#Me: I will do fluff for comfort cause day was shitty

[joelsgoldrush]

“GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE” | 10k

logan howlett x fem!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ fluff, angst, drinking, dirty talk, slow-burnish, age-gap (reader is 25), once again wade saves the day, domestic!logan, soft dom!logan, logan calls reader “kid”, they watch (500) days of summer, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, thigh riding, thumb sucking, throat fucking, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[lulunothulu]

“All Your’n”

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley had been best friends for a while. You’d both wanted more but the other didn’t know until you declare him yours after a fight.

Content: fluff, swearing, FLUFF

GIF credit: @betty-draper

Based on the song “All Your’n” by Tyler Childers

It’d been a shitty day.

All day long, you had been dealing with the Dagger Squad and their stupid antics. Everyone was irritating you and you didn’t know why.

No, you knew why.

It was Bradley’s fault.

The night before, you’d watched him flirt with one of the skankiest aviator you’d ever met—Sunny—at Hard Deck. While you two weren’t together, you’d hoped he wouldn’t go so low. Especially with her. He knew you and Sunny had a problem with one another and being your best friend, Bradley had vowed to you he would never fuck with her.

I guess things change.

It started like any night at Hard Deck, Bradley and Jake picking a girl Jake should flirt with and Bradley telling Natasha and Bob he didn’t think Jake would do it.

“He’s being a little too cocky,” you hear Nat tell Bradley. “If he wants the red head to like him, he should’ve just gotten her a drink like a normal guy instead of showing off his darts skills.”

“Wait hold on,” you tell her, pointing to Jake and the red head across the bar. “Look at what he’s doing.”

“That son of a bitch,” you hear Bradley mutter to your left.

Jake had just tapped his cheek, the red head moving to kiss him before he turns his head quickly, catching her lips with his.

“That was annoyingly smooth,” he says with an eye roll. He finishes his beer before turning to the group and asking, “Anyone want another?”

Payback, Coyote, Fanboy, Natasha, and you all cheerfully say, “Fuck yes” causing Bradley to shake his head with a smile and look to Bob.

“Help me carry them all?” Bob nods, following Bradley’s broad and muscular form to the bar where Penny greets them with smiles.

You turn to Nat who’s watching you with a smile.

“Wanna play a game of pool, Domino?” She asks.

You shrug, “Why not? I have to school your ass again.”

“I let you win that one time and now you have an ego,” she laughs.

You’re in the middle of starting the game when you see Sunny walk into the bar and make a beeline for Rooster at the bar.

Her blonde hair was loose, falling down her neck and brushing the seams of her sundress.

“When did she get the time to change into that?” Natasha asks from your right.

“Who fucking knows,” you respond, rolling your eyes.

Behind you, Coyote whistles as Sunny, Bob and Rooster approach with beers in hand. “Damn, Sunny. You look good.”

“Thanks,” she smiles, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I did it for Bradshaw here.”

Fucking bitch.

Bradley’s brows raise in question as he takes a swig of his beer and hands you yours. “For me? Why?”

Sunny laughs. “I’ve been sending you hints for past few months. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Honestly no,” Bradley tells her. “I’ve had my eyes on someone else.”

At that everyone turns to you, but you’re too busy looking at Sunny. Her eyes narrow on you before she sweetly smiles before wrapping her arms around Bradley’s broad shoulders.

“Can you show me how to play pool?” She asks.

“I guess, Seresin’s better than I am,” he tells her. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

You watch as Sunny leads him to the pool table across from yours, Bradley’s eyes apologetic as he begins to show her how to play.

“Easy girl,” you hear Jake say behind you. You turn to see him sipping his beer, an arm around the red head. “He knows who he belongs to. No need to get worked up.”

“Fuck off, Bagman.” You seethe.

By the end of the night, Sunny was drunk as hell, dancing on tables and doing everything she could to keep Bradley by her side. It was 11:45 PM when you finally had enough.

“I think imma head out,” you tell Phoenix.

“Do you want me to get Bradley?” She asks.

You turn to where Sunny’s legs were propped on Rooster’s lap, Bradley’s hand comfortably on her ankle and smile lazily on his lips.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “Nah, let him have more time with his new girlfriend.”

He didn’t even bother to text you how and if you got home that night. And that’s what was pissing you off the most.

Not that he had broken the one promise you asked him to never do, but that he never even called you to make sure you were alright.

Sunny must’ve been really good in bed. Of course she was. She was the squad’s biggest flirt, and that says something because Hangman is the man-whore.

Anyway, it wasn’t like you stayed up all night waiting for his call.

That would’ve been pitiful.

Your last straw today had been when you saw Sunny and Bradley talking y one of the jets, Sunny’s hand on his chest laughing at something he’d said.

Your blood was boiling. You wanted to slap the smile off her face, or worse pummel her into the ground with your boots.

“Domino,” you hear Natasha call to your left. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think somethings wrong?” You ask.

“Your face is unusually bitchier,” Jake says from behind.

“Maybe it’s because everyone has been annoying the shit out of me,” you spit back.

“Everyone, or Bradshaw?” He asks, a smirk forming.

“Fuck off, Seresin,” you seethe, clenching your jaw from saying it too loudly for everyone else to hear.

“C’mon, Y/L/N,” he starts. “We all know you’re sweet on Bradshaw.”

“Hangman,” Natasha warns.

“What it’s true?” He counters. He points, flicking between you and Bradley behind you. “They’ve been inseparable for years. Plus, we all see the way they look each other. He’s as much hers and she is his. They should just kiss and get it over with. Then, we won’t have to deal with her mood swings when Sunny starts acting a fool.”

“Seresin, shut. The fuck. Up.” You seethe. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I may not look like the brightest, but I have eyes,” he tells you, squaring his shoulders and smiling. “We can see how much it kills you that Sunny—”

“I’m warning you…”

“—has made the moves on Bradshaw, even after you two had that vow,” he continues. “Just go claim him!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP SERESIN.” You yell, causing everyone in the hangar to turn to where you two are standing—Bradley and Sunny included.

Your cheeks feel warm, you know you’re blushing and hard. Behind you, you feel a hand in your shoulder and when you turn, you find Maverick standing there. His face is masked in calm but you know he’s probably as angry as he can be.

“Go take a walk,” he tells you.

You’re shaking in anger and embarrassment, but you nod. Pushing past him, you take off, passing by a smug-faced Sunny and dumbfoundedly confused Bradley.

“See ya, Domino,” Sunny says as you pass them. She laughs before adding, “Fucking psycho.”

That makes you stop in your tracks because what the actual fuck?

You turn to face her, walking right up to her, and getting within an inch of her face.

“What did you say?” You ask.

Fear fills her eyes and she pulls Bradley close to her. “Nothing.”

You look to where she’s holding Bradley by the bicep, then up at Bradley who’s confused and hopefully feeling your disappointment.

You roll your eyes, feeling the angry tears coming. “Whatever. You deserve her.”

You’re halfway to the tarmac when you feel a large hand wrap around your wrist. You’re spun around to face Bradley who looks confused.

“What’s your deal?” He asks. “I didn’t hear from you last night and you didn’t even tell me you left Hard Deck. And now, you’re acting all annoyed and lashing out on everyone.”

“No I’m not,” you respond.

“Don’t think on I didn’t notice your groaning all day, Y/N,” he scolds. “You’ve been on one all day. What’s wrong?”

You rub your nose angrily before shaking your head and turning away from him. “You. You’re what’s wrong.”

“Why?” Bradley’s brown eyes are soft, brows furrowed in confusion and you can’t help but feel the urge to slap the puppy dog eyes out of him.

“You broke our vow!” You spit. “You fucked Sunny even after you said you never would. And then on top of that, you didn’t notice I left or you did and you were too busy with Sunny to bother to text or call me to see if I was alright or if I got home.”

You were pacing, wildly waving your hands as you speak. “And what hurts the most is that you did that without batting an eye. I thought—”

You stop talking. You can’t bring yourself to admit what you’d been wanting to for the past few years you’d known Bradley. You loved him, and you thought he loved you back.

But you guess not.

“You thought what?” Bradley asks, shouting over the jets flying to the left of you. His brows were so furrowed, you thought they’d stay that way.

You take a few deep breaths, trying to regulate your anger and frustration.

“I thought you would’ve—,” you start to shout back, blinking back tears. “I thought you would’ve chosen me instead.”

Bradley only stares at you, shocked. You’re a good few paces away from him so you angrily shake your head, wipe your eyes with the back of your hands, and begin to walk away.

But his strong hand on your wrist stops you in your tracks.

“What makes you think I didn’t choose you?” Bradley asks.

“What’re you talking about?” You ask. “I saw you with Sunny.”

“Last night, nothing happened,” he tells you.

“What?”

He shakes his head, a small smile forming on his mustached face. “I took her home and then left. My phone died at the bar and I didn’t think you’d be awake when I got home.”

You only stare up at him.

“I was gonna check on you today, but you gave me the cold shoulder all morning,” he goes on.

“You didn’t sleep with her?” You ask.

“God, no,” he smiles.

That changed everything. If they didn’t sleep together, then what did he mean by choosing you?

“What did you mean,” you start. “About choosing me?”

“Y/N,” he starts, hand rising to cup your cheek. “Have you seriously not noticed?”

“Noticed what?” You ask.

“All I have are eyes for you. I have for a long time,” he tells you. “I’ve loved you from the moment I first met you. I’ll love you until my lungs give out. You’re mine, even if you don’t know or feel it. But you are.”

“I’m yours?” You ask, dumbfounded by his admission.

“Yes,” he laughs.

You smile, bringing your hand to his on your cheek. Happy tears fill your eyes as you tiptoe to kiss him, his mustache tickling your nose and making you smile into the kiss. Your heart lurches at the thought of Bradley loving you as long as you’ve loved him, the fact that you’re kissing him amplifying that feeling.

“Good, because I’m all yours,” you smile. “And you’re all mine.”

[yellowflwrss]

“i’m so sorry baby”;dick grayson

• in which dick does the “shut up” prank on his girlfriend while she’s already having a bad day

- fluff but some angst

it had been all over tik tok, an app dick was constantly on when he wasn’t patrolling or beating people’s asses, annoying his siblings or girlfriend. it was videos of boyfriends doing a prank on their girlfriend, secretly filming in a car or in their houses as their girlfriend walks in and says something. they then cut them off with a “shut up.”

obviously, the prank can go many ways, getting amusing reactions out of the girlfriend and a funny video whenever it ends well. knowing how you are, dick wanted to see how’d you react to this prank specifically. you were sarcastic and kind and your attitude was probably what he loved the most about you. so, he was beyond excited to see what you’d say to him.

earlier that day, you had asked dick to pick you up from your nail appointment. first you had work but your boss said you’d get out early that day (for whatever reason you didn’t care to remember) and you had arranged to get your nails done afterwards for fun.

dick was going to arrive an hour earlier than he did, but he received a text from you simply asking if he could pick you up a little later, and of course dick agreed. he’s do anything for you.

parked outside the nail place he had gotten familiar with over time, dick decided to set up his phone to film the prank. a few moments later he saw you walk out of the nail salon and his smile brightened, the camera catching it all. when he saw you get closer his smile dropped, getting into character. dick unlocked your door and you sat in, putting your bag by your feet and getting comfortable. you didn’t seem as enthusiastic as he thought you would after getting your nails done, but dick continued on either way.

“hey babe. how was your day?” your face adorned a small smile.

“it was good.” was all he said. your face barely dropped, but it did nonetheless. you were confused as to why dick hadn’t asked you the same thing, when without fail that’s what he did.

“that’s good. sorry my nails took a little longer than usual, my boss made me—“ that’s when it was dick’s cue to cut you off, and oh he felt so bad.

