#dalton moms

[shan0blight]

AHHH IT CAME!!!! MY DEAD POETS SOCIETY COLLECTION GROWS!!!

[bosqueinvisible]

give dalton his gay uncles

[rvstyartstar]

⁠✷Lucky luke hcs !!

•is a polyglot thanks for his nonstop traveling.

•got into the lawmen business in his early 20s

•has a incredible long-term memory but will lose track easily (same).

•a really good whistler, can whistle literally anything.

•is acesexual (and I'll Die with this hc!!) and doesn't really have gender preferences.

•he's oblivious to any and all romantic interests someone may show to him, even in childhood didn't have any real crushes.

•gives compliments sometimes in a way that sounds like flirting and will leave you with mixed ideas, like if someone spotted something/someone he's looking for,he'd later say:

" god had made very pretty eye on you"

And mean it as a "you have good eyesight"

•is touch starved but he doesn't know for the life of him how to ask for a hug from another person.

•if he ever met a fan of his he'd be like if received a complement he'd "aww thank youu ,if you work hard you'll be a legend you slef" and probably just leave after cause he's just awkward like that.

•its kinda growing on me him being mixed (native American-white) bc of the 2009 movie.

•this ones silly but i like to imagine him and jolly helping eachother to sleep (sing, tell stories to eachother ect..)

•doesn't see a person as "good" or "evil" everyone has both of them balanced to him including himself.

•im sorry y'all but he would SMELL

"bu-but he showers"ONCE EVERY TEN ISSUES.

but maybe his scent(in days where the sun don't boil) is a mix of daisies, gunpowder and lemonade idk.

•his relationship with the Daltons is basically "cant let society know i fw them" lol he won't admit he enjoys their company and neither would they.

•is a victim to calamity Jane's playful punching while telling a joke.

•ever since he has been going back and forth with the Daltons they have grown onto him bc they unlike most the outlaws he met don't seem scared of him (or anything for the matter)

•when the way to the prison took to it actually surprised him that they (expect joe) opened a conversation with him when he was still in his early days as a lawman.

•he's still in touch with Martha (do NOT @ me) would visit and chat with her if he's close by the town, they eat cookies and gossip.

•if your actually ACTUALLY close to him you'll be receiving telegram from every once and then.

Well that's if y'all got some headcanons of this cowboy GIVE IT TO ME!!

[eightyones]

i was going to make a post saying something like logan sargesbg should’ve been rushing a frat or whatever and then i remembered the letter he wrote before the lvgp and fell to my knees. like no he is where he needs to be actually

[notagaybastard]

I'm not sure if already posted this but I don't care because it was too funny

I was watching dps with my mom (her first time watching) and then that scene where Knox, Meeks and Charlie go to Neil's dorm start.

A couple seconds later, nothing really happened and my mom just looked at me and said "Is he a queer?"

"Who?"

"This one" *points at Charlie*

"...No..."

"Well he looks like a fag"

[peacesmith]

uhhhhh big dalton + little dante

[thebiggestplantgirlno15]

[needleworm]

my thangs♥️

[desire-mona]

chaos screaming, chaos creaming

[simonxriley]

OCs as tragic Greek figures.

I was tagged by the wonderful @corvosattano to take this uquiz for some of the disaster children. Thank you! 💜

Tagging @playstationmademe @nightwingshero @detectivelokis @leviiackrman @sstewyhosseini @hoesephseed @chuckhansen @phillipsgraves @cameoninja @thomrainer and anyone else that wants to do it!!!

Cyparissus

young cyparissus, innocent cyparissus, it was all only an accident. your stag, finding relief from the relentless summer sun of Apollo under the forest's trees, did not deserve the cruel wound of your javelin stuck within him, and you did not deserve to inadvertently be the cause of his death. but grief does not care about intent and accidents, does it? even now, your cypress trees cry your mourning tears.

Odysseus

you are that which men dream to be: strong, courageous, and noble, with more intelligence than you know what to do with. and, like all men, you do not account for your overabundance of pride. you long for your name to be wrapped in glory and honor, and your journey home is only made longer by your search for fights to win and monsters to trick.

Cyparissus

young cyparissus, innocent cyparissus, it was all only an accident. your stag, finding relief from the relentless summer sun of Apollo under the forest's trees, did not deserve the cruel wound of your javelin stuck within him, and you did not deserve to inadvertently be the cause of his death. but grief does not care about intent and accidents, does it? even now, your cypress trees cry your mourning tears.

Bellerophon

chimera-killer, pegasus-tamer, eater of your own soul: icarus flew too close to the sun, but you flew too close to gods who would prefer to remain untouched. could you not find enough joy in being a hero, a husband, a father and a king? olympus will never accept your presence upon its mountaintop, so best quit while you're ahead, before your horse bucks.

