#again: I am at work but I'm gonna leave in a bit I want to know wtf happened to Richarlyson

[loverslodge]

shifted for you

summary: bucky was stuck in a pup form till you came in his life

pairings: shifter!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, SMUT, nudity, reference to his injury, barely a plot

A/N: this is the fic that is for my over 100 followers. thank you all for loving my work and following me. i am not good at interactions so i apologize i come off as snobby but i do encourage you to leave requests and messages.

Bucky was a shifting White Wolf till Hydra had ruined his shifts and he was stuck in pup form, even after Steve had found him.

The Avengers helped him but he could never shift back to himself and so Tony made Bucky a special communication device so he didn't have to bark every two seconds because everyone wanted to pet his cute ass.

One day he and Steve were ambushed and they got separated and Bucky would have gotten back, only if he knew what part of the city he was lost in and he had also lost his communication device.

You were walking home after a stressful day at work when you heard small whimpers coming from an alley.

You stopped and looked in the alley to see a roughed up pup with two electric blue eyes staring back at you.

“It's okay, little buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you.” You walk slowly and crouch down to approach the whimpering pup. “Let me help you. I promise I will try to find your owner.”

You were close enough to hold it but you held out your hand instead, wanting the pup to sniff and make sure you really meant him no harm.

He slowly walks over a little sniffs around your hand and he gives you the sweetest look and you give him your brightest smile but he struggled to walk to you so you whipped it up in your hand and pulled him close to your chest.

You brought it to the new vet that had opened near your house. The vet examined the wolf pup and gave him a suspicious look. The vet gave you a few tips and tricks on how to help the pup and gave you some supplies that would last you a few days before you could go shopping for them.

The pup had a metal left front leg that kept his balance. You figured it was from the previous owner. On your walk home, the pup stayed alert and kept on looking around. You found it adorable how smart and alert he was.

When you reached your apartment, you let him down and he cautiously made his way from one to another while you set up his stuff

You bent down to look at his neck. “I don't see any collar on you. How will I know what's your name and who's your owner? Do you have a name, Little Wolf?”

As if he could understand you, he nodded which shocked you. Perhaps this was a very well trained pup. “Ok. Well, you can't talk so I will have to find a way for you to spell your name out to me. Can you spell?”

After waiting a beat, the pup nodded again and you nodded back. You looked around to find a way to interact with him. You rummaged around the apartment to find something but couldn't come up with anything.

Meanwhile, you had poured food for the pup in his bowl but he wasn't eating it, giving it a disgusting look. He just drank the water and trotted to sit on the carpet in the living room.

“You've at least got to eat to keep the strength up. Do you not like the food?” He shook his head in no.

“Then what do you eat? Do you eat human food?” He nodded yes.

“You are a very weird wolf and your owner must be even weirder for feeding you human food.”

When your pizza arrived, you pulled out a spare plate for the pup to eat in. you turned on Stranger Things and were watching the scene where Will’s mother had written alphabets all over the wall for him to interact with her.

That clicked in your mind and you immediately pulled out a large paper and wrote alphabets on them for the pup to walk and put his paw on them.

“Here, now we can talk. Let's start by you telling me your name, Little Wolf.”

The pup trotted on the paper and put his paw on the alphabets and you wrote them down on your phone to stay up to speed.

B-U-C-K-Y

“Bucky? Is that your name?” The pup nodded a bit more enthusiastically.

“Well Bucky, looks like you're stuck with me for a while. At least till I find your owner.”

………………….

It had been almost a month since you had Bucky in your life. The pup hadn’t grown at all but you were used to having him around.

You had learnt quite a few things about him.

He loved sweet food, especially pancakes.

He would whine if he didnt see you for more than 15 minutes.

He was very alert and protective of you.

He loved to cuddle against your chest and crook of your neck.

Last but not the least, he has nightmares often but once you rub his head gently and coax him to sleep, he would cuddle into you and go back to sleep.

This is why he has been sharing the bed with you and you thought you were spoiling him but you couldn't see him sleep alone and have nightmares.

You work from home often but you go to the office from time to time to get a change of scenery.

So whenever you're working from home, he would snuggle into your lap.

But every time you left, he would be whimpering and whining the entire day till he hears you walk in.

“Hey Bucky! How has your day been? Did you do anything instead of missing me?” You teased the little pup. Bucky humphed and trotted away from you. “Aww, don't be like that. I was just teasing.”

You swooped down and held him closer to your chest and kissed his head. “I'm glad I found you, little wolf.

You give me so much comfort and you keep us safe, my fierce wolf.”

That night as you and pup cuddled, Bucky felt something shift in him and he jumped off the bed, trying not to hurt you.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he just automatically shifted back to his 6 foot beefy human form.

Bucky excitedly walked in the bathroom and closed the door gently to not wake you up.

He looked at himself. He hadn't seen himself since Hydra had taken him. His vibranium pup hand had now grown with him, attached to his jagged shoulder.

Bucky must've spent an hour or so in the bathroom looking at himself. He slowly creeped out of the bathroom and stood right above you.

This was his chance to touch your face with his human form.

He's always wanted to feel how your skin would feel against his.

He caressed your face gently and it sent shivers down his spine.

Your skin was so fucking soft.

He wanted to bury his face in your neck and hold you close to him, make you feel the real him.

He had started developing a tiny (yeah right) crush on you.

You cared for him, cuddled him and shared everything with him.

He would find all kinds of ways to cuddle on your chest.

Your heartbeats always calmed him and your smell, damn, it was all he could think about.

And when you patted his head and caressed him and pulled him closer whenever he had nightmares, all he wanted to do was mark you up.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek.

He knew he would have to find a way to tell you about his shift.

But he didn't want to leave you either.

So he thought of risking it.

He tried shifting back and he did but this time he was a huge wolf and not a pup.

Then he thought maybe he should try shifting back to human form, see if it was still working and it did.

Bucky was, somehow, back to normal.

He turned back to his wolf form and climbed back in bed, placing his snout in the crook of your neck. He went back to a calming sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt a wetness against your neck and heaviness on your body.

You shuffled to see that little pup and suddenly grew into a huge wolf that had taken over most of your body and bed.

His metal forearm was snuggly wrapped around your waist.

You slowly got out of the bed and went to the bathroom to get ready.

When you got out, you saw the wolf sitting by the bathroom door with, what looked like, an abandoned face.

He whined as soon as he saw you.

You bent down and laughed, scratching his head. “Oh little wolf, I would never go anywhere without telling you, you know that, right? And look at you! All… grown up in a night? Must be a miracle that have happened. But no worries, it's okay. You look more comfortable now than when you were a pup.”

