#but like…….. I would’ve liked to be asked

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: sweet baby boy drew whos willing to help u, nothing else rly

one | two

authors note: i wanted to give it a sort of “the proposal” / “anyone but you” type of feel !! this is obviously going to be a series so let me know if u want to be added to the tag list from now on so u dont miss an update ! <3

your body freezes in place when you’re asked about the wedding. crap, you forgot. but it isn’t like you received any invite.

“theo sent you an invite through the mail. you got it right?” your friend, leila, asks you. leila and her fiancé theo have been your friends for years now, ever since you met leila during a movie priemere and shared respect on each other's careers. she’s been your closest friend, so theo naturally had to come along too.

“what? yeah,” you lie right through your teeth, and guilt punches you in the face when you stare right into her bright eyes. you raise the cup of coffee. “was literally jumping for joy when i got it.”

leila sighs in relief. “thank god we got the right address,” she says and you question what she means by that before she continues, “we didn’t know whether to send it to your apartment or drew’s.”

your breath is caught and you pause before your drink reaches your lips.

“drew,” you repeat, and she nods.

“yeah, but we figured you’ll both see it either way so, sent it to his place ‘cause theo said it was closer,” leila says, and you raise your eyebrows in amusement. “but anyway! before the wedding, i wanted to stay with our inner circle so if it’s possible for a little two-week vacation? the venue is close to my mom and her boyfriend’s house so we’d just be staying there. i would’ve picked after the wedding if theo didn’t already have the honeymoon planned. he’s too excited.”

“wait, two weeks?” you inquire, “who’s coming?”

she shrugs, “you and drew, libby, gia . . .” she trails off as she thinks about it, and you swallow as you set your cup down. “i forgot who else. i know it’s one of theo’s coworkers but i forgot who. let me text him actually.”

your face lights up at the opportunity to get away, and you nod. “i need to call drew actually,” you say, and she smiles and nods as you stand from your seat and make your way to her living room. “need to remind him to take the . . . fish . . . out.”

“fish?”

“we’re having fish tonight, yeah.”

you turn away to scroll through your contacts until you find his, then click on it. you settle down on the couch as you wait anxiously for him to pick up, and just hope that he does.

just before the call goes to voicemail, the line clears. “yeah?”

“you are such a—!” you hiss quietly, careful not to let leila hear you. “why didn’t you tell me leila and theo sent you a wedding invite for us?”

“i literally just checked my mail, alright? i would’ve said something about it as soon as i saw it,” he tells you. “i just flew in two days ago, y/n. i’m at the . . . i’m not at my apartment right now but my mail’s all on my counter. i’ll look for it once i’m home and then send you pictures of it, okay?”

you know that your situation with drew is slightly complicated. you were together for five years before ending things just a year ago.

because of your careers, you aren’t surprised that people assume you’re still dating. even close friends like leila and theo. everything was kept private. a year into the relationship was when fans even found out about you two.

you both have been looking for a time to address the breakup, to friends first for sure, but with your conflicting schedules, the time’s just never come up, and sending a “by the way, we broke up” text to an imessage groupchat wasn’t totally ideal.

even with the wedding coming up, having to be around everyone while you celebrate your closest friends, how are you either of you supposed to bring it up now?

“okay,” you tell him. “just text me when you’re free. any time before 10, please.”

“okay,” drew’s voice is soft and understanding. the line goes dead and you pull your phone away from your ear, seeing that he’s hung up.

your expected text comes around 8pm. drew’s sent you four different attachments. all are photos of the elaborate and detailed wedding invitation. the designs must’ve been leila’s idea.

you’re surprised to see an incoming call on your laptop right after. you hover over the accept button, then click on it.

his face fills a rectangle of your screen. he’s on his phone—“do you see it?”

“yeah wait,” you mumble, clicking out of the facetime to open your messages with him, then click the first photo. “leila and theo; rsvp by september twenty-seventh.”

“the letter’s addressed to my place but they put our names on the envelope,” drew tells you, and it looks like he’s ruffling through something before he flips his camera to display his counter. on it is the envelope in question, which is addressed to his apartment, but for y/n and drew, it says.

you hum. “are you going?” you ask him.

“of course i’m going. what do you mean?”

you shake your head, “nothing.”

drew only knows of leila or theo because of you, because leila works with you. maybe he’s made friends with theo but it’s not something you’ve personally seen, so you’re just assuming that maybe since you’ve broken up, there’s no reason for him to go? especially when he’s filming soon?

you stare down at your keyboard as you speak again, “leila wants us to come on a two-week pre-stay with her and theo. and others.”

there’s a brief pause from drew, like he doesn’t understand.

you sense it immediately and continue. “like, before the wedding, she told me today about how her mom has his house she wants us to stay in, just a few of us for two weeks, then they have her wedding— i don’t know, i need to ask her more about it. i think she just wants to fly everyone out and spend more time with us before she’s on honeymoon and living the wife life.”

“could be fun,” drew says. “i mean, i can’t even remember the last time i was out with theo or leila. it might be good for us.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him through the screen, and you try to read him to see if he’s joking. “there is no more ‘us’, remember? and by the way, neither leila or theo or anybody else knows that.”

drew hesitates as if he’s trying to justify your situation.

you rub your eye before resting the side of your head against your fist, “they addressed the invitation to both of us, drew. i feel like we should at least tell them the truth so that when we get there, they know.”

drew hesitates, his eyes moving around as if searching for the right words. “yeah, i know. it’s just . . . complicated.”

“complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you say, feeling frustration build up. “it just feels dishonest. they think we’re still together, and if they find out at the wedding, it’ll look like we’re hiding things.”

“we are hiding things,” he reminds you. “we’ve been avoiding the topic. do you really want to drop this bomb on them right before their wedding?”

you go silent as you think about it, because if telling them isn’t a good option then . . .

“what if we just kept up the appearance that we’re still together?” drew suggests. it draws your attention as you look up at your laptop. “for the wedding and the pre.”

you blink, taken aback. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” drew continues, “what if we act like we’re still together while we’re there? it might make things easier for everyone. seeing us apart will just create tension. people will feel like they’ll need to walk on eggshells around us.”

you give him a skeptical look. “acting like a couple isn’t the same as actually being one. i’m not sure i can just pull it off without it feeling fake.”

“we’re not faking,” drew says gently. “we’re just playing a part for a bit. we’re professionals. it’s literally our job. we can do this for a few days.”

you pause, considering his words. “but what if it just makes things worse? what if pretending just complicates everything?”

drew’s expression softens, and he speaks more earnestly. “look, we’ve been in tough spots before. there’s been so many times on set with you and i before that we’ve had to navigate headfirst. this is no different. think of it as a role we have to play for a short time. it doesn’t change what’s real.”

you sit back, processing his suggestion. “so we fake it for now and deal with the truth later?”

he hums. “it’s not ideal, but it could save a lot of awkwardness and stress. we can be civil and supportive for their sake, and then handle everything after.”

you let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the decision. “it just feels like a lot of work to keep up a pretense. but i guess if we’re going to do this, we need to at least figure out how to make it believable.”

“we’ll figure it out,” drew says, his voice a little more hopeful. “it’s not about being perfect. it’s just about getting through the weeks without making things worse.”

you nod slowly, still feeling uneasy but recognizing the practicality of his idea. “okay. pretend for leila and theo, and then deal with the fallout afterwards.”

there’s a faint smile on his face as he nods at you. “just two weeks, remember? we can do that,” he says. “i’m gonna head to bed. i’ll talk to you tomorrow about it, alright?”

“okay,” you murmur, and drew hangs up on you.

the facetime window closes and displays your last app that’s been open, your messages. you’re face-to-face with the photos of the invitations once more, and a part of you is overwhelmed with emotions—fear, excitement, guilt.

two weeks. that’s all it is. just two weeks with your ex-boyfriend. you can survive that . . .

right?

[tanjamikaelson]

CAN FRIENDS KISS? | Rafe Cameron x fem!reader |

Summary: A long-time friendship between you and Rafe blurs into something more when he returns to the Outer Banks after months away. As buried feelings and fantasies surface, a party reveals jealousy and desire, leading to a night where boundaries are crossed, and the truth is finally spoken. In a moment of raw passion, both of you realize that being just friends was never enough.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, jealousy.

•°•°•°•°•

I'ma call you, I'ma hit your number

I'ma slow whine and make you wonder

Fantasies about you in my head, yeah

I know that we shouldn't, but

Can friends kiss?

Touch each other like this?

Under cover like this?

Little too close, play a Popcaan song

And my mind is gone like this

Teasin' on you like this

Put it on you like this

Little too close, play a Konshens song

And my mind is gone like this

•°•°•°•°•

It had been months since you last saw Rafe, and no matter how much you tried to deny it, the truth was suffocating—you missed him more than just a friend. You’d kept yourself busy, convincing yourself that it was nothing, but when you found out he was back in the Outer Banks, that facade crumbled. Before you could stop yourself, your shaky hands dialed his number, the ringing amplifying the tension in your chest.

“Hey,” his voice came through the phone, a comforting warmth that wrapped around you like a familiar embrace. It sent a ripple of longing through you, more intense than you expected.

Your voice wavered as you breathed his name, "Rafe." A beat of silence followed, and then, without intending it, the words tumbled out: "I missed you." It wasn’t just a friendly confession—it was heavy, laced with the feelings you had kept hidden. The kind that kept you up at night, replaying moments in your mind like an old film reel.

There was a pause on his end. You could practically hear the confusion in his silence. You had never said it like that before, never let the words carry the weight they did now.

“You missed me?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I was only gone for a few weeks.”

"A few weeks too long," you murmured, your voice quieter, almost lost in your thoughts, picturing his expression, the slight furrow of his brow as if he was trying to figure out what had changed. What he didn’t know, what you hadn’t told him, was how much you had been thinking about him while he was gone. Fantasizing, really. You knew you shouldn’t have been, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts once they started.

Your heart raced as you imagined telling him as if the words were stuck in your throat. Could friends kiss? Could they touch each other the way you wanted to touch him?

“You’re acting different,” Rafe’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Something on your mind?”

You bit your lip. If only he knew.

One memory haunted you, especially now that he was back. You couldn’t get it out of your mind. Your mind drifted back to the last time you saw him. You’d been at a party, music pumping through the air, bodies swaying in rhythm to the beats of Popcaan. That night, you and Rafe danced, teasing each other like always, but something had changed. The way your bodies moved together, the heat that built between you—it had lit a spark inside you that refused to fade. You often wondered what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped.

Fantasies of his touch, the way his hands felt when they lingered a little too long, how his eyes followed you when he thought you weren't looking. It shouldn’t be this way, not when you both knew the unspoken rule of your friendship. But your heart raced at the thought of pushing those boundaries. If you had just leaned in a little more, let him feel how much you wanted him. But you didn’t—at least not then.

•°•°•°•°•

I don't like your new girl, she don't move me

When you talk about her, I get moody

VVS1 icin' out my neck, yeah

I want it to drip, drip on your lips

•°•°•°•°•

A few days later, Rafe invited you to a party at his house. You told yourself you’d go just to see him, just to catch up like old times. But the moment you walked in and saw his hands wrapped around Sofia, something inside you twisted painfully. She was new. A stranger in your world, someone who didn't belong.

He noticed you almost immediately, a smile spreading across his face as he waved you over.

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you walked over to him. “Hey Y/N, this is Sofia.” He introduced her casually as if it didn’t mean anything. But it meant everything. Your mood plummeted, jealousy clawing at your chest as you watched them stand together.

Sofia smiled sweetly, but you barely heard what she said, your attention fixated on Rafe. You reached up, touching the VVS1 diamond necklace that adored your neck. The diamonds sparkled under the dim lights of the party, catching his attention. You wanted him to notice. You wanted him to see you, not her.

You imagine the cool metal dripping onto his lips, erasing any trace of her. A bold fantasy, maybe, but it was all you could think about.

“I’ll catch you later,” You muttered, making an excuse to walk away before the bitterness in your voice betrayed you.

Deep down, you knew you shouldn’t have to compete with her. But seeing them together hurt more than you could bear. And you weren't the type to sit back and watch something slip through your fingers.

•°•°•°•°•

Come party, come touch my body

I'm a busybody, tick, tick, tick, tick

Come find me, come get behind me

•°•°•°•°•

You made your way to the dance floor in an attempt to distract yourself.

Your body moved instinctively, swaying to the pulsing rhythm, trying to drown out the image of Rafe and Sofia together. The alcohol was doing its job, dulling the sharp ache in your chest, blurring the edges of your jealousy. You let yourself sink into the music, pressing against faceless strangers, their presence offering a temporary distraction. Yet no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the crowd, you could feel it—his eyes on you, burning through the haze.

