you say, brows furrowed as he continued the torture.

"I'm sorry," he grinned sheepishly, his hips also twitching slightly. You knew he was having trouble holding back also, but if his goal was to just get you unbearbly wet, he was doing a pretty good job.

Your breathing grew heavier as Armin continued to torture you with the slow drag of his cock against your wet cunt, the swollen tip parting your folds to dip teasingly into your entrance before he retreated, the drag of his length through your slick an obscene sound in the quiet room. Each deliberate pass over your clit made you jolt and shudder beneath him, your thighs clenching around his hips as he stoked the desire building rapidly in your core to a fevered pitch.

With every pass, he pushed into you just a little bit deeper until the fat head of his cock finally caught on your entrance, stretching you open with tender slowness as he sank into your tight, gripping pussy inch by inch. Armin groaned at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, so hot and slick and gripping his length tightly.

"Fuck...you feel incredible," he rumbled, his breath coming in hard pants now as he finally bottomed out inside you, every thick centimeter of him buried to the hilt in your grasping heat.

"Armin," you whined, earning a small smile from him.

"I know, baby," he said softly, composure barely holding on.

Armin captured your lips in a sweet kiss as he started to move, rolling his hips with deliberate slowness, letting you feel every drag and pull as he fucked into you torturously slow. It was different from how he'd touched you with his fingers, deeper and harder, more purposeful as each thrust seemed focused on hitting precisely that perfect spot inside of you that made your toes curl and your back arch clean off the bed.

"Feel good?" He asks, looking down at your flushed face and the way sweat began to gather at your forehead, his hand still pushing your hair out of your face as he fucked you.

"Mhm," you reply, hips rolling on their own to meet every thrust of his hips, driving his cock deeper inside of you. "Harder, please, Armin," you requested with a whimper, eyes meeting his.

"I've got you," he responded, then shifted his weight to pull you closer, impossibly closer, his arms holding you against him tightly. "I've got you, baby," he repeated, this time his lips grazing softly against your ear.

Then, his pace increased, and you had nowhere to go as he fucked you while holding you in a tight hug. "Armin!" You cried out against his shoulder, the feeling of his thick cock plunging into your dripping pussy again and again, the drag of his cock against your walls overwhelming as he fucked into you with an fervor that stole your ability to think. Your thighs trembled around his pistoning hips as he breathed into your ear, sweat starting to bead along his forehead as he drove himself deeper, harder into your body with each roll of his hips, chasing your pleasure and his own with single-minded focus.

"God—fuck—I've wanted this for so long," he groaned, his grip tightening around you as if he was afraid you’d slip away. "Wanted you... for so fucking long."

His thrusts were brutal, each one driving his cock so deep inside you that you could feel his hips slamming against your clit with every snap of his pelvis. But despite the rough, almost punishing pace, his words were tender—sweet—like he was pouring out every hidden feeling he'd ever had for you in between the filthy, wet sounds of your bodies moving together.

"You don't even—ah—know how many times I thought about this," he panted, his teeth grazing your shoulder before soothing the sting with a gentle kiss. "How many times I imagined fucking you just like this—holding you so close to me."

You whimpered, overwhelmed by the force of his thrusts and the raw emotion in his voice. His cock was stretching you so perfectly, hitting that spot inside you with every deep plunge, making your vision blur with pleasure.

"You feel so good," Armin grunted, his voice thick with lust and something deeper—something like love. "So good," he whimpered.

His hips stuttered as he adjusted his angle, fucking up into you with sharp, punishing rolls of his hips that made your toes curl. One of his hands slid into your hair, gripping gently but firmly as he forced you to look at him—his kind blue eyes burning with need, brows furrowed, his lips parted in pleasure.

"Tell me you feel it too," he demanded, his voice rough but pleading. "Tell me you've wanted this—wanted me—just as much. Please."

You could barely form words, your mind clouded with pleasure, but you managed a breathless nod, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked you through another wave of mind-numbing ecstasy.

"Say it," he urged, his cock twitching inside you as he felt your walls clench around him. "Tell me—fuck—tell me you're mine. Please say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you gasped, arching into him as the coil in your stomach tightened unbearably. "Always yours—fuck!"

Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, your entire body tensing as you cry out his name—"Armin!"—your nails raking down his back as your pussy clenches around him in desperate, rhythmic pulses. The pleasure is overwhelming, white-hot and all-consuming, and you cling to him like he's the only thing keeping you grounded as waves of ecstasy shudder through you.

Armin groans, his thrusts growing erratic as he feels you clamp down around him, your slick walls milking his cock mercilessly. "Fuck—fuck—I can't—" His voice is ragged, his hips stuttering as he fights to hold on, but the way you’re gripping him is too much. With a final, shuddering groan, he pulls out just in time, his cock throbbing as thick ropes of cum stripe your stomach, hot and sticky against your skin.

For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing, harsh and uneven, mixed with Armin's labored pants as he nearly collapses on top og you, his body trembling with exertion. His arm shakes as he holds himself up just enough to avoid crushing you, his forehead pressing against yours as you both come down from the high.

Slowly, gently, Armin shifts to prop himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching for his discarded shirt nearby. He cleans you up with careful, reverent strokes, his touch achingly tender as he wipes away the mess he made.

"Sorry," he murmurs, though the way he smiles tells you he's not that sorry. "Got a little carried away."

You laugh breathlessly, your fingers threading through his sweat-damp hair as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "I’m not complaining."

Armin smiles against your mouth before pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes warm with affection. "Good." He shifts to pull the covers over both of you, tucking you against his chest as his fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine. "You okay?"

You nod, giving Armin a sweet kiss first to his flushed cheek and then his lips.

"I meant everything. I really like you. Everything about you," he says into your hair after you pulled away, holding you close and praying you'd say the same.

"Me too," you reply, letting yourself relax in his embrace.

[melliemell]

HEYA GUESS WHOS BACK~

THE FIC U WROTE W THE POCKY PROMPT WAS SO GOOD LIKE ONG?? SOO NOW IM BACK FOR MORE >:)

IM THINKING.. CHRISTMAS THEMED DATES!! COZ ITS THE XMAS SEASON WOULD THEY HAVE ANY CUTE DATES U NORMALLY CANT HAVE IN THE SUMMER? (EXAMPLE; ICE SKATING) (also I’d prefer if u wrote for Dazai and Ranpo again i cannot get enough of those idiots 🙏🙏🙏) THX IN ADVANCE~ -Annon who still hasn’t found their glasses… seriously where are they😭😭

Omg hi again!! I'll have you know I've been listening to Christmas songs on repeat as I wrote this. My brain is fried and so ready for the Holidays. I blame u for this.

And please don't go around blind like that, I pray for you and your glasses, nonnie

BSD Cast ft. Christmas Dates

(Dazai, Ranpo, Fyodor, Sigma, Chuuya, Atsushi)

Dazai - Drunk Decorating

“Whaat? Gimme the unicorn here, I have a feeling about this.”

And you’d watch in horror, giggles bubbling out of your lips as the dumbass would duck-tape the poor plush to your Christmas tree, eyes sparkling with child’s delight. The alcohol swirling about in both your veins would’ve started manifesting at some point during the evening, all according to Dazai’s precise calculations. Totally.

If there was one thing Dazai was good at, it was being unconventional. Decorating for Christmas while being drunk off your asses was not on your to-do list, but boy does it leave an impactful memory. Nobody remembers whose idea it was. Most of the night consisted of snippets of hyper-intense clarity… followed by what the actual fuck random scraps of memory. 

Did we really snatch the Agency’s decorations from reception? Of course not, duh. Why is Ranpo’s overcoat hanging from our Christmas tree? How mysterious. You’d be giggling uncontrollably at everything as the night progressed.

You’ve never struggled so hard for your life as when you had to outrun Dazai’s lanky frame, his sticky fingers at the ready to steal whatever shiny ornament you fought tooth and nail to secure. All efforts would end up futile though. Especially when you’d find yourself barely keeping your balance atop Dazai’s shoulders with no clue as to how he managed that.

With tape in one hand and his encouraging instructions as your guide…

Your ceiling had never looked this sparkly and hideous.

Get prepared for an intense hangover and even clingier Dazai the next morning. He will not, under any circumstances, let you leave him alone for the whole day. Suffering together is an act of love, after all.

Ranpo - Snowball Fight

The moment the first snow hit, it would be like a switch had turned on in Ranpo’s behaviour. He’d be used to your antics by now so being extra aware of his surroundings–just in case–was a mandatory tactic for survival on his part. Especially the more it snowed…

You knew how much Ranpo loved being coddled and cuddled all the time, so it came as no surprise his complete despise of cold weather, the sensation of freezing in wet clothes making him shudder in distaste. 

He always had a grumpy face on, cheeks flushed and lips pouting as you waddled through the snow every time you had to leave home. 

He was adorable… and completely at your mercy.