Bucky rubbed his head against your hand.

His ears touched a fluffy thing and he turned to see that you were in nothing but a towel.

His primal instincts were trying to take over but all he did was let out a quiet growl to calm himself.

In his pup form, you would busy him with some task and change and he didn't really mind that but now he was back, all Bucky, and the attraction towards you was hard to deny.

You threw him a toy and thought he was distracted but his blue eyes were following your every move.

You had completely removed your towel and were moisturizing yourself.

The dips and curves of your body were being taken in by a certain blue eyed wild wolf. Your erect nipples and your glistened pussy was calling out to him but he held off.

Once you were done with moisturizing, you wore your traditional home pjs, shorts and tattered crop top.

You had decided to forego your bra and were just in your underwear.

Bucky was not someone who was good at holding off for this long so he turned and walked to the large alphabet paper to talk to you.

He had to let you know that you were living with a man, a shifter and not a pet.

You saw him walk to the paper so you brought out your own tiny pad to help you form sentences so you wouldn't get lost.

“I am not a wolf.”

You snorted at it but nodded your head to let him continue.

“I am a man.”

You got quieter because you had heard of shifters who were endangered and were mostly under hiding.

“I'm the Winter Soldier.”

You gasped.

“I don't mean you any harm but if you let me change i will explain.”

You nodded slowly and he shifted in front of you.

He was a god.

He was a completely naked beefy god on whom you want to jump but can't because of lots many reasons.

“I'm Bucky.”

Why the fuck is his voice so fantastic?

You could feel his voice vibrating through your wet pussy.

His cock is was right in front of your face and so close to grasp.

He was big and veiny.

You grabbed your bottle and drank entirely to quench your dry throat.

You got up suddenly, startling him and grabbed an old pair of men’s sweatpants and handed it to him with your cheeks burning red.

Even the sweatpants werent hiding his beauty.

He sat at the edge of your bed and patted next to him for you to sit down.

“I was lost when you found me. I stayed a pup because of my past but I was able to shift yesterday.”

He looked at you so innocently.

His blue eyes dripped with innocence and all you wanted to do was steal it but you held yourself off.

“I swear I would've told you the truth but it really takes a lot of effort for me to tap every letter and i didnt know if I could trust you after what I have been through.”

You pull him in a hug to comfort him.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck and your bodies are pressed together.

Your taut nipples were pressed tightly against his bare chest.

You felt him tighten his hold on you and he rubbed his nose against the crook, lazily kissing your sensitive spot.

“...Bucky…”

He lifted his head and brought his nose closer to yours and bumped it as if asking for permission.

You leaned forward and put your lips on his.

His primal instincts spurred and the kiss became more demanding.

“Tell me to stop, doll.”

“You're in charge, Bucky. Take what you want.”

He threw you in the middle of the bed and climbed on top of you, his lips not leaving your body.

He tore through your shorts, t-shirt and underwear, leaving you naked and writhing under him while his lips and teeth marked your body as his.

You moaned and mewled as he ate you out.

Your hand held his hair tightly, making him groan on your pussy, sending vibrations straight to your core.

“God, baby, you're so perfect.”

He loved eating you out so much and he kept at it till he made you cum three times, leaving you glassy eyed and panting.

Your naked bodies, pressed against each other, made the entire scene look like a painting.

“Are you sure?”

“Make me yours, Bucky.”

Bucky rubs his cock against your folds and your back arches, giving him the sweet sounds he's been listening to all day.

He slides his cock in and takes his sweet time, making you feel things your body had never felt before.

His lips move all over your body just like yours do to his.

He speeds up his thrusting and you moan out his name, making him go feral.

“Yes Bucky please.”

“So sweet, doll.” “So tight for me.” “not gonna last long, baby.”

His thrusts become irregular and you rub your fingers against your clit to match him.

You both cum together as he spills in you.

“Can I stay in you for a little longer?”

“Stay as long as you want, Bucky.”

“I want you.”

“You have me.”

“No no, not just like this. I want to be bound to you.”

“And how can you do that?”

“I mark you, bite you, bind you to me for life.”

“Do it, Bucky. I'm all yours to be bound.”

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡the plan 💋

"i'm trying to kiss your lips for real" (inspred by the song "APT." by rosé and bruno mars)

regulus black x reader | word count: 1,348 words

summary: when you have a dream about regulus, dorcas and marlene work to make it a reality 💋

warnings: like one curse word. other than that, none! just fluff!

note: another regulus fic, yayyyy! (a.k.a: the reggie brainrot's really getting to me-) again, i apologize if this fic seems inaccurate. feel free to correct me on things or give feedback!

you were currently holed up on your dorm, covered in a bunch of blankets as you internally screamed and panicked. one would wonder, why were you in this state of hysteria? because you had a dream. but not just any dream. a dream about kissing someone. and that someone was...

"REGGIE?" dorcas yelled in disbelief, throwing her arms around the mound that was created by your body underneath the covers.

you mumbled something, but it was muffled by the blankets. "honey, we can't hear you." marlene said, sitting next to you.

you reluctantly poked your head out of the mound, immediately resting your head in her lap.

"what the hell am i supposed to do? i can't even look at regulus..." you repeated, your eyes fluttering shut as marlene gently played with your hair.

"oh, come on. yeah, it's embarrassing, but i bet it's not that bad." dorcas quipped, playfully poking your cheek.

"today, in potions class, he asked me to hand him a vial of something," you began, cringing at your actions.

"and?" marlene asked.

"i started coughing uncontrollably and pretended like i need to go to the infirmary. and when he offered to take me, i just....ran out of the room..." you admitted, covering your face with your hands.

"ooh, yeah, that's bad." dorcas said, earning herself a smack on the thigh from her girlfriend. "what? what did i say?"

"ignore dorcas. i'm sure if you just go and explain-!" you immediately cut marlene off, a slight look of horror forming on your face.

"you want ME to tell THE regulus black that i had a dream about kissing him? oh, yeah. 'hey reggie. sorry i've been so awkward around you lately. i just had a dream about sucking face and swapping spit with you.'" you said sarcastically. "do you know how embarrassing that would be?"

"if you would let me finish, bub," marlene said, glancing over at a giggling dorcas then back at you.

"obviously, you're not gonna tell him you dreamt about kissing him. just tell him....you've been having....thoughts about him." "that's even worse!" you exclaimed, sitting up out of her lap.

"then what do you suggest-" just then, a wicked little smirk found its way onto marlene's lips. you knew that look and you did not like it.

the blonde leaned over and whispered something into her girlfriend's ear, the two of them exchanging the same mischievous expression.