You didn’t need to look. The weight of Rafe’s gaze from across the room was undeniable, igniting a fire beneath your skin that no one else in that room could extinguish. When you finally glanced over, your eyes locked with his, and in that instant, everything else faded away. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like watching you with someone else, knowing that you were slipping through his fingers, teasing someone else with the same fire you had once reserved for him.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. The thrum of the music, the blur of people moving around you—none of it mattered. It was just you and him, staring across the distance, the unspoken tension that had always simmered between you now bubbling to the surface. A slow, deliberate smile played on your lips. If he wanted to play this game, then so be it. You raised a single finger, curling it toward you in a silent dare. Come get me.

The guy you had been dancing with protested as you slipped away, but his words didn’t even register. Your mind was already fixated on one thing—Rafe. You needed him. His presence pulled you in like a magnetic force, and no one else in that room could compete. You crossed the space between you in a few steps, your heart pounding, and when you reached him, you leaned in close, your lips just barely brushing his ear as you whispered, “Come touch my body.”

It wasn’t a request; it was a challenge.

For a second, he hesitated, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes almost making you question everything. But then, his hands found your waist, strong and possessive, pulling your back flush against his front. The second his skin touched yours, it was as though the air crackled with electricity, every nerve ending in your body sparking to life. He was close, too close, and yet not close enough. His breath was warm against your neck, sending shivers down your spine and you felt your pulse quicken as he spun you around to face him, the air between you thick with tension.

The crowd disappeared. The world was reduced to the heat between the two of you, the rhythm of the music aligning with the rhythm of your hearts. This wasn’t how friends looked at each other. This wasn’t how friends touched. The space between you was thick with unsaid words, with unspoken desire, and you were done pretending. When the music slowed, so did you, your body brushing deliberately against his, your movements slow, teasing.

The feel of him so close, the heat of his body pressed against yours, was intoxicating. Every inch of you burned with a desire you could no longer suppress. Your hips swayed in time with the music, deliberately pressing against him, and you felt his hands tighten on your waist. The intensity of his gaze made you feel like the only person in the room. It was maddening, this pull you had toward him, the way you craved his touch like it was the only thing that could sate the need that had been building inside you for far too long.

“Wanna get out of here?” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your voice breathless. It wasn’t just a question—it was an invitation. One you knew he wouldn’t refuse.

•°•°•°•°•

Go lock the door

Fall in love with me, I'm bored

We both know I'm yours

I can't do it anymore

•°•°•°•°•

His response was immediate, his hand sliding into yours as he led you through the crowd, away from the noise, away from Sofia. He pushed open a door to a quieter space, a room tucked away from the chaos of the party. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, it was just the two of you, along with the tension that had been building for months.

Your heart raced, each breath coming quicker as you stood there, staring at him, the weight of everything unsaid between you heavy in the air. You knew this was the moment that would change everything.

“Lock the door,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through you.

The anticipation was electric, a current of excitement buzzing beneath your skin as he crossed the room, locking the door with a final click that sent a shiver down your spine.

The silence between you stretched for a moment, both of you knowing what was about to happen. There was no turning back now, no going back to how things were before. The friendship you had clung to was a façade, one that had already started to crumble.

“I can’t do this anymore, Rafe,” you confessed, stepping closer. “I can’t pretend we’re just friends.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the final admission that shattered whatever boundaries had remained between you. His eyes darkened, his breath catching as the reality of what you said hit him. You were both teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something that once crossed, couldn’t be undone.

“I didn’t like seeing you out there,” he finally said, his voice low, rough around the edges with an emotion he couldn’t hide. “With those guys.”

A teasing smile tugged at your lips, but your voice was soft, full of a truth that neither of you could deny. “We both know I’m yours.”

You could see the conflict in his eyes, the hesitation that flickered there for just a moment. But then, it was gone, replaced by the same burning need that mirrored your own.

•°•°•°•°•

This blue chiffon

Off, off, off, need it gone

More Radikon

And it goes on and on

•°•°•°•°•

Your fingers trembled as they toyed with the soft chiffon of your dress, the delicate blue fabric slipping from your shoulders with ease. The silky material cascaded down your body, pooling at your feet like water, leaving you standing exposed and vulnerable in nothing but lace underwear. The cool air of the room kissed your bare skin, a stark contrast to the fevered heat pulsing between you two. But at that moment, none of it mattered. You didn’t care about the chill, didn’t care about anything except the urgent need building inside you—craving him, needing him.

Rafe’s gaze was locked on you, his eyes darkened with desire, his breath shallow and uneven as he took in the sight of you. For a heartbeat, he seemed to freeze, as if the intensity of the moment was too much to fully comprehend. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he closed the distance between you. His hands found your skin, gliding across it like they’d been aching for this moment forever, tracing paths of fire and wanting that made your whole body shiver.

Time seemed to blur as his hands wandered through your hair, along the curve of your spine, as though memorizing every inch of you. The air between you thickened, heavy with the weight of months of unresolved tension, as though the very room could feel the gravity of what was happening. His lips hovered near yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“You’re sure?” His voice was rough, hesitant, though his need was palpable.

You answered him with a kiss, your lips pressing against his, soft at first, but quickly deepening as the tension that had been building for months finally exploded.

He kissed you back, harder, his hands tightened in your hair as you pulled at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, to erase the space between you.

In a blur of hurried, feverish movements, clothes were discarded carelessly, forgotten. The world outside ceased to exist. The only sound in the room was your mingled breaths, ragged and uneven, as you both succumbed to the intensity of what you had been holding back. He was on top of you, his lips trailing fire down your neck, leaving you gasping beneath him.

Your hand slid between your bodies, fingers curling around his hard length, and the sharp intake of his breath told you everything you needed to know. He had imagined this too, had craved it as desperately as you had. The need between you was raw, primal. You stroked him slowly, teasingly, until his grip on your arm tightened, a silent plea. He needed to be inside of you.

He teased your entrance, the head of him brushing against your warmth, making your body arch in anticipation. Then, with agonizing slowness, he pushed inside, and you both moaned as he filled you completely, his body melting into yours in a way that felt so natural, so right. It was everything you had imagined, only more—more intense, more overwhelming, more perfect.

He began to move, his hips thrusting in and out, setting a rhythm that matched the pulse of your own heartbeat. The room filled with the sounds of your bodies coming together, the slap of skin against skin, your moans, and his groans blending in a symphony of desire.

“Does it feel good?” Rafe whispered, his voice rough, his lips brushing your ear as his pace quickened.

You couldn’t form words, only moan in response, your mind too lost in the sensation to do anything but feel. He slowed his movements, pulling almost all the way out, demanding, “Answer me.”

“Yes, Rafe,” you managed to gasp, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It feels so good.”

His hand gripped your hip harder as he thrust back into you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is this how you imagined it?”

You moaned again, louder this time, as he pushed deeper, his every motion drawing you closer to the edge. “It’s… it’s better,” you whispered. “So much better.”

A low growl escaped his throat as he sped up his movements, clearly pleased by your answer. He pulled back before slamming into you again, hard and fast, causing you to bite down on your lip until you tasted the faint copper of blood. He was relentless, each thrust more powerful than the last.

“Your pussy is even tighter than I imagined,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. His words only fueled the fire between you as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing him to fill you as completely as possible. With each thrust, his pubic bone brushed against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body.

You felt the familiar knot in your lower abdomen tightening, the heat in your core building with every movement. Your nails dug into his back as the tension inside you reached its breaking point. “I’m close,” you moaned, the words barely audible.

“Cum for me,” Rafe growled into your ear, his voice dark and commanding. “I want to feel you.”

And that was all it took. The world around you exploded in white-hot pleasure, your body convulsing beneath him as your orgasm tore through you. The intensity was like nothing you had ever experienced, your entire being shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you, again and again.

You tightened around him, your muscles gripping him with every pulse, and Rafe let out a deep groan as he reached his own climax. You felt him release inside of you, filling you completely as you both came undone together, your bodies moving in perfect sync as you rode out the last moments of bliss.

For a long time, neither of you moved, both caught in the aftershocks of what had just happened. The world outside still didn’t matter. All that mattered was the warmth of his body against yours, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing as you both came down from the high, lost in each other’s arms.

There was no going back, but maybe, neither of you wanted to. You had always been each other's, even before either of you realized it. And now, as you lay tangled together, hearts racing, you knew this was only the beginning.

[kurooh]

Hi hi!

Jumping on the brainrot train yet again. I was thinkin'...what would be the MHA boys reaction when you surprises them with a sexy version of their costume.

I think some of them might go feral 😈

🐰

OH MY GODDD WHAT IS UR BRAIN MADE OF

izuku can’t form a coherent sentence, stuttering and flushing more at the sight of you, yet he can’t stop sneaking glances when he tries to look away. “b-baby! uh, you look really really good! not just good, you look so sexy— i mean—okay! wow, it’s really hot in here isn’t it? i swear it’s because of you—” giggling, you put him out of his misery by giving him a kiss.

katsuki’s affronted, or he at least pretends to be. you’re half naked, the costume hanging off your hips and chest, begging to be ripped off. now, he doesn’t want to reveal just how flustered he is, so he critiques every part of your costume, no matter how ridiculous it is. “see, look at that. this would’ve been a great knockoff costume if the headpieces were painted right. oh, and look at that shit right there! the manufacturer didn’t even make the panti— the shorts loose enough to replicate the real thing.” “it’s supposed to be tight on my ass, kat.” eventually he shuts up and just tears the costume off you, and absolutely will not address his fake criticism from earlier.

shoto’s pleasantly surprised to see you wearing his costume, shamelessly looking over the way the tight suit hugs the slopes and curves of your body. “my costume looks great on you. we could dress up together for halloween, hm?” knowing him, the costume won’t last until then lmaooo (he’s a real freak)

eijirou grabs your hands and jumps up and down. he’s so excited to see you wearing his costume, and he honestly feels like you’re a better looking red riot than he is. “YAY babe!! you look so beautiful, oh my god! you’re wearing it better than me, mrs red riot.” he smothers your face in kisses and works his way down your body, fighting every urge to rip the costume off you.

denki walks into the room and takes one wide eyed, slack jawed look at you in his costume. “i’m hard.” “denki! what do you think of it??” “i just said i’m hard!” “that’s not enough of an answer!” “babeeee! you KNOW how sexy you are.” “how sexy?” you’d ask cheekily, spinning to show him the backside of the costume, which leaves almost nothing to the imagination. “i’m going full chargebolt on you baby.” “what.” “spread your legs right now,” and then when he sees the disbelief and shock on your face he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “you heard me babe.”

[luveline]

hi jade!!! i would love to see a poly!marauders fic where they help r fall asleep please! absolutely no pressure at all just a suggestion ofc <3

“Why so moody?” 

You rub at your eyes, standing just behind the sofa. You’d been frowning when James spotted you, not wanting to ask. “I can’t…”

“What?” Sirius asks. 

Remus perks up from beside him. 

Three sets of eyes makes it worse and somehow better. Sometimes it’s easier to only tell one of them when you have a problem, but sometimes you need all of them to know. “I can’t sleep again. Are you coming to bed soon?” 

And listen, four people in one bed is insane but occasionally you manage it. Most of the time you sleep with James, less often Remus. You and Sirius tend to be incompatible while you sleep, because he grabs you around the neck and face for hugging and you wake up with sweat pouring off of you, blind. 

Perhaps that’s why he offers first and emphatically. “I’ll come to bed with you, darling,” Sirius says, a picture of concern as he stands. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just tossed and turned for half an hour and I can’t take much more of it.” 

“She’s going insane,” Remus comments with a severe frown. 

Sirius helps him onto his feet. James, never one to be left out, turns off the television and gathers his throw blanket. “Not on my watch.” 

“Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t have to get up,” you say, wringing your hands behind your back. You hadn’t meant to summon them all to bed. You’d just wanted to know when you could expect an end to your agony. 

“Oh, well,” James begins, wrapping the throw blanket around your shoulders, “too late for that. Will you warm my side for me? I’ll lock up.” 

You feel shyer than you’d thought, shuffling back to the bedroom. Sirius’ hand finds your lower back as he enters the room from behind you, encouraging you gently to the side as he goes for the other. You’d left the sheets in disarray, the lamp on. James’ room is messy as always, but it’s your fault as you live from it most days. Remus is immediately put off by the overflowing dresser, closing each drawer with a shush over the runners. 

Sirius makes the bed, peeling back a corner for you. “Here, lovely. Climb in.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to wait on me,” you say shyly, embarrassed at their attention.

“There’s nothing I like doing more.” 

“He’s in a mood,” Remus says, though you’d guessed that already. “Enough room for me, too?” 

“‘Nough room for everyone,” you murmur, rounding Sirius to climb into bed as instructed. 

You and Remus end up in the middle of the bed, thankful for James’ sense of reality —everybody knew when you moved in together that the separate bedrooms wouldn’t last, but only James had the wherewithal to buy a very large bed. You’re immediately comforted by having one of them next to you, and Remus is very kind about it, asking in a murmur if he can cwtch you, wrapping his arm around your chest like you’re in danger of breaking from his touch. 