You both knew what was to come. The first snowball would barely scrape his hat, Ranpo’s body spinning around quickly to face you, eyes betrayed. 

“Aw, come on! I knew it.”

He’d whine a lot, making you giggle even more as you prepared for the upcoming battle.

Ranpo’s not a very agile person, but his observation skills combined with years of practice being with you made him nearly impossible to hit, dodging like his actual life depended on it. There was no mercy for you either, taking every hit with pride as you chased each other down the snowed path. 

It would go on until you were both freezing, you grinning like a lunatic and Ranpo’s face of defeat bordering on exasperation. He’d absolutely not like you tackling him down on the snow either, hair soaking and nose as red as it could get. Shame he looked so cute like that; it’s not like you could help it.

Get prepared for extra snuggles as you get back home. That and Ranpo’s cold feet being shoved against your calves the moment he had you locked in an unassuming hug. 

Sweet, sweet revenge, here it comes.

Fyodor - Ice Skating

Fyodor’s not a very social person if he could help it. Spending quality time in a quiet, peaceful place was more down his alley than being jammed up beside people, most of whom were probably barely able to stay on their skates to begin with. An unpleasant hassle, in his opinion.

It would take some convincing and a good dose of bribing before you had him sighing in defeat, your hands interlocked as you towed him along to the skating rink. 

Of course the bastard knew how to skate. Of course. 

Very careful around you, and absolutely refusing to hold onto your hand until you got the hang of how to balance properly. Ungodly amount of patience, even if you caught a whiff of annoyance from him here and there– it was mostly directed towards people veering too close for your comfort, making you clutch harder to the railings, your progress forgotten every time. 

A surprisingly encouraging teacher, with praise where praise was due. Yet strict enough for it to feel more like a coaching session than an actual date. That is, until you figured out how to glide your skates without support, smile wide and exited as it matched Fyodor’s content nod of approval. 

Hands interlocked as he pulled you along, the fun of it engulfed you more as your worry slowly dissipated. Dragging Fyodor to the centre of the ring on wobbly legs was harder than expected, but the sappy kiss you managed to pry out of him was all worth it. 

There was something about silly little romantic moments like those that melted your heart on the spot. And having Fyodor pull you flush against him, hands cupping your cheeks as he rubbed some warmth into them–yeah, you could only look at his lovely violet eyes, your gaze filling with affection.

Sigma - Christmas Shopping

You know how a cat looks when it gets excited to see its human get back? No? It’s the exact same thing with Sigma. 

He’d be all swirling emotions and anticipation on the inside, yet barely any signs of it slipping through his demeanor of collected calmness. You might even mistake it for indifference for all the Christmas shopping you have to do. Maybe even a chore that needs to be done than a fun activity for you two.

You’d be so wrong. 

Christmas is a family holiday; the time of year you spend with your loved ones. At home. He’ll be home, with you. And he has to choose whether orange or red garlands would go best with your kitchen curtains. Sigma’s this close to losing it and having a full breakdown from how happy he actually is that Sigma.exe has stopped working properly. 

Constant battle between being happy with whatever you choose to buy, and the internal desire for everything to be perfect. He has to give you the best Christmas you’ve ever had. Would absolutely go crazy on the shopping lists. You mentioned something offhand that you liked? There’s three of it waiting for you the next day. Can’t choose on a tree? Why, you can have one in the living room, and one for your bedroom too. He’ll take care of it, don’t you worry about anything.

Sweats the whole time as he tries to take care of it all.

Absolutely needs reminders that you’re in this together, and no, you being there with me is enough, Sigma. I don’t care for anything else. Refuses to let go of your hand anywhere you go, basking in the warm feeling of being loved to the fullest.

Chuuya - Cabin Getaway

Absolutely his idea. 

As absurdly far away from the city as you could get, deep in the mountains with the most beautiful view that steals your breath away. You’re afraid to ask how much it cost. Better not. 

Warm blankets with and a fireplace to snuggle by, any ambitions for trying your skills at setting up dinner were soon forgotten. Not when Chuuya’s chest was firm against your back, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your shoulders. You were practically melting into him, losing yourself in his warm breath beside your cheek, the deep, low tone he talked with as you enjoyed each other’s company. He was so full of passion usually, the emotions spilling out of him in a constant stream of need for action. 

Not now. Now Chuuya was… here. All soft smiles and light laughter as he poured more wine into your glasses as the night progressed. Talking about life and its meaning, enjoying the moments to the fullest. Having his arm thrown around you as he kept you close was a bliss you never wished to end.

The night was long and filled with a sense of being right where you were meant to be. And when you rose up, pulling Chuuya by the hand as hooded eyes met yours, his grin widening–you found yourself kissing him then. And you didn’t stop until you were both stumbling back to the bedroom, your clothes leaving a trail behind you.

He was all yours for the taking, warm and willing for your every whim. Such a lovely place he found, it’d be a shame not to have a bit of fun… everywhere. 

Finding your clothes in the morning was definitely a hassle, one both of you couldn’t stop laughing about even as Chuuya’s hat definitely wasn’t supposed to be hanging from the chandelier.

Atsushi - Sledge Date

It was an idea you’ve both had for a while. Neither one of you knew how to navigate a thing like that, but hey–it was happening.

Atsushi swears he did not steal a sledge. He only asked Dazai if he had one by chance, and he was so kind to offer it half an hour later, all wide grins and wiggling eyebrows. You’ve never seen Dazai own a thing like that, let alone have it at such a quick disposal. Maybe it was best not to ponder too much over it.

The moment you saw the hill you were meant to glide gracefully down from, you stomach did a double flip. Yeah, you were both going to die, this was not the cute little slide rides you had imagined. 

It took Atsushi some encouraging words and a promise to not let go of you no matter what, and you were gingerly sitting behind him, hands gripping firmly around his torse as you glued your stiff body to his back. His hand rested atop your own, warm and soothing as he rubbed your knuckles.

Atsushi was surprisingly calm about this. Maybe he felt your need for a secure presence beside you or he just naturally took on the role. It didn’t matter, really. Not when he didn’t shut up the entire time, whether it be panicked rambling as you slid down or his general chatter. 

Atsushi kept throwing glances behind him, checking in on you each time you went down. And he held your hand firmly as you groaned from having to climb back up every time. His attentiveness was cute, even more so every time he asked you how you felt. Knowing you had someone who didn’t get annoyed at your complaints or belittled your worries felt… nice. Yeah, really nice. 

You couldn’t wait to shower him in kisses once you got back home.

[lovesick-joey]

Good Job.

"You really went on your own?"

Billy nodded his head vigorously, grinning like a fool even as Batman wiped away the blood off his temple. The older hero shook his head, his stern expression faltering slightly.

"..Get someone to accompany you next time." He grunts, ruffling Billy's hair. "I didn't know you can get hurt.."

Billy scoffs. "You? Don't know? That's impossible!" He exclaims, getting up from the stool he was sitting on. His height nearly towered over the Caped Crusader's. If only I was actually that tall. "But that's besides the point- I've got the whole thing covered! Put those scrawny robots into the spirit realm!"

Batman let out a faint sigh, taking a step back as Billy got back on his feet. "A warning would be nice. It's reckless for you to charge into battle without the others' permission. We haven't even made a plan yet.."

"You have to admit I did pretty good though!" Billy bounced, floating just above the ground. He punches the air. "I defeated all of them on my own! No plans from the rest of the League whatsoever."

As much as Batman disliked the idea of Billy—or anyone on the Justice League for that matter—pursuing a mission without a second opinion, he can't help but smile. He always had a soft spot for the boy, after all. He placed his hand on Billy's shoulder when the false adult returned to stand on solid ground. "You did. You did a good job."

Billy's expression softens, and Batman squeezed his shoulder. "Good job." The man repeated. Then, he looked over at the couches that were set up in the room they were in. Golden Condor sat stiffly, his unmoving eyes transfixed on the both of them, watching.

"Isn't that right, Condor? Don't you think he did a good job?"

Billy knew Batman made the wrong move. Why bother interacting with that jackass?

Golden Condor got up from the couch, but he didn't approach them. Instead, he glared at them from afar. It was mostly directed to Billy, though.

He never liked me, Billy thought. Well, guess what? I never liked you either.

"Don't praise him for doing something normal." Golden Condor spoke in that voice that would always make people grimace. He really needs to drink more water.

It was hard to notice, but Batman's shoulders tensed. "..Normal?" He uttered quizzically. Billy could imagine the look Batman was giving him under that cowl. "You think him going out to fight those robots alone, is normal?"

"It's normal to our standards." Golden Condor crossed his arms, his glare sharpening. "He should be expected to do it and punished if he doesn't."

What the hell, Billy thinks, feeling his heartbeat picking up pace. Batman stiffened. "Don't you dare speak of him that way." The Dark Knight walked over to the obnoxious man with an intimidating stride until the two were a few feet apart. Batman glared up at him. "He put himself in danger to save lives. He should be praised for his initiative, as reckless as it may be. Why can't you tell him he did a good job?"