"whatever you two are planning, leave me out of it." "honey, you're the main character of what we're planning." dorcas giggled, making you curl up into your blanket mound once again.

it had been three days since your "talk" with dorcas and marlene. and things weren't getting even the slightest bit better. you were avoiding the poor boy like the plague. walking in the opposite direction when you saw him in the halls, making up excuses to leave early when you had to work together, even hiding behind a couch in the common room when he'd walk in. yet again, the girls tried to urge you to take some action, but you obviously refused. so, they had no choice but to take matters into their own hands.

it was a quiet afternoon and you were chilling with the others in the slytherin common room. barty and evan were lounging on the couch talking about god knows what, regulus looking up from his book to shoot them a judgmental side eye. dorcas and marlene were talking by the window and you sat with pandora and lily, complaining about whatever classes you had next.

your conversation was interrupted by marlene and dorcas walking over and taking lily's and pandora's hands into their own.

"sorry to interrupt, but it's time for us to go. we have things to do." marlene said, pulling lily along.

"what things?" pandora asked, earning herself a sharp look from dorcas.

"you know: the thing and that other thing." she said, sounding completely confident. it took a few seconds for pandora and lily to get the picture.

"ah, the thing! yeah, we gotta go do that! uh, barty, evan. could you two come help us?" lily asked, opening the door. the two boys were obviously in on whatever this was, giggling like little children as they followed the girls out.

"uh, regulus and i can help-!" "nope, no need! i mean, six people should be able to deal with it! byeeeee!" marlene yelled, slamming the door shut.

you were completely dumbfounded as you stared at the door, jumping out of your skin as you heard the dark haired slytherin speak behind you.

"i knew that lot of idiots was up to something." he sighed, sinking back into the couch. you bit back a laugh, trying to ignore your clammy palms and the ever growing knot in your stomach as you sat next to him, a few feet between you two.

"yeah, they're....always up to something...." you muttered, your heart hammering so loudly in your ears, you didn't even realize regulus had been telling you something till his nudged your arm.

"hm?" you muttered, widening your eyes a little to signal you were listening this time.

"what is going on with you? you've been acting strangely lately-" no, you did not want to have this conversation. you needed to get out of here. now.

"you know, they might need some help," you said, moving to get up. as you did, regulus caught your wrist, a frown on his lips.

"you're not going anywhere until you explain yourself. i know you've been avoiding me on purpose." ah, shit.

you reluctantly sat back down, fidgeting with your fingers as you avoided eye contact. "promise you won't think i'm weird?"

regulus raised an eyebrow, finally nodding his head and muttering a quick "promise."

"recently i had a dream-"

"so you've been avoiding me....because of a dream you had?" regulus cut you off and you could already see his ears turning red.

"w-wait, it's not like that!" you exclaimed, covering your face with your hands and groaning.

regulus blinked as he watched you crumble in embarrassment, a slight smile forming on his lips. "well....then what was the dream about?"

you took a breath, looking away from him, your hands now gripping the cushions of the couch. "it was about...us. we were....we were kissing, okay?"

there was a moment of silence between the two of you, regulus obviously taken aback. "kissing?"

"yeah. you...you leaned in and kissed me and...it felt so real. i almost wished it was." you admitted, finally turning your head to look him in the eyes. "i like you, regulus black. and i want to kiss you...for real."

regulus felt like his heart would burst, his eyes shaking a little as he coughed awkwardly, looking at his lap, the back at you. "you really want to kiss me?"

"right now....more than anything." before you could even get another breath out, regulus was in your space, hand cupping your cheek. the cold touch of his silver rings against your cheek made you shiver a little. your breath hitched, your eyes gazing into his pretty gray ones.

"glad to hear it. because i," he leaned in a bit closer, his lips hovering over yours. "want to kiss you too."

the kiss was short and sweet, lasting a few seconds before regulus pulled away, your eyes locking. you felt a warmth flood your heart, the way he looked at you making your lips curve up into a smile. you wordlessly leaned back in, your fingers knotting into his curly forest of hair. this time, the kiss was slow and slightly passionate, jolts of joy and pleasure running through your body.

when the two of you separated again, you were both smiling like idiots, a hue of pink coloring regulus's cheeks. "looks like their plan worked after all." you murmured, causing regulus to raise an eyebrow.

"what plan?" he mused as a bit of laughter left your lips.

"don't worry about it." you hummed, closing the gap between you two once more. you'd definitely have to thank dorcas and marlene later. 💋

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

WTF DO YOU MEAN RICHARLYSON DIED?????

I'm at work waiting for something to save and glanced at my phone and literally felt my heart stop when I saw the words "Richarlyson" and "death" in the same sentence. I forgot they all have 2 lives now, for a moment I LEGITIMATELY thought he was gone forever and I was about to burst into tears in the middle of this damn office building.

[nest-being]

setting myself some goals for the rest of the month!! i'm gonna do 10 minutes of yoga and half and hour on the treadmill every day bc i've honestly been way too bed locked recently!! also gonna try and actually eat the fruit i buy instead of forgetting about it like i always do 😅

if anyone has a favourite yoga routine they like to do in the mornings, i'd love to know!

[keeps-ache]

the urge to talk my head off vs. the calm of quiet vs. the Thoughts

[dogearedheart]

8i've been thinking about the last asks i got today. and i think it's better for me to take a step back from this account. i know the anon didn't mean anything by it, but i still feel like i am being a negative presence on here and weirding people out with who i am is nothing i want. so, i am not deleting or anything. i am just gonna be less present with sharing personal things or leaving tags. I'll probably be more active on my second account where i don't have that many followers :)

[blizzardfluffykpop]

why the fuck do i miss pigeons

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Man this day keeps getting worse and worse huh

[that-was-anticlimactic]

universe of constant spinning, every end a new beginning

“So, do you have an umbrella? That was like, your thing, right? At Claw?”

Ah—not again! He can’t keep zoning out while talking to people—especially his boss.

But… why was Reigen still here? It was late and he always got to work early. It wasn’t his job to stay and coddle his employees. “I—uh—no,” he stuttered, fingers twisting anxiously. “Mine was, uh, "is” broken, sir.”

‘Broken’ was a mild way to put it. More like it got destroyed.

