#‘you’re not the same person you used to be’ yeah well you’re EXACTLY THE SAME!!!

[boyczar]

please remember that it is a compliment to be disliked by people. most people don’t even like themselves. think about why you even want to be liked by somebody. why do YOU like YOURSELF?? why give a fuck about whether or not somebody with so much work to do on themselves doesn’t like you? they literally do not even like themselves. they can’t genuinely “like” you.

[simpjaes]

666 ― S.JY

When does an interest in the supernatural become unnatural? You’d say right around the time a spirit told you to write his name with your own….body fluids

minors dni! | reblog to summon a hot demon

WORDCOUNT― 4.8k

PAIRING― demon!Jake x reader (ft. boyfriend Sunghoon)

CONTENT― Jake the jealous demon and is also a massive cocky asshole, reader the instigator. made up sex magic, Jake is A VERY horny demon. sunghoon also wants demon jake. peep the smut tags lol

WARNINGS ― infidelity but like ur cheating with a sex demon so, some instances could be mistaken for manipulation

NOTE― this is a halloween fic that i forgot about that i wrote for haechan on my other blog ncteez. if you’re one of the few who actually read this before, just know that I am the same person!!!!!!!!!!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― cock mimicking (demon fucks you with your boyfriend’s cock), forked tongue play, finger fucking, ghostly foreplay, HUGE MASSIVE COCK PENETRATION, mind reading, horns react to touch the same way a cock does ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You've always been into halloween, Sunghoon just thought it was a cute little quirk of yours. Until he started dating you and realized that...it's not just halloween that you're into. It's just a general list of things that would be considered disturbing on any other month that isn't october.

Deities, spirits, ghouls, demons, bones, death, blood.

He's supportive, of course. October is one of the months you're allowed to openly enjoy these things, because everyone pretends to like them too at this time of year. Temporary stores open up to sell the congealed fake blood, ouija boards are moved to the outside aisles of retail stores, and of course, everything is on sale.

This is great for Sunghoon because, as your boyfriend, he knows you celebrate the month of halloween more than you celebrate your own birthday, and the gifts can be plentiful.

Lately, you've been more interested in spirit work too, so when he's on his way home from work to see you, stopping by one of those chaotic halloween stores to grab a fancy, way too expensive if not on sale ouija board? It was a given.

Anything to see that cute smile on your face.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well. The ouija board miiiiiight have been a mistake on his part.

Knowing next to nothing on spirit work, he wasn't expecting a board game sold in children's stores to actually pick anything up for you. Yet, night after night when he comes home, you approach him with a tight hug, an excited smile, and stories of which spirit gave you their name this time.

You, on the other hand, claim to know more about spirit work than you actually do. You did not expect to get any type of response either, especially in this pristine apartment that you assume no one has died in yet.

You learned fast though. Research, research, research.

"Today I learned that spirits aren't actually trapped in one space like all the ghost movies try to say. They might be connected but they can freely come and go." You smile against Sunghoon as he settles himself on the couch, freshly showered after work.

"You really like playing with that thing, huh?" He smiles back, still believing in the shallowness of it all, when it comes to corporate companies selling boards for people to "connect with loved ones".

Nodding to him, you stand up and look at him expectantly.

"Do you wanna try?"

He's reluctant at first. As much as he supports you and your interests, they aren't his.

He's great at humoring you though. Amazing, even.

"Yeah, why not?" He smiles, standing to his tired feet and following you into the bedroom.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"Two fingers on both hands," You quietly guide him on how to use it. "If you're not comfortable asking questions, I can do it."

Sunghoon nods casually, still not quite believing in the gimmick but loving the way you're so passionate.

"I don't mind asking, can I try?"

You frown, knowing exactly what will happen when he does.

"Yeah, of course!" You turn your frown into something unreadable, hoping that the same spirit you've been talking to is off at some middle school party switching the lights to get a kick out of it.

Then, there's silence. The candle's flame that you had previously lit bounces in the still air, indicating that tonight is already primed for the various spirits you've willingly accepted into your space.

"Uh," Sunghoon suddenly feels awkward, speaking out to nothing in the room when you're right in front of him, watching him. "Hello?"

You snicker at his awkwardness, knowing that you felt it too.

"Is there anything–anyone– here tonight? We'd like to talk."

Here's the thing. From the moment you started fucking with this oujia board, you never watched your words. You assumed that using proper grammar when speaking wouldn't matter much, considering they're dead and all. You keep it respectful, of course, but...

Anything being in your apartment is a huge difference compared to anyone.

The anythings tend to make a run for it, and the anyones are forced to stay away from the dangerous energy you're unintentionally inviting.

Speaking of the anythings, there's a regular. If your frown from moments ago is anything to go by. A vulgar spirit which you know as nothing more than "Jae".

Jae, the spirit, claims to be in his twenties, slides the planchette with just your fingers on it to numbers and letters with ease, and also is very fond of sarcasm, apparently.

The last time you spoke with this specific spirit, it ended it you asking him if he left any loved ones behind when he died. The board said yes, Jae said yes.

He claimed to be male, he claimed to have died ten years ago, and claims to have been in love.

And when you tried to relate, speaking of your boyfriend, saying your boyfriend's name, the spirit stopped responding. In fact, the board flew straight across your room as you spoke of Sunghoon.

Arguably, you were thrown off and only a little bit afraid. You definitely weren't the one who swiped the board off your bed, letting it hit your wall.

Which is why, while inviting Sunghoon to try the board, you hope that said spirit is off doing other things.

Which he's not.

Sunghoon's eyes nearly roll when he feels the planchette pull, dragging to the word of "yes" after you spoke out after his awkward greeting.

"You're pulling it, right?"

You ignore him, already locked in and staring at the board.

"Can you give me your name?" You whisper, now glancing up to Sunghoon and waiting for the planchette to move again.

It does, straight to the "J", and as it continues, you lift your hands out of discomfort, unintentionally proving to your boyfriend that you're not moving it.

"A" Sunghoon whispers as he stares in disbelief, feeling his hands move against the ghostly board. "E."

And when the planchette stops, he looks at you.

"Why'd you let go?" He says, glancing between both you and the board. "This is insane!" A smile.

You can see the same excitement you had the first time it moved for you, but the fact that the same spirit is back, after rudely throwing your board across the room at the mere mention of Sunghoon is a bit worrisome.

"Jae?" Sunghoon calls out, now feeling the adrenaline in his blood push past the anxiety of talking to nothing. "How did you die?"

"Sunghoon! You can't just ask him that!"

"Him?" Sunghoon side eyes you. "What makes you think it's a guy?"

You avoid eye contact.

"Well," You tick your tongue. "He's kind of told me like, two weeks ago. Plus, that’s a dude’s name."

Sunghoon laughs, making jokes. This is harmless. This is fun.

"Oh?" Sunghoon tilts his head, lifting his fingers to encourage you to place yours back against the planchette too. "Jae, have you been flirting with my girlfriend?"

It was a joke of a question, and quite disrespectful in your mind for him to ask such a thing, but the way the planchette moves to "yes" has you sweating, and kind of, smiling.

A spirit, jealous of Sunghoon? Not something you had on your bingo card for the year.

"So you think I'm pretty?" You smile, avoiding your boyfriend's eye and watching the planchette move over to "no".

Your smile falls, and the planchette moves again.

"H."

"O."

"T."

You actually cannot explain the warmth inside of you. Flirting with a ghost, while your boyfriend participates? Hilarious scenario, surely Sunghoon isn't taking this seriously.

"You're moving it now, there's no way some dead guy is coming after my girl." Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head.

The planchette responds, moving to "no."

"Alright, stop fucking around." Sunghoon narrows his eyes at you. "A spirit wouldn't take the energy to contact us just to call you hot."

The planchette responds again, moving to the letter "B."

"Take your hands off again, there's no way." He seems more concerned this time.

"I."

"T."

"C."

"H."

Sunghoon's mouth falls open.

"Who are you calling a bitch? Me, or my very hot girlfriend that you can't have?"

"Y."

"O."

And as the planchette makes it way over to the "u" Sunghoon lifts his hands and glares at every empty space around the room.

"He just called me a bitch." Sunghoon rolls his eyes. "There is a spirit in this room, who thinks i'm a bitch."

You laugh uncomfortably, and he laughs more casually.

"Well, that was fun, I guess." Sunghoon continues, standing to his feet as you cross your fingers that the board wont go flying into his head. "I'm gonna go take a shower then."

He kisses you gently on the forehead and leaves you alone in the room where, obviously, you're still not alone.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Days pass and Halloween draws closer as you are both drawn to and forcing yourself away from the ouija board.

Something calls you to it. Whispers of your name when Sunghoon isn't home, feather light touches that raise your skin, nightmares, but your gut tells you to stay away.

Can you though? Can you really resist such a strange happening?

Of course not.

Spirit work is fun, but you can't help but wonder if this entity is a spirit at all. Out of all the research, people rarely get more than one to two answers during a session of Ouija. This Jae thing seems to hold a lot of energy, an entire personality, and the ability to haunt you in a way that makes you feel weirdly.......safe?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"Jae, are you here?" You call out in the early morning, the oujia board tucked safely under your bed as you lay there.

Your curtains move as if the window is open.

"The dream I had last night, was that you?" You continue to speak into the void, allowing it to speak back.

Except it doesn't speak back, it touches. You feel your ankle being tugged, as you scoot down the bed.

Most people would scream. Most people would call a priest. Most people wouldn't want to be alone with it. Then again, you're not most people.

You laugh, scooting yourself back up on the bed.

"I wish I could see what you really look like. In my dreams, you're just a shadow."

Another tug, and then the oujia board goes sliding out from under your bed, indicating that he wants to communicate better with you.

You take the bait, lying the board out with your sleepy eyes and drowsily smiling at the empty space in front of you.

Before you can even place your hands on the planchette, it's moving.

"S"

"U"

"M"

"M"

"O"

"N"

You should probably be running for the hills after that, but you don't. You sit, still drowsy.

"How would I manage to do that?"

"S"

"L"

"E"

"E"

"P"

And for some reason, you do. Instantly, you go back to sleep. Despite waking up without an alarm, the drowsy feeling stayed throughout your morning conversation with the spirit in your apartment. Dozing off came easy, with the oujia board still in front of you.

And there, you dream despite knowing that the sun is hitting your face as you sleep. You can feel the warmth of it in the dream as a creature, no, a man, approaches you in an empty expanse of fog.

In your dream, you cannot speak despite trying to. No voice comes out, but the man speaks smoothly, fuzzy and distorted face slowly untwisting itself into that of an actual man.

That's him. You can feel it through your heavy sleep, your hairs raising both in the astral realm and in your waking body.

"You want to summon me?" The man asks, smiling at you in a heavenly way. "You have to say my full name."

You can't speak back, but he continues.

"You have to be alone, though others can still join if the door is open. On both ends."

You stand, listening to his echoed voice through the fog.

"If you want me in the physical form, you have to do something physical for me." He continues, stepping closer and closer until his body is nearly going through you. "Say my name each time you're pleasured, and write my name against your skin with the mess of it."

You quirk a brow, and the form in front of you smiles.

"What? You thought I'd let you summon me for anything else? I've been here for thousands of years."

You thought he died ten years ago.

"Angel pussy only gets so tight, you know."

Vulgar. Yet, your physical body is tingling. Angel pussy? Is he an angel? From a religion you don't even believe in?

He notes the confusion on your dreaming face.

"You see me now, my face, if you want to feel me too, you'll do as I say." His dreamed up voice is something you know you've never heard before. His face, someone you've never seen.

You know it's not possible to dream of a physical person you've never seen, and he's so clear to you at this moment. Practically feeling his voice blow in your face.

His hair, messy, almost wet looking. His eyes are piercing, his lips, pretty.

You nod, and he smiles.

"And don't invite your boyfriend."

Then, you snap awake. Feeling as if you've just had the wettest of dreams.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Naturally, you listened to the figure in the dream, using every pleasurable mess your body makes to write his name on your skin. A name which came to you without him stating it at all in the dream.

Days go by, his name remains on your skin.

Halloween comes and, well, so does Sim Jaeyun. 

Finally.

October 30th, 11:59am is the last moment of your life where you'll be curious. October 31st, 12:00am is the first moment of your life where a ghostly touch became a real one.

You were awake, of course you were. And alone.

Sunghoon tends to spend the 30th with you, and the 31st with his parents, helping to tend to the haunted house his family likes to throw each year.

"You're alone?" You hear, whispered against your ear as you slouch against the couch.

The echoed voice is all to familiar, sending a shock through your body in an instant and you turn, only to see nothing.

"Jae?" You question into the air, glancing around the room.

A deep chuckle is heard in your other ear, and a cold feeling is felt against your cheek.

"Entirely alone?" The voice sounds out.

"I've done what you told me to do, and I still can't see you.”

"I know." The voice sounds further away now, and you follow it all too easily.

Straight into your room, you follow the whispers. You see the board get thrown again, and you tilt your head.

"You're upset?" You question to the emptiness, and you get no response at all until you feel it.

Ice cold pressure running from your ankles to the nape of your neck. Traveling up and down your body until you can barely stand the feeling of goosebumps refusing to go down.

Thunder. Lightening, and then the sound of raining rattling against your window.

You sigh at the new feeling, your legs moving on their own to your bed as you lay against it in a feeling of cold comfort.

"One more time." You feel the whisper before you truly hear it, a weight on your bed, a weight hovering over you. "Write my name."

The ice cold feeling strikes between your legs, instantly giving you the very material to do as he says. And you do, dipping your fingers between your legs in awe at the feeling of how fast you manage to get wet over this.

And there, you feel the weight against your hand, almost as if he's writing his name himself against your thigh.

And you wait.

and wait.

and wait, until....

"Close your eyes."

You do, not daring to open them until he says. You feel that ice cold energy leave, replaced with a searing hot feeling, something that makes you sweat, something that makes you shake.

You hear shuffling, you hear your bedroom door opening and closing, you hear mumbled whispers in a different language, and then you hear his voice in real space. Bouncing off your walls rather than being implied right up against your ear.

"Open your eyes."

You open them to your empty room sitting just as you left it, the air feeling neutral, the oujia board looking much less magical as it lays on the floor. Then you hear your door open. Instantly your eyes glance to the space there.

"It's you." You whisper out, looking him up and down, feeling overwhelmed, and quite frankly, astonished.

"Of course it's me, you summoned me." The figure smiles, looking nothing more than a man despite something being...off. Which is obvious, but still stirs your stomach uncomfortably.

"You're no spirit, are you?" You blurt, unsure of how rude it may seem to him.

"Oh no, clearly not." The figure looms over, taking visible strides towards you before holding his hand out to truly feel you for the first time. "I got you good though, didn't I?"

"What are you, then?" You question, ignoring that you've been writing his name on your skin day after day with the slick your orgasms produce.

"Does it matter? I'm only here physically for the night." He glares deeply at your questions. So willing to bring him here, but so unwilling to complete the other half of the deal that he, maybe, didn't expand on in previous communications.

You stare at him, still trying to process that the so-called spirit you were so excited to speak to before, is here, now, in flesh. With a voice, and a body that doesn't entirely appear to be breathing at all. He looks so human, so, so, human, yet so....not.

He doesn't falter at your reaction much longer though. It's been hundreds of years since he's managed to get a woman to call out for him in such a vulgar way. It was funny to him, really, looming in every corner watching you do as he instructed. Reading your mind when you're intimate with Sunghoon.

"Last night– you were thinking of me instead.." Jaeyun smiles warmly, uncaring of how strongly he comes off because opinions and thoughts are something he is well versed in.

He can read everything you're thinking, and you want it. He's gentle when he moves to you, claiming his spot hovering over you, staring down at your eyes. He never knew what it was like to look at someone, to cherish and love, even. He only knows how to look into and through a person.

"I did." You admit, unable to look away from him, unable to feel fear, or pretend that you want to squirm away from his weight loosely pinning you against the bed. "Were you always here? Watching?"

He nods with a smile.

"Quite pretty when you're writing my name," He comments, leaning down to lick against your bottom lip. "If only you knew what it all meant, in the grand scheme of things."

"Hm?" You try to question, feeling like you're in a trance by the way his tongue flicks out so quickly, satiating your entire body with just that single act.

"Six times." He breathes. "You did so well."

You sigh at the feeling of nothing, as he pulls his face back from yours. There's still a ghostly pressure against all of the right places, and he's very aware of it.

"I own you." He comments with a chuckle, moving his hand down your body to feel the wet he created with no effort at all. "You'll never be rid of me."

You find....great pleasure in that. He knows you do. Even if he couldn't read every thought behind your eyes, the way your body moves toward his hand is enough to go by.

Humans, so desperate. So obsessed with praise, so...selfish. Just like him. Time and time again, he will grow bored of the sex other realms offer. It doesn't matter how many forms of fog he can get his claws on. Becoming human, being with a human, it sears hotter for him.

Makes him hotter. Makes him feel like the god who damned him.

"I'm a demon, babe." He laughs, now effectively thrusting two fingers into you and enjoying the way you seethe out at the heat he can't help but emit.

Deep down, you knew. You accepted it. You brought him here, you kept him here. You simply don't care. Otherworldly beings are meant to give curiosity. Who cares if you gave in? You didn't know where your everlasting soul would end up anyway, at least now you know that it'll end up with this....humanly thing who works his fingers like magic.

Because it is magic. Hellish magic.

"Is this what you always look like?" You ask, "Is this what you always sound like?"

The demon chuckles against your throat, fingers making little effort in the way it quite literally feels like you're already having the best sex of your human life.

"Does it matter? You gave yourself to me, I can be whatever you want me to be." He whispers out, licking against your naked skin.

That's right. Somehow, you're undressed. You felt no fabric, and you could honestly care less if he snapped them into the void.

You moan at the feeling, comprehending only slightly how his tongue went from flat and humanly to...forked. Two tips of his tongue, wrapped around your nipple, moving smoothly, wetly, hotly against you in a way that feels as blasphemous as it looks.

And when you reach up, on your very earthly instinct to grip his hair, you're met with a pair of curled horns.

You moan again, and he chuckles, knowing that this is for your pleasure, not his own quite yet.

"You can touch them." He insists, sliding his fingers out of you and writing his name again against your thigh, essentially sealing the contract you already agreed to. "You'll have no choice but to hold on to them later."

You, for some reason, take that promise as if it is seared into your fate. Forever damned to take hold of a demon's horns, forever blessed to be fucked by him.

"I like that thought," the demon chuckles with a second voice, seemingly penetrating your thoughts more than the place between your legs right now. "Blessed." He smiles, tongue long as it remains against your nipple and yet, he still is able to lift up to make eye contact with you. "Cute."

You're so entranced by the happenings in this moment, that Sunghoon seems...lesser. He feels like the past to you, as you feel and experience a hellish hand, and a hellish tongue. Soon, possibly, to experience whatever kind of cock demons have.

"Lesser? Fitting." he comments straight into your thoughts with that second voice, soothing your ambitions of being anyone other than his. "and my cock..."

You listen so intently to that second voice, your body is burning up with pleasure. The way he continues to write his name on your skin somehow feels better than when his fingers were inside of you. All of it feels better than anything you've ever felt in your life.

"It can be more, can be less, can be bigger, smaller, doubled, tripled, and even..." His secondary voice pauses with a chuckle, "if you're into experimenting, i am and will be whatever body you're interested in being fucked by."

That...seems exciting.

And it is. Trading a human life for whatever the fuck this is seems like such a great idea. Entranced or not, you still have a mind of your own and it's one that wanted this. He knows it, you know it, and no one else needs to know it.

"That's right, work your little brain." He pulls back, leaving your nipples more than swollen while he uses his real voice. Raspy, vulgar, enticing. "You made this choice." He taunts, flattening his palm against your thigh and pressing your legs open, hooking one above his other leg and instantly sliding into you.

The moment he hears your thoughts, searing in the pain you summoned upon yourself, he smiles. He coos out, pitying the way you so willingly want this deal to be real. And oh, it's so real.

That pain you're feeling with the cock he perfected just for you. He knows what you want.

"Familiar?" He smiles wickedly against your neck, darting his tongue out to lick a searing heat against you.

You can barely think through the feeling of his cock practically morphing inside of you. The pain from before, with the large hardened length turning into that of something...not only familiar but, too familiar.

He's fucking you with Sunghoon's cock, and can't help but notice how much you fight against wanting anything other than that.

"Too familiar?" He repeats your thoughts, stretching you open more than you think you ever have been, as his cock becomes thicker, heavier, hotter. "So, mine will do then?"

You try to nod, but you're a bit busy trying to comprehend the fact that a demon cock is quite literally tearing you apart right now, on Halloween fucking night. How grossly cliche.

"We like gross though, don't we?" He smiles, pulling his length out only a bit, and feeling the way your pussy grips it as if you'd find a way to threaten him for not keeping you filled to the brim. "You like feeling like you're being split in half, don't you?"

You do nod this time, arms reaching up to his horns and squeezing tightly. He grunts at it, loving the feeling of someone touching on him while lying helpless beneath him. Such willpower you have, such willpower you don't want.

He feels what you feel, that pain? You love it. The warmth in his horns? Nearly pulsing against your palms at the pleasure of this act? You love that too.

"It's like you were made for the hells, babe." He comments snidely, pulling out, then pushing into you roughly. "Made just for me." He continues, claiming you, fucking you, all while knowing that you're already his. 

All while knowing that there's another person entering this apartment, and you're too far gone to pretend that this isn't temptation. It's willingful lust, and it's a deed you signed for.

"Weren't you?" His secondary voice demands that you respond with your voice rather than your thoughts, as he continuously stimulates your entire body through his own made up form.

"Weren't you?" He echoes again, real and secondary voice now filling your senses alongside the squeezing in your gut, your g-spot stimulated by a demon cock seemingly built for doing just this. A body built for pleasure, a demon created for it.

"Weren't you?" He echoes through a seethed whisper, tongue darting out and between your lips, forcing an answer from you.