Achilles

best of the greeks, eager for honor, and quick to rage: you could easily live content and easy until you're gray-haired, but glory and fame call for you just beyond the horizon. you are not prone to self-reflection and trip into the same pits of wrath at bruised pride over and over. are you truly ready to sacrifice everything so that your name will be immortalized? is your fury what you want to be remembered for?

Achilles

best of the greeks, eager for honor, and quick to rage: you could easily live content and easy until you're gray-haired, but glory and fame call for you just beyond the horizon. you are not prone to self-reflection and trip into the same pits of wrath at bruised pride over and over. are you truly ready to sacrifice everything so that your name will be immortalized? is your fury what you want to be remembered for?

[shan0blight]

OMG MY MOM GOT ME THE FIVE CENTURIES OF VERSE BOOK WITH MY NAME INGRAVED INTO IT FROM DEAD POETS SOCIETY AHHHH!!!!!!!

I GOT IT OFF OF ESTY AND ITS A NOTE BOOK SO IM GONNA WRITE ALL THE POEMS THEY READ IN THE MOVIE IN IT!!!!!!!

IM SO EXCITED!!!

Link: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1019576761/

This addiction to dead poets society is getting bad ngl 😭 but idc🤷‍♀️cause hot people watch dead poets society

[golden-lovers]

if there's anything that'll make me cry it's eddie kingston and logan sargeant's the players' tribune articles

[satoshy12]

A End of 20s Jazz gave her boy a look:" Why are you alone? We wanted a family day." Damian looked confused. " But I am not..." Jazz:" We did plan to visit the Zoo today, so I came in already." Damian did have a 180° turn:' I can talk to my father later.'  As he joined the scary Redhead Mom in the SUV, he saw many clones ? there. No wonder she thought he was one.  Well, Damian isn't sorry, but he likes spending time with siblings Darren, Darius, Damon, Daria, and Dalton. It's much better when your clones don't try to kill you. And Uncle Daniel and Ellie were nice too, but when will "Mom" notice he isn't one of hers?  Jazz already did notice she took the wrong child, but then again, this isn't her first surprise adoption; how do you think she got so many babies? She found them and just took them with her, and as long as he doesn't want to leave, he can stay. 

Damian stayed many, many days with them, till Bruce found Damian again. 

A/N Jazz is around 28-30 year old.

[toxicanonymity]

road house - scream au

2k, neighbor!elwood dalton x f!reader. I8+ cumfest, piv, mild somno, ref to dubcon.

Could refer to a random ghostface or Rat in a cage.

_____________________________________________

After you let ghostface put his dick in you, he wanted more. You found yourself thinking about it too, but you were scared of him. He had killed one of your friends, and what you did with him was a mistake. You wanted him to leave you alone.

You had a close call one night at your apartment when you saw his cloaked form rush by your window. Seconds later, there was a knock at your door that made your heart jump.  But when you looked through your peephole, it was your neighbor, Dalton, a retired MMA fighter. Massive, sculpted, veiny arms sticking out of a sleeveless hoodie. There was no one you'd rather see. Not just because you had a little crush on him, but because he could keep you safe better than anyone.

He asked to borrow some olive oil and offered to make you dinner in return. You accepted. You wanted to tell Dalton that ghostface was after you, but you were afraid you'd sound crazy. You didn't want to scare him away. To feel safer, you could always stay at your mom and stepdad's house, but how long was this going to last? You barely slept for several nights. 

---

One night, you did it--You went over to Dalton's unit and told him you were afraid. He let you in. He asked what was wrong, but didn't force you to explain. When it got late, he asked if you would be okay on your own, and you said no. He let you sleep in his bed, and he took the sofa. You slept in a t-shirt and underwear.

In the middle of the night, you startled awake with a nightmare. You must have been loud, because Dalton didn’t have good hearing, but he still came rushing into the bedroom. “You’re okay,” he repeated. “Hey, you’re good. I’m here.” As you came back to your senses, you took in the view of his strong, handsome, shirtless silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed in only his skivvies.  

You asked him to get in bed with you until you fell back asleep, and he agreed. You wished he'd stay with you all night. He fell asleep with his hands behind his head. You wanted him to hold you. You made the move to cuddle up to him with your head in the crook of his arm and a hand on his shredded chest. In his sleep, he reflexively put his arm around you. As you woke up, your knee bent, with a mind of its own, looking to rest your thigh across his body. When you brushed a hard shape in his boxer briefs, you fully woke up. Your heart raced.

