#but sometimes the second wrong is funny as shit

[edamameimei]

about you (megan skiendiel x reader)

"you know that i love you. is it dumb believing you might love me too?"

synopsis: playing with megan on the same college soccer team has its perks. she's your best friend and you couldn't imagine playing with anyone else by your side. however, you might also be in love with her, and that comes with its own set of problems. tags: fluff! with a bit of angst but it's a happy ending! college soccer!au an: this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. CW: swearing, kissing, a bit of blood mentioned at the end! megan a bit possessive if u squint! wc: 10.5k

⏯ this song - conan gray

“Hey, Y/n?” 

Megan’s words hang in the air as you take five steps back. You shake your hands as if they’d get rid of the nerves you always feel right before a game. Your eyes are focused on the top left corner of the net. With one deep breath, you jog up to the ball and kick it swiftly. You watch as it hits the net right where you want it, and a soft smile spreads across your lips as you turn around to face your best friend and goalie. She looks up at you with admiration in her eyes, and you secretly wish she could look at you like that forever. 

“Yeah?” you ask, breathily. Sweat beads down your forehead as you walk toward her, plopping down next to her on the grass. You snatch the water bottle from her hands playfully, a mischievous glint in your eye. She glares at you, but her gentle smile tells you she isn’t mad.

She pulls her legs up to her chest and hugs them tightly, resting her cheek against her knees. She watches you take a sip of water, and you eye her curiously, wondering why she hasn’t said anything. You remove the water bottle from your lips and place it in your lap, very much aware of the fact Megan still stares at you in silence. You look at her, holding her gaze as if you two were in a staring contest. The look in her eyes is unreadable, and it confuses you even more. You’ve had enough after a few more seconds of waiting and nudge her shoulder with your elbow. 

“Dude, what?” You ask again with a groan. She giggles, but for a moment, her smile falls slightly. You notice the quick change in her expression, opening your mouth to ask what was wrong. Still, without any warning, Megan reaches over and snatches the water bottle back. She stands to her feet, looking down at you mischievously before taking off in the other direction. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips as you scramble to your feet to chase after her.

Your stuff is long forgotten as you continue chasing Megan down the field, running after her as she runs away with your water bottle in her hands. Her laughter resonates throughout the quiet stadium, and for a goalie, she runs faster than you. When you finally catch her, you wrap your arms around her waist, lifting her from the ground. She squeals loudly, and you can’t help but think you’re in love with your best friend. 

When you finally put her back down on the ground, she turns to look up at you, her brown eyes shining, and for a moment, you think she might even love you back.

Playing soccer for one of the best schools in the country can be a lot of pressure for you sometimes. 

But getting to play with Megan makes it bearable. 

She walks next to you toward the practice field, wearing her bookbag on her front as she digs through it, trying to find her goalie gloves. She groans for the nth time on that walk, and you just snicker in response. The sound elicits a glare from the brunette, bumping her shoulder into yours. “This isn’t funny! If I left these shits at home again, I’m cooked.” You keep your eyes forward as the sound of her frantically looking through her bag becomes louder. By the time you get to the benches, you place your bag down on the ground. Megan still stands, manifesting for a miracle as she begins to throw the other items out of her bag haphazardly onto the grass. 

You unzip your bag calmly, reaching into it to find one of the many pouches inside. You look inside, and your eyes light up at the item you’ve been looking for. You pull them out, revealing one of Megan’s spare gloves. You throw them at her with a smirk. Her mouth gapes in response, her movements still as she slowly realizes you’ve had an extra pair this entire time. She groans again, attempting to kick you while you sit on the ground. You crawl back, laughing as she throws her bag down in frustration. 

“You can say thank you, you know?” You quip at your best friend. The look she gives you is deadly as she picks up the items she has thrown out of her bag. She looks away to complete her task, but there is a pout evident on her lips. 

“You let me struggle and freak out for like. 30 minutes. You’re the fucking worst.” She says with a dramatic sigh. You stretch your legs out, leaning forward to grab your toes. 

You count down to ten in your head as you respond. “You’re the one who always forgets them,” You shake your head, biting your lip to contain your smile. “You’re literally our starting goalie– How is this even still a problem?” You ask, a laugh bubbling in your throat. She rolls her eyes and zips her bookbag up. She places it down on the bench before sitting down in front of you, mimicking your stretches. 

“Okay, well, you’re our starting striker, yet you forget your shinguards every other week, so I don’t wanna hear it from you,” She points out. Her words make you look down in embarrassment, your cheeks tinted pink. You open and close your mouth, trying to find a response, but you opt for silence. For a brief moment, you glance at Megan, who takes her hair out of her ponytail. She runs her fingers through her hair, her pink bangs sticking to her forehead with sweat from the heat. You watch as she begins to braid her hair to prepare for practice, and even though you’ve seen her do it a million times before, you still can’t help but think she’s so pretty. 

The way she does it so absentmindedly like her body has familiarized itself with her routine every day. You’ve noticed over the years how she tends to zone out while she braids her hair. It’s as if she was in her own little world, trying to decompress before another exhausting 2 hours of drills and the shrill sound of your coach’s whistle. Today, you heard from Sophia that the team would be running sprints all day today. Apparently, one of your teammates got into trouble the day before, which means the entire team pays for it. Every mistake, your coach says, is everybody’s mistake. It’s fair, you think, but it doesn’t change the fact it still sucks. 

You change your stretch again, realizing you have been in the same position for a while now. You glance at Megan, who is now standing. She does lunges as you continue doing your stretches on the ground, wanting to cherish it before you have to run up and down for God knows how many times. When you finish, you stand up and walk over to Megan, who stretches her arms over her head. You snake your arms around her waist, pulling her close to your front. You rest your head on top of hers and close your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. You feel her hug you back, her chin resting on your shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.” She whispers close to your ear. She rubs your back gently, and it puts you at ease. 

“Today is gonna be fucking rough.” You reply with a chuckle, attempting to keep the conversation lighthearted. She pulls away slightly, her hands sliding up to your biceps. You open your eyes to see her smiling at you gently.  

“Yeah, can’t deny that,” She says. She looks up, and her hand reaches up to your hair, fixing a stray strand that must have been sticking out of your makeshift headband that you made out of athletic tape. Your eyes stay on her as a lump forms in your throat. Being close to Megan wasn’t anything new, but the feelings that always ensue when you are never get easier. She pats your head when she finishes, her hand finding your bicep once more. “Do you wanna see who can run their sprints faster?” She asks playfully. 

You scoff at her question, but there’s a glint in your eyes. You’re always up for a challenge, especially with Megan. “Seriously?” The expression on her face doesn’t change, and you smirk in response. You unwrap your arms around Megan, stepping away from her and immediately missing the warmth she provided despite the already hot environment. You extend your hand out toward her, and she clasps her hand with yours, shaking it firmly. You look down at your connected hands and then back at her, waiting to see who would let go first. 

You stare at each other for a moment, soft smiles on both your faces. You wonder if she feels the same way you do. There’s hope in the back of your mind that this means something more. But, the sound of the rest of your teammates arriving to practice can be heard behind you, their loud conversations filling the silence. Megan lets go of your hand first, but before she runs toward the others, she whispers, “Loser has to buy dinner after practice.” Before you can decline, she runs away from you, leaving you with the motivation to run even faster and your heart beating rapidly. 

The first game of the regular season comes quickly, and it’s a home game. 

It’s both you and Megan’s first season as starters, and to say you were both nervous is an understatement. 

You feel like you could throw up on the field. When you tell Megan this, she simply shrugs, saying, “Just do it.” 

You and your teammates stand in a circle on the field, stretching with each other as a team. Your captain, Sophia, counts everyone down and leads the stretches. Once they’re over, your coach quickly runs everyone through a few last-minute practice drills. The entire time, you feel the weight of the upcoming game, a mix of excitement and nervousness. You know you deserve this spot– you’ve worked for it since your freshman year.

But now, with the first half on your shoulders, you can’t help but feel a bit of imposter syndrome. Your coach instructs you to practice some of your shots with Megan in goal, and you’re relieved that you get to spend the last five minutes with your best friend. You dribble a ball up to the goal, your nerves subsiding with every step you take closer to Megan. 

The brunette lights up when she notices you coming toward her. She smiles brightly and shouts, “You’re gonna kick so much ass!” You laugh in response. You lock in quickly, dribbling the ball at a faster pace than before. Megan notices this and gets into position, her knees bent with her arms extended to protect the goal. Once you reach the goal line, you take a shot, hitting the back of the net. Despite Megan not saving the ball, she still cheers loudly for you, clapping her hands together. You raise your arms in victory with your hands balled into fists. 

It doesn’t matter what the stakes are. As long as Megan is there, then there’s nothing to worry about. 

By the second half, your team is up by one point. However, there's 10 minutes left for it to be anybody's game. 

Megan has worked hard from the very beginning, only letting two goals slip past her. She remains locked in, guiding the other defensive players on the field. Every jump, dive, and punt she does, you always watch with amazement in your eyes. She knows the game like the back of her hand, and it leaves you breathless with every step she takes. 

You run anxiously toward your side of the field, trying to catch up to the opponent's offense so you can offer defense assistance. You're not there in time before their own striker tries to take the shot, but Megan catches it with ease, quickly scanning the field for an open pass. You quickly sprint to an open space, backing up slightly, knowing how far Megan can kick the ball. You raise your hand in the air and wave it, shouting, "Meiyok!" 

She quickly looks over at you and smiles widely. She points at you before punting the ball in your direction. It's perfect, flying toward you and sinking down right at your feet. You waste no time in gaining control, turning around to dribble down the field. Your pace quickens as your opponents try to take the ball from you. The pressure begins to build as you get closer, and you look around for someone who can be an assist. 

Sophia manages to outrun the other team's offensive players and calls out to you. The opportunity to cross the ball presents itself, and you take it with no hesitation. In the blink of an eye, Sophia shoots the ball and lands it in the net before the goalie can react. Your teammates erupt into loud cheers, and the audience screams loudly as you run up to Sophia with open arms. You hug her tightly, picking her up from the ground effortlessly as you spin her around. She squeals loudly, and you look up at her, shouting, "You did it, Soph!" 

She looks down at you with a wide grin, her eyes shaped like crescents, and shouts back, "We did it, Y/n!" 

After the locker room debrief, you stand at your locker, changing out of your soccer gear and into much comfier and less smelly clothes. You close your locker, turning around to see if Megan is ready to go. Your tradition after a game, win or lose, is to get Slushees together. Even after the most significant losses, the most frustrating games where you almost ripped each other’s head off, you would go together. It’s your favorite part of game day.  

Megan has her bare back turned to you, digging in her locker to find what you assume is a clean shirt. As she continues looking, you can’t help but stare at the muscles she has built over the years. Tiny moles and freckles are scattered all over her skin, and you’ve thought about reaching out to trace them with your fingertips. But that’s a thought you keep to yourself, and you feel as though you may keep it that way for the rest of your life. You feel a heat rising in your cheeks as you continue staring shamelessly at your best friend. You shake your head, turning around in hopes you’d be able to control the overbearing feeling in your chest.

You open your locker again to find a clean shirt for Megan to wear. You see a plain white t-shirt sitting amongst your gear, and you grab it, turning around to throw it at Megan’s back. She turns around with wide eyes, and you fear you’ve made the feeling worse, seeing Megan now in just her sports bra. Your eyes glance down at her taut stomach, quickly averting your eyes before she could catch you. “You’re taking so god damn long, just take my shirt.” You say, trying to remain nonchalant. From the corner of your eyes, you see her pick up the shirt from the ground. 

“You’re always so mean to me,” She whines, finally pulling the shirt over her body. 

Once she’s covered, you turn toward her with a raised brow. “I’ve been ready to go since 15 minutes ago.” You say, and she scoffs, picking up her bag. She slings it over her shoulders and crosses her arms with a slight pout on her lips. 

“You’re buying my Slushee.” She proclaims, and you look at her incredulously, grabbing your own bag from the ground. You walk toward the exit of the locker room, with Megan following right behind. 

You glance over your shoulder at her and reply, “Says who?” She pushes you playfully, eliciting a loud laugh from you. 

“Says me. The best goalie you have ever seen!” She asserts, quickly walking ahead of you. She then stops in her tracks right in front of you, turning around to jab a finger into your chest. “And I gotta hear you say it.” She says with a broad smile, her whiskered dimples etched into her cheeks as she awaits your response. You almost make a joke, wanting to tease the Chinese girl further. But there’s something in her eyes that catches you off guard. Behind her smile is uncertainty. It’s as though your opinion is the only one that matters to her. 

You look into her eyes, your brows furrowed as you respond, pouring your sincerity into every word. “You’re the best goalie I’ve ever seen, Meiyok.” Her eyes soften at your words. You both stand in the middle of the hallway of the athletics building, staring at each other in silence. There’s something to the look in her eyes you want to believe. You want to convince yourself that she wants you just as much as you want her. She looks down at her feet before looking back up at you, her brown eyes shining under the dim lighting. 

“Y/n–” 

“Y/n! Hey!” You snap your head toward the new voice in the building, your eyes wide in surprise. Sophia jogs up to you both with a wide smile. She opens her arms, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. “You did awesome today! I told you you were gonna be great.” She affirms. 

You blush at the compliment and pull away from the team captain, rubbing the back of your neck shyly. “Like I said, we did awesome. You’re the one who assisted me.” She waves you off before turning her attention toward Megan, pulling her into a hug as well. 

“Your skills out there are like. Professional level, Meg. Seriously.” The compliment from the team captain causes Megan to laugh. You notice the tinge of nervousness in it though, as if she didn’t believe the words that came out of Sophia’s mouth. 

When she pulls away, Megan nods her head, murmuring, “Thank you,” quietly. You can’t help but frown, knowing Megan’s thoughts are far from kind about herself. You’re about to reaffirm Sophia’s praises, but the captain places a hand on your shoulder, grabbing your attention once more. “Before you know it, we’re gonna be unstoppable on the field together.” You light up at her words. 

“You think so?” You ask, the surprise evident in your tone. Sophia nods, her hand sliding down your arm to grab your hand. She squeezes it gently and looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes. 

“I know so.” She says confidently. Sophia lets go of your hand and then takes a step back, waving her hand to say goodbye. You and Megan wave back, telling her you’ll see her tomorrow, bright and early, for yet another day of practice. You both watch as she exits the building and once she’s out the door, you look down at Megan, who looks at you with a teasing smile. 

You look at her, amused. “What?” She bites her lip, trying to wipe the smile off her face, but she fails. She giggles loudly and covers her mouth, her hand to stifle them. You look at her, a bit exasperated by her antics. “Bro! What!” You groan. Megan uncovers her mouth, a wide grin on her face as she shrugs. 

“The captain? Really?” She questions, and you squint at her. 

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, and she rolls her eyes, making her way toward the exit. You jog up to her, finding your place by her side. “What about Sophia?” You try asking again. Once you two walk outside, you’re met with a light breeze that allows you to finally breathe. Megan looks up at you with mischief in her eyes. 

“You have a crush on her.” She sings, and you feel your heart plummet at her statement. The way she seems unbothered by the prospect of it, at the thought of you liking someone else, proves your thoughts from earlier to be untrue. You look away for a moment to hide the hurt in your eyes. She takes your silence as confirmation, nudging your arm with her elbow. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Just buy me a Slushee, and I’ll be quiet.” She teases once more, and you let out a strained chuckle. 

“I don’t have a crush on her, Meiyok.” You reply, but Megan doesn’t take your word for it. She simply keeps walking toward your car, a grin on her features. There’s a tight feeling in your chest, and you will it to go away, but you feel Megan’s hand brush against yours. Instinctively, you lace your fingers together, and you try to convince yourself that this is enough.