You wail out in pleasure, sheer lack of humanity showing through the sound. He loves the way you sob a "yes!" through amazement. Humans aren't meant to comprehend what he's doing to you, or what he will do to you.

Humans aren't meant to accept seeing either, yet, here comes Sunghoon. Sprinting to the room where he's just heard his beloved girlfriend scream.

Only to find you gripping onto a pair of pulsing horns. Legs spread wider for this creature than they ever were for him. A forked tongue looking as if it's sucking the life straight from your throat.

But those screams aren't from pain, Sunghoon sees it plainly.

The sound of a cock too big for you, pleasuring you. The grip you have on this creature, and the grip that creature has on you.

Sunghoon can't find it in him to even ask what the fuck is going on. He just stands there frozen, knowing you don't notice him there. Who would?!

The creature, makes eye contact.

"I tried to fuck her with your cock," It echoes out to him in a, almost apologetic voice and it sends shivers down his spine. "She needed more."

Sunghoon is still standing in the doorway of your bedroom. Frozen solid, his heart is racing as he watches that he's not only being cheated on but like, goddamn, with a fucking....thing?! Not even a person?

Your ears are ringing, sure you've orgasms a dozen times by now, both feeling all of it and not feeling any of it at all because the demon just keeps going. Listening to your every thought, cooing at each orgasm and willing more, more, more. Until he can trace his name six hundred and sixty six times into your skin. "You could be mine too, Sunghoon." The demon calls out, forcing his voice into the man's head, reading every thought, half-assed prayer, and unbelievable idea of trying to intervene. "I know you want to."

[moonstruckme]

hi maeeee!! can i request a poly! marauders where maybe reader is fighting with only one them and the others are shocked when they find out and try their very best to fix it even though things are quite tense? thanks maeeeee ilyyyy💐💐💐

Thanks for your patience with this one angel! It's not as angsty as I planned when I started writing it, but I hope you enjoy it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

It’s James who finds you this time. You’re curled up in a corner of the couch, pretending to read whilst secretly feeling sorry for yourself. Your boyfriend sits next to you, touching your shoulder so that you turn to him for a kiss. 

“Still upset?” he asks after a peck. 

You ignore the complicated, knotty feeling that makes itself known in your chest. “Not at you.” 

“No, I know.” James smiles a little, gifting you another kiss. “I’d be coming in here with my tail between my legs if you were. I’d hate to be on the wrong side of either you or Rem’s wrath.” 

You stay quiet. You wouldn’t go so far as to call what you’re feeling wrath—that seems a tad dramatic to describe the low flame of vexation you’ve been burning for your tallest boyfriend—but you don’t feel like opening yourself up to the subject with James. You’ve already heard it from Sirius this morning. 

“Angel.” James gives your shoulder a cajoling squeeze. “Come on, when are the two of you going to get past this? It’s very awkward sleeping in the same bed with two people who are quarreling, you know.” 

“We sleep exactly the same as every other night.” 

“There’s underlying tension,” he counters lightly. You roll your eyes, and James laughs. “Oi, don’t get cross with me now, too. I’m just telling you about my lived experience.” He leans his head on your shoulder, all sweetness and treachery. “You’re really not gonna forgive him? You know he’s gonna stick you with Sirius in the divorce.” 

You huff a laugh. James grins up at you hopefully. You know there’s some sense to what he’s saying; one of you has to be the bigger person eventually. It had started small, a stupid disagreement, but you and Remus are each stubborn and petty enough to not want to admit where you were wrong. Now you’re more angry with him for being angry with you than for anything else. 

When you think of his coldness to you—never mind the fact that you’ve been cold to him in turn—that flame of vexation burns a little brighter. 

“I don’t know why you’re over here trying to convince me,” you tell James. “I won’t have any problem forgiving him if he actually apologizes.” 

James sighs. You look down at your book to avoid his disappointment. 

“Okay, then. But he does feel really bad, so you know. He’s in the bedroom with one of his headaches, and he asked if you were still upset with him.” You look up. James levels you with a weighted look. “Could probably really use a cuddle, if you two were on good terms.” 

James is at least only somewhat smug when you abandon your book to go to the bedroom. You pass Sirius in the hall, who gives you a smile and a firm peck on the lips, likely having just left Remus himself. You enter the bedroom expecting to see the curtains drawn, lights off, and your poorly boyfriend in bed, but instead Remus is standing, well lit by the daylight streaming in through the windows, book tented on the bed still made from this morning. He appears as though he was just on his way out. 

“Erm, hi,” he says, brows pulled together in the middle. He looks to be studying you. “Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” you answer, bemused. “Are…are you?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The door clicks shut behind you. You startle at the sound, not having closed it yourself. Then, you watch as a resigned sort of irritation comes over Remus’ features at the same time as it settles into you. 

“Pricks.” He moves past you to the door, jiggling the handle. “It only locks from the inside, you twats.” 

“Love you too,” comes Sirius’ voice. “You can come out after you kiss and make up.” 

“And say you’re sorry!” adds James. 

Remus scowls. 

“Open it,” you tell him. 

“What do you think I’m trying to do? One of them is holding it shut.” 

“Let me try.” 

“Be my guest.” Remus steps back, letting you have a go at the handle. By putting everything you have into it you manage to twist it, but you can’t get it open even an inch. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, gorgeous.” Sirius sounds smug enough to make your face feel hot. “James is holding it on the other side here, a few more minutes and you’ll make him break a sweat.” 

You let go of the handle with a huff, turning and stalking towards the bedroom window. You start moving the desk out of your way. 

“Would you really rather climb out the window than be in a room with me?” asks Remus. You look over your shoulder, and he’s sitting on the bed, side-eyeing you with his back propped against the pillows. 

“It’s not about you.” You shove your hip into the desk, budging it enough for you to get at the window latch. “They lied and made me feel all guilty just so they could lock us in here.” 

“What’d they tell you?”

You try to get your fingernail behind the latch. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Sirius had me thinking you were quite upset.” 

“Yeah, and probably that I was asking after you, right? James told me you had a bad headache.” 

A chuckle. “That was enough to make you come in here looking so flustered?” 

“My mistake,” you huff, but it turns to a short whimper when your nail breaks. “Christ, you’d think they’d make these easier to open. What if there was a fire?” 

“Don’t go out the window,” Remus says calmly. “You’ll ruin your tights.” 

You work another nail behind the latch. “I can’t just let them win.” 

“Mm. That’s a bit of a problem for you, is it?” 

A bitter coolness settles over you. You turn, crossing your arms. “Something to say?” 

Remus picks up his book, cornering a page. “Just making an observation, is all.” 

“Remus,” you say sternly. “Don’t act like you’re any better. You could’ve apologized at any time.” 

Your boyfriend levels you with a look. “Would that really have made a difference?”

“Yes!” 

“Honestly?” He looks like he doesn’t believe you. “All I have to do is say I’m sorry, and you’ll forget about all of this and be completely happy with me?” 

You shake your head, bewildered. “…Yeah. I mean, I would want to know that you understood how you hurt my feelings, but yeah. Really, it’s not that complicated.” 

Remus’ expression softens. “I do understand that, dove. Do you understand how you hurt mine?” 

“I…” You find you can’t quite look at him. “I imagine it’s sort of similar. Because I’ve been cold to you.” 

“And because you wouldn’t hear me out,” he says. It doesn’t sound like I told you so, not smug so much as gentle. “But it was a small thing to begin with, wasn’t it? I’m ready to be past it.” 

You frown at him. “It’s not about the argument for me. I’m already past that, it’s just everything else.” 

Remus considers you. “Would you come here, please?” 

You swear you wouldn’t go if he didn’t sound so kind. But you find yourself with your legs curled underneath you on the bed in front of him, Remus coaxing your hands into his. 

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says sincerely, looking you in the eyes. “It was a silly argument, and I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek, sizing up whether he means it. “I…also could have been less stubborn,” you admit begrudgingly. Your tone softens. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, too. I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” Remus’ touch coasts from your hands up your arms as he pulls you closer to kiss your forehead. “Are we okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, mollified. 

He smiles at you. “Hear that?” he says towards the door. “You can let us out now.” 

There’s no response. 

Remus frowns as you get out of bed, going to try the handle. The door comes open, revealing and empty hallway. 

“Pricks,” Remus mutters. 

You find your boyfriends in the living room, James flicking through channels on the telly while Sirius reads the back cover of your book. James notices you first. 

“Oh, hello.” He grins at you as Sirius looks over. “All sorted, then?” 

You’re half tempted to pretend you didn’t make up just to spite them. When you look over at Remus, you suspect he’s thinking the same thing. 

“That was sort of mean, lying to me like that,” you say to James instead. 

He looks a bit contrite, but Sirius says insouciantly, “You were never gonna do it by yourselves, babe. We weren’t ready to start divvying up the furniture because you wanted to have a row.” 

You kiss your teeth. “I think I might be having a row with you now.” 

“What, us?” James’ eyebrows rise above the frames of his glasses. “What for?” 

“You lied to us both to make us feel bad,” Remus reminds him, “and then locked us in the bedroom.” 

Sirius isn’t impressed. “Well, it wasn’t really locked, was it. If you’d gotten desperate, you could’ve taken it off the hinges. Or just checked again after a couple minutes.” 

“She broke her nail trying to get the window open.” 

You hold up your torn fingernail as proof. Sirius coos, reaching for your finger and bringing it to his lips while you scowl at him. 

“Sorry, lovie. We had a plan to bring you food in a couple hours,” says James. “We were even going to let you out for bathroom breaks if you needed to go.” 

“Really, you wrapped it up much quicker than we were expecting,” Sirius praises. He’s still holding your finger, drawing his thumb up and down the side in easy, consoling strokes. “We thought you’d ice each other out until supper at least. I’m quite proud of you.” 

Remus scoffs. 

“Oh, come now.” Sirius grins. “Give us a kiss.” 

You roll your eyes but turn to Remus, extricating your finger from Sirius’ grasp to meet him in a chaste kiss. 

The other boys cheer. “There we are!” James tilts his face up expectantly. “Now one for me.” 

You and Remus exchange a look. 

“No,” you say coolly, “I don’t think so.” The two of you go to sit on the far side of the couch, away from both Sirius and James with you curled against Remus’ side. He looks a tad smug as he puts his arm around you. 

“Oi!” says Sirius. “Look what you’ve done, you’ve made James pull his sad puppy face. What do you have to say for yourselves?” 

“You lied to us,” you say again, slowly, with emphasis, “and locked us in the bedroom.” 

Sirius scoffs. “So dramatic.” 

“Oh, that’s rich.” 

“Will it help if we say sorry?” James asks meekly. 

Remus looks at you. You shrug. 

“Maybe,” he says. “You’re more than welcome to try and find out.”

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ''what are we?' with skz

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: fluff and a little angst and a lot of uncertainties

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: in honor of 'i like it' , i think this is a very fitting first post lmao

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - “whatever you’d like us to be.”

He smiles, and you swear it lights up the whole room. Sweet, considerate Chan who never wanted to make you uncomfortable by rushing into things. The man you’ve been seeing for months now that didn’t put a label on your relationship just to give you space and time to sort out whatever else was going on in your life. The one who’s been there for you even if he didn’t have to, especially since you weren’t official, or anything at all.

The best man you could ever ask for.

That’s why, the next action feels like the most natural one.

Taking a deep breath, you return his smile and lean forward, resting your forehead on his. He stares deeply into your eyes, mesmerizing you with their beauty while his smile never falters.

“Then, would you do me the pleasure of being my boyfriend?”

Chan can’t help but chuckle, swiftly grabbing you by the waist to set you in his lap before pecking your lips. “It would be my honor, baby.”

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - “you tell me.”

Looks you dead in the eyes, with one eyebrow raised defiantly, the food he prepared and laid out nicely suddenly forgotten. This wasn’t the answer you were expecting. However, it’s such a Lee Minho one that you can’t even be surprised for more than a moment. Shuffling in your seat, you clear your throat before complying, all caution out the window.

“You’re my boyfriend. Only mine.”

Minho nods slowly just like a cat, his doe eyes never leaving yours as he continues to give you his undivided attention. “Alright. So then, what are we?”

You watch him, trying to understand what exactly he wants to hear right now. Your answer rests on the tip of your tongue yet, you hesitate, not knowing if he shares your feelings on the matter. He’s always been a complicated man, not giving anything away.

What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

You take a deep breath. “We are…lovers. A couple.”

This causes Minho’s smile to return, eyes twinkling again as he finally pushes a plate of food in your direction. “There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - “whatever we are, I like it.”

Changbin shrugs, bringing you closer to his chest by the arm he wrapped around your shoulders. The movie on the tv serves as background noise as your feelings threaten to overwhelm you, ready to take you down a well-known path of overthinking. What does that even mean?

Does that mean that he likes you? Loves you? Dislikes you with every fibre of his being but is too comfortable to say it? Usually, you would appreciate Changbin’s laid-back nature but now, it only makes you feel worse.

Why do relationships have to be so complicated? With him by your side, you thought it would be all smooth sailing but it looks like that isn’t the case.

“Y/n?” He asks, tearing his eyes away from the screen. “Is everything okay?”

His concern seems real, but is it really? Or is it just an act meant to have you fall even deeper in love with him? At this point, you don’t even know.

Shaking your head, you hide your face in the crock of his neck, choosing to ignore your screaming mind in favour of basking in his affection just for a while longer.

“Yeah, things are great.”

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - “is this your way of asking me to make it official?”

Ever the hopeless romantic, Hyunjin gives you the sweetest smile, the sight making your heart beat faster. Oh, what you wouldn’t give to make things official with Hwang Hyunjin. But, would he want that or is he just playing with you? Your concerns seem unreasonable since he isn’t that kind of person but you never know.

“And what if it is?”

The smile turns cocky, resembling a smirk more than anything. “So, you like me?”

You giggle to hide your growing embarrassment and nerves. “I mean, I’m sure you know the answer to that question.”

He fakes ignorance, looking at you with big, puppy eyes that still pull at your heartstrings. Hyunjin knows all the buttons he needs to push to get you wherever he wants.

“Nope. Do tell.”

Without missing a beat, you say exactly what’s on your mind, wanting to pay him back for all the teasing by short-circuiting his brain.

“I love you.”

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - “Is that a rhetorical question? You genuinely want an answer?”

Poor baby has never been more flabbergasted in his entire life. What do you mean ‘what are we’?! This isn’t high school, and you aren’t kids, what are you even confused about? He’s always made himself as clear as possible when it came to your relationship.

“You’re my baby, the love of my life, what kind of question is that?”

You shrug, turning on your side to face him. “Be more specific, Sungie.”

His mouth falls open comically, and you do everything in your power to not burst out laughing at the sight.

“We’re literally laying in bed together right now. I said I love you less than five minutes ago.”

You move closer to rest your head on his sturdy chest. “Yeah, but what exactly ARE we?”

Jisung stares down at you without a word for a few moments, trying to understand if you’re fucking with him or not until he sees the beginning of a grin stretching across your face and scoffs, turning to face away from you.

“Go to bed, Y/n, I’m too tired for your nonsense.”

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - “what do you want us to be?”

You’re greeted by big, hopeful eyes as Felix turns to look at you like you’ve got all the answers he’s ever sought for. Like you’re a genie that is capable of granting his every selfish wish. For him, you kind of are since your relationship pretty much marches to the beat of your own drum, with him just tagging along for the ride.

Felix would like to change that though – would love to just take matters into his own hands for once and answer your question with full confidence. But, he can’t. So, he throws the ball in your court again, wanting to avoid getting hurt.

You don’t answer right away, instead letting your head fall on his shoulder as you take your time to think his question over.

“How about…we try being more than friends?”

His face lights up instantly, buzzing with happiness at your proposal. Beaming, he nods before gently grabbing the back of your head to connect your lips in an eager kiss.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - “a mess.”

You’re expecting to see him smirking or even rolling his eyes at your question, however, once you turn around, none of those things happen. He’s just looking at you, face devoid of any emotion, and that’s when you realize that to him, this is serious. Seugmin isn’t playing around nor is he avoiding the subject – that is genuinely what he thinks on the matter. To him, whatever relationship you’ve developed, is a complete mess. If it’s a mess he enjoys or on the contrary, finds troublesome, is a question for another day.

“Well,” you begin, still taken aback by his blunt answer. “You’re my mess.”

This time, he does roll his eye, acting more annoyed than he actually is as you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind and lean down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Whose else would I be, dummy?” he shakes his head, voice uncharacteristically soft. Turning around in his seat, Seungmin moves to embrace you properly before burying his face in your soft hair.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - “you know what we are. You just want to hear me say it.”

You nod, taking another sip from your drink before releasing his hand. “Alright. Then say it.”

When he sees you stop in the middle of the crossroad, he follows, visibly confused. His hand moves to grab yours again, however, you pull away, shaking your head.

“Answer me properly, Jeongin.”

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to wrap his head around what’s suddenly gotten into you. Did you really want to have a conversation as serious as this here, out in the open? What was happening?

“I – “ He feels his whole face warm up, voice cracking and not allowing any other words to slip out. Jeongin knows what he wants to say, he’s had a whole speech prepared for a while now. But, being put on the spot like that has him freezing up so, he ends up giving a totally different answer, one that breaks both of your hearts simultaneously.

“We’re…” He pauses, looking down, “just friends, of course.”

The look on your face hurts so much, he almost doubles down in pain as you turn your back to him and walk away from his life, presumably for good. He has really screwed up this time.

[jjkamochoso]

How You React To JJK Characters Describing You as Their Type When Todo Asks

Fluff

Request from anon! This was a super fun one, thanks again for the request!! Also, I didn't do Mai, Miwa or Momo with this one, but added in Nanami; if you would like me to add the other girls back in, lmk and I absolutely will!! :)

JK Men x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Part 2 to this fic; same premise here, the students are all in a big group when the question was asked! <3

Yuji:

“Yuji! What kind of person is your type?”

“My type? Uh, let’s see,” he said, putting his thumb and forefinger to his chin in thought. After he gave his reply, you noticed everyone glancing between him and you.

“What? Is there something on my face?” you asked, wiping your cheek.

“No, you dummy,” said Nobara, “didn’t you hear what Itadori’s type was?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So? So? He described you perfectly,” she hissed. You thought back to his answer and your eyes went wide, realizing she was right. You looked over at the pink haired boy.

“Is that true? Your type is me?” you asked him, not caring that everyone was deeply invested in your conversation.

“Yeah. Is that… okay?” he asked, nervously ruffling his hand through his hair.

“Only if you ask me on a date,” you said with a playful wink, walking away. Yuji just stared at you, hearts in his eyes, until Nobara smacked him.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go ask them!”

He hurried after you, eager to ask you out.

Megumi:

“Tell us, Fushiguro, what kind of person is your type?”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “Things like that are so unimportant. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters more than you think. It tells you everything you need to know is about a person. Like how you’re a wimp for not answering,” said Todo, crossing his arms with a triumphant smirk.

“Fine,” replied Megumi through gritted teeth, tired of Todo’s pestering, “you really wanna know? I’ll tell you.”

As he described his dream person, you felt your face get warmer and warmer.

“That, um, kind of sounds like me, doesn’t it?” you whispered to Yuji.

“There’s no ‘kind of’ about that, y/n,” he whispered back, just as surprised as you were. When Megumi saw you looking at him, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, clearly embarrassed. You ran after him as fast as you could.

“Megumi, wait! I have to talk to you!” you exclaimed, halting him with a grip of his arm.

“I’m sorry, that was a big mistake, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“I like you. A lot,” you confessed. “You’re my type, too.”

“R-really?” His voice squeaked and he quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, really? That’s good. Great. I’m… relieved.”

You chuckled at his adorable flustered state. “Me too. I guess Todo is good for something after all.”

Nobara:

“Kugisaki! What’s your type?”

“My type? That’s simple,” she answered, her bright bob swinging. As she described the kind of person she found attractive, you couldn’t help the giddiness bubbling up inside; she was describing you!

“Kugusaki? Can I talk to you over here for a second?” you asked, signaling her to follow you away from the group. Yuji, understanding what was happening, gave you a thumbs up.

“Do you have a crush on me?” you questioned. “Because the person you described sounded exactly like me.”

Nobara immediately went into the defensive, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Huh?! Nuh uh, that could be anybody here,” she replied, her face lighting up with a small blush.

“Oh. What a shame, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time,” you said, preparing to walk away. Nobara’s hand darted to your own, prompting you to stop.

“Wait! I… do like you, okay?” she mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “It’s just a crush, though, it’s not like I’m in love or anything stupid.”

You laughed lightly at her attitude. She was a piece of work, but if everything went well, she’d be your piece of work.

Maki:

“Zenin, spill. What kind of person is your type?”

“Do you really have nothing else rolling around in that tiny brain of yours?” Maki asked, obviously annoyed.

“Who would’ve thought someone as fearless as you would be scared by a little question, hmm?” a vicious voice from Mai said.

“I’m not scared, it’s a dumb question,” Maki replied, “but I’ll answer it anyway to get you idiots off my back.”

When she was done describing her type, you felt Yuta nudge you softly.

“Y/n, I think she likes you,” he said in a hushed tone.

“So what if I do, huh?” she said aggressively, overhearing what Yuta told you. The tension that overcame the group was uncomfortable, so much so that everyone left, leaving you and Maki by yourselves. She kept her eyes trained elsewhere, not wanting to meet yours.

“This whole thing was stupid. Forget I said anything,” she snarled.

“Maki,” you said with such softness that she actually looked at you, “I really like you. You’re my type, too.”

She scoffed as she looked away once more, hiding her warmed face. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

Inumaki:

“Inumaki! What’s your type?”

“He can’t talk, you jerk,” you exclaimed defensively. You turned to Toge. “Just ignore him, okay? You don’t have to answer.”

“Salmon,” he responded, placing a hand on your arm to signal he was alright. He sighed as he approached Todo.

“Salmon salmon,” he told him, earning a confused look from Todo.

