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dollyfiles · 3 days ago

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asking bsf!rafe to take your virginity

cw: rafe x fem!reader, best friends to lovers, soft dom!rafe, first time, kissing, fingering, praise, p in v (protected), degradation, fluffy, i got a little carried away so it’s kinda long..whops

“so that’s why you’re acting all akward ‘n shit?” rafe asked, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. his tone was calm, though curiosity and concern laced his words. you nodded, pulling your knees to your chest as you sat cross-legged on his bed. “yea…that’s it,” you muttered, heat creeping up your cheeks. “it’s stupid, i know.”

“it’s not stupid,” rafe said immediately, his brows furrowing. “but seriously, y/n… that’s the only reason?”, “yes..” you admitted, feeling embarrassed. “and i already get it, okay? you can save your dumb jokes and make fun of me later, just like the girls did.”

rafe’s expression softened. “you think i’m gonna make fun of you? c’mon, i’m not an asshole.” you glanced at him, the sincerity in his voice easing your nerves slightly. “it’s just—” you sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “i feel like a complete loser. i mean, almost 20 and still a virgin? how pathetic is that?”

“it’s not pathetic,” rafe said firmly, his voice steady. “why would it even matter? it’s not like there’s a deadline for this stuff.” you huffed, “you don’t get it,” frustration bubbling up again. “it’s not just that. tay and jill were sitting there, sharing their stories, and i couldn’t say anything. i felt like a freaking clueless kid, rafe. i don’t want to feel like that anymore. i just…i just want it to be over with already.”

rafe studied you carefully, his jaw tightening as he thought over your words. “y/n,” he started, his voice gentle but firm, “you don’t have to rush into something just because—”

“then you do it,” you blurted out, words tumbling from your lips before you could stop yourself. the room went completely silent, and you immediately regretted how direct you had been, cheeks burning as you looked at rafe, his eye wide and face turning pale as he processed what you’d just said.

“wait—what?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly, though he quickly recovered, “are you serious?” you swallowed hard, heart racing, but instead of chickening out, you met his gaze. “yea, I’m serious,” you said, “i don't want it to be with some random guy, and i don't want to feel like this anymore. i want it to be with someone i trust. and you’re the only person I trust, rafe.“

he blinked, processing what you were asking for. and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. you were his best friend, the one person he’d always been closest to, and now you were asking him to take your virginity. a million thoughts ran through his head, but one stood out; the idea of being your first didn’t just excite him—it drove him fucking wild. yet he tried to compose himself.

“y/n…” he began, feeling his resolve crumbling under the weight of your words. “are you sure about this? i mean, i don’t want you to regret anything.” you nodded, “i’m sure,” fidgeting with your shirt, “i trust you, rafe. i wouldn’t ask if i didn’t.”

he hesitated, the weight of your trust settling over him. “you’re really serious about this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “i am,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your eyes locked on his. “you’re the person I feel the safest with, ray. please, teach me.”

the way you said it—the trust in your voice, the vulnerability—made his heart race. he swallowed hard, his throat dry, and nodded slightly. "okay," he murmured, leaning closer, his eyes piercing through yours.

rafe moved slowly, giving you every opportunity to back out. his hand cupped your cheek as he leaned in, your lips brushing only softly at first. but as you responded, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, the kiss deepened, growing more intense.

your breaths mingled, and rafe's hands moved to your waist, guiding you gently as he eased you back onto the bed. "tell me if you want to stop," he whispered against your lips, his voice low and warm.

"i won't," you assured him, biting your lip in anticipation. even though you felt super nervous, rafe’s presence calmed you down, his touch sending sparks through you. just then his fingers paused at the hem of your shirt, looking up at you with soft eyes, "can i...?"

"yes," you whispered. rafe slid the fabric up slowly, his movements deliberate and respectful. every step, every touch, was cautious, ensuring you were comfortable. he tossed the shirt aside, followed by your shorts, going until you were bare. his hands grazed your skin, pulling back slightly to take in your naked form, his breath catching in his throat.

he had seen you in bikinis countless times before, even underwear, but this—this was entirely different. the soft curves of your body, the delicate flush of your skin, the way your chest rose and fell with every nervous breath—he was utterly captivated. the fact that you had chosen him to be your first left him star-struck, a mixture of awe and protectiveness washing over him.

he swallowed hard, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin as though afraid to break you. his voice was thick with emotion as he murmured, "you're fucking perfect." you gave him a small, shy smile, your hands fidgeting slightly at your sides. rafe leaned down, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, and the curve of your neck.

he could feel you relax beneath him, your body responding to his every move. when he reached just at your lower stomach, he paused, looking up at you with quiet intensity. "you tell me if anything feels wrong, okay?" you nodded, your heart racing. "mhm."

rafe’s hand slid lower, his fingers brushing against the sensitive spot between your thighs, rubbing your clit in soft circles. the contact made you gasp, and he froze for a second, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. when he saw none he continued, his touch gentle and deliberate.

“it might feel weird or sting a little, okay? but I’ll be gentle, i promise.” he worked slowly, his fingers softly brushing through your slick folds before pushing one past your entrance. your breath hitched, winching slightly as his thick digit thrusted in and out of you, soon each motion eased the slight pain into something far more enjoyable.

rafe couldn't help but smile softly at your reactions, pride swelling in his chest as he watched you fall apart beneath his touch. "you’re doing so good," he cooed, his voice low and soothing.

your hands gripped the sheets, breaths coming faster, your head tipping back as waves of sensation washed over you. rafe stayed completely focused on you, his own desire burning inside him, but he pushed it aside. this wasn't about him. it was about you—your pleasure, your comfort, your first time being something you would never regret.

just as you felt yourself fall completely into it rafe removed his fingers from your weeping cunt, making you whine at the sudden loss of his touch. “shit, really can’t wait, can ya?” he teased, removing his own clothes before grabbing a condom from his wallet, pumping his cock a few times before rolling it down his shaft.

your breath caught in your throat as rafe stood before you, fully bare. you had expected to feel shy or embarrassed, but instead, an overwhelming sense of awe washed over you. he was perfect. his lean, sculpted body was like something out of a dream, every muscle defined, every line sharp, a literal walking god. your gaze lingered on his chest, his arms, trailing lower despite your best efforts to stop yourself. the heat in your face spread all the way to your core, and you bit your lip, trying not to openly gape at him.

rafe caught the way your eyes were literally ripping at him, the way your lips parted slightly, eyes wide with something that made his heart race and his ego burst out the roof. he chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through the room.

your eyes were fixed on him, your heart fluttering. as he moved closer, preparing to guide you into unfamiliar territory, he noticed the nervousness flicker in your eyes. your body tensed slightly beneath him, and your breaths quickened, though you didn't pull away.

"hey," he murmured, his voice soft, his hand cupping your cheek gently. "look at me." your gaze met his, and the warmth in his eyes immediately soothed some of your nerves. "you don't have to be nervous," he said, brushing his thumb along your jawline. you nodded, chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. "i know," you whispered. "i trust you, rafe."

"good," he murmured, pressing his lips onto yours while lining himself up with your entrance, his tip brushing against your puffy clit before slowly pushing inside, making you audibly gasp. he was big, actually huge, stretching you out completely. when you winced slightly, he paused, pressing soothing kisses to your cheeks, making sure you were good to go before he started rocking his hips slowly.

your hands gripped his shoulders, your body gradually relaxing under his touch, the pleasure only growing from there. rafe was careful, controlled, making sure you felt comfortable and safe. and as you grew more confident, your hands began to roam over his body, nails digging into his back as quiet whimpers escaped your lips.

"rafe," you murmured breathlessly. he paused instantly, concern flickering in his gaze. "you okay?" he asked, brushing your hair back from your flushed face. your cheeks burned, and you hesitated for a moment before looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "i want...i need more. be rougher with me, please."

rafe froze, your words igniting something deep inside him. he studied your face, searching for any trace of doubt. but your expression was certain, eyes dark with desire. "y/n..." he began, his voice low, almost strained, "are you sure?"

"yes," you whispered, voice trembling but filled with need "want you, ray. all of you." your words snapped the last thread of his restraint. his lips crashed against yours, the kiss no longer soft and tentative but harsh, almost hungry. his hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer as a low growl escaped his throat.

"you have no idea what you're doing to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, edged with desire. "you’re so damn perfect, letting me be your first. do you know how crazy that drives me?"

your breath hitched at his words, body arching beneath him. you hadn't expected the heat that surged through you at the sound of his growly voice, making your head spin. "tell me," you whispered, voice shaking, “tell me everything."

his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he grunted, "you’re such a naughty little bunny. letting your best friend pop your cherry like this. shit—do you know how bad i’ve wanted you? how many times i’ve imagined this?" your gasp turned into a moan, your hands clutching at his shoulders, cunt clenching around his cock. "rafe..."

"you like that, huh?" he murmured, his voice dripping with need. "you like knowing how much i’ve wanted you? how long i’ve been holding back on pounding this sweet pussy?" he bit down on your shoulder, soothing the spot with his tongue as his grip on your hips tightened.

you could barely form a sentence, your mind going all fuzzy from his words and the way he made you feel. "yes," you breathed. "i love it.” rafe huffed, “say it again," he commanded, his tone firm as his movements grew more intense, abusing your wet cunt. "say you fucking love it."

"i love it," you cried out, voice breaking as you felt a tight knot forming in your lower stomach, his hips meeting yours with every thrust, "love it so much."

that broke something inside him. he couldn't hold back anymore, his movements turning fierce and desperate, thrusting into you harder, his hands and lips claiming every inch of you as his own. “that’s my girl.” he smiled through gritted teeth, feeling your cunt clench around him tighter, “gonna cum for me pretty bunny? make a mess all over my cock?”

you couldn’t hold it in anymore, arching your back as your head pressed down into the pillows, your orgasm rushing over you while crying out his name. rafe was absolutely going crazy, the sight of you cuming because of him was heaven sent, making him moan.

"you’re mine, y/n," he growled, his voice a low rumble in your ear as he helped you ride out your orgasm, “do ya’ hear me? you’re mine now. no one else gets to touch you like this."

"yes" you moaned, fingers tangling in his hair. "only you, ray." his movements grew sloppier the closer he got to releasing, his hips bucking into you, cock twitching inside your pulsing cunt as he filled up the condom with his seed, “fucking shit..”

the room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing as rafe hovered over you, his arms trembling slightly as he held himself up. his chest rose and fell against yours, his cock still buried inside you. your hands were resting on his shoulders, fingers tracing the faint lines of his muscles as you tried to catch your breath. your cheeks were flushed, hair messy and splayed out on the pillow beneath, but to rafe, you had never looked more beautiful.

he dipped his head, brushing soft, featherlight kisses along your jawline, then your cheek, and finally your lips. “you’re amazing," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and breathless. "so good. you were so, so good." he pressed another kiss to the curve of your neck before meeting your gaze, his blue eyes shining with admiration. "you have no idea how proud i am of you."

you let out a soft laugh, still trying to process everything. "i don't think anyone's ever said that to me... like this," you whispered, voice tinged with a slight shyness. "well, get used to it," rafe said with a small smirk, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "because i'm never letting you go now."

tags: @rafesbangs @rafesheaven @littlelamy @vampteeths @filthyrafe @figthoughts @pintrestgrl @kissyrafe @bambiangels @beausling @starzify

#dollys playroom 🐇#blurbs ₊˚⊹♡#bsf!rafe #rafe cameron x reader #bsf!rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader

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ventismacchiato · 2 days ago

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OIKAWA AS YOUR MUTUAL THAT YOU HATE IRL

oikawa x gender neutral reader

you and toru have been mutuals on twitter for almost a year as you both run and met through twice fan accounts. you talk to him more than your irl friends atp. on the other hand you and oikawa don’t get along irl, as you’re both on opposing college teams and constantly competing for nationals. since then he’s always picked on you at games, but that all changes when you finally decide to meet your favorite oomf in person.

notes — karasuno is a mixed gender team in this to keep it gn, and instead of highschool these are college teams / the messages in the first section are like throughout the week before you two meet up

ooc idk? it’s been a while. assume everyone is 20ish, i cud make this a cute mini au one day but rn i’m lazy so this is fast paced

also here’s the soobin version i wrote a while ago

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Your stomach was swarming with nerves as you made your way inside the cafe, the scent of freshly made coffee and sweaty college students from the stadium surrounding you as you slid into line. Admittedly, you never thought you'd get the chance to meet Toru, he was just your cute internet friend and nothing would ever happen.

That was, until today.

It was a bit embarrassing that you stared at the selfie he'd sent for longer than you should've. It was difficult to comprehend the boy you'd been talking to for so long was hiding such a pretty figure. Even with the emoji hiding his face you could tell he was cute.

You eye the display of cakes and decide to pick one up for the both of you as Toru had already promised to get you guys coffee. You felt bad going empty handed after finally meeting him.