“just shut up (y/n),” he felt like such a shitty boyfriend but he was too far in for the prank to back out now.” without looking at your face cause he knew he’d break character, dick continued “just—just shut up.” he shook his head and placed it onto the steering wheel.

your face had dropped to one of sorrow. the camera had captured you looking so sad at your boyfriend’s words and you felt so hurt. “oh. okay.” was all you said as you resulted to staring at your lap as you held back the tears that were threatening to spill out.

when all dick heard was silence for a second or two, he pulled his head to look at yours. and he knew he couldn’t go any longer when he noticed the state you were in. “baby—“ he started, about to apologize.

that’s when you started balling, tears streaming down your face as it covered the “sorry” that he repeated alongside a few apologetic words. your makeup soon got messed up as you rubbed the back of your hands to stop the tears from flowing, crying even harder when you noticed your makeup was messed up too.

dick tried to grab ahold of your hand as you cried, embarrassed. you pulled away and reached for the doorknob. not because you were mad at dick but because you were embarrassed, you felt like a child. before you could open the door, dick had reached over and pulled you to him onto his lap with two hands.

if it were any other situation, you’d be blushing and fawning over what your boyfriend had just done. but it wasn’t that situation. and despite the words he said to you, you buried your head into his neck as you cried some more. at that point you weren’t crying because of him, you were crying because of the day you just had.

“baby i’m so sorry. it was a prank—one of those tik tok pranks. i didn’t mean it at all.” he held your head as you slowly stopped the tears, still with your eyes full. dick killed your forehead and the top of your head then your cheeks and grabbed your hands softly and with care and kissed them as well.

“babe your nails look so beautiful, what’s wrong?” he keeps his grip tight but caresses your face, wiping the black mascara tears from your face.

hiccuping, you shook your head, “no, it’s fine don’t worry—“

“(y/n) tell me, i’m here to listen. do i need to beat anyone up? you know i’ll do it gorgeous.”

scoffing with a smile, you shook your head and intertwined your fingers with dick’s as you continued to sit on his lap in his car and tell him the reason for your bad mood.

“it was going all good. but then i had to stay longer to do some extra work that my boss assigned me. i hated it cause i wanted to get my nails done and see you. and then i had to call my nail salon and tell them to push it to a little later if they could—thank god they could or else i’d probably still be waiting to get them done.” you sniffled from crying earlier and continued on, “then the person who usually does my nails was sick and i had to have someone else do it. but they messed up my nails and i thought it was a quick fix so i asked if they could change a certain thing on it because im paying for their time and id charge them extra and everything.” you started to get teary eyed again and with a small squeeze of your hand from dick, you continued on with your story.

then the person doing my nails scoffed at me and rolled her eyes then started talking shit about me to their coworkers in their language. but i understood the language they were speaking. and i felt like shit.” you started to softly cry once again “i felt so bad to make them do it again and they were also making fun of me and everything else. a-and when i was thanking them profusely and all that, they all rolled their eyes at me and i payed them extra because i felt guilty. and they were just so rude. then when you said this to me i just had enough.” you were now spilling out tears once more.

“baby, it’s all okay don’t worry. those idiots are so rude. you don’t deserve any of that. and i’m so so sorry for what i said, the prank. you don’t deserve any of it you’re too sweet and you’re the best girlfriend, i’m so sorry.”

you smiled and ran your freshly manicured fingers through your boyfriend’s hair. “it’s okay dick. i forgive you. i probably would’ve forgiven you anyway.”

“i know you would’ve which sucks even more. i feel so bad. let’s go home and watch criminal minds with chocolate. and let’s cuddle. you’re getting so many kisses.” he profusely tried to say things he knew would make his girlfriend happy. even if being around him made her happy enough.

your eyes lit up and you wiped your face in fear of how you currently looked because of how much you previously cried. “i love criminal minds.” you whispered in excitement. over the past few weeks, dick had been so busy whenever the two of you had down time, so you weren’t able to chill out and be a lazy couple of couch potatoes. so when you heard this you were so happy.

with the same energy you currently had, dick said, “i know, you love criminal minds.”

“i love you.” your eyes looked lovingly into his.

“i love you more, and im so sorry for earlier baby.” even though your eyes were glued to dick and your mind was blank with the fact that you had such an amazing boyfriend, dick was practically 10x more in love with you, no matter how much you said you loved him more. his heart hurt when you hurt and when you were happy, he was even happier.

—

you had given dick permission to post the tik tok. he felt so bad about it but you kind of found it cute how much he visibly cared in the tik tok. and you were also greatful the camera didn’t catch what you thought was an ugly crying face.

user1 STOP THIS IS SO CUTE???

user2 i wonder what bruce thought of this

therdh00d dick head you should get canceled for making her cry

imbatman tell (y/n) i said hello

imbatman you’re an imbecile for making (y/n) cry.

(later on, dick found out that it was damian using bruce’s private tik tok account to text these messages)

[lvlyghost]

Hello do you take requests cause I had this idea in my mind but I suck in writing

how bout a ghost x reader where he had a bad day and takes it out on his beloved reader who he's been in a really long relationship with, by starting an argument and maybe saying some really mean and bad things that break the reader. Like the reader is only a shell of herself and completely ruined by ghosts words and just crying or sitting completely still staring off the wall or just staring at nothing just being numb.

What would be interesting is Simons reaction when he realizes the damage that he's done, maybe he would cry/break down idk when he sees the usually happy reader being so dull and almost lifeless yk

But Pleasee don't do this to our hearts and write some comfort and a happy ending please I couldn't handle too much angst❤️😭

The Weight of the World

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: You promised to always lean on each other but sometimes love isn't enough.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

TW: heavy angst, literally got some mid anxiety writing this🥴 swearing, self-doubt, hurt-comfort and slight fluff towards the end. lmk if i missed any.

A/N: finished this in one sitting lol, also not proofread and poorly edited, i've been having a shitty week so expect more angst lol. meet me in therapy. Enjoy anon!🤍🌟🫶🏻💕

Masterlist✨

You hesitate right outside Simon's studio, the place where he secludes himself from everything and everyone. Ever since he came from his last mission he seemed to be on the edge constantly. The usual softness that he reserved specifically for you was... absent.

Still you wouldn't let that stop you from approaching; having dating him for a few years now let you know so much of that. You knew when he was hurting. When he was sad, angry, jealous or even happy. Little to no people could say that.

Somehow this was different. He wasn't even letting you in, constantly keeping you at arms length and that hurt. How were you supposed to get to him this time? Get him to talk to you?

To look at you again with that same glint in his eyes, the spark that you ignited in him and that won't fade away even years after.

The sound of a chair creaking startles you, the same time the timer in the kitchen goes off. You walk back, turning the oven off, and sticking out the apple pie you so happily baked for both with hopes that you'll get him loosen a bit that dark cloud that's been looming over Simon these past few days.

The door of his studio is yanked open the heavy stomp of his boots resonating across the small apartment you two share, then his bulky frame appears just to grab the keys to his black motorcycle.

"Simon!" You call him, burning your hand in the process. He stills halfway through the living room, waiting for you to say something else. Wetting a cloth hurriedly and wrapping it around the burnt skin.

"I made something for us... maybe," standing behind him you leave a reasonable space between the two. You swallow down hard. "Thought we could have it together and just, you know spend...-"

"I don't have time for that now." His voice is cold and monotone. "Don't wait for me."

"But Si-" he turns on his heels, eyes hard and unyielding. He approaches slowly, making you gulp. "What's gotten into you, Simon?" You fight back the tears, this was the man you loved so dearly, the man you knew loved you back; there was a reason for the golden engagement ring on your left hand. "I..-"

"Fucking hell would you stop that? Please just..." he notices the wetness in your eyes. "I can't do this. Not anymore."

"Whatever it is I promise we can work it out together!" your lips quivered. "Just talk to me!"

"I don't need to talk about anything girl!" He seethes, one finger pointing at you. "Think some cheap counseling with you will make things right? Bloody hell no. Neither some homemade bread, this isn't fucking working and it won't until you learn how the bloody world works."

It breaks your heart into a tiny million pieces, breathing becomes a challenge and the injury in your hand can no longer be felt. Simon's words were worse than any physical pain. Where was the man you loved? The man who used to lift you up and kiss you on the forehead? The man whose hands couldn't stop roaming your body late at night? The man who'd helped you reach out for things he probably put away in the highest shelf so you'd ask for help. That same man that had proposed to you no long ago, right before he was deployed to a special op God knows where. The fabric of his mask moves when he keeps talking but you don't listen. You can't. Just like you can't stop the tears dribbling down your cheeks and the tremble of your hands. Simon's jaw clenched, brows furrowed as he takes a step back and leaves.

You walk sluggishly to where the dessert awaits. It's when your knees buckle that you finally let out a loud cry.

-

Simon knows he isn't a good man. He's done quite questionable things that he could never say out loud. He knows he's fucked in so many ways. But he also knows that there's one thing that kept him from spiraling further down into an abyss of death and self-loathing.

You.

The woman he decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl that didn't care about his past, the bad moments and his complicated persona. You who would selflessly love him without asking for something in return. What had you seen in him in first place? Even now after three years he can't wrap his head around the fact that he has someone who waits for him.

Simon knows how much he loves you, but what he doesn't know is how—or in what earth—he deserves every part of you.

You've been avoiding him ever since that horrible night. Words he can't take back. Looks that haunt him every time he closed his eyes. He hears you cry when you go to sleep or when you're taking a shower. Muffled sobs and wails that will come for him until the day he dies.

You avoid him like a plague, when he walks in. After all he's the one to blame. He wanted to ask you to tear him apart maybe that'd feel less painful.

The last remaining of sanity that was left in him came crashing down when he began to notice how you stared off in a haze, numbly looking at the window. He was losing you. Destroyed the one good thing he had. So, a few days later, despite his own demons. Despite the things that broke him all irreparably during the last mission in Moscow, he comes to find you. Sucking in a sharp breath as his eyes set on your left hand.

The engagement ring was gone, forgotten someplace unknown. Simon felt the panic wrenching his guts.

It's all on him.

He whispers your name, calls you softly. Slowly sitting in front of you, the coffee table creaks under his weight. Words get caught in his throat.

"May I take your hand?" He pleads, not getting an answer. Simon sighs, lowering his head as silent reigns yet again. "I don't deserve you." He murmurs, eyes bored into the floor. "I... I ruin everything I touch. Just never thought I'd ruin my girl."

Your eyes flutter shut, wet tears clinging to your eyelashes. Simon watches as you stand and leave without a word, he follows close behind to your shared room.

"Love..."

"Don't call me that!" the hurt in your voice... the resentment in your eyes, he's earned it.

Simon reaches out for your arm, grabbing you firmly but gently, mindful not to harm you.

"Right I deserve that." If there's one thing Simon regrets it's being the reason that your eyes no longer shine. "What I said... what happened I...-"

Shaking your head and biting down your lip.

"You never gave me the chance, I thought we said we'd always find a way."

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry baby." in an instant he's pulling you close, although you want to push him away, scream at him, slap him for the calvary he made you go through. "I'm not good with words, and I'm no good person." You feel his body shaking with anxiety as your eyes widen in shock. "I tried... I can't forgive myself for my mistakes."

"Simon..." he hushed you, cradling your head with his big hand. "I can't sleep knowing I can't protect you from what's out there, couldn't bloody protect that kid in Moscow, or my family."

You guide him to the bed, sitting down side by side and holding onto each other.

"Said I would always be with you Simon, why the hell did you push me away?! Have I not given my everything to you? We promised to always make it work!" He grabs your face staring intently into your eyes. "What happened there?"

He blinks, deciding how much to say. There was no need for you to know the entirety of it. He wanted to shield you from the horrors of this world, and he would as long as he lived.

"A young lad whose life's was cut short because I wasn't there on time. How can I come back to you, be happy when someone else just lost their kid..."

"That wasn't on you! Simon Riley you stop that now." He inhales, cinnamon and vanilla flooding his senses. It's you all of you. "Stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. We do that together, yeah?" Your chest hurts from how hard it's beating. "You've done far so much. You won't lose me."