He didn't seem to wake up, so you dared to rest your leg against it, and his balls. “Mm,” a soft grunt in his sleep and a twitch of his cock was his only response. You lay there getting wet, then he slurred “world champion.” 

A while later, just as you were almost back to sleep, his free hand came to your knee. He pulled your leg tighter against his hard-on and let out a barely audible moan that made you throb. His large hand slid a few inches and grabbed the side of your thigh. His hips rocked slowly, lazily rubbing his stiff length against you. It made your nipples harden. You wanted to pull down his underwear and feel the smooth skin of his cock gliding over his thick, hard shaft as he rutted against your thigh. You wanted him to wake up and punish you for making him so horny, then be affectionate after releasing it all over you. Or all in you. He moaned a little louder and your breath hitched.

You lifted your head to get a look at his face: Lips parted, brow furrowed. He moved your leg and slowly humped it, his cock feeling bigger and stiffer every time it pressed into your flesh. You twitched between the legs and felt you might come. You couldn't help but lightly grind against his hip. This continued, his moans becoming regular.

You got closer and closer and tried not to hold your breath, fuck. Then, you reached your peak, clit pulsing against his hip. You kept quiet and remained as still as you could, but your body still jerked as you clenched around nothing. Your leg clamped down on him, and he moaned, then his cock pulsed in his boxer briefs, right against your inner thigh. Your heart fluttered and you let out a soft moan as he came in his underwear, warmth spreading, dick twitching against you, making a mess of himself after low key jacking off with your leg in his sleep. It dawned on you that you’d likely soaked through your panties and onto his boxers briefs, with your legs spread like this.

His grip loosened on your thigh, his breathing changed. His heart beat faster under your cheek. You panicked and pretended to be asleep with his thick cock softening under you. It was too late to take your leg away. 

He groaned quietly, then gently lifted your leg to take it off his body. You pretended to half-wake up, and he muttered, “sorry.” It was somewhere between bemused and embarrassed, but he was calm, as always. 

“What,” you whispered. 

“Wet dream,” he stated plainly and quietly. Your face got hot. Your head was still on his chest near the armpit. He asked, “You didn’t . . . . “do anything?” 

“Did you dream I did?” you asked. 

“Uh–I shouldn’t've asked” 

“Sorry if I put my leg on you, I normally sleep with a body pillow.” 

He adjusted himself. “Not your fault. . .Hope this doesn’t make things awkward.” 

“It won’t.” 

“Really?” he asked skeptically with a hint of condescension. “How? It’s objectively embarrassing.” Somehow he didn’t sound embarrassed, though.  Something came over you, and you blurted out, “Cause, it’s kinda hot.” Immediate regret. Why did you say that? 

He sucked his chin back to look down at you. You lifted your head off him. He lifted his eyebrows with a smile. “ Nice,” he said in a near-whisper. “Alright, your turn.” 

Your heart skipped a beat and your lips parted as you stared at him blankly. 

“Make me feel better. Tell me something embarrassing.”

Oh. Okay. 

You propped your head up and he was just so hot, a smile crept up your lips as you looked at him.

He turned onto his side to face you. “I’ll wait,” he teased. You let your eyes wander to the vein on his bulging bicep as you tried to think. 

You shook your head. “I can only think of one thing and it’s way worse.” No, don’t tell him that. Are you crazy? 

“Perfect,” he encouraged. 

“Ghostface,” you whispered. “That’s who I’m afraid of.” 

"That makes sense,” he squinted. “Just last week–shit, that was your friend, wasn’t it?” Concern pinched his face. “Thought she looked familiar.” He stroked your arm and looked at you softly.

“That’s not the embarrassing part,” you admitted, unable to stop yourself. You had been dying to tell someone, and something told you he wouldn’t judge you. You couldn’t put your finger on why. 

“Okay,” he nodded slowly, raising his brows in anticipation. “I’m listening.” 

“I can’t,” you shook your head. “Sorry.” 

“What, did you wet your bed?” His face was dismissive, like it would be no big deal. 

You managed a slight chuckle, then swallowed.  He searched your face then settled on your eyes. 

“I had sex with him,” you blurted out. 

Dalton laughed, then it faded as he absorbed your face. Your eyes were watering. “Ghostface?” he asked. 

You nodded. His breathing deepened. He was still calm, but something was simmering under the surface. “He attacked you?” 

“Kind of, I guess. I dunno”  

His nostrils flared and his neck vein bulged. “And forced you.”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted it.” 

Dalton’s blue eyes widened. He propped himself up on his forearm. and slowly nodded, digesting this information. “When?”

“Like a week ago.” 

“He killed your friend, *then* you let him fuck you?”