Sirius is less polite, but not less caring. If he thought you didn’t want him to touch you he certainly wouldn’t, but he knows he can hug you pretty much whenever he wants. He presses his nose to your face, Remus’ against your shoulder, the three of you deflating after a long day never quite this close to each other. You can feel a day’s worth of back ache leeching in your mattress. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Ooh, for what?” Sirius asks. 

“Making you come to bed.” 

“Didn’t make us do anything.” His breath warms your cheek as he talks. “It’s late. We would’ve been in bed soon.” 

It’s true enough. Everyone is in their pyjamas, Sirius smells like toothpaste. Still, you feel guilty for asking. And yet… you can finally relax now they’re here. It’s like they know exactly what’s been keeping you awake. Remus had cleaned and now holds your chest, Sirius reassures you and calms your stomach with his palm. 

James gets one good look at you all and rolls his eyes. “I asked you to do one thing for me. Jesus. Babe, could you move over?” he asks Remus, not giving him the time to comply before he’s in bed and smushing everyone even closer together. “This is fun. Sleepover!” 

“Just don’t start climbing on me again, Jamie,” Remus says. 

You close your eyes. “Don’t worry, they’ll chill out soon,” Sirius promises in a whisper. 

“Kiss?” you whisper back. 

Three different boys attempt to kiss you in the dimly lit bedroom. All the fuss doesn’t help you sleep, but knowing how much they care about you definitely does. 

[tojisun]

smoking as a form of flirting i guess? dark simon

simon finds the poor cashier he fancies mouthing at a cig, still unlit, outside, all bloodied and wet from the rain as you watch the police roll out after a messy mugging. he is struck, then, and this was not the way simon imagined himself realizing that he seriously wants to finally talk to you, but he stalks close, boots crunching against the asphalt.

you stare up at him, flinching in your surprise because where the hell did this tank of a man come from— but simon commends the way in which you suppressed the recoiling tendrils of your panic, your fists tightening as you grip the sleeves of your jacket. he stops in front of you, watching, and you glare back at him.

he brings his hand up from the inside of his pocket, letting the street lights glint from the metal casing of his lighter, before flickering it on. the flame bathes you in warm light, the fire rippling underneath the cold spray of the midnight rain, and simon’s breath gets stuck in his lungs.

you are beautiful, have been beautiful, but seeing you close, having you close, is a different type of blessing. he feels his greed bloat from within him, liquifying his spine, and simon bites the need to possess you before it could raze him because he does not want to spook you or chase you away.

(do you know how difficult it was to follow your trail? from manchester to bristol—he wonders if you would appreciate the lengths he went through to find you once more.

he wonders if you would appreciate his gift—bilyk, all beaten up for what he’s put you through.)

he holds the lighter up, waiting for you to accept his offering. you do so with caution.

simon watches raptly as you stick the butt of the cig to the flame, letting its blaze take. it takes a moment before the end lights up, and then you are pulling it out and catching it between your lips. you take a deep drag, your eyes fluttering close as you do so, and your shoulders relaxing from their tension like a taut rubber easing up from its stretch.

his knees buckles as you let the smoke trickle from your mouth with a soft sigh. you sound so happy, humming in your quiet delight, and simon almost rumbles in pleasure when you finally blink your eyes open to look at him.

you pinch your stick between your fingers, pull it out, and murmur, “thank you.”

simon grunts, not truly trusting his own words, and stuffs his lighter away again. you shuffle as simon remains close and he deliberately moves slow to show you what he’s doing—digging out his own pack from his pockets to slip one stick out for himself.

he would have lit up with his lighter, but then you were moving close, shifting from where you have been watching anxiously.

simon pauses, curious, but all you say is a sweet, “allow me.”

you tip your head up, offering the end of your cigarette for him to use. simon clenches-unclenches his free hand before mirroring your actions. he places his stick in his mouth and leans forward to light it up from your own.

you are so close to him now—closer than he’s ever allowed himself to be—and simon devours every detail of your face, like the scar on the corner of your mouth or the blooming bruise on your cheek or the way your eyes are so wide as you stare up at him.

he sees himself in the pools of your irises and simon feels.

his stick lights up and he reluctantly pulls away.

“thanks,” he says, still hovering close.

you hum, not moving back too.

the burn of the smoke does nothing to calm him down.

he finds that it’s alright—you shyly asked him if he would like to come back with you to your place, after all. and he knows that if he had been a dangerous man, if it was anyone else, you would’ve been in severe trouble and this would’ve ended differently, but simon?

you can trust him, he promises.

after all, all that he’s done, and all that he will do, they are all for you.

(…all for him to have you.)

[periprose]

May i request a Logan x angel!reader fic where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

anon I loved this ask ahhhh thank you. I'm like half considering making this a series if people want it (so send more angel requests if you're into it!) <3 I may have made it more angsty but there is fluff at the end :) also reader goes by Angel in this fic.

When Flight Comes to Fire (or, Logan gains an Angel)

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: Best friends to lovers, mutual pining, X-Men stuff, idiots in love, angst, hurt no comfort, fluff, kissing

The first time your mutation made it’s appearance– sharp shoulder blades growing into thick appendages, soft, buttery white feathers extending from them in that unhuman way, your wingspan making it clear you would never be normal– your mother retched and said she would have done anything to chop them off of you. Would’ve done anything to have a normal kid.

In fact, she tried, multiple times, to do so. You were only twelve when she came at you for the first time, in your sleep, feeling falsely secure in your father’s platitudes about how she would never really do anything. You woke up to her reaching inside your blanket, grasping one of your wings as she brandished a knife in her other hand. Luckily, your wings were strong enough to shove her off, but you remember how you screamed at her.

Why, mom? It’s me! It’s me–

She didn’t listen, coming at you again, promising in delirious anger that everything would be okay soon if you would just let her fix it, and she had to be held back by your father, as he called the police. 

Because you were her kid, she got let off with a warning, and you were stuck. So you would often fly to the tallest treetops and take your rest there, trying your best to ignore your mother’s other attempts on your life. She didn’t seem to ever get it. You would never be normal.

The final attempt was probably the worst, and the one that caused you to fly away in the end to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

You were twenty years old, just old enough to legally leave home– you only stayed because your father insisted. 

She set your favourite tree on fire. You had no idea your mom had been in enough anguish to essentially murder you for daring to be different.

You awoke to the deep smell of smoke, of tree bark charring, and then you heard the cracking and sparks. The tree quickly caught fire, and you shrieked in pure terror as the heat of the flames approached you. The immense light emitting from the fire blinded you, and suddenly there was a sharp pain from your wings and back– you were getting scorched.

So you flew upwards, high enough that the fire dissipated off your back instantly in the cool night sky’s air, and you were fine. Nothing to show other than a little scar, and the sounds of mutiny coming from your mother below. 

You chose to forget her– no point in repairing a relationship with a woman who didn’t want you as you were.

But you’ve never forgotten the pain of being burned alive.

/

“Angel. You ready?” Logan is to your right in the foyer of the mansion. “Everyone else is waiting in the helicarrier.”

He’s your best friend, has been ever since you came to the X-Mansion as a runaway. It’s not an uncommon story among mutants, but Logan always felt you were like him. Rough, not the easiest to speak to, having a tendency to keep to yourself.

The major difference to him is that you’re a lot easier on the eyes. 

Seriously, it was almost like the universe was playing a joke on him. Here was a beautiful girl with literal angel wings, just missing a halo as she arrived at the door for the School for the first time, and he just happened to be the first ugly motherfucker to open the door.

Logan’s never quite sure why you keep up with him, why you stay friends with him, if he was just lucky enough to be the first person you saw and liked. It drives him nuts, the way in which you rely on him, trust him more than he thinks he deserves, you come to him at every moment just to talk over everyone else, when surely you could have anyone else’s attention.

Especially any stupid guy, like him. He’s not sure how you haven’t noticed– even now on the staircase, he can’t tear his gaze away from you. Logan feels bad to be so in love with you, too– he wonders if he’s reading into things too much, if he’s pushing for something that isn’t really there.

And he’ll never know, because you’re so damn flighty. Logan can barely keep up with your whims, and he only knows as much as you’ll tell him about yourself (he hardly knows where you came from that fateful first day), so he just lets you come and go as you please. He’ll keep his feelings deep inside, where you can’t possibly find out about it.

“Yup, I’m fine.” You have a brief smile for him, which gives him that familiar twist of the stomach. “Oh. You’re not wearing your uniform?”

“It’s better to be incognito for this one, according to Scott.” Logan says, adjusting his flannel, mildly enjoying how you check him out. 

You’re wearing the typical X-Men uniform– bright yellow, blue stripes down your sides, room for wings with a removable panel in the back. You let them loose, now, telling Logan you’ll be right back.

When you return, with quite a flourish, flapping wings in a true superhero-landing– Logan sees that you’re wearing a tank-top, and some jeans that really, really highlight your ass– but he tries not to focus on that.

“Hey. Tank’s inside out, Angel.” Logan says, waiting for you to fly off again, but you simply take off the tank top, and pull it back on the right way, exposing your bra-covered chest and lithe waist for the briefest of moments, while Logan loses whatever he was about to say. “I…”

“Don’t be a perv, Logan.” You jokingly side-eye him, never suspecting that that could actually be true as you tease him. “You’ve seen me change tons of times.”

“Yeah, but out in the open?” Logan stares at you. “You’re gonna have a shit-ton of admirers if you keep that up.”

“It’s just me, please.” You start up this whole I’m-not-pretty schtick that Logan is pretty sick of hearing, and he shakes his head. “Let’s go. They’re waiting.”

Yeah, Logan thinks, they are waiting, but he’s not sure you needed to be all quick and nonchalant about changing, just to get there faster.

That’s what he means by you being flighty– who knows what’s really in your heart, when you act so quickly?

/

“Listen up, X-Men. We’re gonna do our best to avoid damages today, right?” Scott speaks with the air of a leader who’s very fed up with his team members. 

There’s a resounding yes from everyone, including you, Logan, Jean, Storm, Bobby, Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty.

“What’s our mission?” Scott says, and you answer first.

“Find the new mutant.” You state, and Scott nods, while Logan hides a smile at how adept you’ve gotten at these missions.

“Make sure he doesn’t defect to the Brotherhood.” Jean adds, looking at you and Logan, seeing how close you two sit to each other. She’s kept it to herself– but Jean thinks if you and Logan really do have something going on, that would be nice. For the both of you.

“No damages.” Logan chimes in, and Scott visibly loses a little composure.

“I already said that.” Scott points out, and Logan shrugs. 

“Well, it’s part of the plan, isn’t it?” Logan leans back in his seat on the helicarrier, nestling his head next to your shoulder, not noticing the way your eyebrows raise at the sudden contact. “Better than me not listening at all.”

“Sure, Logan. Fine.” Scott lets it go, knowing better than to ask more from the most “chill” (read: laziest) member of the team.

You laugh a little as Logan smiles a cocky grin.

/

The new mutant is kind of old– you’re looking for a 19 year old with severe singing around his clothes, pale skin, and black hair. You suppose he’d be extremely frightened.

Most mutants don’t deal well with becoming different all so suddenly, let alone at the very late age of 19, when you could assume that you’re pretty much normal. So you and Jean are hoping to find him first– you figure you’re the two that could calm him down.

Unfortunately, you find Jubilee talking to him first. She’s okay, but she has a tendency to be a little too bombastic, as Jean says quite often.

“And there she goes.” Jean grimaces as Jubilee taps the new mutant’s shoulder, and you pick up her saying that “she’s just like him,” which you’re not sure is a delicate way to deal with the topic.

There are crowds of people walking through the streets, too, and a lot of them are glancing at this yellow-jacketed girl talking to a boy with burnt clothes.

If you had found him, you would have brought him to the side, away from people, and–

“His face turned white. He’s freaking out.” You tell Jean, and her eyes narrow.

Bobby, Rogue, and Kitty are nowhere in sight, so this is just one weird young adult speaking to another one, and you really, really wish the rest were here. You, Jean, Logan and Scott are a bit older– perhaps comforting in your age– but you feel like the boy would’ve done well with more peers.

Jubilee raises her hand as you and Jean approach her. “Guys, I got it under control. See, Kyle, these are more people like us. More mutants.”

“...” Kyle looks on in disbelief.

“Kyle?” You try, and he looks at you– there’s something in his eyes that tells you he wants to trust you, but he’s scared– it reminds you of yourself. “We’re here for you if you want us to be. Take your time. Don’t worry.”

You smile, Jean smiles, Jubilee grins, and Kyle seems okay.

It lasts for about two seconds.

Someone drops what sounds like a glass bottle in the distance, and the shattering sound is enough for Jubilee to gasp, a little spark of fireworks launching from her fingertips, towards Kyle, who watches on in trepidation, and his body starts shaking, moving of it’s own accord, clearly reacting to being so close to another form of heat– and you and Jean move, as you yell out “Wait!–”

Kyle shrieks in fear as his body becomes overtaken with flames, combusting with such intensity that the flames roar at least 100 feet over, and Jean– Phoenix that she is– is able to withstand the heat, but you find yourself being pushed back by hot gusts of wind.