“Anyone care to translate?” the tall man asked. Toge rolled his eyes and tried again.

“Salmon salmon,” he said, this time making his pointing toward you more obvious.

“Your type is… L/n?” wondered Todo. Toge nodded meekly as you were overcome with butterflies in your stomach. He turned away from the group as Todo asked the same question to the next victim.

“Toge, I’m your type?” you asked, your voice shaking a little.

He nodded.

“Does that mean you like me?”

He nodded again. You immediately wrapped him in a hug, making him stumble back before wrapping his arms around you as well.

“I’ve liked you for so long now. I never thought I’d have Todo to thank for this, but I guess weirder things have happened.”

Yuta:

“Okkatsu, tell us, what kind of person is your type?”

“I can appreciate all types of people,” Yuta answered happily, making you smile. He was always so kindhearted!

“I don’t believe that,” replied Todo, narrowing his eyes. “You have to have one certain type of person you always find attractive.”

“I mean, I guess so,” he replied, starting to look nervous.

“And that is?” Todo raised an eyebrow.

“Um, let’s see…”

When Yuta was describing that person, you felt a tug on your sleeve. Inumaki was looking at you and you nodded in understanding.

“You picked up on that, too?” you asked, getting an enthusiastic nod in response. Yuta blushed when he noticed you watching him and quickly encouraged Todo to ask the question to someone else to keep him from embarrassing himself more. What he didn’t notice, until it was too late, was who Todo asked next.

“L/n! What’s your type?”

“That’s easy,” you said, your eyes never leaving Yuta’s as you smiled. “It’s Okkatsu.”

He could’ve sworn he died and went to Heaven right there!

Gojo:

“Gojo-sensei! What kind of person is your type?”

“Ooh, are we all playing a little get-to-know-each-other game?” asked Satoru excitedly. “I love it when the students bond like this.”

You were walking by the group when you overheard your fellow teacher getting involved in the kids’ antics so naturally, you stopped to watch.

“My type, hmm?” He was deep in thought, his forefinger to his chin. “Ah! Got it.”

As he was describing the person, the kids started snickering while looking at you. At first you didn’t understand why, but when it clicked, your first instinct was to grab Satoru by the back of his shirt collar and drag him away.

“Thanks for the fun!” he yelled, waving goodbye. When you were far enough away, out of sight and earshot of the students, you punched him in the arm.

“Ouch! Trouble in paradise already?” he teased.

“What the hell, Satoru? Our students aren’t supposed to know about teachers’ crushes on each other,” you reprimanded.

“What happens when we get married? They’ll know when they have to address you as Gojo-sensei. Or address me as L/n-sensei, I don’t care about the whole name situation,” he said airily, waving his hand around.

“You are truly impossible,” you said, rubbing your fingers on your forehead to ease your oncoming headache.

He poked your arm. “But you love me, don’t you?”

“I like you. And that’s trouble as it is,” you groaned, earning a smile and arm slung around your shoulder from the man.

“That’s enough for me, baby.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“Noted.”

Noritoshi:

“Kamo! What’s your type?”

“I don’t want to play your nonsense games, Todo,” remarked Noritoshi, frustrated.

“The next head of the Kamo clan refuses to answer such an easy question? That tells me everything I need to know about your character,” smirked Todo.

Noritoshi scowled. “Don’t question my character over my disbelief in your stupid qualifications.”

“Admit it, Kamo. You’re scared,” teased Mai, which sent him over the edge. He explained his type to the group, finishing with, “-don’t ever ask me something so idiotic in the future.”

“So… your type is L/n,” said Todo.

“Yes.” Noritoshi’s eyes widened when he realized what he said. “No! Wait! I don’t…”

He stopped, coming to terms that the damage was already done.

“All of you get on my nerves,” he barked, walking away quickly. You hurried after him.

“Noritoshi,” you said after catching up with him, “I really like you. You’re exactly my type too.”

He studied your eyes for any sign of deceit, but he didn’t find any. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he let a small smile fall upon his lips.

“Maybe the brainless question was useful after all.”

Todo:

“Todo! What’s your type?” you asked the muscled man. He looked surprised at you speaking up, but immediately replaced that expression with a wide smile.

“You.”

You burst into laughter. “No, I’m being serious, Aoi. What kind of person are you into?”

“I am serious, you’re exactly my type. I think you’re really attractive.”

You were about to laugh again when you noticed he was being genuine.

“You’re not… joking?”

“You seriously didn’t know? You’re all he talks about or looks at,” said Noritoshi. “Even I’ve noticed that much.”

“So, what do you say?” Aoi addressed you with another smile. “You want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Yeah. That would be amazing,” you breathed out, still shocked at the outcome you weren’t expecting but would gladly accept.

Nanami:

“Nanami-sensei! What kind of person is your type?”

Todo’s loud voice made Kento stop abruptly in his tracks.

“I’m not a teacher so don’t address me as such,” he sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Secondly, that’s none of your business. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Nanamin!” Yuji exclaimed, blocking the exasperated man’s path. “It’s a harmless question! We just wanna know more about you.”

Kento observed the shining eyes of the children staring at him and he sighed again, this time more forcefully.

“My type is a person who is smart enough to stay far away from this troublesome group,” he grumbled, making a beeline for your laughing figure as you watched from afar.

“Not a fan of my students’ curiosity, Nanami-sensei?” you teased, causing him to groan.

“They’re much too nosy. I have no interest in delving into my love live with children.”

“How about with another adult, then?” you asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call you an adult with the way you’re acting right now.”

“I’d be hurt if you weren’t right,” you replied. “C’mon, we trust each other. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Fine,” he relented, “but this isn’t how I pictured telling you. I was hoping for a more mature environment when confessing my romantic feelings towards you.”

You stood in shock at his sudden confession. You were joking with the man, not expecting him to come up with a real answer, but instead, he admitted he liked you.

“To make myself clear,” he said, noticing your lack of a reaction, “you’re my type.”

You stumbled over your words in your surprised state. “I… wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” You took in a deep breath to calm yourself. “That does make it a lot easier to say my type is overworked blondes named Kento.”

His lips quirked up into a hint of a smile. “You think I’m overworked?”

“I know you are.” You mustered up all your courage before continuing, asking, “How about you take some time off and join me for dinner later?”

Kento’s smile became much more prominent. “That was supposed to be my line, but that would be lovely nonetheless. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

FAVOURITISM.

tangerine x fem!reader

wc. 1958 summary. tangerine was put out of work following the events of an accident. as a result, he created his own business, applying all of his knowledge. you work as a secretary cross technical assistant for him and working very closely to the big bad boss catches the eyes of your peers. one day he notices a change in your workwear — proving to you, he’s been paying a lot more attention than you originally thought. boss x secretary. disclaimer. the images at the bottom are just a reference of what I picture the reader wearing. they are not a reflection of how I write or see yn (colour and body type) it’s merely a way to show you what I envisioned

MY 2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY! it’s only right that I write for tan seeing as it all started with him xx also a big big loving thank you to @pretty-little-mind33 for the idea and brainstorming with me. literally would not have done this without her <33

⎯ ☆ ⎯

It wasn’t often that you’d find yourself not looking forward to work — feeling anxious to get in. Your love for what you do always seeming to overshadow any discomfort.

For the last several months, you’ve been working as a technical assistant cross secretary for your boss, Tangerine. No one knew of his real name, and you were starting to think that’s the way it’ll always be. 

Last night after your shift, you were brought to HR for an unexpected meeting, being called up on a dress code violation. Multiple complaints made around the office about your bright tights and flowy shirts, being told that it was ‘unfit for work’ and a ‘distraction.’ You knew you weren’t exactly well liked around the office — the sneers and scowls made your way making that evident. But never did you think they would go so far out of their way to complain about you. 

Their dislike for you felt territorial — judgy eyes always seeming to follow you as you attend to the needs and wants of your boss. The attention you gain from the broody, grumpy man in charge, simply asks and tasks you agreed to in your job description. The repetitive calls for your name only ever consisting of tea requests or computer help. It left you feeling confused and isolated, constantly wondering why they hated you so much. You were only ever doing your job. Doing what was asked of you. 

So, as you sit in your car before the start of the workday, you use your spare few moments to collect yourself, preparing for those same judgemental stares. You look down at your legs briefly, noticing the lack of colour — your usual patterned tights now being replaced with grey, drab trousers. All of your vibrancy and exuberancy —personality— stolen when told to make this change. 

You exhale, giving yourself one last second of sanity before you’re getting out of the car, juggling your bags and cups of coffee in hand. Stepping into the building and into the elevator with a small crowd, you become invisible, blending in with everyone — becoming what you’ve always dreaded: a lifeless office zombie, sharing the same apathetic, dull expression with all those around you. 

You reach your floor and exit with the few remaining others in the lift. You deviate from your colleagues and head for your bosses office at the back, giving his door a couple of knocks. 

“Yeah?” he calls out, and you slowly push the door open.

His usual rigged, intimidating gaze softens as his eyes fall on you through the gap, his attention landing on you over the top of his computer.

“You’re late,” he says, the words a reprimand for most, but for you they were more of an observation — a casual, flyaway statement. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Traffic was a nightmare,” you apologise as you step into his office, avoiding his eyes like you were ashamed. 

You look down to the coffees in hand and pass him the one without the lipstick mark, extending an arm as you move to stand beside his desk.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens,” he reassures. And as he takes the cup from your hold, he glances down, noticing the lack of your familiar flamboyance. “What’re you wearing?”

You look down confused, brows pulling together as if to show you didn’t understand his question.

“The trousers,” he looks up at you, gaze almost harsh. “Why are you wearing them?” 

He has never seen you wear trousers.

“Thought I’d shake things up,” you shrug with your lie, not wanting him to know the real reason.

You didn’t want to give your peers more reason to hate you by tattling to the boss — complaining about them being mean to you, so you decided against it, keeping him from the truth. Though it’s far harder than you anticipated, his eyes ever so demanding as he remains fixed on you from above. 

“So no smiley face is also part of you shaking things up?” he questions, showing you the blank cup — your usual sharpie smileys nowhere to be seen. 

You wince slightly, embarrassed by the whole ordeal. You weren’t sure if the embarrassment was from the fact he noticed or that you forgot. But humiliation was felt either way.

“It’ll save us the ballache if you tell me why,” he takes a sip of his drink and places it aside, giving you his full attention. “I can call a staff meeting, but I reckon they’ll get suspicious after seeing us talk,” he playfully blackmails, offering you a faint smile to show you his bribe holds no such malice.

You turn and look out through the window of his office, picking up on dozens of sets of eyes glued to you through the gap of his blinds. All of which briskly turn away upon the glance of Tangerine, his eyeline following yours — scaring your peers back into work.

“What’d they do?” he asks, redirecting your focus back to him.

“I just got a complaint, that’s all,” you shrug, trying to minimise it as much as possible.

“Why?” he asks bluntly, neck craning to keep your eyes on him.

“They don’t like the way I dress apparently,” you laugh faintly, the noise sounding far more hurt than you intended. “I mean I get it,” you deflect, trying not to slip into a habit of seeking him for assurance when people in the office turn against you. “I get what they mean.”

He’s quiet as he looks over you, head shaking disapprovingly as he mumbles something incoherent. He inhales deeply and then coughs to clear his throat, sounding like he was preparing for something. 

“I gotta meet with some people, but I’ll see what I can do,” he says as he stands, reaching for his briefcase. “Don’t let these miserable lot get to you,” he smiles weakly as he collects his coffee cup, heading towards the door until he stops, and turns around to face you. “They hate that I don’t hate you, that’s all.” 

Your eyes follow after him as he leaves his office, leaving you standing there alone to process his words. You’ve never really picked up on the hinted favouritism like your colleagues have — never seeming to notice the allowances and kindness your peers aren’t granted with. But you were only ever doing as told, why would that warrant any special treatment? 

And with that thought in mind, you head towards your desk just outside of his office, setting your things on your neatly, organised table. Placing your hot drink in his designated spot besides your computer, you log on — attending to emails and to things on your extensive to do list.

A few hours pass you by.

You’re interrupted from all work when you feel the presence of someone standing behind you, your boss now back from his meeting with a pile of papers in hand.

“Need you to sort these out for me,” he says as places the stack beside your hand. “Please,” he adds, trying to keep up with the habit he’s trying to enforce by showing his appreciation. But only to you.

You look down to the pile, noticing a gap in between the blank, plain papers. You look up at him briefly, like you were asking permission and then your eyes fall back onto the stack. And as you go to lift the upper chunk of papers, Tangerine is moving from you and into his office, a new bag —a shopping bag— held within the hand of his briefcase. You take little to no notice and turn your attention back to the pile, a square paper bag hiding within the fake forms. The perfect cloak of disguise. 

You didn’t need to look inside to know what it was, the warm circle giving it away immediately. It was a cookie. You swivel in your chair to look into his office, his eyes already on you through the gap in his blinds. The gap you’re now starting to believe holds another purpose. You smile at him sweetly, mouthing thanks before resuming with your work — wanting to get it all done before the end of the day.

And as five pm soon rolls around and as everyone begins logging off and packing up for home, you turn to look back at Tangerine, a pained expression on his face as he rolls his shoulder. His old injury you know very little about seeming to give him grief.  

The floor begins to clear and you collect your things, walking those few steps until you’re in front of your boss's door. You give it a light tap and enter when welcomed.

“You off?” he asks, turning his attention to you in his doorframe. 

“Yep,” you smile, lingering for a moment. “Thank you for the cookie, by the way.”

“It’s alright,” he gently smiles, head bowing almost bashfully. “Hang on and I’ll walk you out. Don’t want you out in the dark by yourself.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you deflect, not wanting to be a bother. “Really it’s okay, my car is only outside.”

He shakes his head at you as he gives his desk a quick tidy, packing things up for the night. Tangerine stands and collects his belongings, picking up his coat from the rack and small bag from the side before he’s heading to you, guiding you along. 

You each walk towards the open elevators and head in, standing side by side —close— within the confined space. 

He twists inwards to face you. “I uh,” he starts, extending the shopping bag from earlier to you. “I picked something up for you.”

Your brows tug in the middle, looking up at him like you were questioning the reasoning why. You take it from his hand and look inside. 

“No,” you whisper, sheer disbelief in your voice as you pull out the gift. “These are beautiful! Where did you even find them?” you question, looking over the tights, marvelling at the pattern. 

He keeps his head cast downwards, looking between his feet as he smiles, appreciating your appreciation. “It’s a secret.”

The elevator dings, cutting your time short and you both look at each other, the glance brief. He holds his arm out, gesturing for you to step off first,  and you do. You linger, waiting for him to join so you could walk besides one another. 

The walk towards your car is slow, as if both of you are trying to savour the short journey, hang on to it. Small chuckles and shy, stolen glances being the only form of communication during your minute long walk.

You reach into your bag and pull out your keys to unlock your car, the dozen chains and charms jingling and clattering with the movement of your hand. 

Tangerine reaches for your door, pulling the handle to open it for you — nodding you inside. You smile at him sweetly as you get in, placing your bags on the passenger seat. 

“You get home safe, alright?” he says, grinning softly.

“I will,” you look down coyly, smile faint.

He nods once. “Good.”

“See you monday?” 

“Mhm-hm,” he hums, expression gentle as he goes to close your door. “Have a good weekend,” he says before shutting you inside.

You exhale shakily within the quiet sanctuary of your car, the lack of noise allowing your mind to run rampant with repeats from the last few minutes. You glance down to your gift, trying to process it all until your eyes land on the tag — his name, his real name squiggled on the note.

The favouritism you’ve struggled to notice becomes as clear as day. Every interaction from the past now being thought of differently as you look back on it all. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

in my mind she’s very penelope garcia/ louisa clark/ phoebe buffay coded (more so in dress sense) she’s cute and i love her

[galacticscrotum]

Neurotypicals all need to be reminded that if you made fun of someone in school for being “weird,” you were making fun of autistic people and that’s ableist and wrong. If you don’t educate yourself and change, you’re a bad person.

Things I saw kids get made fun of for:

Walking on their toes

Communicating directly

Not making eye contact

Making too much eye contact

Having special interests

Not having the right interests

Having few friends

Trying to make friends

Being “too” happy

Feeling overwhelmed

Being shy

Not talking much

Talking too much

Having fun being silly

Being serious

Doing well in class (nerd)

Doing poorly in class (stupid)

Any noticeable stims

The way we eat

A lot of other shit

Yeah, those kids were neurodivergent and you were an asshole to them. Do you see all the contradictions in that list? You never actually had a problem with anything we did or didn’t do. You had a problem with our existence. The way we talked, walked, breathed, you bullied us for it.

What’s even more disgusting and insane:

Lots of these kids chose to spend their elective periods with the special ed kids class. Lots of them grew up to be teachers, SpEd teachers, psychologists, etc. not because they want to help autistic people, but because they want to feel superior.

A big fuck you to all of the bullies and jerks that treated us like shit simply for being different from you.

I hope you’ve changed, but I know you probably haven’t. You’re doing the same shit, all that’s changed is you’re getting paid for it now. Go to hell. (A very particular section of hell where you’re marginalized for your neurotype and forced into ABA therapy and treated exactly how you treated us).

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 3, finale)

pt 1 / pt 2

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don't go as you imagine.

a/n: the final part!! this was meant to be a really short one shot to show my appreciation for jb and then it ended up becoming. 15000 words. so you know sometimes things happen. anyways i hope you enjoy lol i had a lot of fun writing these two

wc: 4.7k

warning(s): none really? i guess some minor angst w/ allusions to cheating but this is the resolution it's pretty much all fluff

You’d never been this nervous on your way to the library. 

Maybe it was because you were just on the edge of helping Fiyero cheat on his girlfriend, and said girlfriend showed up in the midst of said almost cheating. 

Yeah. It was probably that. 

You didn’t know what was wrong with you, honest. It was almost exactly two weeks ago that you were a perfectly sane individual, more interested in making sure Fiyero didn’t ruin your life, and more importantly your grades—and now you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

You exhaled slowly as you stopped outside the door. You were going to finish the project tonight, and then everything would be back to normal. You would be back to only caring about your grades, and Fiyero would go back to Galinda. 

You ran your hands down your uniform to straighten your top, as well as try to straighten out your thoughts. At least you were early—you’d have some time to try and be a normal person while you waited for Fiyero to show up. 

That is, until you walked into the library and immediately heard someone call your name. 

Your eyes snapped in the direction of the voice, and your breath hitched despite yourself when you saw it was Fiyero. You cringed against the dirty looks from various students as you hurried over to him, where he sat at your usual table. 

“Good of you to finally show up,” he said in mock disdain. “You know, we are partners, so it would be nice for you to put in the same amount of effort.” 

You huffed as he threw your words back at you. “Clever. You’re still not meant to be loud in a library.” 

Fiyero shrugged. “I’m sure they don’t mind.” 

“They very much do,” you said, taking your seat across from him. “And why are you so early?”

“I wanted to make sure we got our usual spot,” he said. “Very popular real estate, this table.” 

“Right,” you nodded. “Thank you, then.” 

“Of course.” Fiyero looked at the stack of books in your arms—you’d been carrying them around for the past two weeks. “I wasn’t sure if you would remember to get the books after.” 

“Didn’t I tell you?” you said wryly. “I remember everything.” 

“Of course,” he repeated, his lips twitching. “I went by the library after to get them, but sure enough, you already had.” 

“You went to get them?” 

“You were soaked to the bone. I figured you had more important things to do.” 

“If you’ve been listening at all lately, you would know that school is the most important thing to me.”

“Right.” Fiyero chuckled, but there was a different edge to it. “I trust you were able to get back safely?” 

“It’s just to my dorm. I was fine. Oh, and—” you opened your bag and pulled out Fiyero’s jacket, perfectly folded— “thank you for this. I washed and dried it, so you don’t have to worry about any of it.”

He smiled as he took it, choosing to set it down next to him rather than slip it back on. Honestly, you were thankful. You… really liked this stripped down look. “I’m glad it was useful.” 

“It was,” you nodded. “How was your talk with Galinda?” 

He sighed and shook his head. “It was nothing.” 

“Fiyero, it was very obviously something,” you said. “What did she say to you?” 

“I brought coffee like you asked,” he said instead. He pushed both cups over to you. 

“Fiyero—” 

“I got you two,” he continued. “Figured you would need them more than I do.” 

You held your tongue as you stared at him, and he stared right back. It was clear you weren’t going to get anything out of him about this—at least, not yet. 

So you nodded and took one of the cups. “Thank you. You’re probably right.” 

Fiyero smiled and nodded. Then his eyes lit up, and he pointed at you. “You said you knew why Dillamond paired us together.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You chuckled a bit and shrugged. “I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out sooner. He was hoping we would both mellow each other out.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“All I really care about is school. I have big dreams and only one shot at them, so I refuse to slow down—I don’t know how to not stress about everything in my life, and it’s kinda killing me. You, on the other hand, don’t stress about anything. You dance through life without care—for your grades, what other people think about you, even the future, but because of it, people don’t ever see you for who you really are.” You tapped on the table between you. “We’re opposite ends of the spectrum. Doctor Dillamond wanted this project to help us meet in the middle—to influence each other for the better.”

“...Huh.” Fiyero leaned back and laughed. “So this was really just some kind of experiment?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you said wryly. “I think he just saw an opportunity and took it.” You gave him a look. “He was probably tired of you failing every test.” 

“And he was probably tired of you trying to take over his job,” Fiyero said in turn. 

“Oh, whatever,” you admonished with a smile. 

“Do you think it worked?”

“...I think so, yeah.” You gestured at him. “I couldn’t stand you at the beginning of all this. Now, I’d say we’re something close to friends.” 

“Something close to friends?” he asked in mock pain. “Not even the full thing?” 

“Give it another month.” 

“I don’t know,” Fiyero said offhandedly. “Wanting to hang out for another month sounds like something friends would do.” 

“Are you done?” you asked. 