“I know,” you whispered and turned your head toward the bed in shame. 

“You sure you wanted it?” 

“Yeah. I was on top.” 

You glanced at him just as his eyebrows shot up.

“I know, it’s so messed up.” 

“He didn’t hurt you at all?”

“He didn’t.” 

“Are you a nympho or something?” he asked, then quickly added, “No judgment.”

“No. . . I dunno.”

After a moment of silence, you looked up at him. He was perfectly still, scanning your face. Then his eyes locked with yours. 

“You must think I’m crazy,” you muttered. You were disappointed in yourself for sharing this, but at the same time, it felt like such a relief to tell someone, anyone. 

“No,” he calmly stated. “It’s . . .kinda hot,” he revealed. “Turned me on.” He brazenly adjusted himself.

“Don’t have to make me feel better.” 

“I’m not. I'm. . . intrigued”  

He got closer, then rested his hand on your side. He ran his hand up and down your side, then pulled your bodies together until they were flush. His boxer briefs were damp against your underwear, and he was hard. He looked at your lips, then his face slowly drifted toward yours, and you closed the gap with a kiss. Your lips sealed together and your tongues found each other.

He grinded against you to the slow, hard rhythm of the kiss, then hiked your leg up over himself and his hand slid down your thigh to your ass. He kissed you needily and moaned into your mouth as his cock swelled even harder against your front. He kneaded your ass, then, from the back, his fingers worked their way to the crotch of your panties. He kept kissing you as he ghosted your folds from behind, through the damp cotton. 

“Mm,” he hummed into your mouth. 

He worked a finger under the fabric and gave a more pronounced, “Mmmm,” when he felt how warm and wet you were.  A thick finger prodded your hole, then slid inside. As the digit pushed in, you twitched around it and his mouth broke away with a moan. His finger slid out, leaving you empty, then he yanked your underwear down and you helped take it off. He took his off as well, in a hurry. He got up on his knees, holding his cock – big, veiny, and webbed with cum. “You’re hot,” he breathed and stroked it once. 

He searched your eyes, then got between your legs and your clit twitched when his tip slid down your folds to notch at your entrance. Without pause, he pushed his wet cock into you, dividing your walls with a moan, making you gasp. He withdrew most of his length, then slammed into you, bottoming out and throbbing with you spread around his manhood. He grunted and breathed heavily as he fucked his cum into you. His beautiful veins bulged–on his arms, his chest. 

He planted his hands on the bed, arms straight, and kept his hips loose–each time he withdrew his length, he let something like gravity push him back in. His movements were so smooth and fluid, but the weight of his cock was unforgiving. His balls slapped against you. He got down on one forearm and groped your breast as he fucked you. He sucked your neck. 

The new angle had him grinding against you, and it didn’t take long until you were choking out his name, “Dal–dalton, fuck,” then coming on his cock, squeezing it, spasming around him, hips lifting into him. He groaned and slowed down but fucked you through it. “Ugh,” he gritted, then you said, “Don’t pull out.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to ask, “Did he come in you?”

You nodded. He closed his eyes again and groaned on the edge of bliss. He bit his lip, then bottomed out, and his mouth fell open as he erupted in your depths. “F—ohhhhh.”

You closed your eyes and savored the way he pulsed inside you, something you’d imagined many times. He let some of his weight down onto you and stayed inside for a minute, until he slid out and spooned you. 

You couldn’t help but think to yourself–if your situation with ghostface was what made Dalton fuck you, maybe everything happened for a reason. 

--------

ty for reading this random little treat. i'm not doing any intentional writing right now and i think the break is already helping soothe my brain. but this just kinda . . .slipped out.

[darling-i-read-it]

Blue Paint

Dalton Lambert x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: spoilers for insidious the red door, spook spook 

Author’s Note: my decade old crush on patrick wilson was not expecting to make any movement when i saw this movie. However, the much more age appropriate ty simpkins was there with long hair and brooding smiles and i had a moment of weakness. ig up until this movie in my brain he was still 5 and i didn't realize he's older than me

Summary: You are rooming with Chris and are close friends with her and Dalton when he starts to mentally deteriorate rip 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

“Dalton? Woah, woah.” 

Dalton snapped his head off the table. Your eyes went wide as you watched him wake up, blinking aggressively. His fingers were still dipping in the paint but they had dried as he slept. 

“What time is it?” he grumbled. His hair was sticking up. He must’ve been out. 

“7. I just got back from dinner. I was gonna ask why you weren’t there but I guess we know the answer to that.” You looked down at the desk. Whatever he had been painting was now a smeared mess. His cheek had imprinted nothing but blue onto whatever the focus was. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean…” He shook his head. “Whatever.” He moved the canvas, starting to put things back as they were. 