It hurts, it feels as if your skin is melting with every passing second. You grit your teeth, trying to breathe as Kyle loses control of his body, and you open your wings, deciding that flying off into the cool air would be a better alternative.

That was a mistake on your part.

The moment you open your wings, Kyle’s fire pushes you backwards, and up, into the hot air, and your wings catch fire as you come too close–

You scream, but it’s unheard through the roar of the flames, and you barely have time to catch yourself as you fall towards the ground, smoking, fiery tendrils engulfing you.

The last thing you remember is your mother’s face.

/

Logan sees it happen from a distance.

Scott wanted him to be as close as possible, something about keeping watch on him– and Logan gets it, he’s not always the most responsible, but later on, in hindsight, he wishes he was, because then he wouldn’t have missed what happened to you– and they both turn as a fire overtakes a block of the city.

“Shit, that must be him!” Scott starts running, Logan not far behind.

It’s only when he sees a pair of white wings, a woman flying up, up, up, the fire approaching dangerously close to her– to you– he starts speeding up, overtaking Scott, pushing people out of the way.

Logan wonders what he could do, anyways. He’s invincible, practically, incapable of taking on much damage as his regenerative abilities heal him– perhaps he could run to the kid and knock him out, sustaining burns in the process, but better him than you.

Never you.

Any second now– Logan sees the boy, and he’s got an open fist ready to lightly tap the back of his neck.

He’s not fast enough. Scott yells out, and Logan looks up to see you engulfed in flames, as you scream, and it’s awful to hear– usually you seemed so speedy, so ready to fly at a moment’s notice, that Logan forgot you could be hurt.

He calls out your name. It’s unheard by you as you crash on the ground, still burning– Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue have caught up to you from the other side of the street, and Bobby quickly makes an icy mist that subdues the flames on you, and Kyle’s roaring fire back into him.  

You’re unconscious as the X-Men approach you. 

Logan touches your face as he kneels next to you, the only one willing to come close right now. “Hey, Angel…”

There’s that unspoken fondness between you two, yet again. Everyone knows, even when Logan has tried to act cool about it. Even now, when Logan attempts to act like he isn’t totally hanging on to your potential words, searching for a breath, a little movement of your head. 

Jean, Scott, Jubilee, and the rest look on in trepidation.

You don’t respond, and he feels his heart plummet. You’re covered in burns, mostly across your stomach and back, and he inhales sharply as he turns you over– there’s fresh, scalded skin, crispy-red to the touch.

Your back, your wings– they’re damaged so badly, with feathers singed straight off, the muscular appendages more visible and wounded, and Logan doesn’t know if you’re alive. He almost removes his hands from you, the very thought seeming to scald him from the inside, and he glares at the kid– the one who looks terribly guilty, now, as he runs away.

“Get back here!” Kitty shouts at him, anger in her eyes, and Scott pulls her aside, explaining that it was clearly an accident of sorts– something that Jean confirms for him with a nod of her head.

Right, Jean. Logan knows that if anyone could confirm if you’re alive, it would be her.  

As Scott, Kitty, Bobby, and Jubilee go hunting for the kid– Rogue stays behind because she’s always felt close to you and Logan– Logan looks up at Jean in a solemn, teary-eyed look that has her understanding immediately.

“C’mon, Angel… stay with us.” She mutters, as she presses her fingers to your head, and she smiles comfortingly at Logan.

“She’s still here. Just barely, but still here.” Jean says, and Logan sighs, an angry, long sigh that tells Jean and Rogue that he’s going to be insufferably feeling at-fault here, even though no one is.

“Let’s go.” He picks you up, feeling the burnt skin through that damn tank-top, now barely being held together as tatters– for modesty’s sake, he takes off his flannel and wraps it around you.

Rogue lets Logan and you walk forward a bit, not wanting him to hear what she’s about to say, and then looks towards Jean. “He really loves her, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Jean exhales. “Let’s hope for his sake that she’ll be okay.”

/

Stupid bitch! You’ve been nothing but a curse on this family– fuck you, I hope your future daughter is just as fucked up as you are–

You awake suddenly, with a loud gasp and yell, your mother’s last words to you flashing on your mind– you attempt to pull yourself forward restrained back by tubing in your arm. You’re stuck in a bed. In a hospital bed of sorts.

Not just any hospital bed, one in the hospital wing of the X-Mansion.

You’re calm, at first, until there’s a sudden ache echoing from your back, through your body, through your wings.

“Ah–!” You groan in pain. Trying to move suddenly has hurt you.

There’s a knock at your door. It’s Beast– or, Dr. Hank McCoy, as he’s better known around the hospital wing.

“You’re awake.” Hank says in relief. “It’s been a few days since your accident.”

“It has?” You widen your eyes in shock. “How, w-what… am I okay?”

The last thing you remember is Kyle exploding in flames, causing you to catch fire– then you blacked out, and– you’re having terrible memories of your mother.

“Hank?” You mutter, and he’s quick to come to your side, blue paw-hand holding your own.

“My mother didn’t…”

“No, she’s not here. She’s never come close to you. You’re safe.” Hank states, as Charles has told him to, remembering the few times you’ve had to come to the hospital wing for comfort before. 

So many mutants have troubled backstories, and he doesn’t quite understand why you don’t try to connect with others about it. Hank feels it could really help, but you’ve always changed the subject away from you.

You’re hurt, mentally, in a way that no one can really fix, and Hank is a big believer in letting people progress when they need to– but he’s so glad that you’ve bonded with Logan. 

“Am I going to be okay?” You tap the side of the bed, fears present in your eyes. “Last thing I remember is Kyle going crazy, and I– I got all burnt–”

“Yes, you’re going to be okay. We’ve administered lots of injections, topical ointments, everything that boosts your healing. You might have some scarring after this is all over, but no injuries. You’re very lucky, Angel.” Hank comforts you, and encourages you to lie back.  

“Lucky. Is that what you’d call a girl with a fucked up state of mind?” You murmur, and Hank shakes his head.

“We’re all fucked up.” Hank gets back up, leaving you in your room. “It’s a prerogative to being in the X-Men.”

You smile softly at that. He’s not wrong, but you wish, you really wish you could’ve just been that normal girl that your parents would’ve loved.

You look down at yourself. You’re wearing hospital scrubs, but there’s an unfamiliar fabric underneath the blanket.

Logan’s flannel is splayed across your stomach, a comforting, soft feeling that has you missing him almost instantly. Had he visited you, when you were unconscious, and decided to leave you this as a token, to help you feel at home? 

You lift it up, taking a deep smell of Logan’s signature scent– pinewood, smoke, and something kind of sweet, like… marshmallows? 

It makes you blush, but almost immediately after, you place the flannel back under the blanket. Logan doesn’t need your silly crush, your overt attachment, and you’re smart enough to keep that to yourself.

/

Logan hears from Hank that you’re awake, and although he wonders why Hank told him first, rather than Charles, or Jean, he’s glad to be the first one to see you.

“Hey.” He knocks on your door. To Logan’s surprise, he lets go of a breath he was holding– you don’t look horrific, you have some colour in your face, and there’s a soft smile on your lips when you see him.

You look just like Angel. His best friend. And he comes in real close, ruffling your hair as he often does, maybe more gentle because he doesn’t want to add any more pain.

“Hey, Logan.” You grab his hand, squeezing it with warmth, grateful to see him, before letting go suddenly and looking away bashfully, and he pauses, reminding himself not to think too highly of it.

“Angel. You’re feeling better?” He asks, and you motion for him to sit down on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel okay.” You stare at him. It’s only been a few days, but Logan looks kind of awful– he’s got some serious dark under-eye bags going on, and stubble that is slowly turning into a beard, and there’s an apparent worry on his face that makes you just want to comfort him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Logan tries to ward off your answer with a stern, one word reply, but you’re not having it.

“Really? You don’t look so great.” You say, not without tact. “I hope you weren’t all cooped up in your room, worrying about me.”

Logan makes a sound that’s half way between a sigh, and a laugh at how close you always seem to get to the truth.

“Alright, yeah. Yeah, I was worried to hell about you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He jokes, but your face falls.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m good now, I don’t…” There’s an air of seriousness coming from you, that Logan doesn’t typically see, something you usually don’t let yourself do. 

“Are you good? Let me see your back, Angel–” Before Logan can even move you to the side, you turn in defiance, letting him see that you are healing. There are still parts of your flesh, red and angry, but for the most part it seems okay, already far better than it was a couple days ago.

Logan breathes a sigh of relief, touching your wings with a tenderness that has you leaning into his touch, and he gently skims over a scar of yours, glad to see that you’re genuinely not as hurt as he thought– but you pull away quite quickly.

“See? You don’t need to care so much, I’m fine.” You sound accidentally very accusatory, but Logan is just as much of a stubborn asshole as you are sometimes, and he narrows his eyes.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He stares at you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends care about each other. Jesus, you’re the one who always– you’re always checking up on me, sneaking into my room, touching my face and arms and– how else am I supposed to take that?”

It sounds romantic, Logan realizes, after he’s spit all that out– and it does sound like he’s putting the blame of your dynamic on you. And, even worse, it’s all just out there in the open.

“Really. I’m not the only one who cares, Logan, you…” You shake your head, and instead pull his flannel out from under the blanket. “You left this for me. Why do you make it sound like it’s all just me?”

“Okay, fine, it isn’t. Leave it alone, Angel.” Logan pleads a little, his face turning red.

“You’re always acting like I’m gorgeous, you constantly hug me and lean into me, there was that time you let me sleep on top of you–” You continue, feeling more and more confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you sound like an asshole.”

Logan blinks, feeling the argument dissipate, as it often does, whenever you get close to confronting each other about feelings– you always manage to fly away.

He won’t let you, not this time.

“You didn’t. I am an asshole– I’ve never bothered to tell you how I feel.” Logan mutters, and the way your face blanches in fear, shyness, tells him to keep going, to push the boundaries. “I let my own stupid ego get in the way of actually caring about you, and I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’ve always– I really love you, Angel. And I’m sorry I never made you feel like that was true, I’m sorry that it’s taken until you got hurt for it to be real.”

You have an incredulous look on your face, one Logan wishes he could take a picture of and frame somewhere, because it’s genuinely funny, but then your lip quivers, and he feels like an asshole again.

You feel like an idiot. You think, all this time, what’s bothered you is that you’ve been avoiding the fire– the real ones, sure, but more the things your mother fostered in you. Your trust issues, the way how you hold people dearly in your heart but you can’t let them get close because you worry you’ll never be enough, it’s all been burning for years inside you, and you’ve never had to confront it until Logan decided to stoke the flames.

“It’s always been real for me, too.” You whisper, trying not to cry. “I just… I don’t always believe if people care about me, I never feel good enough to be something for anyone. It’s not you, Logan, it’s my mom, my upbringing, really.”

You give him a short, brief explanation of what your mom did– something you’ll surely expand on later, when it’s not so fresh, when you haven’t been literally burned recently, and the memories pain you more than ever– and Logan’s face turns sharp, his brows furrow, he’s clearly deeply angry by whatever you’ve just told him. 

“I’m stupid. I just assumed– it was me putting too much pressure on you. You shouldn’t have been on this mission, that’s fucking awful.” He finally says, and then scowls. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but fuck that lady.”

You snort at that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was never you– I’ve always loved you too, Logan, more than you know. I’m sorry I’m always running from you.”

“Oh, so you’re consciously doing that?” He teases, trying not to react too much to your proclamation of love for him, although his brain feels as if it’s short-circuited. He squeezes your hand, and you laugh.

“Yup. I’m almost glad I got hurt, if it makes us more serious.” You comment, but Logan turns glum at that.

“Don’t say that, Angel. I still feel bad about it.” Logan holds your face, caressing your cheeks, staring into your eyes, glad now that you’re not going to shove him away. “Next time, I’ll try to take the hits. I’ll live.”

“You don’t have to–” Before you can start rejecting Logan’s offer, he leans in really close, almost kissing you but not quite, his breath hot on your own mouth.

“I want you to live.” He murmurs, and you feel yourself turn warm at that. 

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s almost chaste, because Logan still isn’t sure how many of your walls he can break down in one day– but for once you’re quick to act in the opposite direction now, lifting tubes out of your arm (irresponsible as hell, Logan would say later on) so you can better reach his face, and you run your fingers through his hair as you kiss him, again, and again. 

It’s soft, pliant, and warm, and Logan doesn’t quite know what to say when you come back up for air, breathing deeply, body sweaty from both recovery and how intense this is– he feels around you, around your waist as he leans in again, and you giggle, pulling away for just a moment before kissing him again.

His hands are gentle, skimming over your body without trying to hurt the burns on your back– but Logan feels you clamber onto him, onto his lap, and then he feels the soft feathers of your wings as they pull themselves outward, into the open.