You lie in your bed, staring at your ceiling as Megan continues to get ready for a party that one of your teammates is throwing. You meant to go with her, but after another exhausting day of practice and reviewing the playbook with Sophia and the coach, you decided that tonight would be a time for decompression. 

Still, Megan insisted on getting ready in your presence, bringing all of her stuff to do so to your apartment. As a way to make it up to her for bailing last minute, you offered to be her Uber driver for the night. Megan agreed to the deal, tacking on a sleepover as well that you happily obliged with. 

After some time, you sit up and lean your back against the headboard. You glance at Megan, who sits on her knees in front of your full-length mirror, curling her hair. She wears a very tight-fitting black dress that hugs her body in a way that makes your brain short-circuit. It's so devastating how beautiful your best friend is, and it's even more devastating how you wish more than anything that it could be more than that. 

As you look at her, you quietly reflect on the friendship you've built with the younger girl over the past two years. You remember how she was only a prospect amongst a long list of others who also dreamed of the chance to play professionally one day. What made her different, though— what made her better was her unwavering kindness on and off the field. When recruitment season was in full swing, your coach had you and the rest of the team sit down in the media room for hours, watching clips and highlight reels of potential players on the roster. When Megan came on screen, you were half-asleep at that point. Your coach announced her as a possible first-string goalkeeper, and that was enough for you to zone out. 

However, before your eyes began to close, you watched as she ran out of the box. You raised an eyebrow at this. You found the decision to leave the goal unprotected while your opponents have possession of the ball as very ballsy, but before you could make further judgments, the camera shifted over to where you could see Megan tending to an opponent that must have gotten injured at some point during the back and forth on the field. You sat up in your seat, admiring the brave display of sportsmanship you haven't seen from the sport in a while, especially at her level. 

Since that day, you haven't stopped thinking about the girl. And when you found out she was selected as first-string, you couldn't be happier to finally meet Megan Skiendiel. 

A slight smile forms on your lips as you think back to that day and the days, months, and years that follow. She now sits in your bedroom, getting ready for a party that you aren't even going to. But she does it because you're her best friend; she's here because she loves being around you, and you allow her because who could ever say no to someone like her? When you're just that lucky? You'd be an idiot. 

A few minutes pass, and Megan catches you staring at her through the mirror. She sends you a teasing smile as she continues applying her eyeliner. "There's still time for you to get ready, you know? You could stare at me all night long if you wanted to…" She says, smirking at the way you widen your eyes. 

Her words turn you to mush, and you quickly avert your eyes, a blush evident on your cheeks. You grab the closest pillow to you and throw it in her direction, eliciting a loud squeal from the Chinese girl. "Y/n! You could've fucked up my make-up!" She whines, grabbing the pillow and throwing it back at you. Unfortunately for you, you forget she's your goalie and manages to hit you square in the face. You fall back onto the bed with a thud, and you find yourself staring at your ceiling again. 

You're about to sit up again, but you feel the other side of your bed dip slightly. You look over and see Megan shift closer to you, lying down on her side with her arm underneath her head. "Are you sure you don't wanna come tonight?" She asks quietly, the tone in her voice still playful. 

You nod, turning your head away from the girl. You really needed the rest, and with the way Megan looks right now, you aren't too sure if you should be getting involved with alcohol. You close your eyes, willing the thought of it to go away. Megan's hand brushes against your own, and the simple contact sends shivers throughout your body. "Just let me know when you're ready for me to pick you up." You tell her, your voice wavering slightly. 

"What if I just stay here, and we can keep binge-watching that one show we started a few days ago?" She asks. You feel her pinky inch closer to yours, and a small smile crosses your lips. 

"Then you would have gotten ready for absolutely nothing." You whisper teasingly, connecting your pinky with hers. You open your eyes slowly, turning your head to look at Megan once more. She's breathtaking, you think. And you want to tell her. But the lump in your throat feels too big; it almost feels trapped. It overwhelms you sometimes when you're alone with your best friend. Being around Megan feels like the sunshine that peeks out your window every morning. It feels like the first day of Spring when the flowers start to bloom, and the world feels alive again. Most of all, Megan feels like home. 

And to lose all of that in an instant? You couldn't comprehend it.

You let go of her pinky, smiling at her tiredly. "Go to the party. I'll wait for you here." 

Her brown eyes look into yours, soft and warm. She responds, "I'll wish you were there." 

“They’re calling you and Sophia the dream team,” Megan says in the middle of practice one day. You’re practicing your free kicks while Megan practices her dives at the same time. 

You can’t help but chuckle at her words, shaking your head. You couldn’t deny it, though; she’s right. As the regular season continues, commentators start to notice you and Sophia’s dynamic on the field, praising you both for the teamwork you two display in each game. The playbook begins to look more familiar as the weeks pass, with Sophia being your right-hand man every time. You’re considered an unstoppable force together, and it reigns true as the team prepares for the Conference Championship game. 

The thought of it makes you feel anxious again. You furrow your brows and attempt to lock in as you back away from the ball, taking a deep breath and shaking your hands before running up to it. You kick it, and Megan jumps, catching it with her gloved hands. She rolls onto the ground before getting back up quickly to roll it back to your feet. You trap the ball with your foot and glance at Megan, who pouts at you. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Why are you pouting about it?” You ask before setting up another free kick. You back away from the ball again, but before you take the shot, you look at Megan with another questioning glance. “Isn’t that a good thing?” 

She bends her knees and gets into position. She keeps her eyes on the ball as she responds, “I guess it is.” You notice the slight annoyance in her tone, but you don’t question it, simply running up to the ball to take your shot. This time, it lands into the net, which causes Megan to groan. She begrudgingly turns around to retrieve the ball, and as she does, you continue the conversation. 

“You have to admit. Our assists lately have been kind of sick.” You say, a slight smirk on your face. Megan turns back around and faces you. She doesn’t look amused as she passes the ball back to you for yet another free kick. 

You return the ball back to its place as Megan responds to your words. “Yeah,” She sighs, getting into position once more. “It’s just annoying that I can’t play next to you.” You halt your movements when you hear her words. A light blush paints your cheeks, and your brain turns to mush as you think about the idea of Megan feeling disappointed that she can’t be there next to you. You stand there, frozen, staring at Megan as if she was the love of your life. Her bangs are in slight disarray, and there’s dirt all over her face due to the several dives to the ground she has done for the past hour. You’re in love with all sides of Megan, but this is by far your favorite. 

Megan waits for you, still locked in and in position. However, after a few more seconds, she stands up straight and looks at you with a flash of concern. “Hey, Y/n. You there?” 

You blink a few times, realizing you had zoned out at some point while thinking about your goalie. You nod, looking down at the ball at your feet. When you look back up, Megan still looks at you with a worried expression. To ease her worries, you jog up to her and place your hands on her shoulders. You smile gently, tilting your head. “Maybe you can ask coach to put you on midfield?” You tease, and she giggles, her nose scrunching up in a way that makes you want to be brave for once and kiss her. But you hold back because you aren’t brave, the farthest from it, actually. 

“Coach would actually laugh in my face,” She says, shaking her head. Megan then places her hands on your shoulders, squeezing them gently. “Also, I fucking hate running.” This elicits a loud laugh from you, throwing your head back at the absurdity. The loud shrill of a whistle is heard behind you, and you quickly jump away from Megan, spinning around to find the source of the sound. 

Your coach stands with her hands on her hips, a stern look in her eyes. “Skiendiel! Y/Ln! Split up and find new partners for practice. I can’t have you both getting distracted before next week.” You wince at her words, nodding your head before glancing at Megan one last time. 

“Don’t miss me too much, Meiyok.” You say, letting out a dramatic sigh as you slowly walk away from her. 

Megan rolls her eyes, biting her lip to contain the smile that wants to peek out. “You’re a fucking idiot.”  

The Conference game takes place in enemy territory, and it takes everything in you to not feel some sort of discouragement. 

There has been quite a bit of press concerning the game, and for the last hour on the bus, you’ve been scrolling on Twitter, reading what everyone had to say about you. Many soccer fans have made comments about your stats and how they’re surprised you’ve even made it this far. The most surprising tweet you’ve seen had to be the criticism toward your numbers from high school. 

It filled you with bitterness as you read the replies. 

You weren’t a natural at the sport by any means. 

The town you grew up in was very small, not known for anything, and anyone could miss it on a map. You come from a high school that had no funding from the county. Statistically, you should have been in jail by now or a raging conservative, taking to social media to voice your questionable political views. No one ever paid attention to you, and now it feels as though everyone is watching your every move. You knew you had to work harder, play harder, and be better. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on your part when you thought this year would be different, but unfortunately, it seems to have gotten worse. 

You lean your head against the bus window as you continue scrolling, your headphones on to ignore the side conversations amongst your teammates. The frown on your face grows when you see a particular reply, tears stinging in your eyes. It’s as if Megan had been watching you this entire time because your phone is suddenly snatched out of your hands. You look up and see her looking at the screen. She looks up at you softly, and a worried expression paints her features. “You need to stop doing this to yourself.” She says. 

You look out the window and slump your shoulders, not in the mood to fight for your phone. Your voice is quiet as you reply, “I’m fine.” But Megan knows better. She knows you better than anyone else. You feel her hug your arm tightly and rests her chin on your shoulder. 

She slides your headphones off your head, and before you can protest, she leans up to your ear and whispers, “I’m your biggest fan, you know that?” Her hand rubs your arm gently, sliding it down to interlock your fingers together. “I think…” She trails off. You glance at her curiously and wait for her to finish, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying. Megan squeezes your hand, and you shakily let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “I think you’re good. You’ve always been good.” 

Her words are simple, but they hit you harder than you expect. You close your eyes and allow the tears you’ve been holding in since the beginning of the drive. Megan lets go of your hand and wraps her arms around your neck, gently pushing your head to fit in the crook of her shoulder. Your arms snake around your best friend, gripping the back of her hoodie (your hoodie) as you cry quietly in her arms. You felt ridiculous for crying on the bus for any of your other teammates to see, but at this moment, you’re in a bubble with Megan. And that’s all you could ever ask for. 

“You’re not a great goalie, but other than that, you’re pretty good at soccer.” She jokes, and her attempt at being lighthearted causes you to smile through your tears. 

You hold her tighter, whispering back, “Why be a goalie when I have you?” 

You don’t see it, but she blushes deeply at your words. “Exactly. You have me.” 

Against all odds, your team wins the Conference Championships. The score was 4-3, two goals being your own and the other two being assists between you and Sophia. 

Not only that, but you will also be moving forward into the Division Championships. You feel like you’re dreaming as if you are a step closer to proving everyone who has doubted you wrong. You’re on an ultimate high, and you’re motivated to see it all the way through. 

After the announcement was made that the team earned their spot in the College Cup, you all decided to celebrate the achievement. Yunjin decides to throw a party, telling everyone that it would be an open invitation to “Invite everyone you know!” The idea of it was daunting at first, but with Megan’s persistent begging, it was even more daunting to tell her no. 

You stand in front of your full-length mirror, looking at the outfit you put together for the party. It wasn’t anything special, just your jersey and a pair of jeans. But as you look at yourself, you feel an immense pride course through your body. You begin to mess with your hair as Megan continues to search through your closet for an outfit for the party. You hear her sigh loudly for what could’ve been the millionth time that night, and you decide to finally ask her what was wrong. 

“I can’t find your other stupid jersey!” She exclaims, still ransacking your closet as if it is hers. You quirk an eyebrow at this, chuckling quietly as you continue watching her from the other side of the room. 

You walk toward her and cross your arms over your chest. “It can’t be that stupid if you’re tweaking this bad over it.” You say, a laugh slipping past your lips. Megan turns her head and sends you an icy glare that quickly wipes the smile off your face. You raise your hands up in defense. “Alright, damn, my bad.” You murmur, walking cautiously closer to her so you can offer some sort of assistance. However, right before you do, it begins to dawn on you where the missing jersey could be. 

“Oh! I remember now! Softie has it.” You tell her, the nickname rolling off your tongue without a second thought. Megan sucks in a sharp breath, throwing one of your articles of clothing back into the closet carelessly. 

She turns her body toward you and squints. “Who has your jersey?” She asks, her tone shifting into something more venomous. It catches you off guard, but you shake it off, taking it as irritation toward not being able to find anything to wear. 

“Sophia has it. She didn’t have an extra shirt to wear after the championships, so I gave her the extra jersey that was in my–”

Megan cuts you off mid-sentence, “You only ever let me wear that jersey.” There’s a slight frown on her lips, her brown eyes resembling a sad puppy’s. You rub the back of your neck, and you feel as though you have just told her that her favorite soccer player has just retired. You’re at a loss for what to say in response– you’ve never been put in this position with Megan. 

Your hands find the hem of the jersey you currently wear, and you begin to pull it off, telling her, “Here. You can wear this one–” She cuts you off again with a loud scoff, stomping away from you. You watch as she grabs her keys from your desk and makes her way to the door. You widen your eyes, following Megan. “Wait, wait. You’re leaving?!” She answers the question by opening the door and walking out of your room and into the living room. You groan and continue following your best friend, who doesn’t spare you another glance as she attempts to open the front door. “What are you doing?!” 

She looks at you with furrowed brows, and for a moment, you notice a flash of hurt in her eyes. “Softie has the jersey I wanted to wear tonight, so I’m going back home to find an outfit for tonight.” She tells you, her voice wavering slightly. You’re confused by this interaction. You’ve never seen Megan like this, especially with you. You expected more silly banter, the occasional quips that you find hard to decipher as either friends just being friends or her flirting with you. You didn’t expect Megan to be this upset over a missing jersey. 

You place your hand against the front door in an attempt to stop her from leaving. The thought of Megan being upset kills you, especially if you’re the reason why. There have been many moments on the field where it became tense with Megan, usually over a pass that didn’t quite make it to you or her being agitated over the fact you didn’t give her enough space to save the ball. The fights between you have only ever been on the field, and once you were off, everything would be forgiven and forgotten. 

It scares you that this might, in fact, be a fight, and you aren’t too confident in how you’d resolve it. 

Megan crosses her arms, her back against the door, and looks up at you with an unreadable expression. “I need to find something for tonight, Y/n. Don’t piss me off.” She says, the irritation in her voice very evident. You bite your lip to hide your frown. 

“You’re already pissed off, so you might as well just keep looking in my closet for something.” You quip, and the way her eyes narrow makes you wish you hadn’t said anything at all. She opens her mouth to say something but quickly shuts it, her lips in a tight line. You hold her gaze, waiting for her to respond. The proximity between you two is almost too much for you to handle, but you don’t move, keeping your hand above her head. You feel as though your mind is playing tricks on you when you notice how her eyes flicker to your lips. 

You want to lean in and close the invisible barrier that separates you both. You want to know the taste of her chapstick, what it would be like to finally cross that line between just friends and something more. Megan bites her lip and looks into your eyes, and for a brief moment, you think this would be the moment you would find out. 

But, when she grabs you by the shirt, it isn’t to kiss you. She pulls you away from the door and drags you back into your room with a huff. “I guess I’ll borrow this one then.” She announces, letting go of your shirt. “I’ll wait for you in the living room so you can find another shirt.” She doesn’t wait for your reply as she walks out of your room, slamming the door shut behind her, and leaves you dazed by the events that just occurred. 

You shake your head, berating yourself for thinking how attractive she looks when she’s angry. 

After that day, though, you find it becoming more unbearable being around Megan when she becomes upset. 