Golden Condor huffs, looking at Billy, then back at Batman. "Because it's what everyone here does, Batman. It's nothing spectacular- nobody calls us good when we do the things we do. Why should it be any different with him?"

Billy couldn't believe it. Is Condor actually that stupid? It's even more embarrassing that this man is way older than him. A grown man is acting this way.

"And as if," The vigilante continued. "that child has the abilities of the Gods. I've said it before and I'll say it again; he should be expected to do it. He's not putting himself in danger because he's practically invincible."

"Superman has his kryptonite," Batman responded, his voice on edge. "and he's weak to magic. Diana also has her weaknesses and she's a demigod. Everyone on this team has weaknesses—it doesn't matter! You saw the blood on his head! It's still dangerous, Euge- Condor."

Golden Condor took one step closer, his haunting eyes ablaze with barely-concealed ire. "You're just coddling him," He said, his tone rising a little. "he's making you soft. It's pathetic."

Billy swallowed a lump in his throat. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. Batman's eyes narrowed. "I'm treating him with the kindness he deserves, unlike you," He said, jabbing a finger to Golden Condor's chest. The man in turn swatted his hand away. Batman's expression darkened. "you just hate him because he's a kid. I know how you are, Golden Condor."

The tension in the room was palpable. There was a brief intake of breath from Billy. They're going to argue again. They always do. Why does Batman have to go through this?

Golden Condor gritted his teeth. He was practically fuming. His aggression didn't deter Batman, as he continued to face him, his head held high and his chest puffed out.

"You're a fool!" Golden Condor spat at the shorter man's face. "If you keep this up then he's going to grow up thinking he's going to be given everything on a silver platter for doing jack-shit!"

"Just because you've never been praised doesn't mean you can't praise him!" Batman snapped back, unyielding. "Really, that's all that I want you to do; praise him! It's so simple and yet you have to make it difficult! I think he's severely lacking a parent figure who lets him know that he's appreciated—"

Billy's ears blocked out the sounds of their incoherent arguing—he could barely make out the words they were saying to each other. His feet were almost glued to the ground as he watched them, looking at their gestures and their moving mouths. It was a familiar sight with these two.

He could feel ringing in his ears, and Billy averted his eyes to the floor instead.

TGCS ¦ Mr. Hermit ‣ Dragon Eyes

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 31

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n massive, massive shoutout to @rainfallingfromthesky and @kokinu09 who proof read this chapter and the next one at least four times, cheerled, encouraged, and came along to writing battles until it was done (and of course, another shoutout to them for helping with every single chapter of this fic, they're the real ones <3)

previous | masterlist | next

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"I'm fine," you insist in the face of Chan's concern, even though he hasn't said anything yet. "We really have to go, you know."

Chan doesn't move. Neither do his eyes, not even to track the staff that file past and out the door, the managers glancing back at the two of you. You nearly think that they’ll intervene and save you; but they only look at you without catching your eye and then depart, leaving you alone with him as he guides you back to the couches in the corner of the room, the arm around your shoulders just stiff enough that it is impossible to escape.

Not that you have the strength to pull away from him, your knees shaking just from the effort of lowering yourself onto the couch. Weak, as usual, as stupid as everything else you're doing. 

"We really don't," Chan insists. "We're not getting any awards - it's not like anyone's going to miss us."

"There are cameras," you point out stubbornly. "And Stay watching. And it's rude to just disappear in the middle of a show-"

"And you don't look like you want to go out there at all." His voice cuts across you smoothly, his mouth quirking in a half smile despite the grave set of his eyes and the pinch of his brow between them. 

A sigh escapes your lips, heavier than you'd expected when it feels like you can't draw a proper breath in. "I don't," you say slowly, trying to wrest control over the way that your voice trembles, the near slip of those tears that keep on threatening to fall no matter how angrily you choke them back. "But I have to at some point, so we might as well just go."

"Or we could just stop for a minute," he suggests. 

"Or we could just go, because if I sit here for too long I'm going to cry and then it’ll be even harder when I do."

The words escape all in one breath, emptying your chest out as fast as you can fill it. You hope that they might take some of the tension that twists there away with them and relieve the pounding of your heart in your head - but the feeling of horror in your gut only grows as you say it, threatening to overwhelm you. Too late, then, to escape it. You should have slipped out the door when you had the chance, instead of hanging back long enough for him to catch you.

The thought breaks the dam you've been so carefully building in your mind, plunging you into the depths of the anxiety that gropes for you with both hands. The tears fall with the first small sob that hiccups from your throat, your lip bitten against it. A moment later, Chan's arms draw you into his chest, his body a warmth you can cling to in the storm. 

"You can cry if you want," he tells you over your head. "You don't have to worry about what anyone will think."

"I do have to worry about what they think," you mumble into his shoulder, your eyes closed against the truth and the bright lights of the room. "My whole life depends on what they think. That's what sucks." Another sob shudders out on your breath, tears dripping into the fabric of his shirt. 

"It's only one performance," he begins, a hand rubbing comforting circles into your back. "There'll be more, and your dance will be just as perfect as it usually is-"

"That's not what-" You cut yourself off just as quickly as you'd stopped him, pushing away from him as you gather the right words in your mind. "The mistake was - was fine. Not fine, but not...there was a fan sign on the barricade that was...directed at me. And it's really stupid, and I don't know why it made me so..."

The rest of the words stick in your throat, your voice trailing off mid-sentence. You fill the space it leaves by slashing furiously at the tears that track down your cheeks even as more fall to replace them. "You're not stupid," he says, when he's sure you're done talking yourself into a corner. "You're a person who's been going through something really hard lately, and you're allowed to cry about it if you want to." His hands reach out, squeezing yours. "You didn't even cry on stage. How's anyone going to know what their favourite idol does backstage?"

"I'm nobody's favourite idol," you sniff. 

"You're my favourite," Chan says, so earnestly that you almost believe him. You manage a smile at the skip your heart takes anyway, and reach up to wipe away your tears.

"Am I?" you ask, sniffing again. "I feel like I'm so annoying sometimes."

"Well, you're not." He pauses, fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looks at you. "Neurotic, maybe. But not annoying."

The words do what they're supposed to do - startle you right out of your tears and the choke of your breath for a moment, your mouth falling open in disbelief. "Neurotic?" you repeat incredulously, and you don't even fight when he laughs and folds you into his arms again.

"You think that's more unbelievable than me enjoying spending time with you?" he asks as he pulls you close, his arms a security you hadn't realised you'd been missing.

“Maybe you should get on your knees and profess your undying love for me more often,” you answer in a droll voice, the sarcasm stinging like acid on the back of your tongue even as you say it. You don’t know where it wells up from; you don’t feel very funny right now, or even satisfied at the noise he makes when you say it.

“Answer the question,” he says instead of answering you.

A sigh exits your mouth instead of a laugh; you try to let some of the tension in your chest shudder out with it, try to find your centre of balance and a calmer trail of thoughts in your mind. "I never know what to believe," you mumble to him; not a truth that you've intentionally hidden from him, but one that you've been ignoring for yourself as well, in case acknowledgement of it made your life unbearable. "So many people say so many things about me every day...and I know I should just ignore it and listen to you, but…there’s so much. I can’t look at anything without seeing it. And some of it must be true."

Over your head, Chan's breath exhales long and slow, like he's trying to hold something in. You wish you could see his face - but his arms won't let you go, not for something as silly as that. "I think you're overcomplicating it a bit," he says, and sighs again. "Just because someone makes up a hundred nasty facts about you, it doesn’t mean any of them are true."

"And you're not biased at all?" you question, because it is easier than taking what he says to heart.

His answer is firm. "The people on the internet that hate you aren't biased?"

"I don't know." Your breath is ragged, in and out of your chest through lungs wound up too tight to do their job. Even here in his arms there is no escape from the writhing darkness in your gut, the thoughts that storm the walls of your mind. 

"I'm sorry," you spit out when you have the strength to do it, another sob welling up in its wake. "I don’t know. I just...it makes me so angry sometimes. That's all. I just need to calm down - and think about it-"

"You know, if you need a break..."

"No!" Your answer is so sudden, it breaks the close of his arms around you, your hands slipping from the flat of his back as you sit up straight, staring at him with that fire from your chest burning in your eyes. "Stopping won't fix anything. I don't want to stop."

Chan's gaze never wavers, compassion writing itself into the crease of his brow. "You can't go on like this though."

"What else am I supposed to do?" you ask. "It's like you said when I debuted; it'll get better eventually. I just have to keep waiting."

"You shouldn't have to wait," he answers. "We just have to change something. We should have done it a long time ago."

"But what?" The frustration burns at you like a knife in your hand, past the maelstrom of sorrow and self-indulgent grief that had you in its claws before. "I don't know what they want. I don't know who to be for them."

Chan blinks at you. "You don't be anyone. You just be yourself."

"But they don't like me."