[or, reigen gives serizawa an umbrella]

☔️2,651 words | serirei☔️

[pirateboy]

everything is shit i feel like shit, hatred in my heart and soul

[u3pxx]

EDIT: CLOSED NOW! thank you everyone

---

will be closing on JAN 29, 9 AM PHT/JAN 28, 5 PM PST

thank you so much to those who donated! i wasn't expecting to have a considerable backlog from just the 3 days since i've posted this, that's why i mentioned before that i'll be leaving this up for a week. still, i'm afraid i'll have to cut this short since i've lots more drawings to do and i unfortunately have college to juggle at the same time.

i am extremely thankful for all the generous people who have emailed me about donating! i'll be closing this at 9 am tomorrow (my time) since, again, busy. so if you've been thinking about donating and getting a doodle from me, there's a little bit of time left!

---

hello there! i’ll be doing character doodles for donations (donations done after i post this) for gaza!

what will these doodles look like?

the characters will be drawn from the shoulders up! the higher the donation, the more polish that doodle’s gonna get!

what do you need to do for a doodle?

you could either:

donate e-sims to palestine (starting from sims priced 14+ usd). the post linked includes tutorials, relevant links, and discount codes you can find in the replies. instructions can be also found on https://gazaesims.com/ (you can donate another/more sims for an extra doodle or more polish, you decide)

donate 14+ usd to care for gaza. you can donate to them via paypal over here

or donate 14+ usd to palestine children's relief fund

afterward, take a screenshot that you’ve successfully donated to any of the ones mentioned above and send the proof of donation to u3pxx.contact@gmail.com as well as:

the amount you've spent/donated in usd

the name/reference pictures of the character you want me to doodle (ocs included!)

now, please note that my work is for personal use only, not for commercial use/profit/merch/ai training/nfts. you can use it on icons, headers, etc. but please credit me and do not crop/edit out my signature.

i'll end up being a lot busier in the following weeks so this will be available for a limited time, i'll announce it here once i close this. thank you so much, free palestine!

[peachesofteal]

Hello! Been enjoying your Through Me series, thanks for sharing it. Curious how Simon reacts to Mama having morning sickness and/or when the baby bump starts showing.

Hope you have a wonderful day!

Through Me (The Flood) - Simon Riley/female reader

"I'm pregnant, not dying."

Simon's lips twist, trying to swallow a smile as he plucks Orion from your arms. "I know, mama. Still, he's huge. You don't need to be picking him up if you can't help it." You throw your hands in the air and your shirt rises, highlighting where your belly has started to change. He can't help but stare at it, warming with pride, with obsession, lust. You turn him into a madman. The bump has pushed him farther into the irrational, possessive, caveman part of his mind, more than he ever thought possible. You're his, all his, carrying his baby again, and it does wild things to him.

"What am I going to do when you're not here?" He frowns, and you place your palm on his hip, patting reassuringly. "Simon, I love you, but you're going to have to let go a little bit."

"I'm going to let go plenty when I leave for work." He huffs, reaching out to spread his hand across your belly. The swell is hardly pronounced, but still there, and it does a weird thing to his heart every time he touches it. You, and the baby. It clangs around in his chest like a wild drum.

He's sick at the idea of leaving you, and you read it on him. "We're going to be okay, Si. I promise." You can't promise that, just he can't promise anything either, but he'll hold tight to the hope.

"I know." Still, he doesn't let go. He leaves his hand sitting there, thumb rubbing circles into your belly, watching your eyes. You're tired. You've been sick, more sick than you were with Orion, and it's wearing you down, whittling your energy away. "You should rest." You glance at Orion reluctantly, and he kisses your temple. "I've got the rest of the night. Go lay down."

Simon snaps the last button closed on Orion's pajamas as he starts peeking around the room.

"Mamamamama-" Ry babbles, looking left and right for you. He always wants you before bed, wants to at least see you if you're not the one putting him down. Simon doesn't blame him. They're kindred spirits in that way.

"Alright little man, let's go say goodnight to mama." You're asleep on your side, a pillow wrapped up in your arms, and he carefully settles onto the bed, tilting forward so Orion can give you a kiss.

"Mama mama." He calls, and your lashes flutter, barely rousing to say goodnight with sleepy sweet smile.

"Hi baby." You reach, bringing him close. "Daddy tucking you in?"

"Had to say goodnight." He soothes a hand over your hip and down to your belly, gravitating towards it like always now. You're in no better shape than you were earlier, and worry twists in his gut. You've promised its normal, but it doesn't sit right with him.

"Okay, love you." You kiss Orion's cheek, holding the back of his head before letting go, looking up at Simon. "Coming to bed after?"

"Gonna clean up the kitchen and then I'll be in. Go back to sleep." He tries not to focus on the anxiety, trying to stay in these moments, these short moments that he'll need to hold onto for as long as possible.

At the door, he turns, watching you slip back under the waves of sleep. His baby in his arms, another one growing inside you, the entirety of the stars shining in the sky around their moon. You.

He makes it to bed an hour later. You're out like a light, sleeping like the dead, snoring, rolled onto your back now, arms and legs out like a starfish, and he tucks himself around you, shifting carefully to avoid waking you while still getting as close as he possibly can. He finds the bump again, flexing his fingers into soft flesh, breath fanning across your collarbone.

"She says you can hear us, you know. Not clearly I guess, but enough to know our voices. That's why she's always talkin' to ya. So you know who she is." He takes a deep breath. "She wants another boy but I think you're gonna be a girl. Have a feeling." You twitch with a small noise, and he kisses your neck to settle you. "Have to even out the odds around here, and you'll have a big brother to look out for you. Protect you, when you need it." He pushes Tommy from his mind as soon as he appears, burying the ghosts back to where they belong. Wounds heal, but scars can still hurt.

"You talking to him?" You murmur, and he holds you tighter.

"Her, yes. I'm talking to her."

"Mhmm." Your burrow your face in his neck and sigh. "Love you."

"Love you too mama."

[bananami]

A little couple's trivia with Nanami proves that he knows you all too well.

I did use the term wife and she/her pronouns just as a brief cw. The whole thing is just fluff. Nanami is in love with you. That's the whole things.

(I am delulu and in love with this man. Hope this helps us all heal. He is alive and well and no one can convince me otherwise. Also I love including Gojo's dumbass in everything. Also Yuji is a sweetheart and Nanami's son basically.)

"Please?" You're practically begging your husband, who doesn't seem to be budging.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Yeah Nanamin-"

"Don't call me that." Nanami cuts Gojo off immediately.

"But Yuji calls you that!"

"That's different." He glares at the white haired man like he's trying to eviscerate him with just his eyes. "And I'm not playing some stupid game just to prove how well I know my wife." He tries to pay attention to the paperwork in front of him again, wanting to finish it before 5pm. Because there was no way he was working overtime again today.

"Scared?" Gojo baited him. "Afraid I'm gonna ask you a question that's just too hard?"