You reach down to grab onto the last chocolate slice and your hands meet another. Usually, you'd let it slide and choose something else even though you touched it first. But, when you looked to your left and locked eyes with your self-proclaimed enemy, Toru Oikawa, those thoughts washed away. You were going to fight for that slice of mediocre cake.

"Not you again," Oikawa sighed, tugging the slice towards him, "Don't be obnoxious."

"Says you," you scoff, tightly grabbing onto the plate, "Why are you always so rude towards me? Is it because we annihilated you in the game?”

"You were just lucky," He grins, his large hands tugging the cake closer towards him, "Choose something else.”

"You choose something else. Losers don’t deserve nice cake! I got to it first!”

"Ok and?" Oikawa questions, like the little shit he is.

"Fine, just take it," you sigh, not wanting to make Toru wait. Good Toru, not this evil one beside you. But as you let go of the cake and step back you notice Oikawa’s outfit. He was adorned in clothes that oddly resembled the photo Toru had sent you.

"You made me lose my appetite," Oikawa mutters, dropping the cake and shuffling past you. You shake off the familiarity and make your way towards the back. Most men wore the same clothes, it was nothing.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You eye the walls of the cafe until you come across the wooden tables from the photo.

You start scouring the seats for someone that resembled Toru but the only person in your vicinity was Oikawa.

You inch your way closer towards him with morbid curiosity, hoping that your suspicions would be proved wrong. But as you got closer the drinks on the table and location of your rival were too similar to the photo Toru had sent you.

Unfortunately, Oikawa locked eyes with you.

"What do you want? Are you here to apologize?" he questions, playing with the straw of his drink as he barely gave you a glance.

"Toru? From twitter?" you tentatively ask, your voice hoarse from the nerves. This couldn't be happening.

Oikawa pauses.

"What?" he slowly asks, turning to look at you, "What did you call me?"

"Oh my god," you gasp, "Are you ruluvyeon?"

"What..," he starts, catching on, "You're urmomoyn?"

Your username sounds foreign on his tongue but it was him. Oikawa was your Toru. Evil Toru was your sweet Toru.

Your beloved Toru was the same guy you've been on bad terms with all year. Just your luck.

Before Oikawa could comprehend anything or you could answer, you decide to do the most mature thing anyone would do in that situation.

You run.

And he doesn't follow.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

a week later

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The street was dark apart from the flickering lamps on the side of the walkway as you made your way towards Oikawa - or well Toru’s - house. It still felt odd.

Your palms felt clammy and you were clad in your pajamas, in too much of a rush to change. Which was a decision you were regretting since the flimsy fabric did nothing to protect you against the wind.

Before you knew it you spotted the complex Toru supposedly lived in, and as you walked closer you could see his tall figure waiting for you in the dark. It would've been rather creepy if not for the fact he was drowning in a large hoodie and sweats with a beanie tugged on his hair.

His arms were crossed across his chest as he rocked back and forth due to the cold.

You swallowed your nerves and made your way towards him, not quite knowing what to do with your hands other than give him an awkward wave as he spotted you.

"Hey," he breathed out, gesturing for you to follow him inside.

The warmth of his apartment was far more welcoming than the freezing night. He shut the door behind you both and tugged off his beanie as he gestured for you to sit down.

"Hi," you greeted back as you sank down on his couch. The entire place felt very lived in.

Toru’s face scrunched up into an sly smile.

"I missed you," you added, "I'm glad you reached out."

"I am too," he hummed, reaching out to take his hand into yours. His palms felt warm against your own freezing ones.

"What was your last text about?" you question as his thumb rubs circles on your palm.

"I don't know what you’re talking about?" he smiles, "What did I say?"

"You know damn well what you said," you huff.

"Okay, well I meant it," he answers, "I convinced myself to try and forget you since you were an online friend. But having you right in front of me changed things."

"Changed things how?" you say, warmth creeping up your cheeks.

"Well, for one I can actually see you," Oikawa notes, "And do things like this," he adds, his voice going quiet as he reaches over to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "And, instead of fantasizing about kissing you, I could actually do it."

"You fantasized about it?" you ask in disbelief, still flustered at the touch of his hand so close to your face "You didn't even know what I looked like!"

"You were kinda just a blob in my mind," he shrugs, a smile tilting his lips at your offended face.

"A cute blob though, right?”

"Of course."

“You never imagined me as my icon?”

“Only when you changed it to Gojo.”

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh.

"So, you really don't hate me?" you muse, playing with his fingers, "It's so weird seeing you be so gentle."

"Would you rather me go back to being rude?" he replies, "But I really don't. I feel a shitty at how I used to treat you. You just get me riled up.”

"It's okay, I did the same," you assure, patting his hand, "Let's start fresh."

"Okay," he agrees, clasping your hand in between his, "Let's go out."

"Straight to the point?"

"I don't think we should waste any more time," he replies, “And my entire team thinks I made you up.”

“I need to make it up to you,” you sigh.

"Kiss me and consider yourself forgiven," Oikawa easily grins, looking at you with the usual look of arrogance he sends you through the net when he wishes you a terrible game. But this time it looks different. Like he wants you to win.

“Alright,” you manage to croak out, your throat closing up at your false confidence.

Honestly, you were qute irritated with yourself on how you treated Oikawa for the past few months. You desperately wanted to move on and start fresh.

Oikawa let out a surprised laugh and you wanted to ingrain the sound into your mind. He brought up his free palm to his mouth and let out a small giggle into it.

“Go ahead then,” he smiles.

"Okay," you manage to say, taking a deep breath.

"Any day now,” Oikawa smirks.

"Shut up, I need a moment-," you started, but were interrupted as he reached over and yanked on your top to slot his lips against yours. He stumbled and you both fell backwards onto the couch as he caught himself above you, both knees outside your hips as you snaked your hands around his waist.

He stared at your for a mere moment in disbelief before leaning down to capture your lips with his. His lips felt pillowy against your own and his warm body right on top of yours made it feel just as good.

You had to remind yourself not to laugh into the kiss.

#oikawa toru x reader #oikawa smau #oikawa x gender neutral reader #toru oikawa x male reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa toru smau #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa texts #toru oikawa x reader #toru oikawa #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa headcanons #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x reader

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rottenfyre · 16 hours ago

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ SOFT LIPS 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

☆⁠ PAIRING : Robins x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When They Kiss You For The First Time.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, 90s Tim Drake, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTES : Teenagers in love. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

⎯ DICK GRAYSON

The carnival lights reflected in his bright blue eyes as he held your hand, weaving through the crowd. His grip was steady, comforting, like he’d never let go. You couldn’t help but laugh when he insisted on winning the biggest stuffed animal at the ring toss—something he accomplished on his second throw, much to the vendor’s surprise. “Ta-da!” Dick grinned, presenting the oversized bear with a dramatic bow. “For the lady.” “Wow, my knight in shining armor,” you teased, hugging the plushie close. “How lucky am I?” “Pretty lucky,” he said with a playful smirk. But then his expression softened, his free hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “But not as lucky as me.” You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Dick leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a sweet, tender kiss. The world seemed to fade away, the carnival noise replaced by the rapid thumping of your heart. When he pulled back, his cheeks were slightly flushed, and he was grinning like an idiot. “So…do you like it?” he asked nervously. “Yeah,” you breathed, still dazed. “I like it.”

⎯ JASON TODD

Jason wasn’t one for grand romantic gestures—at least, that’s what he’d always claimed. But here you were, sitting with him on his motorcycle under a clear night sky, the city far behind you. The stars above seemed brighter out here, but nothing compared to the way Jason was looking at you. “You cold?” he asked, tugging his jacket off before you could even answer. He draped it over your shoulders, his hands lingering just a little longer than necessary. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Jason sat back, running a hand through his hair, looking almost… nervous? It was rare to see him like this—unguarded, almost vulnerable. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly searching for the right words. Finally, he let out a frustrated huff and turned to you. “Screw it,” he muttered, leaning in quickly before you could react. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft against yours, and though the kiss was a little rough around the edges—just like him—it was perfect. When he pulled back, his cheeks were slightly flushed, and he avoided your gaze. “You… uh… okay with that?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual. You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again in response, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his hands settling on your waist as if he’d been waiting for this forever.

⎯ 90s TIM DRAKE

Tim was pacing. Again. You watched him from your spot on the couch, biting back a laugh as he ran a hand through his messy black hair for the fifth time in as many minutes. His cheeks were pink, and he looked like he was trying to psych himself up for something monumental. “Tim, are you okay?” you finally asked, unable to contain your amusement any longer. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” he said quickly, stopping mid-pace to face you. He hesitated, his lips pressing together before he let out a deep breath. “Actually, no, I’m not fine. There’s something I’ve been meaning to do, and I’m kind of freaking out about it.” You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What is it?” Instead of answering, Tim crossed the room in three quick steps. Before you could even process what was happening, his hands were on your shoulders, and he kissed you. It was sweet, hesitant, like he was testing the waters, but it sent your heart soaring. When he pulled back, his face was redder than ever, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I—uh—sorry if that was too sudden,” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck. “Tim,” you interrupted, grabbing his hand. When he finally looked at you, you leaned in and kissed him again, this time with a confidence that made him melt.

⎯ DAMIAN WAYNE

Damian didn’t do things halfway. When he decided he wanted to kiss you, he spent an embarrassing amount of time researching “perfect first kisses” to make sure it went exactly right. But now that the moment was here, all his carefully laid plans had flown out the window. The two of you were walking through the Wayne estate gardens, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the flowers. Damian had been quieter than usual, his hand brushing against yours every so often but never quite holding it. “Damian?” you said softly, stopping to look at him. “Is something wrong?” He turned to face you, his green eyes intense. “No, I just…” He hesitated, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I have something I wish to do, but I…lack experience in such matters.” You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?” Damian took a deep breath, stepping closer. “I wish to kiss you.” Your eyes widened, your heart racing. “Oh.” “May I?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. You nodded, unable to form words. Slowly, Damian cupped your face in his hands, his movements surprisingly gentle. When his lips finally met yours, it was soft and careful, like he was afraid of hurting you. Despite his nervousness, the kiss was perfect, leaving you both slightly breathless. When he pulled back, he cleared his throat, his cheeks tinged pink. “That…was satisfactory, I hope?” You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into him. “More than satisfactory, Damian.”

ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

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gifsbysimplysonia · 2 days ago

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Hola. Long rambling feedback behind the cut as well as

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

I think this is so beautiful. Anyone who is a creative knows how difficult it can be to find a muse. So for this person to inspire a twitch in Logan after YEARS? That's just a very beautiful thing.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring.

And this is for BOTH 1) thinking it's not ok to be into art??? OK BUT CAVEMEN CARVED INTO WALLS, SIR and 2) "you're nothing if not inspiring" *screamingggggggggggggggggggg*

The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing.

I love that this fits with the Logan I know, the demand on self for perfectionism and the refusal to accept anything but. But it's especially important cuz he wants to do right by YOU/HER. *swoon*

And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more.

Sigh. Oh Logan. Always thinking he's not worthy while he holds everyone he cares about up on pedestals. I both adore him and wanna shake him for these habits.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He gets Rogue to show him Instagram for reference photos. HOW CUTE!

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite.

This is soooooooooooooooo beautiful. It is just a loud beacon of what Logan's heart really is. It's also really precious that he finally produces a drawing of her that he's satisfied with which then produces ANGST in him. Cuz he can't leave it out cuz what if people see? But he doesn't want to hide it cuz what if it smudges? Watching him go back and forth about it and the STRESS shows how much it means to him not to mess it up but ALSO, I think, how much it means to him to be back drawing. As a creative who goes through the longest dry patches, when a period of productivity comes up? OH DO I WANT TO HANG ONTO IT. And probably try so hard that I make it slip through my fingers.

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. He could give it to you.

DO IT LOGANNNNNNNN!

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing?

YOU care, sir! And people who love you will SEE that and care too!!! Don't we all wish he valued himself and his opinions more.

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him.

It's so precious to me, how relatable this is. Anyone who is a creative can relate, I'm sure. How nervous creatives are before they publish or they post or they even just share with someone they are close to. I wanna hug him.

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. Sappy motherfucker.

Some day, someone needs to tell him he can give himself permission to BE sappy. Corny is part of life and it's a blessing.

He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. It’s soo stupid.

It's annoying to read Logan's antiquated views on masculinity here. Completely understand that it fits with his character and how he has aged and evolved but omggggggggggg, it's just frustrating lol

You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

The way we can convince ourselves of the worst possible outcome, eh? *smh*

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.”

SHE IMMEDIATELY TREATED IT AS SOMETHING PRECIOUS!!! SHE WANTED TO PROTECT IT JUST LIKE LOGAN WANTED TO PROTECT IT!!! BUT SHE LOVES IT TO THE POINT SHE MADE HERSELF A COPY TO CARRY IT AROUND WITH HER AT ALL TIMES!!!!!

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

To see the similarities in how they DON'T see themselves fully is kind of sweet and makes me root for them.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created.

He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing.