“Never,” he said. “But I’ll put a temporary pause on it. Where are we at? How much work do we have left?” 

“We’ve got the whole paper written and I’ve proofread all of it—we just need to go through and rewrite some parts to make them stronger, and maybe add a little more substance in the middle. The sixth page is the weakest one.” 

“Makes sense,” he said. “It is the sixth page.” 

You huffed a laugh as you opened the folder you’d been keeping everything in and slid it over to the middle of the table. “Have you read the whole thing yet?” 

He shook his head, and your eyebrows rose. “Really? 

“Just the pages I wrote,” he said. “I’m sure yours are much better than mine.” 

“Then you read the whole essay while I go through my additions,” you said. “I could use some fresh eyes on it all—I’ve been staring at those words forever.” 

Fiyero nodded and took the stapled papers out of the folder. He met your eyes as he flipped the top page over. “Very nice title page.” 

“Thank you,” you said. “I took inspiration from the cover of a book Ilara wrote on Winkie languages, actually.” 

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?” 

You shrugged, biting back your smile as you turned back to your pages. “I thought it would be a nice touch.” 

You could see Fiyero’s smile out of your peripherals, and it almost made you forget about the questions gnawing at your skull. 

But now clearly wasn’t the time. So you pushed them away and did what you did best—ignored everything else in your life in favor of getting your schoolwork done. 

The time passed quickly enough that way. It took Fiyero a decent amount of time to read the entire paper—it didn’t help that he got distracted about twenty-five times and bothered you with questions each time, but his questions were at least related to the paper half the time, so you humored them. 

Two hours, both coffees, what felt like a thousand questions, and one exploded fountain pen later (thankfully not yours, though Fiyero somehow made the ink splatter on his undershirt look good)—

“I… think we’re actually done.” 

“Oz, I hope so,” Fiyero muttered. “This is the longest I’ve ever been in the library.” 

“These are rookie numbers,” you said wryly. “But yes, we’re done. We’ve got a really solid paper here, Fiyero.” You smiled. “And you helped with a good amount of it.” 

He puffed out his chest. “And you thought I would just ride your coattails the entire time.” 

“You thought that too,” you said. 

“I did,” he amended. “But it’s kind of impossible going against you.” 

You grinned. “I can’t believe it took you this long to figure it out.” 

You stood up from the table and took some time to stretch. Your wrists and fingers hurt from writing, and your eyes were strained from reading so much of your own writing (and Fiyero’s) for so long, but none of it really bothered you. You finished your midterm the day before it was due, and you were immensely proud of it. Considering you were at odds—admittedly one-sided odds—with Fiyero at the beginning, it should have been branded a miracle. 

“I know I’ve said it a lot, but I truly don’t know how you do this,” Fiyero said. “This is the most I’ve used my brain in a long time, but this is how you live. Truly exhausting.” 

You smiled. “Maybe you can try and get better grades now.” 

“Oh, darling,” Fiyero chided, “who do you think I am?” 

You chuckled and shook your head. “It was worth a shot.” 

You began to gather all the books scattered about the table—you were usually organized when you did work, but you’d ended up making quite the mess—and Fiyero helped. The two of you dropped them in the returns and you cracked your knuckles. 

“I’m so glad I don’t have to keep carrying all those back and forth,” you said.

“I’m surprised you haven’t thrown out your back yet,” he remarked. “But now you’re done with books for a while, at least.” 

“Oh, hardly,” you remarked. “In fact, there’s a chemistry book I need to check out to help with my assignment coming up.” 

Fiyero frowned as he started following your quick pace back to the aisles. “Have you got another paper?” 

“Not yet,” you said, paying him no mind as you checked book bindings to keep yourself on the right track. He could hardly keep up with you. “I just want to study up on the method we’re going to be using so I know how to do it.” 

“Isn’t the point of class to learn how to do it?” he asked. 

“I’m just wasting time if I don’t already know what I’m doing,” you said. You made a triumphant noise as you realized you were in the right aisle, and you started moving down, eyes rapidly scanning last names on book spines. 

“You truly make no sense,” Fiyero murmured. 

“There it is!” you exclaimed. You took a particularly hefty book off the shelf and skimmed through the first couple of pages, nodding once you’d confirmed you had the right one. “Alright, now we can—”

“That’s one nasty bruise.” 

You looked up from the pages to see Fiyero much closer than before, his brows furrowed as he looked at your arm. 

Your attention fell to where he was focused on, and you shrugged. “I must’ve done it while I was getting out of the water. I’ve always bruised easily.” 

“Probably because you don’t take care of yourself,” he said wryly. He moved to take your arm, but he met your eyes first for permission. When you nodded, he placed one hand underneath to support it. “Does it hurt?” 

“Not anymore,” you said. “I told you, Fiyero—I’m fine.” 

“I know,” he sighed. “You always are; I’m beginning to realize that.” 

You shrugged, though you smiled inwardly. “It’s a virtue.” 

“I really am sorry that you fell into the water,” he said. “I feel like it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not your fault at all,” you said. If anything, it was your fault for going into complete panic mode at the slightest glimpse of Galinda. 

“Still, though,” he said. “I’m surprised you weren’t angrier.” 

“Well… All this time I’ve spent with you has made me realize I don’t need to take everything so seriously.” You gave him a sideways smile, trying to imitate that easy smile he always seemed to have in his back pocket. “Especially when I’ve already got everything worked out.” 

“I’m glad I could teach you something,” Fiyero said softly. “In return for all you taught me.” 

“I taught you how to write an essay, you taught me how to not be miserable all the time,” you said wryly. “Certainly equals.” 

“You came along with it,” he murmured. “That’s more valuable than anything.” 

Something hard pressed against your back, and you realized you’d backed up against the bookcases, Fiyero angled in a way that caged you in. You met his eyes, surprised to see he was already looking at you. 

His gaze drifted to your lips. He started to lean in, you doing the same without fully realizing it, as if the two of you were pulled by some invisible string. 

His eyes had already fluttered shut. You were inches from his lips—he was letting you take the first step at your own pace. 

And then you stopped. 

“You’re with Galinda,” you whispered. You couldn’t help it. 

Fiyero stopped, and he sighed before he opened his eyes. “Hardly.”

“You’re arm in arm everywhere you go,” you said. “She’s head over heels for you and everyone knows, most of all you. You saw how she reacted to the two of us down by the water today!”

“She thinks there’s so much more than there is,” he said. “I’ve been pulling away. If she hasn’t noticed—”

“Does she know that?” you asked. 

He stayed silent. 

“Fiyero, does she know that you think this little of your relationship?” 

“...No,” he admitted. “She’s not the best at taking hints.” 

“Then don’t make her take them. Tell her.” You shook your head, letting out a shaky sigh as you took a step back. “If— if you actually want this—want me—then you have to tell her. You have to end things with her.”

Fiyero reached out a hand as he said your name, and you shook your head once more. 

“Galinda doesn’t deserve to be strung along while you try to figure out how you feel,” you said. “And neither do I.”

“That’s not what this is,” he said. “I promise.”

“Promises mean nothing if they’re just words,” you said. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to get rid of the chill running down your spine. “You know what I want, Fiyero. If it’s not what you want, then—”

“What do you want?” he interrupted. 

“I—” the word stuck in your throat. Fiyero was so close you could feel his warmth, smell his scent—it threatened to overwhelm you in the most intoxicating way. 

“What?” Fiyero’s gaze didn’t waver. Oz, he wanted to kill you. He wanted to hear you say it.

“I want you,” you finally managed to get out. Something changed in his eyes, and you saw his throat bob. “But I need to know this is real.” 

Fiyero took your hand. “It is.” 

He pulled you closer to him, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to fall into him and let him give you what you’d been fighting against. But you weren’t going to kiss him and make a fool of yourself just for him to go back to Galinda. 

“Then prove it,” you said. You took your hand back, and you pushed past him. Fiyero put up no resistance, and you still felt his eyes on you. 

“And when I do?” he spoke up. 

That stopped you in your tracks. You turned to meet his eyes, softer than you’d ever seen them. You looked down at the book in your hand, and you held it out to him. 

“Then meet in the library tomorrow to help me with my chemistry assignment.” 

Fiyero took the book and nodded. “I guess I’ve got even more to learn.”

-

You had a very rude awakening to your alarm clock the next morning. 

You hadn’t been able to sleep the whole night, your stupid, stupid words replaying in your head over and over again. Usually, when you couldn’t sleep you just worked on homework. But all of your homework was done, and you’d just finished your essay, so you had nothing to do but stare up at the ceiling. And stare up at the ceiling you did — you counted all the flowers and leaves on it at least fifteen times. 

It didn’t really help that Fiyero appeared in your dreams once you finally did manage to get some sleep, doing all sorts of lovely things to you. 

Cora was right. Against your better judgment, you liked Fiyero—just like everyone else liked Fiyero. 

All you had to hope was that he liked you too. 

It wasn’t absurd to think he did, was it? The man tugged at your strings constantly, but he stayed by your side the entire project despite your insults. He barely even glanced at Galinda when she confronted the two of you, and he offered his jacket in spite of all of it. 

He practically told you he liked you last night—Great Oz, he tried to kiss you. 

You overthought everything in your life, but you couldn’t overthink this. 

Could you?

God, men turned you into a disaster. There was a reason you avoided silly dalliances. 

You tried to push Fiyero out of your mind as much as possible as you got ready, but it wasn’t easy. You could, in fact, overthink this—and you very much were. 

You opened your door to go to the restrooms, but your door hit something. You frowned and crouched down, and you realized it was a book. Your chemistry book.

Your heart pounded as you picked it up. A strip of paper had been wedged in the middle, and when you pulled it out and smoothed the slip, you nearly dropped the book. 

You’re what I want. I just have to clear some things up. 

Meet me at Ozdust after dark. Wear your best. 

FT

Your heart fluttered despite yourself. 

Fiyero didn’t forget. You hadn’t scared him off with your declarations, with— with all your you. 

He didn’t forget. He chose you. 

He chose you. 

(You couldn’t overthink this.) 

((You were going to.))

Oh, Oz. 

How were you meant to go to your classes today?

-

You could have sworn you were shaking the entire way to Ozdust. 

This was just… not you. Sneaking off campus in the middle of the night, getting glitzed up to go dance, being with someone like Fiyero—it was so unfamiliar. You had to get Coralie to do your makeup and hair, and she squealed practically the entire time. For someone so smart, she really lost it when she was right. 

But you owed it to him to go through with it. After all, he wrote a ten page paper with you. You could do a little bit of dancing. 

You’d already started looking for him the moment you walked through the doors. You needed one thing to keep you afloat here. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take very long. You found Fiyero leaning up against a pillar, his arms crossed and gaze unfocused as his foot bounced up and down repeatedly. Warmth blossomed within your body just at the sight of him, which you were partly thankful for—your dress had you shivering. 

His head perked up as if he could sense your arrival, and it only took a few moments for him to find you in the crowd. The weight on his shoulders dissolved as he grinned and started to weave his way through the throngs of bodies to get to you. 

You couldn’t help but smile too when he reached you, something you’d never really seen before in his eyes as he met yours.

“You came,” Fiyero said.

“How could I not?”

He let out a nervous laugh. “Very easily, I think. I saw about a hundred different scenarios where you didn’t show.” 

“Overthinking,” you said. “It looks like I’ve taught you a little too much.” 

Fiyero grinned and shook his head. “Never.” 

You lifted up the skirt of your dress, feeling your skin heat beneath his gaze. “What do you think?”

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “You always are— always have been. This just accentuates it.”

“You’re too kind.” You wrapped your arms around yourself on instinct, feeling awfully bare and insecure now that everything had settled a bit. “This… isn’t exactly my scene.” 

“That project wasn’t my scene and you got me through it well enough,” he responded. “This is my scene—so just trust me and let me take the lead.”

“Trust you?” you said with a sideways smile. “I’m not sure there are worse things.”

“Oh, believe me.” Fiyero held out his hand. “There are indeed.” 

Before you could doubt yourself, you took it. He walked you to the dance floor, and you cleared your throat. 

“Is this a bad time to say I don’t really dance?” 

“You’ll be fine,” Fiyero assured. “I’m an excellent lead.” 

He was indeed. You always thought that you had two left feet, but Fiyero made you feel like you actually knew what you were doing. Every time you thought you might step on his foot, he would take you into the next few steps and it would all be fine. Of course, his touch lit flames everywhere it went, but that was of no matter. He only made you weak in the knees. 

As you looked at Fiyero, your arms draped around his neck and his hands resting on your waist while you swayed together to a slower part of the song, you couldn’t help but ask. 

“How did you break it to her?” 

Fiyero sighed. “I was wondering when you were going to ask that.” 

“You can’t blame me,” you said. 

“No,” he agreed. He sighed again. “Very carefully. And I had to do it about three times, because she didn’t fully believe me the first two times.” 

You bit your lip. “I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, don’t be. It was a long time coming. I care about her, but not in the way she does for me.” He gave you a wry smile. “That’s why I left the book at your door. I didn’t know how long it would take.” 

“And how long did it take?

“The better half of the day.”

You winced. “I hope she’s alright.”

“She will be,” he said. “Especially with someone like Elphaba by her side.”

“Good,” you said. “I… I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“You didn’t,” Fiyero assured. “If anything, you kept her from further harm by bringing me to my senses.”

“I wasn’t sure if you had.” You let out a nervous laugh—all of this was such new territory that you felt like you were stumbling over every step. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to show,” Fiyero said in turn. “It’s the first time I’ve been nervous about a girl in a while.”

His smile was so genuine, with a touch of the anxiousness you felt over every little part of your life. It had to feel absurd for someone who never worried a day in their life. 

“Really?” you asked. “I make you nervous?”

Fiyero shrugged—he actually looked bashful, and it was the cutest thing in the world. “You’ve got that effect on me. Effortlessly, I might add.” 

“Flatterer,” you remarked, but you were grinning all the while. “You know, you have the same effect on me. I stressed out even more trying to figure out if you liked me or not. Or if I liked you.”

“You know how much I adore that beautiful brain of yours,” Fiyero said, “but we made it. There’s nothing for you to overthink here.” 

“Oh, I think you underestimate me,” you said wryly. “Right now, I’m mainly stressing out about my dress and my makeup and accidentally stepping on your foot. I’m also a little stressed about the strength of these pillars, and I’m already thinking about my next assignment in chemistry now that I’ve got my book back.” 

Fiyero laughed as he spun you around. “Let me try to lay some of those to rest then,” he said when he had you back in his arms. “You look absolutely stunning in your dress, and your makeup is  perfect. You’re not going to step on my foot, and if you do, you can blame it on me because I’m leading you. If any of these pillars collapse, I’ll save you as any prince worth his salt would. As for your chemistry assignment, we’ll just work together on it.” 

You leaned your head against his chest as you swayed together. “And just how much do you know about chemistry?” 

“If you’re talking about whatever it is going on between the two of us, then I consider myself an expert.” 

“Fiyero.” You tried to be stern, but you couldn’t help your smile. He just brought out a different side in you. 

“Oh, you’ll be fine. I know you will.” When he twirled you back around, he wore the same easy smile from when the two of you got paired together. Funny how you wanted to punch it off him then, and you want to kiss it off him now. “You got me to write an essay without me complaining the entire time. You can do anything.” 

“Oh, I know I can,” you said with a smile. “I don’t do all this because I doubt that I’ll succeed.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he mused. 

“Really?”

“I just want you to know how amazing you are,” Fiyero said. “I’ll tell you every day if that’s what it takes.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” you murmured.

A new song started up and Fiyero guided you into a new dance. He was so sure of every step that it almost made you feel like you knew what you were doing as well. 

“You say you’re prepared for anything.” Fiyero’s voice was a sultry whisper as he led you around the floor, and your entire body ignited with his every word and touch. “What would you do if I kissed you?”

For a moment, all you could do was meet his lidded gaze. It dropped to your lips, and suddenly it was all you could imagine.

“I—” your throat bobbed as you swallowed, your mouth dry beyond belief, “—I would kiss you back.”

“Oh, darling,” he breathed, the hand he had on your waist drawing you closer, “that was all you needed to say.”

Fiyero dipped you, strong arms supporting you all the while as he leaned down to meet your lips. It was everything that you’d imagined and more, his plush lips enveloping yours as his scent filled your nose.

He took over all your senses. His scent, his lips on yours, his strong arms supporting you with ease, your fingers tangling in his hair. Were his arms not around you, you would have surely collapsed. You always thought people were exaggerating when they said they got weak in the knees—you didn’t think that anymore. 

Fiyero only let up an inch when he pulled away, still close enough for your noses to brush even as he brought you back up out of the dip. You closed your eyes and touched your forehead to his, and you heard his breath hitch the slightest bit. The ballroom was full of people, and yet he made you feel as if you were the only two in all of Oz. 

“You’re incredible,” you murmured. You felt like you could melt. 

“As are you.” Fiyero let out a breathy sigh. “I can’t believe I waited so long.” 

“I hope it was worth the wait.” 

“You’re worth everything and more,” he said softly. 

He leaned in and brushed his lips against yours again; once, twice, three times before he pulled back. He was nothing less than intoxicating. 

“We make a pretty good team,” he said with a sideways smile. “Don’t you agree?”

This time, spurred on by his encouragement, you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him. Fiyero kept you close with his hands on your waist, and you only pulled away when air became a necessity. You couldn’t help your stupid smile—it had been a long time since you’d felt this happy, and it was all because of the man in front of you. 

You couldn’t believe you ever thought you loathed him. 

“I do,” you murmured. “I really, really do.”

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Blue Christmas | S.H. ⋆⁺₊❅.

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: You and Steve were casual fwb in high school. You're back in town for Christmas, having just broken up with your college boyfriend. You pick up a sad Christmas movie at Family Video, and Steve refuses to let you wallow alone.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, breakups (not w/ steve), fluffff, talk of self-esteem issues, shitty exes, sweet lil marshmallow stevie, oral, p in v, praise kink, initially she's sorta using Steve to feel better (but he's 1000000% okay with it) and she ends up feeling the feelings.

The soupy heat of Family Video wafts over you when you step through the doors, the salt-covered rug squelching under foot. You lower your hood, shaking out your hair as you peer around the store. Front and center is a Christmas display loaded with movies, complete with a waving, pink-cheeked Santa Clause.

“Y/n?” A familiar, masculine voice calls over Elvis’s version of “Blue Christmas”. You squeeze your eyes shut, having prayed you’d get through Christmas in Hawkins without seeing a singular familiar face beside your mothers, and turn to the voice.

Steve Harrington, Steve fucking Harrington, is standing behind the counter, his hands braced against the edge of it. He looked more or less that same as the last time you saw him a year and a half prior. His jaw was a little squarer, his hair not quite as tall, his shoulders a bit broader. Still just as irritatingly handsome, though.

“Hey, Steve.” You waved, approaching the counter.

“I didn’t know you were coming into town,” he said, smiling as if he was genuinely happy to see you. It wasn’t that you were unhappy to see him, but your previous high school fling was the last person you wanted to see this particular holiday season.

“Yeah, well. Surprise.” You shrugged, wincing internally at the obvious melancholy in your voice.

Of course, Steve clocked it, his smile faltering. “I take it spending your Christmas in Hawkins was a surprise for you too?”

“That obvious?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I lost count of how many times you said you’d never come back once you left.”

Guilt tightened your throat. Why did he make that sound like it was so…personal? “Turns out it’s not simple.”

He hummed in response, moving out from behind the counter, his green vest looking very festive against his red crew neck. “Were you looking for anything in particular?” he asked, leaning against the counter beside you.

God, how did you forget how tall he was? You barely reached his shoulder, his chin tilted down to look at you. His cologne invaded your space, a warmer, spicier blend than you recalled him wearing. His proximity stirred butterflies in your stomach, your body remembering exactly the way felt against you, the ways he used to make you feel…the ways you hadn’t felt since despite being in a year long relationship. Well, despite having been in year long relationship.

You’d ended things when the fall semester wrapped up, effectively incinerating your plans to spend Christmas with him and his family in Chicago. Despite being the one to end things, you were still grieving. Not for him, per se, but the version of yourself you’d lost along the way. Now, you felt directionless and lonely, and being back in the town you left behind was only making you feel worse.

“It’s A Wonderful Life,” you replied, walking towards the Christmas stand to escape his magnetic aura, which somehow, you were still not immune to.

Steve grimaced. “Really? You don’t want something a little more, I dunno, lighthearted?”

“Do I look like I’m in a ‘lighthearted’ place, Harrington?” You bit.

“What’s going on?” He asked, pushing off the counter to come closer, his forehead creased with concern. “You can’t be this upset about spending a few days in Hawkins.”

“Nothing’s going on.” You turn towards the stand, pretending to peruse the options so he doesn’t see the moisture collect along your lashes.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re hurting?” He crossed his arms over his chest, giving you that stern dad look he’d mastered.

You sighed, wiping at your cheek with your scarf. “I was supposed to spend it with my boyfriend, but we broke up instead.” It all came tumbling out of you in a tearful rush. “Now I’m back in dead-end Hawkins with nothing to do by stare at the walls of my childhood bedroom, so I’m looking for a sad movie to wallow in my own misery. Is that okay with you, Officer Steve?”

He stared at you for a moment, dark eyes tracking a tear as it rolled down your cheek. “No, it’s not okay with me.” He grabbed It’s a Wonderful Life of the shelf and walked back to the counter. He rang up the film and dropped it into a bag, along with two boxes of your favorite candy, and a pack of red vines. “Your place or my apartment? My roommate’s cool, y’know, if you want a different view.”

You blinked, trying to piece together what was happening. “Steve, what—”

“Look, you can wallow all you want, but I’m not going to let you do it alone on Christmas.” He wiggled the bag at you. “You coming or not?”

“I—” Going back to Steve’s felt risky. You could still feel a thread of that physical connection with him, the vibration of your body so easily attuning to his. But, you were trying to reclaim who you were before your ex. Maybe being a little reckless was exactly what you needed. “Fuck it. Sure, let’s go to your place.”