"Gojo, there is nothing you could ask me about my wife that I wouldn't be able to answer."

A few of the students sat around watching the two go back and forth, inevitably waiting for Nanami to either get so annoyed that he walked away, or to take the bait. They hoped for the latter.

"Prove it! Or you forfeit your marriage."

"That's not how that works."

"C'mon Nanamin, it's just a game." Yuji gives the blonde sorcerer a sincere smile, hoping to lighten the mood and sway his decision just a bit.

"Don't call him Nanamin, Yuji- OW." Gojo is cut off as Nanami reaches over and smacks him in the head with the papers in his hand.

"Don't tell him what to do." Nanami sighs and rubs at his temple. He looks at the clock, then at you. It's the look in your eyes that gives way to his final decision. "Fine. You have until that clock reads 5, and then I'm taking my wife and we're going home."

Gojo wastes no time. "Who is your wife's favorite person? And think before you say yourself because-"

"Itadori. Next question."

"I'm your favorite person?!" Yuji jumps from his seat, latching his arms around you for a hug. It's obvious from the way that you smile and hug him back that Nanami is probably definitely right. You had a soft spot for the kid since you met him, playfully telling everyone that you and Nanami had basically adopted him since he arrived at Jujutsu High. Nanami would probably never verbalize it, but you could tell he felt the same about the boy.

"Ok, ok. Next question." Gojo thought hard before coming up with it. "How does your wife take her coffee?"

"She doesn't drink coffee."

"Yes she does, I bring her some like every morning."

"And she gives that coffee to me because she doesn't like it."

"You're telling me I've been buying you coffee this entire time?"

"I make her tea every morning when we get to work. You hand her the coffee, we trade cups. I don't understand how you've stared right at us when we do it and you somehow haven't noticed."

"Ok, then what tea does she drink?"

"Earl Grey, three sugars, a little bit of milk at the top. She'll say she's ok with English Breakfast or Lady Earl Grey if they're out of the regular. She's not, she's just being polite. She'll drink half and throw it away when she thinks no one is looking."

Gojo groans, not having as much fun as he thought he was going to at the beginning of all of this. "And I just bet you have a contingency plan for when your wife doesn't get her tea, don't you?"

"Of course I do," he ignores the even louder groan from Gojo, "I walk across the street to the cafe that sells her favorite pastries and I buy her five because I know that she'll want to share with her students and she'll try to split one with me even if I refuse. They have teabags they leave out so long as you're ordering something. Earl Grey, always in stock."

"Adorable." Gojo rolls his eyes.

"You're so smart, Nanamin!" Yuji jumps in. "Let me ask one! What's her favorite color?"

"Yuji, that's too easy."

"Yellow."

"Ohhhh, mine too," Yuji says, "why yellow?"

"Because it's-" Nanami stops mid-sentence and looks at the clock, like it will give him an excuse. Almost. "We don't need to worry about the why, that wasn't the original question."

Gojo perks up, clearly realizing he'd struck a nerve. And he was ready to work it. The red dusting across Nanami's cheeks told him everything he needed to know. "Are you embarrassed, Nanami?"

"Shut up, Gojo."

"Or do you just not know the answer? It's ok if you don't, I guess you just don't know your wife as well as you thought you did."

"If you don't stop talking, I'm going to tell everyone about the one time in high school when you and Geto got caught in the-"

"OK!" Gojo turns back to the students and motions them toward the door. "Time to go! Don't you all have something better to do? Go be little trouble makers somewhere. Go TP Yaga's lawn or something. Get out of here."

He'd ushered everyone out except Yuji, who stayed behind to wait for you and Nanami. The boy shyly looked away as you kissed Nanami's cheek before standing up, stating you just needed to grab your bag before you could leave.

Yuji waited for you to exit the room before he asked. "Is it because of your hair?"

Nanami sighs. "What makes you think that?"

Yuji just shrugs. "She loves you. Answers don't always need a complex reason."

Nanami can't help the smile that graces his face. "You're a smart kid sometimes, you know that?"

"That's why I'm her favorite!" His goofy nature is back in an instant. "Can I come over for dinner again tonight?"

"Of course you can."

"Can I stay over?"

"If you'd like to."

"Can I pick the movie we watch?"

"Don't push your luck."

[imaginedisish]

Need 2 (Logan Howlett x f!reader)

A/N: So...I'm back already lol. This sort of just came to me last night. I was rewatching the first and second X-Men movies and got a little inspired. This is also inspired by the song "Need 2" by Pinegrove. Didn't think I'd be posting another fic already, but here we are. Hopefully y'all enjoy!

Summary: You and Logan have always been plagued with nightmares, so avoiding sleep is just something you two have in common...until you find yourselves in each other's beds, helping one another through your nightmares.

Warnings: 18+! Smut! Minors DNI! PWP. Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), Fingering, AFAB!reader, fem!reader, Reader has some hair at the nape of her neck that can be played with (length, color and texture are not described!), mutant!reader, cursing, canon typical violence, angst, praise kink, feelings, nightmares, friends to lovers, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's all?

Word Count: 3,906

Some nights, it was easier not to sleep. It was easier to go down into the kitchen, the living room, or one of the many libraries in the mansion and stay awake. It was easier than forcing yourself to go to bed, just to wake up screaming thirty minutes later. 

So tonight, like far too many nights, you’ve found yourself in your favorite corner in your favorite library in the mansion. You’re reading Simone de Beauvoir’s letters to Sartre when a familiar figure enters the room. 

“What’re you doing awake?” Logan’s voice is gruff, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his beater tight against his chest. “You should be asleep.”

“Can’t sleep,” You answer, placing a bookmark between the pages and shutting the book. You look up at the old grandfather clock on the other side of the room. 2:00 AM. “You should be sleeping too.” You smirk patting the free space next to you on the loveseat. 

He shakes his head. “Too stuffy in here.”

You roll your eyes, placing the book down on the couch. “Then what’s your plan, big guy?”

He holds up his beer and points down the hall. “Gonna sit in front of the T.V. You can too,” he pauses tentatively, “if you want.”

“S-sure,” you stutter. Why are you stuttering? You spend time with Logan constantly. This isn’t new. This is normal. You feel your heart rate pick up. This is ridiculous. This is a totally regular night. 

You stand and follow him down the hall and into another room, one with a lit fireplace and a television. You both sit down, leaving a generous amount of room between the two of you. Logan reaches for the remote and turns the T.V. on. He surfs through the channels before stopping on a movie you instantly recognize. 

“Casablanca?” You ask, turning towards him, letting yourself move just a bit closer as you do so. You feel like he’s moved closer in too. 