This is HILARIOUS and KILLING ME because I also make rules for MYSELF that are different from the rules I have for EVERYONE ELSE lmao

He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy.

Logan being an Acts of Service person makes ALL the sense in the world to me.

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end.

The curse of the sequel! I think a lot of creatives can relate to this type of self induced pressure which means nothing you produce is good enough.

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.” He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

She already has a frame for the new drawing cuz the frames came in packs of 2 and she will NOT STAND for someone not absolutely FAWNING over it and I love that from her. It's doing Logan's heart SO good to see how much she adores what he's created.

If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you. Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

Our man is S-M-I-T-T-E-N and I love that for him. Cuz look what it's brought back into his life?

“I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it. “No one else knows.” You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

This is so intimate. And he's finally comfortable all the way with her. She knows it's him and he's fine with her knowing it's him.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

I appreciate that Logan is just the tiniest bit "selfish" here because this has been such an emotionally taxing ordeal for him. And she really really admires his talent and is THRILLED that it's him and that he sees her the way that he does.

From here the story slips into the Rated R portion of the story which is both hot and very sweet. The buildup means that I feel a genuine connection and intimacy between the 2 that feels "earned," if that's the right word. Cuz it doesn't feel forced or rushed or like we skipped a whole bunch of stuff to get here.

I also love that there's open dialogue. Often, the only talk between lovers is dirty - which I am a big fan of and absolutely fine with - but that here we have sweet confessions, constant check ins, and reassurances; these all fit with the journey we've been on with these two and I just really enjoy that aspect.

There's also good dirty talk, balanced give and take and praaaaaaaaaaaaise which I enjoy thoroughly. Logan also tends to take the possessive "my girl" over and over which just melts my butter!

@selfcarecap thank you so much for creating and sharing this! Thank you for following YOUR muse through to the end of this tale and then being brave enough to slip it under all our doors *bad dum tss* I really loved this look at Logan, his vulnerabilities, his abilities and desires beyond his powers / "job" and what allowing himself to create ultimately gifted him with. Well done smut that I also very much enjoyed too.

And thank you to K for putting it on my dash!

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them.

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring.

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises.

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing.

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more.

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it.

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite.

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it?

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead?

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again.

He could give it to you.

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside.

Sappy motherfucker.

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep.

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse.

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks.

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you.

He wakes up with morning wood.

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door.

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart.

It’s soo stupid.

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps.

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you.

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again.

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself.

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist?

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him.

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw.

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone.

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw?

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it.

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it.

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.”

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing.

“Did you draw it?” He asks.

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.”

“Secret admirer?”

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.”

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended.

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?”

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all.

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created.

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven.

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing.

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy.

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect.

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?).

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time.

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him?

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know.

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight.

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid.

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say.

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that).

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile.

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh.

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him.

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears.

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is.

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him.

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his.

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long.

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better.

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access.

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide.

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged.

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead.

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath.

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself.

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine.

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still.

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head.

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while.

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is.

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

#feedback #marvel #logan howlett #wolverine

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fumiscripts · 3 days ago

Text

✦ DEDICATED TO YOU

✦ one shot ,, rin itoshi x gn!reader

content:: you're a famous idol. and you're dating a professional player. of course you'll be making headlines when your relationship was made public.

for @yui2aku ,, fluff ,, 822 words

additional:: swearing, they're both whipped for eachother, might be ooc

Itoshi Rin is a rising star in the football industry. And you were in the peak of your idol career.

Obviously, the media would freak if they find out that the two of you were dating.

So you kept the relationship a secret, doing your best to not give out any hints. From making sure not to mention each other too much in interviews, to carefully crafting social media posts to ensure that fans won't be able to tell that you were going to a place together. Both of you and your management carefully concealed it from the public view.

But, of course, not everything goes to plan.

PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE ITOSHI RIN AND SOLO IDOL [L/N] [NAME] SEEN HOLDING HANDS AT HANEDA AIRPORT.

This was the headline of one of the many, many articles that flooded all across the internet. Your heart stopped, then slammed back at full force. You stood up straighter, brows furrowing together. The first time you opened your phone for the day, and you find posts about this everywhere.

Oh fuck. You fucked up, didn't you?

“Shit. What the hell,” you curse under your breath, reading more into the article.

Meanwhile, Rin looks up from your lap, opening an eye, disturbed from resting on your thighs when you suddenly stopped running your hands through his black locks. Your eyes flicked towards his,and he gave you a look, as if to ask what suddenly bothered you to halt playing with his hair.

You blink at him, before sheepishly turning your phone around, showing him what's been blowing up all over the media. “So… maybe we weren't discreet enough with the clothes I wore to greet you.”

His face instantly dropped, turning into something more serious as his teal eyes skimmed through the overview of the post. Rin sighed, grumbling something under his breath before burying his face onto your stomach. “...I told you to just stay at home and wait for me,” he murmured after a while, draping his arms around your waist.

“C’mon… you know I had to greet you right away. It was after a big overseas game I couldn't come to— it was the same time I had a concert,” you scoffed, reasoning with him. “The least I could do was pick you up at the airport.”

Rin didn't look up. He was touched by your little gesture to try and make up for not attending a vital match, so he didn't use that argument further. “Tch. Should've at least covered up more of your features,” he lightheartedly remarked. Though he really liked the uniqueness you had with the way you dressed up, so he can't hate on that. “Well, what do we do now?” he asked, moving the topic along from the problem to finding a solution.

You stared down your phone, anxiousness coming back to loom over you. “I should contact my manager,” you remark, watching as he finally lets go of you and sits up properly. “We could schedule a meeting with our PR teams?”

He nodded. “Right. So go do that,” he replied, though he already had a vague idea what they might propose for you two to do. It was a guess.

That guess was right.

The day after those rumors about the two of you having a secret blew up, you hard launched your relationship to the public.

They decided that coming out clean about this would be the most logical way to proceed— way better than the media speculating that the two of you were just a fling and start tarnishing both of you’s reputation. A proper relationship sounded way better than a one-night stand to the public.

After confirming on each official account, the masses began to be a little more welcoming to it. Hell, the ship tag between you and Rin seemed to blow up with positive posts, even. So that fix was successful.

Once the news calmed down through weeks, everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be with being an idol with a soccer player for a boyfriend. Majority of fans seemed to love the two of you, often making fan media dedicated to your relationship. And in all honesty, it was cute. Plus, you had more material to tease Rin with.

Now, you couldn't help it. You personally asked for your next album to be something special, convincing management it's for the sake of the publication of your relationship. Though, it was dedication for someone special.

An album dedicated to him.

Rin knew those songs were dedicated to him. If those vibrant eyes of yours while you performed on stage— looking straight at him who sat by the vip seats— said anything, it was all about how much you loved him.

Oh, and with the way he looked at you with pure adoration, it was obvious he loved you, too.

Rin was utterly, hopelessly dedicated to you.

(a/n):: Grrrhsjua not my proudest work since I barely write nonchalant asf characters

taglist:: @shrii-kk, @tired-xyra-urstruly, @fishii28, @yui2aku

@lakeside-paradise

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amourquinn · 2 days ago

Text

RED LIPSTICK ; quinn hughes ( drabble )

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 704

genre : fluff no warnings

summary : before leaving for a girls’ night out, you leave quinn covered in red lipstick kisses, promising there’s more to come when you return

the excitement of the girls’ night out was palpable, but there was something even more exciting happening right now.

you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, carefully applying your favorite shade of red lipstick. the soft swish of the brush against your lips was almost like a ritual, and you couldn’t help but smile as you thought of quinn, who was probably still absorbed in whatever book he was reading.

sure enough, as you peeked into the living room, there he was. quinn sat comfortably on the couch, legs stretched out, a book resting in his hands. his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, completely engrossed in the story. he didn’t even notice you watching him, which only made you more determined to grab his attention.

grinning mischievously, you padded over to him, heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. quinn glanced up briefly as you approached, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “hey,” he said softly, his lips curving into a small smile. “you look nice.”

“just nice?” you teased, leaning down to pluck the book from his hands. you glanced at the title briefly before setting it on the coffee table.

“i take it back. you look stunning,” he corrected, his eyes scanning your outfit appreciatively. “are you all ready for your night out?”

“almost,” you said with a playful lilt in your voice. “but i thought i’d stop by and spend a little time with my favorite person before i go.”

quinn tilted his head, curious but amused. “oh yeah? and what exactly does that mean?”

you didn’t answer with words. instead, you leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead, leaving a perfect red lipstick mark behind. quinn blinked in surprise, his hand instinctively brushing the spot.

he let out a laugh, “really?”

“oh, you know i love it,” you teased, planting another kiss on his cheek. the deep red lipstick left another trace, a perfect match for your playful smile.

quinn’s expression softened, and before he could say anything, you kissed the tip of his nose, your lips leaving a bold print there too. “you’re so cute when you’re all messy like this,” you murmured, brushing your lips against his cheek once more.

he laughed, a soft blush spreading across his face, though you could see he was clearly enjoying the attention. “you’re impossible.”

“i know,” you said, kissing his chin, feeling the faint stubble beneath your lips. “but you’re too cute not to tease.”

he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “i’m going to look like a painting by the time you’re done with me.”

“well, i’d say you look like art already,” you teased, brushing your lips over his jawline and finally planting a soft kiss on his lips. “but this one’s my favorite.”

quinn smiled, his lips lingering on yours for a moment longer than expected. then he pulled back, his hands resting on your hips as he gazed at you with affection. “you’re really doing this before a night out, huh?”

“i’m not finished,” you said, stepping back with a mischievous grin. “i have a whole face to cover.”

“you’re really going to leave me like this?” he asked, gesturing to his face.

“of course,” you said with a proud smile. “i think it suits you.”

he groaned, leaning back against the couch dramatically. “at least tell me i get a break before you start on my other cheek.”

“maybe,” you said with a giggle, “but the night’s still young. i’ll have plenty of time to make you my canvas.”

quinn chuckled, clearly charmed by your playful spirit. “i’m a lucky guy.”

“i know you are,” you said with a wink, finally giving him one last kiss before heading toward the door. “but you’ll have to wait for more kisses until later.”

as you grabbed your coat and headed toward the door, you turned back to him, eyes sparkling. “and when i come back, you’ll be the first person i kiss.”

quinn smiled warmly. “i’ll be here, waiting. maybe i’ll even leave some space for more lipstick.”

you laughed, blowing him a kiss before stepping out the door, the sound of his chuckle following you down the hall.

#[ 📁 ] drabble #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff #nhl hockey #vancouver canucks

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certaimromance · 3 days ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 The Girl Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: If Spencer thought being secretly in love with you was hard, having to avoid you in the hallway was even worse.

Words: 4,8k.

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of jail. painter!reader. post prison reid. spencer’s pov. lack of communication. the reader has a cat. angst, so much angst. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I struggled a lot writing this because it's a roller coaster, so sorry in advance.

“How long? It's not a problem to take care of everything, but I'd like to know if you'll be okay or—” Your voice almost cracked for a moment, your eyes still trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Spencer's sheets were still wrapped around your body, and you felt so connected to them that the thought of getting up while still watching him toss and turn looking for his shoes was too much.

“I don't think more than a day or two, I'll be fine.” He stopped his chaotic steps for a second and stared at you as if to make a promise. He paused, glancing away as if to compose himself before adding, “I have some work in Mexico. It came up last minute, or I’d have told you earlier.” His voice faltered, almost imperceptibly, and the words sounded rehearsed, like he was repeating something he’d practiced.

You frowned slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “Work in Mexico?” you echoed. “Since when do they send you out of the country for cases?”

“It’s not that kind of work,” he said quickly, his tone just a little too smooth, a little too practiced. “It’s…consulting. A conference on forensic advancements, some behavioral workshops—things like that.” He kept his gaze on the floor as he spoke, as if afraid to meet your eyes. “I won’t be gone long.”

You didn’t question him further. Why would you? Spencer wasn’t the type to lie, and the way his brows knit together, the way his voice softened with the promise, “I’ll be back soon,” made you believe him. But something about the way he shifted his weight, the way he avoided looking directly at you, left a faint unease in your chest.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have dinner with you yesterday. And breakfast now. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he added, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to fill the silence.

You tightened the sheets around yourself, curling into their warmth, feeling the lingering heat from the side of the bed where he had been only moments before. It felt like he had never really left, the space around you still filled with the faint echo of his presence. Watching him now, his movements a little frantic, his gaze flickering toward the clock every so often, made you feel like he was slipping away too quickly. A part of you, small and selfish, wanted to ask him to stay. To sit back down, to let the world and his trip wait just a little longer.

But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you whispered, barely above a breath, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment, “Promise?”