“Your face is blue,” you noted. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, now that his brain had caught up to him. You pursed your lips. You lived above him, with Chris. She was the reason the two of you had been introduced and then you ended up going to the same building for your early classes. 

“Chris said something happened at that frat party,” you said. “I just wanted to know what went down from a reliable source.” He shook his head. He was still sticky on the face. Whatever he was using to paint didn’t dry as quickly on his face as it did on his fingers. You put down your bag and looked around for something to clean him with. 

“Nothing happened.” You turned around, giving him a look. He let out a sigh. “I just mean, she was being dramatic.” 

“Chris being dramatic? Now who would’ve thought.” You grabbed a dirty shirt off the ground. “You like this shirt?” you asked. He looked at you, confused. He shook his head. “Cool.” You dipped it in the glass of water on his desk and then cupped his face with your hands. You started to rub off the paint. “I love Chris and I trust her. I just mean, she was saying some weird things.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Ow.” 

“Sorry.” You sat on the unoccupied bed and leaned back. “Anyway. Tell me what’s going on.” He shook his head. He looked goofy, smeared with blue. If he didn’t have such a melancholy look on his face you would probably have laughed at him. “She said something about astral projection.” “It’s this whole thing.” His phone rang. It was on the table, beside the paint. He picked it up, looked at the name, and declined. 

“Was that your mom?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why don’t you answer?” “Listen, you’re asking me a lot of questions right now and I’m not necessarily equipped to answer a single one of them,” he said, exasperated. You nodded, taking the hint. Instead you sat back up and started to clean his face again. 

“I have nail polish in my room that would help with this. Or, do you have rubbing alcohol?” 

“You sound like my mom,” he muttered. You pursed your lips and narrowed your gaze. “She probably packed something like that.” He looked down at his bag, one of the ones he had left unpacked. You picked it up and put it on your lap. You opened it up and started to look inside. 

“If not, we’ll find some. Or you can go to class in the morning all blue. It’ll really let everyone know how you’re feeling.” He laughed gently. Your eyes flicked up at him. There was something about him that you felt a fierce need to protect. There was a puppy dog aspect to his features, in his eyes. “Ah ha. Mrs. Lambert for the win,” you muttered as you pulled out some rubbing alcohol and a towel. You tossed the bag aside otherwise. And dumped some water on it first, then started to scrub. 

“I can astral project,” he said slowly. You stopped rubbing, meeting his eyes. He was dead serious. “I think. That’s what Chris said anyway.” You nodded slowly, continuing your work. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No. I just think you stopped your sentence with no more details and I’m waiting for them.” 

“I can see myself when I’m asleep and then I’m in this other world. Walking around, except no one can see me,” he said. 

“This paint is gonna stain,” you grumbled. You sat back. “You haven’t talked to your parents?” 

“No. Why would I talk to my parents about this?” 

“I dunno. Maybe it was something you did when you were a kid and they would know about it. Maybe it’s genetic.” 

“So what, are you like the astral projection expert now?”

“Dalton,” you said. “I’m just trying to help.” He let out a sigh. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Do you really think it’ll stain?” 

“Yes.” You winced. “Can’t imagine you can skip Armagan’s class tomorrow hm?”

“I’d rather face the embarrassment.” You nodded once. “I’ll take a shower. See if it cleans it off.” You nodded. 

“Mind if I hang around? Cleaning calms me. For some reason I think I should be stressed.” He shrugged.

“Mi casa es su casa.” 

“Sweet. Thanks D.” He dug around his bag for some clothes while you grabbed some more napkins. The door gently shut behind him as he left, leaving you alone in his room. The night light and his lamp illuminated the desk. You started to take the stuff off the counter, dumping piles of paint into the towel as you did so. You adjusted the light so that you could see everything. 

As you went to move it, Dalton’s phone turned on. You glanced at it, seeing the face of a pretty woman who had Dalton’s smile. You would’ve known it was his mom even if there hadn’t been a name to go with her phone call. 

You started to put it down, then glanced at the door. 

Answering it would be weird. 

You had never talked to his mom. Granted, you kind of hardly knew him. But clearly he was going through something and you were a strong believer that a mom could help figure anything out. 

After glancing back at the door you swiped the answer on his phone and brought it to your ear. 

“Hello?”

“Hi…sorry is this Dalton’s phone?”

“Yeah! Yes, sorry. He’s taking a shower and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t pressing,” you explained, far too quickly. You cleared your throat. 

“Oh!” She cleared her throat. “Are you one of Dalton’s college friends?” She paused. “Are you a girlfriend?” You laughed nervously. 