He locked up the store and quickly led you through the frigid wind to his car, snow already accumulating on the hood and roof. He opened the door for you, having to tug hard to break the seal of ice, and gestured for you to slide in. The BMW was exactly as you remembered, with it’s dark interior and tinted windows, the smell of Steve embedded in every stitch.

You glanced at the backseat while he rounded the car, heat climbing your neck at the memories the two of you made across that bench seat.

Steve opened the door and you whipped your head forward, but you knew that he caught you, a small smile softening his face as he settled into the drivers seat. Thankfully, he didn’t rib you about it.

He cranked the heat and flipped on the windshield wipers, knocking the snow onto the ground with an umph. “Anything in particular you want to listen to?” He asked, fiddling with the tuning dial.

“Whatever CD you have in is fine,” you said, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “As long as it isn’t, like, Toto.”

He gasped, clutching his chest. “I can’t believe you think I listen to Toto.”

You snorted. “Well, you do listen to Duran Duran.”

“One time!” he argued.

“You had the CD in for a month!”

“Yeah, one month!”

You found yourself smiling, that glow of familiarity wafting over you. It was a little jarring that you felt more at home in the passenger seat of Steve’s car than you did at your actual home, but you could examine that later. For now, you just wanted to enjoy the ease of it. Steve always made everything feel so easy.

It was a trait of his you often resented, but only out of jealousy, and how much it made you miss his when he was gone.

God, you’d really missed him.

“How about this?” He asked, hitting play on the dash. “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me” by Night Ranger filtered through, the volume low.

“Acceptable choice, Harrington,” you replied, and he rolled his eyes.

“You’re worse than my friend Eddie,” he chuckled, placing his hand behind your headrest to check his blind spot before pulling out.

“Eddie? As in Eddie Munson?” You were baffled. Golden boy Steve Harrington was friends with Hawkins-reject Eddie Munson? What alternate reality had you stepped into?

“Yeah, why do you look so surprised?” He flicked your ear as he pulled his hand back to the wheel.

“Because!” You squeaked, batting his hand away. “You looked at a joint one time and nearly hurled. I just can’t see it.”

“Yeah, well. I’m a changed man,” he hummed, drumming his fingers onto he steering wheel as he navigated the empty streets, the snow falling in golden flurries from the headlights.

“I’m starting to gather.” You settled back into your seat, watching the familiar store fronts roll by and trying not to look at him.

“So, why’d you dump him?” Steve asked, never one to sit in silence for long.

“His cock was too big.”

Steve barked a laugh. “I find that hard to believe. You always were greedy—”

“Steve!” You gasped, smacking his arm as a embarrassment scorched your cheeks.

“What? We’re going to pretend that I didn’t fuck you after prom right there—”

“No, but, Christ!” You laughed, hiding your face in your scarf.

“Hey, you’re the one that brought up cocks.”

“My mistake,” you huffed, catching his eye as he glanced over at you, a cheeky grin crinkling his face.

“’Least it made you smile,” he said, turning into an apartment complex parking lot, full of potholes and poorly plowed snow. “Here we are, Chez Harrington.” He parked, hopped out of the car, and ran around the front to open the door for you.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing him for being so weirdly gentleman-ly. But as soon as you stepped out, your converse slid across a patch of black ice, sending you collapsing into his arms.

“Careful,” he chuckled, his face mere inches from yours. “It’s slippery.” He set you back on your feet and offered you his arm for balance. You begrudgingly accepted, not particularly keen on cracking your skull open a few days before Christmas.

“So who’s your roommate?” You asked as he lead you into the building.

“Robin Buckley,” he replied, fishing his key out of his pocket and letting you both into the heat-blasted lobby.

“Just how many new friends have you made?” You teased, still arm in arm as you walked to the elevator. You remembered Robin, you’d been in English together.

“Ah—” Steve glanced up like he was counting in his head. “A few.”

A stab of loneliness pierced through you. At one point, you’d had loads of friends too, never as many as Steve, of course, but a good group to call your own. But, in college, all of your friends had been your boyfriend’s first, and now…you’d fled to Hawkins, and had no idea if you’d have any friends to return to.

Your melancholy returned in earnest, soured further by the intrusive thought that Steve was only entertaining you because he felt bad for you, or worse, just wanted to get his dick wet. But, weren’t you using him for basically the same reasons? You thought you were, but then he’d been so Steve-like that you’d gotten caught up in your old banter, forgetting that gulf of months between you.

It hadn’t felt forced at all, and that made your heart rate quicken.

The elevator dinged open, jarring you from you reverie.

“Where’d you go?” Steve asked, nudging you inside. Christmas music played softly from the speaker, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”, of course, and tears burned behind you eyes once again.

You just wanted Christmas to be over. All the manufactured joy made your hurt feel that much more real.

“Hey, c’mere.” Steve tugged you into his chest as the doors rolled closed, the elevator lifting off the ground with a mechanical groan.

You curled your hands into his sweater, breathing in his cologne and the lingering scent of saran-wrapped video store, and fought down the wave of emotion trying to choke you.

Steve’s hands rubbed up and down your back, his cheek resting on top of your head. “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard Christmas,” he murmured into your hair. “But you’re always welcome to hide away with me whenever you need to. Or want to.”

The doors dinged and you pulled away, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “Thanks, Stevie,” you sniffed.

The look on his face was so soft, you could barely stand it, his features turned down in worry, his brows furrowed just slightly. “C’mon, we gotta get those tears out somehow.” He grabbed your hand and led you down the hall, unlocking the door to his apartment. “Buckley?” He called, flicking on the lights in the kitchen. “Robin, you home?” He called again, walking into the tidy, but cluttered living room.

There were string lights stretched across the ceiling, and a pathetic little Christmas tree on the coffee table. Posters hung on every wall, with weird art and trinkets heaped onto bookshelves and hand-me-down furniture. Steve’s shoes were in a neat row by the door, and Robin’s were scattered everywhere, mixed up and turned around.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. The whole place screamed Steve, form the sports memorabilia, to the specific movie posters by the TV.

“Guess she’s out,” Steve said, coming back into the living room. “I’ll take your coat and scarf.” He extended a hand to you, and you kicked off you shoes before passing him your outerwear, suddenly remembering that you were wearing just a white turtleneck underneath, sans bra.

Steve’s seen your tits countless times. It’s fine, or so you told yourself.

To his credit, he kept his eyes firmly on your face, then walked back to what you assume is his room to set your things down. He returned a few moments later, dressed in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants.

“I set another pair of pajama pants on the bed if you wanted to, ah, get comfortable,” he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his head and gesturing to your jeans.

A flurry of butterflies tickled your insides. “Sure, thanks,” you said, slipping past him and into his bedroom.

The smell of him enveloped you once again, and you loosed a long exhale after closing the door behind you. His room was less decorated than the rest of the apartment, with just a few photos and posters on the wall, with a bookshelf by the door and his unmade bed up against the window.

You were seized with the desire to climb under his covers, wrap yourself in him, but you resisted.

Unable to help yourself, you snooped around his dresser. There, stuck to the mirror with a piece of scotch tape, was a Polaroid of you and Steve kissing at a party Senior year. He has you dipped low, his hand on your lower back, and your lips tingled at the memory.

As promised, pair of flannel sweatpants waited for you at the foot of the bed, along with a folded up sweatshirt. Your heart gave a painful thump when you realized what hoodie he’d selected. It was his grey Hawkins High hoodie, a faded, roaring tiger on the front and Harrington in bold letters on the back. It had been your favorite of his, one you would steal every chance you got.

You shimmied out of your jeans and pulled on the sweatpants, the fabric soft from wear and a handful of sizes too large. Then, you tugged the hoodie over your head, pausing to bury your face in the collar, breathing in the comforting scent.

When you emerged into the living room, you found him stretched out on the couch, bowls of candy and popcorn set up on the table, the movie’s home screen on the TV. All the lights were off, save the string lights and the Christmas tree, casting the room in a sleepy, warm glow that contrasted perfectly with the flurries of white just outside the window.

You resisted the urge to flop into his arms, and instead curled up on the opposite end of the couch, tucking a blanket around your legs. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but you pretended not to see it.

You didn’t trust yourself to touch him. If being wrapped up in his hoodie felt this magical, what would it feel like to be wrapped up in him?

“Ready?” He asked, pointing the remote.

You nodded, and he hit play.

You didn’t make it twenty minutes before you started crying again, real, hiccuping sobs that you’d been forcing down for over a week.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, gathering you and your blanket in his arms. “That’s it, y/n. You need a good cry, huh?” He laid back onto the couch and tucked you into his side, your legs tangled together, your head buried into his neck as you fell apart. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into your hair, and just held you tightly, a safe harbor to crash into.

He let you cry for awhile without question or complaint, letting you soak his shirt with tears, before he cupped your face, lifting your head to look at him.

“You are one of my most favorite people in the whole world,” he said matter-of-factly, spurring renewed tears. But he held your face firm and didn’t let you bury yourself back into his shoulder. “And you deserve all of the wonderful things in life. And anyone who doesn’t give that to you is a fucking idiot.”

“But he was wonderful,” you whimper, trembling in his hands as the truth finally forced itself from you. “He was everything I should have wanted, but I just…I couldn’t love him. And I couldn’t lie to him anymore either.”

“You can’t help who you love,” he said gently, wiping your cheeks and nose with a tissue. “You did the right thing.”

“But what’s wrong with me? I should have been able to—”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Steve said firmly, sitting up slightly to look down at your tear-streaked face. “You’re—” he sighed, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “You’re everything, y/n.”

“If nothing's wrong with me, then why do I feel so alone?” you murmur, voice watery and weak.

He leaned his forehead against yours, shaky breathes mingling in the warm air. You could feel his heart racing against yours “You were never alone. I was always right where you left me,” he breathed, his nose bumping yours. “All you had to do was call.”

You sat up, shoving him off of you. “Why didn’t you call, Steve?” You felt panicked, overwhelmed by the barrage of emotions waiting for your attention. Desire, guilt for feeling desire so soon after your breakup, fear of rejection, embarrassment for how quickly you were falling for his charm once again. Ashamed that you came here in the first place, and thrilled that you still had a place to go to.

“I—” Hurt shadowed his face. “You told me you were leaving for good. That you didn't want anything to do with Hawkins.” You jumped up and he stood with you, following you as you fled to the kitchen. “That you wanted a new life!”

“I didn't mean you, Steve!” You shouted, slamming your hands on the counter. “But you had everything. Friends, prospects, a family, Nancy,” you spit. “I had nothing here but you.” The confession slipped out before you had a chance to stop yourself, like the words had been waiting on the tip of your tongue, laying just beneath the surface.

Steve stared at you, baffled. “You think I didn't need you?” He asked, voice softening.

You shook your head, turning away so he didn't see you start to cry again.

His hands gripped your shoulders and you gasped when he spun you around, his head bent low to look you in the eye. “Y/n, you and I both know that I'm probably going to die in Hawkins. I'm not one of the ones that gets out.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but he didn't stop.

“But you. You wanted to get out, you did get out.” He shook you as if to punctuate his point. “And I've missed you like crazy. Every damn day. But I couldn't hold you back. I couldn't be the reason you stayed here.”

Your heart fractured at his words, that he thought he wasn't worth being someone's reason. That he would somehow hold you back from happiness.

He was your happiness. And you'd been too blinded by fantasies of escaping to see it. You'd told him your entire relationship, or whatever the hell it was, that you would never stay. That Hawkins wasn't good enough for you. And he’d heard that he wasn't good enough for you.

You did what was supposed to be “better”, what you thought you always wanted, and you were completely miserable.

“Steve, I—” you couldn't find the words to express what you were thinking, what you were feeling.

“Don't. Don't give me hope unless you really mean it.” His jaw clenched, honey brown eyes rimmed with red. “I let you go once, I can't—I can’t do it again.” He leaned his forehead against yours, releasing a shaky exhale.

It clicked then, why you wanted so badly to escape from Hawkins. Why you always kept Steve at arms length despite the way your soul twined with his. Why you couldn't make the relationship with your ex work.

You dreamed your entire life of fleeing, so you were terrified of what staying meant.

“Steve,” you murmured, placing your hands on his chest, his heart thumping wildly beneath your palms. “I don't want to run anymore.”

His heart beat impossibly faster, his muscles tensing.

“I want you. Wherever we are, whatever that means.” You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss the corner of his mouth. “Hawkins isn't my home. You are.”

Steve made a pained sound in his throat, then crashed his lips to yours, desperate and rough. You opened for him, his tongue delving between your lips to lick at your teeth, dance with your tongue, claiming every square inch of your mouth as his.

You'd shared countless kisses, but none were this fervid, this hungry. Gone was your playful, tender Stevie, and in his place stood a starving man ready to claim what was his.

Heat spilled through your body, your pussy throbbing with each stroke of his tongue. Your fingers found there way into his hair, drawing him closer, wishing you could open up your skin and let him crawl inside so you'd never be apart again.

You gasped for air, chest burning as he licked a stripe up your neck, latching onto your pulse point and sucking hard.

“Steve,” you whined, lifting your left leg and wrapping it around his waist so you could angle yourself closer. His hips immediately started grinding into yours, the hardness of him hitting your clit just right through his sweatpants.

“Goddamn, I missed you,” he groaned, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses over your neck, his hand sliding under his hoodie to feel your fevered skin.

It wasn't enough though, and he shifted to pull it over your head and tossing it across the kitchen, leaving you in your thin turtleneck.

“A turtleneck has literally never looked so sexy.” He dropped to his knees, his hot mouth finding your taut nipples through the fabric.

You moaned, head falling back as you carded your fingers through his thick hair, pulling him closer. His teeth grazed your sensitive points and you nearly collapsed onto him, the pleasure and pain rewiring your brain.

“So fucking perfect,” he hummed, biting at your outside of your left breast. His hands found the waist band of your pants, tugging them down and tossing them aside with your hoodie. “Jump up f’me,” he said, hands on your hips.

You did as you were told and he lifted you into the counter, your clothed pussy now level with his face.

“Steve,” you said, tilting his chin up to look at you. His eyes were on fire, wild with desire. “What if Robin comes home?”

“Lucky Robin,” he chuckled, voice raspy, and ducked out of your hold, his tongue laving a scalding stroke over your soaked panties.

“Ohh—shit, Stevie,” you loosed a pornstar-esque moan as he bathed your pussy with his tongue, sucking at the fabric and your clit. He finally pulled your panties aside, his tongue making direct contact with your puffy lips. You felt like you were vibrating out of your skin, the pleasure so intense you felt it in every pore, every follicle, every cell of your body.

He groaned, a euphoric sound, as he lapped at your entrance, his tongue delving inside the way he knew you liked.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration as he pulled back to bite at the meat of your thigh. “You taste even better than I remembered.”

You pulled at his hair, urging him back between your thighs, but he resisted, seeming to have let some the urgency ebb in favor of toying with you.

“What, honey? Your ex not take good care of my pussy?” He spread your sticky lips with his pointer and middle finger, exposing your swollen clit.

My pussy. A fresh swell of arousal pulsed through you at his words.

“No, never,” you whined, the ache between your legs growing unbearable as he studied you.

“Never?” He asked, looking up at you with his eyebrows raised. “He never ate you out?”

You shook your head, glancing away in shame.

“You poor thing,” he cooed, the tip of his tongue flicking over your exposed bundle and making your body jerk. “That why you're so squirmy, love?”

You nodded, biting your lips as he continued to slowly trace his tongue over you. “Please, baby. I need you,” you whimpered, lifting your hips to chase his mouth. “Please, Stevie. Please make me cum.”

You felt him smile against you, those brown eyes watching your face pinch with desperation, chest heaving.

“Since you asked so nicely…” He flattened his tongue against you and licked upwards, and you melted onto the counter, bliss rocking through you. The urgency from earlier returned, and he feasted on your cunt like it was the most delicious meal he'd ever had.

His tongue and teeth were everywhere, ratcheting you higher and higher with every nip, flick, and suck. You were on cloud nine, loudly singing his praises as he worshiped you with his tongue.

You felt that knot of pleasure tighten to the breaking point, hovering on the edge for less than a heartbeat before he sent you careening over the edge and into euphoria.

“Fuck, Steve!” You cried, your body convulsing as the orgasm ravaged through you. He was smiling again, lapping at the fresh honey spilling from you and holding you securely to the counter so you didn't slide off.

“There’s my girl,” he praised, licking his lips as he rose to his feet. “You look so fucking pretty like this.” He peppered kisses across your exposed neck, pulse fluttering just under the skin. “I almost feel bad for the guy. What kind of idiot wouldn't want to drown in you?”

You got your bearings, blinking away the stars in your eyes. “I even gave him head,” you chuckled, sitting up with a little assistance.

“I didn't need to know that.” He rolled his eyes, kissing you lightly, the taste of you lingering on his tongue.

“Are you jealous, baby?” You hummed, kissing along the curve of his neck.

“Duh.” His grip tightened on your thighs, head tipping slightly to give you better access.

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” You palmed his cock through his pants, licking his cheek to make him smile. “He wasn't nearly as pretty as you.”

“Of course not. Who is?” He joked, but his voice was rough with desire, his hips canting forward to rub against your hand.

“C’mon, pretty boy. Let's go to your room.”

He didn't need to be told twice. He scooped you up and practically ran to his room, flopping backwards onto the mattress with you still in his arms so you straddled him.

You leaned down and captured his lips in another kiss, quickly deepening it with a drag of your teeth on his lower lip. But before he could get too into it, you broke the kiss and shifted down his body, pushing up his shirt to kiss along his torso.

He moaned, propping himself up his elbows to watch you through heavy lids. You licked along his hip bone, making his cock kick against your chest.

“Shirt off,” you ordered, and he quickly obliged, tossing it to the end of the bed. “So handsome, Stevie,” you cooed, pausing to admire his more muscular build, though he was still quite lean. You couldn't help but lean forward and press some kisses along his happy trail and the hair across his chest, loving the masculine look and feel of him.

You kissed back down his body, settling on your knees between his legs. He watched with rapt attention as you pulled his sweatpants down and freed his weeping cock. It bounced up, slapping him in the stomach and smearing pearly precum against his skin.

It was just as pretty as your remembered, more length than girth, with a rose petal flush and pronounced veins.

You licked up the mess he’d made, kissing around his shaft while it nudged at your cheek.

“Baby,” he whined, smoothing a hand over your hair. “Quit teasing me.”

You smirked and licked a long stripe up the root of him, earning a throaty cry. You let your instincts take over, remembering every sensitive place and technique that made him unravel while you worked his cock with your tongue, doing everything but taking him fully into your mouth.

“Holy fucking—baby, you're killing me.” His hips bucked up against you, desperate to be wrapped in the heat of your body. “Mmmph, that feels unreal.”

You glanced up at him, finding his head thrown back, his eyes screwed shut. A flush had spread across his chest, a dewy sheen over his skin.

Satisfied that you'd tortured him long enough, you took his cock in your mouth, swallowing him in a fluid motion. You only reached about three-quarters of the way down before your throat protested, though he acted like you swallowed him all the way to his soul.

“Fuuuuck, y/n,” he moaned, gripping you tighter as you bobbed up and down, hallowing your cheeks. “You suck him this good?” He asked, taking over your motions and lifting and lowering you on his cock.

You shook your head as best you could, drool dribbling down your chin.

“Good,” he rasped, releasing you so you could return to your own rhythm.

You reached up and wrapped one of your hands around the base, stroking him in time with your mouth. He fell back onto the mattress, throwing an arm over his face, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Baby, you're gonna make cum if you keep that up,” he warned, fisting the sheets with his free hand. “F-fucking shit.”

You finally eased off him, the demanding ache between your legs too much to ignore. You needed him inside you. Now.

Apparently on the same page, he wasted no time grabbing you by the waist and tossing you back onto the bed. He climbed up between your legs, his hands braced on either side of your head. His cock was nestled against your sloppy center, drooling and hot to the touch.

He leaned down and kissed you, sweet and chaste considering you were just gagging on his cock. “This what you want?” He asked, pulling back to look into your eyes.

It felt like he wasn't just asking about the sex.

“More than anything,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He smiled and kissed you again, one of his hands reaching down to line himself up with your entrance. Breaking the kiss, you buried your face into the safety of his neck as his slid into you, your thoroughly aroused pussy accepting him with ease.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he murmured into your hair pressing soothing kisses to the top of your head. “You were ready for me, huh? So wet and soft—god—fuck.” His voice broke as you rolled your hips against him, his length gliding through you.

You threw your head back, crying out when he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. He eased out, slow and steady, before slamming home again, knocking every thought from your mind.

“I remember how you like it, honey. Want me to fuck you stupid?” He asked, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“Yes, God, yes,” you moaned, already swept up in the current of pleasure.

“I got you, pretty girl. Just relax.” He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead before reaching up to grip the headboard. He doubled his pace, rutting into you at a rate that made you see stars, your body completely surrendering to him.

With Steve, you didn't have to think. You didn't have to doubt. You could just let go and trust that he would have you.

He fucked you hard, sliding his hand between you to pet your clit the way you loved, slow and soft in comparison to the brutality of his thrusts. He could play you like an instrument, and it drove you fucking wild.

“Fuck, baby. Look at you, already a wreck for me. Does that feel good, honey?” He mouthed into the skin of your neck, breath hot and panting.

You keened when he changed the angle of his hips, hitting the terrible, magical spot inside you. Your orgasm was coming on fast, your whole body trembling as it wound higher and higher.

“I wanna feel you come around my cock, that's it. Good fucking girl—fuck!” Your and Steve’s orgasms collided, sucking the air out of the room and sending you both reeling. Bodies clinging to one another as he fucked you threw it, your pussy baring down hard on his pulsing cock.

“Fuck, I love you,” he panted, collapsing on top of you, sweaty and warm and trembling. “I love you,” he repeated, like he was a little stunned the words came out of his mouth.