Spencer’s gaze softened even further, a tenderness washing over his features as he moved closer to you. His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite touch his eyes but was filled with something that made your chest tighten. “Promise,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle, as though sealing a pact between the two of you. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing your forehead before his lips followed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your skin. The kiss was tender, quiet, and almost reluctant, as though he didn’t want to pull away from this moment either. For a moment, his forehead rested against yours, the space between you vanishing entirely. It felt like the world had narrowed to just this—just the two of you—and all the invisible lines you had drawn between friendship and something more blurred into nothing.

But before you could do something stupid, he pulled back, with his eyes lingering on you, still filled with a softness that made your heart flutter. “Have you seen my shoe?” he asked, his voice playful yet tinged with the usual frustration of his misplaced belongings.

You let out a small laugh, still wrapped in the sheets, the warmth from them mingling with the warmth of the moment. “Oh, you’re a mess, little boy,” you teased, your voice light and affectionate, the fondness for him slipping out in every word.

“Mittens take it again?” Spencer asked, his eyes glinting with playful exasperation. He had grown accustomed to your cat’s antics, and he could hardly be surprised at this point.

You nodded, grinning as you pointed to the underside of the bed. “Ding ding, genius,” you replied, your voice light and teasing as his gaze followed your finger. Sure enough, there it was, tucked under the bed—another casualty of your mischievous cat’s nightly adventures.

He grumbled good-naturedly, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if the chaos of the morning didn't matter when you were here with him and everything felt so domestic. As he bent down to pick up his shoe, you couldn't help but watch, your heart swelling at the sight of the man you were so in love with, even in his messiest moments. There was something about him—something in that moment—that made him feel so good, as if everything else could wait and the obvious fact that he didn't feel the same way about you didn't matter. Anyone outside the room generally didn't matter. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled in sheets and laughter, clinging to a piece of time that was all yours and would be the only thing you'd have left when he was gone.

“She loves you, that’s why she does it…I guess she wants your attention,” you said, your voice trailing off, and the taste of the words felt sour in your mouth. It sounded too much like you were talking about yourself rather than your pet, and the realization hit you like a cold wave. It made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and you immediately wished you could take the words back. But you didn’t.

He glanced at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “I read something about that,” he said, his voice light, but you could tell he didn’t entirely understand the weight behind your words. It didn’t matter. You were used to it by now.

“You read about everything.” You gave him a small, rueful smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, the bitterness of the moment creeping into your voice. You were fine with it, you told yourself. Fine with everything.

He glanced at the clock, a quiet sigh escaping him. “I have to go…it’s late,” he said, and you could hear the quiet resignation in his voice. The moment, it seemed, had reached its inevitable end.

“Okay.” The word slipped out of your mouth more dryly than you intended, and you hated the way it sounded. You didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t want the moment to end. But it was already slipping away, and you knew it. “But before you go…come here.”

He hesitated, looking at you with uncertainty in his eyes. But then, slowly, he took a step toward you, his face softening when you reached out to touch his cheek. The moment your fingers brushed against his skin, he shivered, and your heart skipped a beat at the contact.

“Is…is something wrong?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if sensing the shift between you.

“No, I just want to say goodbye properly.” You shifted closer, your heart hammering as you moved toward him, your lips hovering near his. The temptation to close the distance, to kiss him, burned inside you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Take care and come back,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you meant. You kissed his forehead gently, your fingers instinctively smoothing his hair down as you did. “Now it’s like you have my blessing,” you added with a faint smile.

He smiled at you, the warmth in his expression a bittersweet thing that made your heart ache. “Thank you, and good luck tomorrow with my godchildren’s.” His voice was soft, but the moment was already passing, slipping away, and with it, the space between you both. He gathered his things, gave you one last lingering look, and then turned toward the door.

You stood there, watching him go, the weight of what you didn’t say crashing down on you. The door clicked shut behind him, and you felt a hollow ache in your chest, a longing you couldn’t quite name.

God, you really wanted kissed him.

God, he really wanted you kissed him.

When Spencer opened his eyes for the first time in a cell and felt a sickening jolt of disorientation. The dirty walls and a rickety bench stared back at him, mocking the comforting image of his organized room and, more painfully, the thought of you. The absence of your laughter, your touch, your presence—everything that had once grounded him—hit him like a freight train. He knew something was wrong.

As the days blurred together and the evidence piled against him, he clung to the belief that this nightmare wasn’t real. Every hearing, every damning piece of evidence that chipped away at his freedom, felt surreal. Even when the judge handed down his sentence, condemning him to months behind bars, the finality of it didn’t register. What shattered him was the moment he filled out his visitation schedule and consciously omitted your name. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like that. He didn’t ask anyone to explain, didn’t try to soften the blow of his absence. That, he thought, was the point of no return—the moment he lost everything.

But Spencer was so wrong. The true breaking point came when he walked out of that hellhole, finally free, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. Each step was a physical ache, the pain in his chest sharper and heavier with every step. His hands trembled as he reached for his keys, the jangling sound unnervingly loud in the empty hallway. His gaze fell on your door, just a few steps away. The familiar sight sent his stomach into knots.

For the first time, he wished you wouldn’t be there.

The thought was alien, unnatural. You had always been there, and he had always wanted you there. When he was too drained to cook, you’d suggest their usual coffee spot, your smile lighting up the grayest of mornings. When his back ached from long nights bent over case files, you’d massage his shoulders, insisting scented candles could fix his bad posture and his bad days. When his mother’s health took a downturn, and he felt his world crumbling, you’d hold him, stroke his back, and promise that everything would be okay. And when his social battery was drained at reunions, you’d step in with your bad jokes or your art facts, making the world feel manageable again.

Now, standing in front of his own door, his fingers clumsy with the lock, all he could hope for was silence. He didn’t know how to face you, didn’t know if he could explain the broken pieces of himself.

His door creaked open, and he was greeted by the familiar scent of the home he had only dreamed of for the last while. It was overwhelming: clean clothes, slightly sweet candles, and something undeniably yours. The apartment was exactly as he remembered it, as if time had stopped the moment he left three months ago and never returned until now. His heart shrank as he took it all in: the blanket you insisted on leaving on the couch, the pile of books you always meant to return to his library but never did, his fish swimming around as if nothing had happened, and even the plants by the window, thriving despite his absence because you had surely watered them without fail.

And then there were the little details, things that told him that you had not moved away from this place, from him. The plate you always left for his cup of coffee, the one you gave him last Christmas, was still on the counter. His favorite cardigan, the one he thought he had misplaced, was folded neatly on the back of the chair and smelled of the baby softener you liked to use. His books were exactly where he had left them, although one of them had a bookmark you had made, a telltale sign that he had read it and was waiting for him to come back to comment on it, as you always did.

But he hadn’t returned.

Not then. And maybe not now at all.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket rang, its shrill tone slicing through the heavy silence like a sharp reminder of reality. The vibration against his skin startled him, his body tensing as he pulled the device out. His gaze flickered down to the screen, and the name that appeared caused a knot to form in his stomach: JJ. His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind racing, unsure if he was ready for the conversation he knew would follow. But deep down, he knew there was no avoiding her. Jennifer wouldn’t let him slip away unnoticed, and if he didn’t answer, she might show up at his door, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he had.

With a resigned sigh, he swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Is everything okay?”

The concern in his own voice surprised him. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe he was just desperate to shift the focus away from himself.

“Everything’s fine,” JJ replied, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve been…quiet.”

He exhaled slowly, staring out the window, the city lights stretching before him and the memories cutting deep. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Just trying to catch up on things. All good here.”

“Okay,” she said softly, and there was a pause—a hesitation that made his pulse quicken. He could almost hear her thinking, weighing her next words. Then she cleared her throat, the sound small but deliberate. “Have you seen…her?”

The question hit him like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He turned away from the window abruptly, pacing the length of the apartment as if motion could somehow ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw clenched, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I don’t know if I want to.”

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. How could he say that when every thought of you still made his heart ache? When the idea of you haunted him, so vivid and constant it felt like you were in every shadow of his empty apartment?

Jennifer’s sigh crackled over the line, heavy and filled with the weight of unspoken truths. “She’s been asking about you,” she said softly, her voice tinged with that unshakable sadness she tried so hard to hide. “Every time I see her. I think…” She hesitated again, and Spencer could hear her swallow hard, choosing her next words carefully. “I think you owe her an explanation.”

He swallowed saliva and tightened his fingers around the phone. JJ was right, of course. She always had been. But the idea of facing you, of trying to explain everything without drowning in tears, seemed impossible. How could he tell you the truth? How could he look you in the eye and admit that he had spent the last three months in jail, paying for a crime he had not committed? That he had done things that he deeply regretted, that made him sick and a horrible person?

You deserved better. You always had.

You were a blessing to anyone who had you around, and he knew that better than anyone. That's why he recommended you as a babysitter for JJ's kids, that's why he insisted that you come out to the bar with him and the team several times, that's why he told his mother about you, and that's why he gave you unlimited access to every single part of his life and told you things he'd never told anyone else. You were the one he thought of during those long, sleepless nights behind bars when JJ brought drawings from her boys. He imagined you there with them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Henry with his homework or letting Michael pile blocks on your lap. It was silly—heartbreaking, even—but the thought of you, of your warmth and your kindness, had kept him going.

“I have to go…clean some things,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, so desperate to run away from the topic.

“Okay,” JJ replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “Tell me if you need anything.”

Before Spencer could find the strength to speak, the line fell silent. The hum of the apartment filled the space around him, oppressive in its quiet, and he stood there, phone still clenched in his hand. The weight of it, the weight of everything, settled deeper into his chest, making it hard to breathe. He stared at the counter as if it could offer him some sort of escape from the quiet agony that had overtaken him. With a long exhale, he dropped the phone, his fingers lingering on it for a second longer than necessary, before pulling away with a heavy sense of finality.

Just as he was about to move, his mind already drowning in the whirlpool of thoughts he was so desperate to escape, a soft, muted thud broke the oppressive stillness of the apartment. The noise was faint, almost imperceptible, but in the suffocating quiet, it reverberated like a crack of thunder. His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat as his body went rigid. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source of the sound, his eyes locking onto the open balcony door.

A sleek black shape emerged from the shadows, moving with a practiced elegance that seemed almost ethereal in the dim light. Mittens.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the single syllable, hoarse and unsteady as if even addressing his might shatter the fragile thread of control he was clinging to.

The cat paused for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if considering him, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. Then, without a second thought, she padded over, her steps confident and unhurried, the soft click of her claws against the floor the only sound in the room. She jumped lightly onto the couch, then onto the small table beside him, her movements fluid and practiced. As she reached him, Mittens sniffed his hand delicately, then nuzzled it gently, her warm, soft fur brushing against his fingertips. The familiar rumble of her purring filled the air, a soothing, almost hypnotic sound that cut through the tension and wrapped around him like a blanket.

Spencer let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the apartment. He hesitated, his fingers brushing the soft fur of her head, unable to stop himself from reaching out.

Mittens leaned into his touch, her purr intensifying as her little body pressed against his hand, seeking warmth, some affection. She didn't care about the months she hadn't seen him or just heard his name spoken a thousand times by you. To her, he was still Spencer, the same one who had fed her, played with her, and cared for her whenever he could. That was enough. She was very happy.

“You still remember me,” he murmured, a faint, fragile smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d smiled in what felt like an eternity.

The cat blinked up at him, her green eyes half-lidded with contentment, as if to say, Of course I do.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his hand resting on her soft fur, letting her purring fill the empty spaces inside him. It was such a small thing, her presence, but it reminded him of you—of the life he’d left behind, the warmth he hadn’t realized he’d needed so desperately until now.

But the calm didn’t last, and Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he heard a soft knock on the door. His gaze snapped up from the cat, who was now lazily sprawled across the arm of the couch, her purring uninterrupted. The knock came again, this time paired with a voice that sent a jolt through his chest.

“Mittens?”

The voice was muffled through the door, but he knew it instantly. It was you.

Another knock followed, gentle but insistent. “Are you here, baby?”

He froze, every muscle in his body tightening as he registered the sound of your voice. You were here, in his apartment—or at least on the threshold of it. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to see you again.

The cat, oblivious to the tension that suddenly filled the room, stretched lazily before hopping down from the couch. Her tail flicked behind her as she padded toward the door, her movements casual, as if she belonged here. Her eyes were fixed on you as you stepped through the open door, your figure partially silhouetted by the light from the outside.

“There you are,” you said softly, your voice brimming with relief. The warmth in your tone hit him like a physical blow, and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

You crouched down to scoop the cat into your arms, your movements gentle and practiced. “You scared me,” you murmured, cradling her against your chest. Your voice softened, carrying that familiar tenderness he’d missed so desperately. “You’ve been running off so much lately.”

Spencer pressed himself against the shadowed wall, willing himself to disappear. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even look at you for fear his body might betray him. The apartment was dark enough to hide him, but he knew the signs of his presence were everywhere—his phone abandoned on the counter, the faint indentation on the couch, the way the air seemed to shift with the weight of him being there.

You didn’t notice. Your focus was entirely on Mittens as you stroked her soft fur, your touch so gentle it made Spencer ache. “I know you miss him,” you murmured, the words falling from your lips so quietly they almost didn’t reach him. “I do too.”