“Oh Mrs. Lambert I don’t know-” You started to regret answering the phone. This was definitely too weird. 

“No, sorry, that was a weird question.”

“This is a weird conversation.” You cleared your throat. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. I was just calling to check in on him, he hasn’t called that much. Would you tell him to call? I worry. He’s a brooding guy and I just wanted to make sure he was making friends out there. I mean, I guess he is making friends, considering you’re close enough to be answering his phone.” She stopped for a moment. “Is he alright?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, he’s…” You glanced at the door. “Actually Mrs. Lambert, I did answer for a reason.” 

“Renai. Please. And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/N.” 

“Y/N. Why did you answer?” 

“He’s been a little…off lately. I mean, everyone understands going to a new place and starting school and whatever. But he was at this frat party yesterday-”

“He went to a frat party?” 

“I don’t have details, I wasn’t there,” you said, and had the heart to imagine him there and laugh. “He’s been acting kind of weird when he goes to sleep. Something about astral projection. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

Suddenly she was quiet. She was stammering and then she was silent again. You glanced back at the door again. You weren’t sure how long he would be gone. 

“Can you tell him to call me Y/N?” 

“Yeah. Is there…anything I can do to help him?” She was silent again. You could almost imagine her, biting at her nail, wondering what was going on, what she had done wrong. You wondered what the past had brought with this subject. What happened to earn her silence? 

“No, I’ll talk to him. Thank you for answering and letting me know.” 

“Of course. It was nice to meet you, Renai.” 

“You too Y/N.” She hung up and the silence was more threatening now that the conversation was over. She gave you no real comfort. In fact, now you felt worse. 

“This is for sure staining. Do you think Armagan will care? Maybe she’ll think it's an artistic expression.” You jumped at the sound of Dalton’s voice. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You still had his phone in your hand. He stared at it, confused, his eyebrows knit. 

“What’re you doing?”

“I really think you should call your mom D.” He looked even more confused now. His hair was wet and matt against his head.

“Did you talk to my mom?” 

“I know that’s super weird,” you admitted. “But she called and you didn’t answer earlier and I just got worried. I’m worried about you.” He narrowed his eyes on you. 

“I’m fine.” You handed him the phone.

“She sounded worried when I mentioned you hadn’t been sleeping well. Maybe you should-”

“I appreciate your concern but I’m okay. Really.” 

You handed him back his phone. You had managed to clean up the remaining paint but you hadn’t moved around any of his supplies. You bit your lip and gestured to them. 

“I didn’t move this stuff, I wasn’t sure where you wanted it.” 

“Thanks.” 

“I think the blue is a power movement by the way,” you said. He sat down on the bed beside you. 

“I think I’ll be okay in the morning,” he admitted. “Though I’ll get some weird looks. It might be a good topic of conversation.” 

“For sure! I mean, I’ll for sure talk about it.” He rolled his eyes. “Chris will also talk about it.” 

“She likes to talk.” 

“She’s extremely funny.” 

“She is, isn’t she?” You smiled gently and looked down at your lap. 

“I should probably leave you to it then. You probably have to visit some other realm in the night, huh?” He half nodded, running his hand through his hair. 

“What did my mom say?” You met his eyes.

“She thought I was your girlfriend.”

“You did answer my phone,” he countered. “That was on my bedside table.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Out of concern!” You shook your head. “She wanted to know if you were okay and if you had made any friends.”

“So you told her I couldn’t sleep?”

“Again! Concern!” He chuckled a bit and pulled his legs up onto the bed. He leaned against the wall, looking over at you. You turned around, a playful smile on your face. You wiped it off. “You should call her.” 

“I will, I will.” You started to sit up but he grabbed your arm, pulling you back down. “Where’re you going?” 

“Back to my dorm. Leaving you to sleep or walk or whatever it is you do when the lights are out.” He stared at you. You tried to read his expression. Soft, needy, trying to be guarded but doing a bad job at it. “Or I could stay. We could have a slumber party.”

“I like slumber parties.” 

“Me too,” you said, smiling. “Do I get to grab my pajamas or am I being held hostage?” He rolled his eyes. “Chris is gonna get jealous. She likes slumber parties too.”

“You can invite her down.” 

“There’s only two beds,” you said, gesturing to the two.

“We can share.”

“These are twin beds.” Dalton smiled, a genuine smile. He shrugged. 

“We’ll get close.” You wanted to hit him but refrained, just letting yourself blush. You stood up. 

“I’ll be back down in a second.” You opened the door and then turned around, leaning against it. “I’m not gonna tell Chris.”

“I didn’t think you were.” 