You wrapped your limbs around him, his softening cock notching a bit deeper, making you both gasp. “I love you too,” you whisper, hardly believing that those words were finally coming out of your mouth after so many years.

You were so full. So full of him, of love, of excitement for what this meant. Suddenly, Christmas sounded magical again.

You lay together in a tangle of limbs, just breathing and feeling one another, basking in the honeyed afterglow.

“Merry Christmas,” he hummed, sounding almost drunk.

“Merry Christmas.” You kissed his temple, feeling your eyes start to grow heavy.

Ring ring!

“Gah, fuck,” Steve huffed, reluctantly shoving off of you and pulling on some sweatpants.

Ring ring!

He padded out into the kitchen and you followed him, wrapping a quilt around your naked body and giggling at the irritated look on his face.

“Go for Steve,” he answered, and you had to cover your mouth to suppress a laugh.

“Go for Steve? Really? That's embarrassing.” A female voice drifted through the speaker. Robin, you presumed. “Have you eaten yet?”

Steve smirked at you, running his tongue over his teeth. “Not dinner, no. Why?”

“Of course dinner. Do you want pizza, or—oh God, ew. Don't ever speak to me like that again.” Robin was quiet for a beat. “Does that mean Santa brought y/n home?”

Your jaw dropped, and Steve flushed scarlet.

“Pizza sounds great! Peppers and onions, extra sauce. Thanks, Rob!” Steve slammed the phone into the receiver.

You slinked towards him, sliding your hands up his bare chest while he tried to avoid your eyes, pink staining his cheeks. “Stevie?”

“Hm?”

“Did you ask Santa for me?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I may have asked a mall Santa at the bar while I was drunk. Maybe.”

You grinned, affection melting your heart, and grabbed his face to peck his warm cheek. “And you remembered my pizza order,” you cooed, nuzzling him.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you, or whatever.” He murmured, catching your lips in a smiling kiss.

“I love you too, Harrington.”

Thanks for reading!

I'm still open for holiday requests, so feel free to send your ideas my way!

[happy74827]

Butterflies

[Harvey Specter x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You know you’re screwed when you feel them fluttering in your chest {GIF Creds: jeysuso}.

WC: 717

Category: Fluff

For all my Harvey lovers out there, I made a cute fluffy quickie (I’m seeing a lot of my fics being swarmed with love so why not add to it 🤗)

『••✎••』

It happened over a bottle of bourbon. A spilled bottle, actually. But a bottle of bourbon nonetheless, and that is important to note.

You didn’t mean to spill the alcohol all over your date, but he had made some comment about how you shouldn't be wearing a dress with a plunging neckline, so you just… happened to tip the entire thing over him.

The man was furious, of course, but he left pretty quickly after that. And you were left with a mess on the floor and a waiter hovering at the side, asking if you wanted another bottle.

You told him no. You just wanted to go home.

You didn't want a new date; you didn't want to sit at this stupid table with the stupid white tablecloth, the stupid, gaudy candlesticks, or the stupid waiter with the stupid, expectant look on his face.

"Miss?"

"No, thank you," you say, a little more firmly, gathering up your things and leaving as much cash as you can on the table. If you were smart, you'd have brought an umbrella, but you're not smart, so you'll just get drenched like an idiot.

But, fortunately for you, the person calling your name knew you well enough to know you weren’t that smart.

Before a drop of water could even hit your hair, a tall, dark figure steps out in front of you and blocks the downpour. Some might consider this a gentlemanly action, but you knew the man, and he was hardly ever gentle.

"You're welcome," Harvey says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're a pain," you reply, but you're grateful for the cover.

"And you're dateless. So, I see two options: we can have dinner and a drink back at my place, or we can do dinner and a drink back at mine."

You can't help but laugh. "Did you use this on Scottie? I see why she left. That line was bad."

"You're not going to ask how I knew you were here?"

"Nope. You probably had Louis stalk me."

"Don't talk about the puppy like that."

"So you did have him stalk me!"

"I prefer the term 'make sure you were alright,'" Harvey replies, and he holds out his arm to you. "Guy was a douche. Let me buy you dessert to make up for it. And I don’t mean in the biblical sense, although that can be arranged, too, if you'd like."

"Harvey, you’re such—"

You turned to him, ready to tell him exactly what you thought of him, but the words died when you met his eyes. Those same eyes that allured you into taking his offer at Pearson Hardman. The same eyes that made you agree to work with him on the case despite your better judgment.

In a flash, you saw the whole thing: your first meeting, the cases, the laughs, the looks, the touches. And now, the moment.

When you were younger, the term butterflies had never really made sense to you. The idea of feeling them in your stomach seemed ridiculous, and yet, there you were, feeling them for the very first time.

They were all fluttering around inside of you, and all you could think was, "Oh, no."

And as if the universe had heard you, it suddenly stopped raining, and you both stood there in the middle of the street, the moon casting a warm light on your faces.

Harvey noticed it, too, and his expression softened. His usual cockiness was replaced with a gentle concern. "You okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "Yeah."

Harvey reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering a moment longer than it needed to. He gave you that signature grin and asked, "You look like a velvet cake kind of girl. Am I right?"

He was right.

Goddamnit, he was right.

And as he swaddled you in his coat to keep you warm as you both went back inside, the anger and confusion you felt earlier melted into a quiet, warm glow.

Date night had not gone according to plan, but when his lips met yours and your hands slid through his soft, brown hair, you realized that, perhaps, sometimes, it was good to deviate from the plan.

The butterflies seemed to agree.

[sofiawritesstuff]

Platonic

part 1

summary: When Lando’s “playboy” image is setting a bad reputation for him. He’s turns to the person he trust most in this world for help.

pairing: landonorris x bestfriend!reader

warnings: none (i don’t think)

This is my first time writing, I hope you all enjoy and if there’s any advice you guys can give me to improve please do!!

“Please, please! You’re my best friend. I just need this one favour!” Lando begs following you around at a quick pace.

“Exactly Lando” you sigh before continuing “I’m your best friend and as much as I love you I just don’t think it would work or be realistic” you shrug, taking a bottle of cold water from his fridge

“Why? Why don’t you think it can be realistic! Fans accuse us of being together all the time because of how close we are! The only thing that would have to change would be not denying it…and maybe kissing” he whispers the last part

“Kissing!” you shout choking on the water “We’ve done it before!” he defends “Yeah when we were like 11!”

“And 14, and 17!”

“You’re not helping yourself Lando”

“Please, it would just have to be for a few months then we could say we were better off as friends. Please. I don’t want to be in a PR relationship with some random model who’s looking to gain attention for a brand” Lando sighs, visibly upset

“Can you give me time to sleep on it? You know I love you but I don’t want this to come between our friendship”

“We’re strong, think of everything and everyone that tried to separate us before we never let them come between us”

“Which is why I can’t risk loosing you, there a difference between a girlfriend not liking me that tries to separate us and faking a relationship Lando”

“I understand” he nods “I promise you, you will have an answer before the start of the race weekend. I’m gonna head to bed now okay. I love you” you hug him tightly before heading to the spare room in his apartment.

It wasn’t the first time you had turned down Lando, in fact he had asked you out every year from the age of 14 until you guys were 18 before he finally realised that you wouldn’t work.

It’s not thst you didn’t like Lando, you loved him and maybe you did have feelings for him. But the thought of loosing your friendship because of relationship scared you.

For most hours of the night you lay in the bed of Lando’s spare room at his apartment in Monaco, that was quickly known as your room, thinking about what Lando said.

You supported him before his career even started and Lando’s reputation with girls certainly wasn’t the best. The media painted him to be a “playboy” and “unloyal”, which in some senses he was. He had never cheated on his previous girlfriends but he did date his ex’s friends and colleagues.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a harm to pretend for a few months? But what if your feelings began to grow stronger and you may not be able to go back to the way you were with Lando?

Lando was the same just through the wall, his feelings for you never left him. All the girlfriends he had he never felt for them what he felt for you, which was terrible but also why he was now single. He wanted you to say yes, he wanted you to agree but he didn’t want his feelings to get in the way, especially when he didn’t know that you felt the same way.

The next morning, you woke up to the usual clatter of plates from the kitchen. Which never meant anything good.

“What are you attempting to make this morning Mr Norris?” you laugh watching him by the pan “French toast but it’s not going well” he answers not taking his eyes of the food

“Well for starters, you’ve completely burned the bread. Would you like some help?” you ask holding back a loud laugh “Please”

The two of you started over, putting the uneatable food in the correct bin. You focused on the food while Lando focused on the coffee.

“There you go Lan”

“Thank you, how’d you sleep last night?” he asks putting the food in his mouth “To be honest, not great i’ve been thinking about what you said”

“You have?” Lando asks dropping his food “I will help you, if you promise me that we will still be best friends at the end of everything”

“Pinky promise”

part 2

[gh0stsp1d3r]

second chance ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

warnings: r is a mutant w/ blood manipulation powers :3, death is mentioned, grief, angsty and fluffy

a/n: I wanted to make the readers power dark but her personality the complete opposite. I like dark and brooding characters w/ sweethearts LMFAOO it’s my favorite trope atp

MASTERLIST

Being sent to the void and being trapped in there was not how this was supposed to go at all. You stood up, confused as to where you were. You looked wildly around the deserted world, finding no one around you.

Sometimes you wonder how exactly it is that you got into this shit. After your boyfriend died saving the world, you let yourself go, not the happy go lucky person you usually were. Your friends noticed, you sulking around during missions, usually not saying a word to any of them.

Why’d he always have to be the damn hero?

And now you missed them, it was too quiet here for your liking. Your gaze landed on a patch of trees, seeming like the only form of life there. With a huff, you picked yourself up and walked towards the forage, walking around for a while until you came across something rather odd in this place.

A car? Here? It was random. What made you even more confused was the blood splatters all over it, the windows cracked. It was fresh blood, not dried yet, you could tell that much.

Slowly and curiously,you walked towards the car, peering inside quietly the two of them, Wade wrapped up in the seatbelts. Then your eyes were stuck on logan, heart stuttering and breath stopping at the sight of his bloodied body.

His eyes snapped open, eyebrows furrowing and forehead creased, he was going to attack you, barreling out of the car and standing in front of you before you jumped back and his movements paused.

You had already created a shield of their blood from the car, holding your hands out in front of you. You stared back at Logan, examining you as if it was as if he was wondering the same thing you were.

Is that you?

You put your hands down, blood falling back into the soil, both of you left staring at each other in silence.

It went on like that until Wade left out a cough, gasping and sitting up, struggling against the seatbelts.

“Motherfuck-“ he murmured out, both of you turning your heads to watch the man get out of his restraints.

He hopped out of the car, turning to the both of you staring back at him now. “You know what, I forgive you for that back there.” He told Logan.

“Gonna introduce me to your friend?” You asked with a small smile, both of them turning to look at you.

It was the first words Logan had heard you speak in a while, and Jesus, you even had the same smile.

“Pool. Dead.” He held his hand out, which looked broken. “Or Wade. You can just call me Wade.”

“Your um…” you cleared your throat, motioning to his floppy hand, that he quickly fixed back in place.

You shook his hand. “Y/n.” You mumbled.

“Where have I heard that name before…?” He asked, mostly to himself.

“I’m part of the x-men.” You told him. He snapped his fingers, remembering you suddenly.

“Oh, yeah! You’re dead in my universe.” He said the last part flatly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Didn’t go so well for you. You have like… the blood bending powers, right?”

You snickered at his choice of words. “Blood bending is from avatar. Blood manipulation.” You corrected, but nodded anyways.

“So you’re like… Marie Moreau from gen v?”

You didn’t understand his reference.

“Are you two done?” Logan asked, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Cool your jets, wolvie.”

You had to suppress a smile at his choice of words, wolvie. You used to tease him with that nickname all the time. He glanced at you, before fixing his gaze back on Wade.

“What are you guys doing here anyways?” You asked them.

“Long story.” Logan spoke, still avoiding your gaze, his mind suddenly being flooded with the worst memories he has.

“Okay, then what are you guys planning to do? Except for stabbing each other.”

“We’ll catch you up, Katara.” Wade spoke, all of you piling back into the car, you staring out the window as Wade explained everything.

“Wait, let me get this straight, so she was your girlfriend but then she died, in your universe?” Wade whispered to Logan, who just grimaced and nodded, downing the rest of the alcohol in this place.

“I find it kinda hard to believe that you, the epitome of I have a grey cloud over my head at all times, and her, the living embodiment of fucking sunshine. She’s like fucking.. princess peach. You’re like bowser.”

Logan scoffed, glancing back at you for a moment. He was right. Despite him not getting the references, he knew what he was trying to say.

He ruined everything he touched, everything he went near. It was better to stay away from you, even if you are from another universe.

They didn’t get the chance to talk about it, because the others began walking in, Logan and wade taking one last glance at you before you all turned to them.

“You know, princess, you should talk to him.” Wade spoke suddenly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, an innocent gesture.

You furrowed your eyebrows at Wade. “Princess?”

Somehow, in the few hours you knew wade, he was pretty nice, and you two quickly became friends.

“You remind me of like princess peach or something.”

Your eyebrows remained furrowed, face full of confusion.

“Oh my god, you guys don’t have Mario in your universe?”

You shook your head. “No clue what you’re talking about right now.”

“That’s.. tragic…”

“Anyways, what were you saying? Who should I talk to?”

“Mr dark and brooding outside.”

“Logan?”

“You know I’m talking about logan.”

You sighed, shutting your eyes for a moment and nodding, leaning your head back against the couch you sat on, recalling everything about the man.

“I was his friend for years. We met… through the X-men shit or whatever.” You waved it off. “I was… in love with him. I still am. We… eventually started dating, and we both were probably the happiest we could be. Then he had to go be the fuckin’ hero.” You said with a bittersweet laugh, Wade listening intently.

“It’s been 1 year, 3 months, and 11 days.”

“Wow… that is… bringing a tear to my eye.” He flicked the stray tear off his face, shaking his head to himself.

“Well, to me it looks like him and mini him are done talking,” he gently shoved your shoulder with his arm, motioning for you to go outside.

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” You murmured when he kept shoving you to the edge, small smile still on your face.

You shoved your hands into your pockets as you left, he glanced back, ready to tell whoever was coming up to go away, his words getting caught in his throat when he saw you. He turned back around, swallowing down the alcohol in seconds.

You sat next to him, both of you silent until you spoke up.

“Am I dead in your universe?” You asked him, voice almost a whisper.

He nodded, still not turning to look at you.

“Oh. You’re dead in mines.” You said, also turning to look ahead.

“How’d that happen?” He asked you, you were shocked that he was engaging in any conversation. You answered quickly.

“He was ripped in half.” You swallowed, remembering the scream you had let out, the cries you choked out on that day. “Right in front of me. Y-He told me…” you hesitated, turning to him, reaching for the bottle in his hands. He gave it to you, you taking a swig, the alcohol burning down your throat.

“He told me that he loved me, and that we needed to leave. I regret leaving. I regret it all.” You told him quietly, he stared at you now, and you stared at him back, passing him the bottle again.

“She was… stabbed, in the heart.” He told you, voice wavering for a moment. “I was so pissed off,” he chuckled for a moment. “I couldn’t kill them.”

You listened intently to the man.

“I never thought I would see…you again.”

“I know. It’s odd.” You said with a quiet laugh, both of you staring at each other for a moment, just sitting in silence, a collective understanding that maybe, just maybe, you were put in the void by fate.

A second chance. That’s what it was for you both.

[simpjaes]

mdni. req by anon: pleaseeeeeee more innocent Jungwon with a dom Heeseung or Jake that gets jealous and ruins everything for him..like imagine Jungwon is finally going to lose his virginity to Y/N and Heeseung/Jake finds them in the act then decides to make him sit and watch how to do it correctly..

wc: 1.4k

tags: virginity loss, jungwon is jake's brother and jake is ur ex bf, reader is a whore we love her, voyeurism, exhibitionism

It’s not that he’s doing it wrong, it’s just that he doesn’t have the confidence to own the way he moves his body.

Jungwon, your favorite person in the world. Your ex boyfriend’s brother, who you simply couldn’t leave behind after the break up. Yeah, probably not an ideal situation you’re in right now but it’s still a situation that feels right.

Sure, hanging out at your ex boyfriend’s house was weird at first but all three of you just kind of got used to it after Jake realized there’s no getting rid of you for as long as he lives there with his brother. Exhausting? Yes. Annoying? So fucking annoying.

It’s not that Jake minds you being around. After all, he’s not the one who wanted to break up. You broke up with him. Imagine how he felt just four days after the break up, walking into his house and seeing you lounging on the couch as if he was still allowed to pounce on you. He couldn’t do that, of course. For one, because you’re not his girlfriend anymore, and secondly, because his bitch-ass little brother was always crowded up next to you on the couch. 

You guys weren’t that close he originally thought. At least throughout your relationship with him, Jungwon was never clinging to you like this. So, really, Jake doesn’t mind being able to still see you. What he minds is the fact that you’re here to see his little brother, and it’s a bit…

Well…

It doesn’t sit very well with him when it comes to the way you now interact. Like, really? You’re gonna break up with him over some shitty excuse of “we just aren’t on the same path in life” only to run and cling to his little brother? As if Jungwon knows what path he’s on either? Hell, the guy only just chose his major after a full semester at your college. 

Exhausting. That’s what the two of you are. And Jake tries his fucking hardest to not witness you when you’re over. 

That is, until it becomes far too difficult. Until that pit in his stomach bubbles up with envy so draining that he can’t help but barge into the room. 

“Like this?” Jake had heard his brother’s broken voice through the door that he should not have been listening through. 

Hearing Jungwon sound like that isn’t exactly new. After all, he always sounds embarrassing when a girl is around. Jake really would have just rolled his eyes and went back to his room if it weren’t for what he heard next.

“Does it feel good when I do this?” Jake heard this time, Jungwon’s voice coming out in more of a breathy moan. 

“Yeah, so good–” You responded with your own moan. 

“Ah–it’s so warm–”

And for a split second, Jake wondered if maybe you guys were doing massages or something. Trying to make sense of why the fuck you’re in there moaning alongside his brother. Surely you’re not fucking him. Jungwon is a virgin as far as Jake’s concerned and…if he’s really about to lose it to you, that’s beyond crossing a boundary. 

Both of you should know better. 

So, naturally, Jake doesn’t even knock. 

The door swings open with the force of a thousand suns as Jake stands there and connects the dots. Nope, no massages. Yep, that’s your legs spread around his brother. Oh, yeah. Okay. Wow. 

Jungwon is no longer a virgin it seems, considering his cock is clearly nestled inside of you. All the way. He saw the jerky movements of his hips just before the two of you snapped your heads to him. He saw the way you cling to Jungwon harder. 

And the three of you just stare at each other, you frozen with your piercing gaze on Jake, Jungwon’s cock plunged into you as deep as he can go, with little pants because he can still feel you clenching around him and he’s really, really trying not to moan right now. 

“Are you fucking joking?” Jake finally lets out, furrowing his brows and zeroing in on Jungwon. “You decided to lose it to her of all people?”

There’s silence for a long while as Jungwon tries not to moan out an answer, feeling both awkward and entirely aroused because you’re still so wet, you’re still holding onto him, you’re still clenching. 

“And you’re not even making her feel good?!” Jake continues as his gaze falls to you. 

It’s not that you look bored, or even that you were bored. It’s just, Jake knows how you are in bed. He knows you very well, and seeing you be more in control, guiding someone else is definitely not something he thought you were into. In fact, no matter how many times the two of you would fuck, you always acted like a fucking virgin. Like his cock hurt you every single time, like you couldn’t help but moan. You couldn’t help but babble incoherently. You couldn’t help but orgasm within the first five minutes.

It’s the fact that he never saw this side of you, and you’re giving it to his fucking brother while taking something away from him. 

“Jake–” You manage to get out, so turned on beyond belief that you barely recognize how awful you look in this situation. Then again, you’re no longer dating Jake. It’s not like you cling to Jungwon because you want him instead. 

Jungwon is just…really cute and needy. Jungwon just needs some love. Jungwon was just nervous about this girl he’s supposed to meet this weekend and wanted to get some experience in. 

Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for Jungwon, Jake could probably give less of a shit as to why you’re in here letting Jungwon fumble between your legs. If you’re gonna fuck anyone in this house, it’s gonna be him. You guys can fucking go outside otherwise. 

“Move.” Jake says, now making his way toward the bed and practically shoving Jungwon out of you. 

There’s a wet sound when he does that, Jungwon letting out both a pornographic and frustrated moan when he falls back. Jake spares no glance at him though, all he does is shove him further, all the way until he topples off of the bed. 

You don’t really care whose hands are on you though. While you wanted to be this person for Jungwon and while you feel bad that he barely got to even start, you really, really don’t mind the familiar grasp of Jake. With the way he puts his hands on your knees and spreads your legs wide. 

You blink up at him, seeing Jungwon peek at you from the edge of the bed as he keeps himself on the floor. Probably both intimated and embarrassed at what’s happening. 

“I can’t believe you.” Jake announces now, leaning his face in between your legs and inspecting how stretched Jungwon managed to get you. “I can’t believe you got this wet for him.”

You roll your eyes, clenching hard just so Jake can see that you’re still just as needy as you’ve always been. 

Jake sees it and squeezes his eyes shut with a frustrated sigh. Of course you’d do this. Of course you still want him, sexually, at least. And then he snaps around to look at Jungwon. 

“If you ever try to fuck her again, at least make it count.” 

Jungwon looks away and avoids eye contact. He knows Jake is pissed, not that he cares or anything. It’s not like he’s not allowed to be pissed off too. Jake really just walked into the room thirty seconds after he officially lost his virginity. Of course he’s not gonna be good at fucking yet.

And Just as Jake turns back to you, whipping his cock out and sliding his fingers down the length of it to stiffen up, Jungwon tries to get up and leave quietly. 

No, no, no. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jake asks through a seething breath, sliding into you with ease and a slight moan. “You’re going to sit right there and watch.”