He nods, his eyes glued to the screen. “It’s a classic.”

You can’t help but smirk. “Never pinned you for the love story type.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says back as he turns towards you again. There’s a faint smile on his face. You swear his eyes flicker down to your lips for just a second before he turns to face the T.V. again. 

A few minutes go by like this, the two of you just inches away from one another. You can’t concentrate on the movie with him this close. It’s impossible. 

Despite the heat of the fire, you start to feel a chill. Goose bumps rise on your arms, and you pull your legs into your chest, your arms wrapping around your knees. 

Logan immediately notices, shifting to grab the throw blanket from behind him. “Cold?” He asks, taking the opportunity to move closer towards you as he tosses the blanket over the two of you. 

“Y-yeah, thanks,” you answer. But you’re still cold. You bring the blanket up so that it rests just under your chin. For such an old mansion, the A/C must work great. No wonder the fire was already lit when you and Logan got in here. 

Logan notices again. He rests his arm against the back of the couch. “You could…” He trails off, nodding his head to offer the space right next to him, in his arms. “Come over here?” You nod back, scooching closer until your side presses into his. 

He’s an absolute furnace. He pulls you into his chest, rubbing up and down your arm gently. He’s so warm. You instinctively curl into him, wanting nothing more than to be closer to him. For the first time in months, you feel comfortable enough—safe enough—to fall asleep. 

“Better?” He asks, his lips brushing against your forehead. 

You nod against his chest. “So much better.” You whisper. You can feel your eyelids growing heavy. You let them fall shut. Let yourself go. Give in. Finally. 

“Lo?” You quietly call out. You’re so close to sleep that you don’t even realize you’re speaking. 

You can feel his smile on the side of your head. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You feel so nice.” You’re mumbling, half asleep. It’s nonsense, but it’s true. “So safe.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You do too. Now get some sleep.”

You shake your head softly. “Only if you sleep, too.” 

You think you feel another kiss. One of his hands reaches up to play with the hair at the nape of your neck. “I will, I promise.”

You drift off to sleep, waking up just once about an hour and a half later to see Logan still on the couch beside you. He’s asleep, still holding you to his chest. You don’t wake him. You let yourself fall asleep again. 

You wake up a few hours later, this time in your own bed, the sun shining through your curtains. You notice a note next to your pillow. 

Glad you got some sleep. -Logan

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

You can hear him, his grunts, his screams. You jump out of bed and sprint down the hall. You don’t need a flashlight to find his room. You know the way by heart. You don’t even bother knocking. You burst in and shut the door behind you. 

You run over to the side of his bed and start to softly shake him. “It’s just a dream, Lo,” you call out to him. He doesn’t wake up. He’s still grunting, still tossing and turning. You feel helpless. “Logan, it’s okay.” You speak a bit louder this time, putting more of your weight on his shoulders as you shake him. Nothing. No change. 

“Logan, please wake up.” Louder again. And still nothing. “Fuck it.”

You climb onto the bed, maneuvering so that you can get on top of him. You’re straddling him now, which probably isn’t the world’s greatest idea. You shake his shoulders harder as he winces, his head thrashing against the mattress, his chest rapidly rising and falling. 

“Come on, Lo, wake up.”

And then, he’s sitting up, claws out, the tips just nudging the base of your throat. “It’s me!” You shout. “It’s just me!” You can hear the shing of his claws retracting. You look down to see that the collar of your shirt is sliced.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” He’s wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest, scanning your body frantically for any injury. He’s moving up and down your skin like a wildfire, checking every possible surface that he could have pierced or sliced. 

You try to stop him, but he refuses to listen. “You didn’t get me, Logan. I’m okay, really.” 

He pushes you down onto the mattress, carefully turning you over onto your stomach before you can protest. “I’m just checking your back, okay?”

“You couldn’t have touched my back. That’s physically impossible.” You try to turn back over, but he keeps you down, one hand pinned between your shoulder blades as the other pulls up your shirt to search your skin. You suddenly remember you aren’t wearing a bra. You’re not wearing any shorts, either. Just your oversized pajama shirt and panties.

His fingers gently trace your skin before reaching up to pull the shirt back down. He finally lets you turn over. You push yourself up so that you’re sitting on your knees, just a few inches away from Logan. It’s your turn to reach out to him now. You bring up a tentative hand to his shoulder; he trembles under your touch but doesn’t push you away. You move a bit closer, your knee slotting into the space between his thighs. Your hand slides up his shoulder to his neck, and he finally leans into your palm. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers again. He moves closer, shifting his thighs further into your own. “I never, ever want to hurt you.” He brings his arms back around you, hesitantly pulling you into his chest. You let him, let him hold you. You know he needs to—needs to feel someone else. You wrap your arms around his body too. 

“I know, Lo. It’s okay. No more apologizing.” You hold him tighter. “Are you okay?”

He hums as his face burrows into the crook of your neck. “Just a nightmare.” A part of you is surprised he’s letting you hold him and holding you back. “I fucked up your shirt.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder. “I know.” 

“Almost fucking killed you.” He’s trembling again like he wants to push you away. 

You hold him tighter. “You didn’t though,” You mumble against his bare skin. “Please don’t run away. Let me hold you, please.” 

He relaxes again, pulling you in tighter in response. “Why do you care about me?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Why do you care about me?” You ask back. 

He scoffs. “Because I…” He trails off. You can tell he’s not giving you the whole truth. “I just do. You’re you. That’s all there is to it.”

“Exactly. And you’re you.” You can feel his lips ghost against your neck—not quite a kiss, but not quite nothing either. “So, I care about you too.”

“I don’t deserve it, the way you care about me.” His lips don’t move from that half-kiss position along your neck as he speaks. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Your voice is suddenly stern, assertive. “You deserve so much, Logan. So much.” Before you can even think about what you’re doing, you press a kiss against his bare shoulder. And then another. And another. 

“You should go back to bed.” His voice is low and hoarse. He finally presses a true kiss into your neck, too. 

You shake your head. “No,” you whisper. “Let me stay with you.”

“But what if I—” 

You cut him off. “Please.”

He doesn’t protest this time. He just guides you down to the pillows, keeping one arm tightly around your waist as the other brings the covers up and over the two of you. 

You stay intertwined, your legs tangled up with his, your chests pressed tightly together. You bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, gently raking your nails through his hair. His lips find your neck again, kissing that spot just underneath your ear. It’s chaste, but there’s something else there. You know there is. 

You can feel him relaxing, drifting off into sleep, and so you let yourself do the same. There’s nowhere you feel safer than with Logan. 