"Then you be yourself for yourself, and you stop caring what other people think."

A derisive snort escapes your throat before you can stop it, your eyes turning away before he can catch the sharp edge of your gaze, the anger that's not really directed at him. "I can't do that."

"Yes, you can," he says, too soft. Too encouraging. 

"No," you say again, the force of the word propelling you to your feet. "I can't. I have a company, and a contract, and all those people watching. I can't even pick what clothes I wear, or where I go, or who I get to film with. I can't say anything without a script because I'll say the wrong thing. I can't."

"You can't live like that either."

"You think it's better if every message Felix gets is about whether we're dating? That I just let them call me easy and - and a slut, because I want to wear a dress? Or shorts? Or they keep boycotting our albums until JYP decides we're more trouble than they're worth?"

"Yes." You don't miss the way Chan's eyes harden as you speak, his jaw clenched as if there's something he doesn't want to say held between his teeth. Your voice trails off at the sight of it, fear running up your spine at the thought that he might be angry at you - but when he turns, there is only the same patience there in his eyes that has been waiting for you this entire time. 

"I don't care how ugly it is," he says, slow enough that every word burns itself individually into your brain. "I don't care, and you shouldn't either; and if we have no fans that can love you and we all end up going home, I won't care about that either."

It takes a moment for the sentiment to fully settle in your brain, working around the horror and the shock of the determination on his face, the way that your heart stutters and squeezes in your chest at the thought of a future where Stray Kids doesn't exist at all - where he gives it away just for you. It makes no sense, when you look at it from that angle. What mind would he have to be in for that trade to seem fair; you, for the entire group? You, for his career, his dream, everything he'd ever spent his life on?

"Y/N," he says, watching you with eyes that say far more than his mouth will. "I want you to be happy. That's all. I don't care about the rest."

"I'm not going to hurt the group just for my own happiness," you tell him. "I'd rather be miserable forever with all of you than out alone or in some other group."

"You think that you being miserable doesn't hurt us too?"

He catches you off-guard again, your mouth agape and your balance unsettled, your feet shifting to catch you. Slowly, you sink back down onto the sofa next to him, your head in your hands. "You make it sound so easy."

You can hear him shift in his seat, and then the warm press of his palm on your back. "It's not easy," he says. "But it can't be any harder than the torture you're already putting yourself through."

You hum in response, all of the fight you'd had before draining out of your limbs at once. Fatigue fills the space that it leaves; not just the ache of your body from months and months of endless dancing, but the ache of your head too, your thoughts sluggish and slow and reluctant to believe that any alternative option he's offering you could be a viable solution, even if, in your own common sense, you know what he's saying is true.

"What if I say I hate dancing?” you ask in a moment of weakness, the words a whisper on the edge of your breath that slips from your tongue before you can swallow it again. “Not - not hate it. But…right now…”

"Then stop spending every waking hour dancing," he says, suspiciously calm. “Pick the setlist for K-Con. Don’t dance again until we start practicing for Kingdom.” When you lift your head to look at him, you find him struggling to smother a triumphant smile, the urge to say I told you so writhing under his skin. "As long as you're not doing it to please a bunch of people who have decided they hate you."

The intensity of his gaze, the absolute sureness in the way he speaks, is uncomfortable, a heat that you can't bear. “Think about it,” he says when your mouth remains closed, speaking the promise for you.

"Don’t we have to go?" you ask, your mouth dry and your voice as weak as your body feels. You’re not sure how you’ll even rally the strength to walk all the way back to your seat, or if you’ll be able to feign attentiveness for the rest of the time you sit there.

"Probably," Chan admits - and then pauses, his eyes searching your face. "Once your makeup is fixed."

You blanche, dabbing at your cheek with one hand as if you can fix it yourself. "Is it bad?" you ask.

Chan shrugs, his hand moving in a so-so gesture. "If there weren't cameras, you'd be okay."

Cameras. Of course - they waited out there, along with the people, and the fans that would be wondering where the two of you were when the rest of the group had returned so long ago. A little of the old dread creeps in at the imminancy of that walk. You're surprised to find that it isn't the same all-compassing fear that you'd felt before; just a small gasp of the breath in comparison, a squeeze of your chest that is soon overruled by the squeeze of his hand in yours as he stands and crosses the room to the door, to find the team that are dutifully waiting outside. 

The thought stays with you as they fix your face, along with all the others he's given you to dwell on in the time since; the fear, and his devotion, and the way that small squeeze of your hand sets your heart to fluttering instead of pounding heavily against your ribcage. In the moments you have before you walk out the door, you wonder at what it is he's thinking that you are missing, but you cannot figure it out, not on too little sleep and such high emotions.  

Later, you promise yourself as you walk out of the room, his hand squeezing yours again when the manager that leads you turns his back. You don't have the heart to pull away from his grip until you reach the edge of the darkness that lines the passage from side-stage to the seating that you and other idols inhabit, clinging onto him like a lifeline in a raging storm even though you know it is dangerous. Just be yourself, he'd said; and you want to hold his hand, and so you do, and you don't think on why that is, or what other implications it might have. 

---

TAGLIST

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@keepswingin

[blueskittlesart]

Please share the secrets of your roaring Knight success, they kill me on the first sword maze like every single time

i had shadow mantle and i think tennatie on suzie, kris had a ribbon TP build and ralsei was a pure defense build. the TP build on kris was my lifesaver tbh. it let me use rude buster on almost every turn, which basically turns the fight into an endurance game because you'll almost always have hit the HP threshold (around 1500 total damage) by the first turn the fight can possibly end (1 or 2 turns after susie finishes her power of friendship speech.) fill your inventory with healing items and use them liberally. If you have enough points, the B-rank gacha machine can get you an extra revivemint and an execbuffet which are both extremely helpful.

The game-changing strat for me personally was a tensionmax, also from the B-rank gacha. if you're able to get one, have kris use it first turn. it basically gets you a free rude buster with an easy bullet pattern afterwards, and you don't need the fast soul to dodge on turn 1, so kris can holdbreath on turn 2 and maximize your damage right out the gate.

for the rest of the battle, don't bother trying to do damage with anyone but susie. Kris will refuse to damage the knight significantly unless the entire rest of the party is down and ralsei NEEDS to defend or he will die instantly. The TP gain you get from defending every turn is infinitely more useful than the 11 damage kris's fake ass will do. Basically, you should be either defending or itemhealing with kris and ralsei and then spamming rude buster at every opportunity. I wouldn't even bother healprayer-ing with ralsei unless you're consistently running out of items, and do NOT use susie to heal no matter how desperate you get.

If you used a tensionmax on the first turn and/or you're consistently getting enough TP to rude buster every turn and you're able to keep your entire team alive, you may actually be able to waste a turn defending everyone on more difficult bullet patterns like the sword maze. After about fifty attempts I actually started adding up my total damage in my head after each turn so that I could figure out whether it was worth it to waste a turn on full-party defense. This has the potential to prolong the battle into the unscripted sections, though, which means you won't know which bullet pattern you're going to be dealing with each turn, so use it sparingly if at all. I'd also recommend timing your revives strategically, because revived characters can't defend on that turn, so there's the potential that they go down again in a single hit if you revive them on a bullet pattern you're really bad at. I only had one revivemint and one full-party revive, so I would only ever use them when I knew there were a few patterns in a row coming that I was decent at dodging.

aside from that really all you can do is practice. I spent a good few attempts just focusing REALLY hard on that first fucking sword maze, and eventually I was able to figure out a semi-consistent dodge motion and execute it based on pure muscle memory. It wasn't perfect, but it generally kept at least susie and kris alive. There were bullet patterns that were nearly impossible for me at the beginning that I was able to nohit towards the end of my run purely because I'd done them so much that I'd worked out consistent strategies for them. All you can really do is replay the fucking thing over and over again. which lowkey sucks but it's by design

if/when you do manage to get to the hp threshold, you'll get one free turn where the knight will glow white. HEAL LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT on this turn. do not bother trying to do damage. on the next turn, defend every single party member and get ready to lock in. if you can make it through the final bullet pattern that is coming, you will have one last turn to rude buster, and that turn will win you the battle. good luck soldier o7

[mindless-existence1]

Shadow x reader- Shadow experiences snow for the first time, and hot chocolate.

For the lovely @luc1dw0rld so my arm isnt broken just hevaily bruised so i thugged it out and wrote this

I made this pretty playful and fun so enjoy gang ❤️

The first snowfall of the season had arrived overnight, blanketing the ground in a thick, pristine layer of white. You awoke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through your window, reflecting off the snow-covered world outside.

The sight filled you with excitement, but what made it even better was the fact that Shadow had never seen snow before.

You found him standing outside your house, staring at the falling snowflakes with an unreadable expression. His red-striped quills were dusted with tiny specks of white, and his ears flicked as the cold settled in.

“Well?” you asked, stepping beside him and nudging his arm. “What do you think?” Shadow didn’t answer immediately. He reached out a gloved hand, letting a few snowflakes land on his palm before they melted against the fabric.