The confession tore through him like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. His chest tightened, and he bit down hard on his lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

You lingered for a moment, your gaze sweeping over the apartment as if you could feel his presence, even if you didn’t see him. Then, with a soft sigh, you turned back toward the door.

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Mittens’ head before stepping into the night.

The door closed with a quiet click, and Spencer was left alone once more. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, his hand trembling as it pressed against his face. The silence was deafening, a hollow, aching void that swallowed him whole.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe fate didn’t want you to see him again—at least, not yet.

But then, the next morning, it happened.

You were returning to your apartment, groceries in hand, when you saw him.

He was standing at the end of the hallway with his back to you, as if he was leaving his apartment. As soon as you saw him, your heart skipped a beat and all your rational thoughts vanished. It seemed like an eternity since you had seen him, even though it had only been a few months. Your first instinct was to run to him, throw yourself into his arms, and demand an explanation, but something about his posture made you hesitate. He was stiff, distant, almost sad. His usual warmth was nowhere to be seen. And yet there was something different about him: his long hair, now a bit wilder and more unruly, framed his face in a way you had never seen before. Some curls fell over his eyes, and his beard had grown thicker and darker. The change in his appearance was shocking.

Without thinking, you dropped your groceries at your door and hurried toward him. “Spencer!” you called, your voice trembling with a rush of emotions you had bottled up for months.

He turned slowly, and for a split second, his eyes locked with yours. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, maybe guilt, but it quickly faded, replaced by a cool distance you had never seen in him before, at least not with you. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. It was instinct, more than anything, to wrap your arms around him like you always used to do. The warmth of his body felt like home, like everything you had missed was right there in your arms. You held on tightly, breathing him in as if this would somehow make up for the absence. You’d been so lonely without him, and this, just holding him again, felt like it would fix everything that has been wrong lately.

But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t move an inch. This time his body was rigid, unyielding, as if he didn’t feel you or want you around. He did not return your hug. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge it or really want it. His arms remained stiff at his sides, and you could feel his breath hitching against your neck, but he didn’t respond. It was like hugging a stranger, someone you once knew but no longer recognized.

“God, I missed you…” You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but his face was unreadable. His long hair now brushed against the collar of his shirt, the unruly beard framing his jawline. But his eyes were the only thing that stayed the same—cold and distant, void of the tenderness they once held. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately. The silence hung between you, thick and oppressive, before he finally spoke, his voice flat. “Sorry, I…I don’t think I’m the best person for that right now.”

Your heart sank, the warmth of the hug and reunion evaporating into a hollow chill. “What happened?” you whispered, feeling the pain creep into your voice. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you say anything? I was so worried for you and JJ don’t say so much.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look like Spencer, not the one you had known—kind, warm, and always ready to offer comfort. His face was hard, closed off, and distant. He seemed…different, almost cold. “I’m sorry, I needed to get to…work,” he said, his voice clipped and curt. “I didn’t think you’d be awake at this hour.”

You felt a pang of confusion and hurt at his words. “What do you mean? You didn’t want to see me? You haven’t been here in months,” you said, the bitterness creeping into your voice. “You just disappear, and then you show up here, like nothing happened? You sleep here? I came to your apartment last night, and you weren’t there.”

He didn’t react. No apology, no acknowledgment of the pain he’d caused. He just stood there, cold, distant. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words almost sounding like an afterthought. “I had work to do. It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue. “That’s all you’ve got after disappearing for three months?”

Finally, his eyes met yours again, but there was no warmth in them. No tenderness, no familiarity. His gaze was hard, as cold as his words. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said sharply, his tone final, cutting through the air like a knife.

It felt like a punch to the gut. The warmth that had once filled your heart whenever Spencer entered a room, the gentle care he had shown you, was now replaced by something colder. It was as if the person you had known—the person who had been your friend, your confidant—had vanished along with the man who used to leave you sweet notes and show up with your favorite food after a rough day.

“You…you don’t owe me anything?” you whispered, your heart breaking with each word.

The silence stretched between you again, suffocating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry.”

But it was hollow, empty. A formality. Not an apology that meant anything.

And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned, walking away. “I have to go,” he said, his voice softer now, but still detached.

Before you could say anything else, he turned, leaving as quickly as he had appeared. And just like that, he was gone again—leaving you alone with the deafening silence and a heart full of questions.

Just like your worst fear: Spencer was avoiding you in the hallway.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #matthew gray gubler

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maximumsneakyfoxxo · 11 hours ago

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The darkness is asphyxiating, no light makes it to your eyes, no air reaches your lungs as they burn, yet you sense him through it all; standing just out of reach, watching you with soulless eyes and that damned sharp grin, expectantly waiting for the groveling. His magic was always too strong, no one could stand up to him, that's why you came, you have no intent to win, even if you'd lied to yourself about it before now. "If you don't submit soon you'll die, There's no shame in being outmatched, just give up and I may let you live!" He sounds sickeningly arrogant, so sure of himself and his righteousness. "Everyone else who came died, you knew they were stronger than you are, you knew and you still came here to face me. Why?" Your throat burns, yet your mind wanders despite the sensation, as though trying to find the panic that you should be feeling, any sense of self preservation, any emotion at all really. "Why are you stalling?" The words fall from your mouth before you can think, in a blinding flash you're knocked to your back. A slight wheeze escapes as you slam into the floor; your eyes adjusting to the light, you see him above you, his sneering veneer overtaken by poorly veiled confusion— and maybe something a bit more human? "You're certainly an odd one, most don't have the courage to look me in the eyes anymore" Displeasure tainting his voice, his haughty attitude abandoned as his eyes shift slightly, voids of magic peering into yours as if searching your soul, maybe he is. "No, this isn't courage at all, I see no fire in your eyes, no desire to strike me down, no fear at all." A humourless laugh echoes through his chambers, arms crossing over his chest as he shifts his weight to one side. "I suppose there's only one thing to do" his voice lower, less assertive than before and uncomfortably familiar. You meet his eyes, pools of pure magic stare back, but where once they were dark, now they glow orange, blue, all the colours you'd known and many you couldn't have imagined all flash through his eyes, you see the world in his eyes and for a moment you think that perhaps giving up isn't the best idea after all, if beauty can be found in a being so devoid of ... what exactly? What was this man missing? Everyone he'd killed had hunted him, hadn't they? The thought stops you for a moment, why was this man a monster? You barely notice as he raises his hand, channelling his power; you close your eyes and wait to be reunited with your friends and family, a moment passes and the burning stops, then the pain that you'd known for decades ebbs away and soon after your body feels at peace, perhaps wherever you are now, you can heal. "So-" You're ripped from your thoughts suddenly as your murderer looks down at you, on hand on the back of his neck awkwardly. "I know we just met, but if you'd like I could set you up a meeting with my therapist? They're the best, you control the pace." His voice sounds soft, compassionate and in an embarrassingly long moment, you realize you clearly aren't dead. So what happened to the pain? ... "There's a spare bedroom, you'll probably want to rest. I messed you up pretty bad there." His eyes avoiding yours, a kaleidoscope of magical energies visible in their depths. "Sorry about that by the way." His shrug looks forced and you feel the regret rolling off him in waves. "Why?" Your voice carefully measured, staring him down as you demand answers. "Why not finish me off?" your voice lowers, almost melancholic as you sigh, not even the most powerful mage would give you rest. Or perhaps he simply offered a different form of it, the aura he exudes leaving you with some level of energy, almost enough to feel again, more importantly the things you saw in his magic made you want to and so before he can answer your questions you ask one more "When can I meet them? Your therapist, that is." His smile was the brightest thing in the room.

When the villain demanded that you submit or be destroyed you just apathetically shrugged and braced yourself for death. You were surprised when the villain did not kill you and instead offered you a nice, comfortable room and an appointment with their personal therapist.

#writing prompts #writing inspiration #writeblr #This was just procrastination against sleep ngl

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greengoblinswifey · 2 days ago

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Club Rendezvous—Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader

summary— while on spring break, you cross paths with Luigi Mangione at a club, sparking an immediate connection that leads to a night in your hotel room. based on this request.

warnings— grinding, drinking, fingering, cunnilingus, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— Those photos are so fratboy Luigi coded, idk I like this little mood board, enjoy <3 I really hope he’s doing well, my heart aches when I think about him.

The club was alive, the high energy vibes only spring break could deliver. Neon lights flashed across the crowd, music boomed loud enough to shake the walls, and you and your friends were in the middle of it all. Drinks in hand, laughter over the music, you were living your best life. Your group wasn’t shy about taking over the dance floor, swaying your hips to the beat, your confidence catching more than a few eyes.

Among those eyes were his. Some tall, dark curly haired guy leaned casually against the bar, drink in hand, charm on full display. His backwards cap barely kept his dark curls in check, and his sleeveless shirt revealed toned arms. He was the type of guy who made heads turn without even trying. And tonight, his focus was on you.

You noticed him when you turned toward the bar, locking eyes for the briefest second. His smirk was teasing, and when he tipped his drink in your direction, you knew the game was on.

“Who’s that fine ass staring at you like you’re the last shot at the bar?” your friend shouted over the music, nudging you.

“Probably just some frat boy who thinks he’s cute,” you replied, though your smile betrayed you.

“Girl, he’s cute!” another friend chimed in. “Go dance with him!”

You rolled your eyes playfully but turned your attention back to the dance floor. It wasn’t long before he made his move, walking through the crowd until he was standing close enough for you to feel his presence.

“You dance as good as you look?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Why don’t you find out?” you shot back, challenging him.

He laughed, the sound sexy and confident. “I was hoping you’d say that, I’m Luigi by the way.”

“And I’m Y/N,” you flirted.

Before you knew it, he was behind you, his hands resting respectfully at your hips, waiting for your cue. When you started to move, he followed your lead effortlessly, the two of you in sync. The beat pulsed through your body as you threw your ass back, his grip tightening slightly to match your rhythm.

Your friends were cheering you on from the sidelines, one even yelling, “Get it, girl! Pull him in!”

“Your friends are wild,” Luigi said with a chuckle, his lips close enough to your ear to send a shiver down your spine.

“They’re hyping me up,” you replied, glancing back at him. “Don’t let ‘em down.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he promised, his cute smirk widening.

You felt on top of the world as you moved together, his presence grounding you while the world spun around you. The chemistry was undeniable, and the looks your friends shot your way only fueled your confidence.

“You’re stealing the show out here,” he murmured.

“Good,” you said, flashing him a grin over your shoulder. “I’m worth it.”

When the song ended, you turned to face him, breathless but grinning. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and for a moment, it felt like maybe you were.

“Wanna grab a drink?” he asked, his tone a mix of boldness and uncertainty.

“Depends,” you said, tilting your head. “Are you buying?”

“For you?” He laughed, already nodding. “Absolutely.”

As you walked toward the bar together, your friends erupted into cheers behind you.

“Go get your white boy, queen!” one shouted, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Guess I’ve got a lot to live up to,” Luigi joked, glancing at your retreating friends.

“You better,” you replied, “Think you can handle it?”

“With you?” His smirk softened into something genuine. “I’ll try my best.”

Spring break had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

The bass of the club faded slightly as you and Luigi leaned against the bar, drinks in hand. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d introduced himself, and you couldn’t deny how charming his boyish confidence was. You had a good feeling about him.

“So, what’s your story?” Luigi asked, sipping his drink and leaning closer to hear you over the music.

“Just here for spring break with my girls,” you said with a shrug, “What about you?”

“Same,” he said, his eyes lingering on yours, “Though I’m thinking this night just got a lot better.”

“You’ve got lines, huh?”

“Only when they’re true,” he replied, raising his glass toward you.

Feeling bold, the words spat out of your mouth before you could overthink them. “You wanna come back to my hotel?”

Luigi’s thick eyebrows raised slightly, his grin widening. “I’d love to,” he said, “But only if I get to take you on a date tomorrow morning.”

“Deal.”

Within minutes, he’d called an Uber he paid for, and the two of you were in the backseat, the city lights blurring past the windows. Luigi had his arm draped casually along the back of the seat, his fingers brushing your shoulder. You turned to him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, testing, but quickly deepened. His hand slid to cup your jaw, pulling you closer. “You taste like trouble,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating.

“You’re one to talk,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip, earning a low chuckle from him.

By the time you reached the hotel, the air between you was charged. In the elevator, the doors had barely closed before Luigi pressed you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a feral kiss. His hands roamed over your sides before one slid lower, fingers trailing into your bottoms.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Luigi,” you breathed out, your knees going weak as his fingers found your pussy.

“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice low as his fingers thrusted in slow strokes. “You’re so tight.”

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but the soft whimper you let out when his thumb pressed against your clit betrayed you. His lips found your ear. “Don’t you dare hold those moans. I wanna hear you.”