A rumble in the sky and cars passing by outside your home is all you hear. Brown eyes like honey stare back into your soul.

"You took it off..."

"I burnt my hand, it wasn't healing properly. And you know what?" He quirks a brow. "It wasn't homemade bread. It was an apple pie, you silly."

"You'll never forgive me for that one won't you?" He doesn't chuckle but the air feels lighter.

"No. Probably won't." Simon takes your burnt hand bringing it to his lips, they're soft against the marred skin.

"But we're still getting married, yeah?" He asks.

You smile fondly, humming when he kisses your forehead, tears have now dried.

"Yeah. We're still getting married."

[ghysry]

You're asking for requests and what about a reader (who wasn't adopted by Reginald ofc) with the powers of clairvoyance who sees what's gonna happen in season 4 all of it the Lila x five arc and everything and is just like no 😃 and stops it and fixes it (somehow five is the same age physically and mentally as them) so it's a reader x five fic it can be an established relationship to make it more angsty or not up to you!!

angst....I can't!!! I can't do it! I'm sorry guys but this story will not be angsty😭

Tags:

Fluff, comfort, unestablished relationship, five Hargreeves, reader, tua x reader, five x reader, Five is a little bitch

---------------------------------------------------

"Emotion."

What are you doing?

You'd be shocked with how much you can do because you have the power of clairvoyance. You, yes you, had single handedly warned the others of the imminent danger their sibling, Viktor, would impose. You saw it when you closed your eyes, the world ending, a paradox. Had Five not gone here, had you not followed him, had he not created this, had he not created that.. That's not to say clairvoyance doesn't have its downsides, though. The memories keep on repeating, when Five jumps forward in time, when Five goes back in time, when Five...when Five..

Oh, don't you know?

It was driving you fucking insane. Every time you blinked that picture of Lila and Five kissing surrounded by strawberries in this safe haven of intricate wood painted white to look cutesy, her throwing strawberries at him, he, smiling. He smiled for god's sake - not in the sadistic homicidal way that you were so used to, but he smiled because he fell in love, in love with a woman he spent maybe seven years with, while he could barely muster a hello towards your way when you spent roughly forty years together in a shitty apocalypse?

Don't you know you'll be my ruin?

But, what could you do? They were already speaking, Lila was already a part of the family, you, not so much. You almost felt bad for Diego, no, you did feel bad for Diego, in all of the scenarios your power could have put you in, it decided to put you in this one. Choosing between telling your feelings (of which you can barely do) to a man who you're not even sure likes you back to fix this mess, or biting your tongue and letting it happen.

You got me crying,

For now though, while you're stuck in this shitty hotel you know will cause the reset of the universe, you have no choice but to keep your mouth shut until the right time approaches for you to strike. See, clairvoyance is a balance, it should always be a balance. It's why your mother always told you never to tell people what you can really do, because if you had, most if not everyone would have been surrounding you now asking you what happens next. It was the peace that kept you quiet about your power, even if it meant lying about it.

Crying again..

Thankfully though, now was the right time. Ben, the sparrow, had been alone for quite a while, sitting by himself while everyone else went about their way, Lila and Diego a reflection of Luther and Sloane, who had their wedding just a day ago, it was sweet to see honestly, even sweeter to see drunk Five messing around in the hallways physically, and not just through a mirror in your mind. Carefully, you found yourself sat next to the lonely sparrow, looking at him as he uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

When will you let..

"Ben." You started, your throat weirdly dry ever since you've been seeing into this specific future. Your heart beats rather faster than it usually should, but it always has when you have to mess with the timeline. The results would show in your mind's eye once the dirty work was done. "Yea that's me..Ben." His voice snaps you out of your daze once you realize you've been quiet for longer than a minute now. "Don't trust him." You push, your eyes squinting as if to magnify your point. "Trust who?" "Reginald." Ben gulps, audibly. You could practically hear his blood rush throughout his body once he realizes you know. "How did you..?" He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't trust him." Is all you answer, before walking away.

You spend an extended time in your room with a headache you knew was coming. It was always like this after you alter time in your own way, like telling Ben not to trust Reginald, some change, some don't. Unfortunately for you, what doesn't change is Lila and Five kissing it out in that damn strawberry garden. You can't even bring yourself to eat strawberries anymore, it's honestly traumatizing. Thankfully though, because of you telling Ben all this, the outcome has changed once more. From Luther and Klaus dying, only Klaus dies. From Five thinking Allison made a deal to kill Luther, Five now only thinks Allison made a deal..of some sort.

Five..

Okay, this is dumb. Well, you walking to Five and grabbing him by the wrist, huffing out a "we have to talk" is certainly dumb on a whole lot of degrees, even worse when you both find yourselves in a quiet room, you seated on the bed, him pacing around in the room. "Is this about something important? Because the world is ending right outside," You can't help it anymore. "I don't want you around Lila." You blurt out like word vomit, it was vile enough that you actually covered your mouth for a second, and his little chuckle made it even worse. He thinks it's a joke.

"what? Are you jealous? Think she might steal me away-" He almost fully stops dead in his tracks when he realizes you're actually serious about him and Lila, and his eyes soften, finally realizing what you were meaning to say. He clears his throat, causing your soul to jump from your body and bring your attention back, the tips of his ears are awfully red, and he has this look on his face that he's criminally scared to fuck this up. "Well, if that's what you want then I'll always be by your side."

You pause.

"That was a really bad flirt."

"Well excuse me for trying!"

[nariism]

*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones. 

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth. 

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly.  You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[thelostmagicians]

Unlucky | Lip Gallagher

Summary: Lip Gallagher has a shitty life, but he still has a chance of a happy future with you. [2.4k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, insecure Lip

♡

Lip Gallagher has always considered himself unlucky for as long as he could remember. If you asked him to describe his life in five words he’d use shitty, really shitty, and extremely shitty.  

He was dealt a crappy hand since the beginning not standing a fighting chance even as a kid. 

There was always so much crap to deal with, whether it was bills that needed to be paid, kids that need to be taken care of, or anything dealing with Frank and Monica, sometimes he felt as if the weight of the world was resting on his chest and the only breath he’d be able to take peacefully would be his final one. He’s grateful for all the help he has because everyone pulls their weight as much as they can, but sometimes he just wishes life was just a little bit kinder to him. He wishes that he was able to do something with his high IQ, make something of himself and finally get out of this hell hole, but that didn’t roll over so well. But just as he was slowly losing hope the universe finally took pity on him and gave him you, so now he’s hanging onto you with everything he’s got. 

_

It’s quiet in the Gallagher household when Lip shuffles out of bed. He can’t remember the last time he was able to sleep past 7am, so when he wakes up to birds chirping at 9am instead of the usual yelling and chaos, he’s surprised and even a little scared. He makes his way towards the bathroom getting ready to fight whoever is next in line, but finds it empty and even clean. He’s shuffling around, looking through doors to find a sense of life in his otherwise loud home when he hears a squeal from the backyard. He doesn’t think twice before grabbing a nearby bat and hurtling through the backdoor towards the pool, but he stops once he sees the atmosphere is anything, but fearful. Frannie is being tossed back and forth between Carl and Mickey in the pool, Fiona and Ian are chasing Liam with the garden hose and Debbie is bringing in watered down lemonade from the kitchen. 

He has no idea what caused this change of pace, but he isn’t mad about it. Just as he’s about to make himself known, he feels a soft touch caressing his back. 

“Hey baby,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his neck. 

He turns his head at your sweet voice finally fully awakening his sleepy trance. Lip tugs you towards him by the belt loops of your, too short, cut off shorts and breathes into your neck. Hands slowly creeping down towards your ass to grab and pet, not socially acceptable in front of family, but he couldn’t care less. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he rasps into the valley of your chest, slightly picking you up to hug you closer. “What’s going on out here?”

“Thought everyone could use a day off especially in this heat, so Debs and I planned a pool party. Wanna join me?”

He pulls back on slightly to finally get a look at your face, your eyes are kind and happy followed by a mischievous smile. 

“Sure, let me get my trunks on and I’ll be down soon.” You reward him with a soft peck on his chapped lips and an arm squeeze before moving out of his hold and grabbing some leftover toast. 

The day goes by without a hitch. Everyone enjoys the much deserved break filled with laughter, junk food, and only a few fights. You’re nearly on top of Lip as you cuddle as close as you can basking in the happiness before you get ready to go out. There are only a handful of days that you and Lip both get off at the same time, so any day given is taken as a golden opportunity to spend some time together, leaving your worries at home. You plant a small peck to Lip’s cheek before untangling yourself from his hold as he answers the ringing phone. 

You don’t hear much of the conversation, just faint hmms of acknowledgement as you're flying past rooms trying to get ready as fast as you can. You’re struggling with your heels as Lip comes over and steadies you, your smile meeting with his frown.

“Sweetheart, they called me in to cover someone else’s shift and you know I hate to do this, but they’re offering me time and half..” he trails off.

A quick look of disappointment flashes on your face, before you cover it up with a reassuring look. You’re disappointed, sure, but not at Lip. Never at Lip. Just the shitty circumstances that forces the both of you to work as much as you can just to make ends meet.  

“It’s okay, I get it. We can always reschedule, don’t worry about it.” You pull him in and hold on to his waist hoping to ease his guilt, but your efforts go to waste as his eyebrows stay furrowed and his frown deepens. 

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear it,” Lip murmurs against your lips before squeezing your arm and letting you go. 

You watch him leave, slowly pulling off your heels and plopping yourself on the old couch, sighing already missing Lip. Your eyes shift trying to think of things to do now that your night opened up, but your mind keeps drifting back to Lip. You had eaten dinner earlier with everyone, skipping out on dessert and opting to get your fill when you go out, but now that plans have changed you were now missing both your boyfriend and something sweet to nibble on.

You quickly change out of your clothes and put on a pair of old shorts before deciding to make a batch of brownies. Lip works hard and if you guys couldn’t go out for dessert tonight, then you were going to bring dessert to him. 

He’s halfway through his shift when he spots you coming in, hands holding a tupperware to your chest. 

“Honey, what are you doing down here,” he shouts from across the room.

“Wanted to spend some time with you before I leave for my shift. I made some brownies since we missed dessert, care to join me?” you plead hopefully.

Lip’s heart aches with love and a lot of guilt. He can’t believe you would go through all that trouble just to see him. He calls out to say he’s taking his break before leading you to a secluded corner. 

“I’m really sorry about today,” he hugs you from behind swaying back and forth, mouth opening occasionally as you feed him a chunk of the sweet treat. 

You squeeze his wrist in response, “s’lright you can’t help it. I just like spending time with you.”

He smiles softly for the first time that night, stress immediately leaving his body. “Though, I love that you did all this for me, I don’t love the idea that you were walking alone this late at night.”

“Guess I’ll have to keep you company until you can walk me home then,” you compromise. 

Lip’s shift goes by somewhat fast now that you’re here to keep him company. He’ll leave his station sporadically to check up on you and to keep you from falling asleep. He’s in the final stretch now, only 30 more minutes before you get to go home and fall asleep holding each other, after a long day. He looks over hoping to catch your eye and send you a smile when he feels his face slowly morphing into a glare. A glare aimed at the guy standing way too close to you, a guy whose intentions go beyond a friendly conversation, and a guy who on paper was everything you deserved, but Lip couldn’t be. 

You finally glance at Lip sending a small wave and smile as you keep nodding along to the fucker next to you. He had fluffy brown hair and honestly looked quite plain if it wasn’t for the gleaming rolex on his wrist and the shiny Gucci emblem on his belt. He was a rich kid, probably from the nearby university, wasting away mommy and daddy’s money, chatting up pretty girls and sweeping them off their feet with his money. Lip’s never felt insecure about your relationship, you never gave him a reason too, but once he compares his ratty jeans and stained shirt to the pristine polo of Richie Rich he can’t help but wonder if he’s good enough for you when you can do so much better.