His crimson eyes traced the sky as if he were trying to decipher something.“It’s… strange,” he finally said. “Cold, but soft. Quiet.” You smiled. “That’s the best part about snow. It makes everything feel peaceful.”

Shadow hummed in acknowledgment, but his gaze remained fixed on the swirling flakes around him. You could tell he was fascinated, even if he wouldn’t outright admit it. A mischievous idea popped into your head, and before he could react, you scooped up a handful of snow and gently tossed it at him.

The snow hit his chest, immediately crumbling into powder, and Shadow blinked in confusion. “…Did you just throw snow at me?” You grinned.

“I sure did.” For a moment, Shadow simply stared at you. Then, with a speed that barely gave you time to react, he kicked up a flurry of snow, sending a wave of it directly at you.

You gasped as the cold hit you, stumbling back with a laugh. “Oh, it’s on now!” And just like that, the battle began. You darted through the yard, scooping up snowballs and throwing them as Shadow effortlessly dodged each one, his speed making him nearly impossible to hit.

But then, he decided to fight back. He didn’t throw snowballs like you—no, Shadow took it up a notch, zipping past and kicking up snow in your direction, making it nearly impossible to see.

“Cheater!” you laughed, shielding your face.Shadow smirked, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed. “You started it.”

Breathless and covered in snow, you flopped down onto the ground, laughing. “Okay, okay, truce.” Shadow raised a brow before walking over, offering you a hand.

You took it, and with surprising gentleness, he pulled you back to your feet. “You’re covered in snow,” he pointed out. “So are you,” you shot back. Shadow shook himself off, sending loose snow flying everywhere.

You yelped as some of it hit you. “Hey! Rude!” He smirked. “Let’s go inside before you freeze.” You happily agreed, leading the way back inside where warmth greeted you instantly.

You peeled off your snow-dusted coat and set to work making hot chocolate while Shadow lingered near the window, still watching the snowfall.

A few minutes later, you handed him a mug, steam rising from the rich, chocolatey drink. He eyed it warily before taking a careful sip. His ears twitched slightly, and you could tell he liked it. “Good?” you asked.

He nodded, sipping again before finally settling onto the couch beside you. You curled up next to him, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping through you, and let out a content sigh. “See? Snow days are fun,” you said.

Shadow glanced at you before looking back out the window. “…Yeah,” he admitted, a soft warmth in his voice. “I guess they are.”

Smiling, you leaned into him, savoring the peaceful moment as the snow continued to fall outside.

[ladybirdswritings]

HUNTRESS, FIC — emperor geta x reader.

DESCRIPTION: the blood of the emperor’s brother is on your hands, a betrayed huntress facing death in the colosseum. your every move watched by the vengeful emperor who loathes you as much as you despise him. but amidst blood, betrayal, and survival, hatred begins to twist into something dangerous. NOTES - little enemies to lovers fic !! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one;

The thrum of hundreds of drums cocooned your ears in an awful medley, vibrations snaking like vines across your very skin.

Here and now, standing before scorching iron twisting into mangled gates, you allowed a chill to kiss your skin.

You were afraid—very afraid—and for good reason. But even so, gladiators didn’t cower before their fate.

It was a good thing that wasn’t what you were.

This was all just an unfortunate consequence of one painfully violent decision.

For my brother… you had whispered into the chill of the winter season as you plunged a gold, ornate blade into the chest of the wrong ginger.

Sure, the younger one was no better than the older. Even so, it was not his crimson you had wished to coat your hands with, for he had not killed Pietro. Geta had.

And Geta would kill you too. Whatever growled beyond these iron gates was no better than a gruesome death.

“Huntress,” Lucien called, clad in bronze armor and pleated wraps. You winced.

“Don’t call me that.”

But he paid you no mind as he stepped forward, wrapping your lanky arm in a cuff of gold.

“It’s what you are, what you must be, if you intend to slay whatever beast lurks beyond these gates. Listen to me: do not be foolish in there. Do not give them a show. You run, and you hide in the very dirt if you must. Here.”

With a worried glance toward the guards, he hastily pulled out three violet berries and pressed them into your palm. His calloused skin guided your hand to wrap around them.

“This is poison. You squeeze, and it erupts into a sea of death. Use these, and you may survive.”

May.

It was too awful a word—too insignificant.

“Bring out the girl!” a horrid, broken voice roared to his many peasants. The iron groaned in deep complaint as the gates began to part.

It was then that you felt every bit the weak, fearful girl you truly were. Your doe-like eyes locked on Lucien’s. His palms gripped your biceps, a huff of frustration escaping him as he scanned your face—perhaps to remember it. Then he leaned forward to press a warm kiss to your forehead.

He was saying goodbye.

“You will survive,” he murmured against your skin. All you could do was nod with a gulp as he pulled away.

Facing the liquid gold rays of the sun now blinding you, you stepped through the gates.

Despise was not a strong enough word to describe just how much these people loathed you.

So destroyed over the death of half of their precious emperors. You scowled at the thought—the same emperors who kept them on pretty leashes.

Slickened tomatoes crushed beneath your boots as you limped forward. You were no better than Pietro here, and it seemed as though history was only going to repeat itself.

Bruised beneath the bronze armor, thirsty and starved, they had purpled your skin, nearly dislocated your hip, and robbed you of any sustenance that could aid you in this impossible battle.

They had cheated, just as they had with your brother in this awful colosseum.

You would die on the very same dirt as your brother had—your twin.

Even so, a vicious grin tugged at your lips when your eyes locked on the lone ginger emperor scowling down at you. His jaw was taut, his arms littered with veins, but his eyes—they gave him away. Dark. Exhausted.

Even if you were to stain his dirt with your blood, he would remain as you were now: a lone twin. His brother in the dirt, too.

Perhaps your revenge had not been such a disaster after all.

“Traitorous whore!” he screeched at you, and the peasants roared in agreement.

His words were no bother. You’d fight well enough—and when you died, you’d die with a smile.

“Bring out her death!”

Vibrations crawled up your calves as you squeezed the oak wood bow clasped in your hand—your only weapon.

The gates opposing you parted, welcoming two awful horns held back only by frayed rope and a growling man atop the beast.

“He shall impale you as you impaled my brother!” Geta growled from his castle above, his voice guttural and animalistic.

“BEGIN!”

His roar was so vicious you swayed on your feet.

Perhaps the bow was meant to deter you from survival, but you were grateful for it now. With your weak bones, you had no chance of surviving close battle. No chance of escaping a sword fight or a seething rhinoceros.

But your bow—you could fight from afar.

Thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum. The beast neared closer, working into a charge so vicious it drowned out the crowd’s excitement. You could feel Geta’s eyes scorching your skin.

He did not simply want you dead. He wanted you mangled.

“HUNTRESS—KILL THEM!” Lucien roared from behind the gates, snapping you back into the present moment.

Your purpled hands trembled as you grabbed an arrow and loaded your bow. You had to treat this as any other time—locked away in the forest with just you, the glades, and your bow.

A rhinoceros could be no different from a fawn, right? Animals—all the same. And you were starving now, just as you had been all the other times you hunted.

Closer, closer. You steadied your rapid breaths best you could— imagining doe-eyes approaching as opposed to horns and squinting as you found the place between the beast’s brows.

Closer.

Even closer.

A moment more and you’d lose your shot, so you released the tension-bound arrow.

Laughter—cruel, cold, and entirely at your expense—rattled the stadium.

Your eyes fell to the ground, where the arrow landed not two feet away from your boots.

No, no, no.

Your fingers trembled against the string. It was loose.

Bastard.

Your eyes flicked to Geta’s, cold and swimming with satisfaction. He had rigged your bow.

And the beast was still charging.

“HUNTRESS!” Lucien’s cry was lost on your ears as you steadied your feet. Your heart hummed like a bird in your chest.

You hissed as sharp pain licked the flesh of your wrist. Violet trickled from your cuff.

The berries.

Crying out in exasperation, you shook the berries free.

You would be impaled in a moment, but at least the poison would piss the wretched thing off.

With a cry, you crushed the berries in your palm, tossing the violet liquid into the air just as the horn grazed your bronze armor.

And you waited.

No darkness or light found you.

A screech so awful it could have burst your eardrums shook the colosseum. The beast reared back, thrashing in a violent dance before collapsing to the dirt.

Its tongue slack, its eyes white, it crushed the man commanding it.

You breathed then. For the first time.

As your eyes lifted, you found a flicker of awe in Geta's gaze-beyond his rage.

The colosseum roared in disbelief as Geta flipped the fruits and wine before him, storming away.

And you breathed.

Alive.

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER SIX: GRAFTING HOPE

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 3.2K

SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.

WARNINGS: Touch starved Bucky, SO MUCH fluff, suggestiveness but no smut, slight angst

A/N: I was almost certain this story was done, but I couldn't help but write more chapters! 🫣 Enjoy the calm before the storm, these next two chapters are going to be a rollercoaster of emotions!