When the elevator dinged, you both barely managed to pull yourselves together, your face dazed and breaths uneven. Stumbling down the hallway, Luigi was still kissing your neck as you fumbled with the keycard, his lips sending shivers down your spine.

The door finally opened, and the two of you stumbled inside, laughing softly before his lips found yours again. You fell back onto the bed, Luigi bracing himself above you as his kisses moved down your neck to your collarbone.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his hands tracing your sides. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“You’re just saying that,” you teased.

He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with a seriousness that made your heart race. “Nah, I mean it. You’re stunning, and you’re driving me insane.”

His lips claimed yours again, his praise melting into your skin as his hands explored, every touch making you feel like he meant what he said.

His hands worked at the hem of your top, his lips brushing against your jawline. His fingers grazed your skin, pulling off your bottoms next slowly, leaving you in your bra and panties.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes roaming over you like you were something rare. “I don’t think you even realize.”

You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt in response. “You first,” you teased.

With a smirk, Luigi pulled off his shirt, revealing a toned torso with abs that had your breath hitching. When his hands worked to remove your bra, his fingers grazed your nipples. Once he freed you from it, he paused, staring at you as if committing every detail to memory.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

Your panties were the last to go, and when you reached for his waistband, he let out a soft laugh, his hands gently stopping yours. “Let me take care of you first, pretty girl. Tonight’s about you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, but Luigi was already lowering himself onto his knees at the edge of the bed. “Can I?” he asked, fingers resting on your thighs.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, and he flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “Good girl,” he murmured.

The first stroke of his tongue had you gasping, your back arching slightly. He knew what he was doing, his mouth working against you with a precision that had your legs trembling. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging gently as he grinned against your skin.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he continued, “I could stay here all night.”

“Luigi,” you breathed, your voice breaking as he pressed his tongue in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Your only response was a soft whimper, your head falling back as his tongue worked wonders against your quivering pussy. He lapped at your juices like a man starved, leaving not one inch of your pussy untouched. When your body finally gave in, shuddering beneath him and creaming, he pulled away, lips and chin glistening to smirk at you.

“You’re a dream,” he whispered, licking his lips and climbing back onto the bed.

You tugged him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “Lemme take care of you now,” you offered breathlessly, reaching for his waistband again.

Luigi caught your hand, shaking his head with a smirk. “Another time. Tonight, it’s all about you. You’ve got no idea how lucky I feel.”

He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his tenderness making you realize you had scored the jackpot. He stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to unbuckle his pants as your gaze followed him. When he finally slipped them off, your eyes widened in disbelief at the sheer size of his hard dick.

“You’re joking,” you murmured, earning a low chuckle from him.

“Don’t worry, baby” he said, leaning down to kiss you softly. “You can take it. I’ll make sure of it.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes locking onto yours. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked his tone serious.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“We can stop anytime,” Luigi reminded you, cupping your cheek. “Just say the word.”

“I’m sure, Luigi,” you assured him.

“Okay, amore,” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue effortlessly. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Luigi positioned himself above you, one hand gripping yours as he lined his cock with your entrance. His lips brushed against your temple as he slowly pushed in, both of you hissing at the sensation.

“Luigi,” you whimpered, gripping his hand tightly.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised. He set a steady rhythm, his strokes careful but deep enough to find your sweet spot. “You feel so good.”

“You’re so big,” you panted, your head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to kiss you. “Who’s making you feel good?”

“You are, Luigi,” you gasped, your body reacting to every word and thrust.

“That’s right,” he murmured against your lips. “Only me.”

He quickened his pace slightly, his hand slipping to your waist to steady you. The pleasure was becoming too much as he bottomed out and slammed back in, each thrust making your pussy quiver. “Cum on my dick, amore,” he coaxed, his voice soft.

Your pussy obeyed, a wave of release coursing through you as his thrusts slowed down, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his lips curving into that beautiful smile.

Before you could fully recover, Luigi flipped you onto your stomach, his hand sliding down your back. “You look so good like this,” he murmured, gripping your hips as he started again.

You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, the pleasure building faster this time. “I— I don’t know if I can hold on,” you stammered, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to,” he reassured. “Cum for me baby. I’ve got you.”

Your body surrendered again, practically soaking his cock and the sheets, and he leaned down, pressing kisses along your shoulder. He gently turned you onto your side, lifting your leg as he settled behind you. His pace was slower now, deeper inside you, his hand brushing over your thigh as he whispered praises into your ear and you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew.

“You’re amazing, amore,” he said, his lips brushing against your neck. “I love this pussy.”

You reached back to touch his arm, your breathing steadying as he continued to hold you close. He pressed kisses to the side of your face, his grip tightening on your leg as he rolled his hips with precision. You were so sensitive, all in your mind was his cock slamming into you then retreating with just the tip before he thrusted back in again. He found your sweet spot each time, your pussy quivering with every movement.

“Luigi,” you moaned, feeling your orgasm approaching.

“I know baby, I know. Cum with me. Can I cum inside you,” he asked.

“Mhmm—please, cum inside me,” you whimpered.

He reached down to rub your clit and it sent you right over the edge. You cried out, your body shaking under his touch as a wave of liquid sprayed from your pussy. He fucked you through your orgasm and soon you felt the feeling of warm sticky cum filling you to the brim.

You both lay there panting, and you could feel his cum oozing from your pussy as he pulled out.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, disappearing into the bathroom.

You barely had the energy to lift your head, but moments later, he returned with a warm, damp towel in hand. Sitting beside you, he placed a hand on your thigh and smiled. “Let me take care of you.”

He started cleaning you up carefully. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, glancing at you with concern.

“No,” you replied, your voice a little hoarse. “I’m good. Just tired.”

He chuckled, setting the towel aside and lying down beside you. “Tired? I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, brushing a stray curl from your face.

“You would,” you murmured, cracking a small smile.

He shifted closer, pulling the blanket over both of you. “So,” he started, “was it as good as you imagined it would be?”

“Confident much?” you said as you rolled your eyes playfully.

He grinned, leaning on his elbow to look at you better. “Hey, I’m just asking. You’re the one who moaned ‘Luigi’ about a hundred times.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grew flustered and hit his arm lightly.

“Now, tomorrow before the date, breakfast on the beach? Or room service?”

“Surprise me,” you said, already feeling your eyes grow heavy.

He settled in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Deal. Sweet dreams, amore.”

“Night, Luigi,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest as you drifted off, feeling completely safe and cared for.

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hederasgarden · 1 day ago

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Hiya! David!clark with prompt 2 from your list pretty please w the juiciest cherry on top! SMOOCHES TO YOUUU

Smooches to you as well, anon!! This was such a cute drabble request!

Pairing: David!Clark Kent x F!Reader Word Count: 532 Rating: Gen. This is pure fluff with the prompt, Wait a minute. Are you jealous? A/N: Thank you to @ryebecca for looking this over! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“And, anyway,” Clark continues, fumbling with the stack of papers in his hands. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to meet him alone. Someone should come with you. Just for safety, you know? You can never be too careful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s a date, Clark. Not some shady source for a story. You’re acting like I’m meeting a criminal kingpin.”

He frowns, pushing his glasses back up his nose in a familiar gesture you’ve seen him do a hundred times. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m just saying, you don’t know this guy. He could be anyone. He could be an axe murderer, for all we know.”

It’s only the worried crease between his brow and the genuine concern you see in his eyes that keep you from laughing at how seriously he’s taking this.

“He’s friends with Jimmy,” you remind him, giving his very firm, muscly shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“How well does Jimmy actually know this guy?” Clark questions. “Are they actual friends, or more like ‘a friend of a friend’ kind of situation?”

“I think they play pickleball together?” you say, though you can’t fully remember. Jimmy tended to ramble a lot and well, truth be told, sometimes you tuned him out. “Or maybe it was D&D? I’m not sure which one it is, but he’s definitely not some random weirdo. Just a nerd.”

“I should talk to Jimmy,” Clark says with a nod like he hasn’t even heard you.

Before he can walk past, you stop him with a firm hand on his chest, your fingertips grazing the crisp, starchy white shirt he’s wearing.

“Wait a minute. What’s going on?” You question.

Clark may have had the reputation of the office big brother, always looking out for everyone, but this was something else. It felt different. It felt like he liked you.

No.

That couldn’t be right. He was so wildly out of your league and that thought sounded insane, even to your own ears. But as you study his face, you catch the way his eyes flick away from yours for just a beat too long, the briefest hesitation, and how his hand tightens around the stack of papers, his knuckles whitening.

“Are you jealous?” The words slip out before you can stop them. You wince, wishing you could swallow them back up when you see the tips of Clark’s ears turn red. He opens his mouth, then closes it, before tugging on his collar.

“Oh,” you whisper.

“Is that a good oh?” Clark asks you, looking almost nervous.

“Oh,” you say again like an idiot as your brain tries to catch up with the sharp left turn this conversation has taken. Clark Kent liked you. Like actually liked you.

"I do," Clark murmurs, and it takes a second to realize you must have said that last part out loud.

“Well, I should probably cancel that date then,” you tell him.

“And I should probably ask you out,” he replies, glancing around the bullpen before stepping closer.

“Yeah,” you agree, getting a little lost in how blue his eyes are.

“Will you -”

“Yes,” you interrupt.

He laughs and you grin.

Send me a request

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #david corenswet #superman #drabble request

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elodieunderglass · 3 days ago

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“Eohippus,” I say to the Doctor.

The Doctor is an ageless, genderless, timeless being: an unstoppable force. I have unlimited amounts of horsegirlness and am something of an immovable object. They look incredibly shifty.

“Eohippus,” I say again, menacingly.

“Merychippus?” They’re a man at the moment, and he tries this with a placating smile.

I know what he’s up to. He thinks there’s significantly more chance of human-related bullshit, and alien fuckery, and all the other bullshit he actually likes if we go see Merychippus, the first of the grazing horses. It’s basically just a horse, though. You can see those anywhere. And I know that the minute we step off the TARDIS it’s going to be a series of bullshit escalations leading up to the Doctor saving something in front of an adoring audience. I distinctly recall not fucking stuttering and I said I wanted Eohippus. I want the ancestral form. Strange, elusive, tiny; poised like a dancer on hard little many-toed paws.

You’ll never meet a unicorn in your life, but if you crack spacetime in just the right way, you could meet something better: the strange alien wild seed of something your species has chased for all of history. Before you were you and they were horses. Who’d want to waste spacetime on anything else?

“Do you only take people along with you just to convince yourself that you’re not selfish?” I ask, interested. “Or do you normally take children - no, not children, children would argue - but fuckable young people, I bet. Girls, mostly. In their twenties, I bet. Because they’ll just smile and agree and compromise.”

“That’s very rude,” the Doctor says, startled. “Like. Wow. Seriously?”

“Is it true? Eohippus.”

“Not true at all. Pliohippus.”

“Pliohippus comes just before Equus, you quack.”

“Why do you even care? They’re not like they’re real horses. Just a generic beetlin’-around, weird little spotty beastie paddin’ around like a long-legged boring badger. D’yiu want to see some real proper horses, alien ones? I know a race of them with blue shiny wing cases and six genders. Caste system based entirely on the production and rating of poetry - ”

“Oh, they’re spotted?” I cry happily. “Wait, you’ve seen them?”

“All they do is run about on the forest floor, eatin’… fruit.”

“Fruit?”

“I don’t know. Boring things. They don’t even neigh. Just trundle around like guinea pigs.”

“Doctor,” I say eventually, pondering this, “you like horses, don’t you.”

“Absolutely not,” the Doctor says. “I only humour you to keep the peace. And it isn’t bloody working.”

“You like horses. Let’s meet the first ones. Again. And do it properly. Look them in the eye and see the spark of the kinship - see if we can feel the deep emotional connection of the bond-”

“What bond is that?” The Doctor says, but - hahahaha. I’ve got him. The Doctor is such a horse girl.

“The deep emotional connection of the kinship between horses - well, horse-shaped things - and humans. Well. Human-shaped things. Is it still there? Did it start there? When you look in the eyes of Eohippus, will you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The thing you feel when you look at horses,” I say. “Excitement and adventure and potential and wonder, the desire to love and be loved by it, a thousand wishes, and the feeling of being there at the dawn of the world.”

“We could just go to the Big Bang -”

“I didn’t say the Big Bang. I said the dawn of the world. It’s different. Are they horses? Will you feel the same way with Eohippus? Is the feeling there?”

“Rubbish!” says the Doctor, looking hot and bothered, and setting the coordinates.

Of course it does escalate from there, with running and shouting and aliens (seeking to stripmine the earth’s resources before there were humans to defend it; quite a good plan honestly; genuinely can’t work out why they aren’t all trying that?) but I don’t care; I’m sitting on the forest floor with Eohippus in my arms, having decided that there’s nothing stopping me from doing so; at the dawn of the world.

“NOT the Big Bang,” I say again, as the Doctor squats down beside me. “The dawn of the world.”

And we are quiet for a while.

“Wow,” the Doctor says eventually.

“Yeah.”