First, it was subtle. You thought the change in her behavior was due to the higher demand for effort in practice. With the College Cup now being a week away, your coach has been pushing everyone to their limit. It was as if you were eating and sleeping soccer, not ever getting the chance to do anything but practice. It has taken a substantial toll on you physically and mentally, and Megan losing her shit with you every five seconds was not helping your case. 

But it doesn’t become lost on you that it only ever happens when your captain is around. 

Megan would be fine before Sophia shows up to tell you something or, God forbid, finds out through another teammate that you and the captain spent time together the day before. It was taking everything in you to continue being patient with the goalie. Still, you can’t help but feel it was becoming somewhat unfair. She would often not speak to you, ignoring you for the rest of practice. Off the field, you found your texts to the girl becoming unanswered, and your regular sleepovers would be rainchecked because, in her words, “School sucks! Can’t hang!” 

It’s driving you insane, and you begin to feel afraid for the future of your friendship. You try to brush it off, telling yourself that it will solve itself once the season is finally over. But you can’t help the bitterness you feel when you see the goalie interacting with the others on the team, watching her smile and laugh with them as if you weren’t five feet away. You know you’re jealous, and you know it’s irrational, but if Megan gets to talk to everyone, why couldn’t you talk to Sophia? 

A million questions run through your mind as you continue getting ready for practice, stretching your legs even though they will ache painfully anyway. You become so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even notice Sophia taking a seat next to you on the bench. She bumps your shoulder with hers, and you snap your head toward her, smiling apologetically when you realize. “Shit, sorry.” You say, rubbing the back of your neck. 

She waves you off and tilts her head in curiosity. “You okay?” She asks, placing a hand on your shoulder to provide you some sort of comfort. However, it doesn’t work as well when it isn’t Megan– she’s able to put you at ease effortlessly, and it makes you want to rip your hair out. 

You look at your captain and nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah. I’m just fucking tired.” A weak chuckle escapes your lips, and Sophia pats you on the back, taking your word for it. She gets up from the bench and stretches her arms before extending a hand to you. You take it, allowing her to pull you up from your seat. You’re about to thank her, but your coach blows her whistle, letting you know it’s time to start. A sigh escapes your lips as you walk alongside Sophia to the center of the field. By the time you’re there, you zone out, glancing at Megan, who stands across from you. 

She listens attentively to your coach, nodding her head to everything she says. There’s a smudge of dirt under her chin, and you wish you could walk over to her and wipe it off. A part of you also wishes she would look in your direction, at least acknowledge your existence. It doesn’t feel right – the tension between the two of you. But there hasn’t been a single opportunity to fix it. You try to pay attention to your coach, but you can’t stop thinking about the brunette. You’re only pulled out of your thoughts when you hear the whistle blow again, grounding you back to reality. You look around for a moment and try to piece together what the drill could be. 

Sophia saves you, though, grabbing your wrist to pull you along with her. “Coach told us to practice crossing with each other,” She tells you, and you let out a sigh of relief. That’s easy enough. However, she speaks again, filling you in on the other part of the drill. “Megan will be in goal too. She has to practice diving.” 

Fuck. 

It was going well at first. 

But then suddenly, it wasn’t. 

You run into the locker room with determination, following Megan, who tries to get as far away from you as possible. She avoids your eyes as she makes a beeline toward the exit, but you manage to stop her by grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the door. “Megan, what the fuck is going on with you?” You ask, slightly breathless from chasing the girl. 

“Let me go, Y/n.” She demands, ignoring your question. You shake your head and grip her wrist tighter as she tries to break free from your grasp. Not only do you want answers for yourself, but for the sake of the entire team. The way everyone watched as you two argued on the field, spitting at each other like you weren’t best friends, filled you with anxiety over the reality of the situation. This wasn’t like you and Megan at all. The past month was nothing like it usually is. You’re desperate at this point to get to the bottom of it, and you know the rest of the team thinks the same. 

Megan rolls her eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Y/n, you’re making a big deal out of nothing!” She yells, and you flinch at the volume of her voice. 

However, you stand your ground. You squint at her as you shout back, matching her volume. “That wasn’t nothing, Megan! You fucking crashed out on me when I was just trying to help!” She gapes at your words and finally frees herself from your grip, snatching her arm away from you despite your efforts to keep her from leaving.  

Unexpectedly, though, she pushes you away, almost knocking you into one of the lockers. You widen your eyes at her, and you can’t help the way your heart beats rapidly in your chest as she steps closer to you with narrowed eyes. “You call that helping?!” She asks incredulously. Megan points a finger at you angrily and continues, her voice growing louder, “You were flirting with Sophia the entire fucking time! You gave me no fucking help!” You open your mouth to respond, but you quickly close it, knowing if you don’t calm down, you will say something you’ll regret. 

You decide to step away from Megan, taking a sharp breath. You manage to tell her, “I was not flirting with Sophia,” as you try to keep your composure. However, Megan lets out a sarcastic laugh that fills with more frustration than before. 

She inches closer to you again as if challenging you to continue talking. “You’ve been flirting with her for the last six months,” She spits, the bitterness dripping from her tone. “Stop playing in my fucking face.” 

You push her away forcibly, finally hitting your breaking point with Megan. “Oh! My god!” You shout at her. Tears start to form in your eyes as you run your hands through your hair. “Why is me being around Sophia bothering you so fucking much?!” You challenge back, waving your hands around frantically. Megan scoffs at your words, rubbing her face with her hands in evident agitation toward you. But you don’t let up, doubling down on your question. “Why does it make you so upset if I am flirting with Sophia?! Why does that even matter to–” 

The brunette cuts you off suddenly. “Because I’m fucking in love with you!” She screams. You freeze at the sudden confession, and you feel as though the wind was knocked right out of you. She stares at you helplessly as her chest rises with every ragged breath she takes. You watch as she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes tightly before continuing, “You fucking dense moron— I’m in love with you, okay?!” Her voice is shaky with every word, bowing her head as if to hide her face from you.

The anger you felt previously begins to melt away as you stand there, your lips trembling due to the whirlwind of emotions you’re currently experiencing. You take a step forward, your hand reaching out to her, but she quickly turns around and runs out of the locker room before you can respond to her. You make a move to follow her, but you feel stuck in place, the fear of losing everything all at once consuming you. Your tears roll against your cheek, and you wipe them away with your hands furiously, angry at yourself for being a fucking coward. 

You decide to walk back out on the field. If there is anything to lose, it’s not going to be this. 

It’s been a whole week since you last spoke to Megan, but it might as well have felt like forever. 

You’ve tried to reach her, but she avoids your attempts at confrontation. The only times you ever see her now is at practice, and even then, time is limited. By the time it’s over, she’s gone in a blink of an eye. The team notices the change in your dynamic, but they don’t push either of you in fear of ruining the chances at winning the College Cup. They all decide it’s a conversation for later, but right now, there’s no time for reconciliation. 

Everyone wants to win, and everyone knows that you, out of everybody else, want to win more than anything. 

But even you aren’t sure what that means at this point.

Before you know it, you find yourself during the final half of the College Cup, and the score is tied. With only 20 minutes left, you and the rest of your offense try your hardest to end the game in a victory.

And you are way too exhausted to go into overtime. So, you really hope that won’t be the case. 

Yunjin takes possession of the ball, running it down the field. You notice the way the other team continues to put pressure on her, and it would be a matter of time before it becomes too much. You quicken your pace, getting to an open space for her to complete a quick pass. You raise your hand in the air, calling out to Yunjin frantically. She spots you, nodding her head before passing the ball. You run to it, successfully taking it into your possession to get it closer to the goal. It’s so close, and you know Sophia would be there to bring it home. 

You look up, looking for the Filipina, but she is nowhere to be found. Panic begins to settle in your body when you realize she’s been outnumbered by the other team’s defense. You try taking the ball further down the field, looking around for an open pass, but at this point, you’d be offsides. Before you can react, an opponent slide tackles you beneath your feet, and you stumble, almost falling face-first into the ground. Dread overcomes your body as you turn around, sprinting back to your side as hard as your legs allow. Your muscles ache with every step you take, and you can feel yourself running out of gas. 

Your eyes follow the opponent, and she’s able to drive the ball past your offense and into the goalbox. You freeze, realizing this could be the end of everything you ever worked for. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch the play unfold before your eyes, the opponent winding up for the shot. However, Megan reacts quickly and dives for the ball in a last-minute attempt to stop it from hitting the net. 

She saves it. But not without a price. 

Your legs move automatically as you hurry to your best friend, who lies on the ground in pain. Her hands cover her head as if to hold herself together. By the time you’re there, your coach is kneeling next to Megan with the on-field medic by her side. Your eyes widen in horror as you realize there’s blood pouring from the goalie’s nose, and you act on instinct, getting on your knees to get a closer look. “Megan!” You shout, your voice wavering in fear. 

Your coach turns to you and places a hand on your shoulder. “Y/n. You need to get back.” She commands you. But you stay where you are, watching as the medic helps Megan sit up. There’s a dazed look in her eyes, but you’re relieved to see that she’s at least conscious. Megan looks at you briefly before groaning at the pain, falling limp in the medic’s arms. You immediately reach out to her, but your coach holds you back, gripping your shoulders and forcing you to face her. “Y/n! Y/n. You need to calm down and get back to the game. She’s gonna be okay.” You shake your head frantically, needing to be by Megan’s side. 

Tears fall from your eyes as you struggle in her grasp helplessly. “No! Sub me out, I can’t just leave her.” But your coach doesn’t take no for an answer. Your attempts at fighting are futile as Megan is assisted off the field by the medic. You stand to your feet, and before you can walk off, your coach grabs you again, stopping you in your tracks.

“You are taking the free kick. You’ll be able to see her after the game, okay? But you need to keep your head in this game.” There’s a soft yet firm look in your coach’s eyes, and you bite your lip, a pit in your stomach that you can’t ignore. She pats you on the shoulder before jogging off the field. The referee takes the ball and places it on the ground; he takes a step back and waits for you to get into position. Your legs shake as you walk up to the ball, thoughts of Megan invading every part of your mind. This is your chance to get it back to your side. There’s every opportunity around you, so many possibilities open for you to pass to. 

You take a deep breath and look around, but your eyes fall on the person who injured Megan. She smirks at you, and the worry you felt before is now replaced with rage. You watch as she smiles and leans closer to her teammate, who stands next to her, whispering words she thought you wouldn’t be able to hear. 

“Their goalie fucking sucked anyway.” 

At the sound of the whistle, you forget any other play in your head. You pick the ball up quickly, throwing it at the girl’s head with all the force you could muster. 

“You did what?!” Megan exclaims, slapping your arm harshly. She sits a top the treatment table and holds an icepack to her head, conscious as ever. 

You sit in the rolling chair next to her and wince, rubbing the area she hit. “Do I have to say it again?” You ask weakly, looking at her with a sheepish smile. She rolls her eyes and leans back against the table, gazing at you in exasperation. 

“Probably! Because I can’t believe you’d do something that stupid!” She quips. Megan looks away from you and sighs, resting her hand on her stomach. You stay silent, not wanting to stress the goalie out even more. Your gaze shifts away from her and onto the ground as you reach up, grabbing the hand that’s on her torso. A small smile forms on your lips as you feel her lace your fingers together, holding your hand tightly. She breaks the silence, whispering, “What if you get kicked off the team? I mean– that’s pretty serious…” You notice the uncertainty in her voice, and you can only shrug, not knowing what your actions could mean. 

Your eyes stay on the ground as you reply, “I didn’t get that far.” She chuckles at your words and rubs her thumb against the back of your hand, putting you at ease. You think about Megan’s words from a week ago, and you suddenly frown, remembering that you’re still in a very precarious situation with the girl. You’re unsure if you should even bring it up, especially when Megan could most likely have a concussion. A war begins to rage inside your head as you both sit in a deafening silence. 

Megan then speaks up quietly, her voice the gentlest it has been in a while, “Is it dumb?” You look up at her, confused by what she’s referring to. She bites her lip and finally, finally looks at you. “Is it dumb that I thought maybe… You might’ve loved me back?” She asks, tears springing to her eyes. Your eyes soften at her words, and that feeling in your chest you get every time Megan is around comes back to life. It beats loudly, and if you could hear it, you’re sure it would be the most beautiful sound. 

You squeeze her hand gently as you reply, a chuckle escaping your lips. “I think it’s dumb that you thought I didn’t love you back.” 

Thanks to Sophia, the team wins the College Cup by one point. 

And thanks to you, the entire team has to run sprints for the entirety of practice. 

But as you walk onto the field with Megan’s hand in yours, it doesn’t seem that bad. 

“Everyone is gonna kill you when they see you, you know?” You roll your eyes in response to her words, scoffing loudly. 

“They’ll be fine. We’ve done worse.” You claim, pulling her closer to your side. The brunette smiles at you and rests her head against your shoulder, continuing the walk toward the benches. When you get there, you drop your bag onto the ground before wrapping your arms around Megan’s waist, deciding to wait a bit longer before preparing for practice. 

She loops her arms around your neck and looks up at you, her brown eyes shining with happiness. “Are you gonna miss me during practice?” She asks, her hand reaching up to fix a stray strand of hair that pokes out from your headband. 

You chuckle at the question, pretending to think about it for a moment. “How can I miss you when you literally follow me everywhere, Meiyok?” Your words cause her to swat at your shoulder playfully, and you only laugh, holding her tighter in your arms. 

“Don’t be mean to me, I’m concussed.” She whines, pouting up at you cutely. You feel her play with the hairs on the back of your neck, her fingertips dancing against your skin. A warmth resonates throughout your body as you look at your girlfriend. Your girlfriend, Megan Skiendiel, the starting goalkeeper for your university’s women’s soccer team. Your girlfriend, who loves to tease you about everything but loves you nonetheless. Your girlfriend, who drives you crazy every chance she gets. 

She’s your girlfriend, but she’s also your best friend, and that’s more important than any other stupid championship title. 

Megan looks at you curiously, giggling at the dazed look in your eyes. She leans up and whispers, “What are you thinking about?” You stare at her for a moment, a soft smile on your lips. She’s about to ask you again, but you cut her off, pressing your lips against hers. She responds immediately, her hands finding your shoulders and gripping them tightly as she deepens the kiss. The way her lips move against yours makes your head spin, and you can’t believe it has taken you this long to know this feeling. 

The sound of a whistle in the distance makes you both jump away from each other, both your cheeks intensely pink as the rest of your team arrives with your coach. You hear snickering as they pass you, and you can’t help but sigh, knowing you are going to be having an awful time today, especially with Megan being temporarily benched. You smile at Megan sheepishly before bending down in front of your bag to grab your gear. 

As you look through it, you try to stay calm as you begin to frantically shuffle through its contents. 

But, of course, your shinguards are nowhere to be found. 

You look up from your bag and widen your eyes when you see your coach standing in front of you, her eyes looking down at you in disapproval. “Don’t tell me, Y/Ln.” From behind her, you hear Megan let out a quiet snort, and you wish that the ground would just swallow you whole. 

“Can I just say–?” Before you can finish, your coach blows her whistle, shutting you up entirely. 

For 2 hours, you sprint up and down the field. You almost throw up once or twice, but as Megan cheers you on (and teases you endlessly), you still can’t help but think it was all worth it. 

Because, now, Megan knows you love her. And you know she loves you back. 

a/n: IM BACK!!!! hey omg hello i missed u guys so baddd. i hope u all enjoyed my comeback fic :) pls lmk what u think!!! i have a lot more up my sleeve so stay tuned! wips will be updated soon <33333

requests are open

[onsomekindofstartrek]

Like, I don't think this is profoundly feminist or even deep, but I want to write a sci-fi novel that gives older sexist male sci-fi fans the exact experience of being a nerdy teenage girl and reading a Larry Niven novel.