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The Wakandan sun filtered softly through the curtains draped across the windows of the hut, casting warm, dappled patterns across the floor and the tangled sheets. Bucky stirred beneath them, the light pulling him gently from sleep. He was used to waking up in a cold sweat, chest heaving, heart racing, echoes of screams clawing at the edges of his mind. But this time was different.

His eyelids fluttered open slowly, almost cautiously, as if expecting the old darkness to pounce. But instead he was met with silence. No screams. No phantom voices. No icy panic crawling down his spine. Just the birds chirping in the distance, and the rhythmic beat of his own calm breath. His mind, for once, was still. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his flesh hand and shifted onto his back, the bedding rustling quietly beneath him.

Since coming out of cryo, Shuri had dedicated herself to rebuilding his left arm, an effort that meant more to him than he could ever articulate. That old arm had been a weight in more ways than one, the red star etched on its surface a constant reminder of who he had been forced to become. Rolling onto his side, his gaze landed on the bare expanse of his left shoulder. Faint red scars and angry lines of healed-over tissue crisscrossed the skin like a map of pain and anguish.

He grimaced, the sight still hard to accept, still foreign. He hated how it looked, how it reminded him of everything he was trying to leave behind. Before his thoughts could spiral any further, he felt a gentle shift beside him, a rustle of fabric, then the soft thump of a leg draping over his own, followed by an arm wrapping across his chest. You. A faint, surprised smile tugged at his lips as he turned his head to see you nestled close, your body instinctively seeking his even in sleep.

Since the two of you had finally confessed your feelings for one another, something in Bucky shifted. The walls he’d built layer by layer, year after year began to soften in your presence. He found it nearly impossible to be apart from you for long. There was a stillness you brought with you, a kind of peace that made the noise in his head fade into the background. In your presence, the world didn’t just seem quieter, it felt right.

Now, with you pressed against his side, your breath warm against his skin, he let himself simply be. His eyes traced the familiar contours of your face, softened by sleep. The way your lashes rested gently against your cheeks, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, the tiniest furrow between your brows that only he seemed to notice when you dreamed, it all made his chest ache with something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something he didn’t think he deserved, or would ever get to experience again.

Love.

You grounded him, even now, in the early morning lull. “You know, it’s rude to stare.” You murmured, voice still wrapped in the remnants of sleep. A lazy, amused smile curled your lips as your eyes opened just enough to meet his. Even half-awake, your presence lit something warm inside him. Bucky rolled his eyes playfully, no trace of annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re gorgeous, doll,” He declared brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead with surprising gentleness. “Can’t help myself.”

You let out a soft scoff, the sound muffled against his warm skin as you burrowed a little deeper into his side. The sheets were tangled around your legs, still warm from the lingering heat between you, and Bucky's arm was a steady, grounding weight around your waist. “Don’t bullshit me, Bucky,” You muttered, though the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrayed your amusement. “I look far from gorgeous right now. Pretty sure there’s drool on the pillow, and my hair looks like an untamed lion’s mane.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle. His fingers tightened around you instinctively, drawing you a little closer before he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering there like he was breathing you in. “Maybe so,” He murmured, voice laced with affection. “But I think you’ve never looked better.” Your nose scrunched, force of habit whenever he said something like that. Compliments always made you want to squirm or deflect, especially when Bucky looked at you like you were something sacred.

“We should probably get up.” You sighed, though there was no urgency in your tone. Your hand moved slowly across his bare chest, fingers trailing over the faint scars and the firm planes of muscle, feeling them tense beneath your touch before he relaxed again. He didn’t answer right away, just held you there for a few long, still moments. Then, with a reluctant huff, he pressed another kiss to your forehead, gentler this time. “I wish we could just stay like this forever.”

You gasped, dramatically, lifting your head to meet his gaze with a teasing smirk. Even when his words made your heart somersault in your chest. “Forever? That’s an awfully long commitment, Sarge.” His steel-blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at you, the affection in his expression almost too much to bear. “I’ve got nothing but time, doll.” His voice was low and certain, almost like a promise wrapped in velvet. Damn him. Damn his ability to smooth-talk you with that old-school charm and sincerity.

Because sometimes, like now, in the golden hush of morning you caught glimpses of the man he used to be. The one from faded photographs and whispered memories. Carefree. Flirty. Unburdened. Happy. You lived for those moments. You collected them like precious things, holding them close on the harder days. You let the silence linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary, your hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Then you sighed, dramatic and exaggerated, breaking the spell before it managed to swallowed you whole. “Alright, Barnes,” You huffed, pushing gently against him as you sat up, the sheets rustling with the movement. “Up and at ’em, before Shuri comes looking for us and scolds us for not pulling our weight around here.” He groaned like a man twice his age, flopping back into the pillow. “I’ve survived worse.” You reached for the nearest pillow and lobbed it at his head. In a blur of motion, the pillow hit him squarely, then he pounced.

You barely had time to gasp before he flipped you back onto your back with an ease that still caught you off guard. One second you were upright, the next you were caged beneath him, your body sinking into the blankets as his weight hovered just above yours, flesh arm braced him at your side. “James Buchanan Barnes,” You warned, though the sternness in your voice faltered the moment your eyes met his. “I’ll get up,” He smirked, leaning in close until his lips were a breath away from yours. “But it’ll cost you.”

You arched a brow, though the grin tugging at your mouth betrayed your amusement. His eyes gleamed with mischief, boyish, utterly endearing. “Indulge me.” You scoffed, matching his smirk. “One kiss,” He purred, nuzzling his nose lightly against yours. “Then I’ll get up. Scout’s honor.” You knew damn well it would never be just one kiss. It never was. But his voice, rough from sleep and low in your ear, made it almost criminal to deny him. And, truth be told, you didn’t want to.

“One kiss,” You echoed, surrendering. He didn’t wait for further permission. He dipped down and captured your mouth with his, slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world. It was soft at first, warm, unhurried, lips moving against yours with a kind of tenderness that made your heart twist in your chest. Then his hand slid to cradle your jaw, tilting your face just right, and the kiss deepened. His tongue grazed your bottom lip, coaxing a soft sigh from you, and that was all the invitation he needed.

And then he really kissed you.

His tongue slid into your mouth with slow, deliberate intent, deepening the kiss in a way that made your pulse stutter and your toes curl beneath the sheets. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, slipping up into his hair, needing something to hold onto, needing him closer. Time cease to exist. When he finally pulled back, reluctantly, your breaths came in ragged little bursts. His lips were swollen, pink and kiss-bruised, and his eyes had gone heavy-lidded and dark, like he was drunk on the taste of you.

“You said one, Bucky,” Your narrowed eyes didn’t hold an ounce of real anger. “A deal’s a deal.” He responded with an exaggerated yawn, stretching like a man completely unaware he’d just kissed the life out of you. And then, with a wicked grin, he dropped his full weight on top of you like a smug, overgrown cat. The air rushed from your lungs in a theatrical groan. “Joke’s on you, doll. I was never a scout.” He whispered into your hair.

“Oh, real mature, Barnes.” You muttered, though your arms had already slid around his neck, holding him close like you always did. You shifted beneath him, trying to flip the two of you over with a grunt of effort, but of course, it was useless. Super soldier or not, Bucky was built. Therefore he didn’t even move an inch. “Struggling there, doll?” He teased, his words muffled against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Asshole.” You cursed, breath catching when his stubble grazed your throat. You opened your mouth to scold him further, but the words died as he lifted his head and caught your lips in another kiss, this one rougher, hungrier. This time there was no softness, no hesitation. He kissed you like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough, like he was making up for every second he hadn’t had you pressed beneath him. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath and made your spine arch beneath him.

It wasn’t practiced, it was raw. Real. You gasped into the kiss, fingers clutching the back of his neck, dragging him down as if that could make the moment last longer. Your legs curled around his waist, your body aligning to his with instinctual ease, like you were two puzzle pieces that had always belonged together. It stole the breath from your lungs and replaced it with warmth, with certainty, with him. And suddenly, being late didn’t seem all that important.

After what felt like a full-blown operation in itself, complete with bribery, and another stolen kiss or two you finally managed to wrangle your super soldier boyfriend out of bed. The two of you made your way out, hand in hand, your fingers laced like it was second nature. Birds chirping echoed softly in the distance, and the scent of wildflowers carried on the breeze as you approached the clearing where the goats and other livestock huddled together.

The soft bleating of baby goats picked up in volume the second they spotted you coming. Clearly, they’d associated your presence with food and lots of affection. In the middle of the field lay a fresh stack of hay, still untouched. “Get to work, soldier.” You declared, slipping your hand from Bucky’s and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, a reward in advance for good behavior. “That hay’s not going to move itself.” Bucky gave you an unimpressed side-eye but didn’t resist.