“They really are all in there. All the horses that ever were and will be. In that little eye. It’s a kind eye,” he announces, as horse girls do when they mean to compliment a horse with few other notable positives. “And that’s where it all starts.”

“Yeah.”

“Bellerophon and Secretariat and Arthur - I had a horse called Arthur.”

“What happened to him?”

“Gave him back. Can’t keep a horse in the TARDIS.”

“Keep this one,” I say impulsively.

“You know we can’t.”

“… can we clone it?”

Something Doctor Who misses out on is how none of the companions are extremely interested with any one thing. All the companions are all “idk, I have a few ideas of stuff that’d be cool to see, but I’m up for whatever! All of space and time, woohoo! :)”

And that’s great for them and I know it makes for a better show overall but I think it would be more realistic for someone to say “I want to see every historically significant moment for my special interest, and then I want to double back for mundane bits too.”

I, for example, would be an insufferable companion.

I’d be like, “okay now take me to the place and time where they first used stirrups for the whole ride instead of just using them as a foothold to mount the horse. Then I want to watch Ray Hunt put a first ride on a colt. After that we’ll take a nap, and then let’s sneak onto set of the Return of the King to be extras in the Ride of the Rohirrim”

The Doctor would be all “please. This is the twentieth horse-centric stop in a row. We have all of space available to us. Can we leave Earth this time I’m begging you”

And my annoying ass would go “not unless there’s horses in space” roll credits

#elodie writes

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yierrem · 3 days ago

Text

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition pt. 2 ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

ft. gn! reader x asaba harumasa, billy kid, and seth lowell ; a follow up to my previous dating hcs (which can be found here) and a response to a request ( ^ω^ ) first post of the year（≧∇≦）i hope you enjoy reading!!

asaba harumasa

very clingy. when you're not together, he'd be texting you random little updates or beg for your attention just for the sake of talking to you if calling momentarily isn't an option. sometimes he tries to use you as an excuse to get out of work, but after he's done it a couple of times, you've become immune to always bending to his whims and suddenly he's whining about how you don't love him anymore.

["wait i'll look at your texts later brb love u ^3^" "so you hate me."]

an avid quality time enjoyer, if i've ever seen one. he's content with lazing around with you or doing mundane tasks that don't require much physical effort. likes cuddling against you when you're just sitting engrossed in doing something with your hands and reading or watching something together.

even though he usually appears and acts lighthearted, deep down, he's genuinely happy with you and the relationship you share. he cherishes every moment you can spend together and wishes it could go on for as long as he lives. you're the person he refers to as family when on one of his much-dreaded doctor appointments.

alongside the nightmares he already has regarding his sickness, he'd have times when he'd wake up in a cold sweat from dreams of losing or leaving you and the people he cares for. thankfully, on the days you sleep over, he has you; he's comforted by the sight of your sleeping figure and clings to you for the rest of the night.

on a lighter note, sharing a bed with this man is probably a chaotic experience on a dreamless night; initially, you'd both fall into slumber comfortably cuddled against each other, but the following morning, one of you would be seconds away from suffocating in a vice grip.

billy kid

loves playing games with you. he's usually competitive when playing against you but when you're both on a team together, he's suddenly the biggest cheerleader there is. if both of you lose, that's totally fine! you'll get it next time. what matters to him is that you had fun together.

deeply appreciates it and enjoys when you match him nerd-for-nerd, even if you don't share a lot of similar interests. you take turns randomly info-dumping about any piece of media or activity you're into and both of you pay genuine attention to whatever the other is talking about. he loves listening to you passionately talk or share anything about any topic because you do the same for him.

adding on to the previous point: both of you make jokes about liking your favorite fictional characters or celebrities more, just to be playfully petty.

["if you had to choose between me or monica, who would you pick?" "...well, yes!" "..." "alright, then. between me and /insert favorite character/--" "that's unimportant."]

after spending so much time with him, you already know which maintenance products he likes for himself or his guns. kind of like how other people know what shampoo or body wash their partner prefers. when you see he's running out and you buy them without telling him, he'll notice and be weeping tears of joy.

if you take a while to open up to him about certain things, he's alright with that and will tell you to take your time or give you the space you need. he's been the same when it comes to sharing his past with other people and understands that some things do take courage to tell.

seth lowell

despite having been in a relationship for a while, he most likely still gets easily flustered from any vaguely flirty quip and intimate gesture that comes from you. you could use this knowledge to your advantage but do have mercy on the poor guy.

[there was one instance where you gave him a quick peck on the lips without giving much thought to it before leaving and all he could do was stay where he was with his brain buffering for a whole minute.]

even though he's somewhat shy about expressing his admiration or appreciation for you and sometimes stumbles through his words when doing so, he's sincere in everything he says and does for you.

you're one of the very few people he trusts with touching his tail and ears. it's come to the point where when you're both just laying together, he wouldn't mind the feeling of your fingers gently rubbing on a certain spot on his ears while you run your fingers through his hair.

he appreciates that you see him for who he is and acknowledge his efforts to get where he is now. your affirmations, whether spoken or unspoken, mean much to him and he feels like he can truly be comfortable when he's around you.

sometimes, he unknowingly acts or does very attractive things and it just blows your mind. he'd steer you by the waist from bumping into things or, if you're shorter, accidentally pin you against a wall/surface when trying to reach for something from a high place because he just wants to help! you should be more careful, you know. but you've already mentally imploded while your sweet, sweet boyfriend remains clueless.

#zenless zone zero #zzzero #zzz x reader #zzz x you #zenless zone zero x reader #asaba harumasa #asaba harumasa x reader #harumasa x reader #billy kid #zzz billy x reader #seth lowell #seth zzz #seth lowell x reader

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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

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hi mae!!! i absolutely love your writing and am evidently irrevocably in love with wolfstar. i just got my wisdom teeth taken out, and i know you already wrote something for poly!marauders with that, but could i request something for poly!wolfstar taking care of reader a few days after? so less loopy and more pain with lots of fluff and cuddles! feel free to ignore, love you darling!

Thanks for requesting lovely! Hope you feel better soon <3

cw: allusion to chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 627 words

“Hello,” Sirius says when the front door shushes open. He starts to fold over the page of his magazine. He hardly catches a bit of motion from the corner of his eye before you’re flopping down on top of him, forcing a soft oof from his sternum. “Oh, hello. Everything okay?”

You make a tortured groaning sound, forehead pushing into his neck.

“You’re alright, sweetheart.” Remus passes a loving hand over Sirius’ head in greeting, en route to the kitchen. “I’ll get your ice.”

“Aw,” Sirius tuts, letting his magazine lay tented over your back. He palms the back of your head gently. “Hard first day back at work?”

“It feels like it hurts worse,” you mumble into the space below his throat. The tip of your nose is cool where it presses to his skin. “I’m so tired.”

“Oh, I know, baby.” Sirius kisses the top of your head. “It’s not very fair, is it?”

“Pain is tiring,” Remus agrees. He passes Sirius an ice pack to settle against your cheek, holding onto another while he leans on the back of the couch. “It’ll get better over the next few days. Tomorrow should be easier.”

“I can’t think about tomorrow.” Your voice is softer, lips barely moving as Sirius holds the ice to your jaw. You shift your face from his neck, turning your eyes up to his. “Keep me here forever?”

Sirius feels his mouth spread in a grin. “You know I will, gorgeous. And I’ll do you one better, lift your head and I’ll put two ice packs on your cheeks.”

You pick your head up as directed. Remus passes Sirius the other ice pack, and he sandwiches your face between the two with a smile. Your poor cheeks are swollen and bruised, but Sirius thinks you look lovely despite it, even pouting the way you are. You look between your boyfriends as though waiting for them to do something about it.

Remus breaks first. “Oh, my love.” He gives a pitying laugh, folding over the back of the couch to hug your shoulders. “I’m sorry. The pain won’t last much longer, though. Just give yourself some time to heal.”

“Count yourself lucky you had wisdom to take,” Sirius says. “I didn’t have anything they wanted at all.”

“I’m so tired of this,” you sigh, leaning into Remus. “Sorry, I know it’s only been a couple of days, just. It’s just constant, you know?”

Remus hums. He knows better than most, better than Sirius for sure. Sirius feels overcome by a fond protectiveness for you both.

He touches a pinkie to Remus’ forearm where it’s wrapped around your clavicle. “Alright, that’s enough,” he says, rubbing. “It’s cruel and unjust to have either of you ever work again. I won’t entertain it.”

“Oh, you’re going to be our sole breadwinner now?” Remus asks, smiling.

“Quite right. I’ll need the two of you to carry your weight in homemaking, of course, but I’ll manage the rest.”

“And you reckon your income can cover our portions of the rent and groceries and all that?”

“Don’t worry your pretty head over it, darling. It’s well in hand.”

“Let me lie about for the rest of the week,” you sigh. “Then I’ll go back to work and you can stay here, Rem.”

Remus turns his smile into the top of your head, nose denting into your hair. “Yeah? You sure?”

“M’sure.” You shut your eyes. Sirius grins at Remus, thinking that he has about thirty seconds to change positions before you fall asleep and he has to hold you this way all night. “Just need a few days.”

But Remus will indulge you in anything; he stays perfectly still. “Sure, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your head. “Whatever you need.”

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lovebugism · 2 days ago

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miss bug I have something to ask 🙋‍♀️

i don’t know if you do sickfics but! mayhaps steve and shy!reader where she doesn’t show up for school, steve goes to her house, and she’s utterly mortified because she feels like she’s nowhere near presentable

thank u for requesting!! — king steve pays his lab partner a visit when he hears you're sick, but definitely not because he has a crush on you (shy!reader, friends to lovers | 1.6k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

Steve waits for you that morning with half a bagel and his heart in his throat.

The desks in Ms. Click’s class grow slowly full with bustling bodies — some sluggish like zombies, others too chipper for an early morning. Steve cranes his head in search of your face in the crowd. Yours never shows, which is strange for Hawkins High’s future Valedictorian.

“Where is your partner, Mr. Harrington?” Ms. Click wonders beneath the grating morning bell. She ducks her head to peer across the classroom over her sparkly, cat-eye glasses.

Steve pauses, mid-bite of his sausage-egg-and-cheese. He shrugs wordlessly, with a wad of food jutting his cheek and crumbs sticking to his mouth.

The older woman sighs, too used to King Steve’s antics. She looks past him and asks, “What about you, Miss Buckley? Where’s Carol?”

“Probably under the bleachers with Tommy Hagan,” Robin mutters under her breath, though loud enough for everyone around her to hear, causing them to bite back their subsequent laughter. Steve, himself, nearly chokes on his bagel.

“Well, you’ll just have to pair up with Steven for the day,” Ms. Click tells her.

“Oh, god…” Robin groans in a whisper.

“Get to work.”

Steve spins his chair around to face the girl behind him, who he only really knew because of how highly you spoke of her. Despite your frequent praises, Robin doesn’t even look at him, nor does she bother to make mindless small talk. She just keeps her head down and scribbles notes on a worksheet.

Steve, in spite of their differing statuses, struggles to find the courage to talk to her.

He slouches and tilts back his chair. “Hey, do you, um—”

“We don’t have to make conversation, alright?” Robin interjects before he can even start. She keeps her head bowed but glares daggers from beneath her lashes. “Let’s just get this hour over with so we never speak to each other again.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Well, I was— I was just gonna ask where your friend was. ‘Cause I don’t think she’s missed a day since, like, kindergarten.”

Robin’s freckled face flushes. She’d feel worse about being so short with him if he wasn’t such a douchebag. “Oh. Uh, she’s— She’s sick, I think.”

“Sick?”

His chest pinches with an immediate worry. Robin bites back a smirk at King Steve’s palpable concern for arguably the biggest nerd on this side of Hawkins. “Yeah,” she shrugs. “I figured she was just allergic to your hairspray.”

Steve laughs under his breath and turns away. Robin smiles only until he looks back at her, now with a brown paper bag in hand. It was meant to be for you — an even piece of his bagel, ‘cause he knows you don’t get breakfast yourself. He figures you’d rather not want it to go to waste.

“Want my other half?” he offers to the girl across from him, like some kinda olive branch.

Robin’s eyes dart from Steve to the paper sack and back again. It goes against every code in her personal handbook to take anything from Hawkins Royalty, but she shrugs in response anyway. “What the hell. Sure.”

—————

Finding your trailer isn’t hard. He visited there, once, for a project at the beginning of the school year. It’s the house directly across from the Freak’s. Eddie made it a point to play his guitar as loud as he possibly could, knowing The Hair was around to hear it. (Munson would never miss an opportunity to annoy King Steve, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him).

Steve decides to make his entrance through your bedroom window. Dead, unmanicured grass crunches under his sneakers as he rounds your trailer. He rises to the tips of his toes and knocks four times on the high-up window. The old glass feels strangely delicate under his fist.

He waits for an answer for several long moments. When he doesn’t get one, he lifts his hand to knock again. The window squeaks open before he can — and there he finds you, standing above him, holding a half-empty box of tissues in your hand like you plan to hit him with it.