He opens his eyes, and grins in a wolfish manner. Maybe you’ve been changed by what happened, maybe you aren’t the same, but you’re his Angel now, and he prefers that.

He kisses you again.

[loserlvrss]

𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐈 ( 최산 )

pairing : choi san x fem!reader genre : drabble, [ MDNI 18+ ] smut, established relationship warnings : unprotected sex, petnames, exibitionism, language word count : 0.9k authors note : the lipstick just felt right idk

a soft sigh left your boyfriend’s mouth, and you pressed another kiss to his shoulder—right above his collarbone. his hands gripped your bare thighs, possessive finger prints sure to be left when the deed was done. his head was thrown back, adam’s apple bobbing with every gulp.

your head leveled, admiring the stains your lipstick made against his sculpted upper body. he was beautiful, but san swore he’d never seen something more ethereal than you above him. he’d be happy dying right now, inside you. which was arguably his favorite place to be.

“fuck, baby.” you whimpered, clawing at his abdomen as you lifted and dropped your hips in a steady rhythm, “we’re shaking the car so much.” a breathy laugh cascaded from his open mouth. “leaving nothing to the imagination.”

“let them watch, then.” he smirked, your insides clenching just a bit harder at the sight—and thought. “i’m the one fucking you, aren’t i?”

you felt a sense of relief at the thought. yeah, he was. no one knew you better. ruined from the inside out by the most perfect man you’ve ever called yours.

but it was still midday, the sunshine glistening over both your skin. the windows were fogged up—clichely—the humidity making a drop of sweat roll down your sternum. san fought the urge to lean in and lick between your boobs, watching through hooded eyes.

“actually,” you braced yourself, speeding up just a little bit. a hearty moan left his throat, as you gulped your noises down. you pouted, “i’m doing all the work.”

“are you?” he asked, a sudden sense of competitiveness mixing with the lust in the air, “i know you can’t cum like this, angel.”

“fuck o—“ you rolled your eyes as his hands grabbed your ass, assisting your fleeting attempts to keep you both satisfied. “g-god.” he lifted you just enough to still be shoved deep inside you, thrusting up into the spot that kept your vision blurry.

your cherry-red nails wracked over the lipstick marks, smudging them. you were a mess, metaphorically and not, and it coated him in love. he’d never been graced with someone as beautiful as you. never someone so innocent looking, but so goddamn devilish. you had him wrapped around your fingers with the webs you spun, but there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

he would live and die with you, that was for certain.

you bit your lip, trying your best to be quiet—because after all, you were in a public park. yes, your windows were tinted, but by how much the car was moving, it wouldn’t be hard to plainly see what was happening on the leather seats.

his fingers gripped your jaw, leaving your lower half for a moment. then, his thumb ran over your bottom lip, dragging the color across them and to your cheek.

it was hot. everything was hot; the sun shining through the windows, the early september, your boyfriend's intoxicating gaze and ways. the way he felt inside you and as his hands roamed your skin. he was hot. borderline burning.

you were out of breath, using whatever was left in you to tell him how close you were to coming undone.

“yeah?” he asked, humming as he leaned up to capture your smudged lips in a kiss that somehow left you even more breathless. you panted against his mouth, and he smirked so devilishly well that your stomach twisted impossibly tighter. “i told you baby, we both know what you need.” he was right. he knew you so well. every little thing that got you going, and made you stop was his to read and memorize.

“s-san—oh my god.” you spewed out between moans (that you didn’t even care about anymore). “fuc-fuck, baby, please don’t stop.”

“i wasn’t planning on it, princess. this was just the warm up.” if you were half a mind you would’ve laughed, however you were on the brink of the most earth shattering orgasm you’ve ever felt brewing. and he knew that, only adding fuel to the fire. “go ahead and cum so we can get home, fuck this date, baby, i need you seven ways to sunday, right now.”

you came, hard, and then so did san, stilling you both as it got overwhelming. you pecked his skin to ground yourself, leaving behind traces of red that were barely noticeable now that your lipstick was everywhere but your lips. his chest rose and fell with an unsteady rhythm, keeping lodged inside of you—because that’s how you both liked it.

enough time went by that the windows were beginning to become see through again, and you huffed, the reality sinking in. his head leveled from being thrown back—just letting you nip at his skin—giving you a confused look.

you pushed off his chest, staring down at him. “it’s hot.” you admired your art, getting a little worked up at the thought of another person seeing the stains you’d left, “and you’re a mess.”

but, you wouldn’t let that happen.

“yeah, it is.” he used the back of his arm to swipe his lips, not really doing much to clean them. “and you’re not much better yourself, angel.”

but, somehow you’d gotten here, disregarding the small sandwiches you’d made earlier and the diet pepsi that was going flat as it warmed in the trunk; prepared (almost 30 minutes ago) for a cute picnic date with your man. but… you guess, you’ve never actually felt fuller now.

please reblog and like <3 comments are appreciated ! thank you 4 reading © loserlvrss 2024 all rights reserved. 

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[gotham--fc]

Rivals - A Jessie Fleming Imagine

Request: Jessie and R both play at UCLA but R plays for the US national team and the media invents a rivalry between them, both Jessie and R get annoyed at being constantly asked about their 'rivalry', they both talk to each other about it and confess their feelings

A/N: I will probably even less active than I am now (if that's possible) I just started school again and I'm very stressed and booked n busy

“So Jessie,” The reporter began. Jessie looked over to where she heard him speak. “You’re about to start at UCLA after these Olympics, and I’m sure you know, but American player Y/N Y/L/N committed to UCLA as well. Do you think your rivalry with her will effect team dynamics at UCLA?”

Jessie really hated media. She was an introvert at heart and if she had it her way, the media wouldn’t be allowed with 500 feet of the team after a game. They weren’t even scheduled to play the US this tournament unless they both made the finals. Still, all they want to ask is about Jessie’s ‘rivalry’ with Y/N. Jessie doesn’t have a rivalry with anyone, and she hasn’t met Y/N off the field even once. They don’t even really interact on the field when they do play, so Jessie has no idea where the ‘rivalry’ theory came from. Except that they’re both the youngest members of their teams, the same age, both midfielders.

“I don’t think that’s going to effect the team at all,” Jessie says, “I have nothing but respect for her as a player and I think she’s a really strong midfielder and she’s very skilled, so I’m confident that we’re both going to play important roles at UCLA and I’m just excited to get started.”

“You might end up facing the US in the finals, the US obviously are the reigning gold medalists, is that something you and the team are thinking about?”

“Not really,” Jessie said honestly, “That’s not our focus right now because nothing is guaranteed, so our focus right now is on our next game. We put ourselves in a good spot coming out of the group stage, uh, in first place, so we’re just focused on the quarterfinal games.”

***

“Y/N, your focus is obviously on winning gold, but can I ask how you’re feeling about joining UCLA this fall?”

“Yeah,” Y/N says, “I’m thrilled to be joining UCLA and I’m excited to further my development as a player and hopefully help the team win a championship.”

Y/N doesn’t really understand why they always ask her to do media. She doesn’t believe anyone really wants to hear from her over some of the vets. But still, here she is, trying not to pull her hair out at these stupid questions.

“Jessie Fleming is also joining UCLA this year, have you spoken to her at all? We know you two have a sort of on field rivalry, have you spoken to her about the both of you joining UCLA?”

“No, we’ve never really crossed paths outside the field, so I haven’t spoken to her. She’s a great player, though, and I think she’ll be an important part of the team at UCLA.”

***

A lot of the players at UCLA are roommates. Even the freshman in their dorms tend to get paired up with someone from the team.  Jessie ends up rooming with Teagan Micah, a keeper from Australia. Jessie likes her, she’s funny, and she’s pretty outgoing, so she drags Jessie along to frosh week activities and Jessie knows if she was left alone she would’ve spent the entirety of her first weeks at school either in class, at practice, or at home.

They have their first practice pretty soon after they move in, since the season starts up right away. The first practice is mostly getting to know each other and the coaches and the style of play they want. It’s different than how Canada plays, so it takes Jessie a second to adjust.

After practice, one of the senior girls calls the team over. She invites everyone to a team bonding night at her place that night.

Jessie gets ready in her dorm with Teagan. Jessie wants to leave so they’ll arrive a bit early, but Teagan just laughs at her, and tells her if a party starts at 8pm, people won’t arrive until 9pm. Jessie wants to say it’s not a party, it’s just for the team to get to know each other, but she doesn’t.

Turns out, it’s a party.

Not only is the soccer team there, but so is the basketball team, the football team, teams that Jessie can’t recognize. She stays near Teagan most of the night, not feeling the most comfortable with the loud music, the drinking, the number of people crammed in a tiny living room. Jessie loses track of Teagan after someone bumps into her, then someone steps in between her and Teagan. Instead of continuing to struggle through people to find Teagan, Jessie goes into the kitchen which is mercifully less full.

Jessie grabs a clean cup and fills it with water from the sink. She hears a commotion and turns, seeing Y/N with a small group enter the kitchen. They make eye contact, and Jessie waves. Y/N nods in acknowledgement. The group begins yelling about shots, and Jessie takes that as her cue to leave. She tries to find Teagan, but it’s impossible, and instead she finds Hallie Mace.

“Hallie!” Jessie yells over the music, “Can you tell Teagan I left? In case she wonders where I went?”

“Yeah, sure Jessie,” Hallie says, “Are you having fun?”

Jessie smiles and nods, and she knows it looks forced, but it satisfies Hallie, who Jessie figures is a little tipsy.

Jessie makes her way outside and walks home, the cool air a relief after how hot it was inside.

Jessie is asleep by the time Teagan comes home, and either Teagan was really quiet, or Jessie was really asleep, because Jessie didn’t hear her come in. The only sign that Teagan did come home is Teagan sleeping in her bed in the clothes she wore last night, hair sticking up in all directions. Jessie sets some Gatorade and Advil on the nightstand for her before she leaves for class.

***

It’s not that Y/N is intentionally avoiding Jessie.

There is truly no bad blood or actual rivalry or whatever people want to believe. It’s just that there’s not much overlap between them except on the field. They’re not in the same program, so they don’t share classes together, they don’t really share the same friends, outside the team. Y/N is friends with the people in her class, other student athletes, and Jessie is friends with people from her classes, and the soccer team. Y/N doesn’t even really notice it, until the online comments start.

It starts with a clip from one of their games. Jessie and Y/N were both on the bench, after being subbed out, and Jessie sat after grabbing water and her pinny, and Y/N stayed standing.

omg they haaate each other

they won’t even sit together its so over

LMAO Y/N really can’t stand Canadians there’s miles of space on that bench to sit and she STANDS???

Y/N frowns when she sees it. It wasn’t intentional, she wasn’t not sitting because she didn’t want to sit with Jessie. She prefers standing for a bit after she’s subbed out. It’s a mini cool down, and she likes bringing her heartrate down before she sits and fully relaxes.

Then it’s the clip from the Olympics, when Y/N said she doesn’t talk to Jessie. All Y/N meant by that is that they hadn’t crossed paths, through no fault of theirs, it’s just how things happened. Of course, everyone decided she meant that she refuses to talk to Jessie.

There’s rumours on campus about a bad fight the two had, about how they played against each other with their national teams and after they got into it off the field. Another lie, because they’ve truly never encountered each other after a game. Still, some of Y/N’s new friends ask her about it, ask her what Jessie did, what really went down. Y/N tells them the same thing each time, nothing happened, there’s no hatred or rivalry, they’re simply two people whose lives don’t really overlap and that’s all there is.

***

USA and Canada don’t even play each other at the next FIFA window. The US plays in the SheBelieves Cup and Canada plays in the Algarve Cup. All Jessie wants to do is focus on the games. She can’t, however, because the first media appearance she does, the first question is about Y/N.

“She’s a great player,” Jessie says, “She brings a lot to the team and I’m happy that for most of the time she’s on my team and not playing against me.”

It doesn’t help that her teammates bother her about it too.

“How is it really?” Janine asks, “Does the team have to build a barrier between you guys?”

“Janine,” Jessie sighs, “We don’t hate each other. We’re literally normal teammates.”

“Oh, come on, you won’t even tell me the juicy details?” Janine whines, “I’m your best friend!”

“Beckie, leave her alone,” Sophie Schmidt says. Jessie almost thanks Sophie, then Sophie keeps talking. “Jessie doesn’t want to spend her rare time away from her enemy thinking about her.”

“She’s not my enemy!” Jessie snaps, “You guys suck.”

***

“Sooooo…” Kelley slides in next to Y/N at the lunch table. “How are things at school?”

“Good?” Y/N says, “Why?”

“I’m just wondering!” Kelley says, “I want to make sure you’re handling things, you know, balancing school with soccer, all those things.”

“Yeah, it’s good. I’m good.”

“Aaand the team is good?”

“Why are you being so weird?” Y/N says.

“I’m not! Alex, am I being weird?” Kelley yells over at Alex across the room.

“You usually are,” Alex comes over and joins them at the table, “What are you being weird about now Kel?”