Rolling his shoulders as he sized up the hay like it was an enemy. “Bossy this morning, aren’t we?” His lips twitched with a hint of a smile, especially when he saw you already being swarmed by the tiniest of the goats, white, black, brown, all bleating and bouncing around your legs like excited toddlers. You bent down to scoop up the smallest one, a little black and white thing with bright eyes and a wagging tail and it immediately nuzzled into your neck, letting out a contented maaah.

The sound made you laugh, and Bucky paused for a moment, hay forgotten, just to look at you. You, surrounded by squeaky baby goats. Hair a mess from sleep and his wondering hands. God, he was so gone for you. “You staring at me or working?” You teased without looking, sensing his gaze. He blinked, caught, and snorted. “Hard to do both, doll.” He muttered, shaking his head before trudging over to the hay pile and grabbing an armful like it weighed nothing.

As you quickly corralled the baby goats into a semi-circle near the wooden fence, they practically fed themselves, nudging the bottles with greedy little noses, bleating impatiently between gulps. Their tiny tails wagged with wild excitement. You knelt in the grass, your hands moving on autopilot, switching out bottles, wiping the milk from eager mouths, gently guiding the smallest ones to the back so they wouldn’t get elbowed out by their bolder siblings.

Of course, there was always one clinger, the tiniest of the bunch, with oversized ears and big brown doe eyes who refused to feed with the others unless you held the bottle and gave him your full attention. You sighed fondly, cradling the little guy against your chest as he suckled noisily, hooves pressing gently into your arm. It wasn’t until the field settled into a quiet rhythm that you let your eyes drift to the other side of the clearing, drawn to him like gravity.

Bucky stood near the hay pile, methodically tossing fluffs of straw across the feeding troughs. He worked silently, his movements fluid and precise, and even without his left arm he didn’t falter. His right hand moved with an ease that was second nature now, his broad shoulders shifting beneath the thin, dark t-shirt he’d thrown on last-minute. You felt your breath hitch a little as your gaze followed the curve of his biceps, the play of muscle across his back, the way his jaw clenched in focus as he worked.

A sheen of sweat glistened on his temple under the rising sun, catching in the stubble along his jaw. Your lower lip found its way between your teeth, and without even realizing it, you bit down gently subconsciously, shamelessly ogling him like a schoolgirl with a crush. Except this man was yours to ogle. And you weren’t even sorry about it. That is, until he straightened up and turned to look at you, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you just gonna keep standing there looking pretty?” He called out, cocking his head to the side. Heat rushed to your cheeks instantly.

Busted.

You raised your hands in mock surrender, smile betraying your embarrassment. “I already finished my job.” You spluttered defensively, still cradling the clinger goat, who was now happily snoozing against your chest like he belonged there. Bucky tossed the last bundle of hay and wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, his eyes never leaving you. “Uh huh,” He drawled the word heavy with amused disbelief. “Sure, sweetheart.”But then, in the space between your shared smiles, something changed.

It was subtle at first, a strange hush that fell across the clearing. The birds chirps, which moments ago had filled the air, faded into silence. A cool breeze whispered through the tall grass, rustling it like a warning. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, your instincts flaring to life before your mind even fully registered why. You shifted your eyes upward and froze. The once-clear sky had darkened in the span of moments. Heavy grey clouds rolled in from the horizon like a wave, swallowing the Wakandan sunlight in eerie shadow.

Even the goats sensed it, heads lifting from their bottles, little ears twitching as they nervously clustered closer to the fence. “Bucky,” You called, your voice quiet but urgent. His jaw clenched, and without a word, he moved to your side, scanning the treeline just as a line of figures broke through it. King T’Challa, followed by Okoye and a handful of Dora Milaje guards. Their steps were swift and deliberate, boots crunching softly against the grass. You straightened instinctively, carefully adjusting the sleeping goat in your arms as if to shield it.

“White Wolf. Miss Stark.” T’Challa greeted, his deep voice calm, but not casual. He stopped a few feet from you, his eyes shifting between the two of you. His tone was formal, but not cold. The king had always greeted you with respect and an easy warmth that came with shared trust. But now, the curve of his lips didn’t quite form a smile. You felt it then, that subtle, unspoken weight of news not yet spoken.

Beside you, Bucky stood still, his hand brushing lightly against yours. Across the clearing, the Dora Milaje moved with quiet efficiency, setting down a long, matte-black briefcase between you and the King. Wordlessly, T’Challa knelt beside the case, his fingers working the biometric locks with smooth precision. The seals hissed as they disengaged, and the case opened with a soft click, revealing what lay inside. Your breath caught.

Inside, nestled against black foam, was the prosthetic arm, sleek and seamless, forged in a striking matte black vibranium with lines of deep gold veining through it. Your heart stuttered in your chest. It was beautiful. Nothing like the sketches you and Shuri had once sprawled across worktables late into the night. The real thing was something else. At your side, Bucky tensed. You didn’t need to look at him to know what he was feeling, uncertainty, acceptance, and the weight of inevitability all tangled together.

His eyes were locked on the prosthetic, jaw clenched, lips parted like he might speak but didn’t yet trust his voice. Then, after a heartbeat, he did. “Where’s the fight?” He asked, voice low, steady. T’Challa’s gaze lifted to meet his. He looked between you both, his expression unwavering. “On its way.” He declared, the words heavy, final. Your stomach dropped. That familiar, hollow feeling began to pool in your chest. The kind that always came before the storm.

You’d lived through your share of battles, he’ll even a civil war, but something about this was different. The weight of it pressed down on you like a warning, like something that was inevitable. You reached for Bucky’s hand, lacing your fingers through his. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he gave your hand a subtle squeeze, steady, grounding. He looked at the arm again. Then at you. As thunder rolled again, louder this time, you knew with chilling certainty, the fight had already begun.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! In celebration of the Ithaca saga release (and yes, I am still sobbing over that ending), here's an Epic au that's been rolling around my head for far too long! Enjoy!

In a few mythology stories, there is a theme of "if you kill a monster, you become a monster yourself." And, with the theme of Odysseus abandoning his humanity and becoming a monster being so prevalent in the second act, why not take it one step further?

What if, when Odysseus nearly killed Poseidon with his own godly weapon, some of that divine power found its way into Odysseus? What if the combined power of wielding the trident and the act of defeating a god and spilling his ichor ascended Odysseus unwillingly into godhood?

And, given what Odysseus was doing when he attained godhood, what of Odysseus specifically became the god of monsters?

By the time Odysseus has finished mutilating Poseidon and sails the short distance to Ithaca's shores, the ascension is already almost complete, despite Odysseus's resistance to it. When Odysseus finally sets foot on Ithaca's beach, he is no longer human at all. He is, in many ways, no longer himself.

Sure, he looks human enough at first glance, but his shadow writhes with twisting, monstrous forms, and his form blurs around the edges if one looks for long enough, as if he had to put conscious effort into appearing human.

It takes all of Odysseus's concentration to both keep himself looking human and to put one foot in front of the other, determined to ensure that the first time his family sees him again, they see him, not some monster.

But then, Odysseus finds the suitors. He hears Antinous speaking of killing his son and doing vile things to his wife, and suddenly, Odysseus doesn't feel like holding back the writhing, howling beasts under his skin anymore. No, no, he is going to revel in releasing them on these dogs.

Odysseus, still unseen by the suitors, lets his mortal disguise disappear in an instant, and a horrible roar has the suitors all stiffening with primordial terror, their minds frozen at the sight of something that their instincts screamed was a predator, unlike anything they had seen before.

The beast that they now beheld, which seemingly appeared out of nowhere, was horrific, with its body shifting and changing between all manner of monsters. One moment it was a hydra, then in the next it was a minotaur, and then it took the form of a chimera. The suitors watched in grotesque horror for a few seconds as the beast's body could not decide on a shape, its head and eyes and limbs always shifting, before the monster took a step towards them, its clawed foot shaking the ground.

At that, the suitors suddenly realized that this was real and that they were in a room with this creature. And then, all hell broke loose as the 108 suitors screamed with terror and scrambled away from the monster in all directions.

Then, the hunt began.

The monster chased them down the long hallways of the palace, killing any suitor it got its hands on. Some were shredded by its claws, others trampled under its feet like bugs, and some were even devoured with a single bite of its jaws. And all the while, The beast showed no mercy, no remorse, and no signs of that its bloodlust was even remotely slaked.

One suitor, when cornered by the beast, got on his knees and begged for mercy, only to be crushed with one swipe of a club that had manifested itself from the beast's body, which now took the shape of a savage cyclops.

Soon, blood painted the walls and floor of the palace, while the surviving suitors armed themselves for battle. After all, it was impossible to flee from the beast, so their only chance was to fight it.

However, at the armory, Telemachus appeared, back from his diplomatic mission and demanding to know what was happening, asking the suitors about the beast. Then, Antinous, one of the only surviving suitors, got an idea.

He ordered the others suitors to hold Telemachus down and tie him up as he explained his plan. They could still go through with their previous plot if they played this well enough.