You shut the door behind you, taking a deep breath. Boys with long stringy hair were a downfall to the best of humankind. You couldn’t exactly deny the typical college girl butterflies. 

You pushed open the door to your room. Chris was sitting on her bed, book open at her legs. 

“I’m going out for the night,” you said. You reached for your pajamas. 

“Where’re we going?”

“Daltons.” 

“Sleep over?”

“Yes ma’am.” She raised an eyebrow. “Watching over him. Doing my duties as a friend.” She watched you as you walked around the room, shutting the door behind you so that you could change. 

“In separate beds?”

“Yes Chris,” you said, looking down at her. Her stare remained. 

“For how long?”

“Chris!” You threw your shirt at her. She caught it, laughing gently. 

“Have fun but not too much fun. Make sure he doesn’t astral walk into this bedroom again while I’m sleeping. That was fucking creepy.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Thanks for your support. You’re an amazing roomie.”

“Oh I know.” 

[everythingne]

marry me — ls2

you and logan have danced around dating since you had met all those years ago. An impulsive kiss may lead to a big jump in your relationship.

logan sargeant x reader

warnings/notes: steamy kissing guys watch out, so short i wrote this in one sitting, barely beta read, logan being head over heels, we love childhood friends to lovers!!

The photographs spread across the dining room table. You had sorted through majority of the things your mother had sent your way, but the photo albums of old pictures from the summer you’d spent with the Sargeants needed two sets of hands and two brains to sort through.

And so you called over Logan.

He was back in Florida for only a few short weeks during his winter break, visiting his parents and such. You had made the call expecting him to be busy, but you were pleasantly surprised when Logan had cheerfully told you he could be over in an hour after he helped his mom with something. You cleaned up the apartment a bit, changed into something you could wear around company (not that Logan would care), and brought out a bottle of wine for the occasion of reconnecting again after a few years away.

Lucky guess, Logan’s favorite wine was still the expensive one you used to sneak from his grandparents liquor cabinet when he’d visit in the summers.

He’s sitting next to you now, laughing at some photos you’d recently gotten developed. They’re from prom, your family having flown him out to surprise you so you both could go together—as ‘friends.’ Even if the crush you both had on each other was terribly obvious.

“God that was such a fun night,” You grin, showing him a photo you have of Dalton picking you both up and the tiny bottle shots of Fireball you both had in your hand in the photo. Logan laughs at Dalton’s horrified expression and leans on you for support.

“I gotta get you to these clubs after the races, I swear the guys will fucking love you. Oh, what are you doing around Monaco’s GP?” He asks, bright eyes and a wide smile as you slip the photo into the keep pile and keep thumbing through.

“I’ll have finals that week.” You him to him, “so depending on when my classes finish I could probably come down.”

“Please,” Logan laughs, then pauses at a photo that makes his eyebrows tense and he groans, “remember Kadin?”

“Oh my fucking god.” You whisper as Logan flips to show you a photo of his graduation party in Miami, where your short lived pre-college summer fling boyfriend is hanging off you in the pool, “he was such a dick.”

“Why did you even date him? He was a total asshole to you, like, all the time.” Logan tosses the photo in the discard pile and leans over to refill his wine glass as he asks. His eyes meet yours and you shrug, trying to control the blush that desperately tries to show on your face.

“I was bored, and the guy I did like at the time was moving away, so.” You shrug, trying not to look at Logan. You know if you do, you’ll spill your still massively huge crush on him. Wine made your lips looser and you couldn’t afford that right now.

“So, you dated a guy that was so bad I, of all people at that party, was the one who fought him?” Logan smirks and you roll your eyes at his cockiness. He’d broken Kadin’s nose after he caught him talking shit about you, to you. It had been a whole joke between your families for years.

“Hey, you chose to hit him.” You raise your hands in mock surrender and he laughs, picking up his little stack of photos to sort through.

“And I’ve never regretted it.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth and you snort softly at his confidence once more, before turning back to the photos in your hand. Comfortable silence lapses for a moment before Logan sets his down and looks over at you.

“I miss living down the street from you.” He looks over, cheeks red from his words as he watches you in the soft sunset lighting of the kitchen you’d grown up in. You both had done homework in these seats, eaten dinner here, played games, bickered, and had deep talks here. This was the place he’d realized he really loved your way back in fourth grade, and the place he let you go when he moved away for motorsports. You had always been his home, and he was surprised it had taken him this long to figure that out about you.

“I miss it too.” You sigh, “it’s nice to be able to sit and just… be us again.”