Like, it's not even that it was a failure of progressivism, the way those novels treated women, it's just that you get halfway or less into all these novels and realize that the author is truly incapable of being normal about women, that the aliens are more human than the women in this man's inner world.

I want to create the equivalent for grown-ass men who like Warhammer and Dune. A novel that leaves a forty-five year old libertarian Heinlein fan like... well, that's an amazing vision of the future, but why does the author think I'm... icky?

[gio-cosmo]

He has NO reason to be looking this joyful here 😭

[sassy-bitch-since-2007]

Just saw this TikTok of Cody singing 'Boyfriend Kisser' while there's this imagine of Noah and Emma kissing instead of Gwen and Duncan and omfg

Like, hear me out guys. AU where there's no NoCo, but Cody had at some point a tiny crush on Noah (explains the cuddling in the episode between TDA and TDWT anyway). So, you know. Cody's at home and watches TDRR (mostly because Owen, Noah and Geoff are in it) and then he sees Noah and Emma kissing??? Believe me when I say this guy's been singing 'Boyfriend Kisser' for a full week, annoying literally everyone. Since that kiss you can not mention Emma's name without him starting to sing 'Boyfriend Kisser'. That kiss affected him more than any rejection in his entire life.

[ragnars-tooth]

On fire world rn and I'm losing my shit over Eliza going "david, he killed a man fucking around with time rifts and abandoned us bc he felt kind of bad about it 🤨"

(^eliza, pictured)

[juney-blues]

Clearing up something that no person on this planet has given a shit about since approximately 2012:

G.U.N isn't mistaking Sonic for Shadow in Sonic Adventure 2, they're fucking framing him.

like it's a subtle bit of storytelling, it's not explicit stated as far as i remember. But it's there.

for some reason everyone just takes sonic's word for it when he says this, and then they get really confused because sonic and shadow barely look alike.

But if you think about it for like 5 seconds, sonic is the least qualified person in the story to make this assessment, he doesn't know shit about project S.H.A.D.O.W, he doesn't know who shadow is or anything like that.

the military knows literally of this though, they know EXACTLY what shadow is because they've been keeping him a secret, frozen in their basement for 50 fucking years.

Then suddenly he breaks out and does so many crimes it's insane, and if word got out about this top secret government project they killed an entire space colony full of people to get their hands on, they'd be fucked, they don't want that to happen, so they throw their hands up and go "uhh it's probably this blue fucker who runs fast and does ecoterrorism. it's that guy who did all those crimes and we need to arrest him and kill him probably, please for the love of god don't look up what happened on the ark"

basically sonic's wrong as shit and sometimes in stories characters say things that aren't true because they don't know better

if you'll allow me to be a weirdo who gives far more weight to the narrative element of these children's video games where funny cartoon animals jump around, sometimes you gotta read between the lines

[coltcassidyy]

Starfire inspired male reader x mark and his variants 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Absolutely cause this is fire. Probably gonna write head canons for this cause I suck

Also the only ever starfire related media I’ve consumed is um teen titans go so bear with me here.

Tw : some nsfw? Or suggestiveness. A little tiny bit of rough stuff (mentions of possessiveness, manhandling)

Starfire inspired male reader x mark and his variants

Mainstream mark

At first he was kinda … weirded out by you. It was odd, a random person from a random planet just coming to earth for no reason, barely accustomed to the human culture (ok man)

But you grew on him, and fast. Sometimes he thinks it’s hilarious, how you talk, how you act, how you ... just, behave in general, sometimes he considers taunting you but that’s too cruel

Fucking died laughing at your grammar it’s so funny to him

Sometimes finds it kinda hard to keep up with your optimism. He loves you for it, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes he gets genuinely confused on how you can see the bright side of everything. It never fails to cheer him up whenever he’s down

LOVES how possessive you can be at times. It makes him feel loved, and with everything that’s happened to him, he doesn’t mind if the reminder is a little rough

He likes teaching you how to cook too. Mark’s a mama’s boy, and his mama’s an amazing cook. He shows you most of her recipes, even some he’s made himself (even though they aren’t as good as his mom’s, you still praise him to the moon and back). He likes how intimate cooking together can be, and he loves teaching you things about humans and their customs

DEFINITELY made you read seance dog, or some of his other comics. Sometimes he gets a little excited and geeks out to you about comics, sometimes comparing the both of you to his favorite comic couples, even one time getting the idea to make a comic based on the both of you. But ultimately, and unfortunately, his hands were a bit full.

He 100% taught you how to kiss and it was 100% awkward and giggly and silly fun fun

Sinister mark

Oh this guy hated you bruh

Genuinely wanted to rip his eyes out when he first met you. Got him on some tweaker shit

But upon your second interaction (more so, him watching you fight a villain with less than / equal to strength than you, and winning), got him bricked like a mad man

Went home and jerked his shit I promise you

Also thinks your language (?) barrier is hilarious. But unlike mainstream mark, he isn’t afraid to be mean about it. Just straight up mocks you sometimes. He thinks that because of your speech pattern that you’re dumber than him, less than him and that gets him going

Gets him going. To his bedroom so he can jerk off. Get it

Sometimes he says or does shit to intentionally piss you off just cause it gets a kick out of him watching you try to convey anger with that ‘silly accent’

Bruh’s just a dick

Can you tell sinister mark isn’t my favorite

Full mask mark ( I came here to find mom and bring her back with me )

His heart stopped when he first saw you. He Thought (knew) you where the prettiest boy he has ever had the fortune to lay his eyes upon

He’d bring you little gifts under the guise of ‘teaching you human culture’. Things like bringing you flowers ( “humans do this for one another to express gratitude” ), little snacks that he knows you like ( “this is an example of how humans show each other that they care about one another’s well being, by bringing them food, nutrients” ), or even occasionally one of his sweaters or shirts ( “this is to show I trust you with my belongings” ), hoping you’ll return the favor.

This man is a yearner, a lover. Before the both of you were even romantically involved, he’d come flying to your window and begging for attention after every fight like a kicked puppy (I mean, it’s not too far off).

So soft, so gentle with you like he thinks you’ll break if he handles you too rough.

Unlike the other marks, he doesn’t think you’re stupid for your accent. He thinks it’s beautiful and unique, and on a particularly good day, he’s telling you how much he loves your voice.

Sometimes he sits you down and makes you talk to him about your day purely because he loves your accent so much.

He lets you take control the first time you two have sex. He tries to teach you and talk you through it, but it’s hard to understand what he’s saying when he’s whimpering and moaning between syllables. But you aren’t complaining! The sound is music to your ears.

Straight up GOONED when he saw you fight for the first time. Seeing how tough you are, and how capable you are in meanings of self-defense and attack— it made him feel 100x more safe around you.

Viltrumite mark

At first, he only saw you as a compatible mate. A way to grow the viltrumite empire.

But boy, he fell in love. And he fell hard.

Being a viltrumite, and knowing nothing about foreign culture, especially Tamarian, it was a struggle for him to show affection towards you at first.

But he grew, and he learned. From longing ( and kinda creepy ) stares and brief touches, to sweet kisses that linger warmth for hours on end and gentle words of reassurance and love. Gentle, in public, at least

When the two of you are alone is when he can really prove his love to you.

Sex with him is downright filthy— messy. He’s a viltrumite, he has high stamina, and he’s cumming as many times as he sees fit.

Even if you can’t biologically get pregnant, it doesn’t stop him from trying. What’s a man for hoping?

He’s pressing your thighs down to the bed and thrusting in you like there’s no tomorrow, muttering filth in your ear about how he longs to see you carrying his young— how pretty you’d look with a little bump in your tummy, how warm and soft and absolutely fucking delicious you are and how he’s so thankful to have claimed you when he had the chance.

Kinda like full mask mark, he’s a lover. Like I said earlier, he might be less lovey-dovey in public, but you have to trust that after he learns how, he’s showering you in affection

It’s constant praise, little gifts he gets you that he knows remind you of Tamaran, sometimes even having your planet’s traditional cultural meals cooked up.

He’s kinda stupid though. At one point he tried to get you involved in like some ‘proper English’ class thingy and you took it as an insult and you locked yourself in the bathroom for a little. Quite hilarious

(( sorry this was kinda ass and I didn’t do a lot of variants. If you like this, I can make a part 2 ))

[reiding-writing]

who needs a valentine when we have cold!reader and Spencer kissing on the 14th

𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

spencer thinks you’re too reckless sometimes. too impulsive. you don’t exactly prove him wrong.

s9!spencer x cold!reader ❅ 3.4k ❅ cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

A/N | and thus, the romance arc begins. the amount of requests for this is so funny 😭

The air is thick with tension as the team moves through the abandoned office, the only sounds the distant creak of shifting metal and the quiet shuffle of boots against concrete.

Flashlight beams slice through the dim light, illuminating dust swirling in the air. The unsub is here. You know it like you know the feeling of a storm coming—an electric charge beneath your skin, a pull in your gut.

Your grip on your gun is steady, but your pulse thrums with anticipation. You keep your breathing measured, sharp eyes scanning the shadowed corners of the room.

The others are moving carefully, methodically, sticking to protocol. Spencer had warned you earlier, voice low but insistent: “Please don’t take unnecessary risks. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

He worries too much. It’s something you’ve come to expect from him, but it gnaws at you differently than when others do it. With Spencer, it’s not condescending or dismissive—it’s genuine. He cares, and that unsettles you more than it should.

Which is exactly why you ignored him.

Movement flickers at the edge of your vision. A shadow slipping through a half-open door at the far end of the office space. Your instincts scream at you to move. To act. The others are too far behind; if you wait, the unsub could disappear.

You don’t hesitate.

“Going left,” you mutter into your comms, but you don’t stop to explain further. You slip through the doorway, gun raised, ignoring the sharp crackle of your earpiece as Spencer’s voice comes through.

"Wait— Don’t go in alone—”

But you’re already inside.

The room is colder than the rest of the building, the air thick with the metallic tang of rust and something else—something sharper. It’s nearly pitch dark, the only light filtering in through a broken window near the ceiling. Your heartbeat is steady, controlled, but your muscles coil tight, ready to spring.

A shift. A whisper of movement.

Then—

Pain.

A white-hot sting tears through your side before you fully register what’s happened. Your breath hitches as you stumble back, your free hand instinctively pressing to your ribs. It comes away slick with blood.

Shit.

Your body reacts before your brain catches up. You fire—once, twice—and the gunshots are deafening in the enclosed space. The figure in front of you jerks and collapses, the dull thud of their body hitting the ground barely registering through the rush of blood in your ears.

The room tilts slightly. The pain sharpens. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you, but you grit your teeth and straighten, forcing yourself to stay upright.

Then—footsteps. Fast, urgent.

A second later, Spencer bursts into the room.

“Oh my god— We need a medic in here!”

His voice is tight, breathless, as he skids to a stop in front of you. His eyes, wide with panic, dart from your face to the growing stain on your shirt. And then he’s moving, closing the distance in an instant, dropping to his knees beside you before you can so much as protest.

His hands replace yours, pressing down on the wound, and you hiss at the sharp pressure.

“Jesus, Reid,” you bite out, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.

“It’s fine,” you grit through clenched teeth, but even you can hear the slight tremor in your voice.

“Fine?” His voice cracks, his breath coming fast, like he’s been running. “You’re bleeding, and you—God, why would you go after him alone?”

You try to roll your eyes, but the action is weaker than you intend. “He’s down, isn’t he?”

Spencer lets out a sharp breath, and you catch the way his jaw clenches, the flicker of something dark and unreadable in his eyes. His fingers press harder against your side, grounding you, keeping you here.

“You could have died—” His voice is lower now, rougher, and it makes something twist uncomfortably in your chest.

You try to scoff, to deflect. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s not funny.”

You freeze.

His voice is raw. Unsteady. And when you meet his eyes, you see something there that you don’t want to see—something that makes the air between you feel too heavy, too charged.

You’ve seen Spencer worried before, but this is different. This is something deeper. Something dangerous.

And for a moment, it’s just the two of you.

His hands are warm, firm but careful. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the slight tremor in his fingers despite the pressure he’s applying to your wound.

He’s afraid.

Not in the way most people would be. Not in the way someone fears losing a teammate.

It’s different with him.

And that realisation sends something cold through your chest.

You should push him away. Should tell him to back off, that you don’t need him fussing over you like this. But your head is light, and the pain is making you sluggish, and his hands are keeping you steady in a way that you don’t want to think too hard about.

So, for once, you don’t fight it.

Just for a moment.

Then, the rest of the team rushes in, and the fragile thing between you shatters.

—

The hotel room feels too small. Too bright. Too loud.

You shouldn’t be here—you should still be in the hospital, technically—but the second the doctor said you were stable enough for discharge, you signed the damn papers and got out of there.

You don’t do hospitals. They make you feel trapped, restless, like you’re waiting for something to go wrong. So you took the out, ignored the side-eye from the nurse, and made your way back to the hotel with nothing but a few high-grade painkillers and a warning to take it easy.

Right. Like that was going to happen.

Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, stiff and exhausted, you’re starting to regret it. Not because of the pain—you’ve had worse. Not because of the exhaustion—you can push through it.

But because Spencer won’t stop hovering.

He’s been like this since you walked through the door, tracking your every move with sharp, restless eyes. He won’t sit down, won’t even lean against the desk or the wall—he just stands there, pacing slightly, rubbing his fingers together in that nervous habit of his.

And worst of all? He hasn’t stopped talking.

"You can’t keep doing this,” he says again, voice tight. “One day, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

You sigh, forcing yourself to keep your expression blank. Here we go.

“I’m fine,” you say, each word clipped and deliberate. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

“That’s not the point.”

There’s something sharp in his voice now, an edge you don’t hear often. Spencer doesn’t yell—not really—but this is worse. His frustration is controlled, simmering just under the surface, and it makes your skin prickle in a way you don’t like.

“The point,” he continues, stepping closer, hands moving in short, tense gestures, “is that you ran into a room alone, without backup, without knowing what you were up against—”

“I knew enough,” you cut in, irritation flaring.

Spencer lets out a short, incredulous laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Enough? Enough that you got stabbed?”

His voice rises slightly at the end, and you swear there’s something like desperation in it.

You exhale through your nose, gripping the edge of the bed. Breathe. Keep your cool. You don’t want to fight with him.

Except, maybe you do.

Maybe it would be easier to push him away, to make him angry enough to stop looking at you like that—like you matter too much. Like you scared him.

“I got nicked.” you say, your voice flat. “That’s part of the job, Reid. We all take risks.”

“This wasn’t just a risk,” he snaps, eyes flashing with something dangerously close to anger. “It was reckless.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re not my minder, Reid.”

His jaw tightens. His whole body goes tense, like he’s holding something back.

“Then stop making me feel like I have to be—”

The words hit you harder than the knife had.

You inhale sharply, but he doesn’t give you a chance to recover.

“Do you even realise how bad it could have been?” he presses, voice lower now, but no less intense. “How bad it was?”

You clench your jaw.

“I know exactly how bad it was,” you say, quieter now, your voice cold. “I was there.”

But he won’t let it go.

He keeps talking, keeps pushing, listing every single thing that could have gone wrong, every possible outcome that ends with you bleeding out on the floor, and it’s too much.

You can’t breathe past the weight of it.

It’s overwhelming—the concern, the intensity, the way he’s looking at you like you’re something fragile. Like you’re something he can’t lose.

Like you matter.

You don’t want to hear it.

You just want him to stop.

But he just keeps talking.

His voice is insistent, sharp with frustration but frayed at the edges with something softer, something worse. He’s listing probabilities now, rattling off numbers and percentages like they’re supposed to mean something to you.