_

Lip was struggling. He never learned how to tie a tie before and now that the time has come, he’s racking his brain trying to get the knot perfect. He knew you couldn’t care less about a stupid tie, you were anything but superficial, but since that dreaded night when he witnessed you being chatted up by Richie Rich, Lip’s come to the conclusion that he was going to try his hardest to give you the perfect life. 

When Lip proposed going up to the north side for dinner, you were shocked. You’ve been there a few times mostly on walks or running errands, but you’ve never been there to spend actual money considering neither of you could afford it. The most you and Lip would do is windowshop and daydream about the things you would buy if you had the money, before being chased off by the glaring sales people.

He picks you up at your door, pecking your cheek softly and telling you how beautiful you look. He takes your hand and leads you to the borrowed car before pulling out an expensive bouquet from the backseat. Your hands flatter as you mutter a quiet thanks. You’re a little confused at the grand gesture since Lip’s never gotten you flowers before, at least not without reason. He’s gotten you flowers exactly four times since he’s known you: the first on your first date, the second for your graduation, and the last two times for your anniversary. And all those times the flowers were below 5 bucks, something he picked up from the corner store. But the bouquet he gave you now had to be worth at least a day’s salary, you and Lip had a mutual understanding since the start that since money was scarce you wouldn’t spend it on materialistic things for each other, but lately it seems like he forgot that promise. He’s been taking you out to eat nearly everyday, always putting money down and never letting you pay, surprising you with little gifts, but worst of all he’s been running himself haggard, taking up as many shifts as he possibly could. 

He notices your quiet demeanor as he starts driving, “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah, I just…” you hesitate, not wanting to offend him. “I’m grateful for all of this Lip, really I am, I love everything you’ve gotten me, but I’m confused about where you’re getting all the money from and why you’re doing all this in the first place.”

Lip tightens his grip on the wheel, “Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this what all girls want?” Lip scoffs the memory of Richie Rich slowly coming into picture. 

“I don’t understand what changed, everything was fine before, why are you spending money you don’t have? You don’t think I know that you’re working yourself to death trying to afford this shit?” Your voice raises in annoyance. 

“Yeah, well that’s my problem, it’s none of your concern how I get all this as long as you get it.”

“It is when you’re burning money on materials that won’t even last the year instead of investing in our future.”

Lip pulls to stop as the words leave your mouth. “Our future?” He asks. 

You lick your lips, trying to think of a way to backtrack but his eyes plead with you to tell the truth. “Yeah, our future. You know when we eventually move out, get a place of our own and have a kid or two?”

Lip smiles at the thought, “You want all that with me?”

You nod incredulously, “What did you think this was you idiot? That we were just playing boyfriend/girlfriend? Look I appreciate all these gestures, but the way I see it you’re burning 50 bucks on flowers that are gonna wither in a week instead of spending that money on something like our future house.”

Lip cups your chin in endearment before pulling you in for a quick kiss. “I’m sorry, I let everything get away from me.” He huffs in frustration before letting your chin go and clenching his fists. “It’s just when you visited me at work a few weeks back you were talking to this guy. This very rich guy who… I don’t know… I know you aren’t like that, but I couldn’t help but think this is all I’ll be able to offer you, at least right now. I will never be able to whisk you away on a private jet or buy diamonds just cause.”

You giggle as you hold his face in your soft hands, his head tilting to lean into your palm. “Lip Gallager, for someone with an insanely high IQ, you are so incredibly stupid, ” He huffs out a laugh in embarrassment as you continue, “That guy, that fool was annoying as fuck. I was just trying to get him off my back. And not to mention incredibly fucking stupid. Everything that was coming out of his mouth made me cringe and thank the stars that you’re nothing like him.”

He kisses your palm before pulling you into another kiss. “Can we skip the fancy restaurant now?” you ask as he presses kisses to your pouty lips. 

“Where do you wanna go instead?”

“Family dinner, and then out for ice cream?” you suggest. He nods before putting the car back in drive. 

_

Lip Gallagher was all sorts of fucked up. But somehow in his fucked up life, he managed to find you, his light at the end of a dark, narrow, and gloomy tunnel and he thinks, maybe, he isn’t so unlucky after all.

[hitomisuzuya]

Hi suzu! Your fluff is so wonderful I came to request some haha. I think scara coming home to his darling all cosy wrapped up in his big harbinger coat would be really cute if would please and thank you <3

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Comfort fluff cause I am feeling really down. Set somewhere in Snezhnaya I suppose.

Scaramouche had to admit, it was always hard leaving you behind. You looked so cute asking to come with him before he left for the day. Normally, he brought you along, he didn't much like being separated from you.

You grounded him. You were his sanity.

"It's too cold for you today," He'd grumbled, turning to you at the door. He took his Harbinger jacket off and draped it over your shoulders. You were a delicate human, humans got cold easily. And his Harbinger jacket was more like decoration anyhow since he didn't feel the cold.

Scaramouche kept the image of the way you blushed, pulling his Harbinger jacket around you in his head. You'd wrapped it around you comfortingly, like it was the only connection to him until he came back to you.

It always sent him reeling that you love him, and would always be waiting for him to come back. The way your lips lingered on his when he kissed you goodbye made him feel weak in the knees.

Human.

You are his precious, perfect darling. As strong as you were, it was just too cold for you and he didn't want to risk injury to the only gift Celestia had granted him in exchange for bearing with the shitty hand he'd been dealt in life.

He departed reminding you to keep the fire going because it was supposed to snow all day and night. Scaramouche more than felt your absence down to his very joints. The way you said you would miss him, the sincerity in your tone, it echoed through his eyes as he worked.

You weren't there to support and praise him (and stroke his ego) for finishing the mission successfully. His legs couldn't have carried him back to the safehouse fast enough.

When he walked through the door and saw you, Scaramouche wondered if this was what humans meant when they said they could breathe again. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when he saw you, curled up on the bed with his Harbinger jacket still draped over your shoulders.

Waiting for him of all people.

"Scara, you are back," You greeted, your eyes lighting up as he brushed the snow off of his hat. You immediately got off the bed and went to him. "You must be so cold, come closer to the fire." Your eyes always had a way they lit up just for him.

Where did you even come from, anyways? You always treated him like he was human.

His cheeks suddenly flushed. Sometimes, it hurt to look at you, but in a good way. Especially when you looked so cute, so unbelievably cute in his Harbinger jacket.

The only purpose his jacket served for him was making you cuter, and it always delivered.

"Huh? Do you have a fever?" You asked, putting your hand on his forehead.

Scaramouche scoffed, and gently batted your hand away. He promptly put his hat on your head, shielding your eyes from the shy blush on his cheeks. "Hush, come sit by the fire with me," He said, motioning for you to follow him as he sat on the floor in front of the fire.

Of course you'd seen the blush on his cheeks. The smile on your face was evidence of that.

[aesthetic-bbyg]

BEACON OF HOPE ~ Sanji

LA!sanji x fem!reader

Warnings ! : being yelled at, daddy issues bc it’s the best fanfic seasoning, angst, fluff, abuse from parental figure, double standards, misogyny (or sexism?)

Nattie speaks: a lil something to y’all fed + I need a man like Sanji to comfort me and my daddy issues🙏

ZEFF WAS IN SOME SORT OF MOOD that day. The harsh trudging of his footsteps as he exited and entered the kitchen while bellowing orders was more then enough evidence to prove your point. Nobody in the kitchen even dared to breath the wrong way, afraid of the ex-pirates response. Even Sanji had managed to bite his tongue and hold back any snide remarks to keep the Zeff’s anger at bay.

You avoided any trouble all day, not causing a disturbance when a costumer was being particularly rude. You simply did you’re job was a waitress, took down orders and dropped them off at the kitchen, later coming back to collect the food and give them to the diners. You’d refused to even think about slacking off just a bit, not going over to Sanji for a couple flirtatious exchanges like usual. The Baratie was flooded in a thick tension but all was well, for the most part.

The business was booming with people, that certain point of the day where all the seats were filled with snobby, rich people. You’d been rushing between tables, taking down orders as quick as possible since these people didn’t recognize patience. It was overwhelming and overstimulating, making your temple throb in pain as you dragged you feet into the kitchen. You called out the order in a loud voice, sticking the scribbled notes onto the overhead where Carne cooked up a steak.

“Table 8 says they’ve been waiting for their drink for twenty minutes, y/n, hurry it up!” Zeff’s voice sudden boomed as he marched into the kitchen, you nearly flinched at the sound of his voice, swallowing down a remark about how those twenty minutes was actually a dramatized two minutes. Nonetheless you collected a few cups and took them straight out to table 8, some rich couple and their equally rich kids.

You gave them a kind smile, despite wanting to desperately slap their cocky smirks off their faces. “And are you ready to order?” You questioned in a chirpy tone, reaching for the notepad in your pocket and the pen tucked behind your ear.

“My, we just got our drinks, give us a minute to look over the menu.” The woman scoffed, you sucked you teeth in, blinking slowly and offering another wide grin.

“My apologies, I’ll be back in a bit.” You shoved the notepad back in its place, walking to a booth that was empty, though the table crowded in a mess of dishes. You reached for the sliver platter that held the receipt and a pitiful amount of berry left as a tip. “Assholes.” You mumbled, taking the money and collecting a few plates and cups.

The brewing storm in your head had begun to cloud your vision, sometimes you just wanted to quit and make a dramatic exit out of the shitty restaurant but you never had the balls to. The whole service you’d been good, held your shit together despite wanting to break down on the inside, bit your tongue, but the one moment you got vulnerable ended in tragedy.

In a fit of cursing out some of the customers out in your head, you didn’t take notice of the waiter coming out the kitchen at the exact same time you were entering. The collision led to the shatter of two plates, one cup and a mess of silverware clanking on the floor.

“Fuck.” You mumbled, watching as the waiter scurried away nervously, leaving you at the scene to deal with the approaching man.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zeff shouted, tone practically rumbling the whole restaurant as you stared up at him in utter shock. You felt like a kid again, having to guiltily stand there while an adult went on off on you. The man threw insults that he’d probably regret the next day, humiliating you over a few broken plates. You just stared down at the dirty floor, feeling tiny compared to him. “Clean this up and get out of sight!”

He walked past you, leaving the judging eyes of the kitchen crew to watch as you bent down, slowly picking up the larger chunks. You didn’t even realize that Sanji was approaching till the shadow of his figure loomed over you. You jumped, backing away in fear as you wide eyes met his. The boy frowned, taking notice at the tears pooling in your eyes and you’re quivering lip. You looked like a kicked puppy, that was enough for him to toss the shards of porcelain and help you up.

He took you out the back door, away from the staring eyes as he heard small whimpers escape your mouth. “It’s okay, darling, it’s okay.” He whispered, arms wrapped around your figure, his hand coming up to brush your hair. “The old man is just giving a hard time because he has a stick up his arse.”

You let out silent cries, tears dripping down your face and onto Sanji’s apron, his soothing tone helping ease the tightness in your chest. You felt stupid, and weak, crying over getting reprimanded for something that was your fault. Now your were taking valuable time away from both you and Sanji’s jobs, that’s all you thought about and it made you cry harder.

Funny enough, Sanji was thinking the opposite. He didn’t care about his job, or the broken pieces still laying on the kitchen floor, or even the fact that Zeff could come out any minute and yell at the two for slacking. All he cared about in that moment was you, making sure you cried all the tears you had, making sure that your trembling hands stilled. He placed chaste kisses on your head, standing there until your sobbing quieted down.

He slowly pulled away, hands still placed on your shoulder with a cautious look. “You look lovely, darling.” He chuckled at the sight of the black mascara that began to run down your cheek.

“Piss off.” You muttered humorously, taking the clean rag he offered and wiping away any evidence of your breakdown. “I hate today.”