But when you turn to look at Logan, it’s like every rational thought leaves your head. Almost like just him being beside you is more intoxicating than the wine you’ve been slowly sipping at. He’s everything you’d ever wanted, he’s everything you needed, and yet he was untouchable. Until now. You watch his eyes as they flicker around you, unable to find a spot to settle, as if every spot of your skin is just as perfect and just as important as the rest. His hand finds your knee and squeezes it, and you find yourself tilting to him, seeking him out. It’s unconscious for you, as it is for him, and right before the big collide he hesitates.

“Is this…” he whispers, his hand sliding up your leg to rest mid thigh as his other comes to your jaw to tilt your head to him. You swallow, hard, and nod to him. To your best friend of almost twenty years, and watch his eyes flicker down to your lips before he leans in. You flutter your eyes shut when your lips softly brush each others, a test, allowing you to pull back if you want. When you don’t Logan pushes in and you meet him and a slight clack of your teeth.

The kisses start as little innocent pecks, but you aren’t complaining when he starts to get a bit more intense with it. You shift to turn yourself, one hand coming to his neck as your thumb presses to his pulse point earning a soft whine between two harsh kisses as a reward, but he nips your bottom lip as payback.

Logan’s presence on you and around you is intoxicating as he pulls you off your chair with one arm, you’d briefly forgotten just how damn strong he was as he effortlessly sets you on the table. His free hand scatters the photos you’d carefully stacked out of the way as he keeps your lips connected in harsh, deep kisses you find take every bit of oxygen out of you as you careen forward each time for more. It’s a feverish moment, lips connecting, sighing, hands grabbing whatever they can to ground you.

“Logan—“ you gasp, and he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes as your hot breaths mingle between you. The feeling of his panting breaths rolling across your neck making goosebumps prickle along your skin.

“Is this okay?” He asks again and when you nod he smiles, “alright, so stop talking and just sit pretty there, yeah?”

“I will but wait,” you gasp for air and he pulls back a bit more, allowing you to catch your breath. It’s here when clarity hits both of you, post make out haze slipping from your minds as his hands settle by your hips on the table.

“I’ve wanted to do that since high school, y’know.” You whisper, “the whole… kissing thing.”

“Me too, yeah.” He agrees, and you both just kinda sit in silence for a moment afterwards, “it’s been a long time coming hasn’t it been? I’ve liked you for… god over a decade now? Almost two?”

“Really?” You giggle as Logan blushes and nods, his hands taking yours as he kisses your knuckles. The heat of the moment is gone, sure, but now there’s a sort of raw genuinity about everything. It’s like seeing the world with glasses for the first time, every fuzzy thing is suddenly clears.

“Remember that promise I made you make in fourth grade?” He says and you almost burst into a loud laugh when the memory hits you, two dumb kids sitting on a playground and pinkie promising under the slide.

“If we weren’t dating by thirty five, we’d marry each other.” You link your pinkie to his and he grins, tightening his hold on your pinkie with his own. The sun comes in beside you, wrapping you both in its warm embrace as the tenderness of the situation makes your skin warm.

“I know we still have time but—fuck it, I’ve been thinking about this since you called me and asked me to come over. I can’t wait any longer. I don’t wanna wait.” He admits, almost whiny at the end before he leans forward and closes his eyes. His forehead rests to yours as he murmurs, “what would you say if I asked you right now? No ring, no witnesses, just us?”

“To marry you?” You feel dizzy, feeling him wrap his other pinkie around your other free one. Locked in.

“To get married, now.” He sits back to look you in the eyes again, “I know it’s kinda weird but I have enough to support us both and I loved you for so long and I—I really want—

“—Logan I would marry you with nothing to show for it.” You let go of his hands to cup his jaw, “Paper rings, no witnesses, just us in this kitchen. I’d marry you here. I’d marry you anywhere. I’ve loved you probably just as long, and maybe we’re rushing it but who fucking cares?”

A giggle escapes your lips and Logan’s smile doubles in size as he takes your hands from his face, holding your right while he kisses your left ring finger.

“Marry me.” He whispers, “marry me right now. I don’t care where we do it, or anything about it, but I want you to marry me. I want to call you my wife and take you to races and let you meet everyone—Oscar will adore you just as much as I do—“

You cut off his ramble with a kiss, this time being the one to pull him in. When you break, you grin and wipe saliva off your lip with your thumb, “Is that a good enough yes? Because I also want all of those things.”

“That’s a better yes than any words you could’ve said.” Logan grins and wraps his arms around you and kisses every inch of skin he can reach. And maybe you’re both tipsy, and this is something you’ll have to actually discuss tomorrow, but for now it’s just you, Logan, and a promise. No rings, no witnesses, no evidence of anything other than puffy lips and the looks in your eyes.

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