Like hearing that there was a 42.7% chance of you bleeding out before medics arrived is going to make you rethink everything.

But it’s not the numbers that get to you.

It’s him.

It’s the way his voice wavers, just slightly, like he’s fighting to keep it steady. The way his hands won’t stay still, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them. The way his eyes are burning into you, dark and unreadable, except for one thing:

He’s scared.

And you don’t know how to handle that.

The worry in his expression is like a weight on your chest, pressing down hard enough to make it difficult to breathe. It’s too much—his voice, his eyes, the intensity of it all. He won’t stop talking, won’t stop pushing, won’t stop caring—

And you can’t take another second of it.

So you do the one thing that will shut him up.

You kiss him.

It happens so fast, you don’t have time to process it. One second, he’s standing in front of you, mid-sentence, his mouth forming words you don’t want to hear, and then your hands are gripping his face, and your lips are on his, and—

Everything stops.

Spencer goes completely still. Not just still—frozen. His breath catches, his entire body tensing like he’s just been short-circuited.

For the first time since this whole damn argument started, there’s silence.

No words. No numbers. No probabilities.

Just you. And him. And the space where your lips meet.

For a fleeting, desperate second, you think it might actually work. That maybe this is enough to make it stop.

Then, the weight of what you just did slams into you.

Your breath stutters as reality crashes down around you, as you realise that the heat of his skin is real, that his hands have curled slightly at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to push you away or pull you closer.

You pull back abruptly, your fingers slipping from his jaw as you take a step back, your heart hammering against your ribs.

But Spencer doesn’t move.

He just—stares.

Wide-eyed. Breath uneven. Lips parted like he’s trying to form words but can’t quite find them.

Like he doesn’t quite believe it happened.

And the worst part?

You don’t know what the hell to do next.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, too loud in your ears, and every instinct in your body is screaming at you to retreat, to put the walls back up and pretend nothing happened. Pretend it was just some mistake, some impulsive thing you did in the heat of the moment.

It was just a kiss, right?

That’s what you’ll tell yourself. That’s what you have to tell yourself.

Your fingers tremble as you step back, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You can already feel the walls sliding back into place, the emotional armour rising to shield you from whatever this is. From the mess you just created.

You weren’t supposed to care this much about Spencer. You weren’t supposed to let yourself get wrapped up in him—not when your instincts always screamed at you to push people away, to keep things simple, to keep yourself safe. But now, standing here in the wake of your impulsive decision, you feel anything but safe.

And that terrifies you.

But before you can finish shoving the walls back up, before you can even start to deflect or pretend it didn’t mean anything—he moves.

It’s almost too fast, a blur of motion that catches you off guard. One second, you’re standing there, heart still hammering, and the next, Spencer is right there in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that pins you to the spot.

You barely have time to think before he closes the distance again and kisses you—again.

But this time, it’s different.

This kiss is slow, deliberate. It’s not impulsive, not reactionary, not a desperate attempt to silence the chaos between you.

This time, it’s a choice. His choice.

His lips move against yours with purpose, as though he’s trying to tell you something with every brush of his mouth, something he couldn’t say before. Something you’re too scared to hear.

And for a second, you want to pull away. You want to tell him this was a mistake, that you don’t have time for this, for the complication, for the mess that’s swirling between you both. But your body won’t listen to your mind. It won’t let you run this time.

Instead, you lean into it.

You let your hands reach for him, sliding up his chest to rest against his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath the fabric of his shirt. The kiss deepens, and you realise with a sinking feeling that you’re not pulling away because you don’t want this—you’re pulling away because you do.

Because you knew. You knew this was inevitable.

This moment, this connection, this tension between you both that’s been building for so long, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in every glance, in every touch that lingered a second too long.

You’ve both ignored it, buried it under layers of professional distance, under the constant chatter and the mission-driven focus that keeps you moving forward.

But it doesn’t work anymore.

You can’t ignore it anymore.

And as his lips press against yours, as you finally, fully allow yourself to feel what’s been there all along, you realise that there’s no going back from this.

The world feels like it’s holding its breath as you separate, suspended in the space between you both. Neither of you speaks for a long, heavy moment.

There’s a tension now, a thick, unspoken understanding that pulses between you, a thread that has always been there, but now it’s too palpable to ignore. You can’t pretend like it’s not there anymore.

His hands are still on you, a soft warmth, but not quite enough to distract from the fire that lingers in the air. His fingertips hover at your waist, just shy of touching, as though he’s afraid if he holds you too tightly, something will break—something more than the fragile tension that’s just been shattered.

You’re still so close. So close to something you’re not sure you can name.

You pull away slowly, reluctantly, when your body reminds you of the injury. It’s a sharp, jarring pain—nothing too severe, but enough to make your muscles protest, enough to make you wince and break the moment.

You’re trying to hide it, but the slight catch in your breath gives you away. Spencer’s gaze sharpens immediately, eyes flicking down to your side, where the bandage is just barely visible under your shirt.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice quieter now, as if he’s finally realising the full weight of the situation. His hand moves to your elbow, guiding you carefully down to the bed, but not without a lingering touch. His fingers brush against your skin just a little too long, a quiet caress that makes your pulse spike again.

You sit down with a soft sigh, the sharp throb in your side a welcome distraction from the mess of feelings still swirling inside you. You try to focus on your breathing, but Spencer is still standing there, just a few inches away, looking at you like you’ve just cracked the universe wide open.

Your eyes meet, and his expression is a mix of something you can’t quite place—concern, sure, but there’s something else there. Something that burns hotter, deeper, just beneath the surface.

He doesn’t speak at first. He just watches you, like he’s waiting for you to do something. Maybe waiting for you to tell him this was a mistake, or to push him away again, or to tell him it didn’t mean anything.

But you don’t say anything. Neither of you do.

And then, as if testing the weight of the silence between you, he speaks your name—just your name, soft and careful, like he’s unsure of how to even say it after everything that’s happened.

It’s barely a whisper, like he’s afraid of what will happen if he says it too loudly. Or maybe he’s just unsure of what to do with the name now that it’s hanging in the air, heavy with the implications of everything you’ve just shared.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking away from his, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself. The walls you’d worked so hard to put up feel like they’ve crumbled, but you’re too proud—or too scared—to admit it.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, as though trying to gauge how much of you is still the same, how much has shifted.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you look at him, at the softness in his expression, the way he’s waiting for you to tell him what happens next. And in that moment, it’s impossible to pretend this didn’t happen, that things are just fine, that the walls you’ve so carefully built around yourself are still in place.

Because they’re not.

This—whatever this is—is real. And it’s not going away.

So you exhale, steadying yourself, and look back at him, finally allowing yourself to face what’s there between you. “Yeah,” you say, voice quiet, but steady. “I’m okay, I’m fine—”

But whatever happens next, there’s one thing you know for sure:

You can’t pretend this didn’t happen.

Not when everything between you has shifted so suddenly, so irrevocably. Not when you’re feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been in your life, and the weight of Spencer’s gaze is both comforting and terrifying.

“I think I need to lie down,”

“Yeah—” Spencer nods a little too quickly, hesitating before helping you under the sheets. “Yeah of course, I’ll uh— come and check on you in a few hours,”

You press your lips together, the phantom sensation of his still present. “Thanks,”

[thinkinonsense]

forgive if it’s a bit scatterbrained but hear me out… some sort of reverse corruption w old man!logan >///< i just feel like he won’t be the type of guy who’d immediately be into having a thing w young!reader. i feel like he won’t even take it seriously at first or there’s def gonna be more resistance from him, he’d probably feel initially repulsed by the idea of even beginning to think of them that way given how young they are. but reader is bold bold, so they’re gonna keep pushing and pushing until they’ve got him where they want him. but even if she’s practically sinking down on him, logan is still probably gonna be like “fuck’s wrong with you, huh? old enough to be your fucking grandfather, kid. c’mon, you don’t really want this.”

poor old man’s just too decent for his own good :(

old man!logan x young bold fem!reader *mdni

logan couldn't stand you. how young and ambitious you were; how you couldn't just take no as a fuckin' answer. you thought it was cute but logan found it rather obnoxious. you were persistent with your attraction towards the older man; frequenting the only bar in town that logan was still welcomed in.

"what are we drinking tonight, lo?" your voice was a siren song that he wished he could turn off.

"whiskey." he mumbles against the glass.

the mean glare he sent your way would've made anyone else run in fear, but not you. instead smiling up at him with bambi eyes. at first, logan thought you were just dumb, not picking up on his signals but as it turned out, you're just stubborn.

every friday night, you sat on the stool next to him. you should've been flirting with guys your age by the pool table but no, you would rather get rejected by the old man who drinks alone. at one point even the bartenders started to think that you two were together which logan quickly shut down.

"c'mon, at least let me pretend that i'm yours," you whine, swirling around your second fruity drink tonight.

"you don't want to 'be mine', kid," he said in a stern voice, similar to one you would use on a child who won't behave.

"aaand...why not?" you ask him, crossing your arms and already getting pissy. "don't gimme that bullshit about you being 'too old' either."

"has anyone ever told you that you're-"

"pretty? hilarious? tight? yeah, a few times actually."

logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. he tries to give you some sympathy but there's only so many times that you can burn your hand on the stove until you learn your lesson.

"look, cherry..." logan sets his glass down. you adored when he called you, cherry because that meant he was paying attention to you and what you drank, always having to top it off with a cherry. "i'm probably your grandfather's age-"

"don't care." you interrupt him, leaning forward to stare into his eyes and run a hand through his hair. "your grey hair is so hot, lo. should let me pull on it sometime."

logan was finding it more difficult to resist you. almost letting out a groan when you pull slightly. logan could smell your arousal forming; clouding his vision.

"why don't you throw your panties in someone else's direction, huh? i'm sure those boys over there wouldn't mind." logan snarls, getting fed up with your attitude.

it wasn't that he didn't find you attractive, quite the opposite really. maybe if he was younger or you were older then he wouldn't mind your flirty personality so much but that's not the way that the world works. logan is -whether or not he wants to admit it- old and he didn't have time to put up with your whiney shit.

"okay." you shrug, getting up from the barstool.

logan doesn't believe that you'll actually go talk to those boys. in one minute your ass will be back here annoying him. he was sure of it.

then ten minutes passed and giggles were still falling from your lips. nothing the guys said was actually funny but you played it up to look better. there was one guy who you actually didn't mind talking to; both of you went to the same college and shared the same major. for a second, you'd completely forgotten about the man burning holes into your side.

the two of you talked for a while, exchanging stories while you leaned against the pool table in your tiny cut-off shorts. logan watched those boys gawk at you; staring everywhere but your face.

"i know right! her class was horrible! all she did was-" your words fell short when someone grabbed your upper arm, attempting to pull you away from the guy, who you think his name was josh, or john, or jake? you couldn't really remember and you definitely didn't care.

"c'mon kid, i'll give you a ride home." logan growled in your ear.

"oh, it's okay!" you chirp like a little bird at him. "think i'll find another way home tonight."

it's just a facade, logan told himself. you were just trying to prove a point. always stubborn.

"i'm not messing 'round, kid-"

"leave her alone, old man." the kid interrupted, giving logan a push.

logan snarls, about to teach this boy a lesson but you are faster; heel-kicking him in the nuts. the boy hunched over, allowing you to be ear level with him.

"fuck off." you spit, angrily before walking away.

logan looked at you completely dumbfounded. he had no other choice than to follow you blindly outside of the bar. he found you leaning against his truck; under the dim street light, logan would've misplaced you for some angelic figure.

"mind takin' me home, lo?" you ask him, for once not acting like some horny little rabbit towards him.

he nods, fishing out his keys. you give him directions to your apartment. the silence in the car makes you think logan's mad at you for real this time. you pushed it too far, embarrassing him and yourself this time. logan wasn't this dirty old perv who would actually give you the time of day, and maybe it was time for you to face that reality.

"i just wanted to say sorry for everything." your voice is low and quiet. afraid logan won't even acknowledge you. "i know that i should've left you alone a long time ago. you wouldn't want someone like me anyway-"

the car came to a dead halt in the driveway. logan turns to face you and you fear the worst; afraid he will yell at you.

"do you seriously think i wouldn't want you?" he asks. "you haven't left my mind since the day we bumped into each other at the bar and i spilled my whisky down your shirt. remember that, cherry?"

you nod, carefully. that day was imprinted in your mind. your friends and you were celebrating your birthday when logan bumped into you at the bar on accident. he frantically apologized for ruining your white shirt which you suggested for him to lick you clean. it had been so long since someone had flirted with him that he didn't know how to react.

"i'd never seen someone look so pretty and sticky at the same time." logan's hand gently caresses your cheek.

"could've seen it more often if you had fucked me like i wish you would've." the words fall out without pressure, making logan smirk. no matter how much you tried, you were desperate for him.

"you've got one dirty fuckin' mouth, cherry."

"it gets dirtier than that."

"hmm... don't know if that's possible."

"i could show you if you like."

the offer hangs hot in the truck. logan leans back into his seat, asking for forgiveness on what he's about to do. three light taps on his thigh and you crawl right into it.

"atta fuckin' girl, cherry." he groans as you grind against his crotch and bite on his neck.

"also for the record, the only person i want to have my panties is you, logan." you purred in his ear, referring back to your earlier conversation at the bar.

"i know, sweetheart. i know." he chuckles, watching you kick off your shorts and underwear.

once your back in his lap, you unbuckle his belt and wait eagerly for him to have his way with you. yet, logan doesn't offer anything.

"if you want to fuck an old man like me then you need to get used to doin' all the work, cherry." he says, half-joking. "can't keep up with an eager little thing like you."

you knew his game. to scare you off by acting like an asshole but you didn't mind doing the work to get what you want.

"fine with me." you smile, hands inching towards the glasses that hang on his button-down. "can't forget these, want you to see what you do to me."

logan groaned when you pulled him out of his pants, pumping him a few times before aligning him to your entrance. he was a bit bigger than you would've guessed, only making you wetter. just as you are about to sink down onto him, logan stops you, holding your hips in the air.

"fuck's wrong with you, cherry? you still want this, huh?" he taunts you, only getting a whine from you in response. "such a desperate little thing."

"p-p-please, logan." your hips wiggle against his tight grip. "want you... need you."

without another word, he lowers you down onto his length. both of you moan at the adjustment. your nails claw at logan's shoulders and you feel him twitch inside of you at the pain.

"happy now?" logan groaned, watching you bounce up and down on your own. his hands stayed on your waist, squeezing at the fat of your hips. "got what you fuckin' wanted."

"mhm..." you nod along dumbly agreeing to whatever he says. too busy trying to get his white button-down off of him. frustrated, you break open all the buttons.

once his chest was exposed, you litter it with kisses and dark bruises. for the first time, logan was happy that his healing abilities were slowing down so now he can admire your artwork longer. you grab both of his giant palms bringing one hand to your chest and taking the other thumb into your mouth, licking the pad of it before moving it down to your clit. tracing circles in a way that made your head fall back with your mouth wide open.

"do you always get this wet for older men or is it just for me, sweetheart?" logan asked, fist full of your hair.

"j-just you, lo..." you gasp.

logan's lips found your jaw, kissing up to your chin before capturing your lips. he wasn't a fan of fruity drinks but he loved the taste they left in your mouth. your backs against the wheel lazily and logan can tell that your orgasm is approaching.

"don't give up now, cherry." he teased. "you were doing so good, being a perfect little slut in my lap. what happened to her?"

you were too fucked out to say anything back and he knew it. logan finally took pity on you and started pistoling into you, listening to every pretty curse word that fell from your trembling lips.

"where do you want me, sweetheart?" logan grunts in your ear, pulling at the lobe as you come down from your high.