When you wake up, you’re still in Logan’s bed, but his side is empty. Again, there’s a note on the pillow next to you. 

Thank you. Hope this makes up for what I did. -Logan.

Underneath the note is his favorite Rolling Stones shirt.

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

You’re somewhere dark, sitting on a cold metal chair, your hands shackled in more cold metal. The air tastes like metal, too. And then it dawns on you: Magneto. 

His figure appears in front of you, his hand extended out towards something...perhaps someone. Towards no one? No. There he is, floating in front of you. Logan. “NO!” You yell. You can feel your throat burn as you shout.

“Let him go!” You scream. But Magneto doesn’t budge. He holds Logan in the air, bending the metal in his body. He stretches Logan’s claws out. You remember when Logan told you it hurts every time he unleashes them. You can’t imagine the pain he’s in now.  

“Logan!” You cry out. Your abilities don’t seem to work, no matter how hard you try. You’re powerless, helpless, useless. You echo his name repeatedly to no avail. 

You’re forced to sit and watch as his claws bend backward. Tears run down your face as Logan screams in agony. There’s nothing you can do. You thrash in place. 

“Let him fucking go!” You sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Logan! I’m so sorry. Oh fuck. I’m so sorry.” A familiar name calls for you in the distance, but you ignore it. “I’m so sorry,” you cry. “So fucking sorry.”

The voice shouts your name again. And again. Tears stain your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s just a dream, come on, wake up for me sweetheart.” You know that voice. “I’m right here, just wake up.” 

Your eyes finally flutter open. There he is, in front of you, his solid frame heavy on top of you. “Lo?” You push yourself up to meet him. 

“It’s me, darlin’, It’s me.”

You throw your arms around him, sobbing into his bare chest. “Fuck,” you mumble against him. 

He wraps his arms tightly around your body, carefully bringing you back down to the bed. “It’s okay. It’s over now. I’m here.”

“How’d you know I was…” You trail off, swallowing harshly, not wanting to think about what you just dreamed of. 

“You called my name. I came the second I heard you.” His voice is soft but shaky. It dawns on you that you scared him. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Tears stream down your cheeks, your voice a trembling mess. 

He presses a soft kiss against your shoulder, and then that usual spot in the crook of your neck. He somehow manages to pull you tighter into his chest. “Don’t be sorry darlin’, please. Nothing to be sorry for.” 

“But I woke you,” you protest. “I scared you.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart.” His breath tickles the skin of your neck. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He’s kissing you more fervently than normal. There’s something panicked about his movements, like he’s still worried that you might not be fine. 

You take a deep breath. “Lo?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Can you stay with me?” You feel like a child, but you don’t care. You want to feel him. You need to be close to him. You can’t lose him. Not now. Not ever. 

His legs tangle with yours. “I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is a whisper now. 

You nod, pushing yourself further into him. “Need to feel you,” you say, running your hands along his back, his chest, his waist. You need him, every inch, every curve. All of him. 

“Darlin’,” he mutters. “What do you mean?”

You break away from him for just a second. His brows are furrowed. “Need you, Lo.”

You watch his throat bob as he swallows. “You have me.”

“No Logan I-I—” You stutter. “I want you. Need you. I need you closer. Please.” 

His eyes search yours, his hands finding their way under your shirt. His fingers climb higher, stopping just below your chest, where the hem of your bra would be. 

You inhale deeply and press harder into him. “Please, Lo. Please.”

“Sweetheart, is this really what you want?” You can feel his breath against your lips. He’s so close, but not close enough. “That dream…” He pauses. “If this is only because of the dream…”

You shut your eyes, remembering what you saw. You feel a tear slide down your still-wet cheek. You breathe deeply. “Wanted you before the dream,” you murmur nervously. 

“Darlin’, you gotta be careful saying things like that.” He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. Your noses touch gently. He slots his legs higher between yours and pulls you closer. 

“Why?” You ask.

“Because I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.” His hands become less hesitant, his fingers tracing the underside of your chest, slowly charting a course to your nipples. 

He opens his eyes, searching your face for consent, and you immediately nod. “I’m yours. Been yours the whole time.”

That’s all the permission he needs to bring his lips to yours, to hungrily swallow everything you’re willing to give him. His fingers gently pinch your nipples before drawing lazy circles around them. Your breath catches in your throat as his tongue slips across your lower lip. You open up and let him inside, savoring the taste of him. 

You’re still side by side, tangled up with one another, but it’s not close enough. You need more. 

“Logan,” you call, leaving one hand on his bare back as you let the other trail down his chest, to the hem of his sweats. But before you can get any further, he grabs your hand, freezing you in place. 

He shakes his head against yours. “Wanna take care of you.”

“But I wanna take care of you, too,” you whine. 

He just smiles. “You always do, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.” He drops your hand, and one of his own trails down your body, down to the ridden-up hem of your shirt—his shirt, actually—the one he left on the pillow. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.” He pulls it up, revealing your stomach and tits. One of his hands continues to massage your breasts, playing with your nipples, while the other travels back down to the hem of your panties. His fingers slip inside, sliding down through your folds and back up to your clit. You shudder under his touch. 

He starts to draw slow, lazy circles there. You can’t help but grind into his hand, needy for more. You whisper his name as his touch becomes harder, faster. 

“So fucking wet for me. Soaking already.” The whimper rising in your throat at his words is swallowed by another deep, desperate kiss. 

You hang onto him, your arms around his back as he pulls you closer to the edge. He can tell you need the contact, the closeness, and so he pulls away from your tits, his now-free hand slipping underneath you and snaking around your waist, holding you closer than before. Your chest is flush with his as his fingers rub harder at your clit. 

You can feel yourself coming undone, your hips rocking against him uncontrollably. “I’m so close,” you pant. 

“I know pretty girl,” he murmurs. He breaks away from your face, finding that spot in the crook of your neck that he loves so much. You throw your head back as his lips find purchase in the same area as always. “Doing so good for me. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.”

His whispers in your ear, his little bites and kisses against that spot on your neck, his fingers on your clit, it’s all too much. “Lo,” you whine, shutting your eyes and pressing your face into his shoulder. 

“That’s it, darlin’, let go.” 

That’s all it takes to have you seeing stars. You grind down onto his fingers, your hips still canting back and forth as you come undone. You can feel Logan smile against your neck as he slows down his pace. After a moment or two, his hand slips out of your panties and comes up to rest on your hip. 

You bring your forehead back to his. “You alright, sweetheart?” His low, husky whisper fills the air. 

“Mhm,” you hum. “Still want you, Lo.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks, his thumb brushing gently across your hip. 