“I know you do.” He whispered back, taking the cloth and gently swiping away the parts that you missed. “Beautiful as always.”

“Why are old people such assholes.” You shoved your head into his chest, words muffling as you did.

“Because they can’t get it up anymore without breaking a hip.”

You let out a chuckle, smiling against the material of his shirt, his chest vibrating with his own laugh and it calmed you down even more. You took in a deep breath, hands reaching down low, making the cook tense. You grabbed the pack of cigarettes he always had in his pockets, lifting the box with a sly smile.

“Get your head out the gutter.” He laughed quietly, reaching for the lighter in his other pocket as you shoved a cigarette into your mouth.

“Ready to go back in?” He questioned, watching as you puffed out a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah.” You replied quietly, taking a long drag while Sanji opened the door, allowing you to step in first. Gentleman, as always. “If Zeff smells this thing, I’m blaming you.”

The older man hated the stench of burnt out cigarettes that lingered in the air because Sanji had bad habit of lightening one every few hours. The ash tray on the extra table shoved in the corner of the kitchen was full, and Zeff always lectured the blonde on it, Sanji typically never cared enough to stop.

“Blame me all you want, darling, I’ll take the fall each time.” He winked at you, grabbing a dust pan and broom. He lazily swept up the mess, dumping it into the nearby garbage bin, something he knew Zeff would also yell at him about.

“He’s gonna kill you.”

“I’d like to that old man try.” Sanji smirked, giving you that classic flirty look that made the butteries flutter in your stomach. “Now, get back to work.”

You mocked a salut, rolling you’re eyes as you made your way to the kitchen doors, “Yes, chef.”

THE REST OF THE DAY HAD GONE smoothly, the sun hid itself behind the horizon as the dinning area emptied. Most of the guest had migrated to the bar, the party boomed at the other end of the restaurant.

You and Sanji were the only two in the kitchen, he was showing off some new dish he came up with, claiming it was the best thing on the VIP menu.

“We have a VIP menu?”

“Yeah, but it’s so secret that none of the guest know about it, not even the old man.” Sanji grinned, hand off the plate to you. “Now, the food critic decides.”

You rolled your eyes with a playful smile, picking up the fork and scooping up a bite into your mouth. The mixtures of taste were perfectly balance, unique flavors creating a wonderful sensation. There something about Sanji’s cooking that made you feel so safe and warm, you always teased that he was like a granny. He was able to create that familiarity in his food, something you eat every once in a while that reminds you of home.

You placed the fork down, dramatically folding your hands on your lap as you chewed down the food, “This dish, its…absolute shit.” You held back a smile, looking up at the cook.

Sanji glared at you, hands placed firmly on his hips. “You’re starting to sound like Zeff.”

“Ugh,” You groaned, “Don’t remind me.”

“I can’t believe he made you cry.” Sanji slid off into the seat right next to you, watching as the memory of his yelling flickered in your head, lips dipping into a soft frown. “Fuckin’ arse.”

“It really was my fault.” You mumbled back quietly, “But it was the fact that he yelled at me, you shoulda’ seen that look in his eyes.”

“I see it every day, darling.”

You didn’t like to reminisce on the past, especially since it was such a pain to even think about, both physically and emotionally. You didn’t open up about your family, or the crew you use to be a part of before running into the open arms of the Baratie. You were truly a mystery, you’re past locked up in a box and buried deep in the sand. Though sometimes, it escapes, poisoning you’re mind and breaking you down.

Zeff’s blow up triggered that poison, it spread like a virus, clouding you’re head for the rest of the day. Even now, you’d begun to dig up memories you didn’t want to remember. It was enough to make a fresh wave of tears build up, but you refused to cry this time, not allowing a single droplet to escape as you blinked them away. Though the quiet sniffle gave you away as Sanji glanced over at you, taking notice of the redness under your eyes, a silent confession that told him you were upset.

“You all right, darling?” He asked quietly, brows creased with worry, “Zeff isn’t here, he can’t make you feel like shit anymore.”

“It’s not that.” You whispered back, inhaling a shaky deep breath, “I’m just..thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” He asked, a comforting hand coming to hold yours. “If you need to talk about something you can talk to me.”

Silence filled the room as you struggled with making a decision, the truth was you’d probably start crying your eyes out if you opened your mouth. But the longer you held in these memories, the more toxic the venom became, it was tug-of-war between yourself and your conscious. Then again, the same trauma of the memories is what makes it such a hard task to open up.

You licked your lips, squeezing his hand gently and looking down. “I came from a pirate crew, but this pirate crew in specific was my family. Everyone on the ship was made up of all my relatives, mom, dad, siblings, cousins.” You saw the man nod from the corner of your eye, silently confirming his attendance. “My dad was the captain of the crew, and god he was a fuckin’ pain in the ass.” You voice cracked, words beginning to distort as you sucked in a deep breath. “My job on the crew was to basically be a maid, to pick up after the messes he made. Scrub the bird shit off the ledge, mop the deck, shine his shoes, serve him food, serve him drinks, anything a basic human can do I had to do for him.” You’re sadness had slowly began to turn to anger, your eyes lifting to finally meet his. “I got nothing in return, not even a few berry for the trouble.”

Sanji frowned deeply, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “Why would your father do this to you?”

His questioned made you scoff, because it was the same thing you asked the eighteen years your spent on the torturous ship. It wasn’t until you grew out of the naivety that you realized the answer. “Because I was a woman, and as a woman it was my job, my place, to provide service for the men. I was treated like shit all my life, and no one dared to say a thing.” You stood up, hand pulling away from his as you ran it through your hair frustratedly, moving to pace the kitchen. “The men believed that it was the job of a good wife to give and give, while they just take. I seemed to be the only one who didn’t believe this. But no one could ever speak up to the man, the captain himself, god forbid you disobeyed that asshole because he was never wrong, no matter the situation.” You finally sat back down, picking at your nails. “For years I was treated like nothing more then a slave, yelled at for being to slow, never praised for my work, only picked on what was wrong. It changed my way in seeing people, and it permanently left a scar on my everyday life. Hearing Zeff yell at me that way, it’s just..”

“I know, darling, I know.” Sanji cooed, for soft and tender, “That day, when you first arrived at The Baratie, you had a mark on your left cheek.” The cook swallowed thickly, recalling the day you’re feeble body came to the doors of the restaurant and begged for help. “Was that from him?”

The day before you escaped the ship you’d been refused food, as a punishment for not finishing your chores in time. When you spoke up about being hungry and the unfairness of it all, you received a harsh slap across the face. That was it, that was the last bit of disrespect you’d take. So you set off to steal a life boat and run away from the horrible treatment. “Yes, it was.”

“Bloody hell.” Sanji muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What was the name of your families crew?”

“The Calavera pirates.” You replied, Sanji leaned in closed, placing a finger on your chin to lift your gaze towards him.

“I’ll remember that name until the end of my life, and the day I find them, know that your same pain will be brought upon them.” His tone was so serious and low. His threat sent a chill down your spine, and not because you were scared of it, but because you knew he meant it. “You deserved so much better, darling.” He whispered, bringing you into his arms and planting a kiss on your hairline.

Sanji so desperately wanted to open his mouth and say that he’d treat you like a queen if you’d just give him a chance. But the man’s feelings were shoved down before they could tumble out his mouth. He chose to remain silent, allowing his actions to speak for him. With this new confession he made it his mission to take the extra step in making sure you were treated right. He would be your shoulder to cry on or someone to love, whatever you wanted. It was painful, the amount of love he held in his heart and he was unable to fully show you it.

But if he must wait all his life, he will.

sobbing but wanting to smash at the same time

lord pls send help.

[sh4wty18]

rough day.

pairing: johnnie guilbert x reader

summary: johnnie has a bad day and you comfort him.

cw: fluff, angst, language, suggestive but nothing major

word count: 1.1k + edited

---

You knock on Johnnie and Jake’s front door anxiously, staring down to re-read Johnnie’s most recent text over and over: 

J: please come over.

Y/N: please come over? johnnie we’re dating, you don’t have to be so formal when you want to have sex lmaooo

You had answered him, but never received a reply. You read it at 4:48 pm. He read your reply at 5:01. No response. Not even an “lol”. Johnnie always replied to your texts immediately– he’s head-over-heels and everyone knows it. So when he doesn’t respond, you know for a fact something is wrong. 

Jake answers the door then, causing you to jolt, startled. “Hey, is Johnnie here?” you ask immediately.

“Woah, it’s good to see you too?” Jake teases, clearly oblivious to any issue Johnnie was having, “Yeah, he’s here, in his room. You’re his girlfriend but don’t constantly know his location? Damn, someone doesn’t care about their relationship!” He makes a fake judging expression that can only be described as “yikes!”, and tugged on his shirt collar while pointing at you with his other thumb. He was joking, of course, but you weren’t particularly in the mood right now.

“Jake this is fucking serious. I’m going upstairs,” you push past him and run inside, hearing the front door close as you jog up the staircase to knock on Johnnie’s bedroom door. 

“Hey baby, it’s me,” you say gently. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Johnnie replies, barely audible. 

You open Johnnie’s bedroom door to find him laying in bed, buried deep under the comforter, with only the setting sun shining through the curtains to light the room. You close the door, take off your shoes and pants (for comfort), and walk over to Johnnie’s bed to crawl in with him. He stretches out of his curled position, and turns toward you, cheeks flushed and tear-stained. 

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” You lay next to him and pull his waist towards you, indicating to him to lay on top of you. You wrap your arms around each other and he rests his full body weight on you. 

“I don’t know. I have nothing to be upset about. I’m famous, I’m wealthy, I have amazing friends, amazing family, and I’ve found the love of my life at twenty six. I am so fucking privileged and lucky, and yet I still feel like shit all the time. Why can’t I just feel fucking normal?” He sobs at the end of the question, and tucks his face into your chest, crying quietly onto you. 

You don’t quite know what to say in response. So instead of offering unhelpful advice, you run one hand through his hair, pulling him firmly against your chest, as if holding him tighter would somehow transfer his pain to you. You kiss his head and whisper, “I love you,” over and over again until you hear his breathing slow, and feel his body go limp against yours. He needed to rest. Eventually, you feel yourself drifting off as well. You know that when you both wake up, you’ll both be in a better headspace to discuss the situation.

–

Two hours later you begin to regain consciousness. Somehow as you slept, your positions reversed, and now Johnnie was laying on his back with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. Your head rests in the crook of his neck, and your arm is draped over his stomach. You squeeze him lightly, and lean to kiss his nose softly. His eyes flutter open slowly, and he gives you a small smile. 

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, blue eyes meeting yours. 

“Hi, pretty boy,” you respond, “Are you feeling any better post-nap?”

He lets out a giggle, and presses his lips gently to yours, “I feel better now that you’re here. I’m sorry I sent you that cryptic ass message with no response. That was shitty. I knew you’d be worried but I still couldn’t bring myself to reply. It was like I was stuck. I couldn’t move out of my covers until you got here. I was frozen, and all I could do was think about how fucking sad I feel right now, and also how fucking stupid I am for feeling shitty when I’m literally one of the most privileged people of all time.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Sure, you’re privileged, but you recognize that, and you’re grateful. You’re still allowed to be sad, even with privilege. You can’t help how you feel, you’re human. And you’ve been famous for a decade! Most of your youth was spent online!! That’s fucked! You deserve to feel all these emotions! Not that I want you to be sad. I only ever wanna see you smiling. And  I wish there was something I could do. I wish I could just take all your pain away forever. You are the best person I know, Johnnie. I hope you know how much I love you,” you say into his neck, where your face rests.

Johnnie tilts your chin towards his face with his free hand, “I love you more than anyone on this earth, you know that? I have no fucking clue where I’d be without you. And I know you think you suck at giving advice, but that was actually exactly what I needed to hear.” He kisses you again, passionately now, and pulls your body on top of his. 