"inside, please."

that's all logan needed to hear to spill inside of you. the warmth indescribably flooded you. the two of you collapse in each other's arms, collecting yourself for a few minutes.

"told you, i'm a good fuck." you told him, looking up at him with messy hair and an unapologetic smile.

"didn't doubt you," he says, mirroring your smile as he moves some pieces of hair from your forehead. maybe logan could see you being a permanent person in his life.

"and to think..." your words drift off as you start to move again, feeling him get hard again inside of you. "we are just getting started."

[littlelovelunette]

Ok PLEASE hear me out but Sevika x reader where Sevika does something really fucked up but she doesn't realize how bad it was and thinks reader is just ignoring her because she's being dramatic and bcs they're both stubborn they don't talk for weeks until Sevika is sick of it and rants to Ran probably and she tells sev like "dude.. you fucked up bad bro" and since Sevika is just so desperate for r's attention she does the most dramatic apology every with flowers, all of r's fav stuff, probably even a hose Ran insisted on holding to make it look like she's in the rain (r notices and says hi to Ran) but um yk if you'd like ofc

Messy But She Tries

Contains angst

Toxic!Sevika x Fem!Reader

The night Sevika betrayed you was the night she proved she didn’t trust you.

It had started with an accusation—one she hadn’t even given you the dignity of hearing first.

Instead, you had walked into The Last Drop to find her sitting at a corner table, drink in hand, watching you like a predator waiting for you to step into the trap.

Her grey eyes had that cold, assessing gleam, the one she used when she was deciding whether or not to throw a punch.

“You got something you want to tell me?” she asked, low and even, but something in her tone made the hair on your arms rise.

“What?” you frowned, stepping closer.

She exhaled, shaking her head like she was disappointed.

“Word is, you’ve been talking to the wrong people. Piltover types. Enforcers.”

You froze. “What?”

Sevika leaned forward, flexing the fingers of her mechanical arm. “Funny, right? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn you weren’t that fucking stupid. But here we are.”

Your stomach turned. “You think I’d—”

“I think you’re gonna tell me the truth before I have to make you.”

And that was the moment. The moment you realized she had already made up her mind.

She wasn’t asking. She wasn’t looking for clarity. She had set a test, and in her mind, you had already failed.

It didn’t matter that you had never even looked at an Enforcer, let alone spoken to one. It didn’t matter that you had stayed at her side, through every close call, every late night, every fucking wound you’d patched up after her fights.

None of it mattered.

“Wow,” you laughed, but it wasn’t funny. It was hollow. Bitter. “So this is what you think of me?”

Sevika didn’t flinch. “I think I need to be careful about who I trust.”

You clenched your jaw. You could see it in her face—the way she was already shutting down, closing herself off like this was just another job.

Another problem she had to eliminate.

“Then don’t,” you said, your voice quiet. “If you think so little of me, don’t trust me. But just so you know, you can take all those allegations of me, stick them up where the sun don't shine. I am done.”

For a second, just a second, you thought she might say something else. That she might take it back. But instead, she picked up her drink and took another slow sip, watching you over the rim.

Cold. Detached. Like she didn’t care.

Like you didn’t matter.

You walked out.

And she let you.

The first few days were the worst.

You kept expecting her to show up. To stop by your place, lean in the doorway with that cocky smirk, and say something half-assed that wasn’t quite an apology but was close enough to mean she wanted things to be okay.

But she never came.

You used to complain about how she smelled like cigar smoke and metal, how her body heat was too much sometimes—but now?

Now the bed felt too big. Too empty.

And she?

She was fine.

“Shit,” Sevika muttered under her breath, slamming her glass onto the bar.

“You’re in a mood tonight,” Ran drawled from her spot beside her. She leaned back, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Let me guess. This have anything to do with that poor girl you ran off a few weeks ago?”

Sevika exhaled sharply through her nose. “Not talking about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Ran took a slow sip of her drink. “Funny, ‘cause you sure as hell won’t shut up about not talking about it.”

Sevika shot her a glare, but Ran just grinned.

"Look, I'm sick of ignoring her," Sevika finally admitted, rolling her drink between her fingers. “But I’m not crawling back, either.”

Ran snorted. “Dumbass, that’s exactly what you need to do.”

Sevika scowled.

“You accused her of snitching,” Ran reminded her, as if she needed the fucking recap.

“Your GIRLFRIEND! The one who’s had your back since day one. And then, instead of fixing it, you let her walk away. So yeah, sweetheart, if you want her back, you ARE crawling. And you’re gonna do it big.”

Sevika groaned, rubbing her face. “I don’t do ‘big gestures.’”

Ran leaned in, smirking. “Then I guess you won't get her back.”

“…What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Ran grinned. “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas.”

When you heard the doorbell ring, you hadn't expected to see Sevika standing on the other side of the door. But you didn't open the door. Instead, you asked from the other side.

“What do you want?” You asked, arms crossing over your chest.

“Open the door,” Sevika said, voice calculated and calm.

“Can you just fuck off already?” you hissed venomously.

“Not unless you hear me out,” Sevika said, her voice now had an undertone of plea, you could hear that she was genuine so you reluctantly opened the door.

You froze when you saw Sevika holding a fat bouquet of your favourite flowers, they looked so fresh and almost heavenly.

“I'm sorry?” Sevika held up the bouquet alongside a huge box of your favourite chocolates, a few shopping bags were dangling from her wrist.

The biggest grin broke on your lips, you giggled, “This is all for me?”

“Mhm,” Sevika gave you the bouquet which you took a whiff of.

“Fresh,” you smiled up at her, “Thank you,” you said shyly before you frowned a little seeing the sprinkles of water as if it was raining.

You squinted over Sevika's shoulder seeing Ran standing in a distance, she was holding a hose of water towards the sky. Ran waved.

You laughed softly, waving back.

“Does that mean I'm forgiven?” Sevika grumbled.

“Of course,” you hugged her which she gladly returned.

[goldfades]

Please more controversially young gf for sid🫶🏽🫶🏽

you ask, i deliver!! i hope u enjoy<3

You always joked about Sidney’s age.

Always chirped him about his back, his knees, the way he sometimes got up in the morning with a groan like he was a man twice his age. You teased him relentlessly, with little jabs like "Want me to grab your cane, Grandpa?" when he stretched too long after practice.

But when you saw him go down on the ice, nothing was funny.

Nothing at all.

You didn’t even register what had happened at first. One second, he was in the play, moving like he always did—fast, sharp, instinctual—and then the next, he was hit hard along the boards, his body crumbling in a way that was all wrong.

Your heart stopped. Literally stopped. Your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and suddenly, the crowd noise, the commentators, the sounds of skates slicing ice—it all faded into a dull, meaningless blur.

Because he wasn’t getting up.

Your hands clenched around the edge of your seat so tightly your knuckles ached. Time felt slow, unbearably so, like you were watching the worst moment of your life play out in slow motion. He was on his knees, then on his side, and there was a trainer already rushing out to him. But he wasn’t moving like he should be.

You felt sick. A tangible, horrible nausea that curled in your stomach and made your whole body feel cold.

Sidney was tough. Tougher than most. He had taken hits before, had gotten back up when no one else could. But this—this wasn’t right.

You barely noticed the people around you. Barely heard the fans murmuring, the worried whispers and sharp intakes of breath, the occasional muttered, "Shit, that looked bad."

All you knew was that your chest felt tight, too tight, like you couldn’t get a full breath in.

And then, finally, finally, he moved.

Slow. Careful. The kind of movement that told you it hurt like hell but he was too stubborn to let anyone see just how bad it was. He pressed his hand to the ice for support, his jaw clenched, his eyes set forward in that focused, determined way you knew so well.

It should have made you feel better. It didn’t.

Because you knew him.

You knew his pain tolerance was stupidly high, that if he wasn’t just popping up and skating back into the play, something was really, really wrong.

You didn’t even think before you moved. The second he was helped off the ice and down the tunnel, you were out of your seat, pushing through the rows, ignoring the way people turned to watch you. You didn’t care. Didn’t care that the cameras might catch you, didn’t care what social media would say, didn’t care about anything except getting to him.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you made your way through the winding hallways of the arena, the path to the medical room too familiar by now. You had done this before, more times than you wanted to admit. But it never got easier.

The second you reached the room, you barely hesitated before pushing the door open.

And there he was.

Sidney sat on the exam table, gear still on, one skate unlaced, his posture stiff like he was bracing for bad news. His head snapped up the moment he saw you, and something in his face softened.

"You’re not supposed to be back here," he said, his voice rough but steady.

"Yeah, well," you exhaled, still trying to calm the pounding in your chest, "try and stop me."

And just like that, whatever resolve you had left crumbled.

You crossed the room in seconds, standing between his knees, your hands finding his face, tilting it up, searching. His helmet had been removed, his hair damp with sweat, his brow creased in quiet frustration.

"You scared the shit out of me," you admitted, your voice quiet, your thumbs tracing lightly over his cheekbones.

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but the pain in his eyes dulled it. "Didn’t mean to."

"You weren’t moving," you whispered. "I thought—I thought—"

Your throat closed up, and Sidney—ever steady, ever calm, even when he was the one hurt—reached for your wrist, grounding you with a squeeze.

"I’m okay," he murmured. "Just sore."

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but he was looking at you like he needed you to, like he needed you to be steady for him.

So you nodded, exhaling shakily. "I’ll be the judge of that."

He let out a breath of amusement, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "That right?"

"Damn right," you said, shifting so you could press your forehead against his. "Now let me have my dramatic, emotionally charged moment, please."

Sidney huffed a soft laugh, closing his eyes for a second, letting you linger in the quiet. And when he finally spoke again, his voice was low, just for you.

"I’m glad you’re here."

And just like that, the tightness in your chest eased.

Because yeah, the world could speculate all it wanted. People could talk about the age gap, the controversy, the noise. But right now, in this small, fluorescent-lit medical room, none of it mattered.

Because you loved him.

And he loved you.

And at the end of the day, that was the only thing that ever would.

Sidney was not a good patient.

This was something you learned very quickly.

The second the team doctors gave him strict orders to rest, you knew it was only a matter of time before he started pushing it. Because he was Sidney Crosby—one of the most disciplined, regimented, "tough it out and get back on the ice" people to ever exist. He didn’t do rest. Didn’t do sitting still, didn’t do taking it easy.

Which meant you had to be the one to make him.

Lucky for him, you had absolutely no problem being a pain in his ass.

"Sit. Down."

You stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, staring Sidney down as he very slowly tried to get up from the couch. He was still in sweats, fresh from a shower, his damp hair slightly messy in a way that would’ve been distracting if you weren’t so focused on keeping him immobile.

"I was just—"

"—going to sit your ass back down like the doctors told you," you finished for him. "Good call."

Sid exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "I’m fine."

"You have a bruised rib," you reminded him, walking toward him and shoving him back down with one finger on his chest. "Which means no skating, no lifting, no ‘I swear I’m just stretching’—and definitely no trying to prove how tough and manly you are by walking around like a fully functional human when we both know you are not."

He just looked at you, lips twitching, because he was definitely entertained by the way you were talking to him.

"You enjoy this, don’t you?" he asked, voice tinged with amusement.

You scoffed. "Oh, so much." You pointed at him again. "Now stay there while I get your meds."

Sid obeyed, but you could feel his eyes on you as you moved around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and pulling his painkillers from the cabinet. You turned back to him, shaking two pills into your palm.

"Take these," you ordered, stepping back toward him.

He raised an eyebrow but took the pills from your hand. "I could do this myself, you know."

"Could you, though?" you mused, tilting your head. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re a very injured man who should probably stop arguing with his extremely generous, very beautiful, highly intelligent, and endlessly patient nurse."

Sid let out a slow, amused breath, shaking his head. "Highly patient, huh?"

You handed him the water, watching as he swallowed the meds, and then took the glass back when he was done. "Unbelievably patient," you confirmed. "Practically saintly."

Sid didn’t reply, just watched you with that look—the one where his lips curled slightly, his eyes softened, and you knew, knew, that if he weren’t injured, he’d be pulling you into his lap just to shut you up.

Instead, he settled for reaching out and grabbing your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Thanks for taking care of me."

You shrugged, sitting on the couch next to him, curling up so your legs tucked under you. "Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid."

He hummed, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "Don’t I have trainers for that?"

"Yeah, but I’m meaner," you pointed out. "And I have better hair."

Sid chuckled, tilting his head toward you, his expression easy and fond. "Can’t argue with that."

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder, being careful not to press against the bruised side of his ribs. "Damn right you can’t."

And despite everything—despite his injury, despite the way you knew he hated being sidelined—Sidney relaxed. Because this? This was what made it all okay.

Even if you were bossy. Even if you were slightly unbearable in full nurse mode.

You were his. And that made every moment—every ridiculous, slightly bitchy, very loving moment—worth it.

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae <3 if you’re open to it, would you write Spencer reassuring shy reader or reader who is still in grad school and is feeling insecure about her intelligence compared to him/the rest of the team. anyway I love how you write Spencer tytyty <3

Thanks for requesting gorgeous <3

cw: vague discussion of homicide crime scene, reader is a bit intellectually insecure, written with a fem reader in mind

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 754 words

You’re talking to yourself. You do this, sometimes, Spencer doesn’t think you even really mean to. It’ll just be a word here or there, a murmured maybe as you ponder a case or shit when you fill out a form wrong and have to get another. You’d done it in front of Derek once, and even he’d had the good sense not to tease you about it; you’re too green, still, too nervous for good-natured joking. 

The police station is mostly empty, the rest of the team having called it a night except for you and Spencer. In the past twenty minutes, as you’ve swivel in your chair and peered at the board with hawk-like intensity, it’s been no, but if…, and unless? Spencer tries not to let it distract him, but it is cute, the way you seem to be talking yourself in and out of theories, using yourself as your own sounding board. He’s never met an intern—a student, nonetheless—less eager to get to their FBI-bankrolled hotel room. 

It’s when you shake your head at yourself, seemingly dismissing an idea, and mutter stupid, that’s when Spencer steps in. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

You jolt and turn your head like you’d forgotten he was there. “Huh?” 

“You seem like you have an idea.” 

“Oh, I was…it wasn’t anything.” You have one foot on the ground, the other pulled up onto your chair with you, and you’re using it to swivel your seat back and forth restlessly. It’s almost funny; Spencer doesn’t understand how anyone could ever be nervous around him, but you are. You are around the whole team. You’re quiet most of the time, looking at them all with wide eyes and palpable awe while they analyze and ideate. It’s sweet, but also baffling, considering you’re fiercely intelligent yourself. 

Spencer smiles at you. Your lips curve in kind, like they’re not entirely sure why but are relieved to do it. 

“I’d still like to hear it,” he says. 

You visibly shrink, leg pulling closer to you in your seat. “I was just, um, starting to think that maybe the way he laid out the second victim could be a sign of remorse, but then I realized it couldn’t be, because of—”

“The dump site,” Spencer finishes with you. 

You nod, looking abashed. “Right. So, obviously not.” 

“That’s not obvious,” Spencer says. He looks at the board, tapping his thumb on his jaw. “We haven’t been looking at the way the second victim was positioned, there could be something to that.” 

You blink. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I—well, sorry. I just didn’t think there was anything to say. I didn’t want to sound dumb.” 

You cringe like you hadn’t meant to say it. Spencer feels his brows twitch together, though it’s not like the explicit admission surprises him when you’ve effectively been saying it in a thousand implicit ways since he met you. He has the strange urge to reach over and put a hand on your shoulder. It's not like him, so he doesn’t. 

“We all have theories that don’t pan out,” he says, “all the time. We just bounce them off the team anyway in case it leads to another idea.” 