Jungwon doesn’t know why he listens, but he does. He finds himself right back on the floor. His hands that were covering his cock slowly begin to palm when he keeps his eyes on you and the way you moan out for your ex boyfriend. 

He’s not happy right now, but you. You turn him on. He wishes so much that it isn’t Jake here doing this, that’s his brother, after all. Still, he watches.  And somehow, he learns.

[arieslost]

falling for you | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: you and oscar should be more than just friends, but neither of you realize it until you’re on vacation… and his girlfriend is there, too.

word count: 2,956

warnings: angsty moments

masterlist — join my tag list here!

PART TWO

shoutout to my dream journal- i got this idea from a dream i had in 2021. also disclaimer, i love lily, she’s so sweet. we’re pretending that oscar is dating someone else here ok thanks <33

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

For the first time in your life, you were regretting taking a vacation, and it was all Oscar Piastri’s fault.

Your family and the Piastris had been going on vacation together for as long as you could remember, and you’ve been best friends with Oscar for just as long. He was in the background of every defining moment of your life. He could say the same about you— best friends forever.

And then, like the idiot you are, you went and fell in love with him. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint how, or why, or when; all you knew was that you woke up on the second day of your vacation, walked into the kitchen, saw him pouring himself a bowl of cereal, and it hit you like a damn truck.

“Good morning, sweetie,” your mom says, barely noticing your slightly panicked expression as you realized that you were very much in love with your best friend.

“Morning,” you mumble back, unable to tear your eyes away from Oscar.

He notices you staring at him, your eyes as wide as saucers, and frowns. “You okay? There’s still some of this in the box, I saved it for you.”

Great. Of course he has to be so thoughtful all the time.

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Thanks, Osc.” You squeeze his arm as you pass by. He smiles at you, like he always does when you do that, and you want to die a little.

Especially when his girlfriend enters the room.

It’s the first time either of you have a significant other during your annual vacation time, and while you had aggressively lobbied against it (Oscar obviously had no clue), your parents and his parents had agreed to let her come. You were furious about it for weeks and couldn’t figure out why.

Well, now you know.

You can’t even enjoy your cereal, especially not when she kisses Oscar for everyone to see and then makes direct eye contact with you and smirks when he’s not looking. So, you decide to spend the entire day completely Oscar-less, as much as you wish you could just have him all to yourself like you always do when you’re here.

The thing is, you’ve never liked his girlfriend, obvious reasons aside. Even before Oscar started dating her, you’d never gotten along with her. It was like she had a personal vendetta against you, and always tried her hardest to be touchy with Oscar whenever she saw that you were in her line of sight. The most infuriating part is that literally no one else ever notices her behavior except you. Not even Oscar, your so-called best friend. Normally, you’d go to him to vent about something like this, because he’s always understood you in ways that no one else ever will. Now he’s the last person you can go to.

It sucks. You’re angry at your parents, his parents, and especially him for asking if he could bring her along in the first place.

You end up spending your entire morning and most of the afternoon at the beach. You don’t put on enough sunscreen because there’s no one there to make sure you use the proper amount. You hate getting sunburn, but you’d take that over seeing Oscar with his girlfriend. By the time you get back to the rental, everyone is off doing their own thing. Your parents are putting together a puzzle in the living room. Oscar’s parents have the door to their room shut, and you can hear the TV playing. You don’t have the courage to go looking for Oscar himself– once you see that he’s not in your shared room, you know that he’s either out or in his girlfriend’s room. Either way, you don’t want to know.

That was another thing that makes you wish this vacation never happened: Oscar had been allowed to bring his girlfriend, but the only condition was that the two of them had to sleep in separate rooms. That meant the two of you shared a room like always, but that didn’t mean he didn’t take every possible chance he could to go to hers, meaning you’re alone most of the time.

You might as well just pack up and walk home to save yourself the struggle of five more days.

It doesn’t seem like anyone is around to hear, so you let out a loud, frustrated groan as you flop back onto your bed. You look to your right, past Oscar’s bed, at the flowy curtains hanging in front of the doors that lead to the deck outside. One of the doors is ajar, and the slight breeze makes the curtains flap gently.

“You okay, sweetie?” Of course your mom heard you from all the way down the hall.

“Yeah,” you reply in a way that makes it very obvious that you’re not okay.

“Ah, I know that tone.” Your mom says, crossing the room to sit at the foot of your bed. “You need a boyfriend. You wouldn’t be this mopey if you had someone here with you, too.”

Like Oscar does. “You’re telling me,” you scoff bitterly. “I guess I’ll try a little harder for next year.”

“Well, are there any boys you’re interested in?” She asks, rubbing your leg comfortingly.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning your head away from her so she can’t get a perfect view of your face heating up as you think about your best friend.

She hums. “Yeah, I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“It’s Oscar, isn’t it?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Ugh! Leave now, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

“Nice try.” Your mom pries your hands away and gives you a look. “I just don’t think it’s the best idea that you like Oscar. He doesn’t exactly have the most stable lifestyle.”

“He doesn’t need stability, he’s rich.” You shoot back. “I don’t even care about that, Mom. I’m not exactly interested in him because of his lifestyle.” You consider not saying it, but you’ll feel better getting it off your chest. “And his girlfriend is a bitch.”

“You’re right,” your mom says, and you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “I hate his girlfriend. I’ve always thought that you’re much better suited for him.”

“No kidding. Known him his whole life, everyone thought we were dating growing up, we’ve gone through just about everything together. I guess that simply doesn’t compare to the girl he’s known for five whole months.” You’re being snarky now, and you can’t find it in you to care. It should be you dating Oscar.

Everyone else seems to think so except him.

Your mom laughs, but in a way that you know that she agrees with you, as childish as you’re being. She continues to rub your leg, and the comforting motion has your eyes drooping. The stress of your newfound feelings and the warmth of the sun on your skin is more than enough to tire you out.

“Nap time?” She asks eventually, and you nod slowly.

“Mhmm.”

“I’ll come wake you up before dinner.” She kisses the top of your head, gets up, and then says something that has you wide awake. “Hey, Oscar. She’s sleeping.”

“Ah, okay. I’ll be quiet.” You hate the calming effect his voice has on you, even though now just looking at him has sent your heart racing.

One of them shuts the door, and shortly after you can feel the bed dipping under Oscar’s weight as he lays down next to you.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Missed you.”

I missed you more. Jerk.

“I know you’re awake,” he continues. “But you don’t have to talk to me.”

Good.

“I guess I deserve the silent treatment.”

Your resolve cracks a little, because he sounds genuinely upset. As much as you want to, you don’t open your eyes, but you do turn around to face him and move closer in the process. You can smell the faint traces of his cologne, and you have to fight a sigh of contentment. Damn him for always making you feel so safe. Besides, you’re a little cold now thanks to the air conditioning.

Your eyes nearly fly open in shock when he wastes no time in pulling you closer so you’re properly cuddled into his side and puts his arm around you. He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, before he moves around a little and leans his head against yours.

The logical side of you is screaming to quit the sleeping facade and confront him right here and now about this rather intimate behavior, but the side of you that just discovered the strong feelings you harbor for your best friend tells you to just play along and enjoy whatever alone time you have with him. It’s not hard to pick which side to listen to.

The two of you stay this way for so long you start falling asleep again, and it only gets worse when he starts rubbing your back. It starts out very subtle; at first, his fingertips just move up and down along the fabric of your shirt. He stops for a moment, like he’s considering the outcomes of his actions, and then flattens his palm against your back and continues the up and down motion. You bury your head in his chest, mostly to hide the fact that you’re turning red but also because you just want to be closer to him. He hums a little when you do it, and you have to stop yourself from weighing the logistics of whether or not you could get away with kissing him right here and now.

You have to fight the urge to sleep, wanting to soak in every moment of his strange but welcome actions. Maybe this is all just an elaborate dream– either way, you’re not going to sleep through it.

The sound of him sighing again catches your attention, but you’re entirely brought back to reality when he starts moving.

You fully give up. You don’t want him to go, so you say his name quietly and look up at him.

He sits up a little to look back at you, and you reach up to smooth away the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb. “We’re on vacation. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

“So are you.” He points out.

Of course he’s picked up on it.

“It’s complicated.”

“Talk to me,” he encourages, shifting so he can keep you close. His little polite cat smile nearly has you spilling your guts to him about how much you wish you were the one he was kissing in front of everyone.

You press your lips together. “I… I can’t, Osc.”

You always hate his crestfallen expression, but you hate it more when you’re the cause of it.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?”

“I know,” you reassure him. “Just… not this. Anything but this.”

He hums again, but not in the happy way that he did before when you were practically trying to crawl into his skin. This is more like a hum of concentration.

You have a moment of hope, thinking that maybe he’ll just let it go, but you know your best friend better than that. It doesn’t change your shock when he speaks again.

“Okay. I think I know what this is about.”

“I seriously doubt you do.” You can’t help but laugh a little. How could he possibly know about something that you yourself only just discovered?

He gives you a specific look then, a look that you have always despised being on the receiving end of. It’s a look that tells you he’s expecting you to explain yourself and see if he’s right. He usually is right, which only makes it worse.

“No.” You shake your head, starting to try and find a way to get up. “No, Oscar, don’t make me say it.”

He isn’t having it though: his arm stays snug around you, and he puts one of his legs between both of yours, hooking his ankle around yours so you can’t escape.

“Oscar,” you whine. “No fair, with your stupid reflexes.”

He whines your name back in the same exact tone. “Shouldn’t try to get away from me, then.”

You let out a groan of frustration. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Someone walks out into the hallway, and the sound of the footsteps coming towards your room makes the both of you freeze. The two of you are in a rather precarious position, with your limbs tangled and Oscar practically on top of you. Not that you necessarily mind, but if anyone walked in right now, eyebrows would be raised.

Oscar seems to be thinking along the same lines as you, meeting your wide-eyed stare with his own but not making any effort to move away. It clicks in your head at that exact moment, just as it did in the morning when you walked into the kitchen.

He does know.

“How?” You whisper, too wrapped up in your disbelief to even be embarrassed.

“I know you better than anyone,” he whispers back, head whipping towards the closed door when you hear a creak, like someone’s weight is shifting on the floor.

The footsteps recede. You both let out a breath, turning to face each other again. You’re close. Too close. Close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.

You remember the last time you were this close to him— you were both 14, playing hide and seek at midnight at a friend’s birthday party. He’d accidentally chosen the same hiding place as you, a desk with a rolling chair in front of it, and you’d been forced to squish together underneath the desk in order to conceal yourselves well enough. You were mad that he chose the same spot as you because it raised the likelihood of being found, and he’d just giggled at you every time you glared at him. You remember how much you loved his giggle, and how you’d wondered what it would be like to kiss his smile.

Well. You really have been in love with him this whole time.

You want nothing more than to crawl under the bed and stay there for the rest of the vacation so you don’t have to look him in the eye. You never want to speak to him again. You want to tell him everything. You want to push him away. You want to hold him closer.

“Tell me I didn’t ruin our friendship.” Is all you can think to say, and Oscar reacts immediately, brushing your hair out of your face and hugging you tightly.

“Honey, you could never ruin this.” He presses his nose into your hair, brushes his lips against your head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who should be sorry,” you grumble into his chest.

He doesn’t answer, instead choosing to alternate between playing with the ends of your hair and drawing shapes on your shoulder with his fingers. He’s always been affectionate with you, but this is a whole new level, and your overthinking has you worried that you’ll lose it entirely as soon as the two of you have to leave this room and face the reality of the situation. You close your eyes, trying your hardest to soak up every little detail of this moment in the event that you never get another like it.

You know Oscar thinks you’re asleep when, much to your dismay (and maybe his, too), he gets up and gently lays you back against your pillow.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” you hear him say, and then you feel his lips press firmly against your temple, his hand leaving the most featherlight touch on your cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The soft material of a blanket covers your body, and the door opens and shuts. Your tears waste no time in soaking into the pillowcase.

You’re regretting this vacation, but it isn’t Oscar’s fault.

He’s not the one who fell in love with the one person he can’t have.

Things change, but not at all in the way you expect. Oscar still throws an arm around you for every picture and hoists you onto his back without hesitation for the obligatory piggyback photo that has been a vacation tradition since forever. His girlfriend still looks at you like you’re the pebble she can’t get out of her shoe, but for every dirty look and intentional display of affection, Oscar is there to make up for it. He goes to the beach with you and makes sure that you apply enough sunscreen, he goes to the amusement park with you even though he hates most of the rides, he takes you to breakfast at the risk of his girlfriend throwing a fit when you get back. She does, but he doesn’t care. He does it every year, and he tells you that he’d be damned if he didn’t keep up with it.

Maybe he pities you. It doesn’t matter. You can live with never even having a chance with the boy you think you’ve always wanted something more with, so long as you can continue to call him your best friend.

He leaves for his next race on the last day of vacation, and his girlfriend goes with him. You support him from home. He calls you every single day.

Oscar has never been able to go more than 24 hours without hearing your voice. He’s never been able to fully express just how much he needs you, and now he has to face the obstacle of breaking up with his girlfriend before he can even try.

note: this fic was low key my personal everest and i changed the ending at the last second because i hate angst. if anyone is interested in a part two, let me know because i’d be happy to write it at some point!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

beautiful dividers by @/saradika !

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @littlemiss-arabella @notturlover @verstappensrealwife @oliveisunstable @hauntedphotographybookstaco @maddie-bell @hood-jabi @jupiter-je-taime @uzisplanet @akiraquote @average-f1-enjoyer @xo-mya1 @beth-712 @bingewatche @alex15marie @ana2delusional @tomhollandfics @cixrosie @simpluvrs @meko-mt

[itneverendshere]

the way i can see rafe rolling his eyes when he hears you yell across a party for jj to knock it off in picking a fight, and laughs at jj when he listens to you, and is like an embarrassed little dog.

a perfect world where rafe realizes he and jj are the same person in different fonts <3 thank you for the request, i love jj in this lmao😭🩵

 you say you got it & you have to let me see - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The annual boneyard party was in full swing, and like clockwork, someone was trying to start shit.

You stood close to Rafe, your hand loosely gripping a beer bottle as you watched the mess unfold in front of you. "JJ!" you called out, voice loud and clear across the sand. "Knock it off!"

Rafe felt the corner of his mouth twitch, suppressing a grin. It wasn't even surprising anymore.

JJ Maybank—still the same hot-headed teen who grew up a few doors down from you—was in some guy's face, already half a second away from getting clocked.

His first instinct was to roll his eyes. Every year. Every damn year, JJ managed to start up some bullshit. Rafe glanced down at you, saw how your brow furrowed in annoyance, and the urge to laugh took over instead.

It was kind of funny, watching JJ go from ready to swing to immediately backing off the second you opened your mouth.

JJ turned like a kid caught stealing cookies from the jar, hands half-raised in defense as he looked at you with wide eyes. “Chill! I wasn’t even—”

"Yeah, yeah," you cut him off, pointing your beer in his direction. "Save it. Just walk away, okay?"

And, of course, he did.

Like a scolded puppy, he muttered something under his breath before shoving his hands into his pockets and trudging off. Rafe snorted, shaking his head. "Little brother still listens to you, huh?"

You shot him a look, half-smiling. "Someone's gotta keep him in line."

"Yeah, well," Rafe glanced at JJ’s retreating figure, still chuckling under his breath, "It's funny watching him tuck his tail between his legs every time."

He wasn’t usually one for parties like this anymore—too many reminders of who he used to be—but being here with you made it easier. You grounded him. Three years of dating, living together, dealing with life’s shitstorms, and somehow you still managed to make everything feel lighter.

You narrowed your eyes, “Don’t think you’re so different from him Mr. No one talks down to my girlfriend.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he took a long sip from his beer, savoring the burn of the carbonation on his throat. You had him there. Not that he was gonna admit it. “That was different,” he drawled, flashing you a smirk.

“Uh-huh,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “How, exactly?”

He scratched at his jaw, the familiar prickle of stubble reminding him he hadn’t shaved in a few days. “I mean, I didn’t throw a punch every time. Just made it clear no one’s gonna talk shit.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You’re lucky I love you, Cameron.”

Rafe’s heart did that stupid thing it always did when you said stuff like that, even after all these years. He could play it cool all he wanted, but you knew how to get to him. Always did.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, stepping a little closer, his body blocking the cool breeze coming off the ocean. He could smell the saltwater and smoke, but all he cared about was the warmth radiating from you. He took a swig of his beer, watching the flames from the bonfire dance against the night sky. “How many more times you think you’ll have to pull him out of a fight tonight?”

You tilted your head, thinking for a second before shrugging. “Depends on how much he’s had to drink.”

JJ was like a golden retriever sometimes—quick to rile up, but just as quick to bounce back. Rafe watched him for a second, the way he moved through the crowd, all ego and no direction. It reminded him of himself when he was younger. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“He’s gonna make it hard for me to take him seriously if you keep saving his ass.”

"Like you’ve ever taken him seriously," you shot back, giving him a playful shove.

True. Rafe couldn’t remember a single time in the last few years where JJ had been more than an annoyance. 

"God, it’s like he’s still twelve or something," you muttered, shaking your head. You took a step closer to him, your arm brushing his. The firelight flickered in your eyes, making you look impossibly warm.

The kind of warmth Rafe had gotten used to over the years. The kind he was lucky to have. He turned to face you, an easy smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, but at least it’s entertaining.”

You smirked. "For now. I give it an hour before he’s passed out in the sand."

He tilted his head, giving you a mock-serious look. “You wanna place a bet on that?”

You squinted at him like you were actually considering it. “What’s the wager?”

Rafe leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Winner gets to pick what we do tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk deepening. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but knowing exactly what he’d want if he won. He could feel the stupid velvet box burning in his pocket. He carried it everywhere, hoping he’d man up and do it already. He couldn’t do it now—not here, not like this, not with JJ stumbling around somewhere in the background and the sound of half-drunk partygoers laughing around you.

“I don’t know. Maybe spend the day out on the boat. Just the two of us.”

“Alright, deal,” you said, holding out your hand for him to shake, “Sounds nice.”

Nice wasn’t even close to what he had in mind.

He took your hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled you in closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. You let out a small laugh, leaning into him. The beer bottle in your hand dangled lazily at your side. You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Rafe let out a breathy chuckle, turning his head to capture your lips with his. The kiss was slow, lazy even, like there wasn’t a party around you. “Still think I’m cute, huh?” 

You gave him a look, lips curving into a shit-eating-grin. “When you’re not acting like JJ.”

He groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Don’t compare me to that fuckin' idiot.”

You just grinned, pulling away slightly, though your hand stayed on his chest. “Relax. You’re cuter, baby.”

“Damn right,” Rafe muttered, tugging you back to him. He liked having you close like this—reminded him that no matter how much shit had changed, some things stayed solid. You. Him. This.

He kissed the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair, and let out a contented sigh. 

JJ had somehow found another beer, and as Rafe glanced his way, he saw Kie giving him a hard time, probably for almost getting into it earlier.

“You think they’ll ever figure it out?” you asked, following Rafe’s gaze.

“Who, JJ and Kie?” He shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. “Maybe. Probably not, though. They’re both too stubborn.”

You hummed in agreement, resting your head against his shoulder. “Sounds familiar.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, we turned out alright, didn’t we?”

You smiled up at him, the firelight dancing in your eyes. “Yeah, we did.”

Just as you and Rafe were starting to get lost in your own little world, a sudden shout cut through the noise of the party. Rafe glanced up and spotted JJ again, this time charging toward some guy who was standing way too close to Kie. 

Oh for fuck’s sake.

JJ's posture tense, fists clenched at his sides, and his voice already rising in that familiar way that screamed trouble. "Hey, man, back the fuck off!" He growled, pushing the guy away from Kie. The dude barely had time to react before JJ was already up in his face, looking like he was seconds away from throwing a punch.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Rafe muttered under his breath.

Without a second thought, he downed the last of his beer and started striding toward fight. You followed, a little concerned but mostly impressed by how quickly he handled it. He was always the one who kept things calm now—so different from his hot-headed younger days.

“Maybank!” Rafe’s voice boomed across the beach, and you could hear the change in tone.

He was done playing around.

JJ, too focused on trying to defend Kie’s honor, didn’t even hear him. Rafe didn’t hesitate. He grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him away from the guy before anything could escalate further.

The younguer blonde whipped around, ready to argue, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Rafe. “Dude, I—”

“Start walking,” He hauled him a few feet away, practically dragging him while the other guy quickly disappeared into the crowd.

You couldn’t help but watch the way Rafe took control of the situation, handling JJ like a dad trying to wrangle a rowdy teenager. You could see the way he deflated in response. He’d grown to respect Rafe too much to keep pushing.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rafe said, his grip still tight on JJ’s shirt. “You’re gonna get yourself knocked out one of these days if you don’t stop acting like you need to throw hands over every little thing.” JJ scowled but didn’t say anything, and Rafe shook his head, letting him go. “Seriously, Kie can handle herself. And if she needs backup, that’s what we are for—not you getting your ass handed to you every time some guy breathes in her direction.”

JJ kicked at the sand, muttering something under his breath, but he knew better than to argue. Rafe’s voice softened a little, seeing JJ’s shoulders slump. “Look, I get it. But not like this. Not here.”

He nodded once, reluctantly, and Rafe gave him a rough pat on the shoulder before turning back to you. He caught your eye, and you felt the pride bloom in your chest. The way he handled himself, the way he diffused situations—it wasn’t just about being strong anymore, it was about knowing how to lead, how to take care of the people he loved. And, honestly? It was a turn-on.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on him as he came back over to you. He looked so composed, so solid, and that arm of his, the way he pulled JJ back without breaking a sweat—it had your mind going places. Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, a playful smirk on his lips.

“What?” he asked, already knowing you were checking him out.

You stepped closer, trailing your fingers up his arm, feeling the strength in the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

“Nothing,” you murmured, biting your lip as your eyes met his. “Just proud of you.”