You run your hands through his hair while you kiss, his hands gripping your thighs as they straddle him, “Getting all deep and emotional with me made you needy, huh?”

Before he can respond, (and before the fire ignites in your lower stomach), you decide to pull away and hop off the bed.

“Noooo, girlfriend, come back,” Johnnie whines in a joking, childish voice. He gets out of bed too, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. He buries his face in your neck to kiss it as you walk in unison towards his bedroom door.

“You need to eat something, Johnnie, c’mon,” you say. 

He doesn’t respond, instead he starts lightly sucking at your neck as you attempt to open the door. Your breath catches, and you let go of the door knob to wrap both hands around the back of Johnnie’s neck and pull him closer. 

“Johnnie…” you mumble.

“Mmm?” he replies, lips pulling away from your neck and brushing against your ear, “I wanna show my, kind, smart, funny, gorgeous girlfriend how much I love her,” he whispers. 

He spins you around to face him, and, walking backwards, leads you toward the bed. 

You know he doesn’t feel completely better yet. He won’t for a while. But you’re not worried anymore. You have confidence that whatever happens– to either of you– you’ll go through it together. There is no one else either of you would rather experience life with– the highs and the lows.

---

i'm not the biggest fan of this one, but i wanted to post it here! it's also on my ao3 :p

[mxdarling]

[“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that.” / “you’re so pretty when you smile.”]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: idia bought a new multiplayer game, and he wants to play it with his player one, you.

ೃ⁀➷: word count: 2.3k (2334)

ೃ⁀➷: reference/Inspiration: playlist

ೃ⁀➷: event: [200 followers event]

[author's note:] JDJDKD MORE IDIA CONTENT WOOHOOO this was supposed to be his belated birthday gift from me but uhh cough cough writer block hit me like a bitch soo.. didn't finish before new years, and it's now like- 4 months late??? anyways, thank you anon for requesting idia with dialogue #3 and #7!! my last yandere idia work had him a little creepy so i made him cute this time loll i hope it's to your satisfaction anon!

[warnings:] lowercase, yandere behavior, more fluff than yandere, established relationship, reader is a gamer, cuddling, kisses, reader is ticklish, poor explanation of game mechanics, mentions of fear for judgement, reader is portrayed as a crybaby, one paragraph mentions idia being a creep, game is a rip-off of minecraft (fantasy version), toxic teammates.

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. i don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. if you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, i am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[GN reader]

IDIA SHROUD seemed to be in a good mood today, at least according to what you've seen so far. probably because his latest purchase is the cause of his being in such an upbeat mood. not that you're complaining; it was rather cute seeing him all excited and giddy when he found a new game to play. it's like a whole new, different side of him comes out whenever he starts to ramble about the features of the game and why he should absolutely play it right now. of course, as his player one, you're automatically going to be the first person he's going to play with. not that you mind, really. playing with idia was always a fun experience; it reminded you a lot of how you would spend your free time back in your world.

(those days of laziness, those days of unproductivity where you did nothing but lay down on your bed and do nothing—no school work to do, no club activities to do, no studying for an upcoming exam—just pure idleness. then when you're bored, you could just use your phone, PC, or iPad to entertain you as the day goes by, playing nonstop until late hours in the evening. god, you miss those days.)

you often wondered what genre of video games this new world had to offer. you knew that it wouldn't be so different from your own world, but you weren't sure just how many of your friends were affiliated with gaming entertainment. out of fear that judgement would be placed upon you if you shared this interest of yours, your love for video games has been hidden—so to find someone else (with that someone else being idia) that likes video games and is very well versed in them is a dream come true. it was a long process to get him to play with you, let alone consider you a friend and not try to avoid you every 2 seconds—still, it was a feat you were proud of because now you get to experience many, many different sides of idia that you would have never known 9 months ago.

(you once heard idia curse like at least twenty times in one breathe when one of his teammates was being shitty and a prick, he sounded so angry and scary that you backed into a corner to avoid getting burnt by his scorching, bright red hair that grew the more angrier he got. the only reason he stopped was when he heard quiet sobs in the corner of his room and turned around away from his computer to see you huddled in the corner of his room. quickly he went over there, completely abandoning his game and comforting you. he hates seeing his cute prefect cry, especially because of him, he's not the great at comforting but when he hugged you so tightly, your quiet sobs turned into silence. right then and there he swore to never be the reason you're crying and when you do, he'll be right there with you.)

you are currently cross-sitting in his very comfy bed, watching as idia set up two controllers and plugged in the PCs to turn them on (you're still surprised he's got more than 2 PCs, which, if you really think about it, his family background makes it make sense). after waiting for the PCs to turn on, he then connects the controllers to the PCs and opens up the game on both screens. you would insist on helping him set up, but due to you literally being isekai'd into this unknown world of twisted wonderland, you aren't too familiar with many things besides the whole magic stuff—plus, you aren't too keen on breaking any of idia's stuff because of your lack of knowledge on how to do technology.

(technology in general is so extremely confusing, you would argue wholeheartedly all day and all night, and idia would agree with you and low-key flex on how knowledgeable he is in the field of technology, just to impress you and show how reliable he is. secretly, he likes it when he's useful to you.)

"sorry! it took a while to set up..." in slightly shaking hands, he hands over the controller to you while holding the other in his free hand. he looked rather nervous when he faced you to give the controller, like he's worried he wasted your time waiting for him. it reminded you of a puppy looking up to its owner apologetically when they did something wrong, so cute, you thought, adorable even, you added.

"haha! it's okay! you didn't take that long anyway." you gave him a reassuring look, a soft smile, and bright eyes, showing him that you weren't bothered by having to wait a bit as he set up for you two to play.

both screens show the in-game loading screen, and the bar quickly fills up due to the fast internet speed (one you're quite envious of). slowly it fades to the starting screen, where a big text is bouncing 'tap to start' in both of your faces. Idia presses to start immediately, wanting to get into gameplay as fast as he can while you take a moment to admire the visual aspects and effects of the game in silent awe. you always had a thing for the visual stuff that was shown in-game. by slowly pressing the button on your control, you enter the game and begin a fantastical journey with idia.

“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that!” he says worriedly as he watches you damage your avatar's HP bar this early in gameplay. usually he gets really annoyed when he plays with noobs and normies; they stink at comprehending basic knowledge, do dumb things in-game, ask too many questions, and ruin the whole gameplay experience for him. 'ugh, how annoying.' is his usual reaction to such—of course he wouldn't think of that towards you! never ever would he ever think this way towards you; even if you do things noobs and normies usually do, he can't bring himself to be annoyed—you were too cute in his eyes. he would never admit this to your face, though, and he still gets red just at the thought of him thinking you are cute. It's true though; don't get him wrong, but... the embarrassment that comes with thinking about these thoughts is just too much for his poor little heart! honestly, he's for sure that one day you'll be the death of him, does he care though? not really; in fact, he would probably love that.

(he blushes so hard whenever he thinks of you in his clothes; it's the way your natural scent clings onto his shirts, the way his shirts made you even cuter than you already are—one of the only reasons he doesn't wash his clothes immediately because he wants to savor your smell to memory. he's a creep, yes, but he's one devoted creep.)

"whoops! sorry didn't see that, haha..." nervously laughing at your mistake, you eat whatever consumable you have in your inventory to try and restore as much health as you lost. as your avatar munches on the food in its hand, from the corner of your screen, you can see idia's avatar walking towards you. once it's near enough to your avatar, you can see the animation of a bunch of items being dropped and your inventory picking up due to the proximity between the items and your avatar. you opened your inventory, curious about what he just gave you since it looked like quite a lot of items, and confused about why he was giving you so many items in the first place. your eyes widen in shock as the items he's given you are one stack of steak, every weapon in-game (sword, axe, pickaxe, shovel, hoe), but in steel, and a full set of steel armor.

your mouth continues to gape open as you put on the armor set on your avatar. how did he get so much stuff this fast? it hasn't even been an hour yet! "where.. did you get so much stuff!?" you ask naively, following idia around as you don't want to get lost, die, and lose all your stuff. "stole half of those from villages, some from mining, and a few from trading" he says so casually as he continues to walk in an unknown direction, like this was a regular thing for him, not to mention this was a hard difficulty! he's playing this game like it's not easy mode! "could've gotten more if it weren't for those stingy mobs..." furrowing his eyebrows, he let out a small huff of frustration, pressing slightly harder on the buttons on his controller, not noticing how your mouth dropped down even further at his passing comment. as she presses on, walking in an unknown direction, you're hit with the hundredth reminder that he's on a whole other level than you when it comes to gaming.

three hours in, and you guys decided to play on public servers, where you'll get to play different game modes other than the usual story and survival modes. once the two of you picked a game to play, the room quickly filled with laughter, shouting, incoherent grumbling, screams of terror, and many more in between. you two decided to save a team game as last since idia wasn't enthusiastic about playing together with other players because he just wanted to play with you, and there was an underlying fear that you would encounter toxic teammates. but since you were practically begging him to just try it at least once, he couldn't help but give in to your pleas.

it was fun, he supposed. it wasn't as annoying or infuriating as he thought it would be, but he still had to keep up not making really snarky remarks when certain players were interacting with you. he'd hate to have you see such a mean, ugly, and disgusting side of him. other than that, it was an okay experience. he thinks it would've been better if it was just him and you on a team; wouldn't it be kind of romantic? you and him against everyone else?

then what he feared most would happen actually happened. suddenly some fucking jerk is screaming insults at you for not being good enough, and before that teammate got two more words in, he exploded on them. curses upon curses spit out his mouth in rapid speed, and the voices of that said teammate slowly but surely die down as their ego and pride go down with them. in the midst of anger and chaos between him and the teammate, you could feel tears building up inside you; everything around you started to blur, and the sounds that filled your ears were starting to get tuned out. you couldn't even hear that idia stopped screaming curses, turned off both PCs, and went to take the controller from your hand, lift you up into his lap, and slowly wrap his arms around you.

once he had you fully in his grasp, he tightened his grip, making sure not to let you get away from him. he wasn't good at words, especially when trying to comfort someone, but seeing you cry was making him cry too. he did, after all, swear to always be with you when you cry. raising one of his hands, he placed it at the back of your head and gently pushed towards his neck. then his hand went down to rub your back, up and down, up and down, at a slow pace. letting you cry it all out in peace while also letting you know he's there with you.

a few minutes have passed, and your sobs have gone silent. your eyes have become droopy and sleepy, and it feels almost impossible to keep them open. suddenly, a hand lifts your chin, and you feel a pair of lips come into contact with your forehead. it wasn't like a quick kiss; no, the kiss lasted for at least a few seconds before pulling away. even then, upon pulling away, you feel another kiss on your cheek, this time a little quicker than the forehead kiss. then another kiss on your other cheek, then another on your nose, another on your jawline, another on your earlobes, and finally, his lips hovered over your own lips.

you could feel the hesitation when he let out a nervous breath; the thought of your lips on his always sends him into an electrifying and drunken daze. he can't think straight when he's this close to you, but even then, it gives him an unusual feeling of contentment and confidence. the luck he has to be able to snag such an adorable, cute, amazing, and beautiful person like you in his life. he almost can't believe it. swallowing his own nervousness for your comfort, he presses against your soft lips delicately. soon after making physical contact with your lips, he feels a smile form on your face—a small smile, yet it was enough for him. any smile from you is enough for him, because seeing you happy is the best view he could ever lay his eyes on.

feeling out of breath, he's the first to let go but also the first to frown at the loss of touch. i want to stay like this forever, he thought as he watched you emit a giggle after the kiss. fire burns brightly in his heart, and he starts to wonder if you being the death of him will really come true. his cheeks burn that ever-warm red that he knows you've seen many, many times before, but he can't help it. when you pull him into a world through rose-tinted glasses, no way could he be immune to such an effect.