“I’m just asking her how school is!” Kelley insists. Alex rolls her eyes.

“Kelley wants to ask how Jessie Fleming is, but she’s trying to be subtle about it.”

“Alex!”

“Jessie is fine,” Y/N interrupts before the two can start bickering.

“Do you guys get along?” Kelley asks.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Y/N sighs, “Are you seriously talking about that stupid rivalry thing? That’s just a bunch of BS.”

“Do you guys hang out? Are you friends?”

“Oh my god,” Y/N groans, “Can’t I eat without everyone bringing up Jessie? They’re not even in the same tournament as us, can I not get a fucking break?”

Kelley and Alex share a look.

***

It only gets worse from there. As Canada and the US start playing each other more, and the longer Jessie and Y/N play together at UCLA, and seemingly don’t get along, the more they get asked about it, the more comments are made online, the more frustrated Y/N gets.

Y/N sludges through the mud on her way to practice. It’s been unexpectedly rainy the past few days. Y/N thought LA was supposed to be hot and sunny all year round, and she thought she would spend her days basking in the sun, wearing suntan lotion and getting tan, not stepping in mud and puddles. When she gets to the field, she’s surprised the only other person there is Jessie.

“Am I really late or really early?” Y/N asks.

“I was asking myself the same thing,” Jessie says, “I’m always early but usually the coaches are already here.”

Y/N sets her bag down on the least muddy spot, and shakes her head.

“I thought LA was supposed to be sunny,” Y/N says. Jessie laughs.

“The rain is actually a relief for me,” Jessie says, “There’s not this much sun in Canada, I’m not used to it.”

Y/N laughs. Of course the Canadian likes the rain.

“I’m not surprised no one else showed up,” Y/N says, “The field is a bit waterlogged.” Y/N points down at her feet, her cleats sunk an inch into the mud.

“You can leave if you want,” Jessie says, “I’m gonna stay and run around for a bit, but you don’t have to stay if you’d rather get out of the mud.”

Y/N considers it. She would really like to go back to her dorm and take a hot shower. But she thinks of Jessie, here all alone, and she can’t leave.

“No, I’ll stay, might as well get some work in for the game this weekend.”

Y/N thinks Jessie means she’s going to stay and run drills, so Y/N waits for her to be ready to warm up. She’s too focused on the way her cleats are getting caked in mud to notice the mischievous smile on Jessie’s face. Y/N gasps and jumps back as a wad of mud hits her chest. She looks at Jessie who’s laughing.

“Oh, it’s on.”

Y/N pounces before Jessie can run, tackling her into the mud. They roll around until they’re both covered in mud and laughing so hard their sides hurt. They run around, trying to push each other into puddles. After a bit, Y/N suggests they play 1 on 1 against each other to ‘see who’s really the better midfielder’. They go back and forth a bit, and the score remains even, both equally matched. It goes until Jessie’s up by one, having stripped the ball from Y/N on defense. Jessie dribbles up to Y/N and Y/N knows immediately that she made a mistake, committing too far one way and Jessie easily goes the other. She does it without thinking, one second watching Jessie cut the other way and the next she has her arms around Jessie’s waist, pulling her back until the two of them are tripping backwards into the mud.

Jessie sputters, mouth gaping open.

“That’s a foul! That’s a red!”

“There’s no refs!” Y/N says, “No refs, no rules! We’re tied again, you didn’t get past me.”

“We are not tied! That doesn’t count!” Jessie says, “I had you beat! I fooled you so bad you had to foul me to stop me!”

“What foul? I didn’t hear a foul call,” Y/N knows she’s being annoying, but she refuses to concede the point. “The rules were you had to get past me, and you didn’t get past me. You lost the ball, therefore, my point.”

“You little…”

Before Y/N can react, Jessie is up and running to the ball. She starts dribbling it away from Y/N.

“There! I recovered the ball and got past you! My point!”

“Get back here!” Y/N chases after her.

Y/N runs after Jessie, yelling the whole time, with Jessie yelling back at her. Y/N almost has her, has her fingers in Jessie’s jersey, ready to give it a tug back, and she startles to a stop when a voice rings out.

“You know practice was canceled today, right?” Teagan stands on the edge of the field.

“We sort of figured that,” Y/N says, out of breath.

“Are the two of you going to clean up before team dinner, or is being covered in the mud the new style?”

“I forgot about dinner,” Jessie says, “We should go shower. It’s going to take a while to get all this mud off.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N yells after them as they walk away.

***

They don’t necessarily start hanging out after that. They still exist in different circles, but it’s more like they partner up in practice, or sit together at team meals, or Y/N plops into the seat behind Jessie on the bus.

Comments start to swirl again after one of their games against USC. USC is one of their biggest rivals and the stands are always packed, each team fighting for a win. UCLA pulled out the win, thanks to a goal from Jessie. Jessie gets pulled into an on field interview after the game and Y/N sneaks up behind her and dumps her almost full Gatorade on Jessie’s head.

“I’ll get you back for that!” Jessie yells, before clearly remembering she’s in the middle of an interview. “Sorry,” Jessie says, “What was the question?”

The clip circulates, people asking if they’ve squashed their beef, if it’s all for show, or if they’re really friends. Y/N rolls her eyes at all the comments.

They end up playing against each other with their national teams in a friendly. While in the tunnel waiting to head out on the field, Y/N finds where Jessie’s standing in line.

“Psst, Fleming,” Y/N gets her attention, “Can I get your jersey after the game?”

“Sure,” Jessie says, “But I don’t want yours. I’d rather die than wear American colours.”

Y/N sticks her tongue out at Jessie, but smiles when Jessie has to turn away to keep from laughing. She catches Kelley staring at her, raising her eyebrows. What? Y/N mouths at her. Kelley raises her arms in surrender and focuses back at the front.

After the game Y/N and Jessie meet in the middle of the field. Y/N already has her jersey off. She holds it out to Jessie.

“The whole point of a jersey swap is the swapping of jerseys, now give.”

Jessie rolls her eyes and pulls off her jersey, handing it to Y/N. They put on the others jersey and Jessie makes a face.

“This feels illegal.”

“Let’s take a photo,” Y/N drags Jessie over to the nearest photographer. She’s more than happy to get one of the two of them in each other’s jerseys and promises to send it to both of them.

***

After the game, a lot of the teams plan to meet up since a lot of them are friends and teammates on their club teams. Jessie isn’t 21 yet, and she really doesn’t know anyone on the US team very well, so she stays behind. She should probably do some homework anyway.

Jessie’s finished showering and doing her post game routine and about to pull out her textbooks, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Hey,” Y/N says when Jessie opens the door, “Everyone’s out drinking, except us it seems. Wanna hang?”

Y/N doesn’t wait for an answer before she pushes into the room and flops on the closest bed.

“That’s Janine’s bed,” Jessie says as she closes the door. Y/N groans and moves to the other bed.

“It’s so lame being under 21,” Y/N says, “Everyone ditches us to go to bars and stuff.”

“I don’t like bars anyway,” Jessie says, “I’d rather stay in.”

“I don’t mind staying in, I guess, I like hanging out with you, I’ll skip the bar if you’re here.”

Jessie doesn’t answer, looking away before Y/N can see how her cheeks grow red.

“Did you see this?” Y/N turns her phone to Jessie, “People are going crazy over the picture of us from the game. They’re trying to prove it’s a PR stunt since we tooootally hate each other.”

“All that rivalry stuff is pretty stupid. There was never anything to it.”

“You know everyone wants to create drama when there isn’t any.”

“I never…” Jessie turns to look at the wall, talking quietly, “I never had any problem with you, even before we became friends. I hated the rivalry crap. I always thought… I thought you were cool and I wanted to talk to you, but I thought you might’ve really hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” Y/N says, “Jess.” Jessie hears Y/N shifting on the bed and Y/N gently grabs Jessie’s shoulder and turns Jessie to face her. “I didn’t hate you, I thought you were cool too. You’re such a good player and everyone liked you so much. I didn’t know what to say to you.”

“I don’t think I’m that cool,” Jessie mutters.

“You’re way cool!” Y/N says, “You’re one of the best midfielders in the world and you’re still in college! And your photography stuff is really good, and everyone likes you, and, I think you’re really awesome Jess.”

Jessie feels like she might cry, and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want Y/N to see her cry, she doesn’t want to try to explain why a few nice words from Y/N are making her cry. She panics, because she can feel the tears coming and she doesn’t know how to stop it. Y/N is looking at her intently, and Jessie stops thinking. Before she knows it, her lips are on Y/N’s. She pulls back almost as quickly as she leaned in.

“I’m so sorry,” Jessie says. She feels like she might cry even more now.

“Oh,” Y/N breathes, “Oh. I didn’t realize…”

“I’m so sorry. I get it if you don’t want hang out with me anymore. I’m so sorry.”

Jessie keeps apologizing, not able to do anything else. She’s expecting Y/N to slap her, or to just walk out of the room and never talk to her again. She wonders how easy it is to transfer schools, she doesn’t want to leave UCLA, but she doesn’t know if she can face Y/N again. Lost in her thoughts, she freezes when Y/N kisses her again.

“Sorry,” Y/N says, “But I didn’t know how else to get to you to stop apologizing. I’m not mad, I like you too. I didn’t think you liked me back, so I didn’t say anything. I like you, Jess.”

“Really?” Jessie asks, “You… you like me?” Y/N nods. “I-I like you too,” Jessie says shyly.

Jessie covers her face and falls back on the bed. Y/N laughs and follows her. When Jessie uncovers her face, Y/N is facing her, looking at her with a soft smile on her face. Jessie takes a deep breath and works up her nerve. She reaches a hand out and slides her hand over Y/N’s. Y/N grins and laces their fingers together. Hours later, they fall asleep like that, hands clasped between them, and Jessie wakes up to the sound of a camera shutter.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Janine whispers, “I felt like we needed photo evidence of this moment.”

“Please don’t post that anywhere,” Jessie says, and she rolls over and falls back asleep.

[xshimaeraxx]

okay ik that the fandom LOVES making logan the one who’s the cat-like mutant in the relationship and i LOVE that and it is so canon but like

hear me out here! catboy!! wade!!

a wade who was a mutant long before francis got his grubby little hands in him, wade who was a mutant but it wasnt crazy regenerative abilities or an inability to stay dead/immortality or super-human strength, but a wade who was (still is) a mutant who had the abilities of a fuckin’ cat

a wade who has semi-night vision, not entirely but good enough to help out on jobs; a wade who has lil pinprick pupils like a cat’s and who hisses damn near 24/7 on bad pain days (bc chronic pain-having wade has my entire heart and i will go to the grave w this hc alr); a wade who purrs when happy or in the middle of slicing someone’s head off during a job; a wade who has a cat’s heightened senses- hearing, sight, taste, smell, all of that; a wade who has a cat’s un-fuckin’-canny ability to jump from heights that would’ve killed a human and have at most a small, gone-in-a-day bruise; a wade who has tufts of kitty-cat fur on his elbows and on + behind his knees

and then francis comes along, and the torture happens, and he loses his looks, and then the fur grows back bc fuck but he’d thought he’d lost his og mutation when francis torture mcgee had triggered this new one, had lost the one thing that ness might still recognise him for,,,

and then the start of d&w happens, and during the birthday scene wade’s purring, happy, quietly (so quietly no one hears it half the time, and when they do they assume it’s the faulty heating of wade & al’s shitass apartment, but ness looks at him with a pleased, proud little smile when the sound starts back up after the others’ initial investigation for the source of the sound proves fruitless and it, he gets louder, purely for the way ness’s smile gets wider, prouder in a way that is purely, unabashedly so ness wade wants to go other and kiss her, right then n there) yes but he’s still purring like he hasn’t since pre-cancer-diagnosis him & ness (and also bc francis’s little angel-killer had found the sound annoying as all hell [bc wade also purrs to self-soothe bc I Say So)and so he’d rarely done so since, half out of new-born habit, half out of some primal, hard-learned fear he still hasn’t managed to completely shake, even years later)

and then the honda odyssey scene happens, and wade’s purring, purring, purring, loud and proud and rumbling and happy and he’s also hissing playfully at logan- a motion logan doesn’t notice due to how distracted he is putting his claws thru wade’s left thigh and christ, kittycat, how long’s it been since you had a good hookup for you to be THIS tense?- and logan only notices after wade’s pinned him and his minorly blood-soaked grin freezes; doesn’t drop, but freezes.

wade’s purr stutters a tad, doesn’t stop. he asks, licking the blood off of his cheek underneath his mask and for some reason logan’s sharp eyes follow what he can see of the movement underneath wade’s mask: what’s wrong, peanut, cat got your tongue?

are you- are you fuckin’ purring? asks logan, and the sound abruptly stops, and then deadpool’s stabbing him through the gut with not one word and then they’re fighting again, and while logan notes the moment to think about later, wade also doesn’t say another word other then excited/frustrated grunts and little “haha!”s for the next half hour, and for some reason that about takes up the majority of logan’s attention until he finally, finally, punches wade’s already-broken nose literally not even a millisecond after he’s broken it hard enough that it actually takes a few seconds for wade’s healing to kick in, and for some reason he feels strangely relived when wade lets out a muffled-by-blood ugh! foulplay, wolvie, foulpla-

logan interrupts him via stabbing wade and a like you don’t play just as foul as i do, bub, and wade stabs back in response with some quippy comment or another, and by then the fight’s back on, deadpool-typical quips and all.

like. when i say catboy wade, here, do you see my vision. do you see what i’m imagining. dO YOU SEE IT I SAY

[vrystalius]

Would be willing to do like ,, Rengoku x reader that takes care of Senjuro while he’s away on missions ? Rengoku deserves some love but so does his little brother <333

Visiting the smallest Rengoku.