“Whoa—” Steve flinches.

You look equally shocked to see him, fear swimming in your glassy eyes. “Oh, my god—”

“Sorry,” he grimaces with his palms splayed in surrender. “It’s just me.”

“I thought you were a burglar or something…”

“And what? You were gonna take me out with a box of tissues?” His laughter feels like warm honey compared to your splitting, icy migraine.

You take in a heaving breath and swallow hard through a stinging throat. “Sorry,” you sniffle. “Come— Come in.”

As Steve climbs through your window, trying hard not to get caught in the curtains, you become very hyperaware of your living space. It is your childhood bedroom, after all — every phase of your life is stored within these tiny four walls. Posters, trinkets, slightly dated decor. And on top of all that, you’ve been living like a total slob since you got sick over the weekend.

Your bed’s a mess, you’ve got bottled water and tissues piling in the bin, and you haven’t changed out of your pajamas in two days. It’s certainly no way to greet the king of Hawkins High, though he doesn’t quite seem to mind.

“You coulda just knocked on the door, you know?” you mumble, slightly nasally, as you swipe a balled-up tissue under your nose. “I would’ve let you in.”

Steve pants and stands to full height again, finally in your room with little to no struggle (though he’s pretty sure he’s stamped his footprint on your wall).

“Well, what can I say? I like to make an entrance,” he jokes with a lopsided smile. The rosy expression fades when your glassy eyes glaze over with a faraway look. “…You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just…” you shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. “I’m just a little lightheaded. That’s all.”

Steve rushes to your swaying form without thinking. He grasps your arms in two wide, gentle hands. His honey eyes are wide and wild as they dart over your features, sufficiently bleary with whatever bug you’ve caught.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you insist despite the obvious. “Just can’t break this stupid fever.”

“Here. Lay back down.”

He guides you the short distance to your bed, foreignly patient with your sluggish movements. He keeps a hold of you with one hand and reaches for the mussed blankets with the other, pulling them back to ease you beneath them.

“Sorry for bailing on you today,” you apologize in nearly inaudible slurs as the boy props you against the pillows.

Steve shakes his head with a quiet smile. “You’re sick. It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” he insists and tucks the covers on top of you again. You can smell his aftershave when he leans over you, a striking minty scent that melts nicely with his deeper cologne.

“Sorry,” you repeat before you can help it.

Steve rises again and fights the urge to brush the hair sticking to your clammy cheek. “Have you had any medicine?”

“I had some… cough syrup earlier…” you slur, face half-buried in the pillows.

“What about food?” he asks with his hand on his cocked hip. “Had any of that?”

“‘M too sick for food.”

Steve laughs and fills the gloomy room with sunshine. “You have to eat, babe. So you can get your energy back. That’s, like, science or whatever—”

His eyes widen, only then realizing his use of the nickname. His heart drops to his ass. He hopes he said it so quickly that you missed it. You seem to have, as sick as you are, basically half-asleep before him.

You’d heard it, though. The word alone has your delicate heart beating with a newfound fervor. You can’t tell if it’s killing you or bringing you back to life.

Steve starts rambling before he realizes it. “I can whip you something up, if you want. I make a mean macaroni and cheese— In the microwave, obviously, ‘cause I’m less likely to burn it that way. Did you know that you can actually burn pasta in the microwave? Yeah, I had to learn that one the hard way—”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you just sit with me?” you sniffle, eyes still shut. “Please?”

He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Yeah, of— Of course, yeah.”

The boy climbs into your bed with a lot less confidence than he’s used to. This is by no means the first time he’s been in another girl’s bed, but something about this one feels different. This time, he has to keep reminding himself to breathe. This time, his hands are all clammy and tingling with an anxiety he isn’t used to. This time, he feels so utterly unsure in his body that he doesn’t know how he became King Steve in the first place — let alone how he got here, next to you.

What’d an asshole like me do to deserve all this? his mind reels.

Your breath catches when the mattress dips under his weight. He sits over the covers, but still a lot closer than you thought he might, all things considered. You turn slowly onto your back to look at him without going dizzy again.

“You’re not scared you’ll get sick?” you croak, blinking up at him with sleep-swollen eyes.

Steve shrugs with his back propped against the headboard. “Not really. I mean, what’s the worst-case scenario— I get sick and have to be quarantined here with you? That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

His lips curl into a lopsided smile that makes your chest feel sparkly. You turn away and hide your own grin in the pillow. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” you quip, half-muffled in the cushion.

“Yeah, I know,” he hums, never once taking his eyes off you.

He can’t wait to kiss you when you’re better.

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puckinghischier · 2 days ago

Text

i’m having soft quinn thoughts today and i have to shout them from the rooftops so everyone else can suffer with me.

but i absolutely cannot stop thinking about how quinn would always want to spend time with you, but feel guilty for how occupied he is during the season. every second of downtime he has is spent watching game film in your living room, studying tactics and plays. not that you ever complain. you’re content simply being in the same room as him, not taking for granted any amount of time you can be in his presence.

quinn’s attention is always half on you, no matter how hard he tries to focus. he steals more glances at you than he cares to admit, worried that one day you’ll get sick of sitting in silence while hockey occupies the space between you. but you never do. you keep yourself busy scrolling through your phone or reading the most recent book he bought you, never uttering a complaint. he’s tuned in to every fidget or movement you make, not wanting you to remove your always cold feet from under his warm legs to occupy yourself with something—or rather someone—better.

it surprises him that you never do. you never utter a word, not wanting to disrupt his work. every so often he’ll catch you looking back at him during one of his ‘quick’ glances, absorbing the warm smile you give him. sometimes you’ll quietly ask him if he wants anything from the kitchen when you stand to go fill up your water cup, but seem content to simply sit there with him as he mumbles to himself, jotting down notes as he watches.

tonight, he can’t help but notice—during his million and one glances at you—that your eyes are glued to the tv. your phone is laying, locked, in your lap, eyes following the puck as it’s shuffled across both screens from player to player. your body’s subtle reactions to the game aren’t lost on him either. the twitch of your foot anytime someone shoots the puck, the raise of your brow when a player on either team scores, the hitch in your breath anytime the two teams start to fight.

you can feel his eyes on you more than usual tonight, his (not so) subtle glances lingering longer than normal. you turn your head to meet his gaze, brows furrowed and a puzzled look on his face.

“what?” you whisper, flitting your eyes between his own and the tv, not wanting to miss any important moments.

“are you watching the game?” he looks at you like you have three heads.

you giggle in response, amused at his expression and surprised tone of his voice. “yeah, kinda. don’t really know what’s happening, though, if i’m honest.”

there was never a home game of quinn’s you missed. you went to support him every time you could, and loved seeing him in his element. but you can’t even pretend to understand the sport past each player wanting to get the puck into the opposing net. you didn’t understand the positions, the penalties, or anything surrounding the ins and outs of professional hockey. you never watched it growing up, and probably still wouldn’t watch it if you weren’t dating the captain of your new city’s team.

you had moved to vancouver for work, and knew nothing of the prominent hockey culture before you arrived. the sports presence buzzed all around you as you figured out the ins and outs of your new home, but it had no place in your daily routine. that is, until you hit it off with this insanely attractive stranger that seemed to frequent the same coffee shop as you. you accidentally cut him in line one day, offering to pay for his coffee to make up for it, but he paid for yours instead. a ‘pay it forward’ war was started between the two of you until he was stood waiting at the door with your usual order one morning, requesting more than just a name and the fact you drank a large, vanilla iced coffee with chocolate syrup lining the cup every morning.

when he realized you were likely the only person in the city he now calls home that doesn’t know who he is, it only piqued his interest in the pretty coffee shop stranger further. the morning meetings at the shop turned into an exchange of numbers, which developed into him meeting you for lunch on your break when he was in town, that then escalated into dinner dates and spontaneous outings, and now it’s found its permanence in you moving in with him a few months ago.

you were…indifferent, when he revealed to you who he was and what all his career entailed, uttering out a simple “oh! that’s cool! makes sense why you’re always at the gym, now” later explaining that you thought he was just really into fitness and maybe worked as a personal trainer or some equivalent. when he first invited you to games he tried to tell you a little bit about the rules, but assumed you’d catch on as you watched (hopefully) more and more of his sport. you always told him how much you enjoyed watching him in his element, but never asked many questions past if the other team was supposed to be good or not. he assumed you understood enough to keep up, knowing how intelligent and observant you are, but he tried to refrain from talking about work too much with you. when he’s with you, he wants to be present with you, not hockey.

which is why he feels so guilty at times like this, watching film while you’re sitting next to him. it feels like you’re two people who happen to be in the same room, completely in your own worlds. until tonight.

“you…never watch the games with me. you always have a book or something,” he reaches over to pause the game, still a little shocked.

you shrug at him. “didn’t feel like reading tonight. not really anything new on my socials, either. so i figured i’d just watch with you for once.”

“and you weren’t gonna say anything?”

this earns a real laugh out of you, not understanding why this is such a big shock for him. it’s not like you’ve ever told him you don’t like hockey. you just have never really cared to watch it if isn’t the one playing. but you’ve been wanting to learn more about it recently, tired of not being able to participate in the games like the other women do when they’re watching their husband or boyfriend play.

“why would i? you’re trying to work, i’m just trying to learn a little bit,” you reply, the hint of a laugh on each word as you say it.

quinn just blinks at you, trying not to get his hopes up at your expression, not knowing just how far you want to go with your quest for knowledge.

“since when do you want to learn about hockey? why now?” he questions, trying not to sound accusatory or snarky, but genuinely curious as to what you’ll answer.

“i’ve always wanted to learn, ever since that first game i went to, but you don’t seem to like to talk about it outside of the rink, so i don’t really ask much. me and google have become very good friends as of late,” you shrug out another answer for him. “plus, when you’re watching games at night like this, i don’t want to keep talking and asking a million questions while you’re trying to work, so i force myself not to watch to keep from distracting you.”

quinn sits a little straighter, now worried he’s made it seem like hockey is this forbidden subject between the two of you.

“sweetheart, i don’t like talking about hockey outside of the rink because i don’t ever want you to think that’s all we ever talk about, not because we can’t talk about it,” he tries to defend himself, even though there’s no accusation. “if you want to learn about the game, please, ask me questions. i- god, i’d love nothing more than to teach you about it. i hate sitting here in silence every night i’m home, worried you’re going to eventually get pissed at me because all i do during the season is watch old games.”

you grin at his slight panic, endeared by how worried he was about your feelings this whole time, appreciating his intention with the unspoken rule.

“q, i never asked about it because i didn’t want you to be upset because i kept bringing up work when you’re away from it all,” your smile only grows at the fact you were both worried about upsetting the other for no reason at all.

the slight tension in his shoulders fades at your words, relieved that you’re not upset or feel like he made it seem like you had no place in that part of his life.

“alright, well, fire away, then,” he gives you the floor, pressing play so the players on the tv screens move once again, now glancing at you every few seconds to catch any looks of confusion or interest in any particular play or action.

the rest of the night is spent playing and pausing the game over and over again, question after question flying out of your mouth. anything from why the faceoff is from a certain spot on the ice to what a particular penalty looks like is spoken the second the thought enters your brain. quinn takes his time explaining every answer to you, even rewinding and pulling up other examples to make sure you understand what he’s telling you.

at the end of the night he realizes just how much more he caught of the game while answering your questions. there’s several times you picked up on things he never has before. like why one player seems to always place his stick so close to another player’s skates while he’s chasing him. or why a certain goalie seems to lean left everytime instead of right, no matter where the puck is coming from.

he’s been able to add several tells about players in his notes, ready to take them to practice the next morning and change his game to accommodate his opponents habits. and when they win their game a few days later, thanks to your observations during the impromptu hockey 101 class in your living room, he revels in the fact that even though you know so little about his sport and his job, you ended up being one of the biggest parts of their success.

from then on, the nights of sitting in silence while he studies film are nonexistent. every time he brings work home with him, you’re right there next to him, enthralled in whatever opponent’s game they’re facing that week. he loves that you’re so observant, paying attention to the smallest of details someone who’s been playing for years becomes blind to. and he really loves turning you into a bottomless pit of hockey information, seeing how you absorb each ‘lesson’ from day to day.

when they break through their slump, a big part of that accredited to your nights spent questioning quinn, and he sees you start really participating in his games, he can’t help but fall that much deeper in love with you. watching you scream and complain about bad calls with the rest of the fans in rogers arena, and reading your texts to him about your thoughts on his away games you watch on tv, swells his heart in a way he never thought to be possible.

plus, he always knew it was only a matter of time before you fell victim to the hockey atmosphere of the city. no one can really resist the pull of vancouver hockey, especially not when it’s captain has anything to do with it.

#when will i ever be happy with my endings?#not today #but anyways #i need quinn to teach me about hockey asap #even if i already know how it works #hockey #nhl #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #vancouver canucks #qh43

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