"i really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? you’re so pretty when you smile."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

[c0kitty]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ....  𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 w/ bakugo katsuki x gn!reader              « 0:00 ─〇───── 0:00 ⇄                             

summary: two times you crocheted katsuki something + one time katsuki realizes something so painfully obvious. (⛦) content: fluff! kissing. reader tears up. reader crochets. comfort!! love confession. sickeningly sweet. i'm a lil bad at summaries. gn pretty sure. (⛦) w/c: 1.6k+

i. your first project, 

the first time you’d crochet him something,  it was a pretty shitty day for katsuki. he had spent a little more than an hour meeting with his friends who, in the most kindest words, were spawns of satan. the constant teasing left him a little drained, the food he left in the dorm fridge was gone, and he was left with a headache throbbing at his temples.

to add on, he hadn’t seen you all day.

so, he goes to your dorm, finding it already open. something he’d always given you mouth on. (what if a stranger comes through? even if it was a little impossible with the amount of security that roamed the halls.) inside, he pauses at the entrance, finding you sitting on your bed, holding a long slender stick with a hook at the tip.

it looked like a miniature murder weapon. “... what the hell is that?” 

seemingly startled, he guesses by the reaction of your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, widened eyes, and a small gasp that left your lips. “fuck me, why the hell are you so silent.”

“hello to you too, princess,” katsuki sarcastically remarks, stepping further into the room. he comes closer til’ he was just about hovering over you.

you pick back up whatever the hell was in your hand. you could still feel his stare, which you quip. “it’s crocheting, tsuki’. i’m trying to pick up a hobby to get off my phone more. its kinda fun.”

katsuki grunts as a reply, moving to sit next to you. it causes the mattress to slightly sink to his weight, whilst he goes to take off his shoes, methodically, all while watching you. 

with your teeth catching your bottom lip, you looked so focused, engrossed, not paying a mind to him. his gaze eventually drifts towards what was hanging from the stick. it’s long and narrow, with a soft-looking material, colored a deep-shade of red, and black. it was a scarf.

it’s edges weren't perfect, a little bumpy and not entirely straight, but it still looked pretty damn good. his crimson eye’s go to meet yours, but he finds you already looking at him. “i was gonna make it a surprise. but i made it for you.”

a nervous smile plays at your lips, “do you like it?” 

nobody has ever really taken the time to create something personal for him — the warmth in his chest, made him just want to crumble, n kiss your pretty lips. it was nothing short of perfect, even the imperfections.

he'd forgotten you were waiting for an answer and a flicker of insecurity hints in your eyes, your words hanging in the air. 

but, he quickly reassures you, his hand traveling,  holding at your chin. “it's perfect, okay?” drawing nearer to you, he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “perciate’ you so much baby.”

ii. just for him,

it starts to become a thing every other week. you would crochet him a piece – either something that fit his, in your words, “grunge” style, or something from the colorful yarn leftover from your old projects. and regardless, he would proudly wear it.

over time, people start to notice. seeing him wear a cute black cat beanie was a little out of the norm for him. and the following week, he would wear the same-stitch, fingerless mittens. everyone knew he wouldn’t buy those by choice. someone had to be giving it to him, someone he cared about. someone, like his girlfriend.

being in a school full of smart heroes had its many downsides.

people start to ask, or he would say, "harass you," to make them things. it starts to piss him off after a while — hearing your continuous no’s, and then them trying to ask again like your answer was gonna change after a minute. plus, it’s not like any of those broke assholes were willing to pay, they were just planning to mooch off you.

and, maybe there was a selfish reason for it.

he didn’t want you to share something you were so passionate about with people you gave no shits about, or lov–  liked. because it would lose its value — lose the stupid special feeling he got.

this surge of events eventually leads to him cursin’ them out for you, because you were just a little too nice to yell, give murderous glares, or deliver creative death threats. which after, they wisely never approach you about it again.

iii. your last gift, for the year of course,

its a cold new year, katsuki watches as a snowflake falls delicately onto your nose. you guys were huddled on the balcony of his parent’s home, thanks to his mom's desperation, and persistence to meet you. and to his embarrassment, his mom and you got along very well, so well in fact you guys exchanged numbers, planning to meet with each other without katsuki himself.

despite his loud protests, you’d forcibly ushered him out in the shitty-ass cold because you wanted to see the snow.  the frigid air embraced you both, his breath left white in the air. katuski’s body pressed the balcony handle, you’d positioned yourself in front of him, his arms encircled your body, his hands holding at your waist.

“you happy princess? m’ freezing here just for you to see the same old snow we see every year.” he complains, even though his crimson-red eyes held warmth, ones that matched your growing smile. you raise your heel pressing a short kiss at the corner of his lips, before retreating. 

“quit being dramatic; it’s so beautiful out here.” you insisted, before your eyes widened, like you’d remembered something, and abruptly, you leave an inch of space between the two of you, reaching for something in your puffer jacket.

there’s a slight furrow to his brows, not understanding why you had to pull away — leaving you out of his grasp. til he puts it together, as you pull out a terribly wrapped item, a gift.

“i told you we didn't have to give each other anything.” 

“yeah, like the $100 dollar gift you gave me today. see, i knew you would do that so i came prepared.” you say, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“now open.” you shove the present in katsuki’s hand, and shaking his head in disbelief, he grabs it, tearing the wrapping off. 

“i know i already made you one. but i saw how … worn out it was.” 

holded in his rough hands, was a scarf. reminiscent of the colors to the one you gave him months ago — the one he had worn all the damn time, sometimes even in the hottest of weather. with how much time he wore it, after a while, the color of that scarf started to fade, with the yarn unraveling.

“here let me put it on for you.” you take it from his hands, draping it around his neck. you watch as he glances down, just admiring it. “looks so pretty, baby.”

this scarf looked more intricate, with the stitch pattern on the scarf resembling daisy blooms. he’d noticed how your crochet skills seemed to improve, the scarf had a cleaner, straighter edge than the other one. 

and for some reason, as he looks down at your gift, a flood of memories of the moments with you, seem to be all rushing to him — your sweet, drawn kisses, the stupid arguments, and your laughter that seemed to always ring in his ears.

moments like those, that laid ahead for the both of you, made him want to look forward to the future, your guys’s future. to wake up next to you, morning breath n’ all, to lazily lounge on the couch and havin’ to forcibly cuddle because of you, to possibly sharing each other's last name. it all swelled katuski’s stupid heart. 

it was so obvious why. with your soft gaze on him.

“i love you.” he blurts out, his eyes fixed at your parted lips.  

“i love you so damn much, it’s so fucking stupid. you turn me into a sap, y’know. everytime i look at you i just can't help but want to smile, want to hold you. everything I do, every thought that crosses my mind, somehow, it goes back to you. …i ” he sighs, his bravado faltering for a moment, red eye’s averting from yours. 

“you don't have to say it back, i just wanted to tell you.” katsuki grumbles, the tips of his ears red as it can be, as he does his best to maintain his ‘i could care less’ facade.

“look at me.” and katsuki does, he’s met with your glistening eyes, stars reflecting. “i love you too, you idiot.”

he couldn’t help but release a soft, incredulous laugh — he was really rubbing off on you. somehow the space between the two of you closes again, your hands fit in his warm jacket. tightly hugging him, as if he was going to leave any second.

“and of course, you had to one up me with a grand ass speech.” you relent, looking up at him, a small pout forming over your features.

“m’ always two-steps ahead. catch up princess.” he replies, a smug smile spreading across his plush lips. his mittened hand moving to hold at your face, thumb brushing along your cheek.

his eyes flicker to your lips, watching as your tongue glides against it. “... can, i?” your lashes flutter at him, weakly nodding. and then your being kissed, slowly, and sweetly. his tongue brushing your bottom lip, savoring you, savoring this moment.  

[her-devils-advocate]

I drag myself like a rug in the rain

pairings: Levi Ackerman x reader

genre: sickfic / fluff

summary: You are sick with the flu, yet refuse to admit it before a certain stern captain. He easily makes you swallow your pride.

The title is taken from The Amazing Devil – Blossoms. It was also a quick drabble written from my own frustrations of being ill!

word count: 1,015

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55134844

“You’re not going and that’s final. You look like you’re about to keel over.” Levi’s voice is stern, leaving very little room for argument, but despite his harsh words, his hands are gentle as he pushes you back down on the bed.

"I told you, I'm fine. I'm more than capable of joining the meeting!" Your voice is strained, the words coming out jumbled as you rush to finish the sentence before being overtaken by yet another coughing fit. You weakly glance up at Levi, the man standing before you with crossed arms and a highly unimpressed look on his face.

"Right," he drawls out, moving to the other end of your small bedroom to lean against the door as if you were capable of rushing past him to escape his scrutinising gaze. Part of you is tempted to try, just to cause some amount of annoyance. The more rational part stays still, knowing that in your current state, you would just prove his point faster than you’re willing to.

"If you can walk over to me with ease, then I'll believe you."

You scoff, ignoring the harsh tickle in your throat that the action causes, and slowly rise from the bed. Your body protests, the stiff muscles aching with each movement while your vision blurs. You push it down, refusing to let it show on your face as you slowly place a foot forward, doing everything within your willpower to take a firm step.

"When I make it to you, you promise to let me attend the meeting?"

"If you can make it over here, then sure. It’s not like I want to keep you locked up in here, lazing around all day when we have shit to do.”

“When.” You argue weakly, refusing to back down despite the nausea growing worse with each passing second.

“Besides, you know the meeting is important, especially since it's about the upcoming expedition. We can’t afford to miss a single one now that it's approaching us.”

He rolls his eyes, shifting his position to get comfortable against the cold stone, almost as if he's expecting to be stood there for a while. “Stop stalling. If you want to go to the shitty meeting so much, you know what you have to do.”

You give him your best glare, yet from the way his lips twitch with a concealed smirk, you know you must look like a mess. You have hardly slept, the night spent in a feverish daze, despite retiring to bed earlier than you usually would. The day prior was spent pushing your body beyond its usual limits, wanting to train as much as possible despite the chill air, the change of season growing more noticeable. You groan, regretting the past yet being unable to change a thing.

“You could simply order me to stay in bed, that way we could just avoid this whole song and dance. The fact that you aren’t giving the order proves that you think I’m fine.” You mirror his stance, crossing your arms against your chest with fake confidence and wishing that he doesn’t notice the slight trembling of your hands.

This time Levi lets out a small laugh. The sound is airy and unexpected, and your eyes widen momentarily, convinced that your sickness has finally caused you to hallucinate the rare, but welcomed sight. 

“Nice try. We both know you wouldn’t obey the order, regardless of how sick you are, I’m not going to waste my time giving it. So if you would like to get this ‘song and dance’ over with?” Levi says as his eyes fixate on the way your breathing grows more and more laboured the longer you stand. 

You deflate, knowing he has called your bluff. You give in and place your weight on the extended foot, shakily moving forward. Your bones feel like glass and your chest burns, but you manage to take the first step. You forget to keep up the appearance of health, more focused on actually getting your body to function under his piercing stare, yet you silently celebrate the hollow victory. 

The mental celebration is cut short when you feel your legs give way, you squeeze your eyes shut, preparing to feel your weak body collide with the solid ground. Instead of the unforgiving floor, you are met with strong, firm arms wrapped tightly around you. You slowly open your eyes to be met with his silver glare. Annoyance is painted clear on his face as his lips thin into a straight line.

“This is why you should have stayed in bed, instead of wasting time and arguing with me over it.” Despite the glare, his voice is soft as it reveals his worry. Your health has always been his top priority, even when it's just a common cold making its way through the scouts.

Levi slowly lifts you and brings you back to the warm comforts of your bed. You snuggle against your pillow, letting out a defeated sigh as he brings the blanket up to your chin. He tucks you in tight and you let out a small, slightly delirious giggle, you almost regret it when his hands pause and he stares at you expectantly.

“Are you trying to make it so I’m physically unable to leave this bed?”