You had nothing to do with Kyojuro being away on an important mission, so you decided to visit his younger brother.

Pairing: Kyojuro x reader, platonic/familial Senjuro x reader

(A little angsty by the end)

Your husband has been away for a couple days now. You prepared a large pot for miso soup and some sweet potatoes for your husband to enjoy when he returns from his long mission. After finishing your chores, you decided to pay Senjuro a visit and to help him out a little. You knew that he’s working hard to keep everything together in his family home with Shinjuro doing nothing but cause a mess and drink all day every day, leaving the youngest Rengoku family member to take care of himself and his drunkard father.

You always pitied Senjuro for needing to grow up so fast and barely experiencing childhood. His mother died too early in his life, meaning he barely remembers her. But you also know how much your husband Kyojuro dotes on his little brother and wishes for him to be nothing but happy. Sometimes, you two thought about moving Senjuro to your house, away from Shinjuro and the verbal abuse.

You made sure to prepare Senjuro a small home cooked meal before heading out. You weren’t sure what his favourite food was, so you went with something Kyojuro would’ve liked: sweet potatoes with some rice and fried vegetables and some Mochi you bought from a vendor on your way to the residence. You were sure Senjuro’ll appreciate some home-cooked food! He hasn’t been cooked for in a while.

Upon your arrival, you sound hin sweeping the porch, removing the yellow and orange coloured and dried leaves.

“The leaves match your hair, Senjuro!”

Hearing your voice call out to him so suddenly made him flinch and stiffen up, but his shoulders visibly relaxed after spotting you. Senjuro smiled shyly and waved.

“My brother isn’t here if that’s why you came to visit. He still should be on a mission.”

You knew that Kyojuro’s little brother still has to get used to you being around and marrying his older brother, but you also heard from him that Senjuro really admires you. You haven’t interacted a lot, but everytime you did, his eyes would sparkle in fascination. He always asked you about what you do and how it is to live with his older brother. He is also very curious about your cooking and even mustered courage (he received a lot of pep-talking from your husband) to ask for some of your recipes!

After setting down for lunch and presenting your home-cooked meal to him, Senjuro thanked you with a bright smile. He really missed getting cooked meals that aren’t prepared by himself. You insisted on cooking for him and Shinjuro, preparing more lunch and dinner. That way, Senjuro doesn’t have to cook anything today and maybe even tomorrow. He was extremely grateful and tried to help you out as much as possible, feeling a little guilty for you cooking, even though you are supposed to be a guest. He watched you cook over your shoulder, tip-toeing to try and get a better view.

“Can you teach me that recipe? It looks very tasty.”

He’s extremely fascinated by your whole being. You’re so kind, so talented and beautiful, no wonder why his brother married you. Senjuro is extremely glad to have you as a sister-in-law.

After the meal, you suggested to play a round of Shogi with him. You knew that Shinjuro barely ever leaves his bedroom, meaning Senjuro has no one to play or talk with. That poor boy was forced to grow up to fast and never got to enjoy his childhood, so you wanted to help him be a child again. Even if for a little while. You two sat on the porch during the game. He was extremely happy during the whole match, ranting about his older brother and papa the whole time.

“One time, my brother was teaching how to use the fire breathing technique, and I saw flames sparking out of my sword! It was small, but Kyojuro was so proud of me! We went to town and got a bowl of ramen together. Our father scolded us for coming home so late…”

Senjuro’s eyes were sparkling and a big smile was plastered on his face while moving his pieces. In the end, you let him win to make him just a little happier. But just as he was about to celebrate, Kyojuro’s crow quietly flew above the residence, landing right beside you two. It was quiet for a couple moments before finally announcing what he came here for.

“The flame pillar! The flame pillar fought Upper Moon Three! Upper Moon Three!”

Silence draped over you three as all of you and Senjuro both knew what was the crow was about to announce next. You glanced over at the youngest of the Rengoku’s.

His hands were tightly gripping his hakama pants as his gaze was fixated on the shogi pieces. Tears started forming in the corners of his eyes.

You knew your husband won’t be coming back for the miso soup and sweet potatoes you left at home for him.

💠

I am going to sob during Akaza’s backstory reveal and death, but I probably sobbed more over Kyojuro’s. Senjuro doesn’t deserve anything that happened to him and I’m so glad Shinjuro changed for the better in the end!!. Thank you for requesting this and sorry for the wait!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[adoresia]

— Cold Truths

⋆.˚ CHARACTERS : Megumi and Toji Fushiguro

⋆.˚ SYNOPSIS : In which Toji opens up about how he got the scar on his lip

⋆.˚ WARNINGS : none

⋆.˚ SIERRA SPEAKS : first jjk fic kinda scarttt😣 this was requested by a new friend of mine!! 😋😋 (everybody clap for @mistymuimui ) anyways i got kinda lazy towards the end so i might change the ending a bit later but, HERE YOU GO!!,

“HA, beat you again. You know what that means, right?”

Toji exclaimed proudly before leaning back onto the couch with the smuggest look on his face, still playing around with the toothpick in his mouth from dinner previously. Both he and Megumi had been abusing the new console ever since Toji got it for Megumi’s recent birthday, although it seems Toji got it for himself considering he used it more than Megumi did.

This particular evening both the boys had been going for rounds on rounds playing a PVP game together. But you know Toji HAD to make a bet for whoever wins.

“Whatever, you cheated so it’s not fair.” Megumi protested. This was the 5th time this week he was on dish duty for losing against his father.

“Not my fault you’re so bad at it, get better.” Toji said while he relaxed his head back on both his arms, “Your hands are gonna grow wrinkles from washing these plates so much.” He laughed, although Megumi wasn’t all that amused.

“You say that every time but the bet is always whoever wins has to wash the dishes, it’s like you want my hands to grow wrinkles.” With his hands spread out in front of him, he looked at what essentially everyday dishwashing was doing to him cursed under his breath. His eyebrows unconsciously furrowed in protest.

“Like I said kid, get better.” Toji yawned the last part tiredly as he closed his eyes in victory, glad that he made it another day not having to wash any dishes.

Megumi just shook his head in annoyance, honestly how did it get to this point? Toji was such a kid he took back Megumi’s birthday present without actually saying it. Although Megumi wasn’t that annoyed, at least he got to spend time with his dad after all this time of not having him around. As he pondered this he recognised, that there wasn’t that much he knew about Toji. Only the fact that he was once part of the Zenin clan but escaped, barely… Megumi didn’t care, not until now at least.

“Your scar, why do you have it.” He questioned out of the blue.

“What? This isn’t gonna get you out of doing the dishes by the way.” Toji’s eyes blinked open from his light nap in confusion.

“Well that would’ve been a good idea but if I don’t do them unfortunately nobody won’t.”

Toji laughed at his response “You just called me lazy. No play station for you anymore.”

“You use it more than me? Can you just answer my question?”

“I was thrown into a pit with cursed spirits, fought them all and got this scar. They didn’t expect me to survive that but I did and now I got something cool to remember it by, wanna take a closer look?” He pointed at his scar, unphased by how serious the situation was.

“Why?”

“Why what, you ask too many questions ‘gum. I just answered you.” He waved off his other question and got comfortable on the couch again.

“Well, okay then,” Megumi answered, stacking the plates on top of each other while carrying them to the kitchen.

While Toji ‘rested his eyes’ as his head fell back onto the couch. Unwanted memories filled the void of his mind. Recollections from the past about the Zenin clan and their treatment of him as a child led to his current situation. The reason he could no longer continue to live while carrying the burden of the zen in name plastered to him. The reason he took Megumi’s mother’s last name. Fushiguro. The reason he had a constant reminder of his childhood every time he looked into a mirror, or a camera, or the photo of him and Megumi which sat on the Lock Screen of his phone.

All of these reminders manipulated him into not bringing any of his past up to Megumi, of all people. He didn’t want his son to think any less of him because he was treated so weakly as a child. That didn’t matter to him, the only concern he had was his future. But if Megumi had questions about his past, not answering them made him look even weaker.

Toji’s eyes had been glued on the ceiling for a while now, thoughts still lingering while time was ticking. He wasn’t aware of how much time he had spent sitting in all these memories of his past, and the sun was sinking as it lowered. The sky, was ablaze, with the fire of the setting sun.

During the time Toji drifted and circled in his ruminant flashbacks, Megumi had already cleared the dining table, cleaned all the dishes (against his own will), fed his dogs and was already in bed.

Toji grumbled in fatigue, pushing himself off the couch, and stretching his muscles into a more comfortable position as he stood up. After sitting all day and playing on Megumi’s console his whole body was sore, and seemed to have moulded into his sitting position. Simultaneously, he jaunted drowsily to his room, not before involuntarily stopping at the open doorway of Megumi’s bedroom.

Megumi played lazily across his bed in the company of his divine dogs beside him, with whatever book he was reading in his left hand while he used to other to soothingly pet his dogs.

“Why are you still here?” Megumi had noticed his dad staring at him for the last 2 minutes but eventually, it started to creep him out, because the lights in his room were off and Toji looked like a heavily muscular cursed spirit standing in the doorway.

“Why are you so rude I’m litterallyour dad.”

“I’m waiting for you to explain why you’ve been standing there staring at me for so long.”

Megumi was met with silence, Toji leaned on the doorway staring at the ground while scratching the back of his head trying to find an answer somewhere in his mind.

“Hello…”

“The zenin, pushed me into the pit” He blurted out.

“They didn’t like me much, thought less of me cause I had no cursed energy so I guess they didn’t want me ruining their reputation or whatever.” He yawned out.

It took a while for Megumi to process what he had just said and so the aroma of the room was quiet for a bit. Toji’s mind turmoiled into possible reactions from Megumi.

“Okay, thanks for answering my question.” Megumi returned before going back to reading his book.

“Why are you acting so nonchalant, you were the one who was so curious.” Toji questioned, was his awsome story not that interesting to Megumi?

“Yeah but I got my answer now so thanks I guess.”

“Wow that’s it? You don’t think I’m weak for letting them basically bully me?” Toji asked, questioning if maybe he put it off for so long for no reason at all.

“No? You were a kid. Aren’t all kids weak?” Megumi said still following the lines in his book.

“Nah not me, otherwise I would’ve been dead ages ago but here I am! With a cool scare on my lip. Do you think it’s cool?”

“If you say so”

“Just admit it ‘gum.” Toji walked away from the door towards Megumi attacking him with fake punches, messing up his hair with his fist.

He was glad that Megumi didn’t care as much about his past, however it did feel nice to finally share some of what happened to him as a kid.

“Okay okay fine it’s cool or whatever.” Megumi admitted, playfullytrying to fight off his dad secretly loving the time they got to spend together.

“Thank you for sharing it with me though, I was close to finding you a therapist” Megumi admitted jokingly.

“A therapist? The hell do I need a therapist for?” He argued.

“You were sat on the sofa with the meanest mug on your face, I know you were thinking about what I asked you.” Megumi admitted.

Toji grew embarrassed, he had not realised how wrapped up in his thoughts he had been. So much so that Megumi knew why he was so tense.

“Don’t watch me like that again. Let’s play another round of that game. Loser washes the dishes for a month.” Toji’s heavy figure jumped off of Megumi’s bed and ran out of the room like a child before he could get an answer.

“It’s not like I have a choice.” Megumi sighed in defeat, picking himself up and walking out of his room to see his dad, controller already in hand ready to beat his ass again.

“Hurry up and grab the controller boy, it’s about to be a whole lot of washing dishes for you this month.”

[bridgyrose]

Weiss assumes everyone has ridden a horse/pony before... only to find that the only person who doesn't fall off in the first five minutes is Jaune.

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun,” Weiss said as she walked her friends over to the corral with a smile on her face. “This is going to be a nice and relaxing day to take our minds off finals.” 

“And how, exactly, is horseback riding relaxing?” Yang asked. 

Weiss stopped at the gate and looked back at her friends. “Why wouldnt it be relaxing?” 

“Because its an animal that can potentially break our necks?” Jaune asked more than he said. “I dont know if this is a good idea.” 

“You have nothing to worry about.” Weiss opened the gate and took the reins of one of the horses. “Its easy enough to ride them and these horses have been trained to let people on them. Plus, there’s ranch hands at the ready in case anything spooks the horses. Everything about this today is going to be safe.” 