Your smile is almost rueful. “You don’t.” 

Spencer actually laughs. “I do. It’s possible you just haven’t been around long enough to notice.” 

Your head tilts sideways as though contemplating this. It makes your body list slightly in the chair, your leg resting against the cushioned arm. You look more at ease than you did a minute before, softer, the furrow of concentration easing from between your brows. Spencer’s chest feels light and airy without reason.

“It’s not dumb, to have an idea that doesn’t turn into anything,” he tells you gently. “No one in our team would think that.” 

“I know,” you say, sheepish now. “You guys just know so much, I don’t know how to contribute.”

“It comes with experience,” Spencer assures you. “You’ll pick it up quickly, I can tell. You already are.” 

You smile again. It’s more relaxed than before, a bashful pride shining in your eyes. Spencer props his cheek on his fist, mirroring it thoughtlessly. You look tired, though no less pretty for it, the beckoning of sleep gentle in your features. If Spencer was less selfish he’d probably tell you to go back to the hotel, but normally he’s the only one who never manages to use his room during these trips. He finds he really enjoys the company.

[kooqitas]

#pairing: virgin!dino x reader.

#genre: smut MINORS DNI | #w.c: ~2400

#synopsis: you knew that your entire rivalry with lee chan was solely sexual attraction, but you didn't expect him to invade the bathroom you were in, much less that he was a virgin.

#warnings: vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (m.), loss of virginity, spit. cute ending

#notes: i'm a little drunk (nd horny).... sorry guys

★ m.list | inbox :D join my taglist

you and lee chan are the fucked up cliché of students in the same course who can't stand each other for always competing with grades.

you've been at college for almost an year and you can't even count how many times you've argued with him, he's simply unbearable, of course, you sometimes tease him too, but none of that would be necessary if he wasn't so unbearable.

but everything changed tonight, mingyu's damn party, and now lee chan is in the bathroom with you, sucking your neck while grabbing your waist.

things just happened, one moment you were dancing on the dance floor and feeling his gaze burning into you every time your skirt lifted an inch, and the next minute, when you decided to go to the bathroom, he went after you, locking the door and trapping the two of you in the damn bathroom on the second floor of mingyu's house

"what the fuck are you doing?" you asked when you saw him lock the door.

"shut the fuck up for at least a second."

and he kissed you.

lee chan, or dino, as he is also called,  was completely possessive in the way he kissed you, it was hard to differentiate anger and desire since they clearly went together. you didn't judge him, dino could be annoying, but he was hot as hell and you knew it, you just didn't expect him to think the same of you.

"you're so fucking hot, what the fuck is wrong with you wearing that mini skirt? everyone seeing your ass on the dance floor, is that what you wanted?"

"you got turned on because of a mini skirt?" you laugh, clearly teasing the man in front of you. "how much of a virgin are you, lee chan?"

that was funny, you liked to say that dino was a virgin and he only teased you so that at least he could get attention from a woman, you knew it was a lie, after all, he was fucking hot, he definitely had the attention of any woman he wanted.

"fuck, stop calling me a virgin, we're not in college and i’m sure this shitty situation got you as turned on as i’m."

you laughed again, because it was true, fuck, you wanted to die when you entered mingyu's house and saw dino wearing the black shirt and the silver chain around his neck, it was inhuman how hot he looked.

anyways, the first move was his, he followed you to the bathroom, he kissed you, and he tried to take off your skirt at all costs...

wait... what?

"jesus christ, stop acting like a virgin, my skirt doesn't even need to be taken off, lee chan!" you grumbled at him.

"fuck, stop calling me a virgin..." he said, a little more irritated and nervous than usual.

"god, why do you get so offended by that… do you know there's no problem you're a virgin, right?" you keep teasing.

he huffed, dropping his hand from her hip in an instant.

"shit, stop it."

dino's reaction was strange. you were used to teasing each other with much worse things than simply calling each other a virgin. why was he so offended by a simple word? that wouldn't even make sense.

unless...

"wait, are you really a virgin?" you asked, trying to understand the situation.

he didn't answer you, he just started to adjust his clothes, getting ready to leave the bathroom, visibly upset with the whole situation.

"wait. lee chan, are you REALLY a virgin?" you questioned, visibly surprised.

"please, don't tell anyone about it, it's so fucking embarrassing."

"what? no! i'm not gonna tell, i just... i'm just in shock... wait, why the hell are you leaving?" you questioned when he unlocked the door.

"shouldn't i go?"

"hm?" you asked. 

"i'm a virgin..."

"yes, that was the big discovery of the night... and?"

dino looked at you visibly confused, trying to understand why you were stopping him from leaving in that situation.

damn, it was clear that you fought for the most idiotic reasons in the world, that academic rivalry was capable of making you kill each other one day, but lee chan was hot as hell, and you would never miss a night of sex with him JUST because he's a virgin... that's easily solved.

"y-you don't want me to go?"

you approached him, a little irritated, almost like when he bragged about a higher grade than yours.

"you broke into the fucking bathroom, kissed me, i’m completely wet, fuck your damn virginity, lee chan, we're gonna fuck”.

the next few minutes were marked by a wide-eyed dino and you dragging him out of mingyu's house. you ordered an uber straight to your house and thanked god for living in the neighborhood. in less than five minutes, you were in your apartment.

dino sat on your couch, observing every detail of the decor while you were in the kitchen getting him a water. when you arrived, handing him the glass of water, he had enough time to drink it for you to take off your skirt, leaving your white panties with a wet stain on display for him, who gasped when he saw you. he seemed to freeze, and everything got worse when your shirt also fell to the floor and he realized that you weren't wearing a bra.

"you're a virgin but you're definitely not an idiot, take off that shirt and your pants, damn it!" you grumbled, making him take off his clothes immediately, still looking at you. and you couldn't help but notice that the red underwear he was wearing also had a stain, and that turned you on even more.

you climbed onto his lap, attacking him as if he were prey, taking control of the kiss and watching him melt with every inch of your body that he discovered with his fingertips.

you felt him whimper inside you as you slowly rolled on his hard cock, and the sensation made you even wetter. it was clear that he didn't really know what to do, but all the tension in the room was completely exciting.

you felt him move his kisses down to your neck, shy but still possessive, biting and sucking there in a way that would certainly leave marks.

you took one of his hands and placed it on your chest, making him moan...

"you can touch it however you want... with your hands or with your mou-”

and the next second, dino's mouth was on your nipple, in a somewhat desperate way while his tongue swirled around your nipple, his hips crashing against yours and his other hand playing with your free breast in a violent way.

he was a little rough, maybe because of his lack of experience, maybe because of the horniness he felt at the moment, but that wasn't bad, you wanted to be hurt by him.

"for someone who's a virgin, you don't seem nervous!"

"shut up." he said with his mouth still on your nipple. "you don't have to remind me all the time that i'm a virgin."

"but that's what you are... a poor virgin." you teased, laughing when he got angry.

"don't get on my nerves now, damn it, i can't control myself anymore if you keep annoying me..."

"what are you gonna do? you're the virgin here, lee chan. you're the one who needs me if you want your dick to touch some pussy."

he gave a sort of grunt before squeezing your neck. you laughed a little, he was gripping you the wrong way, so you just repositioned his thumb.

"squeeze with your fingers, not with your hand!"

he nodded, squeezing a little harder as he went back to kissing your lips in a voracious way.

the excitement in your body made you grind again, and you could feel his dick getting harder and harder… you patted his hand twice and he let go of your neck at the same time.

"is everything okay? did i hurt you? did i do something wrong?" he asked when you got off his lap.

you didn't answer.

you just knelt in front of him.

"what are you gonna d- OH” he moaned when you touched the tip of your finger to his underwear.

the wet spot was bigger. and the moan he gave was enough to make you lose your sanity.

you distributed little kisses on the wet fabric, making dino moan and hold your hair while lifting his hips seeking more contact. and it was relieving when you actually pulled his underwear down, releasing his fat cock from the fabric.

his cock was hot, not big enough to hurt, but enough to fill you up completely, the swollen head and the bulging veins made you salivate

but he could barely breathe, the next second you were with your mouth on him, putting his whole fat cock in your mouth to suck as if you needed it to survive. the 'ploc' when you removed it for the first time could easily be heard from another room along with his moans, but damn, it was delicious.

lee chan saw stars when your nose touched his pelvis, a sensation he had never felt in his life, your throat vibrating on his thick cock.

and you continued, sucking every inch of his cock and letting your own saliva run down your mouth as you heard him scream that he was going to cum. it was a little early, of course, but you understood that it was his first time and he was sensitive to the new touch.

but you didn't want that.

not now.

"why why why" he questioned when he saw you stopping. "please, don't stop... don't do this to me... i almost..."

"I'll give you something better"

you said, pulling his underwear completely off his body, and then your panties too...

you didn't usually have sex without any preparation, fingering, oral sex, you usually demand at least one of the two, but seeing dino so vulnerable made you forget about anything. and that was why in the next second your pussy was going down on his cock.

it hurt a little, but the burning of being opened by a cock was extremely pleasurable, especially because the owner of the thick cock was completely crazy underneath you.

"fuck, i’m gonna go crazy, this- fuck-"

you raised your hips and lowered them once, watching him lose control.

his hand went back to squeezing your hips hard while the other played with your tits, all while he whimpered incoherent words.

"you're so beautiful" "your pussy is so tight." "so hot" "mine. fuck you're mine"

"i'm not yours!" you scolded him, going even faster on his cock.

at this point the shock of their bodies was audible, as were the eager moans of both of them, despite not being a virgin you hadn't had sex in a few months...

lee chan kissed you, the mess of the kiss making you go even harder on him, your tongues clashing and even the chattering of your teeth was extremely exciting.

you felt him pinch your nipple again, and that was the end for you.

you laid his head on the couch, and took advantage of his open mouth from his moans to spit there, ordering him to swallow it right after.

dino obeyed, he swallowed your spit and looked at you with a look that bordered on devotion. you were already whimpering on his cock, you knew you wouldn't be able to hold on to that position for much longer, your own orgasm was coming and you couldn't think...

"no no no, please don't stop," he begged, placing his big hand on your waist.

"i- i can't control it, fuck, it's too much."

the truth is that deep down he was a little bothered for not having 'done' much, after all, you were in control the whole time. and he was overcome by this, and by the overwhelming excitement he felt, that he grabbed the arm around your waist, forcing you to lay your body under his.

“le-lemme-”

he put his foot on your coffee table, and began to fuck you like an animal, desperately and roughly seeking his own orgasm. you couldn't even think, the rough movements taking you to his as you felt his cock open you up hard. the way he held your body as if he wanted to merge with you, adding to the way he moaned making your pussy pulsate more and more.

"fuck- so good-" you moaned, with your mouth glued to his, but without even being able to think about what was happening.

"mine. fuck, you're mine, this pussy is mine. i'm gonna fuck you forever, me, only me, but no one. fuck, so hot." he said between the eager moans he gave.

one of his hands from your waist went to your hair, and he kissed you, in a completely clumsy way but he kissed you, and that was how he came inside you.

you felt his hot liquid running inside you at the same time that his legs trembled. and that was enough for you to come too.

and he continued thrusting, slowly, enjoying his liquid that was now leaking out.

"mine. you're mine." he moaned softly.

"i'm not yo-"

"shhh... shut up. you're cumming on my dick after taking my virginity."

"that doesn't make me yours..."

"so you don't want it again?"

you didn't answer. it was clear you want it...

"mine..." he teased again.

deep down you knew that all your fighting had always been about pent-up fucking lust, and you were glad it was finally over.

his cock slipped out, and he laughed when your legs shook on top of his...

"something tells me you want more..."

"dude, shut up"

"shut up my mouth for me...put your pussy here, sweetheart!"

"what happened to the whole 'virgin thing'?"

"if you taught me how to use a dick you'll definitely teach me how to use my mouth"

"goodbye lee chan" you laughed.

you settled down on the couch, even though you both knew you wouldn't be sleeping there, but in your bed...and probably in a spoon...

"i'm not kidding... you really are mine now."

you remained silent.

"aren't you gonna say anything?"

"no, i think i agree with that."

#

@highvivvy

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Hello!! Can I request dating hcs of Rex x hypersexual!reader? With him helping them heal from their trauma and fear (and longing) of intimacy and being touched? Thank you, i love the way you write fics 🫶🫶

Thanks baby😘

This is based on my own experience with hypersexuality and the topics you described

Rex Sloan X Hypersexual!Gn!Reader

I think Rex is also hypersexual, or at least has some tendencies, so he'd understand a lot. I also think he would learn more about himself while trying to help you

He knows how sometimes your mind is buzzing with bad thoughts and stress, and the only thing that seems to calm it is by thinking about sex, especially when you're trying to sleep and just can't 

He knows sometimes sex feels like the solution to all problems

And that hipersexuality is a problem because it’s prejudicial to your life, in the sense that maybe you're trying to focus on something else, like studying, working, or a hobby, but your mind just. Won't. Stop. 

Sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex

But he's still learning to think before talking, and he just came to terms with the fact that he's actually very empathic 

So he might ask how you feel and what you're thinking from time to time, and what do you think that made you be hypersexual 

He doesn't want you to commit the same mistakes he did, so he makes sure your sexual dynamic with each other is very healthy, obnoxiously healthy, to the point that it's even funny how he’ll just stop in the middle of it to ask “do you want it or do you enthusiastically want it?” with the most serious expression, one it's even weird to see on him, because he's just so goofy

Because if the bar is high enough, you never will accept anything less, just like people with healthy families usually don't accept other people treating them like shit 

He's scared shitless that he’ll accidentally or indirectly hurt you, either because he didn't make sure how you felt, or because you were too good at pretending

He's ruined so many good things before, he doesn't want to do it anymore 

You might have intrusive thoughts, like really, intrusive thoughts. Not the ones most people are used to like “what if I threw my phone out of the window?”, but the real ones. If you have it you know what I’m talking about. 