You nod. “Need you closer.”

“Fuck,” he groans. His thumb hooks under the hem of your panties and he pulls them down your legs. You slip them off the rest of the way as Logan turns you on your back. You watch him above you, thumbs hooked inside his sweats. He pulls them down quickly, his cock springing up to his stomach in the process. Your eyes widen as you take in just how big he is. 

He pushes his sweats down the rest of the way, and he slots himself in between your legs. You can feel the length of him on the inside of your thigh. “Wanted you for so long, pretty girl,” he grunts. His forearm rests next to your head, caging you in and keeping him steady, while his other hand guides his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance. 

“Logan,” you whine, your hands reaching up to his neck, pulling his face down to meet you. “I’m yours.” 

You gasp as he fills you up, his hand immediately reaching between your bodies to find your still-sensitive clit. His pace is slow at first, letting you adjust to his length, rocking into you gently. His thumb flicks your clit before drawing those same lazy circles from before. You’re already close, still drunk off the first orgasm he pulled from you. 

“So fucking tight,” he moans. “Doing so good for me.” You can feel him building speed, pumping in and out of you. He feels so good, rubbing against your walls, stretching you out. He’s so close, so real, so safe.

“Needed you so bad,” you whimper, spreading your legs wider, inviting him in. 

You can feel him throb inside you at your words. “Needed you too.” The sound of his voice pushes you closer to the edge, your walls fluttering around his cock. His circles on your clit are no longer gentle or slow. He thrusts faster, rutting into you hit after hit. 

“L-Lo,” you stutter, shaking underneath him. “I-I’m so clo…” But you can’t finish your sentence. Your eyes flutter open and shut. 

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. Never gonna let you go.”

You take in a sharp breath. “’M’yours,” is all you can manage to say. 

“Mine,” he breathes, his hips rocking into you again and again. “Can feel you squeezing me, beautiful.”

“S-so close,” you choke in between thrusts. His fingers work harder on your clit, his lips moving against yours like they belong there, always. 

“Then let go, darlin’,” he says against your lips. He pushes deeper into you than before, your walls clamping down onto him. You feel heat rise to your chest as you shatter around him. You echo his name over and over again as you ride out your orgasm. You know he’s close behind, his thrusts faltering, growing sloppier with each pump. 

“W-where do you want—”

“Inside.”

“F-fuck,” he’s a choking, moaning mess as he comes undone inside you. You can feel him paint your walls, filling you up. He pumps in and out of you a few more times before he starts to slip out. 

“W-wait,” you stutter, grabbing him, holding him in place. 

He freezes. “You okay?” Concern is painted across his face, his brows furrowed, trying to discern what’s wrong. 

“J-just don’t want you to go,” you murmur. 

He smiles as he slides out of you. He pulls you tightly into his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shut your eyes as his hands settle on your lower back. “Don’t leave, okay?”

“I promise,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Relax. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

You can’t fight your exhaustion anymore, so you do as he says. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing, to his kisses on your forehead, to the tracing of letters and shapes along your back. 

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

The next morning, as pale light trickles through the curtains of your room, you see there’s no letter. No empty space next to you in the bed. 

There’s just Logan, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you tight against his chest. Your eyes flutter open. His are still closed. But he can tell you’re awake. 

“’M’not going anywhere,” he mumbles, still half asleep. “Too early. Go back to bed.”

He’s right. So, you do. 

tags: @seamlessepiphany

[mywritersmind]

SAVIOR - LN4

summary : When y/n’s absent neighbor shows up, causing her great annoyance with smoke and repetitive beeping, she marches over to tell the man off but is met with a handsome face and strong hands that are in distress.

listen up : no warnings!! lando’s hands>>

word count : 631

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The sound won’t fucking stop.

I hadn't been worried before, just sitting back with my ice cream and gossip girl, until I smelt the smoke.

I groan, yeah sure there may be a fire but nothing is more important than the thanksgiving episode! I pull in a baggy off the shoulder shirt to cover my bra and walk out into the hall.

I slam my knuckle against the door. Who the fuck bakes at this time of night? I knock again and within seconds I hear feet pattering against the floor before the door clicks open.

I don’t mean to look surprised.

But when a hot man opens the door when I was expecting an old rich guy with a mistress, I raise a brow, “I’m so sorry!” He says quickly. There are oven mitts on his hands and I almost laugh because he looks like a cartoon character in distress.

“Are you okay?”

He is not, indeed, okay. As his body turns, I realize his kitchen is filling with smoke and something is still beeping. “I am so sorry!” He repeats again as I walk in.

I open the windows first, idiot. Then while coughing, I fiddle with the oven to make it shut up. I hear him audibly sigh behind me.

“You’re saving me here.” his smooth accent cuts through the burning smell.

I stand, “From a fire, yeah. Don’t really want my apartment building to burn down.” I shrug and take the mits right off his hands, placing them on my own and opening the smoke filled compartment.

I swat the air and hurriedly take out the pan. When I place it down on the counter, I laugh.

“I’m not a good baker, I know!” He crosses his arms.

“Cupcakes?” I smile, the smoke slowly leaving through the windows, “You don’t seem like the type. Especially at half past one.”

He shrugs and I finally take him in, with dark curls and stunning eyes, he’s got a familiar face. He's in pajamas of sorts, with bright orange slippers.

“Couldn’t pick a dinner option honestly…” He glances at the burnt baked goods, “I really appreciate it… I’d offer you something but- I don’t want to poison you.”

I smile and he looks proud that he made me do anything that’s not coughing, “Not a problem.”

A second passes before he speaks up, “I haven’t seen you around.” He says as I take the mits from my hands.

“Probably because you’re never around…?” It’s true. I love living on this floor because my neighbor is barely ever in. It is a bit strange now that I think about it.

He laughs, “Right. My work, and all…” okay mafia boss energy. Though his kind face and wall decor tells me differently.

I nod awkwardly, “Well… if you don’t need any more saving, I'm gonna go.”

“Of course! Thanks again. And if you ever need anything I'm here- I mean… I do owe you now.” I hand him the mits and as he grabs it my eyes stray to his hands.

Christ he’s fit. How have I never seen him before?

I look away from the veins and smile politely, “See you around…” I don’t know his name.

“Lando.” He smiles and the way his eyes meet mine makes my knees go soft.

“Y/n.” He shakes my hand, quite sternly might I add.

“Well Y/n… pleasure having you in my apartment and saving us from an evacuation.” He opens the door for me.

“Stay safe, Lando.” he winks.

NOTE : don’t forget that my requests are open!!