His features soften and he continues to help you get comfortable, smoothing out the cover until each crease that dares to mar your blanket retreats, “That’s not the worst idea you’ve had.”

You’re not sure if you want to bask in the compliment or argue that you’ve had better ideas and that he knows it. Your mind is made up the moment he continues to speak.

“That way we can minimise the amount of surfaces you can infect with your germs. We don’t want you infecting the others at the meeting, do we? Now stay put while I bring you some food.”

And with that, he turns to leave the room, a soft smile on his face as your strained shouts of protest and offence follow his retreating form.

[juiles]

Sick bug

Requested: no i needed this for me

Summary: i needed to feel comforted at the fact i’ve had to work for the past 3 days despite being sick because of a shit co-worker.

Type: fluff

Pairing: wandanat x reader

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(A/N: this is a really shitty short sickfic because i need it rn)

—————————————————————

Today was like any other day for y/n. She had to get up and go to work however this morning, it felt like she had been hit by a semi truck. Her limbs felt heavy, her head full, her nose stuffed, her body aches. She had gotten the bug that had been going around the kids at her daycare. The only problem being that she had to go in for numbers so despite feeling like garbage, she had a shower, got herself dressed, grabbed herself a coffee and pushed on with her day. Arriving at work, her boss (who also happened to be a best friend of hers) mentioned she looked rough and asked if she needed the day off. Y/n agreed however at the time, her bosses phone went off and her other co-worker called in to take the day off to do some schoolwork she had put off doing all weekend which left y/n there to cover her closing shift as well as her own mid shift.

She lasted the day before she trudged home and immediately swapped her work clothes for some sweats and a baggy shirt that belonged to Natasha before she balled herself up into her covers and fell asleep. A couple hours later she was woken by her boss, Talan.

“Hey kid. I need you to come in again tomorrow. Sorry, i feel bad but you know how it is with Tonya.” Talan said, receiving a soft hum from the girl on the phone as a response.

There was shuffle on y/n’s side before she heard a raspy voice. “Y/n will not be in for the next two days. I’m sorry but she needs to rest.” There was a click on the phone.

“Tasha…?” A groggy voice said causing Natasha to look down at the sleeping woman in front of her.

“Hi detka. Go back to sleep. I’m here. Wanda is just warming up the heating pad.” The red head said as she sidled into bed with her partner, causing the brunette to bury herself into the muscular arms of her girlfriend.

She got woken up not long after to someone rubbing her arm softly. “Detka… you need to wake up to take some meds…” She heard a voice whisper in a soothing Sokovian accent.

“No… sleepy…” Y/n mumbled burrowing herself further into the Russians arms trying to escape Wanda.

“I know detka once your done, you can sleep all you want… open wide…” Wanda soothed, slowly coaxing the sick woman into looking up at her with a pitiful look and a small whimper. “There’s my pretty girl…” Her finger soothed the wrinkled skin between her eyebrows, slowly releasing the pout she had been given. “Put away your pout detka… oh wow… you’re burning up…”

A grumbled noise came from y/n before they both heard Natasha chuckle softly. “Listen to witchy moya lyubov. You know it’ll help…”

“Open your mouth… there we go…” The witch helped the daycare worker take the meds before releasing her to go back to sleep. “All done malyshka. Now it’s time to sleep.” She laid back down with the woman and all three fell asleep quickly.

[scatteredskittless]

can i sweetly ask for husk x reader angst,,, where the reader has been on work mode as of late thus having them a silly lil arguement (i love tormenring myself 😝) until they decide to make it up/explain why they were so busy later on 👉👈 (maybe a lil makeout session too in the end if you will) :333 tyy!

Overworked! GN! reader x Husker

A/n: You’re so real for this tbh, this was actually pretty fun to write !! My favourite little alcoholic grumpy cat fr ദ്ദി(ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Warnings: mild angst, argument, light talk of alcohol/alcoholism, light makeout near end

Fluff✔️ Comfort✔️ Angst✔️ Smut❌

You arrived back home to the hotel later than usual, you weren’t quite sure when you started to refer to this place as your home but it felt right to do so.

As soon as you walked through the doors you were greeted with a glance and a raised eyebrow from Husk, your boyfriend, as he cleaned and polished some glasses behind the bar. Most likely shutting everything down for the night.

You sigh, slumping down on one of the barstools as you waited for him to finish up what he was doing.

“You look like shit.” Husk observed, setting a now clean and sparkling glass down as he moved on to polishing up the next one.

“Yeah, thanks. That makes me feel so much better knowing my boyfriend thinks I look like shit.” You grumbled back, still quite irritated from the day you had. Your boss was constantly on your ass and making unsolicited remarks about basically everything you did or didn’t do, so coming home and having Husker do the same thing wasn’t exactly helping the situation.

He was a little taken back by your tone, usually you weren’t so sarcastic with him. You saw him pause (hehe paws) what he was doing for a few moments before resuming, trying to remain unfazed.

“All I’m saying is it looks like you had a shitty day..” He mumbled

You rolled your eyes in response, not bothering to say anything else because you knew whatever came out of your mouth next probably wouldn’t be so kind.

But, Husk continued...

“It also feels like I haven’t really been able to just hang out with you in a while.” He commented making you look up from the bar countertop and to his gaze that was already on yours with a glare.

“Well maybe if you wanted to see more of me, you wouldn’t be getting drunk everytime I’m finally off work” you said, your tone snippy which drew a frown out of Husk.

“So now this is my fault?” Husk asked, being slightly sarcastic when he spoke

“Are you implying it’s mine?” You asked back incredulously, the sarcasm seemed to have set you off more which in turn, was making Husks temper flare up as well.

“I never said it was, you’re just being snippy.” He called out as he narrowed his eyes at you. Of course you knew you were being snippy, you couldn’t help it and now you’ve dug yourself into a bit of a hole here.. you and Husker were both very stubborn demons..

“Y’know what? fuck you.” You said without thinking, sliding yourself off the barstool to come around the bar. Wanting to face him properly as you two continued on with your petty argument.

You glared up at him and he glared back for a few seconds before suddenly sweeping you up off your feet and placing you down on the bar countertop and before you could even say any word of protest, his lips smashed against yours with his ears pinned back against his head

Your eyes widened in surprised for a few beats before letting them fall shut, kissing him back and essentially taking all of your anger out in said kiss, arms wrapped around his neck with his wrapped around your waist in turn.

It quickly turned into a makeout session, an angry makeout session would be a better word for it.

Your hand found the fur on the top of his head and gently tugged on it as your tongues pressed up against eachother, causing him to grunt in response

You were both panting when he broke the kiss off, you had both tired yourselves out as he leaned down to press a few kisses to your neck, making you whimper in response. Husk smirked at that.

Once he was done peppering kisses to your neck and collarbone he pulled back, hands still resting on your waist as he did so.

You sigh, meeting his gaze and smile meekly, feeling guilty for your previous actions and words. “I’m… sorry for all that. I’ve just been super stressed and busy with work lately and I shouldn’t be pining all the blame on you.” You apologized genuinely.

He nodded “it’s alright.. I’m also sorry. I’ll work on prioritizing you more. I missed you” he apologized as well, returning your smile.

“I missed you too.” You wrapped your arms around him in a hug, he chuckled and hugged you back, squeezing you when you squeezed him. You couldn’t help but notice the fact that he was purring slightly… clearly you were both content with how this little argument of yours had ended.

Please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my fanfictions/writing/headcanons without permission ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ Scatteredskittles

[heartofwritiing]

home is wherever you are tonight

paring: cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

summary: its your birthday, a day you dread every year due to bad memories, and wilbur manages to change your mindset.

authors note: this has been sitting in my drafts since march and i forgot about it oops. this is completely self indulgent. Ive dreaded my birthday for the past five years because of personal reasons… i thought maybe writing a non-shitty fake birthday would make me feel better so, it did lol. enjoy!! :)

warnings: self indulgent, mentions of childhood trama, negative past events, mentions of toxic family, fluff, Wilbur being the cutest-best boyfriend, hurt-comfort, yes the title is a lyric from a lizzy mcalpine song.. unedited!

The day had come. the day you dreaded every year for as long as you could remember. it was your birthday.

Most people would be elated about turning another year older, to celebrate but not you. Instead, it filled you with utter disinterest and resentment. To you, it was just another day on the calendar.

Ever since you could remember you’ve just hated your birthday. Each year just felt like they got worse and worse with the number of times You had been let down. Whether it was by family drama or people just forgetting. It was the same every year. So when you finally moved away from your toxic relatives you pretty much forget about it. Only remembering when you'd get a text from your parents to wish you a happy birthday. At least they remembered now that you were gone...

You were relieved when no one at work had brought it up. you never really talked to your coworkers about your personal life, you weren't that type of person. Still, you were grateful the only attention you got today was from one of your peers Matt, asking about the printer in the office not working right.

When you walked into your flat, what you weren’t expecting was too see your boyfriend standing near the door waiting for you.

“why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Wilbur asks in a slightly offended tone.

The front door hasn’t even shut yet and he’s caught you completely off guard with his question. Your heart drops in your stomach.

“hello to you too,” you snort, putting your bag down and sliding your jacket off. "And how'd you even know?" Avoiding the question. Cause that will make this better.

he sighs.

“Answer the question please, love,”

You’re toeing off the uncomfortable shoes you were required to wear at your job as you blankly bink back at him.

You can tell by the frowned expression on his face that he wasn’t just gonna let you drop this anytime soon. His arms are crossed over his sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as his curls fall around his eyes.

“maybe because it's not a big deal,” you shrugged. Wilbur stops you with a hand on your shoulder before you can escape to your shared room. It wasn't forceful but gentle, his eyes asking you to stay, talk, anything. You just wanted to go to bed and sleep until your shift tomorrow and just forget about this whole day.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks. "I don't particularly like my birthday but still celebrate with friends, family, and loved ones."

There it was.

You wanted to avoid this.

"Look, I don't want to pressure you into talking about this, you can tell me when you're ready. I can tell how uncomfortable you got when I asked you outright why you didn't say anything about it being your birthday, I'm sorry..."

You could tell he was just confused and who could blame him. You had only been dating for about a year and finally moved in together last month. He didn't want to pressure you into anything you weren't ready for, which was one of the many things you adored about him. Always so patient and thoughtful about your feelings and well-being.

There was no avoiding it now as he asked the question. Your heart beating in your ears.

“Why don’t you like your birthday, love?”

“well…” you began, but you could feel the lump in your throat forming as you thought carefully how to put it. You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “I just, have a lot of trauma revolving around today,”

Wilbur has moved slowly towards you now, almost like you were a spooked animal and he was trying to calm you. He listened carefully as you spoke slowly.

“my parents fought a lot growing up, and even on my birthday they just didn’t seem to care, even for one day, so i mostly spent my birthdays alone.”

The look in his eyes says it all. He feels so heartbroken for you. You collapsed into his chest and he wrapped you in his arms, squeezing you firmly and you felt the weight in your chest fading.

"Well listen, I got you your favorite type of cake, a good bottle of wine, not that cheap shit, the really nice one we liked. we're gonna sit on the couch and eat, and you can tell me all about your day." he pauses only to bring your face out from his chest to look you in your eyes. "and then, we're gonna cuddle and I'm gonna tell you how much I love and appreciate you."

With that, he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs and kisses your nose softly. You swear that press of his lips was what made you cave. You began to break down in front of him.

Wilbur's hands seem to be the only thing keeping you upright at the moment. If he wasn't holding you, you were sure you would have fallen to your knees by now. You sob silently as you take his wrists in your hands but don't remove them from your cheeks. The intensity of the long work day and all the recurring memories this day brought you every year, combined with Wilbur's sweet gestures and words made you break.

You felt everything come down on you all at once, yet there Wilbur was, always waiting for you at the end of the day. Always there to comfort you and support you. So these weren’t sad tears no, they were happy tears. Finally, you found someone who cherished you and cared for you enough.

-

@trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @highstonedcat