Nora walked over to one of the horses. “If Weiss says its easy, how hard could it be?” 

Weiss nodded and watched as Nora got up onto the horse… and then slipped off when she couldnt get her footing in the stirrups. With a heavy sigh, she walked over and helped Nora get steady before taking a few steps to let Nora try to get the horse moving. Then, she watched as the others tried their hands. Blake seemed to get up the easiest, but couldnt seem to stay steady once the horse started moving. Ren and Pyrrha struggled with getting up onto it, Pyrrha worried about hurting it and Ren unable to keep his balance. Even Ruby and Yang, the two she would’ve expected to ride a horse easily, struggled to get onto their horses correctly or even to stay on while the horses were moving. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, this is going to be harder than I thought…” 

“Not our faults that we’ve never ridden a horse before,” Ruby said as she held her horse by the neck to keep stable. “Some of us have only watched it in shows or movies.” 

“It shouldnt be *that* hard to ride a horse.” 

“Its not, but sometimes it takes a bit for people to really learn how to do it,” Jaune said. 

Weiss looked over at him, expecting for him to be falling off, only to be surprised to see that he seemed to be the only one of her friends that was capable of riding a horse. Even as he brought the horse to a quick trot, he seemed to hold on fine and almost professionally as he kept himself up right and gentle with the horse. “Where… where did you learn to ride like that?” 

Jaune brought the horse to a stop next to Pyrrha and got off to help her up. “My parents had a friend who owned horses and would ask us to help take care of them. Riding lessons were put up as payment, so my sisters and I all learned how to ride a horse.” 

“I guess that makes sense.” Weiss watched her team continue to struggle with their own horses and started to make her way towards them. “You want to help your team while I help mine?” 

Jaune nodded. “Sure thing.” 

Weiss paused for a moment as she watched Jaune make his horse trot over to Nora. It was almost too easy to envision him as a knight from the romance novels she read, a blush crossing her cheeks when she thought about it. If he were to bulk up and get a set of armor that fit him-

“W-Weiss!” Ruby called out from hanging under her horse. “A-a little help?” 

Weiss shook her head as she was pulled out of her own thoughts and started to make her way over. “How did you do that?” 

“I tried to get on and I dont think I set the saddle on quite right.” 

“Its not that hard. Just drop to the ground and we’ll set it right.” 

“I dont think I-” Ruby winced as she dropped on the ground. “Nevermind!” 

Weiss pinched the bridge of her and took a deep breath. “This will be a relaxing day… as soon as I teach them how to stay on their horses correctly.”

[bicheetopuff]

That entire scene where Izuku ignores everything else and goes after Katsuki really made me think of how much he truly treasured that boy even when he didn't, when he shouldn't. Izuku is already kinda of a bad liar, and he was just supposed to say he didn't lie, but he ended up spilling almost everything. Stuff he didn't even tell his mom. He truly didn't want Katsuki to think he was making fun of him.

And Katsuki is not much better. Kept fussing over Izuku the entire time, pushed his own goals of winning aside to get that boy's attention because he wanted, no, demanded an explanation and was so angry at the thought that Izuku, the one that chased him around the entire time was lying to him, then he cried in front of the that same boy after putting up a show of how tough he was.

Like no wonder there's people who call them "ex-boyfriends". Why do you act like that.

Right, the whole thing is just way too complicated to look at them and say “oh they just don’t like each other.” Like, there’s so much history there and they make it so obvious.

Like, they don’t like each other, and yet Izuku risked his life to save him the day Katsuki had told him to kill himself. They don’t like each other, yet Katsuki saved Izuku from Kurogiri in the USJ situation. They don’t like each other, yet Izuku wants to be just like him and won’t hesitate to sing his praises every five minutes. They don’t like each other, yet Izuku is the only person in their class who Katsuki has let himself cry in front of. And that was all before they actually talked things out at ground beta and it just got so much worse after that. Like ajdbdjdjd why are they like this??

Truly, they act like ex boyfriends, especially during the Deku retrieval arc when Katsuki was talking to him like he was a guy who ghosted him after a bad date. Not to mention the fact that Katsuki only ever smiles when it has something to do with Izuku. Or the fact that Izuku refuses to think about how he feels about him because he deems those feelings to be “gross.”

I think all of their problems would’ve been solved way faster if they had just kissed and made up after Izuku saved him from the sludge villain…

[luveline]

hii can you please write about Hotch adoring the reader at night as she's sleep talking sweet things please please?? love you!

The first thing he does when he gets home that night is pop his head into Jack’s room. He wants to go in and kiss his forehead, or maybe hold his hand, but he’s worried he’ll wake him and it’s nearing three in the morning, so he whispers, “Love you,” and heads to the master bedroom. 

You’re sleeping not dissimilar to Jack, on your back, the sheets pulled up to your turned head. Aaron moves away from you reluctantly to get undressed and change into soft sleep clothes. He cleans his face and brushes his teeth, and when he returns to you, you’ve curled your arm over where he should be as though you’d sensed his homecoming. 

He shuffles to you in the dark. Pulls back the sheets, and slides under your arm. He finds your hand to hold and brings it slowly to his lips, letting your hand rest over his mouth indulgently. 

He closes his eyes.

After a short case like this one, he isn’t tired enough to forget how much he misses you. If it had been a week away, Aaron would’ve come home and collapsed knowing he’s back with you, and that you’re going to look after him, but it’s only been two days. All he needs now is a kiss.

“Miss you.” 

He clasps his hand over yours, takes your hand to his chest to see you without obstacle. “I missed you, too,” he whispers, though he squints at you after. You aren’t facing him. “Honey?” 

“Aaron…” 

“Yeah, it’s me. You okay?” 

You rub your nose into your pillow and make a nonsense sound. 

Oh, he thinks to himself. Is she…

“D’you– did you have dinner?” 

“Are you awake or not?” he asks. 

No answer. You can’t be awake, then. You’re talking in your sleep, silly disjointed murmurings, your voice like velvet despite the late hour. 

Aaron hasn’t woken you with his questions, so he assumes you’re sleeping deeply. He shuffles further into the bed, onto his side, and wraps an arm around you. Careful in the dark, his nose comes to rest against your cheek.

“Well, we can try again tomorrow.”

“Shh,” he says softly, “shh, honey.” 

“‘Cos of the time,” you mumble.

He breathes in your skin. This is nice, he supposes, sitting and listening to your voice. You don’t even have to wake up. Aaron must spend half an hour listening to you talk yourself, or whoever it is that’s opposite you in the dream. It’s okay, we can fix it. I don’t know what colour that is. It’s Jack’s book. The book. And then your dog will come home. 

He’s nearly sleeping when it runs back to him. “My hubs,” you mumble, hand suddenly alive where it twists under his arm to return his hug. “Miss my hubs.” 

Aaron laughs in earnest. He’s never heard you call him such a thing. “Missed my wife,” he says, giving your cheek a quick kiss. “Love you.” 

“Miss him… want him to rub my back.” 

Your whining is adorable. Aaron pulls you bodily onto his chest and begins to rub your back, smiling, happy to indulge your sleepy nonsense with whatever it is you’re craving. “How’s that?” he murmurs. 

You don’t talk again for a while, but when you do, you say, “He needs to feed the fish,” and Aaron’s left wondering what exactly it is that you and Jack have been up to this weekend. 

[alittlebitofloveliness]

"You good, man?'

“I’m fine,” Dally scoffs, spitting a string of bloody saliva into the dirt, and wiping his mouth with the back his hand.

“See I would believe that,” Two-bit drawls, lounging against the hood of his car, “but you gotta goddamn knife stickin’ out of your leg, so.”

“Huh?” Dally looks down, apparently noticing the handle sticking out of his thigh for the first time. “Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah oh shit. C’mon, I’ll drive you to the Curtis’. ”

Dally snorts. “You’re drunker than I thought if you think I’m about to bother Darry with this.”

“Dal. You got a knife sticking outta your leg.”

“So? Ain’t like its the first time.”

Two-bit opens his mouth, about to ask for more details on that particular flippant statement, before deciding he really doesn’t want to know.

“Just…tell me somewhere I can take you where you won’t let yourself bleed out in the street in the name of being’ tough.”

“Take me to Shepards.”

“You mean the to the house of the guy who just put that knife in your leg?”

“Well he’s gonna want it back.” 

He says it likes it’s reasonable. No wonder Ponyboy’s been getting wilder lately, since he started spending so much time around him. If he was Darry listening to this whole spiel, Two-bit thinks he’d probably have an aneurysm. Luckily he ain’t Darry, so instead he just finds it all kinda funny.

“So, what? You show up, knock on the door, and when he opens it you pull the knife outta your leg and bleed out on his porch?”

“He ain’t actually mad.”

“He stabbed you.” Two-bit feels the need to point out. Just because it doesn't seem to have sunk in yet.

“Yeah, but not in the chest.” Dally snorts, “hell, this is practically a declaration of love comin’ from him.”

“I ain’t takin’ you to Shepards. End of.”

“Fine,” Dally huffs, “just bring me back to Buck’s then.”

“Fine.” Two-bit agrees, knowing full well he isn’t going to do anything of the sort. 

Ten minutes later he pulls up outside the Curtis’ house, and Dally lets loose a string of curses that would’ve earned two-bit the spanking of a lifetime from his ma not too long ago.

“You no good, lying’ dirty-“

Two-bit just grins, seeing the way Darry’s already crossing the yard towards them, those uncanny mother hen instincts of his having told him already there’s trouble afoot.

“Relax Winston,” Two-bit tells him, “ain’t none of us gonna ruin your street cred, and besides, you got be all fixed up when it’s time to return that knife tomorrow.”

Dally doesn't fight quite as much after that.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! Congrats on 7K, and happy late birthday!

I would love to req an apple pie with Spencer (the way you write him is soooOOO cute) and ²⁸⁾ dark lipstick smeared on a cheek, possibly also along with ¹⁴⁾ laddered tights if it makes sense to you, but just the first one is ofc totally cool <3

Thank you for all the fics, the way you write is so so gorgeous and gives me a lot of comfort

Thank you angel!! I'm glad to have you here :)

cw: mention (implied mention?) of alcohol

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 578 words

Spencer finds you on the floor below his. You’re standing dejectedly outside a closed door with your arms folded across your chest. 

“Hi,” he says. 

You turn, your mouth falling open in surprise and glee. “Spence!” You start walking to meet him. “I was just talking to you on the phone!” 

“I know you were.” He accepts the hug you offer him. You smell like the lotion you use before going out, and it overpowers the smell of bar. “You were upset I wasn’t coming to the door.” 

“Yeah, because you weren’t.” You seem to remember your upset now, pulling away so you can frown at him. 

Spencer tucks away his smile. “I don’t live here, honey. I’m one floor up.” 

Your gaze moves away from his face, your brows furrowing. “Oh.” 

“But I can take you back there now,” he offers. 

Any trace of a frown vanishes. You’re simpering up at him. “Spencer Reid,” you say in a voice like honey, “you wanna take me back to your place?” 

“I—uh, isn’t that why you came here?” 

“No, it is.” You bite your lip, trying and failing to tamp down your grin. “It just sounds extra fun when you say it.” 

“If you say so.” Spencer laughs, and it comes out sounding more awkward than he would’ve liked. 

Your smile softens. You put your hand in his, letting him lead you back to the elevator. Your touch feels warm and sure. 

“Did you have a good time out?” he asks, pressing the button for his floor with a knuckle and then using his thumb to wipe at a bit of lipstick that’s smeared onto your cheek. Clearly at some point during your night out you’d forgotten you were wearing makeup. There’s also a long tear stretching up from the knee of your tights. 

“Yeah,” you reply, your cheek dimpling under his touch. Spencer lowers his hand, and you watch it go. “I missed you, though.” 

“I’m glad you came over. Did someone give you a ride here?” 

“No, I walked.” You’re still watching his hand. Spencer thinks about putting it back on your face, even though he has no excuse to anymore. Maybe you need two points of contact. 

“I would have come and gotten you,” he says. 

“I like walking. The air felt nice. It’s getting cooler out at night.” 

“Yeah, it is nice.” You’re close enough that he can reach down and lightly graze your laddered tights with his fingers. It’s a chaste tough, just above your knee, but still you shiver as if the chill outside has followed you in. 

The elevator dings. 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you say as he lets you into his apartment. He didn’t lock the door for the short trip downstairs, though he knows several members of his team would have something to say about it if they knew. “Maybe tomorrow we can go for coffee or something. Let me get you a hot drink to celebrate the cool weather, and to say thank you.” 

“You can stay here anytime,” Spencer says, just to know that you’ve heard him say it. It’s not the first time he has. He watches you go straight for the bedroom, for the drawer in his closet where your pajamas are kept. “But coffee would be good, yeah, if—if you still want to tomorrow.” 

You laugh, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “Of course I’ll still want to. I always want to.”