Rafe chuckled, his hand slipping around your waist, pulling you against him. “Proud, huh?”

“Mhm,” you whispered, pressing yourself closer, feeling the warmth of his body. “It’s kinda hot.”

“That what does it for you now? Me playing babysitter?”

You laughed softly, your hand still resting on his arm, fingers trailing along his bicep. “Not just that. The way you handled it. You’re just—”

Rafe’s hand slid down your back. “Just what?” he asked, his breath hot against your neck.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart pick up speed. "Strong.” You smirked, letting your hand slide lower, down the curve of his chest. “Kinda makes me wanna—”

He cut you off with a kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of slow intensity that had you melting into him. His hand gripped you tighter, pulling you even closer, because he could never have enough of you. 

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you a little breathless, he smirked down at you. “You keep talkin' like that, we might need to leave this party a little early.”

You grinned up at him, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Might not be the worst idea,” you teased, your voice low. “Think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Rafe chuckled, his lips brushing against your forehead before he pulled away just enough to glance over his shoulder, making sure JJ wasn’t about to start up more trouble.

When he saw everything was calm, he turned back to you, “Let’s get outta here, baby.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled you in close as you reached the car, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, making your head spin all over again.

"You're somethin' else, you know that?" he whispered against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Get in the car, Cameron.”

[rqnarok]

LINGER | 4,3k

old man!logan x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Being another mutant who survived Charles’ seizures, you are forced to live alongside Logan. The things between you and Logan goes on and off, fragile and indefinite—yet it always lingers.

TAGS AND WARNINGS: smut, mdni! mentions of blood, death, and grief (not logan), lots of angst but lots of fluff too, old man!logan x mutant!reader but unspecified mutation so it’s up to you! minor injuries, nightmares, miscommunication, kind of slow burning (?), pining, logan calls himself ‘old man’ several times, petnames, reader being called ‘kid’ by logan, unrequited love but actually requited (just angst all over…), logan howlett is bad at feelings, love confessions, virgin!reader, dirty talk, praise kink, p with little plot, fingering (f receiving), insecure!reader and insecure!logan, logan loves reader, unprotected p in v.

NOTES: not proofread! bello! ‘m not new to writing but new to writing fan fictions hehe! old man!logan is kinda my everything and this fic is kindaaaa self indulgent. listened to “linger” by the cranberries while writing this :0 feel free to send reqs and feedback to my inbox. this was mere my writing practice and my attempt to gain motivation in life. oh, sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes, eng is not my first language! hope this isn’t my first and last fic.. see u all <3 or not....:p

'Shamed what happened back in the East. 

A saying you heard but don’t know where. Even who said it. Still, you remember all of it—their cries of death, their pain, their suffering. 

A haunting vivid memory in X-Mansion, where all of your friends are lying on the ground, in pain—and you could not do anything. You just watched. In pain, too. There was a thought which you think that it was the end. You were already accepting it with open arms, welcoming your exit.

Then your mutation saved you from your fate. Your survival, at the price of grief. 

“You’re doing it again.” 

Jolted by his comment, you dart your eyes away from the road and into your lap. “Do what?” You mutter quietly, not sure if he even hears it. 

But he always does. “Never mind.” Logan sighs in the damp air. You both know it is better not to talk about what exactly happened back then. Talking is not what you two are best at either. “I asked you a question earlier, you hungry?” 

“A little, yeah. Yeah.” Your gaze sways to his driving figure: how his right hand grips the steering wheel way too tightly, how his soft blue shirt is all wrinkled, how his tired eyes look with those heavy eye bags, and the grey hairs all over his untrimmed beard. He looks worn out. But so are you.

The two of you have been doing this for God knows how long. Wandering from one place to the other with Charles in the backseat. Looking for a place to settle but not really looking for it either. It’s simply a suicide travel. 

He makes a turn towards a cheap-looking diner on your left. 

Northern Mexico. 

A place where you both decided to settle indefinitely. Alongside Charles, who lives in the abandoned smelting plant not so far away. Logan takes up a job as a limo driver in El Paso and every time you tell him you don’t want him to be so far away during the daytime, he always says: One of us has to earn the money, kid.

Kid. 

To this day, after time living together, you aren’t sure of the nature of the relationship between you and Logan. Companions? Friends? Strangers?

Well, one thing you are sure of is you are not his adopted child and he does not see you in that way, either. He sees you in the same way he sees Charles, as his responsibility. 

Before all this, you were aware of him: what he looked like, his mutation, his reputation. But you do not know him personally. You passed him once or twice in the hallways after your studies. That was it. 

All of a sudden, he’s all you have. The only other sane mutant you are fully sure, survived Charles’ seizure. Still, you two weren’t friends before and sure aren’t friends now. In this shared house, you and Logan are strangers—forced to live together on the sole base of sentimentality.

Deep down, you know there is something more. Something vulnerable, down there. Something fragile. There are moments like where-

Your thoughts are frozen by the sudden creaking sound of the front door. The sight of Logan all bloody and bruised entered your wandering vision. The book you were reading is now abandoned as you get up from the comfortable sofa. 

“W-what happened?” Rushing into him with quick movements, this is not the first time he returns all beaten up but it is still a blow to you every single time. You can’t stand the thought of losing another person in your life, even if you convince yourself that he is a mere stranger. 

His white shirt has reds in many parts, and he’s bleeding all over the house, “Some fuckin’ kids tried to mess up with the limo. F-fuck.” With the blood smeared all over his hand, he managed to get into the shared bathroom, his breath coming out short. 

“Wait!” You rushed to his figure with an aid kit in your trembling hands. He slouched forward, cursing himself. Gently, you wrap your arms around him before he falls and help him lean his back on the white tiles behind. 

He shakily opened the buttons of his shirt and you could see everything. While you grab all you need and start cleaning his wounds, he looks at you with his half-lidded eyes. The intense gaze that always makes you want to shy away from him—you are not so sure why. 

After a while, you kneel beside him and break eye contact, “Did you kill them?” you question him carefully as you tread his wounds. Not sure how he would answer tonight. 

Logan grunts when you touch one of his nasty wounds, still looking at you,  “No. But you should see them.” 

You feel uncomfortable at his reply, retreating your hands and facing the mirror, looking down at the sink, “I don’t want to see them, Logan.” At some point, as you search around for more supplies to treat his injuries that still haven’t healed by his mutation, you break down crying. Out of your realisation, you have been holding back your worries and sobs since you saw him. 

Logan, who notices this, pulls you abruptly into him and seats you on one of his thighs. “Hey, hey, why y’crying huh? Hm?” 

You hate this. You hate how you suddenly cry at the sight of him, at the reminder that this is all finite. His big calloused hand starts rubbing up and down your back, gently shushing you. You hate how he knows you all too well by now. 

“I told you to stop doing the job. I-I told you that this… this would happen. I’m always scared. I thought— ” You let out one big sob or whimper, you’re not so sure. Not when he’s cradling you in his arms like this. “You can’t heal like you used to, you can’t barely–”

“Hey, shh, pretty girl,” Pretty girl. You blush at that. “I’m here with you now, aren’t I? That’s all that matters.” He shushed you oh, so tenderly. Such a paradox could live inside a man like him. Logan forces himself to smile, “Aren’t I? Come on, feel me up.” Logan sits you up straight on his lap. 

He always does this. Giving out, you delicately place both of your hands on the sides of his face, feeling him up. He watches you brush around his greying beard while holding your waist in place, drawing circles on your skin. “There ‘ya go. I’m here.”

When you feel calm down and tired, you rest your heavy head on his shoulders, “Maybe I should take a turn going to town–” 

He cuts you off while lifting your chin, forcing you to look at him right in the eyes that you were trying so hard to dodge. Without him saying any words, you know he is saying no. Your assumption is confirmed when he shakes his head slightly, looking down at you sternly. 

“It’s just me and you, Logan.” You say meekly and defeatedly. 

“Exactly. That's why it’s gotta be me, baby.” 

Moments later, you continue mending his cuts. And moments after that, you’re both lying together on the bed. Holding each other in slumber. Your head on his chest, his hands on your back. 

Through these delicate moments, you know him. That he is not simply a stranger to you. That this means something more. 

But he does not talk about those moments. Which makes you feel like your perspective is an illusion that you made by yourself, untrue. A false memory that you created in your head because you do feel something for him. 

In the morning, you wake up alone. Logan is nowhere to be seen around the room. Only traces of his scent are left on the white sheets wrapping around your figure. 

When you open the bedroom door, there he is. Sitting on the kitchen chair, his slouched back facing you while he sips on his black coffee which he secretly hates. He likes the coffees that you frequently make for him more. You don’t know that. He never told you. 

“Logan?” you call out to him. But he didn’t budge away from reading the newspaper. As if you weren’t there at all. As if moments like last night never happened. As if it’s true that you are merely a responsibility to him. A burden, even. You hang your head low at his ignorance and retreat to your room.

Such a paradox could live inside a man like him. 

Other moments happened too. One afternoon, his phone suddenly rings while he is out visiting Charles. With all the self-control you have, you try to ignore it, ignore everything that connects to him because it upsets you. But your curiosity gets ahead of your mind and you pick his phone up. 

“Hello?” you place the thing on the side of your left ear. No sound, nothing, nada. Before you know it, you feel a presence behind you and Logan is looking down at you with that look again. 

Snatching his phone away from you, not so gently, he mutters, “How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my stuff, huh?” The way he remarks and the way he looks at you makes you feel small and embarrassed. These are the moments where he is not going to cradle you in his arms–you know that. 

Your eyes darted to the floor. The lines on the wood oak floor suddenly seemed very interesting, “I’m- Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing. So I thought–” 

“You thought? What? You have the right to?” Logan cuts you off before you finish your poor excuse of explanation. “You have your own pile of shit and I have mine. Stay out of my shit. You understand?” 

Sometimes there are sparks of rage inside of you that make you gain bits of confidence, “Well, we technically live in the same place, so–” 

Though, Logan quickly dims off that spirit by not letting you finish, “Understand?”

You limit yourself to a nod in agreement because you don’t trust your voice. Confusion often fills up your body to the brim. These are the moments you hate. How he treats you differently at one time and another. You hate how he makes you so weak. You hate how he has you wrapped around his fingers. You hate that you don’t have the same effect on him. 

“It’s not your fault, darling.” Charles reasons you one time when you visit him for weekly check-ups. “That man has issues! Even after all these years, I still could not fully understand him and his... complexities.” You force your lips to quirk up a little and pretend as if you justify that, too. But you're in so deep.

Weeks after weeks, it went on like that. You, confused. Logan, indifferent all the time. You miss his touches. Was it just a game to him?

Paralyzed, the color red clouded your vision. You see bodies lying everywhere, dead bodies. The room smells like dread. With what is left, your power manages to slow down the pain that rushes in you. Protect you from the incursion. 

Here, there is no way to hide. Their cries echo through the halls. Their screams still haunt you. 

If you could have saved yourself, you could have saved them too. But you watched them die.

You watched them die. 

You watched them die. 

Inside the dark of your room, you did not realize that you had been thrashing and screaming in your sleep. The nightmare came to you again. Grief shows through in the form of tears, flowing into your cheeks as you open your eyes in fear, “I let them die, I let them die, I let them die–” 

“Sweetheart?” a voice comes from outside your room. Near but so far away.

You kept repeating those words until a figure finally came up in front of you, Logan. He calls out your name, “Hey, no, no–” Now he is touching you all over, trying to stop you from moving rapidly and hurting yourself in the process. Sitting you in front of him and making you face him. Closing your eyes for a brief second, your chest heaving up and down, you remember again and you panic, “I-I watched them die–” your voice wavers. 

“No, shh, keep those eyes open. You’re okay. I’m here.” His hands hold your face and his thumb brush off some of the hair in your wet cheeks. 

“I could’ve saved them. They were dying, they were in pain–” You cry out as the scene on that day played out again. Daunting and haunting you without your consent. Always lingering around on the back of your neck. Only one person knows what it feels like.

Logan’s eyes soften while he remembers that bitter memory too, “So were you,” His voice coaks out, soothing you, “So were you. ‘s not your responsibility.”

At this, you put your arms around his neck and grip him tightly, finally comprehending what is happening. “Calm down, baby. Logan’s here. ‘M not leaving.” He hushed you back to your senses. 

After minutes of him comforting you in silence, his eyes dart to your bleeding lips which you bite to stifle your sobs. With much surprise, Logan parts them and caresses them. Looking at them then back at your eyes, then at your lips again. Your foreheads are now touching and you find yourself nose-to-nose to him.

In your chest, your heart beats so loudly that you fear he may actually hear it. Then with that look that he gives you again, every logical thought and pride you were trying to build, collapses inside you, making you putty in his arms. As you always do. 

But tonight, something more is happening, “Logan.” You managed to call out his name in a whisper, begging for something. He feels the same way too, “I know, baby. I know.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any signs of discomfort as he starts to kiss each one of your cheeks. He tells himself repeatedly in his mind, “No, not her. Anyone but her, you dipshit. You’ll lose her if you do this.” A belief that he has been telling himself every day.

What you don’t know about Logan, after all this time, is how he is afraid that if he touches you, if he shows you his feelings, you will be gone from this world. If he cares about you, he will lose you. He is in fear that the cruel world will take you away. As it always does to people he cared.

Bad shit happens to people I care about. And he managed to hold onto this thinking and compose himself every time.

Until now. 

Your whimpers and pleads get to him–he cannot hold back anymore, he doesn’t want to hold back anymore. He peppers your face with kisses, everywhere but where you need him the most, your lips. “L-Logan…” you feel your face getting hotter every moment. “Ah, p-please–”, you greedily grind your lower body onto his thighs. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He groans while breathing all over your face, “You have no idea what I would do to you, the shit I’d do for you.” One of his hands gets under your nightgown and he succeeds in squeezing your tit. “Ah!” you squeak in surprise and quickly get embarrassed when he chuckles at the noises you make. 

When your gaze meets him, the force can no longer be stopped. What you both try to bury deep down, what you two were locking away in a box, is bolting itself abruptly. The thumps of his heart match yours. There is no going back now.

While breaking a promise, he makes a new promise to himself: that he’d protect you before all the bad shit happens. He will not let any of it get to you. 

After a brief staring contest and lingering doubts, he loses himself, mutters ‘Fuck this shit’ under his breath, and locks his lips on yours, melting you completely into his embrace. You gasp into his mouth and tighten your hug around him. His tongue finds yours sensually as he cradles your head to deepen the kiss. It was the first time he kissed you. 

“It’s just you and me, kid.” He blurted out against your mouth and you could not conceal your smile. Whatever you both were trying to suppress, it’s now roaming free in liberation. 

His mouth grins at your reaction and before he can stop himself, he confesses, “‘M sorry for how I acted these days. This old man was so fuckin’ afraid of how things would turn out.” 

You were about to say it’s okay but he continues, “But he will try his best from now on. What d’ya think? Hm?” Logan looks over at you hesitantly, afraid of what you’d reply. His ‘confession’ does sound way better in his head, when he practiced beforehand. You didn’t know that, of course. 

A giggle went out of your lips, “I think I’d like that.” you say breathlessly before kissing him again. 

Our brain is meant to be effective. It is not designed to be right at all times. Well, sometimes we are right, but we experience the wrongs more. What we thought we knew, we don’t. What we thought we didn't know–maybe we do. Especially about another person and their feelings. Similar to what you thought Logan Howlett feels. 

Following that night, things had changed between the both of you. The ‘boundaries’ separating you two are torn into pieces, in a good way. Now you are reminded by the nature of your relationship through everything. When he comes back home to you every day, when he puts his arms around you while you are cooking dinner, when he kisses the crown of your head before sleeping, when he fixes your favorite kitchen chair, and many other whens. 

Including now, when he kisses you so roughly and gently at the same time, fueled by the desire he kept while he was still stubborn back. Logan hiked up your dress until he could feel your breasts, pinching one nipple.  “Missed you– missed you so much today.” He says while kissing down between your chest and your stomach, “Missed this,” somewhere in between. You are not so sure. 

“Tell me, did you miss me too, Little Missy?” Logan, who is kneeling before, tilts his head upwards so he can see your face. You cover your blushing face, shying away from him and his question like you are used to, “You know the answer.”

He picks you up from the kitchen with one hand and puts you down on your shared bed, “Oh, you don’t wanna say it?” You shake your head in an attempt to tease him. Lying down on your back and with parted legs, you can feel his rough beard while he kisses your inner thigh. “Aight' then, we may just see it.” 

By seeing it, he means ripping your white underwear, the one you adored the most and has a pink ribbon, “Shh. I’ll buy you another one.” Logan quickly says before he can hear your protesting remarks.  

“Really liked that one... ah!” The tip of his tongue probes your entrance without much warning, lapping up and down your cunt. “See, baby? You missed me so much. She’s dripping here.” 

You feel embarrassed with how he is looking at you down there as if he is inspecting you. Unconsciously, you try to close your legs slightly. Logan does not like this as delivers a soft spank to one of your butt cheeks. “So shy all the time when it’s just your old man.”  

Now, his rough hands are gripping each one of your thighs and keeping you in place. His tongue lapped at your pussy—from your hole to your clit, circling and sucking until you can feel his beard slicked up by your juices. Whimpering, your hands desperately pull at his hair, pulling him closer and closer as if he isn’t already eating you up. 

He chuckles darkly when you whine pathetically at the movement of his one thick finger entering your wet hole. “Such a pretty pussy, baby.” He huffed and looked up at you with pure animalistic need as his fingers worked your walls, hitting that gummy spot that had you crying.

“Please! P-please—Logan. Want you inside,” This plead makes Logan stop his actions and glance up at you, questioningly. You weren’t sure about a lot of things, but you are sure about this. “‘M ready, pleaseplease…”  

Logan has been denying you his cock for who knows how long. All this time, he gets you off by his mouth, thighs, fingers, anything except his cock. He always has an excuse, “You’re not ready for me, baby.” Or “This ain’t about me, kid.” Or “My old bones are too tired today. Next time, yeah?” Each one of them frustrates you. 

Your virginity is making him hold himself back. You know this, he knows this. Deep down, he still thinks he is a filthy man who does not fully deserve you and that he is ruining you. He thinks by not penetrating you by his cock, he gains some sense of decency but he really is just unsure. Not about you, no, never. About himself. 

But when you look at him with those big eyes while sprawling yourself bare to him, how could he deny you? “Are you sure? Fuck. Can’t hold myself back anymore.” Logan takes off his crumpled white shirt, undoes his belt, and tosses them away, making a clinking sound that echoes through the room. His eyes grew dark with raw desire as he brought down his pants and fists his large cock in his hand. All while looking at you. 

“Yes! Please, please, give it to me. ‘Can take it!” You snapped with excitement and lean up, pressed a kiss to a part of his greying beard—the older man grins at your eagerness. “You’re going to be the death of me, pretty girl.” Logan lifts both of your legs and puts his mouth on your mound once more, making sure that you’re ready and you haven’t changed your mind.

Between his hunger licks on your pussy and the probes of his thick fingers, he mutters, “I fuckin’ love you.” And that statement itself makes you cry out his name and come all over his fingers and tongue, “L-Logan!”

“Atta girl.” You arch your back in a euphoric state of your orgasm. He could smell you. Every part of you. “So beautiful. Can’t believe you’re all mine.” 

He helps you remove every fabric you had on, your pretty white sundress, your bra, your socks—everything that is separating you and him. Now you and he are completely bare, “All this for your old man, huh?” He mumbles the rhetorical question into the chilly air, his hands ghosting over your perked nipples and pinching them softly, then kisses each one of them. He goes down on you again and kisses your clit one more time. 

The sight of him makes your breath caught in your throat. You swallow your spit at the look of greying bread glistening with your cum, at the sight of his thick cock springing against his stomach. “Is my baby ready for me?” You nod your head eagerly at him, assuring him that this is what you want. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself between your bodies, “Use your big girl words, darlin’” He nudges at your already wet entrance, waiting for your response, taking his time with you. 

“‘M ready..! I want this, want you.” You pamper kisses all over his face the same way when he comforts you during your nightmare. His forehead meets yours and he kisses your lips gently as a form of understanding your needs. “Hold on t’me, my sweet girl.” 

Then his tip slips inside and you gasp into his mouth, “Good girl. My good girl. You can take it.” You tighten your grip around him as he pushes himself deep inside you, “D-Doing so good, baby. Just a little more,” down to the hilt—his cock bottoms out, “There ya’ go, princess.” Logan coos at your trembling state. 

He swallows your moans with a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring the insides of your mouth. “Feel so fuckin’ good. I fuckin’ love you.” There he says it again while he pulls himself all the way out to just the tip, then all the way back in—making you throw your head upwards.

Logan growls and kisses your bare neck, leaving some marks on it but you don’t care, in fact, you want him to. “I love you too, Logan.” You utter those words to him as he rams into you, his thrusts going faster and faster as he loses himself watching you. The friction of his cock against the velvet walls of your cunt is addictive, the pleasure makes the older man grunts. 

He thrusts harder, his hips slamming into home, the sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room, alongside your little ah ah ah's . 

"Cum for me, baby. Come for your old man." With one final, powerful thrust, he releases inside your tight heat, his warm seed filling you as he curses and lets his head fall onto your embrace.

"Ah!" You shudder as you clench tight around him and milk his cock. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your body giving out of control as you experience another release of the night. 

Logan lifts his head to scan over the scene before him. He had never seen anything like it and he had seen a lot of shit. Your figure is all fucked out and filled. He didn’t think anything could be more beautiful than what he has right now. And he says it again before bringing his lips into yours, “It’s just you and me.” 

You tiredly return his kiss and look at him with a soft smile, “It’s just you and me.” 

His meaningless and plain life becomes something again because of you. You are the anchor of his life and his reason not only to stay but to fight and protect. 

Logan knows there are things that can be stopped, but then there is love.

He is in so deep too. This time, the both of you willingly let it linger. It’s just you and him.