I’m not sure he has them, because if you have them, you probably hide them, but he surprises you when he takes it seriously, not just thinking you're a freak, or a creep, or a weirdo. He understands right away they're not something you want, you don't condone those actions, you think they're the worst thing the could happen, and yet, your mind is so broken that it throws those thoughts at you, trying to make you hate yourself, and it might even work, and Rex makes sure you know it's not your fault, it's just a mental illness, there's nothing wrong with you, it's common, just talk to him baby, talking will make you feel better

He also becomes clingy, even performing PDA if you're into that. Just because your mind is thinking about all the different sexual scenarios you could do, doesn't mean you want sex, half the time you just want to be held, kissed and feel important. Just receive some attention and love. And he’ll enjoy doing that

Especially in the beginning of your relationship, he understands you might be confused on how to proceed, overthinking, and you might even try to distance yourself from him

Jokes on you, he's not gonna let that happen

I mean, see how his relationship with Rae started on the 3rd season, bro really worked for her

If he didn't like you as much, he would give up, honestly. Rex from the 1st and 2nd season would just offer himself to be your booty call

If you're touch starved, he understands that maybe you feel insecure about that, that the simple act of holding hands and rubbing your thumb on someone’s skin just isn’t second nature to you, isn't your first instinct, when you do it, you're actively thinking about it, afraid to move and disturb the peace, or make him stop touching you

Like one of those videos of abused animals who freak out at the simple mention of someone getting close to them, and when someone does, they need several minutes to get used to it 

He won't judge you for maybe being somewhat socially awkward on that aspect, he actually likes that you aren't used to just throwing yourself at anyone who gives you crumbs of attention, and ruining yourself in the process, almost like he did. It's not worth it, it's humiliating, it changes you so much that you can't recognize yourself in the end

It takes some time, but you get used to having him clinging to you at all and random moments of the day

He wants your first time together to be especial, and when you truly want it, so he doesn't even takes the first step, you have to do it 

I see you just sleeping in the same bed, fully clothed, every night, for several weeks (even months, if that's your thing), before actually having sex

Doesn't mean he won't make out with you, when you're comfortable with that. And he tries not to be the old him that would just grab your ass right away, instead, Rex learns that he likes to just… Explore 

He squeezes your waist, he touches your hair, your scalp, he breathes your scent. He rounds his arms around you and just has nice, quiet conversations. He lays his head on your chest, stomach and lap, closes his eyes, and his mind is suddenly empty, while you take initiative and run your fingers through his ginger locks. He holds your hand when he takes you out

He spoils you, he was never the type of guy to do that, he liked being spoiled instead

Now, he just thinks he needed to meet the right person

He cooks, it's not good, but he's trying to impress and make you happy

He learns your hobbies, and spends quality time with you. You have to know he's not with you just for sex, just for your body, your mind is just as sexy to him babygurl~ (in a gn way)

He shows you his home magazines and you talk about your future home together, despite how surreal it feels, how impossible it seems, how scary, not only to you, but also him. But he wants this. He finally has something good. A purpose in life

And even if you express some negative thought, he’s surprisingly good at comforting and reassuring, on his own unserious and abrasive way

Suddenly, your mind is a lot more peaceful

General masterlist

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[ninisdollie]

touch me more - takayama riki

✩ .  ࿔ ˖

"In which reader is completely in love with her clumsy, cute boyfriend, and even though he's a little shy, he can't control himself when she's on top of him"

‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content: +18MDNI

fem!reader x taki, stablished relationship, silly boy taki (so true), cursing, dry humping, groping, lots of kissing.

i was just thinking like how about taki being the silly boy he is being overwhelmed by his hot girlfriend so yeah this came to my mind, it's a bit short though. likes and reblogs are appreciated !! hope you like it <3

It had started innocent, kind of. You were in his lap, straddling him lazily after a movie, your fingers in his hair, lips ghosting over his jaw just because he looked too pretty not to kiss. Taki was already pink when you pressed your mouth to his, already squirming like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

You and him had been dating for a while now, and your relationship was everything you'd ever dreamed of. He was so cute, so funny, always making you die of laughter, because he was that funny and silly. Sometimes you felt like your lungs ran out of air beacuse of how much you were laughing. He made the silliest comments and jokes, and you cherished every moment with him because of his personality. Then fun part is that you started as friends, until one day he just confessed accidentally (he was supposed to be texting Yuma about you and turns out he was in the wrong chat), but turned out you liked him back, and here you were now.

You didn’t stop, when the kiss got deeper, slower, wetter, he made this soft, stunned noise against your lips, like it was too much too fast, like he couldn’t catch up.

“Wait, mmph, wait, you’re…” he mumbled into your mouth, his breath hitching as you ground your hips down experimentally, “…you’re really on top of me right now.”

You pulled back a little, grinning. “Yeah, baby. I know.”

His hands flailed for a second, trying to land somewhere safe, first your waist, then your shoulder, then mid-air, before he finally rested them gently on your thighs like you might break.

“Shit,” he whispered, eyes wide. “What do I… what do you want me to do?”

You almost melted. He was trying so hard to keep it together, poor thing.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you said softly, leaning in to press kisses to his flushed cheeks. “You’re so cute like this. Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

He made a strangled little noise, half whimper, half laugh, and tilted his head back, exposing the curve of his neck. He was shaking a bit under your hands, breathing fast, pupils blown out.

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, and his grip on your thighs tightened instantly. He was already hard beneath his sweatpants, and you felt him, right between your legs, the movement sent a jolt of pleasure through your whole body, and you kissed him again, wet sounds of your mouths combining with his whimpers and your low moans. You rocked your hips down with more pressure, your clothed core dragged against the hardness straining beneath his sweats, and the sound he let out, half-moan, half-shocked little gasp, was filthy.

“Fuuuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he choked, hands finally gripping your waist like he needed something to anchor himself.

“You like that?” you whispered, breath ghosting over his lips. “You’re so hard already, Taki.”

He whined, visibly flustered. “Stop saying stuff like that, you’re making it worse.”

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, grinding down again. “You’re the one humping up into me like you can’t help it.”

“I can’t,” he gasped, his face buried in your shoulder now, voice muffled. “You feel so good. And your hips, the way you’re...fuck.”

Your hands slid under his hoodie, fingers tracing over the bare skin of his waist. He was so warm, shivering beneath your touch, breathing hard as you kept moving over him. There was something so desperate about the way his hips kept rocking up to meet yours, like he wasn’t thinking anymore, just feeling everything all at once, his kisses, messy and off-rhythm, all teeth and tongue, so full of want it made your stomach flip.

You took his hand and guided it up under your shirt, letting him palm your breast over your bra. His breath caught.

“Just like that,” you whispered. “You’re doing perfect.”

He groaned, like it physically hurt how much he wanted you, and pulled you down into another kiss, this one rougher, wetter, needier. His hips stuttered beneath yours as you ground down again and again, chasing the friction together, nothing between you but too-thin layers and not enough air. His hand squeezed one of your breasts above your shirt, and he moaned again, you arching your back as the skin of all your body shivered, as the wetness beneath your panties grew messier, stickier.

“Touch me more,” he begged, voice ragged. “Please, please don’t stop.”

And of course, you didn’t.

His mouth was everywhere and nowhere at once, your jaw, your throat, back to your lips, like he couldn’t decide where he needed to be, like he was scared he’d never get enough of you.

Taki’s hands trembled as they roamed, still shy but bolder now, slipping under your shirt to press flat against your bare back, fingertips digging in like he didn’t trust this was real. He groaned into your mouth when you shifted your hips again, dragging your clothed center against the thick bulge in his sweats.

“Fuck, oh my god,” he gasped, hips jerking up helplessly. “You’re making me feel so... shit.”

“I know,” you whispered, kissing along his jaw, your lips sticky with spit and heat and his desperation. “I can feel how hard you are, baby. You’re soaking through your boxers already, aren’t you?”

He surely was, you could feel it, so messy, thick wetness combined with yours, a stain in the grey cotton fabric of his pants. Taki whimpered. Whimpered. Full body trembling, back arching slightly into you, his forehead pressed to yours as his breath stuttered out, too fast and too shallow to keep up with.

You kissed him deep and slow, letting your hips roll against him in steady circles. His hands slid up to your sides, unsure, trembling, squeezing every time you moved just right. You could feel him pulsing through his sweats, hot and hard and leaking, probably aching.

He let out the softest moan, high and broken, as your hands tugged at the hem of his hoodie, slipping underneath to feel the smooth skin of his stomach, the way it tensed and flexed with every grind of your hips. He was trying to keep quiet, biting his lip so hard it was turning red, but his body betrayed him. Every sharp gasp, every shaky breath, every desperate rut of his hips into yours, it was all so needy.

“Wanna come just like this? With all your clothes on, just from me riding you?”

He looked at you like he might actually die, eyes wide, lips swollen, sweat starting to gather at his hairline.

“I… I think so,” he said weakly. “Oh my god. I need to.”

You kissed him again, rough and greedy now, your tongue brushing his, catching every moan and whimper he tried to hold back. Your hips moved faster, more deliberate, chasing the friction now, both of you falling apart with every grind, every gasp, every sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Taki was squirming beneath you, thighs tensing, hands clutching at your waist like he might fall apart if he didn’t hold on. He started thrusting up into you with no rhythm, just raw need, chasing the friction, chasing you. He was so hard, so deep between your legs, and you clothed pussy was swollen, dripping at this point, your clit rubbing against the thin fabric of your panties and his clothed cock.

Your name slipped from his lips over and over, broken and breathless, tangled up in moans as he rutted against you harder, shameless now, too far gone to care about anything but how good it felt.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” he gasped, face pressed into your neck, voice shaking. “I’m close, I can’t, please, don’t stop.”

“I’m right here,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “Keep going, Taki. Come on. Let me feel you.”

And he did.

With a strangled, high-pitched moan, his hips stuttered one last time, then froze, his whole body going taut as he came in his boxers, heat blooming between you as he cried out your name, voice cracking and raw. His hands gripped you so tight it almost hurt, and his whole body trembled under yours, a mess of heat and sweat and too much feeling.

You kept grinding through it, slower now, dragging out every last second of his release until he was gasping and shaking beneath you, his body limp and boneless, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to catch his breath. He trembled, his cock twitching underneath you, hot and overstimulated, but he didn't say anything, he couldn't, he just stayed like that, his heart racing, his whole body clenched.

When you finally stopped moving, Taki collapsed back onto the couch with a soft, dazed moan. His cheeks were bright red, hair a mess, chest heaving under his hoodie.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice completely wrecked.

You smiled, brushing his sweaty bangs back from his face and pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

"You liked it?"

He groaned, covering his face with both hands. “I think I blacked out.”

You laughed, already leaning in to kiss him again.

[gay-dorito-dust]

(Idk if ur rq are open bc I can't find any indication of it being, but I hope it is and if it isn't km sorry and h can just ignore this until they are!!)

Maybeee bat boys x reader who zones out a lot and tends to make faces according to what she's thinking abt. Like a smile or frown. And sometimes when they ask her what's up she's all secretive and what not.

Thank you!!

I dunno if I did this right but here ya go!

Dick makes a game out of it and tries to guess what you were thinking about.

Even if you don’t tell him why you’re smiling or making a face of thought, he is surprisingly good at being able to figure it out regardless, but for every expression he gets wrong you’d have to give him double the kisses for the ones he gets right to make up for it.

He loves watching your face contort like a ventriloquist through a rapid fire of emotions depending on what your mind has decided to remind you of, and today it was the memory of Hayley in her Halloween costume of Nightwing, just to match with Dick in his Nightwing suit as he prepared to enter the bloodhaven annual Nightwing contest.

Basically a contest where people deduce if anyone had a similar ass shape to Nightwing himself, a contest you find ridiculous but the imagine of Hayley in her Halloween costume was the sweetest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on, that you couldn’t help but smile widely at.

You had albums full of Hayley in her Halloween costume with Dick photobombing in the background.

‘What’s on that pretty little mind of yours sweetheart?’ Dick would often ask.

‘Something silly.’ You’d reply with on the odd occasion as to keep him guessing, finding his attempts fun and only giving him pity kisses when he got a majority of them wrong. He had only got a handful right before but on all the other occasions he’s fails spectacularly.

‘Something silly like the time I lost the nightwing contest to Jason that one time?’ He answers wrongly but you couldn’t help but give him a pity kiss for being somewhat right but wrong simultaneously.

‘Sure darling.’ You’d say as you went back to zoning out on Hayley in her Halloween costume while dick burrows his face into your neck, murmuring about how of all people did Jason won the contest when they look nothing alike before going on about how Jason was a brick shit house in comparison to his muscular yet flexible body.

You’ll have to give him more pity kisses to ease his bruised ego by saying he wins all the Nightwing contests in your eyes. When in reality Hayley wins them all just for the fact of being adorable.

Damian found it weird at first for your face to be expressive, believing that it would make you an easy target for others to take advantage of.

Now however he finds it to be a way of expressing how you actually felt in comparison to the words that escape your mouth. He often discouraged zoning out as it would lead to unfavourable outcomes, but when you zone out and your face becomes soft Damian couldn’t help but find himself looking at you with a soft expression of his own.

‘What are you think about my beloved?’ He’d ask you as he hugs you from behind, resting his head upon your shoulder.

‘Nothing that you would find investing my love.’ You replied softly as the fond smile on your face grew the more you thought about the one time Damian chased Titus throughout the mansion because the Great Dane has somehow stole his robin suit and wouldn’t let go.

Damian kisses your shoulder. ‘Are you sure it’s not something I should be concerned about?’ He’d then ask.

You smile softly. ‘Not at all dami, just a funny thought is all.’ You told him while moving your head to kiss his forehead as though to calm his own thoughts. He hums, not believing you for a second from the mischievous glint in your eyes but was more than willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, just because he adored you so much.

‘As you wish my treasure.’ Your thoughts were your thoughts and Damian wouldn’t pry into them unless you wanted him to, so he just watched your expression carefully and deduced what you were feeling and link it to whatever memory would gain an happy, fond expression and leave it at that.

Jason loves your expressive face, he really does and will playfully pester you about what you were asking a face at while softly pinching your sides as you giggled.

Jason loved watching you as you zone out, perhaps reminiscing about a recent memory or other, and watching your face show how you felt about that particular moment.

‘Whatcha thinking about chipmunk?’ He’d ask from his place on the kitchen counter that he chose to admire you from. ‘Was it about little old me?’ He’d then ask cheekily as you playfully groan, shoving a hand to his face and pushing him away.

‘As if.’ You’d reply before walking away but Jason will continue to pester you about what you were thinking for the rest of the day. He’s just a little shit that you’ve come to love more then anything. Your thoughts were more than not occupied by how comfortable he had gotten with you over the course of your relationship and how happy you were for him.

Though you’d never say such a thing in front of him as he’ll use it against you however he could while giving you the softest, most beloved look upon his gorgeous face. Jason was your weakness and the only thing that you always thought about whether it be his autopsy scars, his white ruff of hair that you found immensely adorable and his plush lips that you want to kiss constantly.

Jason is more then content in just watching your face, but don’t be surprised that he kisses your furrowed brow when he sees your face become troubled, he wants his sweetheart to be happy not troubled because that’s what you deserve. You don’t need words to describe how happy you were for Jason to be able to read the emotion crossing your face, and Jason was more than happy to be of reassurance for when you needed it.

Bruce is amused whenever you made a face at something, or nothing in particular.

Like Damian he views it as a way of expressing your inner most feelings towards something or someone without having to vocalise it. It intrigues him as it’s not often that he comes across someone who wears their emotions across their face like you, after all Gotham if filled with some of the most guarded people to ever exist, him included.

It’s fascinating but even he got a little curious when you were smiling a little too widely one day, silently chuckling to yourself as you tried to get ready for bed.

‘What is making you laugh my dear.’ Bruce would ask as he sets aside his novel, moving to his side to look at you while the hand at your waist drew soothing patterns into your skin.

‘Nothing.’ You said as you chuckled.

‘Are you sure it’s nothing? Seems like you might be reminiscing of the time at the iceberg lounge where I mistakenly striped down to my boxers and tabletop danced.’ Bruce replied and all you could do is look at him with a somewhat shocked expression, you knew he was good but you kept forgetting just how good he was at deducting it always caught you off guard.

‘How-‘ you began.

‘Detective remember.’ Bruce chuckled slightly as he kissed your forehead.

‘But that was too specific of a memory for you to guess correctly.’ You rebutted, wanting to know how he knew about that particular memory.

‘It’s not too difficult for me to differentiate between the facial expressions you have towards each and every time you zone out my dear, so while it maybe impossible to believe but to me it’s as easy as breathing.’ Bruce replied as he brought you into his chest. He really did take the time out of his day to memories and learn the smallest of differences between your facial expressions, so much to the point where could tell whether the thing you were zoning out on was a good memory or not.

‘I’m not sure whether to be flattered or not.’ You murmured to yourself as you rested again his strong chest, tracing the many, many scars it possessed with featherlight touches and affection in the form of small kisses pepper against them.

Bruce only tightens his hold on you and kisses the top of your head as he hums. ‘Flattered preferably as the expression you make is sweet and warm.’ He tells you with his voice heavy with sleep.

‘Flattery it is.’ You said sluggishly as you cuddled yourself into his chest, clinging onto him for dear life as he kept you close, presenting the door his back out of his need to keep you safe and secure.