After all, the beast out there was clearly either a punishment sent by the gods or a god in of itself. And the only way to appease a god was through an offering or sacrifice.

So, the suitors could present the bound prince to the beast as a sacrifice, which would appease the gods. After all, a blood sacrifice of a royal held great significance.

And when Penelope was mourning her poor, sacrificed son, Antinous and his men would be hailed as heroes by all of Ithaca for appeasing the monster, and Penelope would have no choice but to wed one of them.

Telemachus was screaming with rage and fear behind his makeshift gag as Antinous finished explaining his plan to the other suitors, who enthusiastically agreed to it.

Together, the suitors dragged Telemachus, his limbs bound with rope, out into the hallway, where it took the monster only a matter of seconds to find them.

Telemachus' eyes widened with shock at the sight of the monster, with its ever-changing limbs and body. The only constant feature on the beast was its ferocious glowing red eyes, which chilled the prince to the bone.

Antinous kicked Telemachus forwards towards the beast, sending him sprawling out over the floor.

"Great beast! We know not why you are here, but we humbly apologize for whatever wrong this kingdom has done to you! Please, accept this honored sacrifice: Telemachus, the prince of this land, and leave us in peace."

The monster, for the first time since it appeared, stood still, though its form still shifted fluidly. The suitors watched with baited breath as the beast ever so slowly inched forwards, towards a squirming and terrified Telemachus.

As the creature got closer, however, its form stopped changing as much, until its seemed to stabilize, taking on the shape of a giant human figure, but its body and face were featureless, simply a mass of shadows, except for its ever-present red eyes.

The now human-shaped monster picked Telemachus up in of of its hands slowly, handling him far gentler than it had any of the suitors. On the ground, Antinous and his men watched on in barely-contained excitement, overjoyed that everything was going as planned.

"I take it that you accept and are appeased by this sacrifice, great one?" Antinous, ever confident, spoke up.

The beast was still silent, giving no indication that it even heard Antinous, with all of its attention still focused on Telemachus, who was convinced that this was the end for him.

Gingerly, the creature rearranged its hold on Telemachus, until it was cradling him in its arms as a human would with an infant. The suitors look on in confusion, unsure what to make of this. What kind of monster cradled its sacrifice? Why wasn't it mindlessly slaughtering the prince just as it had the other suitors?

Then, the creature's gaze shifted from Telemachus to the suitors, filling them with an instinctive fear that told them to run. But before they could even take a step, a massive serpent's head shot out of the creature's chest, devouring all of them in a single bite. Telemachus, still bound and gagged, screamed with terror at the sight of it.

The beast, with Telemachus still trapped in its arms, started lumbering its way through the halls again, swiftly killing any remaining suitors it came across while the prince shook with terror in its arms.

After a while, the beast had finally killed the last of the suitors, leaving a trail of mutilated corpses and blood throughout the entire palace. There would be no one left inside the palace except for Telemachus and... his mother.

Telemachus came to this horrifying realization as he recognized exactly where the monster was heading. It was going to his mother's room, and the reinforced door would not protect her from this creature.

Telemachus renewed his struggles against his bindings, begging as best he could from behind the gag, "not her, please, not her!"

But the beast, of course, did not listen, and continued its path of destruction until it reached Penelope's door, still carrying the furiously squirming prince in its arms.

The doors, reinforced with bronze, did not stand a chance against the monster's strength, and Telemachus was forced to watch on in horror as his mother screamed at the sight of the beast, and he could do nothing as the monster grabbed ahold of her with a gigantic hand.

Telemachus had felt helpless and useless many times over the years as suitors invaded their home and disrespected his mother, but that was nothing compared to the sheer hopelessness and terror of seeing his mother struggling in the grasp of this monster and being unable to even move.

Now that Penelope was in his grasp, the monster slowly, almost gingerly, made his way to the throne room, trampling the scattered and bloodied corpses of the suitors that were in his path.

There, in the middle of the throne room, the beast finally sat down, halting its rampage through the halls of the palace at long last. Penelope and Telemachus, still trapped in the monster's arms, held each other as close as they could, trembling with fear at the massive, gore-covered monster that held their lives quite literally in its merciless hands.

(But little did they know that, as the hours went by, the monster would slowly shrink, diminishing in size, until it revealed a man, a very familiar man, underneath it all. And that man would like nothing more than to hold his family close for as long as he can.)

And that's all for this story! I might do a continuation if the inspiration strikes! Please let me know if you'd like to see a continuation!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[ducksido]

Loved your Baur courting fic but I would DIE at a Sebek version especially where his “flawless” courtship of the Prefect is so misinterpreted since she is from our world and has NO idea about Fae customs and suddenly Sebek is coming at them full sprint screaming about dueling💀

(I had to write this as quick as i can)

The first time Sebek challenged Y/n to a duel, they genuinely thought he wanted to kill them.

To be fair, the sight of a six foot two-tall, half-fae knight-in-training charging at them full speed, bellowing about honor and proving himself, was enough to send them into full fight-or-flight mode.

Y/n had barely stepped out of Ramshackle Dorm when they heard his unmistakable voice echo across the courtyard.

“PREFECT! PREPARE YOURSELF! I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!”

Their stomach dropped. “What.”

Sebek didn’t slow down. In fact, he picked up speed, the sunlight gleaming dramatically off his perfectly polished uniform. Y/n had just enough time to yelp and throw themselves sideways, narrowly avoiding becoming a human pancake. They hit the ground, heart hammering, as Sebek skidded to a halt, his expression filled with… determination?

“What are you doing?!” they gasped, staring up at him in horror.

He crossed his arms, eyes burning with fervor. “It is only right that I prove myself in battle! A worthy knight must show their devotion through strength, and I shall not rest until I have earned your acknowledgment!”

Y/n blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Acknowledge what? What are you talking about?”

Sebek’s face flushed an alarming shade of red, but instead of embarrassment, he seemed positively brimming with more intensity. “MY COURTSHIP, OF COURSE!”

Their brain short-circuited.

They were courting him? When had that happened? More importantly, how were they still alive if they had somehow been dating Sebek without realizing it?

“I—” They struggled to form a response. “Sebek. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Nonsense!” He pointed at them dramatically. “As Lord Malleus’s most loyal retainer, I would never conduct myself improperly! I have been displaying the most exemplary courtship rituals known to Fae-kind!”

“…Such as?”

He began listing on his fingers. “Training at dawn outside your dormitory every morning so you may witness my strength. Bringing you exotic meats from the Night Market to ensure you are properly nourished. Vowing to vanquish anyone who so much as looks at you with ill intent.” He huffed proudly. “And, of course, challenging you to a duel! Only by testing your mettle can I prove we are well-matched!”

Y/n ran a hand down their face. “Sebek.”

“Yes?”

They took a deep breath. “None of that is normal where I’m from.”

Sebek frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean people from my world don’t… do all that when they like someone.”

His eyes widened in abject horror. “IMPOSSIBLE! Then how do your knights swear fealty to their beloved?!”

“…We go on dates?” they offered weakly.

Sebek looked as though they had just spoken in riddles. “Dates?” He repeated the word as if it were a foreign concept. “Like… strategy meetings?”

“No! Like… going out somewhere fun. Talking. Spending time together.”

His expression darkened with deep contemplation. Then, after a moment, he straightened, resolved. “Then I shall take you on one of these ‘dates!’”

Y/n threw their hands up. “That’s not—” They sighed. “You know what? Sure. Fine. One date. But NO more surprise duels!”

Sebek grinned, victorious. “HAH! THEN IT IS DECIDED! I SHALL PLAN THE MOST HONORABLE DATE IMAGINABLE!”

Y/n had a sinking feeling that they had made a mistake.

(Spoiler: They had. They got kicked out of Monstro Lounge)

The next day, in the cafeteria, Y/N and Sebek sat together, hands intertwined. It had become a casual, natural thing, but the moment their friends noticed, the reaction was instant.

Ace nearly choked on his drink. “WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! Are you two… holding hands?!”

Deuce’s eyes widened. “W-Wait… does this mean—? Are you guys dating?!”

Epel smirked, nudging Jack. “Looks like all that effort finally paid off.”

Jack folded his arms, giving Sebek an approving nod. “Hmph. ‘Bout time.” Side-eyeing Deuce who give Ace a crisp 10 madol bill.

Ortho’s eyes glowed excitedly. “Oh! Congratulations, Sebek! I’ll make sure to update my data on human-fae relationships!”

Grim, meanwhile, gagged dramatically. “Ugh! This is so gross! Y/N, how could ya do this to me?!”

“D-Do not make such a fuss! This is simply—!”

Y/N squeezed his hand, cutting him off with an amused smile. “Yeah. We’re dating.”

Sebek made another strangled noise as Ace and Deuce erupted into laughter, and Grim continued his dramatics. Y/N just chuckled, leaning against him. This started with Sebek running at them full speed to them holding hands.